Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

I’m pleased to see people flipped over to “Geek Loves You Madly” over the weekend, and rather disappointed in myself for not giving them any content.  I didn’t write any blog entries this weekend, except maybe on Saturday or Friday night, because I was not motivated to do so.  Rather ironic when you think about the fact that this blog is supposed to be used to motivate me.

I wrote nothing in Frosty-A-Go-Go.  I’m probably going to use the rest of this post to yell at myself.  Is that disassociation?  I haven’t a clue.  I aimed for 40,000 words by Sunday and I’m currently at… 27,500.  Lame.

It’s not for lack of trying. I sit down to write and stare at that blank next page and get distracted.  Just lame. Then I get distracted by some game, or balancing finances.  I’m not going at the rate I was.

I think it was the disappointment of Friday.  I was really looking forward to seeing everyone (and if you told me three months ago I’d be disappointed to miss a trip to B-lo, I’d have told you you were out of your goddamn mind). But that’s no excuse really.  I’m trying to get out of where I am right now in life.  School starts again a week from today, alongside a work schedule that will limit my free time considerably. So here’s the plan kiddies.

30,000 by tonight.

35,000 Teusday

40,000 Wednesday

45,000 Thursday

50,000 Friday

Saturday off/limited contribution

60,000 by Sunday.

Hold me to it, ye unsympathetic bastards of yore.


That’s how my mind works though. If I hadn’t rambled there, I would have never made that plan.  Thanks wordpress/occasional readers.


20,000 words.

Posted: January 8, 2012 in Frosty-A-Go-Go, Writing
Tags: , , ,

Did it.  6,000 words in a weekend.  40,000 by this time next week.  It was a good evening.  On my third redbull and type type typing away.  Friday the 13th there’s a party in Blo and I can’t wait.  Don’t know who I’ll run into, but I’ll love them all.

A lot of the characters in this book are based off of people I know.  It’s nice to put them on paper.  Their little quirks and their little motions are easily construed to introduce them to readers who’ll likely never meet them.  I got through the end of a party, a heavy action scene and now the hit after hit of the book going from one lead to another to another.

Writing a-la-go-go.  I wish someone were here to watch this damn movie with me.

Well my other ear blew out during the witching hour last night.  I literally flew up chest first with a gasp, woken up by the pain.  I staggered to the bathroom and then downstairs to take an unholy amount of painkillers and a glass of water.  Something odd happened.  All three cats in the house followed me downstairs in a straight line, and then meowed together to be let outside.  I opened the door and they proceeded without the least bit of their usual hesitation.  Probably means nothing, but it was still weird as hell.

I got 4o00 words added to Frosty-A-Go-Go last night.  I was on a chaotic streak that only stopped when the clock hit 10 and I knew that I had to get up to work this 11 hour shift today.  That being over and done with, I am dog tired, in need of meds, and watching Cowboys and Aliens of all things.  I’m not sure if my IQ is dropping because of this, but it certainly may be.

Too damn tired to think straight.  Short entry.  20,000 words total in the manuscript by tomorrow night.  =]

Well that title was misleading.  It’s 55 degrees outside and the snow has totally melted outside.  It would be nice to go out and enjoy if I didn’t have to work 11 hours tomorrow and no one to hang out with out here in the middle of nowhere.  So I’m sipping a redbull and watching The Social Network.  Yesterday I meant to game, then write, then sleep.  Instead I wrote, then wrote, then wrote some more and then slept reluctantly.

Frosty-A-Go-Go is now 10,000 words plus. The novel’s going excellent but I hope I’m doing the conversation parts correctly.  I have to think like my characters would speak and make the conversation seem like it’s not being forced.  And then there’s the actual action coming up. After the diner the story will hit like a fucking storm and then it’s over.  I hope I do it right.  Wish me luck, constant reader.

Or more likely, reader that got directed here via bumbling on the internet or the main page of

So I’ve effectively been a horror nut today.  Muscles are still sore and throat is as well thanks to the card game Friday night.  Couldn’t actually find it in me to workout today (I think it’s the first day I’ve missed.  =[ ) so I proceeded to do a whole lot of nothing.

I rolled over, grabbed Bag of Bones off of the chair I was using for a bedside table and finished the last hundred pages.  Then I took a piss, took some pills and then finished up Dead Space 1 which I was up late playing.  Only then did I get up and shower and dress.

Unable to function anymore without something to read, I chose the collection of short stories off my shelf I haven’t gotten to.  Night Shift by Stephen King contains one of my favorite quotes by the man himself in the introduction.

“The thing under my bed waiting to grab my ankle isn’t real. I know that, and I also know that if I’m careful to keep my foot under the covers, it will never be able to grab my ankle.”

I know I love horror movies, (I picked up my two favorite King adaptations to film, Pet Semetary and It today), Horror fiction, and horror games.  Halloween is my favorite time of year and I squirm with pleasure when I hear an audience member scream during a trip to the Regal.

Maybe it isn’t the genre for me to write though.  Most of my work has been fiction with paranormal undertones, however it’s not what you call “Horror” I don’t think.  You write what comes to you, the things that stick in your head.  We call them hobbies when they’re actually “obsessions” as King says.  He makes a good point in saying that we don’t really have a choice in what we write well.  We can’t choose these things.  But he horror, the screams, the sweat makes me feel much better.  They help me to work as much as That City.

Write On, Reader.

Melting into Bass.

Posted: December 21, 2011 in Frosty-A-Go-Go
Tags: , , ,

Not melting down, mind you.  Just melting.  The whole “butter spread over too much bread” thing.  I’m going to return to Buffalo for a party on the 26th, and hopefully it goes as well as it did last time.  The party being thrown is formal, so I’m thinking a top hat and eye makeup a la clockwork orange are in order here.  Should have enough of a shock value, and it will highlight my eyes when they get wild.

I have to write more of my story.  But I’m just so damn beat.  Not really understanding why though.  I got a full night’s sleep.  I think I’m becoming absorbed by fucking dubstep.  Everyday I go and find more remixes to work to and workout to.  I have to get them on my ipod somehow, then I’ll just be totally Gonnneeee.  All the time. I get so sucked into the music it just flows through me into Frosty-A-Go-Go.  Maybe I can’t dance so well, but I can write into forever on this stuff.  It’s plugging me in and firing me up.

I must go!  My writing needs me!  =]]

Frosty-A-Go-Go. New Novel

Posted: December 18, 2011 in Frosty-A-Go-Go
Tags: , , ,

The experiences of this past weekend gave me a story idea.  Not one of the ones I get occasionally and scribble down in my phone.  This idea kept coming.  It gave me details in a smile, in a piercing, in the way the trees yawned above me.  Breaking the cold.  That’s the premise.  There’s a perpetual cold in Buffalo.  It stops us dead in our tracks.  It’s the sick bay, and even those passing through can catch it.  It’s insane.  I’m going to break it with a story.

Here’s an excerpt from what I’ve done so far.  Hope you enjoy it.  Be kind, I haven’t edited yet.

I was pacing like a caged animal on the street outside the apartment, smoking a cigarette and taking in the unnaturally warm December evening.  Cars and buses rambled up the road, men and women passing through for the second time that day so they could go home to their families.  Other than people coming to going to work, the town is usually quiet and devoid of traffic.  I felt ill.  The fact that I hadn’t made any progress since I finished Zombie Hot Mess had actually hit home.  I could have gone in and done my usual nightly ritual of music and Minecraft, but I didn’t even feel like doing that.  My stomach churned and yet I couldn’t consume anything but smoke and water.  I have never been able to understand how people get sucked into televisions like they do.  A job without possibility of advancement is somehow numbed by liberal doses of mindless inactivity.  It’s blunt, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

My feet carried me away, somehow breaking out of their usual pacing.  By the time I realized that forty degrees or not, it was still too cold for a jaunty stroll I was half way across the map and at the bridge that stands unsteadily over what’s supposed to be a river.  In reality it’s more of a very long puddle in the winter.  No real depth to it and nothing to float down it.  I tossed the smoldering butt of the smoke over the bridge and watched it twist and tumble down, caught by the light wind.  It became a tiny white spec on the bank of the snowless river and I sighed.

It was unnatural.  There was no ice and it was two weeks left until Christmas.  No white Christmas for the occupants of that small town, the lake effect seeming to have gone on holiday.  Buffalo always seemed white.  At least the most prominent memories of it were.  It was a city made of ice most of the year, and it was ruthless.  The thawing in the spring and the burst of colors in the summer didn’t seem to be able to unfreeze the people of the city though.  They were perpetually in the same place, going nowhere and doing nothing.  And I’d caught the curse.  I was gone from the city and yet I seemed to be in perpetual slow motion, if not at an absolute stand still.  Something about the ice and snow called to me.  It begged me to lie down for only a little while, I could get right back up if I wanted.  I knew that would never happen though.  If I were to lie down in the city, it would leave nothing but an ice sculpture of a young man perpetually spinning in circles.  My eyes would be fixed in a stare that would gaze out on all the others frozen there, our individual circles moving with such slow deliberation that you could time your watch by it.