So, I finally got a job. In Ireland, for HP. It might only be a temporary position; but still. Freaking work!
In ten days I’ll be flying – a rather short flight, Sweden and Ireland isn’t that far apart – over to the land of the Harp and Guinness and start supporting customer like a boss over the phone. I’m not that nervous yet for some reason; I might have got most of the nervousness out off my system when I had the phone interview.
The first interview he had ever done. Bastard.
I’m sure my aloofness will pass. I will most likely get as nervous as a elderly bear flying out from a lazerspaceship wearing makeup and holding a stick of butter in front of an army of hostile Intergalactic Space Cows when I’m standing by the door to the airport. Oh well.
Hm. About that writing. I must admit, not much has happened with Kareza and her kraaaazy world. I wrote a couple more pages of her cruising on her bitching (and completely scientific) hover bike while seeing some absurd and wildly impossible wildlife on the way. Then reaching the ruins of the nearest city and starting her scandalous scavenging ways . Take the first town you think about when I say “Fallout” and you get the picture of the ruined city. Add some heat.
He have also realised that naming the first city “The Bastion” just as a certain game of the EXACT SAME NAME came out is just pushing the sticky envelope. To his defence; he started writing it a few weeks before he even heard of the game Bastion. Because that’s important.
But after the first few looks in the ruins and Kareza going into a building to loot delicious trinkets I just lost direction. I have no clear way to start the conflict that will act as the metaphoric lube in the intercourse between Miss Story Arc and the hunkalicious Captain Plot. I have scenes in my head that have been fermenting like the mushroom on the insane hermit. Such like; introducing another race of sentient beings and **********BLEEEEP********** but I just can’t get it down.
The words to the pages. Get the words down on the pages. This is not about his penis. Don’t be a dirty sponge.
So I started on another story.
Shut up. It’s a rather dusty one, which has gone through more revisions and scraps than I wish to admit in fear of losing my manly writer innocence. Think low-fantasy with elements of snark.
Or rather, what he wish to become snark after he redo that chapter just a few more times…
It’s set in the world I’ve slowly been adding/subtracting/multiplying to over the years in your cookie-cutter roman era/medieval wet-dream. Or sandpaper, if you feel that way about the over saturated status the term “fantasy” has among the people- I won’t judge your pathetic… I mean, I won’t judge.
I guess you could say its (supposed) to be a bit like The Riftwar Cycle (pick one), The Belgariad and Orcs (article might contain spoilers); all three series of books I have in my bookshelf just two meters from where I’m sitting now. Light hearted (and a pinch of deadpan) characters with serious plots, that sort of thing – if my point is coming across.
The, for him, interesting part, which he just recently realised? The main character in the above story is also a woman. Not that it matters – characters are supposed to be more than just gender – it’s just that he found it to be something to smile about. I think he has a problem, but that’s just my opinion and I’m just a red text trying to convey some humorous side notes.
I don’t think I will put excerpts of that story on here though.
I’m sure that his lone visitor will cry himself/herself/itself to sleep because of this.
Shut. Up. I might use it for the upcoming NaNoWriMo I was thinking about particpiating in though. It’s only… updating Scrivener… 37 pages so far. And if I can stick with it I might be able to finally (fucking finally) complete a story. Actually sticking with something. Fantastic!
It will be a first.
Who invited that red text?!