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Thursday, May 18

The first sentence is so fucking hard to start. TA-DAH. It's cheap, but I don't care. Microblogging has turned my ass into a free-lance clown on the internet, the day ends, and I have no idea where my time went. I'm spending several hours trying to think of funny shit to post on twitter. Specifically, something that'll end up on Favstar and get some stars and all of a sudden I'll feel good about myself again. I have a creed that every tweet must abide by: a weird thing in a weird place. It's like madlibs, except I put "rape" for person, place AND thing.

So Superhero is taking shape. I think I have a dynamic that works and a character strange enough that people will want to stick around so they can see what happens. Every story needs someone like that. The Coens always have characters like that. They need to be mysterious, threatening, but redeemable. I think if you spell everything out, you develop a narrative, and people generally don't like being read to. Give that shit to children.

I told myself on New Year's that I was going to finish Dust by my birthday. THIS MEANS I AM COMPLETELY FUCKED. I mean, ruined. Unless I speed write the rest of it just hitting major action points and cursory glances at dialogue and development, I'd finish just in time to have an unfinished work. When someone asks you to make a sword, they mean the whole fucking thing. They don't just want sharp metal, they want tempered, finished, work. My big fuckup is that I temper as I go. I'm a completionist. I know things won't be perfect, but at least I can know that they're entire.

Then, it'll be time to call up Nathan and say "Help me, for the fate of Universe depends on it."