Journal of a Mad Humor Writer

2003-10-21T16:13:00.000-07:00

Something not very humorous happened and, to make a long story short, I'm on a leave of absence. Indefinitely.

See you later? I hope.

2003-10-20T20:24:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 8,000
MOOD: happy!

I did it! I made 8,000 words in one day! YCBS is now 44,000 words long. Just about 30,000 more and I'll be finished. Maybe, come to think of it, only 26,000. Heck, that's not even two more weeks! I'm so excited. So, let's see. I did... 17,000 words in the past three days. This is not bad at all.

In other news, I may drop off the face of the earth for awhile. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just switching schools, maybe, and I don't know what the new policy on computer and internet time is. We'll see.

2003-10-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 7,000
MOOD: uh...

I've just met my highest word count in a day ever, and I could by all rights keep going. I mean, why not? For one thing, it's insane. I'm insane. So what the heck! I'm going to keep going.

2003-10-20T17:52:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 6,000
MOOD: happy

Well, I made it to 6,000 words; 42,000 in two weeks. That gives me a neat little 3,000 daily average. Woohoo.

Aside from that, I'm trying to read Eragon and Men at Arms simultaneously. I don't think much of Eragon so far (maybe I'm jealous--no, on second thought, it's a Tolkien knockoff. What's there to be jealous of?), but Men at Arms is pretty funny. Very funny, in fact. So that's good.

In any case, I also had a breakthrough about my magic system. It works like quantum physics, see... not going to explain any more than that. It's a secret!

Don't tell anyone.

Not that I really told you anything worth telling anyone...

2003-10-20T13:44:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000
MOOD: happy, but waiting for the bubble to burst

Let's see. I've done 13,000 words in the past three days. That is not bad, and I'm up to 40,000 words for two weeks flat. And it's not even 5:00 PM! I could easily do 2,000 more today, bringing my average wpd up to 3,000. YCBS, by the way, stands at 40k as we speak.

But enough boring talk about wordcounts. The important thing is, I'm having fun, doing what I love, and doing it well. At least, as far as I can tell I'm doing it well.

My reading, on the other hand, is not going very well at all. I finished The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett--and didn't like it at all! Utterly cardboard characters, incomprehensible plot that moved too fast even for me, and not enough humor. Well, I'm willing to cut him some slack since it was his first try, but still... oh, well. I'm reading Men at Arms now. We'll see how that goes.

Maybe I'm too picky? I didn't care about cardboard characters before I started writing seriously.

Writing can really spoil your reading.

Oh, well. At least the writing is going well!

2003-10-19T19:56:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 5,000
MOOD: ecstatically euphoric

Because I've hit my groove again. I know, it's a little late in the novel for hitting my groove, but I've done it. 5,000 words in a day--and I want to do more. I love this plot outline thing, I know what's going to happen and I still have some room for improvising. Good fun. And introducing an evil minion named Tim the Unspeakably Evil, Jr. didn't hurt, either.

36,000 words on YCBS. I'm going to try to get to 40k by tomorrow--40k in two weeks flat. Let's hope I make it.

2003-10-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000
MOOD: ecstatic

Enough said! I made it! And they were good words, too. So... was it good for you, too? ;)

2003-10-18T17:01:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 3,000
MOOD: happy

Got my words for the day (and I may push for 1k more, I'm really in a rut--I mean, on a roll), and I'm enjoying Terry Pratchett. Good fun all around.

2003-10-18T15:34:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000
MOOD: happy!

I have finally found the right writing attitude. What is that, you ask? Simple: stand behind everything you put down on the page. Don't be embarrassed by it. If you are, delete it. And when you're really behind all the words you write, you'll find they come out a lot better.

29k on YCBS. Going to try for 1k more today.

2003-10-18T14:42:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000 (so far)
MOOD: mellow

Well, according to the Gender Genie (which is anyway supposedly wrong at least half the time) I'm a male. Hm. Nope, definitely not male. Well, I WAS trying to write from a male POV--so that's something! If you want to try the Gender Genie, go here:

http://www.bookblog.net/gender/genie.html

And would someone please tell me WHY I created something called a Stealth Coverage Field Projector when I can't even remember what it's called half the time? Oh, well. I think it sounds funny, so I'll keep it.

On the reading front, I've got The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett. I've heard good things about it, so let's see how this goes.

On the writing front, wow, I'm clipping along pretty fast. Off to write some more--I'll let you know how I'm dong. Goal for the day: 3k. Must get 2k more.

Off to write!

2003-10-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 3,000
MOOD: ebullient

Yes! I did it! I got 3k for the day, my best all week. That brings YCBS up to 27k. And I still have quite a ways to go. Based on my calculations, this will be a 75k novel. So I'm more than a third of the way done! Woohoo.

2003-10-17T17:00:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000
MOOD: happy

Woohoo! I have gotten over my block, my characters are advancing, and all is well with the world. I may even push for 1k more tonight. If I get it, I'll let you know.

2003-10-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000
MOOD: tired, still

I slept almost all day today, and I'm still a little groggy. I wonder what this is about. Not enough iron?

Anyway, I'm currently printing out YCBS (all 110 pages of it) and starting... revisions. I know, I know, I should just write the first draft already, right? But I want to make this good. And I am writing each day. 1k is my minimum right now, though it's usually 2k, because I've been having a rough week. I think I'll try for another thousand words today, though, since it's Friday and there are still about eight hours of writing time left today.

Rewriting. I still haven't found a good method of rewriting, though Hollylisle.com has some great tips. I just can't follow them. So far, my method is to pick through every sentence with a fine-toothed comb and mercilessly cut all extraneous words, bad bits of exposition, etc. And also take out plot holes, clean up continuity problems, etc. Unfortunately, in practice this method works about as well as a flyswatter against the SWAT team. That is to say, not well.

Oh, well. At least I know how to outline now!

Right.

2003-10-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

INTP - "Architect". Greatest precision in thought and language. Can readily discern contradictions and inconsistencies. The world exists primarily to be understood. 3.3% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test

That's me, all right.

2003-10-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000 (but half of that was on my new scene-by-scene plot outline)
MOOD: happier

Well, I'm doing better! I now know, for the first time ever, EXACTLY how this is going to work, beginning to end, inside and out. And what's more, the subplots all hook into the main plot somehow, which I really like. For the first time in my life, I've finished an entire scene-by-scene outline of a novel.

And the novel? The one I've been calling YCBS? Well, its real title is You Can't Be Serious In Universe Thirteen. 24k on that so far. I've been lagging a bit lately, but I think I'll get better soon. Especially since the part with the faked death involving catsup is coming.

Anyway, here's an excerpt. Francine, the heroine, has just kissed Simon, the hero. They're the stars of a reality movie in a fantasy universe. Marty is the assistant director and John, the talent scout who works with him. You can fill in the rest. Excerpt:

“Did you see that, John!” Marty was all but jumping up and down, and Marty was not the jumping-up-and-down type.

“Yeah, I saw it,” John said. He peered over the shoulders of the robot techs at Simon, who was making his wobbly way up to the dragon’s cave. “You’ve got your romance, Marty.” But you didn’t expect Simon to be the star of this movie, did you? He said it to himself, silently, because disagreeing with Marty out loud was about as smart as smacking a large and angry tiger in the face. With a ballpeen hammer.

“I’ve got my romance,” Marty said. He sounded supremely self-satisfied. “And what’s more, that Fran is one smart girl. She set that up, see? So Simon would go into the dragon’s ‘dangerous’ lair instead of her.” Marty chuckled.

John felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. “How could she do that to him?” he asked, swallowing hard. He got control of himself slowly and gave Marty the reply the other man wanted. “I mean, it seems a little cruel and conniving to me.”

Marty was still grinning, John noticed. “So what?” he said. “The cameras love her.”

The cameras, slightly sentient beings from one of the stranger universes (Universe One Hundred Nine), did in fact seem to love Francine, and made audible purring noises whenever she appeared onscreen.

“True,” John admitted. “But that’s not everything. I mean, isn’t integrity important?”

Marty stared at John for a long, long moment.

“John,” he said finally, “we’re in the entertainment industry.”

2003-10-16T15:20:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 0 (but I plan to remedy that now that I have my computer back)
MOOD: sad

Well, it's a long story, but I couldn't use my computer all day. In the meantime, I finished reading Trickster's Choice (which was as bad at the end as the beginning) and picked up a few new books by S.L. Viehl--unfortunately, the bookstore didn't have them all. Must go to a bigger bookstore tomorrow. Her blog, by the way, is really great, and you can check it out here:

http://starlines.blogspot.com/

At least, you can check it out here until I manage to put it up in my permanent links. This is very hard for me to do, because I have all the computer skills of a rutabaga. Probably less.

Anyway, I should really be writing. I tried out Inspiration software to help me organize--wonder of wonders, it's easy to use AND helpful!

http://inspiration.com/

And while I'm in a linking mood (not that I can actually link, mind you, I just type out the web adresses), here's the link the Shakespeare's Kitchen, my mom's book, but, despite being written by my mom ;) , a great book with some wonderful recipes.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0375509178/qid=1066343328/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/103-3260053-6291854?v=glance&s=books

Snippet from YCBS coming soon!

2003-10-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000 (yes! I can write again! Guess I just needed one day off)
MOOD: tired, tired, tired

Yes, I am tired. And I still have homework to do... that aside, I just felt I had to share something with you, my faithful (you are faithful, right? I'm not about to find you in bed with other bloggers, or, dear Lord, pharmaceutical companies, of which our president has been accused, am I?) readers. It's a poem (I know, I said I hate poetry. Well, I do) I wrote awhile ago while thinking about the idiots, I mean people, who think life is automatically fair. Here it is. It's strangely not an angry poem:

Of Choice and Change

Fairness is the friend
of cowards, liars and trucklers;
It once was my friend too and still--
I cling to the half-forgot childhood notion
That the world is balanced on an even axis.

But ah, I failed to see--
the complexity of life and love and world
A subtle unbalance will, with time,
make itself felt and heard.

Sometimes the world tilts;
oh so dizzily, or is that just
the headiness that comes
with fatigue, but the fatigue of love
or sorrow?

Uneven is life and unaccountable
It is for mortals to bear the dual burdens or blessings
of choice and change--
Only death is unchanging, eternal
and only entropy plays fair.

Let's have a moment of silence for the death of my former, poetic self. I think I was OK at poetry. Too bad I hate it so much. Was it Mark Twain who said "Reports of my demise were premature"? Yes, I think so. Must look that quote up. I think reports of my poetry's demise may be premature, since I am taking Creative Writing next year and poetry is (shudder) required.

Anyway, on the writing front, I knocked off 1k and would have done more, had not the vile homework begun calling me. I think I've got a better handle on all I'm trying to convey with this novel. It's great. I love it. Of course, that's what I always say... up to 23,000 words now. Let's see if I can hold out. Since I have the thing plotted out, I think I can.

As a random side note, I'm up to page 210 of Trickster's Choice. If you're wondering why I keep torturing myself like this, well, I just have to. I can't bring myself to believe that the idol of my childhood would write something... bad. But this is bad.

It's like a writing manual on what NOT to be. For example, don't write inconsistent, shallow characters. I tend to do this; now I see how annoying it is. Must remember to keep characterization deep and consistent for YCBS; it seems to be working so far. Cross your fingers for me. Right, now keep them that way for a few days. Excuse me, I have sadistic tendencies. Also masochistic tendences, apparently, since I'm torturing myself reading this book. Anyway, back to the manual on how not to write. Also, don't write paragraph-long descriptions of random characters' builds and facial features, yet forget to put in any sensory detail or description of action or magic or anything fun.

And (this is just for Tamora Pierce; no other writer writes SO MUCH about birds) please. Spare me the birds. I mean, animals in The Immortals were OK; that was sort of the point. Birds in Protector of the Small seemed completely unnecessary, but I let it slide. But what the hell is this? What is the point? It seems like a completely token gesture calculated to give the MC a love interest. The love interest, by the way, is completely transparent and nonsensical. The whole book is made up of Deus Ex Machina and plot devices.

Really, I may seem like I'm just making fun of it, but I'm genuinely disappointed and saddened. Which is stupid. I mean, it's just a book. Well, books mean a lot to me, I guess. Here, I think I'll make a list of some of the good books I like. Maybe that will help.

The Physician by Noah Gordon (Quite possibly my favorite book of all time)
Time and Again by Jack Finney (Stunning. Brilliant. I love it)
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon (Just as stunning, heartwarming and incredible in scope)
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (My kind of dystopia!)
Anything by Dave Barry, of course! (I mean, the guy is hilarious)
Rogues to Riches by J. Robert King (I know, it's a kids' book. I can't help it. This is THE book that inspired me to write humorous fantasy. I've read it at least 50 times. I've memorized huge chunks of it)

If you guys haven't read any of these books, read them now! They're terrific. Of course, that's just my personal taste.

Off to bed for me now. No, on second thought, I think I'll do some writing. Maybe post a snippet tomorrow, even. We'll see how it goes. I'll tell you more about my secret project, YCBS, too. I think you'll like it. Especially the tourist trolls and the New Yorker ghouls.

2003-10-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 0 (Ah! I knew it. Post-20k slump!)
MOOD: self-critical

See? I knew I would fall out of the groove. You know, the writing groove. Could also be because I felt really yucky today, combination dizzy and headachy. You know, I think it's the coffee. I don't usually drink it, soo... looks like Samantha has yet another addiction to get rid of, folks. What fun. So I didn't get any writing done, though I did read over one of my old, half-completed manuscripts. I had an interesting epiphany about the theme, and may end up finally finishing the thing. But I didn't do any writing.

And as the saying goes, when one cannot write, one should bash the books of other people. Which is what I shall proceed to do.

I'm reading the latest Tamora Pierce, simply because her early books were my childhood companions (don't laugh! They really were! I didn't have other friends, like normal people. Well, I did, but to be honest I preferred the books). And, oh, boy, am I regretting my decision. The book is called Trickster's Choice, and I'm only 53 pages into it, so bear in mind I may be reacting preemptively. Spoilers ahead, so watch out!

Anyway. Already the MC has been set up with about thirty pages of heavy infodump and then, suddenly, in literally ONE paragraph, she has run away from home, stolen a boat and been captured by pirates. Then, in four pages, she was sold as a slave, almost too quickly for me to blink. Come on, Tammy, that's not a story, that's a synopsis. Give me some description, for God's sake! And this is from me, THE dialogue-lover. And THE overdescription-hater. I mean, I loathe overdescription. But some description is necessary.

And what's with the spunky heroine? I have had it up to HERE (I'm pointing to the ceiling) with smart-talking, spunky heroines. I think there's some overcompensation on someone's part going on there... the characterization is really very flat, and a god (talk about Deus Ex Machina!) keeps intervening (I've read ahead) for absolutely NO REASON. I mean, come on. Give us a semblance of some bad odds, maybe a risk, a battle scene, even? A capture by pirates could have been interesting had it been handled in more than ONE PARAGRAPH.

Oh, well. All I can do is keep reading and hope that it improves. Don't get me wrong, I loved Tamora Pierce's early works. The Lioness Quartet was great, and I even enjoyed the Immortals Quartet. Protector of the Small was pushing it a bit, but I liked parts of it well enough. Circle of Magic and The Circle Opens were solid, and I liked them, though The Circle Opens was, shall we say, reptetitive. So, if any Tamora Pierce fan is reading this, know that I truly mean no harm to the woman or her reputation or character. I'm merely stating that there's a book of hers I really don't like (so far). If you have strong opinions on the subject, want to rant at me, or just want to talk about anything related to my blog, my email is Massagehatann@aol.com. Spammers will be summarily executed.

God, I love when I talk tough. I feel like Mark Twain. At least, I feel how I imagine Mark Twain would feel, or rather has felt, when he was alive.

And now, I think I should go write a bit. Put my money where my mouth is, so to speak, since I've just been bashing poor Tamora Pierce, who, from what I've seen and heard of her, is a nice person and a capable writer (watch out, Samantha's getting diplomatic). Note that I did not say good writer (ah, now that's the Samantha we know and love. Or, rather, I know and love. Geez, these split personalities get annoying after awhile. Not to mention this rampaging narcissism).

Wow, I can really ramble. In any case, I'm off to see if I can write anything today. Wish me luck! On second thought, don't. I want to be able to claim all credit for the brilliant piece of literary excrement--I mean genius--that pours forth from my fingertips.

Double helping of sarcasm, anyone?

2003-10-14T02:35:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 0 (ah, a nice clean slate... AH, a nice clean slate! Help! I must write more!)
MOOD: introspective and, to be quite frank, probably annoying. That's annoying, not annoyed.

Dinner went well. My mother was incredibly surprised and pleased. We made the pasta first, using a blender and a spoon, and also a saucepan and a bowl, but who's counting? The sweet-pea topping came out looking sort of like... um... glop ( "It's vomit sauce!" said my brother, gleefully), but it tasted very good. We made baked apples with a date-brown-sugar-orange-orange-liquer filling. Wow. It came out fantastic. And we did lobsters. My father said he hated to kill the poor, defenseless, weakly struggling creatures.

I said, "What kind of Republican are you?"

Anyway, the lobsters (with stuffing, even!) came out great, and we didn't, miracle of miracles, overcook them. In fact, there was a startling low casualty rate in the kitchen overall.

I claim all credit.

No, seriously, my father was very helpful, and even took some time off work to do it. Would you believe the whole thing took ONLY three hours? Three hours, for three dishes. Now there's an accomplishment to be proud of.

Well, maybe not.

Anyway, my writing is going pretty well, all things considered. 22k on YCBS (3k yesterday). That's going well; I'm up to Chapter Eight: A Captive Audience. Or, alternatively, In Which a Large Dragon Wearing a Toupee Terrorizes the Populace. Nah. I think the first one is catchier.

I've recently been considering why I write and how I write and why, in particular, I write humor. And I came up with the following:

1. I have too much time on my hands.
2. I watched too much Marx Brothers as a child.
3. I read too much as a child and became inured to serious literature, so I have to write comedy.
4. I'm good at writing and I like it.
5. Word counts offer me a healthy way to be obsessive-compulsive! And lemmings offer me an outlet for my manic depression.
6. I harbor a secret wish to be a stand-up comedienne, yet am too shy. No, on second thought I rather doubt that.
7. I need some way of getting out of doing my homework other than pretending to be sick. You try it. Tell your teacher, "I'm writing a book," and watch his jaw drop to the floor.
8. Until, of course, he finds out that the book is humor. Why does everyone look down on humor?

I think eight is a nice round number with which to end. So that's why I write. Now you know.

I realize I'm being glib. It, like my humor writing, is a defense mechanism against the raging torrents of real life; real life, which is hardly ever glib. So now you know why I'm glib, and now you, too, can go out and restore the world's supply of glibness. Be Glib Today! I should make a bumper sticker. If only I had a car.

2003-10-13T02:08:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000 (and that's since midnight! It's 5:00 AM!)
MOOD: tired and yet, strangely, slightly hyper

Possibly because I've found the funniest website in the world. LOTR by different authors! It's great! There's PJ O'Rourke AND Dave Barry AND Homer! I mean, come on. This was made for me. Check it out here:

http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?s=ce24f67f4391402642140618dcde1e00&threadid=138905&perpage=50&pagenumber=1

Anyway, the writing is going well, very welll. I have quite a few funny bits, and some character development going on, which ought to placate my father! I want to show him some of what I wrote today, I think he'll be pleased. 2,000 words so far (and, crazy fool that I am, planning on 2,000 more), plus I touched up my synopsis. Writing with a synopsis is strangely easier than I thought it would be, and it's also, strangely, extremely helpful. I think I'm going to like this synopsis stuff. Oh, and I made 20,000 words! Even exceeded it, in fact. I currently have 21,000 on YCBS! Woohoo!

On the non-writing front (I can hear you gasping; I know, I talk about writing far too much), my mother's book is coming out tomorrow! It's called Shakespeare's Kitchen, and it's a cookbook full of cool facts about Shakespeare and the food of his time. You should really buy it. Trust me, I've tasted all the recipes--they're great.

(end advertising for my mother)

Ahem, anyway, we (my father and I) are throwing my mother an impromptu party to celebrate the release of her book--we're making recipes from the book itself! Spring Pea Tortellini, Stuffed Lobsters and Baked Apples. Of course, the only thing my father knows how to cook is pancakes, and even then... well, let's just say this is going to be a very interesting and perhaps disastrous experience.

Cross your fingers for me.

2003-10-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,500 (are you impressed? Or what?)
MOOD: happy, sort of

I think I'm over my depression about YCBS. Good for me. I think I'll just keep writing the damn thing and edit it later! I mean, honestly. I'm too uptight about this stuff. Which is stupid, if you think about it. An uptight humor writer? Haha.

You can stop laughing now.

2003-10-11T13:53:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,500 (so far, anyway)
MOOD: strange

I just had the weirdest dream. I took a nap, rather upset about my writing and life in general, and I had the strangest dream about a body-switching girl who has a dream about an old undead man in a small village somewhere in... Asia, probably. And somehow illegal saffron imports were involved, and a dead otter, and a small hospital ward. And one word: datoni. I haven't ANY idea what it means. It's probably just nonsense.

Anyway, my writing isn't going so well, as you may have been able to guess. I did a plot outline for the first time in my life, then showed it to my father, who disliked it. Since his opinion means a lot to me, I was rather upset about that. Oh, well, now that I talk about it, it doesn't seem so bad! In fact, I'm rather excited now. I have a plot outline! Congratulate me. It only took me 14k to get one. I let others' opinions get to me too much, don't I?

Live and learn.

2003-10-10T20:44:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000 (see? I'm slowing down)
MOOD: tired, tired, tired

Yes. Get the feeling I'm tired? I have been told several times today that I have repressed feelings. I do not have repressed feelings! I just have lots of emotions that I don't let out. ;) Seriously, though, I don't. I mean, come on. Look at my writer. Rather, don't, because I don't want to show it to you until it's published. Which will probably be never, though I do honestly hope to have a good finished manuscript before my next birthday.

14,000 words on YCBS. And I have a title suggestion: Un1ver3e. You figure it out.

Hm. I'm nearing the stopping point on this; soon the initial burst of energy will be gone. But I will not stop. I can't wait until I get to 20,000--that can be my goal for the long weekend. 20k. Shouldn't be too hard...

Famous last words.

2003-10-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000 (this makes 4,000 three days in a row!)
MOOD: happy, tired

Well, here's the scoop: YCBS is going well. Really well. I've got 12,000 words so far, and I've only been working on it for three days! I'm very excited about that. I just hope I can get past that fateful 20k mark without screwing it all up. So far I've reached the part with the Hawaiian-shirt-clad tourist trolls with an interuniversal bus, which breaks down. Ha. I love this, writing humor. I never know what I'm going to write next.

Newsflash: I have found a use for a suicidal lemming. His name is Bill, and he's manic depressive... a very interesting character to write, and surprisingly smart and resourceful. I just can't make up my mind whether to have him save the day when my MCs are captured by the tourist trolls. Let's take a vote. All who think I should have him save the day, raise your hands.

I can't see you! Higher!

Oh, wait. Never mind.

2003-10-09T01:24:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000 (but it's only 4:30 AM, and I got 4,000 yesterday)
MOOD: happy, mellow

Well, here I am yet again. This new project, code-name YCBS, is going really well--so far it's 9,002 words long. At this rate, if it ends up at an 80k novel, I should be done in, oh, 18 more days. But we all know THAT's not going to happen. I will eventually slow down, as is always the case. And I could even stop entirely, though I really, really don't want to.

I would really like to learn to plot, just as a random side note. I THINK I've got POV down pretty well (YCBS is in omniscient, in case you were wondering), but plotting eludes me. Ah well.

In my private life, woohoo! No school today, which is why I decided to get up early and do some writing. That was supposed to be sarcastic. I mean, why do I never get up early when it's useful, like when I have school at 8:00?

The world is a weird place.

2003-10-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000
MOOD: happy

For the first time in a long time, I'm happy. Actually happy. I know, I know, on this blog I seem happy--well, blogging makes me happy! What makes me even happier is the fact that I've started a new novel. Oh, yeah, I know what you're saying. I've started so many novels lately, after all. At least five. But this one I swear I'm really going to FINISH. It's a brilliant idea, so brilliant I don't even want to say it... this could be my big break. Now just watch me crumble 20,000 words in, as I usually do. But no--I can do it this time. I really can. In fact, I'm going to dare myself to do it. Myself and all my characters--John, Marty, Francine, Simon, Bill and Oswald. Yes. Those are my new characters. The main characters are John and Simon. Interesting, considering who my parents just had dinner with the other night... anyway.

I also have a revelation, completely unrelated, about modern art. But that's just boring. You'll have to ask me in person if you know me what this great revelation is.

And I've also been considering poetry, and have come to the conclusion that:
1. I hate poetry.
2. Poetry is an completely unnecessary and overly obfuscating art form.
3. I hate poetry.

Ha.

2003-10-05T16:20:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000
MOOD: happy

Well, here I am. Again. This blogging business... I don't know. All I talk about is my writing, I suppose because I'm a rather private person. Well, I think I'll talk about something else today. Then, my writing.

Tomorrow is Yom Kippur. I'm going to fast; I'm also going to write, because I can't not. But I am going to think hard about what God means to me. I don't know if I believe in Him. I want to believe, I really do, but my brain is analytical rather than creative. Isn't that odd, since I'm a writer? I just can't seem to get my head around the idea of God. If there's a God, then why all this war and hatred? And so much of it stems from religion. I just don't know. I really don't.

Anyway, enough about serious topics. This is supposed to be a funny blog! And one about writing. I did well today--I've started a collab with one of my friends, which is going well. And AQR is REALLY going well. I've got a few great one-liners in there, and my MC, Deran, has now been knocked over by a flying pig, trapped in a hole by bandits and hit in the face with a pie. And it's all the fault of his sidekick, Fernet the jester.

It's interesting, the theme of this novel. It's about a teenager--Fernet--growing up (thought it's from Deran's POV). He's brilliant, that's the thing, but he can't read or do anything useful except talk his way out of things. Typical teen. He grows and matures as the book progresses, as does Deran the old knight (well, oldER). They both gain confidence. It's almost a father-son kind of thing. It's kind of complicated, but... I just love it.

The Quest Assistant needs a bit of help, though. Some unraveling, as it were. I'll straighten it out eventually--I just need a long break from it, I think. That should do it.

Aside from that, life is good. Life is always good when my writing is good. Because writing is my life. Sorta...

2003-09-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000
MOOD: happy

Well, I took out A Queen's Ransom again today and have been fiddling with it, giving TQA a bit of time to rest and recuperate. I've really mangled that manuscript lately... oh, well, it's all for the better. I love the character of Remin--he's a new one.

As to AQR (A Queen's Ransom), it's going WELL. I've finally found a way to get Fernet and Deran out of the hole with the bandits! Woohoo! Let me tell you, it took some serious maneuvering and the creation of a (fake) other dimension. Whew. But it was a lot of fun, nevertheless. And I have a new character... fun! Although Deran and Fernet, poor things, will be in for a serious shock when they reach the next town and find out the king has put them up as wanted criminals... and all because he doesn't really want them to rescue his wife. How evil he is.

Ah, what the heck. I've feeling the urge to put some quotes from TQA in here... here goes:

“It’s easy to tell what’s good and evil,” Andal said. “The question is why.”

***************

"In the distance, through the smoke, Taff could make out the silhouette of something that was either a large airborne rabbit--a green and purple rabbit--or, more likely, a dragon."

**********

"It’s too bad the unvirtuous can’t get what they deserve--since, after all, who says the virtuous deserve better? Who can say who deserves what, anyway?" --Taff

*********

“People are easy to figure out,” Taff said. “Everyone wants something. Money, power, love, sex. That’s about it. You just have to play off those wants and you’re a winner.”
“There are no winners,” Remin said. “Just the endless balance of chemicals and fluids and mixing. It’s a subtle balance, and it often tips. People are hard to figure and harder to predict.”
“You just don’t have enough practice in the real world.” Taff snorted. “People are easy to figure and predict. For example, Andal... he just wants honor and truth and goodness. And he wants to know why things are evil, isn’t that strange?” Taff trailed off.
“Not so simple, is he?” Remin said, staring at her with eyes sunk deep into his emaciated skull.

2003-09-29T21:28:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 500
nevertheless... MOOD: happy, philosophical

Yes, indeed, I am in a philosophical mood. And it shows in my writing. Let's see... to excerpt or not excerpt? I think not. You'll just have to wait until I'm published for that, my reader(s). If I'm published. Let me just say that since my revelation (see the below letter to my friend), I've been a little more serious with my writing. I'm into some heavy philosophical concepts, like fairness and human worth, and I think (hope) it's making my book richer.

So that's my day. I wrote, I did homework, I watched Futurama, I chatted at Hollylisle.com.... all in all, a pretty typical day. I'm calling it quits unusually early--it's only 12:44 AM--because man, am I tired.

2003-09-25T21:38:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000
MOOD: contemplative

I would like to share with you a letter I wrote to a friend.

"You know something else? I don't really agree with you. I think I NEED to develop the characters a little more--Taff, especially, since she's the MC. You may not like the story as much; it may not end up as light, fluffy comedy, mainly because I think there are some serious emotions underlying it and THERE ISN'T ALWAYS AN EASY , FUNNY ANSWER. There are complicated moral problems in TQA--Fate, beliefs, good and evil, lying, isolation... not to mention the economic problems and morality of THAT. It's just become something much bigger than it was to start with, and I can accept it if it's not your kind of book anymore, you know? Maybe your tastes tend toward the light-and-fluffy brand of humor, and that's cool with me. Call me an idealist, but I like the heavier stuff, the stuff that means something, and I CANNOT write if it doesn't mean something to me.

You're right about the Taff and Andal romance, true. It's more of a friendship than a romance. But it's a complicated friendship. And, OK, if not really ANGST-RIDDEN, it DOES need to be seriously looked at.

I AM listening to what you're saying; I agree with some of it. But now I've rewritten up to the point where Wick came in, and from there I really have to rewrite, since, after all, I am cutting a whole character... but I do understand the gist of what you're saying. I will stop with the heavy stuff--I've just been under stress lately, which makes me want to write angst. It's my own personal stuff. No problem. I can and will steer it more toward the light comedy side--but I DO WANT IT TO MEAN SOMETHING! I want people to read it a few times and say "Hey. There's something in this that means something to me, something that illuminates some part of life, in all its complexity." Isn't that what every writer wants?

OK, sure. I want to be funny; hell, yes! But it's tough. It's tough to be funny when my characters are feeling real emotion and real pain. See, I'm just up to the part where Andal finds out Taff betrayed him, and it isn't so pretty, but what's important in writing is being honest, and that means not making sad parts funny. That's just as bad as lying. It sucks, in other words.

I don't want to argue with you about this. I really, really don't. I just feel a little lost... I mean, OK... here I am, right? Writing TQA. I have my first draft; Steve has told me in no uncertain terms that it SUCKS. I have part of my second draft; I don't know if that sucks as much. It's got more funny stuff in it, for one thing. It's got a clearer plot... I think. All in all, I'm feeling really unsure about it, and then you come along and tell me to scrap the rewrite and go with the original. I have BLED for this--LITERALLY. Some days I've typed so much my fingers have blistered. I have worked HARD.

These characters mean something to me.

Let me tell you about them so you can understand a little better (although, knowing you, you probably understand already; you're a wise person. Still, indulge me, please).

Taff is a thief. Her parents abandoned her at age three and since then, she had trusted no one. I know how she feels. Can you imagine growing up without parents? On the streets of, say, a more primitive New York? She doesn't trust anyone, and with good cause. She doesn't care about anyone. Can you imagine how lonely it must be to have no friends; quite literally NO ONE you can trust? Taff becomes just as hardened as anyone out there; she becomes a swindler. And then Andal comes along. For some reason--some indefinable reason--she decides to go on his Quest. She thinks she's only in it for the treasure, but is she? Can the hope for treasure alone sustain her on a life-threatening Quest? Of course not. She is drawn to ANDAL. To his goodness, to his spirit if you will; blame the Fates perhaps (yes, the Fates are real in this world). But she goes with him. And at the same time as she's slowly falling in love--or not in love, because what's between them ISN'T love, it's friendship--she's slowly falling in love with his idealism, his hopefulness, his goodness. And something inside her lets her become like him.

Andal, on the other hand, is pure goodness, without much intellect. Try to imagine someone like that. He is like a child, isn't he? All innocence. All wonder. All honesty.

Rupert, on yet another hand, does not care for love, innocence, wonder or honesty. He wants FAIRNESS. And life isn't fair, so anyone who insists on fairness is, by definition, AGAINST LIFE ITSELF. He is evil. He is idealism corrupted.

Can you understand how much these characters mean to me? They are almost not characters. They are almost people. Taff and her loneliness that is almost but never quite expressed. Andal and his purity. Even Rupert and his misguided attempt to make the world a fair and balanced place--an attempt that only causes economic inflation and chaos. These people are so real to me. I can see them in my head. Call me crazy (and some people have) but they seem real to me. How can I not write about them truthfully and compassionately? How can I make them into playthings for a private farce I am putting on? I can't. I really can't. I can make the book humorous, because I believe life itself is humorous when seen in the right light and described in the right words. I cannot make the book light and fluffy, because that would deny these people the fullness of their lives.

I can lie to my parents, and God knows I have. I can lie to my brother, to my teachers, even to my friends. But I cannot lie in my writing. To lie and do away with the real problems my characters face would be to discredit them. Imagine your life, all right? Imagine it now with the roles of your parents, friends and relatived played by rubber-masked comedians dancing on puppet-strings, playing their individual parts with perfect grace and hilarity, where all your problems were met with rubber-mask laughter.

You would go mad. Or at very least you would be forced into the madness that is perpetual comedy, that madness that is the puppet-string dance of the false family, the false friends, those comedians playing the parts of real people.

I don't want that for Taff and Andal. I want them to live real lives, because they deserve it and the people who eventually read the story I write will deserve to read about real people and not puppets.

There is a humor that comes with compassion and understanding of one's characters. There is a gentler humor, a humor sometimes met with loud and raucous laughter but ALWAYS laughter that comes from the heart. There is humor in real life if you look closely enough. It's no coincidence that humor is the hardest genre to write. Because real humor, good humor, comes from telling the truth. This truth may be funny and it may be farfetched (and Heaven knows, some of the stuff in TQA... ;P). But it has to be real.

I hope I've managed to show you some small piece of myself. Because, after all, isn't that what writing is? We put a piece of ourselves on paper and let it fly out into the world like a paper airplane with a note written on it, you know? The one kids throw in class. We let it fly and wait for a reply from the wind.

-Samantha"

2003-09-21T20:33:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000 and change
MOOD: happy

Hm. Not so contemplative as yesterday. Actually had a good discussion with my father today... he's a wonderful person.

Well, I have nothing better to do, so.... here's a snippet from The Quest Assistant! I really enjoyed writing it. Man, I'm having fun with this book.

So, basically, Taff is pretending to be a Quest Assistant. She's really a swindler. There's economic inflation in the land due to the spread of the golden touch. Any questions? Good. Here's the snippet.

Taff shook her empty mug of ale and called for another. “Say,” she said, while she was waiting for a refill, “I wonder what that windmill is for.”
For some reason, this brought a roar of laughter from the other patrons of the inn, who had formerly been an unduly sober and silent lot.
“She wants t’know about the magical windmill!” one man called out.
The innkeep Bern, usually a dour fellow, smiled, exposing a multitude of cracked, broken and stained teeth. It was not a pretty sight. “So let’s tell her about the magical windmill,” he said.
Taff shot a nonplussed look at Andal, who only shrugged.
“I don’t know what they’re talking about,” he whispered.
“Me neither,” Taff whispered back.
“Let’s listen.”
And they did listen as Bern cleared his throat, leaned on the bar and started telling the tale of the magical windmill of Hamsterbury.
“Once upon a time,” he started, only to be drowned out by boos and hisses.
“It was three weeks ago, ya idiot!” called one inn patron.
“It’s a story, damn it!” snapped the innkeep. “I can tell it like I like to!” He glared around at the patrons of the Inn of the Small Furry Rodent. “Now are yous gonna listen, or do I gotta throw you out of my inn?”
There was some meek mumbling from the inngoers, and Bern settled down to telling the story.
“Once upon a time,” he emphasized, glaring at everyone in the inn, “there was a town, not unlike this town--in fact, who’m I kidding? It was this town. And the people of the town were poor. Dirt-poor, dammit! You couldn’t sell a pint of ale without takin’ a man’s life savings!”
“Aye!” chorused the patrons of the inn.
“Shut up,” Bern snapped. He cleared his throat and continued. “Anyways, we decided we had to do something about it. What with inflation, prices were just too high and we had to have some way o’ getting more gold. That or lowering prices, but we decided getting more gold was better. So we went to the government, see.”
“Boo!” Taff shouted. As a rule, she disapproved of the government and its harsh laws against stealing and other illegal pursuits.
“Shut up!” Bern swiveled to glare at Taff over the bartop, then went on with his story. “But the king wouldn’t give us a subsidy or nothing like that. So we cooked up a scheme, see.”
Taff raised her eyebrows and leaned toward the innkeep. As a rule, she approved of schemes.
“The scheme was simple,” Bern went on. “We’d just start a project that’d get us governmental funding!”
“Aye!”
“Shut up!” Bern poured himself a tankard of ale. He took a swig, set the tankard down with a plunk, and wiped his mouth. “We thought of the perfect project,” he said. “Real ironic and all that. Listen, this is a good one: a mill that turns air into gold!”
“But that would never work!” Taff broke in. “You’d need a fairy for that, and fairies are--”
“Illegal, I know,” the innkeep said. “Right. But, see, we didn’t need it to work.”
“Actually,” Taff murmured, reconsidering, “if it had worked, it would have caused more inflation.”
“So,” Bern went on, ignoring her, “We built the mill after getting forty thousand gold from the king’s financial advisor, who thought the whole thing was a real good idea. And when, after a week, the mill didn’t work--y’know, didn’t make gold from air--well, we knew it wouldn’t. So we asked for a governmental subsidy and got it! And every week since then (though it’s only been two weeks) we’ve gotten a subsidy for the windmill that weren’t supposed to work!”
There was general laughter in the inn.
“Shut up!” barked Bern. “I hadn’t got to the good last line yet.” He paused dramatically, then delivered the line with a smirk on his weathered face. “So I guess we Hamsterburians have proved it really is possible to make gold out of thin air.”
He paused significantly.
“No, you didn’t,” Taff broke in. “You just stole money from all the taxpayers in the realm!”
Bern squinted at her. “You’re a funny one to talk about stealin,’” he grunted. “Speaking of, you look familiar. You aren’t--”
“Taff?” Taff said. “Oh, no. I’m her twin.”
“You look just like her!”
“That’s the thing about twins,” Taff said. “Anyway, she--my twin--became a swindler and I became a Quest Assistant.”
The innkeep nodded in grudging understanding. “All right.”
“All right!” Taff said.
“Now,” said Bern, “who wants some small furry rodent stew?”
“Is the fur included in that?” Andal asked tentatively. Taff snorted in laughter.

2003-09-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,000 yesterday, a nice tabula (er, computer) rasa today
MOOD: contemplative

I was just thinking about the name of my blog. Journal of a Mad Humor Writer. Is that mad as in angry or mad as in insane? I think I'm both, much as I hate to conform to the angry-at-the-world-teenager profile. I would like to think I'm a reasonable individual, albeit one with a one-track mind. Yes, writing is pretty much everything for me.

But I do tend to write angry characters. And that's distasteful to me. Though I must admit Taff's transition (as I see it) in The Quest Assistant from angry to accepting to loving is a fairly beautiful thing. It sort of echoes my own life...

Another reason I just write about writing in this blog is because... well... I don't feel comfortable talking about myself. I've not had your typical wonderful life, though I could not ask for better parents. Now, friends... but that's another story.

Anyway, I actually had a rather major breakthrough on TQA. Taff is... ISOLATED. That's what she is. She doesn't make human connections. Wow. That's sort of like me! Heh. Sort of? Heh.

It's interesting. The Quest Assistant is interesting. I really love the characters, I must say... and I love the premise. It's the execution I'm not too good at.

Anyway, I should sign off before I start in on my really heavy philosophizing. Good night, anyone out there who could possibly be reading this!

2003-09-19T18:20:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000 or thereabouts
MOOD: fairly ecstatic

I've just come from a meeting with a writer--a PUBLISHED writer--friend of mine. Now, this person has been very harsh with my writing in the past... he tells it like it is. And today he had almost nothing but compliments for me! He was reading my short story, Being An Epic Hero Isn't Easy... and he said really good things about it. He also said he wanted to help me come into the publishing world as the next big sensation, which is... exciting, to say the least! I mean, here I am, pretty young... already with three (bad) novels under my belt and several other (good) novels underway.

Speaking of novels, I just had an epiphany on two separate ones. One I've snippeted here--A Queen's Ransom, I'm calling it now. And it's going well. I like the characters, I like the plot... even if I have basically no idea how it's going... but that's OK. Surprises are good.

Aside from that, The Quest Assistant is going VERY well. Just had an insight into Taff--she can't make connections with people. She's a loner. She's never been in love, never really had friends... being a thief is lonely. But Taff's problem is deeper than that, really... she was abandoned as a baby, and grew up on the streets with serious distrust issues. So... yeah... I like this. I have a better handle on her character now... you have NO IDEA how big a step forward this is for me. Or maybe, if you've ever written a novel, you do have an idea. Before, Taff was sort of... directionless... as a character. Now I have plot, I have meaning... I understand the story, and it works on more levels than it did before. On the whole, I'm quite satisfied with it.

And satisfied with life in general, though I saw a really bad movie. Oh, well. Lost In Translation. Bill Murray. Man, he's good, but not even he could make that movie come out OK. It was basically just a lot of people sitting around and emitting a disproportionate number of sighs.

2003-09-12T17:04:00.000-07:00

I missed September 11th due to blogging problems, but I cannot find a similar excuse for my missing my friend's birthday, which falls on the same date. Now how's that for a birthday these days: 9/11.

But seriously (and believe me, I'm not often serious), I think we should remember 9/11 as a sad day, a day the sadness of which I personally cannot share with the family and friends of the 3,000 dead. Despite this, I can say that the horror of these deaths transcends politics and, at the same time, does not (as what, after all, CAN transcend politics?).

The fact of the matter is, people are killed by terrorists every DAY in Israel. People die, or are horribly wounded, which is arguably worse than death, not that (thank God) I've ever had cause to find out. People are killed every day by horrible dictators in Africa and the Middle East.

Don't tell ME America has no right to avenge the deaths of 9/11 or any other day. Think about what sort of utterly despicable people would commit acts of terrorism such as those that occurred on 9/11, those that occur in Iraq, those that occur in Israel. Can you rightfully say these are people who do not deserve death?

Too distraught to write today. Somehow, I can't find much humor in recent world events. Go figure.

And I'm just plain too tired... school is really WORK this year. We're reading the Odyssey, for one thing--wow, what a great story. And also, somehow, fundamentally flawed... I'll have to finish it and get back to you on that.

Anyway, I realize I've gone off on a tangent up there. Forgive me my ranting. I mean, what's a blog for?

Actually, writing is going pretty well on the whole. I got a PERSONAL LETTER from F & SF! A rejection, of course, but still--I'm not too upset about it! And I have an interesting idea for the rest of Heroism and Other Insanity. In fact, we all need a little humor, don't we? School, 9/11... Israel trying to exile Arafat... but enough about world events. On to the silly and completely inane writing snippet! This one brought to you by Bob's Shield Cleaner. For shields clean enough to cook out of and not admit you did it to your big, manly friends! Ha ha!

This is a very short excerpt from the very beginning (the prologue, in fact) of Heroism and Other Insanity:

The Great Hero Sir Abran was a great hero indeed. By the age of twenty, he had defeated six armies single-handedly--not an easy feat in a land with only three countries, but he managed it, mainly because King Mallan massed his forces in three small bunches for two attacks, all of which were defeated by the courageous Sir Abran. Sir Abran also defeated no less than fifty-eight dragons using strength and guile in various combinations. He defeated imps as well, too many to be mentioned (some experts guessed the numbers of defeated imps to be in the thousands; ever since Sir Abran’s great battles with the imps, they have become an endangered species). Sir Abran defeated trolls, he defeated ogres, even a few giants and one or two fairies who had gone evil.

Sir Abran was powerless against only one thing. His fans. Sir Abran had fans in the thousands, fans by the millions, and that’s saying something, since the population of Glupzia is only about 50,000.

2003-09-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000
MOOD: contemplative, tired, mostly happy--why am I always happy? Must come with the whole 'humor writer' thing, though when I think about it, that's not really true...

Anyway, here I am. Writing is going well, school is... well, going. Not too much homework, thankfully. Chemisty is nice. English is interesting, though there's too much study of poetry for me.

But enough about school. On to more important things, like writing. Yes, I have a SNIPPET! I've just thought up this interesting idea about a vampiric unicorn addicted to blood and the VUA... Vampiric Unicorns Anonymous. Well, anyway, the vampiric unicorn's name is Bernie. So, here's the snippet (from Heroism and Other Insanity, the story with the hero and the inescapable fans):

Bernie noticed the blood spatters. “Oh, my carrots,” he muttered. “I’ll never get that stain out. Do you know how hard it is to wash bloodstains out of white unicorn hide? Do you?”

Reva had to admit she hadn’t had much experience washing bloodstains out of white unicorn hide.

“Well, you will now,” Bernie said, trying to shake some of the worst of the spatter out of his mane, without much success. “You’re going to wash me at the first stream we come to. I can’t stand having all this blood on me... brings out my cravings... cravings...” The unicorn shuddered. “I just drank blood, and I wasn’t going to drink blood, but now that I’ve broken that promise to myself I might as well go massacre an entire village, mightn’t I!” He kept mumbling to himself in this manner as they trotted off through the night in the approximate direction of the village of Plutzia.

2003-09-07T03:10:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 1,000 so far today, only 2,000 yesterday
MOOD: happy, nervous

School starts tomorrow. I'm really nervous. I mean, this is a big change--I haven't really been writing and going to school at the same time since, well, last year, and anyone who knows me--or has seen my grades--knows how well THAT panned out.

Oh, well. Writing is going well, at least--now that I've stopped juggling sixteen projects at once! I am still juggling quite a few, though. I mean, I gave up The Illusionist, I gave up Confessions of a Jester, but I'm still working on The Quest Assistant--though I will change it a LOT--A Queen's Ransom and Heroism and Other Insanity. Nice title, no?

Oh, yes--Heroism and Other Insanity is a new one for me. It's rather interesting--it's based on my short story (which I sent in to F & SF, no less!! Bet I get rejected) about an epic hero with way, way too many fans. Hehe. So Heroism and Other Insanity is about this hero and his fan who ends up going on a quest with him. Long story there, involving a goat, a magic ring and two magicians, not to mention a teacher's union. It's funny. I've been compared to Terry Pratchett over it, which is REALLY odd considering I've never read Pratchett! Maybe I should, what say?

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about that saying, you know, that you have to put ALL of yourself into every book? Well, I'm not really doing that, I guess. And I should. I really should put more of myself than I am into my books. Like, for example, Heroism and Other Insanity. I need to really get IN CHARACTER for Reva, though Abran is pretty easy. Reva, though... she's like me, a little. It shouldn't be too hard. I hope.

2003-08-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

2003-08-27T21:01:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 4,500
MOOD: happy! Is it me, or have I been happy for a disproportionate amount of time lately, considering I have to completely rewrite a novel?

Well, anyway, I've started a new novel... It doesn't have a title, per se. Actually, it doesn't have a title, period. It's about this queen who get kidnapped by a chinchilla-loving Lord of Evil... and the king sends the two most unlikely heroes imaginable to get her back, because he doesn't really WANT her back--she's so annoying. The two heroes are a gambling addict jester named Fernet who's in love with the queen and an old drunken knight named Deran. So yes, that's my story. The one I was talking about yesterday, I believe. Well, now I've outlined it--basically--and let me tell you, there are quite a few plot twists! I can't wait to write it.

And of course, revising The Quest Assistant is starting to look good. I have an idea for a running gag, actually...

NOTE TO SELF: Taff lies incessantly. Dragons. Swamphens. Adventure. Amnesiac, hallucinating Knight.

Ahem. Anyway, here's a snippet of the latest novel I'm working on, the one about the unlikely heroes and the queen:

“And how did you lose all your money, then?” Deran leaned back against the stone wall and shook his flask. Damn. Empty.

“Well, see, I bet Shiren the cook that my chicken could fly higher than his...” Fernet started in on a long and complicated anecdote involving catapults, chicken-flinging and for some reason, cheese knives. Deran decided he really didn’t want to know, and while the boy chattered on, he tried to creep away, intending to get a refill for his wine flask. He’d have to pinch it while the cook wasn’t looking, though; he was pretty well broke, himself.

“Wait!” The jester’s loud whine reverbrated through the courtyard, and Deran sighed, sliding down the wall to sit on the hard ground of the courtyard. His sword hung at an uncomfortable angle at his side, and he was forced to slide back up again, scraping his back against the wall.

“Yes, Fernet?” Deran said with elaborate patience. “What is it?”

“My story! You never let me finish telling it! Listen. So we took the catapults from the armory and decided to load on the chickens and see which one could fly farther. Personally, my vote was on the pure white one--can’t go wrong there--but the cook thought the brown-speckled one was better. So we loaded them into the catapults and then we had the idea that if we were able to trim their feathers just right--that’s what the cheese knives were for--they could fly faster.” Fernet paused and took a breath beforerushing on. “But the cook’s knife slipped...”

Daren rolled his eyes. “So how did you lose the bet? With the cook’s chicken dead?”

“Well...” Fernet paused. “It turned out dead chickens can go faster than live ones when shot out of a catapult. So I lost ten gold gogs, and I need desperately to be reimbursed somehow. And I doubt the king, in his present mood, will decide to give me a week’s pay in advance.”

“No, I doubt that indeed,” Daren said, eyeing the king and queen, who had wandered over to the ornamental fountain in the courtyard and were shouting at each other, their words drowned out by the sound of the rushing water. Deran decided this was probably a good thing. He didn’t really want to hear what the monarchs were saying to each other at that moment.

“Well, I’ll think of a plan somehow,” Fernet said, pushing himself away from the wall and turning to stare at the queen. His forthcoming words were lost somewhere in that moment.

When Fernet had done nothing but stare at Queen Illariana for several minutes straight, Deran tried once again to make his escape, edging quietly off around the corner to the kitchens. Unfortunately, Fernet caught up with him.

2003-08-27T02:37:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,500
MOOD: happy!

Well, here I am. Again. Having pulled yet another all-nighter writing and coming up with ideas... the latest features a lovestruck jester, an old veteran knight, a kidnapped princess and a chinchilla-farming Lord of Evil. Yep. Sounds like a good plan to me. Now I just need to do the worldbuilding and set up a magic system. Not to mention give the Lord of Evil an incentive for keeping the princess alive and unharmed. The ransom, that should do it. I'll figure out the logistics later and start writing. My brain is tired.

NOTE TO SELF: mutant rabbits.

2003-08-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 2,000 (yesterday's total was 6,000)
MOOD: happy with a hint of concern

Hm. I don't know if The Illusionist (hereafter known as TI) will cut it as a full-length novel. I just have to keep telling myself not to stretch it out. Don't stretch it out, Samantha. There we go. It's now a public (semi-public) declaration.

Ooh, you know what? I'm posting an excerpt. Totally florid description, of course. This is the first time I've EVER used such description in a book (well, there isn't much call for it with humor), but I like it. And here it is.

“Trees rose blackly around me, and while I knew in my head it was an Illusion, it seemed so real! I could smell the fruity, dark scent of the forest floor, and the watery tang of sweet spring blossoms. The path was soft beneath my feet, which were bare; I was clad only in a light dress, and yet I was not cold. The air was stagnant and heavy with moisture and the promise of summer growth.
The sun filtered through the trees, just bright enough to make me squint and feel thankful for the trees laying their cool shadows across my face as I walked down the winding path in the forest. It was strange. Some part of me knew I was not truly walking, that I was sitting in my room, but my uncle was indeed a skilled Illusionist. I was deep into the Illusion, and I did not want it to end.

I followed the path to its end, stopping occasionally to touch the rough, damp bark of a tree or listen to the twittering of the birds. At the end, the forest opened into a clearing strewn with wild carrot blossoms and tall grass, which tickled my legs delightfully. And--in the center of the clearing, a unicorn, tall and majestic with a long, shining horn, so pure white as to appear nearly silver.

“Hello,” I whispered, and its head moved in a quick darting motion to look my way. Then, after ducking its head and flipping its white ears back and forth, it started forward toward me, walking with tentative stride, hide glistening in the bright sun. I felt a whisper of wind against my cheek and then the unicorn stood just before me.

“Hello,” I said again, for want of any other words. I was in awe; it was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I stretched one hand out to touch it, to stroke its smooth nose, to feel the smooth horn. The unicorn snorted gently at my touch, but did not move as I ran my hand up its face, along the massive cheekbone and down the jaw. I frowned slightly at the touch of its coat; it was very cold, almost icy. What a strange oversight for my uncle to make. It was jarring, to say the least, and I blinked hard.

“Uncle,” I said aloud, startling the unicorn, which backed away, shaking its head, “I’d like to come out of the Illusion now.”

Yes, see, it's all an Illusion... and the uncle is really evil... does it work? I hope so. Ahem. Anyway, this entry has gotten plenty long. I think I'll go to bed now... it is rather late.

2003-08-26T05:46:00.000-07:00

WORDS: 3,300
MOOD: generally happy, still a bit down over a harsh critique I received from an admittedly subjective source.

Well, I've started a new book. Yes, another. The Illusionist, I'm calling it. I think... well, it's a bit rough, and I don't have the characterization fully down, but it's going well, so far. And it's NOT humor! How absolutely extraordinary. I've written something that isn't humor. AND it's first person past tense, another thing I've literally never done. I may still revert to third person, but I like first. It's rather nice. Now I just have to get my characterization down, perhaps write a few throwaway scenes, and I'm good to go. I've already worked out the magic system and the basic plot, which is also nice.

2,000 words of The Quest Assistant rewrite (completely new words; had to totally redo Chapter Four) so far today, and 1,300 words (give or take) of The Illusionist. That's over 3,000 words so far,and it's not even 9:00 AM... not bad at all. Off to think over my characterization. Man, characterization is hard.

2003-08-25T23:14:00.000-07:00

New blog! Wow, this is exciting... I finally have a blog. Stay posted for Urgent Updates whenever I have a particularly striking idea for a new book... which would be approximately every other hour. Yup. My muse is working overtime. And I'm still trying to edit The Quest Assistant... argh, I love the story but honestly.... WHAT WAS I THINKING, writing that stuff? Especially Chapter Four...

Ahem. Anyway, here I am, blogging with the best of them (maybe the worst of them, come to think of it, but I'm still blogging!). I'm only here to entertain. And post snippets of my work. Advertisements, you see... for when I'm actually published, which would be sometime north of never.