…Cometh the blind irrational panic.
It’s just over a week until the start of the slogfest that is NaNoWriMo and I must confess I’m slightly nervous. From a logical standpoint it seems easy enough. 1667 words a day you say? I know I’m easily capable of knocking out that many words in about half and hour. So logically I should be able to complete the entire thing in one 17 hour stint. The problem is however, that logic, is bullshit. Like many a perfect mathematical system constructed for scientific purposes it ignore several factors which twist and warp the result into something far, far different. In this instance it’s piddly little things like the need to sleep, eat, and occasionally re-equilibrate fluid levels. That and the ever threatening claws of The Funk, waiting to pounce on my unsuspecting creativity. At the opposite end of the spectrum from the glories of 55 words/minute, is the situation I frequently find myself in, where I have no idea where I’m heading, no idea what I want to write, or what words to use. A time where it can take as long as three hours just to force out 50 poxy words. This is what fuels my dread at the prospect of this undertaking.
If I am to maintain my flimsy pretence of being “a writer on the internet” as opposed to the shameless charlatan that I really am, I should probably get back to the business of writing.
I recently completed the fourth instalment of the Trials and Adventures of Mister Callis. This particular instalment, as you may now have guessed by now, is entitled “Seeing a Man About a Dog”. A delightful euphemistic colloquialism that can mean so many sly and terrible things. It fits rather nicely with the theme for Callis’ latest exploit, the rather laborious business of actually negotiating the price for a “hit”. This time the focus has shifted rather drastically from previous adventures. For a start no one actually dies.
Well Monday did not in fact see the release of SFFS’s Zine. It did not arrive on the shores of the internet until Wednesday. I felt slighted. I felt betrayed, stabbed in the back. Left behind to suffer at the hands of a monstrous horde. My rage was incandescent. And then I was given a biscuit for my efforts and the anger melted away on a breeze of chocolate and baked dough. That and I realised that being twos days late wasn’t all that bad and I was evidently over reacting. Sometimes the industrious little gnome in my head likes to throw on a pair of tights and a ruff; turn the drama all the way up eleven, start yelling “verily” and “forsooth” and act the ever loving shit out of a situation. His elocution could do with some work though.
Anyway, I advise you to hunt out this Zine about Mr Callis and his shenanigans. It’s also worth having a read of my friend Sam’s story called “Jeremy”. The last line is quite the stroke of genius. Or at the very least bad punning.
Now I’ll leave you with a link and bid you good night. For as much as one might want to wish otherwise, the dread Minecraft is no substitute for food and sleep.
The Zine: Edition 3
Tomorrow should see the release of the latest issue of SFFS’s termly e-zine. It’s called the Zine. It should also contain the third instalment of “The Trails and Adventures of Mister Callis”. For the uninitiated, which I suspect will be more or less everyone, they’re a series of short stories cornering the eponymous Mr Callis. I’ve always been a big fan of fantasy literature, the epic tales of high adventure from the likes of Eddings and more recently the dark and seedy world’s of Joe Abercrombie and Scott Lynch. I’ve always wanted to write a fantasy story but my previous attempts have been somewhat lacklustre, dry and a bit boring to write. The difference with this is that writing about Callis is fun, it’s exciting and I continually want to do more. This does however concern me greatly. Not for the reason that I’m writing a lot for fun, that’s great. But because of specifically who and what Callis is.