Update & Rant

Well it has been an interesting week, to say the least.

Not only have I proven myself geographically retarded -- a word I don't use lightly, considering I can't tell you where certain countries are without said map -- I have been through one of the biggest moves I will ever make.

This means that I am no longer living at the house I've always lived at. It feels kind of strange, and now I'm wondering how I can transfer that information to my writing.

My writing is going through a dry spell. There's nothing like them to dampen down the mood a little, but I suppose I could always drink a few spirits and get that sweet alcohol to do it for me. But I digress. I rather like being happy, so I think I'll stick to making my character's lives a living hell.

As for how to make it hell, one usually does throw conflict after conflict at them.

My muses currently have a few plot threads, but where I am in the story now? Not so great. Distant Sun is chugging along and hitting the middle is a big and scary place filled with mystery for a writer like me.

I'm not used to trying to finish stories. I am determined to finish this one. Because I actually have people interested in them, and this time around I have crafted an old idea into a brand spanking new one. There are even other books in the works, although this story needs to be told first.

What I've worked out is that writing crap really doesn't help my story. Not one little bit. So I can't add on it. If I'm not happy with what I've written, I don't create new words. I have to go all the way back and that takes up time. As a panster, this must seem pretty annoying. But there's not much I can do about it. It is my process.

I've recently decided that my process pretty much sucks. I've taken suggestions. Tried nearly everything to get a decent outline finished, but I keep losing interest in the outline. My urge to write the story -- actually write it -- is too strong.

So when I wrote my essay for school work, I was pleasantly surprised when one worked. Suggested by a friend from forward motion, it is simple enough. Make a list of all the headings, and the points that go under them. Brilliant for non-fiction and including everything that needs doing in an essay.

Yet the newest plan is to try it with a full length novel, including all the points but with some serious leeway. I think I can do it. But not with the story I am working on at the moment. It is far too soon. Maybe if this works and I have a decent idea, I'll be able to complete it. Right now... one thing at a time. Another thing I struggle with.

Don't worry if you don't understand the rant. I've just let this flow as I'm thinking about it, but if its any consolation I'm sure my insanity won't translate into the written word. However, I intend to prune and preen where necessary in my wip, until it is nice and shiny for Indie Publishing. I'll touch on that in my next post, maybe make it less ranty and more about what made me make the decision.

Revised Snippet: Slipstream Racers

"Engine four is down," Bex informed me in the tiniest of voices.

Right. Engine four is down. Not a total loss. "We can fly on three. We're not dead yet, mate."

"I'd like to think we're not dead," Bex said haughtily. "It increases our chances somewhat."

"By?" I refused to look at Bex's equipment. It might tell me something I didn't want to hear. Contrary to popular belief, I was allergic to bad news.

"Oh, about zero point five instead," The corners of Bex's mouth twitched. The slightest of smiles, but enough to tell me that he wasn't spending the last remaining minutes in race with his knickers in a twist. "I'm not sure how long we're going to keep it at zero point five, considering that two enemy vessels are now within range."

Range of what? I peered out my windscreen at spaces vast expanse. I could just make out their faint silhouettes. Crap. 'In range' must've meant in range of the radar, rather than firing range, which would've meant an easy defence. As it stood ...

I wasn't going to voice the thought aloud.

"Um ... " I stopped and made the mistake of glancing into the rear-view cameras.

Shit. Had he meant the two closer vessels, bearing down on  us with some speed? Because they certainly weren't cloaked. With their shields down, they were as visible to us as a rainbow on any water-world.

"Four ships," Bex confirmed a moment later.

Well that was good news. I wasn't imagining things. My body began to shake slightly. Crumbs. There wasn't a driver in the Outer Sequence that shouldn't have been able to handle pressure. Four ships shouldn't be a problem.

Not really. The Saints guns were good. Especially at full power. Except we were down an engine, running on auxiliary power and gunning for the finish line at the same time. There were three Jump Gates ahead of us that we had to rendezvous with. My jaw ached. A moment later, I realised I'd been clenching my teeth.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Five," I added to the total with a hint of dismay. Since when had tag-team racing been part of the War Game Division?

However it did give one of the freakish, once in a life-time opportunities. Pass all five of these crafts and I'd rocket into fourth place ahead of anyone who came by. So, what did I fear most? The opportunity, or the disaster to follow?

"Six," the number sounded as though Bex had taken a long gulp of water and then splattered it against the windscreen.

Definitely tag-team racing. But it would allow us to acquire third place. Hang on a minute. The sixth craft wasn't doing anything. It certainly wasn't getting ready to fire at us.

And as I thought the last line the ground shook beneath us like a magnitude 5 earthquake on a habitable world. Violent and sudden, we hadn't had time to do anything but react.

Curse these opportunists.

"What were you saying about our chances?" I murmured, hoping that Bex hadn't caught that last sentence.

"I think we can kiss the point five goodbye ..."

END SNIPPET 

So what does everyone think?