Still alive.
I go back to freelancing in less than a week. The paper wants me back, and a good friend (former news editor) just came back to the communities desk. Meaning I'll have two desks to work for, plus a feature-length piece planned for sometime in February. The research can't be started until Monday, but once it does, I'll be thinking about, chasing down, or transcribing interviews until press day. Leaves little time for writing given my past operating procedure.
I need to change that. Not just because I haven't submitted anything decent since last year. Any kind of writing is an exercise. It needs regular, constant practice. I get it in spades for hard news, broadcast writing, even the odd feature-piece or two. But fiction? Forget it. I average about 2,000 words a day of transcribing, taking notes, drafts. Having the energy to hop off the train, flop down in my chair, and pound out 1,000 new words a day didn't seem possible a few months ago.
It should. It must. If I can't hack it now, as a freelancer on the bottom of the totem pole with no editorial duties, then it's not happening. There's a job opening in four months for a news editor position at my paper. No way in hell am I keeping up editing, reporting, and writing fiction at the same time. Not if I can't do this now.
I entered journalism to keep my thumb firmly on the pulse of the world, and pay the bills. Forgetting fiction for the sake of that defies the underlying rationale: life to inspire and infuse art. I can't make a living off of fiction. I'm not that good, I don't have the time, and my bank account isn't bottomless. If the result is chaining myself to a news desk for the rest of my life, forget it. I'm out.
I've got a grace period. Tuesdays, into Wednesday night. That's the time between the paper going to press and the editors finishing their pitches and assigning stories for the next week's issue. Twenty-four hours, give or take. I could live with writing once a week if I got that sort of time to plug away at projects.
The plan is to submit two, maybe three short pieces to fiction magazines. Toronto's got a whole 'zine community I've barely explored. Haven't had the time. Or so I've said. Finishing at least the first draft of "arachnae.we" by April is also on the list. Getting starting on the rewrites for "Pit Stop" or "Instant Gratification" by then wouldn't hurt. If there's time left, Black Library and a few Eclipse Phase magazines are always looking for submissions. I don't have qualms about tie-in fiction, fan-fiction, whatever they're calling it these days. If it's good writing, it's good writing.
"Paragons" is going to become a fixture at this place. I hope.
Showing posts with label style. Show all posts
Showing posts with label style. Show all posts
Sunday, 4 January 2015
Monday, 13 October 2014
October+New Project
October. Shit.
In short, reporting has eaten my soul. But over reading week (and between two profile interviews I may or may not be doing in the morning) I'm doing my best to carve out chunks of time to start--hopefully finish--a story I plotted in part on a westbound train drifting its way from Scarborough to Union station. Toronto, by way of Oshawa.
Current working title is "arachnae.we." Title's a bastardization of the source code of the world's first psychiatric AI system--Arachnae--created as a software entity that's part medical encyclopedia, part inhumanly patient counselor, part curious and intuitive behaviorist.
Arachnae's creation couldn't have come sooner. A mental-health epidemic--the psypocalypse--is sweeping the globe, fueled by a thousand unresolved twenty-first century stresses. Burnout, disillusionment, and suicide have claimed hundreds of millions. Whole cities of people can't muster the willpower to leave their homes, let alone go to work, pay taxes, visit a corner store. Parts of civilization barely creep along--or have shut down entirely. Offices lie empty, theaters play sold-out shows to disillusioned sleep-deprived masses, thousands congregate in city centers to watch the world strain against the thoughts behind their eyes. Children jack into automated game servers or wander nearly-empty streets, unsure of how the billboards towering above could ever keep their promises.
If only the next generation pulled beyond this eclipse. It tried.
The World Health Organization, CAMH, Zeller Institute, and a myriad of agencies are lifting the worst sections of the world back onto their feet. But the treatment of whole populations is daunting--impossible to any degree resembling perfection. There aren't enough psychiatrists. There aren't enough doctors. Police forces find themselves running crisis intervention teams. Routine patrols are delegated to volunteer citizen's watches. Aid is needed.
So the Zeller Institute designed Arachnae.
They never expected it to work. Or lash out.
This could be anything from a lengthy short story (6,000 words+) to a full-length novel. Not sure what I want, or what the rest of the story will provide. I'm thinking somewhere around 15,000-25,000 or so. Writing this in part for a friend's anthology of modern-day kaiju fiction. This is my take on the genre--one I've never tried and barely read.
Sections may be posted here. Updates will occur at the very least. Depending on the length and reaction, I might extend it beyond the anthology. Might try and sell it as a novella. Stay tuned.
In short, reporting has eaten my soul. But over reading week (and between two profile interviews I may or may not be doing in the morning) I'm doing my best to carve out chunks of time to start--hopefully finish--a story I plotted in part on a westbound train drifting its way from Scarborough to Union station. Toronto, by way of Oshawa.
Current working title is "arachnae.we." Title's a bastardization of the source code of the world's first psychiatric AI system--Arachnae--created as a software entity that's part medical encyclopedia, part inhumanly patient counselor, part curious and intuitive behaviorist.
Arachnae's creation couldn't have come sooner. A mental-health epidemic--the psypocalypse--is sweeping the globe, fueled by a thousand unresolved twenty-first century stresses. Burnout, disillusionment, and suicide have claimed hundreds of millions. Whole cities of people can't muster the willpower to leave their homes, let alone go to work, pay taxes, visit a corner store. Parts of civilization barely creep along--or have shut down entirely. Offices lie empty, theaters play sold-out shows to disillusioned sleep-deprived masses, thousands congregate in city centers to watch the world strain against the thoughts behind their eyes. Children jack into automated game servers or wander nearly-empty streets, unsure of how the billboards towering above could ever keep their promises.
If only the next generation pulled beyond this eclipse. It tried.
The World Health Organization, CAMH, Zeller Institute, and a myriad of agencies are lifting the worst sections of the world back onto their feet. But the treatment of whole populations is daunting--impossible to any degree resembling perfection. There aren't enough psychiatrists. There aren't enough doctors. Police forces find themselves running crisis intervention teams. Routine patrols are delegated to volunteer citizen's watches. Aid is needed.
So the Zeller Institute designed Arachnae.
They never expected it to work. Or lash out.
This could be anything from a lengthy short story (6,000 words+) to a full-length novel. Not sure what I want, or what the rest of the story will provide. I'm thinking somewhere around 15,000-25,000 or so. Writing this in part for a friend's anthology of modern-day kaiju fiction. This is my take on the genre--one I've never tried and barely read.
Sections may be posted here. Updates will occur at the very least. Depending on the length and reaction, I might extend it beyond the anthology. Might try and sell it as a novella. Stay tuned.
Sunday, 7 September 2014
Genre and Style, Revisted
I write anything but poetry. And even then, my aim is to tension prose to hum without the need for stanzas or verse or a mic stand in a basement somewhere. I prefer longer work--novels, feature-length films--but I mainly write in the short-story to novella length. I've been trying my hand at games, tabletop scenarios, audio drama, even a few experimental forms. If it's a medium, I'll try it.
I don't have a preferred genre. Bending genres appeals more than filling out a niche. Most of my work would fall into the following genres, styles, or topics: cyberpunk, trans-humanist sci-fi, horror, noir, punk, historical fiction, low fantasy, contemporary, splatterpunk, xeno-fiction, military fiction (of all ages and calibres). I tinker, fuse, and pick apart the above whenever possible.
Regular inspiration includes anything on my feeds, Toronto, transit systems, post-apocalyptic art, the book in my bag, odd turns of phrase, a TV show late at night. Specific inspiration-of-choice includes work from Elizabeth Bear, Dan Abnett, S. M Stirling, Chuck Wendig, Neal Stephenson, Karen Lord, Chuck Palahniuk, Tony Burgess, the Gaslight Anthem, The Menzingers, Long Distance Calling, Agrifex. Plenty of others exist.
I don't have a preferred genre. Bending genres appeals more than filling out a niche. Most of my work would fall into the following genres, styles, or topics: cyberpunk, trans-humanist sci-fi, horror, noir, punk, historical fiction, low fantasy, contemporary, splatterpunk, xeno-fiction, military fiction (of all ages and calibres). I tinker, fuse, and pick apart the above whenever possible.
Regular inspiration includes anything on my feeds, Toronto, transit systems, post-apocalyptic art, the book in my bag, odd turns of phrase, a TV show late at night. Specific inspiration-of-choice includes work from Elizabeth Bear, Dan Abnett, S. M Stirling, Chuck Wendig, Neal Stephenson, Karen Lord, Chuck Palahniuk, Tony Burgess, the Gaslight Anthem, The Menzingers, Long Distance Calling, Agrifex. Plenty of others exist.
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