Saturday, February 19, 2011

Writing Project

So I have a new writing project or two I have been working on. My working solution is this: I type up the documents in MSword at work, which as a supervisor I now have access to. Before the end of each shift, I print it off and put it in my man purse inside a Weird Wars game supplement. This serves two purposes-first, I don't have to save a bunch of cra-ay-ay-ay-ay-zy disturbing shit in a public folder at work, and second, I don't have access to a file of it so I can drive myself mad with going back and editing shit. I print it up and it is set in stone. Believe it or not, this has been the death of several writing projects for me.

Anyway, I am moving ahead. I decided that it is finally time to goddamn finish something, so I have been writing about 2000 words a shift, barring exceptional workload. Lately, I have been pushing for 4000 words a shift. If the story pans out the way I plan, I am 4 chapters in, about 20% done. (And yes, there is already lesbian action.) But it has surprised me several times before and I am oddly eager to see the end of it. It isn't anything heavy or deep-just post apocalyptic doom porn with some Dune like post human musings. The hero is more archetype than man, and I am just mapping out the multigen apocalypse fantasy that already exists in my head and shoving a narrative up its ass. At heart, it is a tawdry action movie with a few snide cultural commentary jokes and the occasional heavy handed existential ramble.

Why something so trashy? Because it flows. Trash flows easily from the bent junkyard of my diseased mind, and I want to finish something, for fucks sake.

The working title is The Codex Kalachnikova. I'm making up words like crazy, figuring how English is going to change following a social collapse, after a few generations of hard living and bloody anarchy. I'm sticking in whatever references I please; Watership Down, Bedknobs & Broomsticks, The Marx Brothers. I am taking a couple of cheap shots at the city of New York. (excuse me, the ancient City-State of NYE, ruled by Emperor Bloomberg XVI of the Line of Bloomberg, with an elite force of troops known as the NYPD, or "NYE PUDS") I'm making a few Piers Anthony slapstick gags, such as having the descendants of Hell's Angels ride giant mutated feral pigs with horns and spikes called "Hawgs." I'm exploring some strange depths and heights of the polygamous relationship in a post apocalyptic world. And with all this I think I might be creating something really freaking epic.

This is the shit that churns in my head, every fucking day, whenever I am bored. If I can't finish this story, I can't finish anything.

1 comment:

  1. I demand a cameo as a maniac in front of a cabin festooned with signs, jabbering about how "THIS! THIS IS HELL!"

    Feel free to have the protagonist or a passing armed person cack me after that...