my shiny new year begins

I’m back!

Um, yah, okay then . . .

Seems as though this November, and my ill conceived participation in NaNoWriMo, beat the living tar out of me as a writer.

I won NaNoWriMo though . . . woohoo . . .

But at what cost? - This blog was abandoned and my current works suffered the consequences and have not seen nearly as much time or effort as they deserve.

Despite being referred to at times as "the writing machine", I'm just a man with all the DNA strands of any other, though not in the exact same sequence, or precisely the same twists. So, after puking out 50,000 plus words in November, my December writing recovery has been long and hard. I feel I’m over the NaNoWriMo burnout now, and will likely never do it again. I am much more the steady turtle writer, not the sprinting hair kind.

So, for 2010, I’m going to - not just try but, - Going To - blog every Sunday here to keep you abreast of the trials and tribulations of this here writer. Perhaps my words will paint a portrait of the middle-aged artist striving to convert words to cash, even though selling pencils on street corners is generally accepted as a far more lucrative career choice.

Stay tuned and I’ll fill you in on the whole 2010 travail week by week, which I will be titling (2010: the year I make contract). Titling things is the prerogative of the writer. Feel free to groan . . . and yes, I do realize it was that bad.

Anyhow, I’ve spent a good deal of the Christmas Holidays working out goals and writing schedules that balance home, writing, chores and family issues and I aim to see them happen without losing more of my thinning hair, or going more insane than I already am, which is already quite sufficient for a writing career.

With that I’m marking today as the start to my shiny new year. Yes I know it’s still 2009, but who decided this arbitrary number, date and year system anyhow? Guys on sticks, Mexicans, Romans with delusions of grandeur? - don’t really care how it got locking into the current system - my start to this coming year, is now . . .

So, I’ll start by filling you in on the plan so you can keep score at home and see if I’m shooting par, making eagles, or triple bogeying . . . and I can't explain why I just used golf metaphors - I actually don’t like golf at all.

Anyhow, the gist of my master 2010 plan is this - I’ll be writing short stories in the morning and completing my current novel in the afternoon. I have two collections of short stories I want to compile and sell, and one novel which is getting closer to completion every day but still needs revisions and expansion before it becomes a viable product. These are the projects I set for myself, and by gosh and golly, I’m going to do just that if it kills me, which I kind of hope doesn’t - because that would put an end to the whole deal . . .

So, without further doo, I’ll get to it then and let you know each week how it hangs . . .

. . . or something . . .

Until next Sunday . . .

t - 7

In exactly one week I’ll be trying my hand (well, both for typing actually) at NaNoWriMo 2009. It will be my third attempt.

I did it two years ago and won. The second novel I’m working towards finishing for publication is the product of 2007. In 2008 many factors conspired against me and I wrote about 1,100 words and that was all - an utter failure.

Now it’s 2009 and I have my big Science Fiction novel all shined up and ready to crunch out in 1st draft. I’m hoping it will come in around 80,000 to 100,000 words and be a good length for general consumption.

My current novel, Typhoon Rising, (well, actually novelette), I’m working on now is only about 60,000 words - like “novels” of old (in the sixties) used to be, and loved, I may add. In today’s world, if you don’t hit 80,000 words minimum, almost nobody even wants to look at your manuscript, let alone publish it.

On the home front my daughter has had a running fever as high as 104.5 and only dropping to about 103 (despite the fever medications) for the past three days. I’m happy to report that this morning, after an actual sleep through the night without pumping her full of drugs, she is only sitting at a mild 102.

I’m pretty sure it’s not H1N1 since she has had only fever and nothing much else. Having a sick kid on your hands is stressful and tiring though, and this week’s writing has suffered for it.

However . . .

. . . this next week will see me finishing the last chapter of Typhoon Rising in second draft form, and writing a short horror story for our Halloween scary story night coming up this Friday.

Then, with a bunch of review on my next novel Saturday, and I will turning my brain and fingers over (starting early Sunday morning November 1st) to the process of writing an 80 to 100 thousand word first draft of my third novel; Terminal Radius.

I am hell bent to win NaNoWriMo 2009.

Wish me no cramps.

Until next Sunday . . .

reno madness

No not some gambling addiction I've suddenly aquired - but rather a house renovation blitz I’ve been on for a week and a half.

This past while we’ve had the ducts cleaned out, an energy audit, a new water heater installed, a new furnace installed as well as a new programmable thermostat. Looks like I’ll be getting a fair chunk of bucks back in Government incentives and tax write-off incentives though so the pill may be jagged, but not quite as large and hard to swallow as I first thought.

I went out yesterday and bought some house sealing stuff: foam insulation, weatherstripping, r-5 insulation and the all mighty Duct Tape - how can you do any work around the house without it?

So, this week coming up will see me doing a lot of draft sealing before I get the auditor back to see if any improvements were made to these leaking places.

As for writing, I’ve been pretty distracted this past week (as noted by the activities listed above) and accomplished pretty much nil - not a good trend, and one I aim to throttle starting tomorrow, fresh and mostly house repair free except for some duct tape and weatherstrip maneuvers.

We still have to get somebody over to repair and seal our fireplace chimney, but that should do it for renovations for this year.

If we somehow uncover a pile of cash between now and March of 2011, we can replace some of our old downstairs windows and get 80 bucks back for each one. Not a bad deal me thinks.

Well, as the world turns, so does my stomach when there is nothing in it except coffee - so I’m off to the kitchen to make me some food.

Oh, and reading night (our monthly gathering of like minded crazy people) last night was good. I may not be Mr. Social, but it is good for me (so I’ve been told repeatedly) to get out and see other human beings at least a few times a year. Almost reached my quota then.

Until next Sunday . . .

would that I could create time

Sounds like a great idea, but it’s beyond my powers to alter the universe just so I can get a few more hours inserted for my benefit into each day . . .

Anyhow, it’s Sunday (hey, I didn’t miss it this week) and I thought I would give an update about my James-Bond-like life . . .

. . . Ahem.

Seems our rat has managed to damage his hind foot somehow and is now limping around his cage. Not good. Must have had a bit too much to drink one night and fallen down one of the sets of stairs in his cage - I think he will be all right.

As for writing, I’ve had a heck of a time finishing off the novel’s second draft and it looks now, with more interruptions on the way this Canadian Thanksgiving weekend plus furnace work and energy audits next week, that I’ll have to shoot for November 1st as the cut-off to have it done. One whole month past my self-imposed deadline.

But, I have another novel (my third) all planned, and I am going to get it cranked out during this year’s NaNoWriMo. It will be a month of insane first-draft cramming - but it will give me another huge project to work on after my current novel is completed - my goal is to have one novel ready to circulate per year. I would like to use NaNoWriMo each year to get a first draft done leaving me the remaining 11 months of the year to rewrite it and get it publish worthy.

And that contest short story will have to wait until, well, another contest. I just can’t get my second draft of the current novel done, and a short story of merit, in 2 ½ weeks before NaNoWriMo.

Oh well, such is life.

By the end of next week we should have our new furnace installed too - just in time for the coming winter season. And it better damn well last 20 years, not 17 like the last one!

Oh, I should mention that I’ve passed the 40 novels-read-for-the-year mark this month already - which puts me way ahead of my pages/year read goal or 10,000, so that’s a plus.

Well, looks like stuff needs doing, so I’ll be scooting along then to get doing it.

Until next Sunday . . .

short story: Cat Noir

Yup, a special mid-week post! Saturday Scribes was a bit late in positing their prompts on the weekend, but they did and the short story that follows came from;

Theme: What goes bump in the night

Words: darkness, razor, wisps, slithery, circling, black, patter, drainpipes, dripping, prickle, tangled, buried


Cat Noir
by Paul Darcy

Oh, how I love the sound of nails on a chalkboard. For most it sends a prickle down the spine, but for me it’s like a beautiful symphony; relaxing, invigorating even. Besides, it’s how I sharpen my claws to a razor fine edge before the hunt, and this night is special; Halloween. It’s the one time a year when my powers reach their fullest potential, and he is truly within my grasp.

It has something to do with gravity waves emanating across the dimensions and fueling the demon within. But whatever the actual reason, I don’t look to deep for the answers. I do what I do for the fun of it and not to probe the mystery behind my dark powers.

The old abandoned school is my home. Let’s just say there are still children there who, on occasion, visited here against their will. But you won’t find them - well not all of them. Their memories are buried here as well, under the rubble where nobody dares look. And no one is foolish enough to venture here anymore, not even on a dare, since I took up residence. The locals know, and those that don’t add to my collection in the end. But they are inconsequential. My true goal it to have my way without interference, but that will only happen when he is torn down.

This year will be different.

This year, my nemesis is going to die.

The curtain of night veils the sky in black and I slip out through the crack by the gym next to the broken plastic drainpipes which never stop dripping no matter the weather. Like spilled ink traveling silently over a page, I glide across the overgrown schoolyard without a trace. The yard, once a playground for youth is nothing more than a tangled wasteland of thistles and scrub now, and I begin my search.

Every year it is the same. The smaller ones come out first in costume, mad patter of tiny feet to the doorsteps, while the big ones huddle in small groups on the sidewalks, talking and smoking and oblivious to the peril I could put them in. I do love crossing their paths, then watching the expressions on their faces afterwards. The little ones are especially tasty to me and I can’t help imagine sinking my claws into those cute cherub-like eyes, and tasting the juices within - but not this night. This night my energies are to be spent on but one purpose, and I sniff the air for clues.

Down by the water, I catch my first real hint of him. Stalking along the banks, quieter than death itself, I pass along the riverside and search for traces in the circling, slithery wisps of steam rising from the steady, slow moving waters. He is masked, but the night is young and I am patient.

The smell of smoke irritates my nose and I creep out of its way. Any other night and the offender would be floating down the lazy river, throat and eyes torn out. But tonight the lucky offender is spared my wrath.

Completely aware of him now, as he hides in the mist trying to wait out the night and escape me, I bide my time and gather my energies. A breeze wafts up and colder air blows in. My muscles are bunched up like coiled springs. He can not hide much longer. In fact, as I grow stronger I can see the traces of him, glowing a pale white like the pallid skin of dead children’s faces.

And as suddenly as lightening he appears behind his veil, and I attack. Faster than any eye can see I have him in my grip. But he is strong and the battle will not won easily. My claws rake his pale flesh and my teeth gouge deep furrows in his being, but he is so much bigger than I and the certainty of finishing him off is not as potent as it was in my mind earlier.

Through a second sense I can hear people running from the area trying to protect themselves from the collateral damage or our struggle. The sound is fury, and the powers unleashed by my demon are titanic. Several times I’m sure I could finish him off, only to find he has slipped my grasp and hidden again for a spell. My energies know no bounds this night, but despite my best efforts he has survived again as the sun begins to brighten the sky and sap my powers once more.

Back at the school I scratch the blackboards in rage. He has escaped me again, but there will be another match. Until next year then I’ll do what I do best and those unfortunate enough to encounter me will suffer.

Now I rest until the night arrives once more, and hunting time comes again.