I'm still here

It maybe over a year since I've posted on blogger. I moved things over to wordpress.
To see reviews on Paddockwood Beer, read my fiction for free, or check my few articles on Geocaching, and a whole lot more...
Head on over to http://pearcekilgour.wordpress.com

NaNoWriMo - Nov.1 - Word Count 2910

Nov.1 - Start! using zulupad pro for journaling progress, and for cross referencing. If I get ideas or information on how this new world I'm writing works, I'll dump it in there, make the wiki for it later. Most of these posts like these word count or reflections on the writing process will be done there.

For the actual writing, I'm using writemonkey. Simple clean interface, no distractions. Reminds me of WP5, blue background, white letters. No bloat ware here, self running EXE.

Once I'm done a segment I'm copying the whole thing, then dump into other word editor for word count.

2910 words on 'Unnamed' steampunk/fantasy epic, I don't need unecessary loss of time doing science research, this is pure story writing baby!

Already blogged, checked on slow cooker. Procrastination, thy name is Pearce, NO MORE!

Motivational Posters - Not just a marketing ploy

Check these out. Can't get any more motivational or meme like than these. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keep_Calm_and_Carry_On

WWII, british government decided to make a series of posters to alert the masses. Great bit of crowd control and keep that stiff uppper lip during all the bombings. Recently (past couple months I believe) they have gained the attention of authors Warren Ellis and Cory Doctorow.

So, with the popularity in the Inventables, the Tinkerers, the Inventors, the Makers and the DIY crowd, comes ...

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/03/18/get-excited-and-make.html

And then finally for the relaxation phase...

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/10/20/breathe-deep-and-let.html

For a daily routine, it's 3 good mantras to follow.

Keep Calm and Carry On - Better than 'when in danger or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout!'

Get Excited and Make Things - Better than 'I'll procrastinate tomorrow.

Breathe deep and Let Go of Things - This alone, will remind me to stop and be thankful, to center myself when I've had a hectic day of carrying on and making things.

So what does this post have to do with motivational posters, marketing, and crowd control memes? Not much, but it has been a distraction from me doing my 2k words for NaNoWriMo, as I don't have a plan so I'm panicing a little, I'm stressed about the flimsy plot, and the pain in my back reminds me that it's been too long since I've last got the knots out of my back... or gone to yoga. Irony, I've got it. Don't do as I do, do what I meme.

I'm still here,

Pearce Kilgour

So for a buck fifty and what I overheard is worth...

Warning : Innoculation of fact checking and seeking the truth is infectious. The following is just my opinion, if you disagree and wish to prove me wrong, bring me some facts and I can research.

Those who spread information based on fear are just as much if not as dangerous as the problem itself. They spread false information based on their own fears, and spread the paranoia into the community. For those that they convince, they put those people's wellbeing at risk. Those who don't seek out experts and ask what danger there is can only base the facts on what they've overheard. They are not arming themselves against the problem in the first place. There is an infection of ignorance which breeds in an environment of fear and it spreads like wildfire.

So what can we do to stop this?

Feed your brain with facts and common sense. You should be doing this on a daily basis. Ask an expert. Read a book. Actually read, don't skim. Avoid news services that spend more money on their video graphics than their own fact checkers and reporters. Avoid putting large amounts of speculation on things beyond your control.

If you come across those who refuse to do even one of these things, ask them to get sources proven. Call their hand, lets see the cards. Cross reference their information. If they are wrong, pass the proven facts back to who they got it from. If they refuse, they don't care about your own wellbeing. If they are right, isn't it great to be smart enough to change your mind and gather information from the correct people you've put around you?

Just remember, you'd let a neighbour change your tire for you, but would you let them perform open heart surgery on you? Would you let them invest your life savings? Would you let them tell you how to vote? So... Why would you take medical advice from them? Why would you take investment advice from them? Why would you let them tell you who should be making laws for you? The only way that I would let them would be for conversation. Or if my neighbour is a brilliant cardiac surgeon with hands of a demi god, brains and amazing spreadsheet talent of a financial wizard, and the gift of gab from a world reknown political sociologist. (If that was the case, then I'd tell them to pass me the tire iron and get to fixing things because they have better things to do with their time than helping me change a tire.)

Just because you don't have the facts, doesn't mean you can't get to them in a smarter method. The internet is easy to use, don't let it use you. Seek the truth, kill a rumor today, help a friend improve their wellbeing, you'll thank yourself for it.

I'm still here,
Pearce Kilgour

1KDay - Mattress Falling

Did 809 for the serial series, definitely a first draft on that, as I'm writing it, the plot I want to write is coming out. Will have to redo that.

But today... Golden Buddha writing challenge. The first line in the story is preset and you take it from there. Think this one would be good to develop into audio short story. Lots of dialogue and back and forth. Talon the main character is turning into my favorite 'everyman', lost artist wanderer who has more musical talent than I ever will.

I just learned how to play the stereo last week.

Basically I had to explain how a small town came to be in that situation. There's a lot more here, can definitely smell the influences of King with the weird little small towns.

Tomorrow, I will try and get strictly plotting for the serial series.

***

They had been waiting, umbrellas up, for the falling mattresses.

Talon had seen some truly bizarre sights in his time, but this scored an 11 on the weird-ometer. The entire town had come out into the fresh cold air left behind from the vicious storm. He thought it was the equivalent of taking the town through a refreshing ice cold shower. People smiled looking up at the sky, pointing here and there, laughing. Others laughed and wept openly in joy.

It was a hairy three days previous. A series of storms were pacing him ever pushing him further west. They finally caught up with him in the small town of Clover. Nothing much to the town, the only saving grace was that it had the largest mattress manufacturer in the Mid-west, and apparently the cartoonist who designed fast food icons got married here. Usually places like this didn't like strangers or drifters. Talon assured him that he wasn't strange, just his life was. The local bar needed an extra hand, just enough to put food in his stomach, roof over his head, and during the silent tense time huddled downstairs with other patrons, he found a grateful audience. Somehow his guitar managed to pierce through the rumbling and whistling sounds that shook the building above them.

There was cheering as well, and countdowns as each of the mattresses sproinged, bounced, thwapped and impacted into cars, buildings and in one case toppling over a tree.

Talon decided that they were all insane, and moved back into the doorway just as a king size mattress bounced off the pavement four feet away from where he once stood.

"Okay, they've all gone nuts."

"No buddy, they haven't. What you hear, is freedom." Frank the bartender spoke as he grinned at the sight. "You don't know their stories is all. Each and every one of them, this whole town, has been hooked into that factory for generations now."

Talon looked again outside, "I don't get it, that's the main source of money coming into the town-"

"Nevermind that, there, take a look at Harry. Blue ballcap, eye patch? He lost his eye at the factory. Father died of heart attack on the line, grandfather died on the way into the factory, slipped and broke open his skull."

Talon looked over to the lanky man that slapped his knees and pointed with his own umbrella to the one double sized mattress that arced on slow leaf parabolas into mainstreet and skidded for thirty feet before coming to a perfect stop into a vacant parking spot.

"Glenelda over there, her daughter said no, but the bastards son had other plans. Kid died two years later, overdose, suicide." The dirty yellow haired woman in the bright red sweater cried out loud, her hands smearing the mascara over her cheeks. Talon was reminded of the mourners of the middle east, a very large white trash version.

"Charlie can finally go get his boyfriend now from Chicago. There was a no-gays rule-"

"Wait, a what?"

"Owner was also the mayor. No homo's in our pure town. Can't have any of them, no sir. Bad voters, and child molestors."

"Wow, bigot, and a racist?"

"Yep, Margarette can finally bring her brothers from Los Angeles. Just barely made it past his evaluation." Frank drawled then chuckled at the woman as she danced to the sounds around her.

Talon began to understand, there was so much pain held up in this town. All concentrated in that one spot. Every hard working man, woman, and probably child in some circumstances was slaving to that machine. There was a few worried faces, but underneath, nothing but relief. Old resentments were lifted as easily as the factory was turned into billions of toothpicks. But somehow, managed to lift up every single mattress out of the factory and shoot them into the upper atmosphere.

This wasn't a rain of frogs, it was all shapes and sizes. Kings fell with Queens, while the twins and double foamed corpses bounced putting small dents in the newer cars.

"So where is the owner?"

"Lived out in that factory. Don't know how, but he was there, day and night. There was no home for him. Just the dollars. He's fourth generation. Each time the factory was supposed to be moved to the town, last minute the son comes forward and challenges it."

"Four generations of making mattresses?"

"Yep, and the small amount of hope and cheer happened about a month ago. He sold the factory to another company, took in a tidy bundle, then put himself back in the same spot. There was supposed to be a change of management, but somehow it didn't take. Rumor had it, he had investigators dig up dirt on the new manager. Must have been something bad, or believable." Frank took another look outside. "Still raining."

"Yeah. Should get the taps going, people are going to be thirsty." Talon moved inside, putting on an apron and got behind the counter.

"You kidding me? They aren't going to come in with all of this happening. Lookit those people, they will go home after this."

"But it's the evening rush."

"Talon, you really don't get it. They don't need any liquid cheer. They are going to go home, to their own beds. They'll finally get a decent nights sleep."

1KDay - Thousands of words

Posting this from public library computer terminal. So far I've read girl genius books 1+2, Fax from Sarajevo and 300 from the graphic novel section. Funny how it's placed right in the young adult reading section. I got stared at funny when I went and grabbed Maus.

Yeah. If you don't know it, go put a reserve on it from the library. This is not your average tights read. It's heavy hard hitting -human- stories. This is the stuff that they are teaching at the university under popular culture and the english department.

Nevermind that though. Kid is at the dance hall nearby getting her lessons that she's been at for the last 3.5 hours. And Dance Dad needs to get his 1K words done today. Only thing I can think of is a bizarre combination of Steampunk Romeo and Juliette versus the Empire from Star Wars. Sounds cool, but not enough time to do it justice. Maybe I'll do that story from the point of view of a paramecium.

Crap or not, I will not fear. I will write. Time and persistance will hone the writing blade.

1K A Day - The Order of Things

Todays February Writing Challenge, took another one of the 5 minute exercises and expanded it out. This one disturbed me a little as I had to recall all the things that people with obsessive compulsive behaviour. Then apply those habits and routines that they would use to start their mornings. Exercise is to show in detail through the character the effects of OCD, and not use the words "obsessive compulsive".

I wasn't disturbed at how the character got to that point, but the willing fact that I put in one event which upset the whole routine. I don't think I've done the main point of this story justice. I'll probably come back to it at a later date. Or scrap it entirely and never broach the subject again. Not unless it's for a really interesting character that I will use time and again. I am reminded of Murder on the Orient Express, where Poirot begins his nightly chores of waxing his moustache, etc. Seemed so neat and precise, think I borrowed some of that here.

As well, I've never wrote a guy character named Shannon. Until now. Apologies to those with OCD, I know I haven't described the symptoms or did enough research for this. And to guys named Shannon.

***

The Order of Things

Shannon dreamed of grid paper, immaculate and precise in white blue fluorescent. Unspoiled by mark of ink or graphite. The hint of a smile contrasted the brow which furrowed in stress. The alarm rang four times, his hand smoothly ran across the crisp linen sheets to tap the snooze button twice, then reached for the switch to turn the alarm off. He looked to the upper corner of the room that displayed the time in bright green LED's.

Blinking twice, he sat up slowly, allowing the sleep to be left behind. He swung his feet over the side of the bed into the slipper loafers. Grabbing the folded bundle of laundry from yesterday, he stepped deftly to the laundry nook and placed yesterdays clothing that he held into the washer. Taking the cups he filled the night before, added the soap and softener to the load. Nodding in approval to the awaiting chore, he stopped and looked to the upper corner of the room and was pleased that the green LED lights showed he was ahead of schedule this morning.

Shannon was comfortable in the rut of habits he had. It wasn't so much of what he did, but the precision which pleased him, the efficiency soothed against the chaos which lay outside his door. He unrolled the yoga mat in front of the clothes washer. Kneeling down he deftly fired off five pushups then lay on the mat, rolled over and fired off five situps. Eyes once again looked up to the time then stretching out his length slowly reached forward to his toes five times. His head spun a little but he was pleased at his progress so far this morning. The washer kicked into the next cycle and Shannon stood up, putting away the mat. It was a bit stubborn and would not roll right, frowning he lay it out on the ground again, and counted the hand curls it took to roll it up. He did miss the one, and reminded himself that a job can be done well the second time around. The clock reported that he was now just on time, due to his minor setback.

No time to waste, to the crisp clean bathroom, everything laid out in precise 90 degrees to the counter. Shannon found that he slept easier knowing that the specialty toothpaste he ordered came with a straight tube instead of a traditional cone tube. To stay with that would have ruined the precise lines and Shannon could not have that. He tolerated the bend in the toothbrush, barely, but managed to keep those thoughts away by counting the strokes for each tooth. When he reached 40 he moved to the next two teeth. Precisely half way through, he put more paste on the brush and continued, his tongue tingling from the paste was not unpleasant. Rinsing and swishing 10 times for each side. He allowed the luxury of only gargling once with mouth wash, and tried not to think of what would happen if he actually had to leave his house. Checking the clock in the upper right hand corner, he was still on schedule.

He quickly washed his hands and then after squirted some hand sanitizer into them. He counted the degrees as he turned the taps on the shower, then after the bathroom had sufficiently filled with steam, he forced his body under the blazing hot blast of water. After drying himself off with the one large white towel, and one small hand towel, Shannon decided it was a good start to the day.

Expeditiously walking to the kitchen, fourteen steps. Hands found bleach wipes and began running the sterilizing liquid over all of the surfaces. He stopped counting the times it took to go back and forth, as that did not match what he did yesterday. Finally after stepping on the lid pedal for the garbage, he dropped the lone sanitizer sheet in.

The toaster and coffee maker gleamed as he took them out from under the counter. Almost frowning at the fingerprints into the stainless steel surface, there was something amiss. A vibration, a sound, spilling and water. His eyes glanced upwards to the upper corner of the room noting the time then rushing to the laundry nook.

Steel cold fear and shock ran through his gut. Soapy dirty water puked forth from the washer churning out and heaving it's load. A puddle encroached the china white carpet with the inevitable speed of an iceberg. Shrieking, he ran to the supply cabinet, quickly grabbing a fresh new mop. Tearing the plastic away from it, he did manage to get the wrapper near the garbage can. Half way through mopping up the water, he stopped went back to the kitchen and dealt with the errant plastic wrapper to find his bagel was burned, and the coffee maker pinging happily that it's job was complete.

The green lights of the clock glared down at him as he rushed back to the laundry nook with papertowels and garbage bags in hand. Shannon rushed trying to sop up all of the mess and then looking to the clock again, felt another shock of guilt through his system.

He forced down the bagel then spotted his hands. They were filthy. Thoughts of all those remaining fibers of cloth, dead skin cells, and remaining dirt that was drying on his skin made his stomach retch.

Back to the bathroom, he dared not look up to the identical clocks that glared, but risking a glance, he saw the numbers flashing 12:00 over and over again. The tension ran across his shoulders as he returned to the supply cabinet, removed the 9v battery from the pack. He went to the three places where the shopping lists were kept and updated for 1 battery. He couldn't forget something if he did it that way.

Forgetting something....

He had to start over.

Back to the laundry nook, he unrolled the yoga mat across the neatly mopped floor and performed the same exercises again. This time, he unplugged the clothes washer, then returned to the bathroom again. Under the blazing hot shower until his stomach stopped heaving, Shannon decided he would have to have the washer sent out. Can't have other people in the apartment, no that wouldn't do.

Even under the shower, he sweated again, cleansing out. He would have to double time it now, out of the shower, grabbing the coffee and burned bagel and cleaning supplies he quickly clothed himself and ran upstairs.

Unlocking the door to his office, he quickly grabbed the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Shannon, it's John. Listen, I had a great brainstorming idea and the clients want to meet on this."

"Oh?" Another shock of fear ran through Shannons system. The anxiety built up already running rampant with the looming of the clock.

"Listen, I know you do your best from home, it's just for lunch, okay?"

Shannon looked at the green clock and saw that it was approaching lunch. He would have to hurry through his rituals before leaving the house. "Al-yeah, yes. I'll be there. Could you do me a favor though? What's the weather like?"

"Windstorm, kicking up dust from the valley, wear a hat, it might rain later on."

"Really?"

"Yeah Shannon, hey you can't grow a garden in a sterile. See you at the Barking Hound at noon."

Shannon absently hung the phone back up, saw that he had spilled a perfect quarter sized droplet of his coffee. He used the cleaning supplies then regretfully looked to the blinds. He had to work them a little, trying to remember which way they went.

The caramel sky reflected the amount of dust and wind for the day, setting a beige light into his office. Stray pieces of paper eddied and lifted up on an updraft. Trees swayed back and forth from the storm winds.

His mouth went dry. It was all falling apart. He would have to go out. Into that place. With the dirt. And the people with their greasy hands, spreading the germs. The habits wouldn't protect him out there.

But that was mother nature, dirty and invasive and the true order of things.

1k a day challege

The following is part of writing exercise/challenge from James Melzer. Write 1000 words a day for 28 days aka month of February. Found a great writing exercise site that I am going to be using in conjunction with other story writing habits, etc.
http://www.cmmayo.com/d5mwe.html

The character is one from my high school scribblings. You'd think that after so many years they would fade or become something else. The muse and flow of conciousness grabbed me tight on this one. Think with some editing I'll tighten up the grammar. Or record as short story audio wise.

*****

Recently Used

Talon patted down his pockets, looking for the familiar shape and weight of the cigarette pack in the many pockets of his leather jacket. He could still smell the stale beer and sweat from last nights concert. Finding the case, he flipped open the battered lid to find one bent cigarette, placed the butt end between his lips, then reached for the lighter. The small zippo was not in it's place, only the envelope with the words of a dead friend.

Cursing, he put the cigarette back into the pack and then rubbed more red into his eyes. Pushing the sunglasses towards the shock of white hair. Taking a deep breath and reciting the words, he knew that he would be able to get through this craving, at least for an hour or so.

That would be enough time to view the things left behind, by her.

Fumbling his pockets again, his hands shook taking the key and letter out. He could also smell the vanilla and strawberry perfume she once wore on the paper. The key was recently engraved but show the marks of recent use. He held the letter delicately, trying not to ruin her scent while the key slid neatly.

The smell of recent renovations intermixed with lingering incense of cinnamon and herbs. Talon stepped into the shadow gratefully, his eyes and lungs relaxing a little as the morning sun was too harsh for his hungover state. He almost stumbled down the stairs into the sunken livingroom, his hand grabbing at the wall for balance, hit a switch and the blinds automatically brought the morning sun back in again.

Growling at the inevitable, he took the sunglasses off and looked around. There was the couch that he slept on many nights, back in Oregon. There was the bookshelf, the pinkish stain of wine that would not come out of the yellowing wood. Her yoga mat covered in so many pillows next to the coffee table. Talon's throat constricted as he saw the graveyard of pillbottles, small herb plants, and books that littered the area. A new support pillar seemed out of place, and new, still bearing price codes.

Just another reminder about the pain she went through.

A wave of pain and fatigue rolled through Talon, as he moved through the strange combination of familiar and not. The kitchen lay beyond, and the fridge called to him. Within he found several bottles of water, draining two of them after another, the cold shock hitting his stomach which churned.

Taking a moment, his eyes saw the wok, a fine layer of dust had formed on it. Memory of stirfry and strawberry wine of a christmas past. Was there anything else here that would not remind him of her? A set of stairs lead him upwards, he carefully opened the envelope, and he paused to smell it. There was her there, but underneath that foreboding smell.

The reflected sunlight lighted up her handwriting, there were small stains on the paper. Talon realized that those were the remains of her tears. Sitting down he coughed a little, his hands becoming moist with nervousness.

'Talon, this is one of those times where I am lucid and the painkillers are not fogging my brain.
I always promised that I would get you a champagne breakfast, never thought it would take the cancer to get you into this spot. I know, I never could do things normally, but this would be an invitation you would never forget. At this point, I don't even remember what our fight was about. Only that I was better with you, and you for me. But the cancer changed that. So many nights I wanted to call, but I knew that you would endlessly dote over me. The part which makes Lonnie into Talon would have changed. And we can't have that. I do know this, for our love, it made my life more. More. But this thing that is eating away at my brain has other plans for my fantasy of reuniting. For that, I apologize for all the pain I have left for you. Know this, there was nothing on this planet that could have stopped it. Not even my new upstairs roommate. My lawyers number is on the inside of envelope. He will bring papers for all my worldly goods, even though the best part I leave for you is my love.

The first thing I hear in the next lifetime will be your laughter.
Love forever,
Jan

P.S. I think Alice would be someone to lean on. She's cute too.'

Blinking away the tears he folded up the letter and continued upstairs. Her bed was neatly made, clothing folded into neat rows. An unused sticky note pad and pen lay atop a green bundle of hospital scrubs. The alarm clocked flashed 12:00 incessantly. Talon squinted in the forgiving darkness and noticed the large velvet divider which split the upstairs.

Room mate.

Feeling a little intrusive now, and trying to think of the things he would have to say to this stranger, his fingers caught the divider and slid it back. The morning sun glinted off the huge golden form sending spikes of pain into his eyes. The room filled with a light that seemed to creep around and kill every shadow. The large Buddha statue sat contentedly, blocking the entire window.

"Room mate huh? Always loved that little bit of crazy of yours Jan."

He heard the seagulls from the bay, and tried to look out of the window. Awkwardly he had to almost sit on the statue to get a look outside. It would have been the perfect thing to wake up to every morning, or afternoon in Talon's case. A quiet part of the San Francisco bay, and in that moment, Talon thought he saw a whale tail slipping beneath the surface.

'Why did she do this? Away from her bed, sleeping downstairs beside all those things... it got that bad she couldn't climb the stairs? It's going to be a hell of a thing trying to get it removed.' Thoughts ran around Talon's head as he tried to deal with the alien and obtrusive statue.

Then it came to him, she could not put it in the livingroom, because she could not do that anymore. Living. She left Buddha there to look out at the world, to see what was going on, for her.

"Mr. Talon?" A voice floated up from downstairs.

Talon trotted down the stairs, still with fresh tears painting his cheeks. "Yeah?"

"I'm Slade, with the law firm representing Miss Janice Ravenblood's estate. I have the paperwork already for you to sign. She arranged for everything to be done as smoothly as possible. The utilities will have to go over, as she didn't have your last known address." The man spoke in crisp tones, holding the manilla envelope.

Just at that moment, Talon saw his old guitar, propped up next to the piles of pillows. There wasn't a speck of dust on it. Recently used.

"Was a hotel, barely." Talon laughed and rubbed his eyes again.

"If you wish we can get these papers signed later, this isn't a good time?"

Talon stopped and looked up at the support beam, then grinned. "No time like the present. Let's go down to the water, get a coffee, sign those papers. Some place where he can get a good look."

2008... the last post

Allright, listen up, going to be making some changes to blog. Life permitting, I will get short stories and recorded audio of stories here. As well as find a new theme... custom headers etc. Lots of things which need to be done, like read those articles on blogging and -how- to - do - blogs - right. As well as heed advice of said blogs which report 'Don't put on your blog that you should be blogging more.'

I definitely need a schedule and set time each day to write, have to save up change for laptop so I can write on the go as mobile lifestyle dictates.

Wishing everyone a safe and happy 2009.
Go social media,
Listen to free podcasts,
And for the love of all that's fun, smile and go live life,

Pearce

Random thoughts from post Hallowe'en walk

Been doing more updates on twitter than actually blogging. Think it's helping keeping the writing style to a nice brevity mix. Can one make an update as to what they are doing within 140 characters? Easily.

Origin story for Hex Ranger is being molded into a third draft in my head. Going to go with a completely different approach. Making the character into the hero is the goal. Not by scientific explosion, mutant dna, or part alien... the hero is going to -become- the hero by the decision and action they make.

I'm going to have to give them the tools later on to get out of situations that will arise. Starting off a serial series with the origin story may not be gripping or have enough of a hook to show what the series will be like. Still debating to use the origin story as a 'mid-season flashback' story. The phrase, start with an explosion and then make it bigger keeps coming up. But I don't want that hype to overshadow the actual story... other examples of that end up in the bargain bin or used as examples of what sucked in the future.

Have to find that happy medium... but apparently there are none in the yellow pages, just the usual spooky mystical psychics. None of them happy, just spooky.

Also I must keep reminding myself of Mur Lafferty's advice on Writing, "It's okay to suck." Think that will be a great mantra to go with. And there comes a great freedom for me to follow that advice. As long as I keep writing, it will get better. I'm quite sure that DaVinci picked up a few scars along the way during his own research. I am definitely going to be using the serial series for a writers tool and posting up when it's got more thumbs up by my reviewers.

Nanowrimo is here, and I will not be participating, only in spirit. The plan for the serial series will get my writing skills into order. Actually getting the time to do it on a day to day basis will be the toughest part.

Stopped by the new Indigo Books shop in town, it's surprisingly light well. Seriously, the books seem to be highlighted perfectly, and when you step back, it's not so bright. Seemed busy, graphic novels have a selection, but seems that it's only the OMG newest stuff that is on the market. At least I can order and then pickup from that location. (But any comic hound in town will still go to 8th Street Comics and books. Best place for my geek needs. ) Was pleasantly surprised that Scott Sigler's "Infected" was there in paperback and in hardcover. Picked that up, along with Ray Bradbury's 100 best stories in paperback. I've also noticed that since I started reading Bradbury, my writing style has gotten compact, more descriptive. Also been listening to Mur Lafferty's 'I Should be Writing' has been helping out a lot. Her novel Playing For Keeps was not there though. I think I'll be giving out books to people for Christmas. Either that or gift certificates, depends if it's Dec 4th and I have time to plan it out or it's Dec 24th and I'm wandering around the aisles of a drug store looking for a suitable gift.

Thinking about doing an essay/blog post on the following
- All the things I said I would be doing a post on in the past
- The immediacy of communication and how it has changed to 'Need it Now' as opposed to planning things out ahead of time. There is no foresight into our method of our communication, it merely now satisfies our need to connect. A text version of a glance across a room. For example, texting in internet shorthand, to calling and talking to people on the phone. Writing letters and how those will be truly intimate details to another person, and those words should be as touching as a gripping hug from a loved one. If the medium is the message, does this mean that we're paying 10 cents a message just to find out what one's current mood is, as opposed to talking to them face to face? Think I've played that one one, shoot, there goes another blog.
- Pirates vs Ninjas, who will win? The audience or buying market, probably the bookies. Maybe they can have a preliminary round of 'Maim the phone solicitor/marketing agent'.
- Sex
- Clutch. How they should be worshipped until they become Rock Gods. And how they are the best kept secret that rock afficianados share with only their soul mates.
- Getting things done, how I should actually be doing as opposed to planning as a form of procrastination
- Really bad pickup lines like 'Wanna see something swell?'

Handy links for this post

8th Street Comics and Books
http://www.8thcomics.com/

Scott Sigler - The FDO brings you podiobooks to make your brain melt, and turn you into a junkie wanting more
http://www.scottsigler.com/

Mur Lafferty - Reigning Queen of Podcasts, Awesome. Check out 'Playing For Keeps' for a great original take on the superhero genre. ISBW for those aspiring writers like myself.
http://www.murverse.com

Podiobooks.com - My one stop shop for downloading podcasts for my walks, driving to work.
http://www.podiobooks.com/index.php

Ray Bradbury - One day, I might come close to writing as great as his. On that day, I'll probably accidentally hit delete.
http://www.raybradbury.com/

Jonathan Coulton - Skullcrusher Mountain
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yV3LP7P_8a4

Clutch - Electric Worry
http://tinyurl.com/2af2fw

Until later, I'll be still hopefully writing still,
Pearce Kilgour

I have been quit for 1 Year, 2 Months, 3 Weeks, 5 Days, 9 hours, 21 minutes and 24 seconds (453 days). I have saved $2,393.89 by not smoking 5,440 cigarettes. I have saved 2 Weeks, 4 Days, 21 hours and 20 minutes of my life. My Quit Date: 8/6/2007 9:20 AM