12:37 PM The Wife Unit:
Tigger is on my list right now
OMG I was winding a ball of yarn and he broke it
12:37 PM Anthony:
He’s a cat, honey.
You were playing with his toy.
A few days ago my oldest son asked The Wife Unit: “Just how long did you know Dad before you married him?”
Short #1: Despite ending and starting a new contract (one which keeps me busy, busy, busy), I finished my short I’ve referenced in this post.
It took me two rewrites to get it to a point where I was happy. During the last, the story took on a bleak tone despite the Hero Protagonist being an upbeat, happy-go-lucky guy. Poor Arune. I actually feel bad.
Short stories do not come easily for me, but I can see their value as a way to improve my novel-writing. Hitting a limitation of 7,500 words really threw me for a loop and I agonized for hours over what to cut and what to leave. It’s much easier making a 110k novel a 100k novel than it is to make a 10k short a 7.5k short.
But I did it.
Now for those of you volunteering to read it and wondering what it isn’t in your mailbox, I want The Wife Unit to read it first. Mainly because she proofreads, mainly because, well, she’s The Wife Unit. There are some perks, yanno.
So expect it in yer box, soon. Thank you for your patience.
Short #2: I actually turned in another short, to a brand-spanky-new publication, and had a great conversation with the new editor. The short is an except from my novel Bunny Noir, but it stands alone as far as a short story.
The fun thing, though, before I submitted it, I took this chapter and made it dark. Dark and twisted. It was already a bit gloomy, but I felt compelled to bump it up a notch, and the result, I do believe, is delicious. If it passes muster, I can’t wait to see it in print. Who can resist Lesbian Alien Libertarian Gun Nut Fiction?
Man I love writing, love it a lot. Even when I was pulling my hair out, the end result was worth it.
Have you ever watched a woman reading a book? I’m not talking in a stalker-like way, but just an observation?
If the book is particularly good, she will scrunch up her legs in that “I have my legs under me” way that women sit that is almost impossible for a man to replicate. I’ve tried. I think I hurt myself the last time I tried it.
When The Wife Unit gets going into a book, I’ll sometimes watch her because it’s one of the few times I can stare at her and she won’t notice. And she’s totally stare worthy.
I have it in my mind that the novels I write are “scrunch worthy.” I simply want more than engrossment, I’m after that feminine contortionist book sit.
There’s another effect I’m going for, the “I must finish this chapter before I pee” effect.
Not too sure that is woman specific. But I have observed several women bouncing in their chairs while reading a book, only to set it down and go running.
Scrunched legs and hold the pee. I’m a male novelist with ambition.
Click for PVP Snirk.
My little blog is one year old today.
I’ve learned a lot, picked up a blog harem, made a few mistakes, but persistence pays off. Every now and then, someone will query on “Anthony Pacheco Hack Writer”, and that will take him or her to… (wait for it)… ME!
If it is one thing I am appreciative of, is the friends I have made that have stuck to this online gig. I’ve had blogs I’ve followed where the authors stopped blogging.
And I felt loss. I never met them, but I missed them. And still do.
Please, don’t go.
Because I will cry.
So many fellow blogger people to thank and appreciate, I’ll just babble:
J.C. Heart: Her daughter is the Cutest. Baby. Ever. I love to just check in and read her blog. And if J.C. can squirt out a baby and keep writing, we all have no excuses to stop.
Alex Moore: We all knew of her writing talents and she was eventually outed as a beautiful woman. I only wish she posted more! And she occasionally sends me gun porn. How cool is that? I will tell you how cool. It’s WAY COOL.
B J Keltz: One of the most generous souls out there.
Courtney Summers: man I love Courtney’s writing, and she’s such a nice person.
Gary Corby: Gary is a classic literary pusher. The blog posts are always free. If you want the book, well, you have to wait. I have a severe case of Book Lust going here, which almost dives into “stalker” territory.
Larry Correia: A writer who dives into the political rant, Larry so gets his audience. Larry is spooky that way. Larry is going places.
Mornara’s Weblog: Joe, or whatever she is calling herself this month (heeee) has a nifty little blog going that got niftier now that she updates it frequently.
To all these people and the ones I didn’t list (because you stopped posting or I ran out of time or you’re an agent who doesn’t need to be poked at or whatever), thank you very much.
And, lastly, my most heartfelt thanks go to The Wife Unit, the ever beautiful Southern Lady and Wonder Mommy. I can think of no other existence than what I have now.
Well, maybe a published book or two. I think she would like that.
The Wife Unit: I lost track of time reading your book!
Hack Writer: He he he!
Wife Unit: And it has a lot of sex in it!
Hack Writer: He he he! I intentionally went out of the way to be provocative.
Wife Unit: And your main character is crazy!
Hack Writer: He he he!
Hack Writer: So blogging this.
Wife Unit: …
Hack Writer: He he he! It’s the little things that count.
I glance over at The Wife Unit. She is closing some YA Fantasy novel. Then she glares at me!
“You writers! With your cliffhangers! I am annoyed.”
“Ha. Well, are you annoyed that you will never read that author’s books again, or annoyed that you have to wait until the next book comes out?”
“This is the next book! It’s in hardcover.”
“Are you going to buy the next book or not?”
“Well, the author wins. He wins writing. You are annoyed only in that you don’t have the next book in the series. Ha ha ha!”
“I am so blogging this.”
Spring is here and I am crying.
Not because I’m sad, but because allergies suck, my eyes water. So consider this the Crying Blog. Only, um, I’m not dressed as a woman. Because that would make you laugh and I am already funny looking as it is.
Yesterday, as I was brushing my teeth before bed (mmm, mint), I was thinking of a scene where two people are talking while brushing their teeth. How would the dialog actually go? After all, these two have toothbrushes stuffed in their mouths. Why are they brushing their teeth together? Are they lovers? Married lovers? Comfortable roommates? Sisters? And what type of dialog would be important enough to have someone brush their teeth and talk at the same time? Are these sisters talking about their boyfriends? What would be the conflict? Obviously, brushing together has some type of familiarity, otherwise…
And that is when it hits me.
I am a man obsessed: obsessed by writing, by telling a story through writing.
Writing invades my thoughts constantly. Even when I talk to The Wife Unit, God help me. For example, today, there is some roof guy coming out to look at our roof. We think one of the skylights may be leaking. Because that is what skylights do in the Pacific Northwest, other than letting in cloud-filtered light in the winter.
Anyway, she’s talking to me about the roof. This is serious business. If you own your own home, the roof has to be good. Or you are screwed. But I digress. One ear is listening to The Wife Unit. But I am also thinking about a different roof problem. What if the roof guy, just minding his own business, discovers the leak is caused by a hole. A rock sized hole. And there, in the attic, is a rock.
From space. But he doesn’t know that.
He picks it up. There is a symbol on this rock. He shrugs, puts it in his pocket, and fixes the roof with a patch, some felt and three new shingles. That will be $300 ma’am, have a nice day. You sure are cute, but I see the gun safe so the husband has the potential to take any flirty banter the wrong way, so I’ll just be polite. Man I love an hour-and-a half of work for $300.
The roof guy leaves. He puts the rock in his toolkit; he assumes it came from one of the windstorms. He forgets about the rock.
But the rock hasn’t forgotten about him!
My entire day goes like this.
In a way, I feel I am blessed. For one, The Wife Unit has yet to hit me on the head with a heavy steel cooking pan (one wonders if she has thought about this, however). I could also have worse obsessions, like 17-22 year old baristas at the coffee shop. Er, wait. I could have worse obsessions, but sometimes I wish writing was less like a sneeze. Once the sneeze starts, you just gotta let it out. Otherwise, it comes across as a chocking snort that doesn’t feel good, rattles your head, and gives you a headache.
Thank you, I am. I really really am, and I smile everyday my fingers touch the keyboard.