Start Writing Fiction, resource community for fiction writers. This community was originally created for the students of the Open University's 'Start Writing Fiction' Course (A174), however, membership is now open to anyone who is interested in writing fiction.

“Sheet-heads:” The New Nazis - this is an excellent, thought provoking article. I highly recommend reading.

Writers Resources - some great websites I know I read regularly, and I have new ones to follow.

2008 Hug Award Winners

FREAKANGELS: Volume One collection is coming November 2008. I know what I'm asking for my birthday.

You can never read enough Wil Wheaton. You heard me. Never can read him enough.

Dear sadsadmonkey, if you want to rile your little band of fun-ones, show them this little rumor about the up-coming movie. Oh, those darn Romulans!

Hey, guinan, here's some synopsis of the first few episode of True Blood. (Site contains spoilers for other shows, and some cute ads for Chuck that I can't wait for)

MTV can die now. Seriously. Just die. Die. Die.

Okay, I have no idea what this is about (I'm watching the trailer next), but the poster has sold me.

Maybe not the most unbiased review I've ever read, but one I'll trust concerning the up-coming Clone Wars.

And I saved the best for last, because Best Week Ever is the best. The Great Debaters 2: Rise Of The Sensitive Ponytail Man

...all roads lead to Buffy.

The GOP Primary Field in Buffy Villains

It's near the end.

Don't tear up at Lucius like I did. *sighs* I need to pull those DVDs out again.

And I am so excited that Flight of the Conchords received a second season! YAY!

Did you see Sookie?

Last night, I watched my DVR'd copy of the new Henry Rollins Show on IFC, specifically because he had two Iraq veterans on to talk about their experiences in the Middle East. It was an enlightening show, about how the Green Zone is a test for privatizing the military and how the military is frustrated because insurgents blend into the population and can't be "hit back."

However, one of the ex-military stated that he believed if the American people knew, they would do something about it. He did bring up a good point: when is the last time you saw a dead American soldier on the evening news? Or any news, for that matter.

But I have to say this to him: what would you like me to do?

I am so tired of being held responsible for things beyond my control (or trying to, at any rate). What am I suppose to do about gas prices exactly? Can someone explain that to me? I am so tired of being told that it's "my fault" some how and I "should do something about it." Yeah, like what? Because all those protest back in the 60s worked so very well. We didn't leave Vietnam because some unbathed college students dropped some acid, hung out in a park and practiced free love.

I didn't vote for Bush. He got elected anyway. I write my congressmen. They do what they want anyway. I post my opinion online. I talk to people about what I think should be done. Plus, I know many of my friends do the same thing, so I know I am not the only one.

Exactly what am I supposed to do? Someone give me a game plan or point me in a direction. The problem is two fold: A) No one wants to own the problem. Everyone wants to point at the problem and say, "There's a problem," but no one wants to own it and come up with a way to fix it, and B) most people with the power and control don't want the problem fixed. Quite frankly, in our capitalist society, too much money can be had from "problems."

What I am tired of is being blamed for it. "If the American people..." If the American people what? Knew? We know. We don't know what to do about it other than what we've done. Shut the fuck up about it being not right or not enough. Don't assume because things aren't going your way that no one cares or hasn't tired to do something about it. Don't assume we're all just sitting back unconcerned, watching the latest news on Britney. We worry. We fret. Most of us want to do something, but we have no idea what to do.

I want to make a little pamphlet and start handing it out: Bad things happen. Learn to deal with it.

Addition: Here's a perfect example. Apparently, reading is declining in America. What should we do?

"We have no recommendations," he said, "but we hope to create a national discussion. We need a new national consensus."

THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP! I don't have time to invest in caring about something that apparently nothing can be done about. Why should I discuss it? Why should I care? NEA Chairman Dana Gioia doesn't seem to care enough to come up with something to do about the problem.

Like Wil Wheaton quoted of John Scalzi: This is why it’s not smart to get into a snit fight (or labor dispute) with a writer. Because they write. Which means they know how to make you look bad.

Dear SciFi Channel

While I appreciate you showing Doctor Who, I have one question to ask. How many nails did you have to drive deep into your skull to edit out the Master's big musical number in The Last Of The Time Lords? Seriously, how motherfucking stupid do you have to be to think, "Well, we need more time to show pointless commercials about our cheap-ass, horrific movies that no one will watch not matter how great we make the spots and sell herbal penis enlargements. Let's cut this scene here. It's not necessary."

I hope for every second shaved off that episode, you loose inches off your dicks by having a chihuahua with halitosis chew it off.

Eat shit and die,
You Know Who

Dear Great Britain:

Please stop torturing me. This is so unfair I cannot even begin to voice how un-fucking-fair it is.

GAH!

Sincerely,
You Know Who

Dear BBC:

Please stop selling off your children for American Television to raise. Please, I beg you, for the love of the Queen and all things that go with tea. Please stop.

Sincerely,
An American that watches British television

When management waits to the last minute to implement necessary changes to everyone’s computers right before leaving for vacation, my life turns into a situation comedy were the entire organization may not be paid the next day. Feel free to imagine pitch forks and torches.

Of course, a complete lack of communication helps this disaster blossom into a full-blown, nine alarm fire. Feel free to picture me covered in soot with little pitch fork holes through out my body.

Luckily, a little politeness, a lot of e-mails and phone calls, accompanied by me running around and soothing egos, put the proper databases back online so everyone receive their paychecks tomorrow. Updates made people happy. Merry voice made people happy. Cheers of a job well done made people happy.

Bonus: Insane-o spent the morning in a meeting. By the time he returned, all was under control.

However, I is ded. Me on floor. Brain dumpage commence.

The question that pulses through every cell and corner of my soul demands an answer. Of course, there isn’t one. There can never be an answer, but managing has become a lost skill. Time for another fifty thousand mile check up. Luckily, work provides a very nice service to hopefully find a wise person.

Of course, I’m running around the track of failure. Shouldn’t I know what to do for me by now? Am I destine to be forever sixteen wondering what I’ll be when I grow up?



Huzzah for The IT Crowd airing its second season on August 24th.

Again, why doesn’t someone tell me these things? School starts on Monday. That means, school shopping on Saturday. And when did schools stop offering driver’s education? Now, I have to find someone willing to teach my boy how to drive.

Add me onto the pile of “Joseph Campbell is a genius.”

For my birthday this year, I want a new digital camera – something I can focus and control.

Someday, I hope to ride in a British black taxi. I love those cars.

Time to attempt to write.

....season premiere of Robot Chicken starts tonight.

I know what I want to be for Halloween. I need to find some killer horns.

Good night!

International Trailer for Beowulf, now with more Angelina Jolie boobage

MTV Announces This Year’s List Of Terrible Bands It Will Give Music Awards To

China regulates reincarnation - yes, you read that right

Representative Bob Allen, a Republican in the Florida House of Representatives, blamed the weather and his fear of black men for offering $20 to perform oral sex on a man in a public park. - the local paper would never state the sex of the propositioned police officer. I cannot stop laughing.

Giant Lego man found in Dutch sea

( Click here to see what kind of Hero I am - you'll be so surprised. *eye roll* )

Stupid Sci Fi decides no second season for The Dresden Files

This depresses me. I enjoyed that show. Now, I'm going to buy the DVDs.

Stupid SciFi. If you didn't have Eureka, I would not watch you at all.

All right. Something’s going on. In the last two days, my brain has been quiet. While not broken, I could feel the cracks in the past. Now, it feels as if something has broken free. Newness oozes in like sunlight through the blinds. Dust particles float free in the beam, wafting like fairies woken after a long sleep.

Out of annoyance, I covered my head with the pillow. But it still went on, I knew it was. Just like when my husband wakes me in the morning with his smart mouth, I know he’s lying there with a big old, proud smirk on his face. I don’t even need to open my eyes to see it, though I always do to validate my theory.

I am never wrong. I am not wrong now about the scorching sunbeam and dancing dust mites.

A shift in perception, a depth of understanding, maybe a touch of faith – I don’t know. It hit me this afternoon at work when thinking about one of my stories. Typically, guilt and pressure crush all creativity dead. However, lack of sleep and high levels of bullshit put me in the right frame of mind. As I turned my problem of transitioning from one scene to another over and over, the crack widened. A piece fell away – I could hear it break way, but never land.

Seizing up a pen, I felt compelled to write the following:

Break it down into beats – ending & beginning, beginning & ending
Look at paragraphs, make sure it’s complete and building

Then I drew different types of doors around it.

Two realizations:

1) I suck at Taoism. Not for lack of trying, but my uncarved block has so many chisel gouges, nail scratches, hatchet marks and chainsaw grooves that no one would recognize it as a block at all. It’s a sad, mangled thing you would hide in the back of your closet out of shame.

Years ago, I watched a special on a learning channel called Malkovich’s Mail. Click the link and read up; I’m not recapping for you. However, that show scarred me. What if I was one of those people? What if I lacked talent and tried to make up with drive?

I couldn’t stop feeling embarrassed for the writers featured in the documentary. I had no business being embarrassed since they weren’t. Who am I to judge (a royal cunt, apparently)? If they were happy, I should keep my big fat trap shut.

All I knew was I didn’t want to be that – happy or not. Why appearances matter go all the way back to my kindergarten Catholic roots, not to mention growing up in an alcoholic household (Rule #1, pretend there isn’t a great, big, pink drunk in the room and, Rule #2, don’t let anyone else see the great, big, pink drunk in the room). Sure, my Vanity issues are all fucked up, but at least my views on sex aren’t (which, in all honesty, if I had to choose between the two, I would choose the one I have right).

Now, this is the part where I’ll refer you to if you ever say I’m smart again. I’m bookmarking it now. Are you paying attention? I realized today that I cannot be one of those writers on Malkovich’s Mail. You want to know why? Because I strive to learn. I am back to showing people my work, asking for criticism, reading Campbell and Struck, and writing. I leave my bubble. I step outside myself.

Yes, my new routine works (finally). My word count flexes between 600 and 1200 words a night, but that’s spread out over four projects right now. While 300 words per project doesn’t sound like a lot, its 300 words more than what I was doing. I am having problems completing my special two-year project, but a few days off gave me new perspective. Instead of punishing myself for not obtaining those 300 words, I listened to a much wiser friend. I took a break. I’m ready to go back.

It only took me years to figure this out. Yes, Virginia, I am a genius. Hit me in the head again with that hammer, just a little bit harder this time, you wussy, fucking girl.

All this leads to realization number two.

2) Expectations lead to unhappiness. If I take nothing else from my paycheck job when I leave, I will take this: having too many expectations sets you up for disappointment. I learned that in Anger Management class (keep the giggling to a minimum, please).

What fell way today in my head were all my expectations. I have only two left: I will continue telling stories and I will continue to learn how to tell stories better. That’s it. Wherever the road leads, it leads because that’s what roads do. I’m done worrying about this, that or the other thing. Fuck it, I don’t know why I thought I would get a vote on my future since I didn’t get much of one in my past.

Yes, this is wood glue. I believe in my uncarved block. I can try to fix the scars. Sure, it’s been touched, but it can be beautiful again with a little work and a little love (and a lot of booze and denial, but those are the secret tools no one ever tells you about).

That’s it. I don’t talk about my writing much here because I want something published before I do again. So, this may be my last post about writing, but it’ll be all right if it is.

This post brought to you by Joseph Campbell and Warren Ellis. Yes, Amazon delivered A Crooked Little Vein and The Power of Myth. Perhaps not the best idea to read them together, much like rum and Mike's Hard Lemonade, but there you has it nonetheless.

Never Relent.

This week's Eureka is better television that we deserve.

*lays down on the floor*

I have over-dosed on Life on Mars. I've seen them all.

I love Sam Tyler like no other. I love his story so very, very, very much. See how much? I can't even form words beyond "very, very, very."

Oh. I create something like that. How awesome would that be?

I dreamt that Warren Ellis was talking to God at the San Diego Comic Con this morning. Not figuratively, literally – God sat next to him on a folding chair. Warren had his cane leaning against his leg that was straight out before him. Both sat away from the table at the booth as if on break. Easily three times his size, God glowed with holy power, white beard and hair moving against the laws of gravity.

I remember that they talked about the cat who predicts death at a nursing home; not the cat itself, so much, but the surge of media hype. Then they went on to talk about Marvel vs. DC for heroes, which I found myself tuning out (can you do that in a dream?). But just as subject came up, one that snapped my attention back to attention, the alarm went off.

No, don’t ask me what the subject was. I’ve forgotten in the waking. My brain hates me.

So, I’m twitching because I can’t have my fix. Episode four, season two of Life on Mars is buggered, so I’m waiting for a new download. Normally, I’d move on in the series, but this show only has two seasons. I’m afraid I’ll miss something vitally important, so I’m waiting. Not well, mind you – I went on YouTube last night hoping to find a mash-up of Sam/Gene fights (I secretly want to beat the piss out of my DCI) but came across a two part interview with the shows creators.

This show took seven years of pitching before some network signed on. The first episode went through thirty-six drafts. Thirty-six.

Fuck.

I spent the rest of the night contemplating how you kept up interest and faith in a creation like that. I mean, the show’s premise is fantastic – I love the show on the premise alone. Hell, once I heard the premise on BBC America, I knew I had to watch, recommendation unseen. Anyone who knows me can tell you I don’t watch or read hardly anything until it comes recommended by one of my friends. So, to track down viewing time and then eventually the show online without someone saying, “You’ll like this,” says a lot. But I couldn’t wrap my head around believing in a piece of work that long – long enough to sit in another office and try to sell it after being rejected do often.

How would you know this would be the time? Wouldn’t you, at some point, believe your work was rubbish if no one else saw what you did? No one else heard the message you were saying?

This morning, I dug out a bunch of old stories – the set I used to apply for graduate school, the stories of mine I like. I’m going through them again while at work. I may not be able to write, but I can edit at work. Oh, yes, my pesky ethics that no one will cut out of me have nothing to say about editing at work.

Do not watch two episodes of Life on Mars back to back before going to bed ever again.

I should have written "before trying to go to bed."

*sighs*

GAH! They were drinking Ol' Granddad out of the bottle! We used that to light fires back in college! Of course, we drank it too, but they didn't make the appropriate face!

There's the tequila face, the first-time scotch face and the Ol' Granddad face.

GAH!

Stupid show.