Ice, Ice, Baby...

The new short story really, really wants to be called “Sunglasses At Night,” which is lame on sooo many levels, especially the 80’s one-hit-wonder level. We are still discussing. Also, the Character Who Shall Not Be Named is already getting away from me, becoming all bitter and angsty and misogynisty. Big jerk.

And note to sosostris2012 and jmeadows: I have stolen back the world’s supply of setting. Would you like to trade for some plot?

My research for this one depresses me. I’m learning about the underworld drug culture, particularly meth use, more particularly ice. It hits too close to home. Literally. I get meth-heads in my office all the time, kids who think college is the magic ticket to life change. Anything but clean up, yanno? Even the former users are in bad shape. Someone who’s used meth for a couple years looks like a lifetime chain-smoker with corpse-colored skin and steel wool hair. And then there’s the twitching… I’d like to include drug dealers in Shepherd Book’s special hell, please.

Ok, I need to think about something else. Hmm…. Oh! I’m leaving for Cancun in about a week! (insert major squeeage here) Many pictures will happen. Yes, many, many pictures.

Happy Monday!

Writerly Stuff

I've decided to post progress notes, just to keep myself accountable. (And a lot of my friends are doing it. I am, above all, a stupid sheep.) Feel free to read or scorn at your whim.

Progress: 891 words on "The Story That Shall Not Be Called Sunglasses At Night"
Non-words according to Word: cybergoth, narc, uptempo
Barely avoided clichés: she halted abruptly, blood red lips
The words I'll hate most to cut: "Sweetheart, why would I get the ice from Ramoj?" Soaked lips brushed my earlobe. "I can afford heroine."
Thank God an editor didn't see this: Sweatheart
General thoughts: Writing something urban is both easier and harder. Easier because I get to take advantage of established culture and vernacular. I'm so used to inventing everything as I go along, that it's nice for my own little world to do the work for me. But harder because there's an uncomfortable grittiness there. This story could happen to my sister. Or me. And because it's real world...the research, oh gawd, the research! Every little detail must be justified, lest I feel dumb. Must avoid feelings of dumbness at all costs.