Network FAIL
Networking issues today. You come back tomorrow!
Meanwhile, I blame BJ and Cassie for my current obsession. They egged me on mercilessly, and I am weak. I also cast blame in other directions. Neither Alex nor Kiersten, often my two voices of mature feminine wisdom, have tried to hold the other two back.
Then there is the Wife Unit‘s indifference to my plight. She only wants to see a completed manuscript.
Then my critique partner thinks I am working on The Baby Dancers, when I am not but now I have to finish the chapter and send it out to her before she mails me a box of rabid weasels.
Woe is me! Woe is me I say!
Well you know what, I am going out tonight. With MEN. Where we will do MANLY things, like eat STEAK, drink SCOTCH and play VIDEO GAMES.
Okay, going to press the Publish button now. It may or may not show up on the Interwebs. Perhaps that is a good thing.
Blood… sugar… low…
This day eleven years ago
There I was, dragged, dragged I say to the movie theater to see what would possibly be the chick flicks to end all check flicks. Titanic. The Wife Unit insisted on seeing the movie (when we still went out for movies), and so there we were.
At the time I was sitting there thinking “this has got to be the most retarded movie idea ever”. So, as the lights dim, I lean over to my wife and say, none to quietly,
“Hey, guess what?”
“What?” she asks.
“The ship sinks.”
Oh man I had the wit back then let me tell you.
Three things happen:
The two tweeners in front of us turn to me and I swear shoot TWEENER NINJA EYE DAGGERS (TNED) at me. You would think these maybe-pubescent girls would not know the infamous Female Glare of Doom yet, but I swear I squirmed in my seat and vaguely wondered for my safety. As they turned back, I crossed myself.
Then from behind me a guy (and a complete stranger no less), totally loses it. He starts laughing so hard I can’t help but turn and grin. He has tears streaming down his face. He wife/girlfriend/significant other/spousal equivalent turns in her seat and actually smacks him. TWACK. This shuts him up, and then she turns to me and gives me a look like “you’re next”. I wipe the grin off my face and turn back in my seat.
It’s the Wife Unit’s turn to glare, and LO I FEEL THE ICY ARMAGEDDON APPROACHETH (get it, icy, Titanic, iceberg… never mind). But then she says, raising her voice because some inane preview is on the screen,
“Be QUIET or I will COVER your eyes when they show Kate Winslet’s breasts.”
Well that got my attention.
“Uh, this movie has boobies?”
“Yes!”
“Kate Winslet’s breasts?”
(note even then one did not refer to Kate Winslet’s breasts as mere ‘boobs’)
“Yes! Now BE QUIET!”
Then from behind me I hear,
“Did that woman just say we get to see Kate Winslet’s breasts?”
Followed by a,
THWACK
Followed by the TWEENERS OF DOOM turning in their seats and going,
“Ssssshhhh!”
I am now watching this film with the utmost attention. And yes, the ship sinks.
The lights come on and I stand up because I believe my ears are going to bleed from the Celine Dion song. I turn to my partner in crime, the man behind me. I cannot contain my enthusiasm for this wonderful film. I cannot!
“I can’t belive we got to see Leonardo DiCaprio freeze to death!” I say.
“I can’t believe we got to see Kate Winslet TOTALLY NUDE, Dude!” he says.
We high-five each other, but simultaneously our body temperatures drop due to the combined ICY GLARES OF DOOM from four annoyed females who really really have to pee.
To this day, Best. Movie. Ever. Thus, when I think of that space between Christmas and New Years, I think of movie… magic.
No, it’s six inches.
“I think it’s eight inches.”
“Mmmm, looks like six,” she said.
“Really? It has to be closer to eight.”
“No, it’s six inches.”
“Now you’re just being ornery.”
“If you don’t believe me, go get the yardstick and measure it.”
“Fine.”
So I do.
“Well?”
“Six inches. Exactly.”
“Ha ha!”
I whack the snow off the yardstick and grump off.
The moral of this story? Don’t argue with a Southern Girl over inches.
Why you are not married to the Hack Writer
For context, I present to you some Wife Unit factoids:
- She is blonde
- She used to work for a major software company in Redmond, in which she helped pioneer several technical innovations
- She’s the house math whiz
So there I am, sitting next to the Wife Unit. We are in the process of exchanging snarky banter. Before the thinking part of my brain stops the other portion that dominates me, I reached behind her back, pulled an imaginary string and said “Math is hard!” in a teen girl voice.
Yes, I win the snark contest. That’s all I “won”, the icy Glare of Doom was definitely not a door prize.
What possesses me to do these things? I do not know. I feel so lucky. There is only one person on this planet who puts up with my crap, and I already found her!
By the why, if I go dark here and stop twittering, look for the lump in the backyard.
Pure Drip
I twist the ring on my finger
And smile at the pretty girl
She smiles back, a mix of blue
A mix of blonde
I flirt
She flirts back
I say something witty
She pretends to think
I’m witty
My eyes are warm
The hum of happiness
Is fuel for my passion
In this moment I am alive
I twist the ring on my finger
And smile again at my wife
She smiles back
A mix of blue
A mix of blonde
Why Men Are Not Women
Before We Had Kids (The infamous BWHK years), The Wife Unit and I lived in a large house, which we bought in anticipation of filling it up with rugrats, pets, and the occasional party.
One kid’s bedroom used to be a guest room, which had a nice bed in it, that was all comfy and everything. This soon became the sick room, the room I or the Wife Unit would sleep in while coughing and wheezing or what have you. No need to let the other spousal unit suffer through the night along with you.
One day I got sick, a raging throat infection, some rare virus my doctor explained to me but I have since forgotten for reasons you will soon find out below. Anyway, this was a particularly nasty virus. Breathing was painful. Sitting doing nothing was painful. Eating or drinking liquids was out of the question.
I become dehydrated. I must start drinking liquids or I will be admitted to the hospital so they can stick an IV in me. The doctor gives me hydrocodone, and I torture myself for what seems like hours swallowing the pills.
Only, come to find out, I am allergic to hydrocodone. I will spare you the details of dry-heaving for an hour while it feels like someone is taking a cheese grater and ramming it down your throat repeatedly.
Okay that was a detail but I digress.
Anyway, back to the doctor I go. My doctor is ten years younger than I and does not mess around. He sympathizes with the hydrocodone episode and stamps my file with DON’T GIVE THIS PERSON CODEINE, EVER. Then he prescribes Stadol from an inhaler.
Stadol is an opiate like codeine. It is a drug sometimes given to pregnant women in labor who are having severe pain… AND HORSES.
So I snort the Stadol as soon as the wife comes home with the prescription.
And let me tell you. In a MINUTE I was not feeling any pain at all. None. Zip. Zero Nada. Pain Level Zed.
I drink… something… the wife gives me. I feel soooo much better getting hydrated. I smile at the wife and let her know how much I love her.
“I love you LambChop!”
“I love you too. I think you should try to get some sleep.”
“I love you! Want to have sex?”
“Um, no.”
“But I am feeling so much… where am I, anyway?”
“You’re at home.”
“I thought we were going to the movies?”
“Ooookay let me help you upstairs.”
I wake up to pain. And, it is dark.
PAIN! INHALER! SQUIRT! Ahhhh… … … …
…Oh my God my bladder… Off to the guest bathroom.
Time to wash the hands. Only, where is the bar of soap? Huh. Oh there it is. Who put the soap in a tube? And why does it smell like mint? Oh well. Wash wash wash.
Back in bed. Hmmm this feels nice. Oooo a glass of water on the nightstand. Slurp slurp slurp. Opps. Now there is ice on my pillow. Oh well. Crunch crunch. Bleh. Fuzzy ice.
Lying down again.
Hmmmm, it’s cold.
Okkkay, it’s cold because it’s snowing in the guest bedroom. Soon the duvet is covered in snow.
I’m not exactly a big snow fan, and I hate being cold. So I go downstairs and look at the thermostat. 68 degrees F. Well, that isn’t nearly warm enough. Let me crank that sucker to, oh, I don’t know, 80!
Back up stairs, only it took me a long time to make it up there.
Mmmmm… sleep.
I wake up again. I am sweating. It is hot. My pillow is wet. Why is it so hot?
I crawl downstairs. Standing up makes me a little dizzy, so I crawl to the office, and manage to get into the office chair which conveniently has wheels. And the downstairs conveniently has hardwood. Zooom!
Zooom! Living room window! Let’s open that sucker.
Zooom! Living room window number two!
Zooom! Office window, oh hey I forgot about that one. Let’s open that one too!
Oh, I bet I can turn down the heat. Roll roll roll roll.
Uh. Can’t. Reach. Thermostat.
Um… think think think think… hey I wonder if the wife wants to have sex yet?
Think think think… boobies…
Think think think… why am I in the hallway? Oh, that’s right, the thermostat! AH-HA! I know!
Roll roll roll roll, toilet plunger, roll roll roll roll.
I whack the thermostat with the plunger, weakly, several times. This does not turn off the heat. I do not know why.
Screw this, I’m going to bed.
Roll roll roll roll.
Stairs. That’s a loooooooong way up. How on Earth am I going to get this chair up there?
I flop off the chair and manage, through a Herculean effort, to get it on the landing.
SCREW THIS. If I keep this up I will have NO energy for sex.
Crawling up the stairs isn’t so bad, although I am sure zooming up them with the chair would have been faster.
Okay, halfway there.
Hello kitty cat. Move.
Please move.
OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MOVE YOUR FURRY ASS BEFORE I FALL DOWN THESE STAIRS.
Thank you.
Okay, this is not the bedroom, this is the bonus room. Dork.
Okay now this is the future baby’s room. Dork.
OOoo Baby! You first have sex with the wife, and then the baby comes! NOW WHERE IS THE BEDROOM?
Ooooooo I found a bed.
With a wet pillow.
Why do my knees hurt so much?
Ummm, pain. Oh that’s right, I have something for pain and it is right here.
SQUIRT… Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh…
So what movie are we going to see again?
LambChop?
Pookey?
…
…
…
I am sure my wife found it annoying that the guest bathroom had toothpaste all over it. I wonder what she thought when she also found the furnace was running full blast with the windows open down stairs, the toilet plunger in the middle of the hall and the office chair on the landing?
But she never said anything, only smiled and brought me more water in the morning.
Several years later I was talking to a woman and she mentioned her labor was particularly harsh.
“They gave me Stadol and it didn’t do anything for me.”
Stadol. They sometimes give it to women in labor…
AND HORSES.
Answer me these questions three
Mighty Kiersten asks:
What’s the recipe for Awesomesauce?
Answer:
Awesomesauce is subjective, and how it is used depends on the context. The answer, of course, is simply found via Google.
Kiersten the Great asks:
My husband was commenting on my comments the other day, and said, “And who’s that guy, the one who relates everything to girls and dating?”
To which I laughed and told him you’re a married father of two in your late thirties.
So, my question is, what does The Wife Unit think of stuff like that? I’d like to think I’d be cool with it, but in all honesty, it’d probably hurt my feelings if Hot Stuff was posting on the Barista girls.
(And this isn’t critical–I’m genuinely curious what The Wife Unit thinks, because obviously she has to be cool to be married to you in the first place.)
Answer:
Ah ah ah, just because you cherry pick which posts to reply to does not equate to me relating everything to girls and dating!
This definitely is the wrong place to go for topics about dating. I’ve been married longer than I have dated. Way longer. I can just see the Hack Writer Dating Advice post:
Hey Anthony, can I get some dating advice?
Sure. Is she nice?
Yes, but what I want to know is…
Do you think she is pretty?
Well ya she’s hot but…
Do you think she would make a good mother to your children?
Of course but that isn’t…
WELL THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR? You don’t need dating advice you need to get your HEAD out of your ASS and marry the woman!
Okay that’s pretty funny. Sorry, that whole dating comment had me laughing.
Now it is true I talk about girls and women. That’s because this is a blog about writing and the discovery process through writing. Since I deplore political correctness, if some 17 year-old bra-less nubile tart is flirting with me at the coffee shop (true story), I am going to so blog about that because that is so going in a book. A whimsical book scene for $1.90 (plus tip). I win!
The Wife Unit on the other hand, keeps me in line. She likes romantic fiction with the occasional juicy, sensual scene, and lo, I can write that. To be able to write that I have to be able to explore human sensuality. That she lets me do this is a testament to her confidence in me. I am thoroughly smitten with her even after all these years; I adore the woman.
Without her support and encouragement, my writing is nothing.
Kiersten, the Only Blog Reader Who Loves Me, asks:
[...] what is your first memory? And is it *actually* your first memory, or have you fabricated it based on pictures, video, or stories from your parents/relatives?
How can you be sure?
Answer:
I have researched the subject of memory and keep current with the latest findings, studies and theories. This was necessary to write Bunny Trouble but also in part because I have an extraordinarily gifted long-term memory. I can remember as far back as when I was a toddler.
“Memory fabrication” is a simplification of recall and emotional states. We all have a memory filter that can be unconsciously modified or, in some circumstances, intentionally set aside to get at the raw data. In times of stress, our perception of events can (and almost always will) narrow, and then when we attempt to recall those events our mind fills in the blanks. It is an extraordinary complex system and utterly fascinating.
Is that a fabrication when that happens? I do not believe so. It’s just how the mind works. There are ways one can examine a memory to see if it is something true or something you wish to be true. One way to do this is to think about the other senses rather than sight. What is your recollection of the sounds you are hearing? A key focus is what you smell. If you can remember something with an associated smell, that is a powerful memory. It’s probably about as true as you can get.
With all that said, I am not going to answer your question—unless you really want me to. I am very sure of my first memories, and I am very sure they are not fabricated. They are unpleasant and raw and it has been my experience talking about it makes people sad and depressed. On the other hand I am perfectly willing to talk about what I can recall. When all is said and done, I saw much worse later. Much worse.
There ya go. Now Kiersten can go to the other 7.3 readers and go “Ptththththtt! Your NaNoWriting made you miss the Hack Writer Q&A. No “A” for you. You come back in 300 posts!”
WOO HOO!
The Wife Unit made Bacon Apple Pie today. Here at the Pacheco’s, we just don’t talk about decadence, we wallow in it.
What did your wife do for you today?
Oh, don’t have one? I feel for you, I really do. My heart goes out in abject sympathy. No need to thank me, that is just the kind of guy that I am.
Then the Dragon went NOM!
The Players
Thing One: Jacon, the Sorcerer
Wife Unit: Frou Frou Mitty, the Cleric of Pelor (DM supplied, of course)
Anthony: The Illustrious Dungeon Master
The Scene
The kitchen table, with an expertly arranged outdoor setting (using preprinted tiles).
The Game Starts
DM: Place you figures in front of the catacomb doors at the bottom of the short stone steps leading into the ground.
(the players place their figures)
DM: Traveling nearly a half-a-day, the intrepid band of adventures finds themselves at the fabled catacombs, reputedly filled with treasures and fell monsters guarding their dead. The door at the bottom of the steps is closed.
Jacon: You open it. I only have four hit points!
Frou Frou Mitty: (having not played D&D for 28 years): I, uh, try to open the door.
DM: (places a gigantic dragon tile in back of the small party): As you touch the door, a dragon appears. It snatches Frou Frou Mitty in its gigantic maw and flies upwards with a mighty bound. As Jacon watches the dragon recede off into the distance, he hears loud crunches as the dragon gruesomely chews its meal. With a mighty spit, parts of Frou Frou Mitty spew along the countryside as the dragon delivers a satisfied burp and is seen no more.
Jacon: Awesome! (claps)
Thing Two: Yea! (claps)
Frou Frou Mitty: (eyes narrow) Ha ha ha. Not funny!
DM: That was the best D&D session ever!
DM: (Puts away the dragon tile)
DM: Traveling nearly a half-a-day, the intrepid band of adventures finds themselves at the fabled catacombs…
Thanks and Smooches
Now I would like to thank the Lovely Wife Unit: draft two is a much better manuscript because of her tireless efforts. Out of all the corrections (and there were many!), she only made one mistake. She also convinced me to make some minor story revisions, and the manuscript tightened up because of her.
I did ask her point-blank; “You would tell me if my novel sucked, right?” and she said yes, she would. I believe her. Now if the novel does suck, you beta readers can send her flame mail for putting up with 375 pages of crap.
I love you LambChop!
Frozen Kisses
The Wife Unit whipped up some homemade chocolate this evening. A bitter frozen kiss, doing naughty things to my mouth uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh.
For you men, bi-fems and lesbians that love a good cook: back off. I saw her first!
Mmmmmm nom nom nom nom oooooohhhh!
Beta Reading Squad Doki Doki Team Alpha Fox SIX
I told myself I was not going to start the second round of edits on Bunny Trouble until this evening. Even for just proofreading and minor edits, I wanted to let it fester for a week before I looked at it. Once I finish the proofreading pass, the manuscript goes off to Kinko’s and then to my Beta Reading Squad Doki Doki Team Alpha Fox SIX!
Speaking of Beta Readers let me introduce you to them:
Beta Reading Squad Doki Doki Team Alpha Fox SIX
The Wife Unit: Heather likes fantasy or sci-fi only if they have strong characterization and have a female lead or strong female supporting characters. We definitely do not share the same taste in books, but we both like entertaining stories with interesting protagonists. The WU is a sucker for a good mystery.
Mike: Mike is a long time friend, well traveled and local. Mike is a fan of thought-provoking books with historical research, along with dropping objects from orbit on bad people. Mike and I read the same fantasy books. There are many entertaining elements for Mike in the later Bunny Trouble books, so if he likes this one the next ones will hold his interest for sure.
David #1: David and I read roughly the same SFF novels, and he is also local. I have been friends with Dave almost as long as Mike. We have had moderate disagreements in the past over sci-fi. Recently, at the tail end of Brin’s Uplift books I wanted to gouge out my eyes. David #1 thought they were just peachy. A martial-arts practitioner, Berkley graduate and physicist, David #1 is also is retired, so he has lots of time on his hands to talk about my novel at great length. He he he. David #1 cooks the. Best. Steak. Evah.
Dad: Father-in-law is a voracious reader. I do not dive into the techno-thriller genre quite like he does, but we trade our sci-fi books back and forth like a 10-rupee whore. The next book in the series is also has many elements that would appeal to Ed, there is more action such as tanks shooting at other tanks and things blowing up, in time-honored military techno-thriller style.
Brian: Brain is a long-time police officer in Washington. Many of the good guys, ok well just about all of the good guys in Bunny Trouble are cops. Brain probably reads well ahead of me in the SFF genres, and I am happy to feed his never-ending thirst for good material. At least I hope it is good. Brian is also a martial-arts expert. One of the characters in Bunny Trouble is also into advanced unarmed combat, but she cheats, she cheats a lot ha ha ha.
David #2: To confuse my brain more, David #2 is also a Berkley graduate. He then moved on to UC Davis. Other than the WU, David #2 is the only Beta who also reads my blog (part of the 7.3!). He is also on my blogroll. We share many political interests but I secretly wonder how much longer he can live in California. David, I slapped a high-capacity magazine into my Glock this morning and I thought of you. He he he. David #2 has a monstrous library, has read Ross’ Unintended Consequences, and thus, out of all my Beta Readers, closely matches the target audience that should find the Bunny Trouble books irresistibly appealing. I hope.
That’s the crew and I already owe them a debt I can never repay. My only hope is the novel will be entertaining to read.
I am looking for one more Beta Reader but that is a different blog post.
Edit: I have found my Beta Reader.
pwned by The Wife Unit
The Wife Unit finished Bunny Trouble and gave me several suggestions and some constructive feedback, pure yummines. She didn’t beat me over the head with the manuscript at the ending, so I feel somewhat vindicated.
She wants to read the next novel in the series, and put me on notice that Ciara must not die. He he he oh no my pet. Ciara will not die. He he he, nope, not at all he he he (giggle).
Then we had this conversation:
Anthony: Too bad you have to wait a year for the next book in the series.
WU: You’ll also be waiting, then.
Anthony: !!!
I’ll get right on that… as soon as I finish The Baby Dancers.
Next Bunny Trouble steps: Proofreading corrections from the WU and then it’s on to Kinko’s for the five Beta copies.
The Day the Wife Unit was not Amused
One day I came home and there was The Wife Unit, glaring at me. No one, and I mean no one, can out-glare Southern Girl Blonde.
Wrut wro.
“I found some of YOUR magazines under our son’s bed!” she said in an accusatory tone.
I wrack my brain. Did Thing One find some ancient porno mags, of which I did not even remember purchasing, in some forgotten box in the closet in the library?
She waves the offending magazines at me, most likely repressing an urge to smack with them:
Magazine #1: NRA’s American Rifleman
Magazine #2: FMG’s American Handgunner
At that moment, I was a satisfied, smug, proud father. Thing One, I knew, would turn into a great man, a caring, protective husband and father.
Thing One is not feeling well today. No writing this Friday, he’s going to want his Daddy. After he goes to bed, I’m reading a book.
No more blogging today either! You 7.3 readers, you come back tomorrow!
so blogging that
heatherpa [12:50 PM]:
you and that book… going to accomplish nothing today I think
Tony [12:50 PM]:
What?
(blink blink)
heatherpa [12:50 PM]:
LoL
heatherpa [12:51 PM]:
must keep reading to find out what the evil murderer is all about
tease!
Thwack!
Apparently, I don’t need a proofreader now. Seems The Wife Unit takes great umbrage at grammatical errors. Here’s how I know:
Hack Writer: The Big Green Writing Chair
Wife Unit: The Couch, reading my manuscript
Suddenly The Wife Unit bolts from the couch, rolls up chapters one and two and smacks me with it.
“It is”
(Thwack!)
“Latter”
(Thwack!)
“Not”
(Thwack!)
“Later”
(Thwack!)
“As in”
(Thwack!)
“The former or the latter!“
(Thwack! Thwack Thwack!)
True story.
Whew
The Wife Unit says she could not put down my manuscript today. This is a good sign. I was out of fingernail trim.
mah prosey prose prose
Finished post-outlining and deleted the fluff. CHOMP. Added a few bits at the end.
I am on page 23 out of 360 (1.5 line space is what I edit at) of my grammar check/readability pass. This consists of fixing glaring errors and tightening, turning my word smiting into my prose. At the end of this process is officially Draft 2.
Now I am at 149,997 words. The word count has nowhere to go except down.
I also printed chapters one and two for The Wife Unit to read tomorrow. She reads my blog, and informs me she does not necessarily agree with my open door sex policy. This is from the woman who said the Meyers vampire books did not have any steamy vamp sex scenes (pout). At least she said she would keep an open mind about it, and what more could a man want out of a wife?
Done for the evening. Beer now.
Draft Uno
First draft, finished.
I wrote the epilogue during my lunch break and am quite enamored with it. It is a heartfelt and a depressing bit of writing, true to the theme of my novel and ultimately a great tie-end to the next part of the story. I don’t coddle my readers, and at that point they shouldn’t be surprised if I take the darker path.
I started Bunny Trouble a little under six months ago, it took me twice as long to write it as my first novel, not too shabby for a 152,000 word manuscript. As my first draft, I am very pleased with the way it turned out.
My next steps:
**I am going to proofread Bunny Trouble for glaring grammatical errors.
**Then I give a copy to my wife and wait for feedback. Can it pass The Wife Unit?
Assuming she likes the book and doesn’t beat me over the head with own manuscript, I will then outline the book. It is one thing to have an outline in your head and write a novel, quite another to see if after the fact I can assemble a coherent outline. It is a trick I leaned and suits my writing style perfectly, a great way to expose logic issues and unnecessary plotting. Then I am off to:
**Tighten the book
**Expanding my feedback circle to five of my friends
**Find an editor
Those things don’t have to happen in that order. I’m a man who likes efficiency after all. Some tasks were designed to run in parallel.
Wow. What a fun and interesting journey this has been. What should I write next? The choices, it hurts!
Weeeeeeee!
Die plot point die
-1600 words on Bunny Trouble last night.
I wait until finishing a story (novel, short story, poem, etc.) to make substantial, non-readability edits. Mainly because in the first novel I wrote, I made edits that I had to go back and revert. It was a pain, lesson learned. I’m not particularly experienced in writing novels (novel 1: finished, novel 2: set aside after 80k, novel 3: currently working on), but I can learn new tricks.
Last night The Wife Unit caught me chuckling to myself. The main character in Bunny Trouble has two friends. Inadvertently, when these three get together they wind up doing something mischievously naughty. This particular bit of writing had them doing something very over the top and it was so out of character that I knew I had to kill it. She of course asked “what?” so I explained what I created and asked point blank if it should go. Maybe there was hope…
She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t read that, it’s just unrealistic. You shouldn’t be reliving some obvious teenage boy fantasy in your novel!”
Ah, well, I thought so. Secretly I was hoping, but alas, it was not meant to be. Highlight 603/143,722. DELETE.
While I was at it, I deleted a convoluted plot point that was… too convoluted. I felt it was safe to do so and the story didn’t even move when I was finished, a clear indication of a needed cut if there ever was one.
The Revenge of Baby Magic
Since my last post was about sex, it is more than fitting to follow up with the inadvertent follow up, babies. This topic also pertains to my writing.
BABIES! BABIES! B A B I E S !
Is there any doubt as to why there are so very many mommy blogs? That’s because babies are awesome. I just love babies. But I digress.
My wife and I practice what I call ‘rational attachment parenting’. Stick a researcher and a super-smart lady together and you get two practical parents. One of the benefits from our parenting technique is our kids are little sleepers, even as babies. As soon as their tummies got big enough, they were little snoozers, even with the reflux Thing Two suffered from. Sleep sleep sleep sleep. It was glorious.
The secret to that is no secret. Basically, make an assumption that for the last 100 years, the majority of the people shoving parenting advice into main-stream media were assholes. Then, have these assholes ignore contemporary American cultural shifts caused by two World Wars, and finally a sprinkle a smattering of basic incompetency and finish off with some group-think. At this point, you have some really good assumptions going, mainly a lot of people are full of crap and they are selling it:
Don’t have your baby sleep with you because you can roll over and squish you baby.
That is true.
If you are drunk. Or high. Or sick.
Guess what? If you are drunk or high or sick you can go sleep somewhere else. Babies were born to sleep with their parents. How many thousands of years has this been true? To ignore biology is pure hubris.
Many parents have, in the last century, started rallying against biology with marginal to no success. Then after awhile the child adapts because that is what children do. This sleep change is mostly moot in the long run, I feel. It’s not something I lose sleep over (ha ha ha I kill myself I really do).
Baby Thing One would wake up and pounce on me like a cat. The penalty of course for waking up Daddy by crawling all over him would be Torture by Tickles and sometimes wrestling and the obligatory baby arm chewing while going nom nom nom nom. I treasured these moments.
One morning, Thing One woke up, yawned, and tried to go back to sleep. It was really cute, he was trying to press himself back into the bed, and he rolled over with his back to me.
Okay little man, that’s just too tempting. I slowly reached out and scriched his back.
Scrich scrich scrich.
Thing One just giggled. However, instead of turning over, he reached out his little hand and… scritched Mommy on her back.
Daddy: Scrich scrich scrich.
Baby: Scrich scrich scrich (giggle).
Mommy: Er. Mrph.
Daddy: Scrich scrich scrich.
Baby: Scrich scrich scrich (giggle).
Mommy: Grr.
Daddy: Scrich scrich scrich.
Baby: Scrich scrich scrich (giggle).
Mommy: Pisht.
At this point the Baby goes “AHHHHHAAA!” and jumps on Mommy, who was trying to go back to sleep by pretending she was not awake.
Now how do I bottle that kind of Baby Magic and put that in a book? I do not exactly know, but I can try. I do know one thing, however, unlike the real world, where our society segments off people who harm children, Bunny Trouble contains people who will take a dim view of abuse and abandonment, and their pent up furry is Epic.
You can bank on that. I promise you.
I Win Family
I came home and The Wife Unit, Thing One and Thing Two were sitting in the Big Green Chair playing networked Mario Cart on their Nintendo DS Lites.
I got my wife a Pink DS for her Birthday. She thought it was silly but it is all part of my master plan. If you want to identify with what your kids like to do, you should at least participate in the forms of entertainment that they like.
I got her a cartridge that had Sudoku on it, so all is good.
Characters to Avoid
My wife and I were big Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans. Before it was moved to a different channel that DirecTV would pick up with our DirecTiVo, you should have seen the convoluted workflow for me to get an episode and display it on our TV. I learned more about video formats and the underground world of fandom then I have ever wanted to know in my life.
It did not hurt that Buffy was all hotness and ready to kick butt at a moment’s notice, but my true appreciation for the show was its sheer grimness. Stabbing your only true love after his epic moment of redemption to close a Portal to Hell™, well it just does not get better for me. And that was in the early seasons. The dialog was snappy and witty. And people died.
Nothing says “conflict” than a good old-fashioned body count.
Buffy did one more thing for me other then entertain. I realized my tolerance for insipid little mousy-twerp protagonists was low and in Buffy, insipid little mousy-twerp people just died. There is enough conflict in this world to entertain with without reducing people you want to identify with to passive-aggressive dorks. In other words, do you want to read about the victims of bad upbringing or do you want to read about the people with the heroic mettle of the Americans on Flight 93?
Of course, the Action Hero rallying against the System of Passive Sheep is also a contemporary cliché stretching into middle-age. On the other hand, being a literary witness to watching Passive Sheep get what they so richly deserve can be a vicarious thrill.
Which brings me back to Buffy. Buffy’s rally against the Apocalypse(s) might have been a new look at an old idea, but at least the people fighting were more than just caricatures of heroes you would rather see tossed into a wood chipper for their ineptitude and lack of common sense.
Brutal
There is a chapter in Bunny Trouble that is action packed and filled with Conflict Goodness. Bad people do bad things and get their asses handed to them by the good guys. It is glorious and a corner of my brain would like to think if Tom Clancy ever read it, he would go “ooh rah!” Sometimes the Good Guys have to win. They just have to win.
It is also brutal. I finished the chapter and had to get up and go outside for some fresh air and reflection. I have written some disturbing things before but this was ugly. Several times I have contemplated deleting the chapter and moving the book in a slightly different direction.
It comes to this: if I do not want The Wife Unit to read it, then I just cannot have it as part of the story, and I am not too sure my wife would want to read something like that. Did I mention it was brutal?
After some soul searching, I have decided to keep it. In the chapter, I introduce a minor character, someone just above plot convenience and slightly below ‘give me more of that person please.’ Without intending it, this character says a few things that sum up the premise of the book plot in a sneaky way and makes the entire chapter necessary: not so much to move the plot along but to justify the entire book theme. Thus, what comes next is a validation of the entire Bunny Trouble series of books. How could I delete that? I cannot. It was like a gift from the Literary Plot Producing Gods. You will be reading book two and go “well shit I should have seen that coming.”
Therefore, what do I do with The Wife Unit? If I have to leave the chapter in, I just have to deal with the consequences that she and some of my friends will just quit reading the book and come kick my ass for wasting their time putting emotional investment into characters they do not wish to read about anymore, even though they won against Evil.
In the end, I am gambling that The Wife Unit and my friends would want me to be true to myself and true to my story. Bad things happen to good people. This is the reality of the world in which we live. No one, including myself, wants to read about these bad things in the course of entertainment if the book does not bring any value to the table. Thus, I have to trust myself that I am bringing value. That long after you put the entertaining book down; you are thinking thoughts of a deep and meaningful nature. One of the best books I have ever read, I felt like I received the end of a literary sledgehammer, the ending of the book actually had me feeling vaguely ill. There are no regrets in the reading, for in the end it was a story of a love between a father and a son that said so very much on what it really means to have such a relationship.
I used to think writing was easy. I wish I could travel back in time and kick my younger self in the ass. “No it’s not easy. You just have not started writing yet.”
