Onward and Backwards

January 1, 2013 by Cassidy Frazee | 2 Comments

Welcome to the Real World–one that isn’t 2012.  Stumbling forward towards a second year of blogging and story telling, and now I’m up to doing both this new year.

So . . . Suggestive Amusements.  Wrote yesterday, wrote this morning.  Chapter One, and I’m just a little over two thousand words into it.  It’s smooth, and the writing is going well.  I’m remembering not to use “Suddenly” to set up action; not to use “Very” as a adverb as it’s lazy and it won’t get us laid; not to start a conversation with “So”, and not to say “Truth be told”, because it’s a tired cliché.

I’m also noticing that a lot of my own feelings are popping out upon the page.

The main character is a writer–or, I should say, someone who is writing, someone who is trying to publish, someone who has a few things out in ebook format, and someone who is tired of the work they’re now doing.  Oh, sure, sounds like someone I know–sounds like a lot of people I know.

There’s something else popping out upon the page, however, and that’s some personal feelings about work.  Not just work in general, but how I felt about my last job . . .

It’s no huge secret that I hated my late position.  I hated it going in, and I didn’t like it any better as time went on, and such were my feelings that when I was told in October that my position was being eliminated, and that my services were no longer needed, it was all I could do to keep from smiling as I headed for the exit.  As the movie quote goes, “If I were half the man I was five years ago, I’d take a flamethrower to this place!”  Well, I’m more than the person I was five years ago, and it’s been a very fortunate thing that I didn’t find any flamethrowers laying about.

The thing is, as I started in on how my main character feels about his job, there was the sudden . . . whoosh of feelings, you could say.  Things about my old slave cubical came back; little nuances about how things were done in the office were remembered, and as I began to created the words needed to bring the character’s sense of ennui to the forefront, a feeling of “I’ve been here before” was dancing about me like a crazed jester.

I didn’t just hate my last job:  I loathed it with the power of a thousand hypernovas being sucked into the kill-hell galactic black hole of all galactic black holes.  That’s a lot of power:  a hypernova produces 1 x 10⁴⁶ joules of energy in photons, and that’s 2 x 10³⁶ tons of TNT.  If you want to see that number, here it is:  2000000000000000000000000000000000000 tons.  That two trillion yottatons, which is a real number.  It’s also a number so large that there is another word for it:  Foe, which is only used to measure the power of supernovas.

Now add three more zeros onto that number, and find the energy necessary to toss the whole mess into the event horizon of a super-super-super massive black hole, and watch the gamma rays fly!

That’s how much I hated my last job, and I’m feeling it when I write this chapter.

But this chapter will be over soon; maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow night.  Then I can move onto my lovely muse coming to visit my main male character–

Oh, did I say things were going to get simple?

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