Checkmate

I played my chess computer this morning, barely managed to beat it. It's a Sharper Image portable chess computer, something I wanted for Christmas, something to keep my brain sharp. I used to play chess a lot as a kid and a teen, although I wasn't a stellar player. I thought it would be a good thing to get back into to help my aging brain.

The chess computer calls itself "Chessica" -- I love that. As it stands...

Dave 2
Chessica 1

She almost had me this morning, but I managed to beat her in the endgame. There are many different levels of difficulty in the program. I think she's slightly better than I am in the current configuration, which isn't saying much, since I'm very out of practice. I was sweating while playing, so that must be a good sign, forcing my brain to work.

Oddly enough, I saw that Bobby Fischer has died.

A-M and P.M.

Man, I love this scene between Ann-Margret (drool) and McQueen in "The Cincinnati Kid" -- she's about the only actress who could hold her own against McQueen in a scene. Ssssmokin!

Remember me?

Ha! Surprise, Poppets! You probably thought I wasn't going to blog anymore. I kind of thought so, too. But it's nice to have this as an option, so I'll keep it going, even if I'm not here as often as I was. I sure won't give up the space, b/c otherwise it'll be scooped up by some dirtbag marketeers (who gobbled up Everydaibh and probably took Isonomia the minute I dumped them).

So, I'm nearly done with the first revision of the book I wrote at the end of last year, and I'm again in the High Hatred Mode for the piece, the usual love/hatred I feel for stuff I write -- love it when writing it initially, then hate it afterward. My biggest triumph with this book was writing it so quickly, which was entirely aided by writing it during my workday, on the sly. That let me get so much work done, it was great, and made my workday otherwise bearable, and was a resounding "F*CK YOU!" to my current employer.

It stands at 130,000 words; it was nearly 140,000 words, but I edited about 44 pages out of it. Right now, I'm making an outline for it (I never start an outline before writing a book; I do it afterward -- hey, I'm left-handed; we do everything backwards) -- just to see how the story flows, to see if there's any plot-tweaking I need to do.

I've got a second revision to do for it, and after that, it'll be ready for readers, to see what they think of it, and then to incorporate any comments they make into a third revision. THEN (pant pant) it'll be ready to be pimped to agents.

For somebody as historically off-the-cuff and improvisatory (is that even a word?) I'm doggedly meticulous in my revision of my work, what I call "deshittification."

One thing I wrestle with is my conception of horror -- horror is a reactionary genre, and I'm not a reactionary. I've realized while working on this piece how difficult it is to have a liberal conception of horror. There are things that horrify liberals, yes -- but the very nature of being progressive implies that you are able to think your way out of anything. There is nothing ineffable in liberalism (or is there? Muhahaha!) There's no door you shouldn't be willing to open, no place you shouldn't be willing to go. Part of liberalism's optimism is precisely what sabotages the idea of horror, in my view -- everything's supposed to be solvable in liberalism. There's no problem too tough for a good liberal. Whereas horror is invariably moralistic, and often the problems don't get solved, and things end up worse than before. Hence, the reactionary quality to it.

I've fought with that in the story, since the characters are all a group of bohemians (or fauxhemians), and are ill-equipped to face what's going after them. It's literally outside of their world, and only one of them is truly horrified by the encounter. The rest are largely uncomprehending of their peril. But that's kind of the point of the story. If evil's a virus, ignoring the symptoms won't make it go away, and there's no amount of wishful thinking that'll do the trick.

Anyway, onto the second revision, which should go quicker than the first revision, which I started in December.

Instant "Carma"

Okay, so the first bad thing of the year for me: somebody drove too close to my (parked) car and broke the driver's side mirror. The mirror's okay, but the housing on it was snapped, leaving the mirror dangling. They left a note on the windshield, although it looks like I can just fix the mirror with some Gorilla Glue or something, once it warms up a little. Still, grrruh!

Today is B1's 6th birthday.

Fin

I finished the first draft of the book I was working on. It's just short of 120,000 words -- not bad for about 43 days of work on it! Here's to writing while on the job, eh? Woo hoo!

Oh, and in addition to loving blimps and zeppelins, B1 is now fascinated by the Union Jack.

And on and on

I'm at over 105,000 words on the long piece. Much carnage and mayhem. Technically, I'm probably closer to 115,000 words, but I vaulted 20 pages in my "Cuttings" file, where I mothball stuff that's problematic. Anyway, I'm really hoping to get it done by week's end, like around the 120,000-word mark. It's a decent story, I think. People will probably think I'm depraved, but I'm just writing, y'all.

I can already imagine the interpretations as people read it, although anybody who knows me will see so much of me in it as they read it, like my trademark sarcasm, irony, snarkiness, and angst. Heh.

I'm definitely more pleased with this piece than any long fiction I've done to date. Once I get the draft done, it'll be time for the read-through and revision, the tightening of the laces, keeping it all together, tight, effective, all of that.

Then I'll let some folks read it, see what they think.

Superdad

Music: My Bloody Valentine, "When You Sleep"

I put together B1's loft bed the other night, got it all set up. The room looks sharp, he loves it, and his baby brother loves getting his brother's old captain's bed. Everybody wins, although the boys have to get used to the overhang on the loft bed -- every so often I hear "Hahahah! *KLONK* Waaaaaaa!"

So, tomorrow's Homegrrl's potluck -- I'm bringing a giant apple pie I picked up from Costco. Had to, because I've always wanted to get one of their giant cakes or pies, but it's too much for normal consumption, is perfect for a party. Spousette may or may not come, depending on how much studying she gets done tomorrow.

I didn't go to work today, didn't want to go. Missed out on the holiday party, but oh, well. The Production Posse was flummoxed by my absence -- they refer to me as "the glue" that holds their social grouping together; my sparkliness (to use Homegrrl's terminology) seems to follow me wherever I go. But I just couldn't imagine drinking and eating for what would have amounted to about 5 or 6 hours. No good. Better to skip out, go shopping at Costco and Target, getting needed things.

Of course, I called in sick, so there you go -- I got some nice floor lamps, one for our living room, one for the boys' room. See, the boys' room needed a new light -- during nightfall, it basically became only a sleeping room, because of that. Now, with the new lights, it's a-okay, and they can use the room again. Viva Target!

I'm going to add some pix to Flickr, now.

So, I crossed the 100,000-word threshold on the story I'm working on right now, which is a speed record for me, given that I started this one right after Halloween. I should've done National Novel-Writing Month this year, eh? Ah, well. Hopefully, this story'll be the one that I can market effectively, one that'll let me write full-time. Fingers crossed. It's sure to be banned by fundamentalists everywhere -- it's kind of like "Heathers" meets "The Howling." But I like it, it works well. I'm hoping that I can wrap it up at 120,000 words. If I can keep the pace I've had the last 40 days, I'll have it done by next week (assuming 120,000 words = done). I know the ending I want, it's just a matter of the protagonist letting me get there.