So, a week into NaNoWriMo and I’ve written… an outline and a couple hundred words, maybe. In pen. On various pieces of paper. I’m not doing so well. As I’m just about done with all the freelance work that’s been slowing me down, theoretically I should be able to begin working on the novel in earnest this afternoon. Theoretically. I am, after all, updating this website and drinking coffee at a leisurely pace right now instead of being productive.
For those interested, the NaNoWriMo book is (most likely) going to be a YA book. (A) Because I thought it would be fun, and, (B) because I owe my mom a novel that isn’t 80% swear words and puns about weiners. I don’t think hitting either of those points will be a problem, but, of the handful of lines I’ve written so far for the book, one of them is already a poop joke. A classy, tasteful poop joke, but a poop joke all the same. Sorry, mom.
In other procastinationary news, I had a short story go up at Unshod Quills not too long ago that I keep forgetting to talk about. You can read it by clicking here. It was based on the theme of Godzilla, but involves less giant monsters and more people yelling at each other about drugs.
And, finally, speaking of drugs, what the hell is Amazon smoking? They’ve removed half of the reviews I’ve written for other people’s books, and they seem to be stonewalling anyone who tries to review Dead Presidents. So far their response seems to be “read our guidelines and figure it out yourself.” Guys, I know you’re trying to make up for that one asshole who bought all those reviews, but you’re doing it wrong. Depriving the world of strangers telling everyone I’m awesome doesn’t help anyone. Especially not me. And, you know, other small press authors in similar situations.