Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The parade of bitches

And I was worried that there are not enough women in my novel. Yeah, right. And suddenly, KABOOM! women everywhere. And not just your garden variety woman. No no no. Until now all of them smart, interesting, powerful individuals, the kind of woman that will not mince her words when something annoys her, the kind of woman I would be proud to see around. Fierce ladies, powerful protectors, as dangerous as the male heroes if not more. And very sexual too. I am impressed by myself.

I don't want this novel to be gay erotica. I could target that niche in literature, but it's too narrow. I don't want to limit my scope and audience and first and foremost I don't want to limit my heroes in their choices. There are male/ male couples in there, but also male/ female and female/ female. Why the hell not? Variety is good and life is fantastically unpredictable. Why be a stereotype when you can have it all? Why NOT have it all? If you can handle it, go for the sky and don't stop there either.

I am really curious as to HOW others will react to this book, if I manage to get it published. But that's not something I must worry about it now. Right now I have a plot detail to take care of. Praise and curses will follow at some other point. Work, bitch. Work your ass off and the rest will follow. Work like there is no tomorrow.

Ahhhh... My ass hurts from so much self- flagellation. But oh well. :)

Saturday, October 13, 2012

New arrival in my head

The beggar queen

I am constantly reminded of all that is not here, she said.
People, goods and opportunity are the most usual.
But if you ask me, I do not miss them. After all,
when circumstance becomes your fellow traveler
and time is the only tool at your possession,
you learn to make do.
Her dog says nothing. He’s a bony mutt
ridden by fleas and long winters and disasters
and he’s used to hearing his mistress musing
about a great many things, under the sky
that is their permanent roof.
Most days, his greatest concern is food,
or the lack of. Yet at night,
when the mistress sleeps and scratches herself
and dreams about being a beggar,
he stands watch. The fleas in his hide
throw parties and try their best
to take his mind off things. But he is not that easily swayed.
And when the moon unwraps her pearly nets
with great care, over the city that happens to host them
only as an afterthought,
he rests his battered head on paws that hurt
from walking the roads for so many years. 
Once he complained.
His mistress scolded him. She would have none of it.
This is my job, she had said, and it takes
a lifetime of dedication. If you find it a ordeal,
walk with me not. He felt ashamed. After all,
the only goods they both have in abundance
is time and circumstance, the only certainties in a life
that constantly changes, yet remains the same.
Cities, fortunes and kings come and go. And she doesn’t care
whether it is pity, disgust or hidden pride
that puts the coin in her dirty hands.
She thanks them all, and without complaining
takes from their shoulders the burdens
of people, goods, and opportunity.

Friday, October 12, 2012

With my nose inside a book

I finished with chapters ten and eleven. I feel exhausted. I have been working on them for the past two weeks or so. I tend to treat every chapter like it is a short story. There is a beginning, a middle and an end. Every chapter is a scene, full and separate than the rest, each scene following the previous and preparing the next, but at the same time as complete and independent as possible. At least to the best of my ability.

Internet is so slow that I find myself barking with rage every time I try to watch a youtube video. There are so many things that go wrong, but I must not focus on what is wrong but on what is right. If I focus on what's wrong I am fucked. There are always occurrences and conditions that are not to my liking. No need to make them my exclusive reality and constantly feed them with my attention. I should just focus on my job, and my present job is writing.

I am listening to game soundtracks from youtube. Perfect music for writing. It is one of the reasons I am angry with how slow internet is. Two examples:

I am also reading Lunatic Cafe by Laurell K. Hamilton. I don't know if 'reading' is the right characterisation for this combination of sighing, cursing, suppressing my impulse to throw the book out of the window as well as reading it. The protagonist is a perfect example of the bad stereotype of a young American woman. If she was blonde and stupid as well she would be THE example of a young American woman. Prudish (no sex before marriage), self-righteous, stubborn, uncaring as to how her actions affect others as long as she feels that things go her way, and above all a "good girl". I want to slap her silly and kick her senseless. Character development? What's that then? Is it really necessary? And it's a pity because the writing style is effortless, but it remains to just that. It never takes off.

I am not joking when I said that I write in order to have a  book to read. I cannot find good books to read on the vampire genre anymore. I am bored. I want something different. I am sick of cliches, sick of all the stereotypes. I want to explore the sensual and sexual side of the vampire in more than the bad male vampire/ innocent female victim relationship. I want all kinds of sex in there. Gay, straight and bisexual, vanilla, kinky and bloodbath. I want characters with motivations and fears. I am sick of the books I find. And with extra pride I want to refer to the fact a friend of mine who's a homophobic read a chapter with violent gay sex and he did not even realise until it was too late. This means I managed to achieve my target, which is, STORYTELLING. Sucking you into the story, not letting you realise what's going on, rendering you incapable to stop until you have read it. And even after reading it, be just too absorbed  to care. I patted myself on the back for that. Well done. All this bleeding my head over a computer screen and a keyboard has paid off. Thank you, Elizabeth. Well done.

Monday, October 01, 2012

Oh God no...

I wonder why the so-called alternative sites (see Vampire Freaks) are full of emo teenagers with fringes? I haven't got anything against fringes per se, but when I see cute teenage things with duck faces and fringes I want to slap them. I can't help it. It's a knee-jerk reaction. Just like that. Blame it on my sadistic side. And then I want to get a pair of scissors and hack the damn fringe. And then I want to spank their asses as if they were tambourines. With all the facial piercings they have they will probably jingle like tambourines, too. Argh. Half a kilo of metal on your face and not even doing it right. I mean, what exactly is the purpose of those damn little balls protruding from your nostrils like permanent boogers? I have seen so few people that the piercing actually looks good on them. The rest merely have those eternal metal boogers just outside their noses. I suppose they can always use this excuse to flirt with people of their preferred sex, asking for a handkerchief.

And the drama. Drama drama drama. Nooooooo. I don't want to hear why your life sucks so much. When you're 15, everything sucks and nobody sucks you, which is the basic reason for the drama. With all those hormones having a party in your head and body I can understand why, but shouldn't such sites be strictly over 18? Just saying.

Another fantastic American puritan thing. Calling someone a pedophile for flirting with someone under 18 years of age. A pedophile is a person that is attracted by children, which means, pre-puberty children. Once the teens kick in, the whole "child" notion goes out of the window. Anyone in their teens is not a child anymore. The lowest legal consent age in Europe is 13, in Spain, and I have lost count of how many European countries have 14 as the limit. This is NOT to say that anyone in their teens know what's good for them, or are fully responsible for themselves. This is why we recall our teens with mixed feelings of wonder and terror, about how we made it through alive and sane despite how STUPID we were. But when we use the term 'pedophile', we refer to someone attracted by any child from zero to more or less 12, even 13 years, not older. When the hormones kick in, the teenager is as much of a child as a T-Rex is a lizard. You do catch my drift. I do understand that there are different age limits in countries around the world but my problem has to do with the definition, not the mechanics or the morality. A teenager is JAILBAIT (if you're American). Not a child. So flirting or fucking a teenager does not make you a pedophile. Unless you're a 'lucky' American.

Rant over.

Off I go to write more...