Quick post before I run back to work!

Here is the Wordle of Karma Police, which I think broke 120k last night. (I’m so worried about the fact that “like” made it into the wordle. I AM ENTIRELY COVERED IN SHAME.)

No, that word count is not a good thing, but at least I’m not breaking 200k yet, which is where I was with Expendables. Yay Epics?

I have now reached the happy place where I both hate and love this book with a kind of weary passion. We’ve been together for almost two years, and it keeps trying to get away. But I am still too stubborn for that. ^_^

Have an excerpt. Sorry about the language, Ewan is, just that way.

Adam had left the lamp on. It shone away in the corner of the room, right in the corner of his eye. Ewan considered throwing a pillow at it to stop the stupid hateful light, but decided burning to death in the inevitable fire wasn’t worth it. He got up and turned the thing off, and then someone knocked on the door. He yanked it open. “What now?!” He growled at the person on the other side.

The person on the other side was not Adam. Ethan and a short, curly haired girl were standing there arm in arm, a little wide-eyed. He cleared his throat. “H-hi, Ewan. Up for a stroll?”

Ewan reflected that maybe he should have kept his shirt on before he went to sleep, but how was he supposed to know Ethan was gonna take his girls calling? “No.” He said shortly, crossing his arms. “Who’s your new lady friend?” He looked her over, taking stock of the mittens on strings, the scarf striped and pompomed in five colours, and the knitted hat with a pattern of happy sheep. “What is she, twelve?”

She glared at him under her eyebrows. “I’m fifteen.”

“Good job.” Ewan nodded, then looked at Ethan. “She’s fifteen. Is that even legal?”

“This is Islay.” Ethan said tightly. “Islay, Ewan, Ewan, Islay. We’re all friends here, and we’re all legal. Right?”

Ewan looked at him, eyes half-closed. “Why are you here?”

“To visit my only friends in town, and to take a walk.” Ethan was somewhat standing in front of his girl now. He grinned. A very believable grin, as usual. “Islay knows all the nice places, and last time we talked, it looked like you weren’t getting out enough. Coming out? We can wait.”

And now the fifteen year old semi-nerd was telling him what to do- again. Ewan flipped him the finger. “Like hell.”

Right now plotting feels like trying to solve this.

(Have I mentioned I’m no good at Rubix cubes?)

You know that part where you grimly hate your story, you seem to do nothing except stare at a word doc (Okay, pages document) and everything that drivels out of your brain is basically brain-mush? (FUNNY, THAT.) Yep, I’m here. Me and Karma Police, we’re here.

*repeated banging of head against table*

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY DID I EVER THINK THIS WAS A GOOD STORY? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY????????????????????

Fortunately, none of my alpha readers seem to actually be reading the story. So I chortle madly over my computer and make extravagant promises to myself to fix it before they reach it. It’ll be GOOD, see? Only far, far in to the future. FARRRRRR into the future. Hehehe. Maybe when I’m old and gray and have fourteen cats, a fragile plant and a ferret. Then it’ll be done and I can let it out into the world again. Hehehehe.

Seriously though. When I’m planning a story? I REALLY need to keep it more cheerful. Anytime I decide I need to add comic relief by throwing in a teenage marriage, things are going wrooooooong. Also, lol unintentional sketch. You’d think by marrying a guy off things would be less prone to awkwardness? No, that only counts when the character is not as GIFTED with awkwardness as mine are. It’s a gift, really.

And I got Hex Hall and War Of the Flowers and Nova War and Hundred Thousand Kingdoms in the mail today, along with others, and I really really want to hole up with them and some tea and never come out no more. But I’m not allowed until this draft is done.

My life is AAAAAAAAAGONYYYYYYYYYY. *abject weeping*

Excuse for my absence?

Eowyn wins at life.


Ahem. I just had to put that up there. ^_^


Despite what it may appear on the internet, I have not forgotten about this blog. I have merely been WRITING.


Er, attempting to write. See, 25% of the workforce at my place of employment has been off sick, so I’ve been upgraded from part time to almost full time. Which I’m not entirely used to, and also I’ve been trying to finish the first draft of Karma Police by the end of the month. That appears to be a hope as realistic as the one that says that I’m going to get up at six in the morning, but it’s not the end of the month yet, so I still retain it.

So yes. That’s my excuse. 😀 I will have MANY reviews and maybe even some excerpts for you! Later. Maybe next month?

(Or whenever I get tired of staring at a blank word doc and retreat to the internet.)

My shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me.

Dearly Beloved, I am beat out.

I wrote 1687 words today, of which all are trash and more are insane. I have completely lost my grip on grammar, and music only goes so far to keep my brain inside my veins.

I should not have tried to read Wintergirls. That was a mistake, and my internal organs have not commenced feeling calm again. In other news, I have to wear long sleeves to work because I keep doodling ink on my arms, and that is not “professional.” (Seemingly there are such things as “appearances” to keep up. Who knew?)

But in writing news, I fear greatly my end-of-march deadline. Today- people lied and Nanami saw. (Or did she?) All that research about prisons, and it came to naught.

World-building revelation of the hour- phones are electric. DARN IT. So is the internal combustion engine, and radios. So I’m thinking of a nice way to use some electrics but not alls? Or perhaps I’ll just leave that for times when I am less insane. Ah-hah.

Upcoming events- Ewan defines his insults, Adam is rejected and therefore despairs, Laura is calm and probably cuddling ensues, and Ethan goes dancing. Or maybe I’ll just nuke the world. NO WEDDINGS FOR YOUSE. ALL DEATH.

Oh Midas-in-a-bottle-for-drinkable-end, I need to sleep. If anyone can make sense of what I wrote today- they should probably be committed.

I really need to rename Ethan. Does anyone have any ideas?

"Who is the love and who is the knife."

Word count: 1,593

Overall: I’m kinda stuck between hating PASSIONATELY what I’m writing now, and being struck by the glory of how much better it’ll be when I rewrite. And granted, that will probably be my attitude when I’m re-writing. (oh, this will be so much better next time!) but it helps to make me feel pleasantly schizophrenic.

Today: Ethan still has a lock on being cute, Mister Theyneker is uncaring about you or your pain, and Islay is cuter. Also, Laura is a woman of steel.

Upcoming: Ewan throws up (yay!) Adam questions his faith cause girls don’t like him, and Ethan finds that he doesn’t like newspapers.

This is your mind calling. You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?

I found this outline in my files the other day. I think it’s for Karma Police, but I still have no idea what it’s supposed to be talking about. I thought I’d share the logic. 😛

Plot outline

  1. recruitment
  2. terrorist?
  3. built tension and discovery with the life stuff in this world
  4. DISCOVERY?
  5. capture is love
  6. indépendant assignements
  7. (also they have to get the kids out of the claws of the unholiness while they arrest people)
  8. discovery of evil girl
  9. get her out
  10. we’ve got friends
  11. (they were watched, they know this)
  12. (how watching? Explain)
  13. go to the unholiness
  14. get her out
  15. (figure out how)
  16. reveal that they’ve been being used?
  17. I weep for us all

SCRATCH THAT
Moving on.

Sorry for the extremely erratic updates lately.

I have no real excuse other than my inherent fail. Which I use as an excuse whenever possible. 😀

Anyhow, I wrote today. *is proud*

I love it so much when things work out! It just makes me happy inside. In fact, I want to write much more, but I keep having to pick my head up off the keyboard. Ahem. Now if I can just sustain this love for writing for tomorrow…

Stats;

  • Words: 2309.
  • Scenes. 1. Hehehe. You thought I did more? No. No dice, I’m not feeling the seduction yet. 
  • Thoughts. Ewan is silly and has a little brother, I now know. Hurrah for discoveries. Also, I get to use glowing mushrooms and my unholy trio! Delight!
Here, it’s been too long since you had an excerpt. Have one. ^_^

“That was a nice thing you did for Morgan.”

He flinched. The stupid girl was still in the room. Okay, maybe not so stupid- she had given him food- but he still didn’t like her presence. “Wha?” He sneaked a sidelong glance at Janet, still sitting on the table, still looking dangerous. Not dangerous in a hey-here’s-a-girl way, but in a hey-here’s-a-girl-who-knows-how-to-use-sharp-things-and-isn’t-scared-of-heights-oh-god-i’m-so-dead kind of way.

She raised her eyebrows. “Jumping into a fight for him?”

So that was where he’d known the boy. The train had stopped at a pathetic excuse for a station by an aerofield, and he’d gotten off in search of some beer or other food. There’d been a fight going on, he’d gone over to look at it, and found it was five farm boys beating the snot out of a little red-haired boy. He’d taken a swing at the largest blonde with the brains of an ox and the muscles to match, and ended up with his leather jacket- and billfold- gone for his pains. He’d even almost missed the train. Ewan grunted in answer.

“Why’d you do it?” She’d taken a little knife with a white blade from the kitchen counter, and was trimming her nails with it. “S’not like you’re a nice person, just serving justice or someat.”

Ewan showed his teeth in an almost mirthful grin. “Maybe I just like a fight?” Funnily enough, he got the impression that she didn’t mean “not a nice person” as an insult, exactly. Or maybe that was just hope that she wouldn’t cut off his fingers right here and leave him to bleed out.

“Probably.” She stood up. “No fighting here, or I’ll have to pull those rings out of your face.”

Ewan raised eyebrows ornamented with the rings in question. “Do you always resort to threats to get your way?”

Janet laughed cheerfully and dropped the knife into the sink. It made a sharp chink as it hit. “No, usually people just do what I say. I have to explain m’self and what’ll happen cause you’re new an daft. Come on, greenie, got to get the mail aboard.”