Erik Amundsen's Blog, page 53

cucumberseed @ 2011-11-16T10:59:00

I don't want to work today, but I am working.
I don't want to write today, but I will write.
And when I pause, I will look at this, and a pause is all it will be.

Can I get Jack White to Give me a Riff?

I just don't know what to do with myself (duh-duh-duh!)

So I have four word documents open right now. 

The first one is Motherfucking Pirates, and slightly stalled out, in and of the fact that the five man band needs a fifth man, and I am coming up totally short on who that should be.  Initially, it was going to be the ghost that Gem chased gone all heel-facey, but I'm not sure I want her to be a protagonist so much as a background character that comes in later.  That said, I have a little time, everyone is still in hell.

The second one is "Live Arcade" which needs a little more kicking around.  I am hoping someone who is more of a video gamer than me can take a look at it and let me know if I did right by them, as returns are coming back from non-gamers and I'm absolutely not reaching any of them.  Not a big worry, just not sure what to do with or about it.  Also, Murr Potter and Sooney-Crow deserve to be real people, not video game characters, even if their story is STALLED FOREVER.

The third one is "Hopseed and Peppercorn" which is a troll story.  I am hitting the scene that I know least about, where the elder troll who might be getting troll-senile just accidentally caused the younger troll to turn human, and I'm not sure how the younger troll (or his human protege) is going to react to the transformation.  Or what kind of human the younger troll got turned into.

The fourth one is "Draftyhouse" about a Byronic space program, and a drafty mansion on the moon.  With space ghosts.  I have the house set up, and the main character, now watching the house on his own, having just met the ghosts.  There will be displacement, colonial shenanigans and an unthinkable weapon.  I just have to get it there.

I need to knock at least one of these off without neglecting the others.  I am thinking just letting "Live Arcade" sit, since it's actually done and not going anywhere.  Next, some Drafty and some Pirates, because there is something I can do with each of those while I figure out what's happening to the trolls.  Good.  It's a plan.  Thank you LJ, I would never have gotten this far without writing this shit down.

Now Imagine the Cat is a Cold...

I'm just going to hang out on the couch today and do nothing more taxing than get up for juice and pet the kitties.  I will return to making words as soon as I am able.

Motherfucking Metrics

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“She really doesn’t.”  Said Gem.  “Don’t worry, we can teach you.  Why when Qualm first…  Oh shit.”
“What?”
“We let Qualm out of our sight again, didn’t we?”  Said Swift.  “Fuck.”
“How long do you think it’s been?”
“Twenty six minutes.”  Bacon said.
“Twenty six minutes?  What in God’s name were we thinking?”
“Gem, language.  We’re in hell.”
“Someone explain to me what’s going on?”  Bacon pleaded.
“No time.  We have to find Qualm.  Chri-  erm, Crimson… fucking something…  There’s no telling where he’s gotten.”
“Or who’s gotten him.”  Said Swift.  “Come on, sweetness.”
And off they fucking went, weapons already in hand.  Bacon shrugged and followed.  She manifested the freezer array for good measure.

Is it wrong

to want to write Lovecraftian under the pseudonym T. Kelley Leigh?

Motherfucking Metrics (with an Ugly Bird Cameo)

So.  Hell.  Sky the color of very old coffee, fading to the green of an olive taking mold.  No moon, no stars, no sun, just a cochineal sort of effulgence ringing the horizon.  Wind in fits, sky full of great winged ugly birds and fast little hell swallows.  A few scraggly suicide trees and some disreputable pomegranates clinging to the rocks.  Asphodels and black-speckled poppies, aloe, saw grass; the ocean in hell is more like a bayou, dank and green and stinking, full of deep-rooted mangroves and fiendish little crabs, blood red and vein blue.  Corpse candles and fires springing from the water.  Souls floating like forlorn, fist sized fireflies, beating like hearts.

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Motherfucking Metrics

2132

...Two things happened at that moment that ruined everything for the warlocks of the Angrbod.
First thing was they made Qualm cry out, loud.  They say a mother seal can know her calf’s cry on a beach full of fucking seals, well Gem knew Qualm’s cry over the din of grim fucking slaughter which had been their occupation for the last few moments, and she and Swift tracked on that noise like the angel of death on a pirate with a coin in his hand that had been the spoon in his boot.  The second involved boots and nonchalance, because in not looking too closely at his target, our erstwhile third mate failed to notice that it had been holding a silver spoon, shiv-sharpened handle pointed up.

In the Mail!

Yesterday, I got a card from csecooney  and shveta_thakrar and skogkatt all of whom I was to meet for the alphabetically first's play, and which I could not.  It is a wonder, all secret panels and hidden messages and it's taken me a while to find what might be all of them (but, enticingly, might not), and I am all full of warm fuzzys.  Thanks guys.  You rock.  Kind of a lot.  

Motherfucking Metrics

1243 words to almost 37000 total.

Also!

Someone wrote a nice review of "Pony"