Saturday, 9 July 2016

This Bozo's got Writer's Diarrhea

I am now writing three books. Simultaneously.

I know. I know.

One book, The Bozo Codependency, now has the first and last chapters done (10,000 words). As for the rest of it, well, I'm trying to produce an outline. I hate making outlines. I'm a very organic writer, and writing an outline to me often seems as pointless as trying to predict the outcome of a night playing roulette.

So, why do it? Admittedly, an outline gives me direction. A direction I will certainly deviate from, but at least I know where I was supposed to be going.

Bozo I'm wanting kept to 100,000 words. I've retooled it to serve as a prequel to my initial Korptopia book.

Now, Bozo is partially a real story. It's based upon Randall's history, which is our future, and a diary I found in Randall's database. I have a lot of gaps to fill, making it fiction based on a true story, thus the outline.

Another book I started developing from a short story gone amok is The Secret Sex Lives of Elves. It has a few draft chapters. It also awaits a better outline. I think I have three books in my head there, not one. Why me?

Korptopia is on hold pending resolving an ongoing disagreement with Randall. He thinks I should view what he gives me from his database, and just recount that. When I try to find out from him his motivations, dreams, fears and doubts, he clams up. Readers, I tell him, want to know these things. He disagrees. He's a private person. Stubborn too. I can't write with any depth without his personal feedback. I can't write at all without his emotional context, actually. It's like trying to paint without colour.

So, for now, Bozo is my focus. I gleam what I can about the characters from the diary, and create the rest, while getting some future history context from Randall's database in there as well.

And, as I'm spending a lot of time trying to assume the identity of the lead character, I've taken the unusual approach of writing the the book in the second person, so you can take the same journey I've been on.

Before I leave you, here's a small slice of Bozo:

Chapter 1: On a Tuesday Afternoon

It’s 1996. You’re a white man and you’re in your late twenties. You’re single, never married, no kids. You’re almost really good looking. You almost have a decent job. You’re almost in great shape. You’re almost about to quit smoking again. You feel as if you’re about to finally do something. You’re almost many things. Life isn’t easy, but others have it worse. You know this.

So, you’re hopeful. But you are disillusioned too. You work hard, are considered to have a good attitude, but, inside, you are really quite jaded. Many of your friends have moved on. Face it, they aren’t your friends anymore. They are just people you used to know. You’re treading water. Where did you go wrong? Where did they all go right? You don’t know. You don’t believe in fate, but if you did, you’d believe that you’ve got some bad karma.

Your contradicted hope lays in the belief that hard work will get you out this stale Sargasso Sea. The future looks bright. You hope it is. In the meantime, well, it’s mean and lean times.

There’s a small light: For a while now, you’ve had a helpful friend named Michelle.

Michelle has lead a difficult life. But she keeps picking herself up. She’s told you a few tales “from the other side.” Which is to say she had a terrible childhood and convictions for fraud and prostitution.


I've written a lot more, of course. That's a just a taste of the style.

I'm terrible at updating this blog. I'll try harder, but I've been promoted at work, and with what little time I have to write, I tend to spend writing the books.

Maybe I should write one at a time, eh?

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