Tag Archives: bad writing

Weekend sendoff: NaNoWriMo week three

Word count: 30,975

I’m tired of this. I’m never doing it again. But I am definitely making it to 50,000.

More gems. Sometimes you go a little crazy padding your word count with a psychedelic dream sequence…

You can blame Phil Plait for this one.

You can blame Phil Plait for this.

In the dream there’s a picture. You know, like from the Hubble, the telescope they have up there? The photo is like this cosmic abstract painting with lights and colors everywhere, like someone who dreamed about space and didn’t only see cold white stars. No, this was a fucking…volcano, a sunset, klieg lights, little LEDs, snow, fog, haze, smoke, pulsating police lights, waves of fire, blue and red and orange and purple and pink and yellow. Just a total fucking amazement of color and shape. And you know what it was? This was the center of the whole goddamn fucking galaxy. The heart of the Milky Way. The vagina of the Milky Way. So much life – not like trees and shit but cosmic life, the life of objects in space and all of them either just born or about to die or the remnants of something that blew up.

and sometimes you just don’t have time for that perfect simile to colaesce.

…looking out at Alcatraz sitting in the bay like a big rock

I have to learn not to try to be funny while I’m churning this stuff out. I only embarrass myself.

There was a long silence in the room. Dana gave it a very high rating in the category of “Awkward Silences During Hotline Training.”

From the “Ya think?” files:

In the meantime, people were horrified to have the dangling corpse as part of their view all morning and through lunchtime.

Finally, here’s a little excerpt from a long scene I wrote when I decided to make one character an atheist and another one religious. Dana’s scenario with the two callers happened to me exactly as she describes it.

Dana contemplated a pretzel as they walked by a vendor, but decided she wanted her hands clean for the Musée [Mecanique]. “God made the hotline happen.”

Mike looked at her. “You’re not serious.”

“Yes, Mike. On the third day He invented the multi-line phone system and saw that it was good.”

“So what do you mean?”

“I mean that’s how your religious caller sees it. God created the hotline and put you and me there to answer calls. This person is grateful to God for that and also to us. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It would be better if they eliminated being grateful to their imaginary friend.”

“So, what, they’re not grateful enough to you now?”

“No, I don’t care about that. I get called a dick about as much as I get called an angel.”

Dana laughed hard and had to stop walking for a second. “Oh shit, I completely hear that. One night I had someone call me a bitch and say I had no business on the lines, and the very next guy, I swear, told me I was doing the Lord’s work.”

“Which one do you think is true?”

“Both, definitely.”

Okay, enough of that. Not sure what I’ll have for you on Monday; it’ll either be written by someone else and fascinating, or written by me and sub-par. (I don’t have an awesome blog post in me while I’m clawing my way to the end of this project.) For now I send you off with an awesome and trippy little stop-motion piece, which I saw thanks to Ze Frank.

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Weekend sendoff: NaNoWriMo week one

Word count: 10,001

Here are a few of my choicer tidbits from the first week. The setting is a suicide hotline, and it’s kinda sorta semi-autobiographical. Which doesn’t excuse a passage like this.

She felt like she was on guard in the night, when everyone was asleep except for people who needed help. She was a sentry in the long dark tunnel that often seemed to have no light at its end.

If you can get out of this tortured prose without injury, I salute you.

The first person couldn’t be counted on not to give some attitude if forced to be placed on hold due to another caller’s higher crisis level.

In my defense on this one, “persistent” is used as a noun in the story.

Midnight all the pumpkins turned back into princesses, and the really persistent persistents knew it.

Can you tell I’m being completely lazy with descriptions?

One of the only other men in the room besides Mike, a balding man who looked like he might sell kites on Haight, turned to Dana and said “He’s past that point in his life.”

Too many Richard Wiseman illusions, perhaps.

She stared at the note, reading it or maybe burning the afterimage onto her retina.

And now for an attempt at humor. You have been warned.

He made signs resembling a drowning deaf person’s last wish, but that Dana interpreted to mean “Do not put her on the phone with me.”

Now I’m being a good girl. I’m not going back and editing anything. And it doesn’t all entirely suck. I am, however, starting to wonder what’s going to happen when I run out of material from my time on the hotline. Am I actually going to have to make something up?

Monday I’ll have my first guest post for you, a report about National Disability Mentoring Day. I send you off with something relaxing to watch on your writing break, which should be seen in HD and fullscreen.

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