it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

  • Mood:
  • Music:

seven ships all on the sea; the eighth brought me to land.

Other problems with omni: I feel very guilty for withholding any information from the reader at all, because it's very obvious to me how I am manipulating the information in question, and therefor the reader's expectations--because I *always* have the option of revealing anything at any given moment, when I choose not to reveal it, I feel like I'm cheating.

(Cheating is, in my book, The Worst Writerly Sin. Cheat on me--just once--and you've often lost me as a reader for life. Agatha Christy being a prime example.)

On the other hand, if you give the reader all the information up front... there's no book. So you see my dilemna here.


Craig A. MacNeil for The Village Voice, on soldiering.


Progress notes for 5 April 2005

Whiskey & Water

New Words: 2002
Total Words: 20,338
Pages: 93

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
20,338 / 160,000

(Why does that thing have a decimal place when it does not actually track decimal increments? I ask you this in all seriousness)

Today's post on Electrolite, regarding The Astonishing Blog Post of the Week, by a gentleman who knew Stephen Peter Morin, leads me to a contemplation of something that's preyed on my mind for a good long time. It's not something that resolves itself into ready essaying, however, so it may have to wait for fiction--but I've spent a long time contemplating serial killer Ed Kemper, as an example of why the ready categories of monsters and the assessments of blame and reactions of horror with which we like to react to people who do monstrous things don't always, exactly, fit.

It's a subject SFF has been nibbling around for a long time--both Light and The Stars my Destination tackle the issue, in different ways. Someday I'll manage to get it all sorted out in my head, what exactly I'm talking about here. and then maybe I'll be able to get it into a book.

Reason for stopping: Work, drat it.
Mammalian Assistance: Mebd on the desk, Signy pokey, Marlowe visiting
Stimulants: lime passion tea, and also Tazo Wild Sweet Orange.
Exercise: none yet, and probably none today, other than walking around the airport. (I have to pick up kit_kindred tonight)
Mail: nomail
Tyop du jour: purring in the sun that bleached his glossy goat from black to darkest auburn.
Darling du jour: She let the towel drop, uncoiling it on the warped wooden floor, where it lay exhaling warm moisture like a serpent on a sun-heated rock. (The next line is about her hair.)
Books in progress: Ed Sanders, Tales of Beatnik Glory; Neal Stephenson, Quicksilver
Interesting research tidbit of the day: stamp honoring Russian battle tank engineer Michael Koshkin
Other writing-related work: none

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