Unquiet Slumbers for the Sleepers . . .

It’s almost over.  This “short scene” of action that would end up the centerpiece of a twenty-five thousand word novella has turned into a novella of its own–thought, to be fair, it’s still the centerpiece of a short novel.  Funny how those things work out.

But it’s in the final stretch.  The last chapter ended up about thirteen hundred words full, and I set the first short sentence of a next part of the chapter before I decided my eyes were going to begin fighting me before long if I continued upon this course.

It’s what’s for breakfast, though.  After posting I’ll get into the chapter and rip into the sucker.  I’ll finish up the last segment of this nightmare, spill the last blood, and set up Part Four.  I still have another character to bring on stage in somewhat dramatic fashion, though I could say I’m really bringing four characters onto the stage, but one doesn’t have a lot of lines, and the other two–better not say.

“What of the unquiet slumber you speak of?” I hear you say.  I don’t really hear you saying it, but I know it’s there, at least in my imagination . . . good question, though.  Here’s what I mean.

First off, there’s this story idea that is tearing around in my head–again.  It’s another of those erotic fantasies, like the one I just finished before the Camp, and it won’t go away.  It wants me to write it down in my Ideas Project so that it becomes a thing, a real thing that stays around forever, but I’m resisting.  At least for now.  But the time will come–maybe today, maybe tomorrow–when I set the idea inside an idea file, and save the project.  Again.  Because I never have enough ideas, it appears.

Then there’s the dream . . .

For the longest time dreams have been impossible to remember, likely because of a combination of long work hours and exhaustion.  But they’ve been coming back, because who knows, they just do.  There’s a reason they tickle your brain in the middle of the night, because they are reminding you that you’re not the boss of your mind subconscious.

What did I have in my dreams?  A whole lot of being told that I can’t do things that I want to do.

It felt like I was at Comic Con, though it could have been any con, since I’ve attended GenCon and know what they’re like.  I was walking to and fro, my badge slung around my neck, and it seemed like everywhere I went, I’d hear from people about how I shouldn’t dress a certain way, or I shouldn’t walk a certain way.  How I shouldn’t walk onto a panel and talk about a certain subject.  How I should write stories a certain way, or that there were some stories I shouldn’t write at all.

Crap like that the whole time.

In the end I walked into a hall dressed a bit like the Silk Specter, though what I had on was more red and black than yellow and black.  I seem to remember flipping someone off as I headed through the door, because they were about to question where I was going, and I didn’t feel like giving them the satisfaction of being able to feel good about “telling me something”.

That unquiet slumber is over.  Now I have writing to do.

After I tell this idea to stop bugging me.

The Wreckage of Our Stories

According to the notes and word counts I’m keeping for my current work in progress, The Foundation Chronicles, I’m 81.57 percent of the way to reaching my goal of thirty thousand words for Camp Nano.  As I’ve stated, the story will go over that mark, but I’ll reach my stated goal this weekend, or maybe next Monday, and I’ll sail onward and finish the story maybe a week later.

With that I’ll have another story in the mix, something that’s going to become–well, now I don’t really know.  The opening to a novel?  A stand alone story?  Maybe now I can write a series of short tales about people who exist in this world, and show my readers all the hell they go through.

There has been a lot going on in the story in the last couple of days of writing.  After weeks of building up the world, I’m in the process of, to use the technical term, blowing shit up.  My bad guys have started a fire with the intention of killing a small portion of the school’s student body, and a couple of the administrators have offed the doctor (no, not that one), and are preparing to burn down the house, so to speak.

I’m having fun with this story.

That may sounds like a strange thing to say, but this is really the first time in one of my stories where I’ve sort of cut loose and let the body count rise.  I sort of did this in Her Demonic Majesty, with various attacked and a few over the top deaths here and there, but there wasn’t any sort of mass carnage.  Well, there was when had a demoness turned loose on some poor souls, but a lot of that action took place off-screen, so with the exception of a few images of Succubus Killing in Action, you had to use your imagination to see what had happened.

Not in this current story, nope.  Hearts and heads have exploded, two people are eaten alive by fire, one guy takes the magical equivalent of a death ray to the face, and one bad guy is flayed alive by a student who uses a cyclone of dust and stone chips to create her own Mini F5 Twister of Death–which probably means that once word gets out about that little action, instructors will be hesitant to give her detention in the future.

World building is a process I love, but world destroying is pretty cool, too.  With death and destruction all around, there’s plenty of chances for heroism and sacrifice, and both are going to appear in some detail.  Actually, that’s coming up next, right after I have a couple of ladies who are enjoying a midnight snack of homemade ice cream deliver an ass kicking that gonna leave their attackers reeling.  Do not get between a woman and her ice cream and berries, losers!

The real truth here is that I’m having fun.  I’m also thinking about what I’m going to do next, which is how most writers work.  The current project is close to finished, so what’s next?

I know what’s next.

You just have to wait to see what it is.