Writing...

I'm writing again. I took on the NaNoWriMo challenge once again. Last time was in 2005. Didn't complete, didn't really compete, either. Too much going on personal life. Same with 2004. Not only did I have all the shit going down with the idiot, I also had the idiot insisting on 'outdoing' me. I was constantly asked how much I had written, but wasn't given any real time to write. There was always something that needed doing. I had forgotten about it by the time I moved here. That first November, I was already seeing Sic-un and wrapped up in a new relationship. The second, I had just moved in and was looking forward to cooking my own Thanksgiving dinner. Time went on and NaNoWriMo became something that I had 'tried but failed so why try?' 6 days before this Halloween, I saw a blurb on it over on boingboing.net (I think).

I thought about it. Did I have the desire to do it, to make a serious attempt at writing something? Well, yes. I've half-way plotted my way through several things. Did I have the time? Well, DUH. I'm not on the computer doing something useful, you know, not even entertaining. I actually spend quite a bit of my time being entertained by my computer. Sites I'll go to, games I'll play, Teh IntarWeb exists as an alternative to the squawk box. So, yeah, I do have the time. I'm up until 2:30, 3 most nights anyway. Rather than play stupid games all night, might as well write something.
I decided I'd do it, signed up on the 27th of October. I set up a profile, then set up an outline, character maps, everything. It was supposed to be some sort of Herman's Head type thing, a conflagration of the id, ego and superego warring it out to see who would come out on top, introducing such characters as The Clerk, who really does live in my brain. He's an unassuming chap, believes in the power of the bow-tie to make it serious. Yes, he wears the suspenders instead of a belt. He also is prematurely balding because I keep making him run all over at top speed chasing tangents. He's ripping his hair out, Dear Reader.

I started writing on November 1. The outline and characters and the barest hint of plot of what I was doing all went straight out the window. It flew, Dear Reader, simply flew. As fast as I can type, I had a firm plot and several characters and histories. I had HISTORIES in just a matter of an hour or so. I'm now better than 1/2 way through the 50K words. I have absolutely no fear I will reach that goal. The story is a bit longer than that, I'm thinking, but Sic-un is insisting the right to reclaim a portion of me after the first 50,000. I'm moving fast enough with it and it's coming easily enough that I'm actually kindof freaked out about it.

So what's it about? I can hear the question now. That's a little harder to explain. Keep in mind my intentions were to write a wry little commentary on how insular we have become through general fiction.

The 2 remaining serial killers from a family of serial killers-who are also hardcore pornographers-kidnap Kira to be their latest 'actress'. Through a combination of drugs and Stockholm Syndrome, Kira, a young graphic designer, starts falling for one of her tormentors.

That's where I'm at. 31K in. And no, it's not safe for work. NO, REALLY. It's PORN. If you have any knowledge of ASSTR's story codes, it's going to end up being:
MF, M+/F, F/b, M/m, MM, FF, Mdom, Fdom, bi, nc, inc, ped, tort, rp, anal, size, b/d, s/m, toys, fist, best, sn

I didn't set out to write porn. And when I sit down to write, I will literally start typing and my brain goes off someplace else. It really kinda feels like someone else is writing it. Maybe it's the Clerk's frustrations at my tangents.

So that's what I'm up to. I'll post it here when I'm at 50K, ok? I don't think that'll take much longer.