Jessica McHugh's Blog, page 16

Think in Ink (with Pictures!!)

Check out Denise Verrico's original blog post on Immortyl Revolutions (http/immortylrevolution.blogspot.com/2011/...)

I'm not a blogger. If it's not obvious to you already, it probably will be after this post.

I'm a fiction chick. Everything about my life is invention, so it's difficult for me to sit down and write about something completely real without it being a rant. And let's face it, there's a lot to rant about. But I don't want to rant. I want to write something sweet, something uplifting, something helpful.

But I'll probably just end up sounding like an ass. A perky, all-eyes-on-me ass, but an ass nonetheless. I suppose reality and I don't get along very well. I say, "Good morning, Reality. I'm Jessica and I have a lot of writing work to do, so I'm just going to stay home and get it done."

 To which Reality always gives me the old-fashioned glove slap and orders me out to my car, out into a world that is neither cloaked in day or night. It's just dim. So seems the brunt of weekdays; until 2:30p hits and I give Reality the finger. Don't worry. Reality totally deserves it.

People tell me to blog about how I create characters or how I write dialog, but the truth is, I don't know how it happens. It's difficult for me to put my writing process into words. Sometimes I feel like my brain is dictating a conversation that's already happened. Often I get worried when the dialogue comes quickly; I'm afraid I've written it before, but I've searched my documents and it hasn't happened yet. Good for the book, sure, but bad for the author explaining how she came up with it. Not only am I scatter-brained about how I write, I'm also a little fuzzy on stuff I've already written. I work very quickly and multitask like crazy, so once I'm done with a story, I give it the heave-ho from Hotel JessBrain. My mind is already a cluttered mess of story ideas: ones I'm currently writing and ones I'm planning (all the way to 2014), so I just don't have the room for old ideas. When I'm asked about plot points or specific character details, I have to stop and think, "Okay, 'From the Herald's Wearied Eye'...that's...the dystopian...one..." 

So I can't really talk about the internal process, but I can explain the process in which I write and edit for a little glimpse into my mad writing world.

1. THE IDEA

 

Pictured: some crooked-faced writer chick researching the Mutus Liber for "Song of Eidolons"

 2. WRITE

 

Ale optional...sometimes...

 

3. STAB THE ALPHABET

 

 
(aka type handwritten material into the computer)

 Hopefully, your desk actually faces the TV.

 PS- Kevin Costner not always included.

 

4. FIRST REVISION/EXTENSION

 

 ...
Unless you wrote it perfectly the first time. If that's the case, you better hide because I'm coming to steal your magic powers.

 

5. STAB THE ALPHABET (yes, AGAIN)

Ralphie Parker is to his pink bunny costume as Jessica McHugh is to Stabbing the Alphabet.

 

6. SECOND REVISION/ EXTENSION


Don't be surprised if you have to wear an ice glove by this point.

 

7. You have to STAB THE ALPHABET again,

 but I'm not going to dignify it with a picture this time.

 

8. AUDITORY REVISION

Set the computer to read the manuscript aloud. Listen for errors or weird sounding phrases and fix as you go along, but ALSO rock out a bit because you're almost done!!

 

9. Finally, SUBMIT!!

Or, send to your Mom to edit and then, SUBMIT! (Thanks, Mom.)

 

There you have it. That's my writing process, and except for Stabbing the Alphabet, I love every part of it. Wait, did it come across that I don't like Stabbing the Alphabet? I wouldn't want that to be misunderstood.

Thanks so much for having me as a guest, Denise! This was an absolute blast, and I think I might just have earned my beer today. Depending on what time everyone out there reads this, you're welcome to have one too.

 

Degrees of Dick: the Meanies of the McHughniverse

Check out Castle Macabre for the original guest post, (http://castlemacabre.blogspot.com/201...) and stay tuned for a Castle Macabre review of "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" later today!
"Danny Marble", is now available for Pre-Order at Reliquary Press.com!!

Degrees of DICK
The Meanies of the McHughniverse

(disclaimer: This entry says "dick" a lot. A dickish amount, actually. Enjoy!)

My favorite type of character to write is "The Dick". This person can be protagonist or antagonist, male or female. The most important thing to remember is that "dick" does not equal "evil". Like real people, fictional characters have their motivations for behaving the way they do, and because of that, there are different degrees of the dickish character. Listed below are some of my characters with their dickish qualities highlighted.

The Born To Be Dicks Dicks

(The Oneiroi from Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things)

The sons of Hypnos and Nyx, the Oneiroi traffick in dreams. Once three separate entities, they decided they were tired of waiting for their birthright and joined into together, literally,to wage war on their father. Not only do the Oneiroi monitor the creation of dreams, they use dreams to ensnare humans. They play with mortals' fears and feed upon those who fail the tests. They fought for their birthright and they're enjoying every eon of it while Hypnos rots in an eternal cage, and boys like Danny Marble stumble into their traps.

The Self-Loathing Dick

(Captain Jack Racine of The Sky: The World)

Jack Racine hates being called "his father's son", mostly because he believes the insult is true. An admitted lush and cad, he treats himself like that's all he is, and when others are wounded by his words and actions, he can't apologize because they should have known better. Jack wants to be more than he is, but he's too afraid he doesn't deserve it to even try. Instead, he masks his inadequacies with liquor, laudanum, and an endless stream of ladies. He is harsh to those who love him because he thinks their love misguided and himself unworthy. But when the better brother dies and Jack is all that's left to redeem the Racine name, he uses his dickish powers to his advantage.

The Selfish Dick

(Benjamin Robeson of Song of Eidolons)

Benjamin Robeson is an intelligent and well-respected man, but after discovering he has an accelerated expiration date, he becomes an extremely selfish man. He is determined to survive and will do whatever it takes, even if it means killing the only person his best friend, Arthur Dagson, cares about. He doesn't particularly need to kill her to maintain his current state, but he will just to show Dags he can. 

The "Mother Knows Best" Dick

(Faye Norton of Rabbits in the Garden)

Raising two daughters on her own in the 1950s, Faye Norton is religious, sensitive, and absolutely insane. Or is she? After all, it's not easy being a single mother, and in times of diminishing morals, someone has to stand up for what's right. Someone has to teach the world that bawdy is naughty. But most of all, Faye Norton wants to teach her daughters that the last person they should ever challenge is Mother. She teaches that lesson frequently. Faye's particular brand of dickishness could also be classified as "The Psychotic Dick". 

The Bully Dick

(Preston Michaels of The Dangerous Life of Darian McCloud)

Preston Michaels has done a lot of bad things: things he doesn't think are so bad, at least not on the surface. Born into an assassin family, he takes pride in his work and eventually falls in love with another assassin. Unfortunately, her part in the tale is short-lived. After having two children together, Preston murders Darian McCloud because she posed a threat to the organization. To cope with the murder and abandonment of his children, he turns to alcohol and adopts a son whom he verbally abuses for amusement. There aren't many redeemable pieces of Preston Michaels. 

King Dick

(Chancellor Rojer Doa of From the Herald's Wearied Eye)

Rojer Doa and Preston Michaels could be related. In fact, they are. The ELM Corporation for which Preston works is a precursor to The Council which Chancellor Doa heads. But while Preston has a cruel tongue, Doa uses other instruments of torture. He has little restraint when it comes to his enemies...or his daughter, but it's to be expected. The Chancellor has rights others do not, and very few who still live free in Cartesia are likely to dispute it. He takes what he wants and deserves to do so.

Some are lovable, some are reprehensible, but they all have valid reasons for being dicks, whether the reasons justify the actions or not. I could go on and on, and I would if I didn't have The Prince Charming Dick (Kit Marlowe from Verses of Villainy) waiting for some tender loving care.

http://castlemacabre.blogspot.com/201...

For Guillermo....? Who's Guillermo?

Find out why my horror novella, "Danny  Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" is dedicated to "Guillermo" at Edin Road's Blog and tune in to Edin Road Radio TONIGHT to hear an excerpt from the book, due for release by Reliquary Press on September 12th. The show is at 6:30pm EST and can be enjoyed online and in the archives following the show.

Broadcast link: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/edinroad...

Edin Road Blog: http://edinroad.com/blog/2011/09/07/g...

Jessica McHugh on Edin Road:  http://www.edinroad.com/authors/jessi...

 

The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new

I'm so behind.

I jokingly blame being almost 29, but it's really because I just work on too much at once. Maybe if I ditch the full-time job one day, that won't be such a big issue, but right now, MAN, AM I EXHAUSTED.

Here's a little rundown for you:

I finished my 2nd full length play, "The Dangerous Life of Darian McCloud" which I wrote and edited in less than one month. What becomes of it now, I have no idea. Why I pushed myself so hard to finish it in one month, you're guess is as good as mine. Hopefully I can find a theatre or director who'd be interested in a story of assassins in 2020. Unfortunately, I can only find places that want to do staged readings, and I'm not sure gunplay works as a staged reading.

The fourth book in The Tales of Dominhydor is finished...somewhat. I finished the first revision...which was basically an entire rewrite. Now I'm just slowly "stabbing the alphabet", getting everything transferred from the binder to the computer, and it's killing me. Apparently  my typing skills aren't what they used to be. OR, maybe it's the recurring tendonitis that's making my fingers so stupid.

"Verses of Villainy" is also finished it's first revision. It doesn't need as much work as "Telinhe", but it still needs all of the revisions transferred into the computer. Plus, I need to make sure I have everything in the order I want it to be, which is a pain in the ass considering no one really knows for sure in what order Marlowe's plays were written/performed. It's mostly speculation based on publishing dates and the few bills that survived the years. Luckily, I write speculative fiction, so it's all good. :) "Telinhe" is definitely the highest priority...although I'm not really treating it as such. Especially since I started writing "Pins" again!! I couldn't be more jazzed about being in the midst of the "Pins" world, but I know I have so much else I need to do. I guess I won't be doing "The Green Kangaroos" for NaNoWriMo because I can't afford to work on ONLY that.

Meanwhile, with all of this writing/editing hullabaloo, I'm trying to promote my other books, especially "Song of Eidolons" which is on tour for the next 4 weeks (https://www.facebook.com/event.php?ei...). Also, "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" is coming out soon, so I'm trying to drum up interest in that. It really shouldn't be too difficult because I've seen the ebook and it's FRIGGIN AWESOME!! Plus, I have a few different book fests coming up as well as a radio show during which I'm reading an excerpt and countless guest blogs to write.

Oh, and that whole full time job thing.

Stressed is a mild way to describe it. Luckily, Dave is an expert at relaxing me, albeit at the cost of writing time occasionally. Even so, if I didn't have his love and support, I could never do everything I do. He keeps me grounded when I get lost in these many fantasy worlds and keeps me smiling when I think I'm about to snap.

The truth is I wouldn't snap. I'd spill my stress onto the page before that could happen, but it's nice to know that if I were in some inkless oubliette, Dave could always rescue me from insanity.

Alley Gala

Alley Gala

PartyPartyParty.

Glittering Jesters with clinking crowns

Stolen for a day turned night

And a night made everlasting day.

Wading through the rascals and assholes

And puddles of piss, puke, and Pabst,

There is a golden glimpse

Of the goal:

PartyPartyParty.

In the heart,

In the soul,

In the fuck-all fists

Punching air and bone and cheap excuses for walls.

Come on crashing

Down to the block,

Down to the lusty, dusty search

For somewhere to sleep,

Someone to keep,

Something to lose so we can all win

One more night-day at the

PartyPartyParty.

A Warring Reward

A Warring Reward

A bittersweet beat shakes the cage

And every ounce of meat arranged

In delicate patterns I could ne'er reweave

But attempt to, in inky song, conceive.

The end: a blend of thanks and grief

In briar-bound notes of sweet relief.

The din of praise is a question raised,

One dressed in doubt that famished preys

On bone and hold through dappled days.

But a beauty begins.

It stays.

It grows.

It starts as poetry disguised as prose

And builds a palace of each query posed,

Only reached on tips of toes.

Looking over the crimson gate,

Behold the fickle fount of fate

From which I supped one summer night

And changed my standing-still to flight.

But even in the skies, so free,

The cage contains insurgency.

Doubt and courage: two warring gents,

Whose clash is dashed by this truthful sense:

Even bittersweet beats are recompense.

 

 

Roots

Roots

Dig in deep, they said at birth.

Cling to home, to mother earth.

Do not flee at flight of mirth.

Silent safety will be your berth.

But no matter how deeply in dirt I hide,

There's no outrunning what starts inside.

I started growing a different way:

Changed my color, changed my shape,

Took the lush with the decay

And swept the blistered blooms away.

But no matter how lovely becomes my tree,

It does not change the roots of me.

Like claws in quicksand, I can't let go,

Caught in a lusty olden throw.

Shoddy seeds are sickly sown

And only thorns are overgrown.

But no matter how deadly seems the dive,

Whether soul or root are dark-derived,

I will choose to live, not survive.

Through thorn and bloom, the tree will thrive.

Short-Lived Yesterdays

Short-lived Yesterdays

There is a devil on our doorstep,

He who delights in asundering us.

Ever present, he is

Digging ditches and planting reminders:

Evil seeds that split our

Very home into fearful pits

In which the near-day sits,

Lapping away our time together.

Save us, my beloved.

Never answer the door.

And if you must, let it be at night.

Morning is the devil's stomping ground and

Evening, his confine.

We shall hide there

Amongst the stars.

See us still, the devil will, but he

May not touch us.

Over dawn's breaking, we hide in the night, but

No matter how tightly our hands are clasped,

Day will come anyway

And the devil with it, booming the truth we battle:

Yesterday, once again, has slipped through our fingers.

 

 

 

Inside the Outside

Inside the Outside

 

Dear little finch

In a stifling wire cage,

How you must long to be free.

Flitting from perch to perch,

Hoping for a change:

The very acme of insanity.

 

Cramped wings

And a song for the years

To be sung only from the trees.

Giving only feeble chirps

As on and on time wears

And freedom seems an impossibility.

 

But oh, little finch,

The door opens wide,

And you are given to the breeze.

The song at last is calling,

Coaxing you outside,

And straight into the tiger's teeth.

Dear little tiger

In a stifling iron cage,

How you must long to be free.

Prowling from stone to stone

Hoping for a change:

The very acme of insanity.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night

On June 6th, I randomly popped over to a theatre site I used to visit to find auditions for plays (that I never ended up auditioning for). One of the notices was a submission call for playwrights for a One Act Festival hosted by Thunderous Productions. I've been wanting to write another play since "Fools call it Fate", and I thought a One Act would be a great follow up, but there was a problem. The deadline was June 8th. That would give me two days to write, edit, and submit. Never one to be daunted by a writing challenge, I decided to go for it. After all, "Fools call it Fate: a story of sex, coincidence, and an electronic cigarette" was written in less than two months AND chosen out of 50 submissions to be one of the three for a staged reading at Mobtown Theatre. Then, it was chosen for a full production, which I'm dying to see at the end of July. I know its going to be amazing! That whole experience was such a wonderful one, how could I not want to do it all over? Luckily, I already had an idea flitting around in my noggin, one that I'd been wanting to do something with for a number a years. It was a simple concept but one I found hilarious: a girl brings her zombie boyfriend home to meet her conservative southern mother.

 

Delightful. Plus, with zombies, you get the opportunity for so many sight gags and "chew the scenery as if it's brains" sort of deal.

 

I began writing that very moment. Whenever I had a free minute at work, I was writing. While components were thawing, while solutions were mixing...During my lunch break, I don't think I even paused while I was eating.

 

When I got home from work, I wrote and wrote and wrote, and before 10pm I was finished my first one act play: Two Grunts for Yes. It took less than half a day to edit, I crossed my aching fingers, and submitted. The website said they should have results by June 20th, which seemed like a million years away! But I tried to be patient. Of course I imagined being chosen, but I couldn't help but imagine NOT being chosen as well. I mean, I wrote the damn thing in a day.

 

On Monday, June 20th, I checked my email obsessively. I had set up an inbox filter to send me a text message if I got an email including the word "Grunt", but I checked and checked anyway. After work on Monday, I decided to go to my friend's bar and do some patio writing (and patio drinking). When I got home, I kissed my husband and moaned about how I hadn't heard about the play. While he was upstairs in the shower, I obsessively checked my email again.

 

1 New Message. Oh the feeling that twists the stomach in times like these. The dread. The excitement. The "O my god, I hope I'm not accidentally recording my reaction on the laptop" (done it before).

 

I didn't read the entire email. I just scanned for "McHugh", and there, stuck in among the abrasively pink text that made up THE LIST, it said "Two Grunts for Yes" Playwright: Jessica McHugh.

 

I. flipped. out. Dave thought someone had died. He threw open the bathroom door, still dripping wet from the shower, to see me collapsed on the stairs giggling like an idiot. I was absolutely consumed with joy. I had hoped beyond all hope that my play would be chosen, but realistically, I just didn't think it was possible. And my dear darling husband just kisses me and says, "I'm not surprised." What a swell fella, right?

 

I really needed this boost, especially when my hands are killing me and the last book in the Dominhydor series is taking longer to edit than I thought. So, come September, "Two Grunts for Yes" will be debuting at Thunderous Productions One Act Festival in Sandy Spring, MD. I will update as more details become available, but it's possible that "Two Grunts" could be chosen from that festival to advance on to the MCTFA Tournament in January. But I'm trying not to think about that. I'm just really looking forward to seeing someone embody the southern mother character and of course, to see zombies try to set the table for dinner. :)