Anyway, look out for the asterisks - they'll tell you when one blog post ends and another begins. The third post will end the entire post here. Tomorrow, I'm going to be lazy again and just give you two more mini-blog posts. They're about Drama, but the Awards are tonight, so I don't want to publicly jinx myself. Plus, this way I get to tell you how we did (both with the awards... and the alcohol I know my peers will be drinking...)
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Status Update after a couple of hours of playing Final Fantasy 13... It's amazing! Perhaps one of the greatest games of all time; fantastic stuff! So far, not much by way of character growth; personalities are developed, yes, but with the removal of the EXP system, it's difficult to judge how well I'm doing. Not to worry.
Also, the Literary Den is three! Can't believe it's lasted this long! We're still going strong too. Okay, so maybe the forum's gone a bit quiet, but with our blog up and running the Den is never truly silent. I hope you'll join us as we keep going; there's always something going on, someone who can offer you some help or announce some new competition that's open, and I guarantee that you'll make new friends if you keep coming back, writers who know what you're going through, are experienced in a number of fields, and are always up to help new writers find their way, and to discuss the ways of the craft with those who are up for it. I sincerely hope you'll consider it.
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Jonny Havron was found, but it's not good news. A fisherman in the Foss Basin found his body. I'm obviously a bit shaken up by it. I knew the chances if him coming back to us were slim, but there were chances all the same. Still, I can only think if his family. They'll never get to talk to their son and brother ever again.
And you know, he was such a nice guy too. I know it shouldn't make a difference whether or not someone is nice when this sort of stuff happens, but it does make a difference. Someone like Jonny, someone so harmless and friendly, couldn't have gotten himself into any sort of trouble. It's...well, it's a downright shame that this happened to him. We can only hope it was an accident, and not some fierce attack against Jonny. At least then we can let him rest in peace without the knowledge that he had been something we never thought he was, or that someone might mean him harm.
RIP Jonny Havron, writer and friend. You'll be missed sorely.
And you know, he was such a nice guy too. I know it shouldn't make a difference whether or not someone is nice when this sort of stuff happens, but it does make a difference. Someone like Jonny, someone so harmless and friendly, couldn't have gotten himself into any sort of trouble. It's...well, it's a downright shame that this happened to him. We can only hope it was an accident, and not some fierce attack against Jonny. At least then we can let him rest in peace without the knowledge that he had been something we never thought he was, or that someone might mean him harm.
RIP Jonny Havron, writer and friend. You'll be missed sorely.
***
In my time in college I have discovered that time is relative to whoever happens to be concerned about it. Naturally I am concerned about time, particularly in my Lenten vow. One would imagine a day to end at midnight, but no- college has taught me that a night goes on so long as the body is willing. Admittedly my body is all that willing, but a cup is making way to convincing it to function as I type out my mini-blog segment of the day. So long as my fingers work and my mind is still in the same cycle if consciousness as it was this morning, I have not broken my rule of writing every day of Lent.
This relevance of time is a rather big thing in my novel Meet Sam. The protagonist, Sam Richards, has developed a thing of checking the time constantly. As such, my "chapters" are named after the time at which the watch is checked: it isn't rounded up or down, and it isn't something that vanished even as he sleeps, for his sleep is disturbed at various points throughout the day. The day, I might point out, is technically running onto two days, starting at eight in the morning and going on for twenty four hours. People who have read the book have always been curious about that; it's the first question I get asked, usually. It's also followed by "I really want to know what happens the next day." This next day has never been much of a thought to me, until recently. I keep thinking about how to write them, and what to have happen. One obvious suggestion has been made, something that became evident in the editing of the book. So, I have an idea for a sequel. I do think it's best served as a trilogy of books, though. Sure, there may be side books, like the untold story of Day 1 from Abby's point of view, and the story of Alex on that day, which isn't as easy to write. There are one or two texts from Alex in the book, but they're a start that can be made. How the book ends though...I'd nearly always known that. I just need to write the rest, and Sam's two extra books.
Time, in all of these stories, is important. Abby's life must become clear in this one day; the things Sam discovers about her, the things the reader learns, need to be expanded upon, while also developing the character of Nick. Yes, there are all three if Sam's books for that, but Nock won't ever have his own book. He's a support character for Sam and Abby, the one they both turn to. His personality isn't too clear for me yet to write a book about him, because right now all I have is his reactions to caring for Sam. As the relationships between Nick and the other characters develop, then maybe there's a chance for him to get the spotlight. But that's dependant on time, too. I really want to get the other four books done first, and then I'll have an idea about what to write about for Nick.
One thing I don't know yet, either, is how publishers or agents will react to the time constraints of the story. It's different, at least in the way that not many people have done it. James Joyce is one person, I suppose...but that's all I know. Whether people want a simpler to read Ulysses-type book is, as yet, unknown. Time will tell...
As to when all this writing will get done...well, there's always the summer. I have to finish editing first, but once I have a start on the next book, nothing will stop me.
Oh, I do know how to start Abby's book though. 'This is the story of one girl in Dublin, on the day that her life changed beyond her control. However, it must be noted that this day is, more or less, the imagined sequence of events that a writer could put together from the evidence given to him, told through the same medium as his own life; the story of Abby Moore is narrated by an Englishwoman in the head of the writer. While Abby is completely unaware of this fact, her day is somewhat controlled by the unfortunate madness that befalls writers in their lives: Abby's free will is choosing for her to follow the predetermined events of the day, much of which is subsequently filled in rather hastily by the preexisting thoughts of the aforementioned writer's participation in these events. It should also be noted that Abby Moore is a painter, and not a writer, and, as such, much of her life is imagined in an infinitely more complex way than the writer would choose. Such is the way of this writer that he has thrown himself into a task that he cannot begin to fathom until it's completion.'
There's also an intro to Sam's second book: 'Samuel Emily Richards had a rather strange desire to be spoken about in his most dangerously low moments in his life. As he himself is the writer, and a Lonely Writer at that, Sam subsequently finds himself with a narrator. In previous occurance, this has proven to be something of a success, though Sam is almost sure that on this second hearing, his remaining shreads of sanity should be taken into careful consideration. The existence of Sam's sanity has become, in these words, as doubtful as the voice in his head, and as such he cannot be deemed responsible for the actions he might find himself participating in. Unfortunately for Sam, his dignity prevents him from sharing his ill fortune of madness with the world, and so he stands on a cliff, ready to end things if his next breaths aren't the best of his life.
His phone began to ring.'
Written just now! Epic or what? I know where to go from there, too. That's both a good thing and a bad thing. Good in that I have a start, bad in that I don't have time to write the book yet!
Time, it seems, is an evil mistress, conspiring with my Muse to get the best of me at the worst moment. Thankfully, I am good at following my plot notes when I take them, and shall be able to combat this situation of timelessness with the writing a plot for book two, currently entitled Love, Sam. And with that revelation, I bid you adieu.
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