Category Quick Jump
The Man shuddered and sat up. What time was it? Was it still morning? He went outside and looked at the sky.
He rolled his heavy head around to survey, then went back inside.
The man lived in the basement of an apartment building. It wasn’t the nicest one in Chernobyl because the authorities were more likely to patrol those than this plain, slightly depressing one (in comparison to other Chernobyl apartment buildings - of course, they were all extremely depressing by our standards).
The man had swept up the glass…
I knew this was going to happen: I’m not so sad anymore so I couldn’t write last night. I tried, as you can see, but I became sooooooo slleeeeepppyyyyy.
I actually have a surplus of words that I wrote the first or second night of starting this novel. Technically, I can skip a night. I’ve got an extra page tucked away, but I really, really, really love to feeling of being on top of things. I’d actually prefer to have two to five pages saved up.
All right, so I’ve got:
1. A theme: My Identity as a Depressed, Lonely, Lost and Confused Woman.
I guess I have a location, also: Chernobyl.
The Alien was lonely. Her work took her to areas of the galaxy far from her home on Thula. She hadn’t in fact, seen her brothers and sister in years. She longed to go home, to feel the comfort of being understood and accepted; loved, even, without having to work for it. She missed seeing the familiar faces – her sister who people often mistook for her, and her gorgeous brothers. The girls in high school loved her brothers: she didn’t quite get it, but they really, really, really loved all of her brothers. Her sister was popular too, in that bad girl way, but she was not. She was an “awk” (slang for “awkward”).
All right. That was a decent start to my story, wasn’t it? Chernobyll is a good setting and the man is an interesting character. The alien, she’s not so well “fleshed” out, haha: ghostly, moving into the man’s body and directing him around when he’s not capable of it. She’s like a Catholic wife. Or a Muslim wife, if the caricature I saw on Saturday Night Live has any validity.
I always assume that men do not have the emotional need for a female, the way women feel a need for a man. Actually, part of a woman’s need for a man is just needing the stronger being, socially and financially. Men glom together. Sometimes I get the impression that they’d all prefer to be gay to straight, but don’t go there because it would upset some sort of balance among their buddies - that they are all afraid it would freak out their buddies, and that their buddies would then stop being friends with them, so they don’t make the gay overtures and instead find nice, docile, nice-to-look-at women to keep house and fuck.
My Identity as a Depressed, Lonely, Lost and Confused Woman.
I’ve chosen a rule: I’m going to write fiction. There is much more freedom there: I can make up physics, biology and ethics rules. I can make up belief systems.
So I will create an outline. I’ll create the characters: write outlines of their personalities and motivations.
Then I’ll fill in these personality and motivation descriptions with actions, history and background. Each character will become a compassionate person for the reader, even though the reader will desperately, desperately want to side with one or another of the characters. I will never allow it. My story will be agony to read because you will want to hate someone, but you won’t be able to.
Character 1: a toad. A toad in Chernoybll. The toad is the 2nd or 3rd generation of toad after the nuclear power plant exploded.
Links of Fondness :
Machine Biscuits :