Vomitorium

So my son was sick earlier this week. Throwing up, low grade fever, the whole deal. The last time he had a tummy bug was so long ago that he doesn't remember it at all. Cut him some slack, he's four, not tons of life experience to draw from. But because of this memory issue, throwing up was basically the single most traumatic thing that could have happened to him.

Think about it. You put food in their all the time. Food and juice and candy and all kinds of  great stuff. It works it's way out the other end, sure, but it never, ever, EVER comes back out. That would just be...unnatural. If you try and imagine it from his POV, that's pretty scary stuff.

Anyway, the toughest part for me to watch was when he felt better the next day. He was so thirsty and a little hungry that the crackers and strawberry Pedia-Lite I gave him was like manna from heaven. They were simple and good, he wanted them, and they made him feel better.

For a couple hours.

Then it all came right back out.

And he completely didn't understand it. "But the Pedia-Lite made me feel better, daddy," he whimpered. "It was good, I liked it."

Again, you can see why he'd be confused. I gave him those things because they were good for him, I assured him they were good for him. But still, his body rejected them. And so fast that the recycled Pedia-Lite still smelled of strawberry. It was so good for him that it still smelled sorta okay even after it came back out. But now it was tainted no matter how good it smelled. It was good mixed with bad.

Slowly but surely, we experimented. Eventually, good things went in and stayed good on the inside. A week later, you'd never know his entire digestive system had been in rebellion.

Meanwhile...

So a few weeks ago, I started this short story. I was really excited to write it. It was using a character I'd had living in my head for years. And it was going to introduce an all new character that was an idea I should have had years ago. It was going to be Young Adult, like TEEN Agents, but more boy-focused. Necromancers, monsters, blowing stuff up, jet packs, the works.

But I think I jumped into it too fast after TEEN Agents. I mean, that thing went from not existing on November 1 to a polished piece of published work I couldn't be prouder of. But that kind of creative grindstone will wear down any nose. The nub I had left on my face didn't seem up to  the challenge of the short story.

Thing is, I almost never have trouble with word count. I have an idea, a plot and characters, then it's just  a matter of time before I get it on paper. It isn't all gold on that first draft, but the first draft gets done and relatively quickly. I had good things inside my head, it should've all worked out.

I started the damn thing five times. The first four were deleted whole cloth. Nothing from any of them made it into the opener I wound up using. The rest of it was  like  pulling teeth as well. Normally I look forward to my action scenes. After years and years of comics, I can see them in my head as they go. I almost never have to plan them, they happen organically as I go. But this whole thing just drug end to end. It  was lethargic locution.

I wasn't ready to let it go. I kept putting good things down on the paper slowly but surely even though they were tainted with a lot of bad. I sure as hell couldn't put the mess back in and expect it to come out better. It was a hot mess, but it was eventually out of me.

I sent Ajax Stewart in Werewolves of Mass Destruction to a friend and she LOVED IT. She helped me polish it and it was submitted to a Kindle All-Stars anthology (a YA reader for worldreader.org; that's a damn good cause).  La Consigliera of the KAS loves it so much she wants to make it the cornerstone of the anthology.

A week later, you wouldn't be able to tell my entire creative system had been in total rebellion.

I swear I had a point to these two stories. Ah well, I'm sure it'll come back to me.