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Guess who just realized they have to axe a whole scene?
Me. This guy. Y'know, the one for the last goddamn chapter of the godforsaken book that might mean I finished sometime before doomsday? Nixed. End my suffering. xoxo, good grief
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IT'S DAWN AND SOMEONE IS CALLING YOUR NAME. Not the sun, already risen and turning away in shame, not the birds singing in the bath, not the sweepers yawning across the city, but this man chained next to you. This man with his forgettable milk carton face, his broken hinges, his hair like wet grass - this man who watched you drowning in your dreams and breathes you into wakefulness. This man who loves you. He has stories carved into his wrists, written in the ink of dragonflies he caught and domesticated and killed. Spelled out plain, simple, the way it should be. Your mother said to drink him in until you’re sick with his smell, to drain him of everything worthwhile before he can escape – they always do, she says, but this man is not your father. Say it with me. This man is not your father: Although you are inherently his, he does not treat you like property. He will not lease you to pay the rent, he will not call you by another name of his choosing, he will not sell you to the highest bidder. He will till the land and grow you a new Eden instead. You should know this by now. You’ve had a long time to study, child, and you’re well versed in him: the legend of the glass-bottom heart, a firsthand account of wrongs undone, his mother’s recipe for magnolia wine, and you know a l l his demons by name. You dream of pulling out your teeth one by one. Bloodied and slurring, you call upon the gods of street corner and gutter muck: One tells you about the false prophets hiding in the life between street lights, waiting with their hands full of ceasefire, knowing that you are filled with gasoline and every new lover is a lit match. Of course, the other comes: smelling of snuffed candles and white ravens, whistling a song in Kentucky minor, keeping time with the rattle of chains holding her to the earth, exhaling steam into the crook of your elbow. she begins by revealing herself, removing the mask of steel and sinew until we are staring right down into the bone. “A lucrative business venture, making your home inside the husks of deadish things like a widow, a mother’s love, a man who just realized he will work the soil until he’s buried deep down in it - and he, child? he is a hole you will keep digging for yourself. when he is six feet under you and your shovel will sink down to meet the pine box and pry the lid from it, wake him from his pricked finger and the next hundred years of embalmed sleep just to listen to him speak to the worms.”
“The Dead Lovers Society,” from ATROCITY KITSCH by Goodbody Grieving
NaNo 2k16 - DAY ONE
[This is the direct sequel to last year's rewritten project, NOTIONS OF A REVOLUTION; narrated by that story's secondary character. See this post for the inaugural whining sesh.]
SUGGESTED DAILY WORD COUNT: 1,667 ACTUAL DAILY WORD COUNT: 1,793 EXPECTED CUMULATIVE WORD COUNT: 1,667 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 1,793/50,000 WORD SURPLUS? +126
FAVORITE LINE OF THE DAY: The Bureau is keeping secrets from you. This is a given - this is how any government worth its salt shows its love.
NaNoWriMo 2016 Inaugural Post
Good afternoon, lives of mine! The day is upon us and I already want to drop dead. About 14 hours in I’ve done two word sprints clocking in around 939 and 800 words which I believe puts me at the day’s word count, but we all know that life is meaningless and those numbers are arbitrary on Day One, so I’m gonna keep working and see how far ahead I can get. I’ll do the usual breakdown at the end of the day, but here’s this for now: SERIES: SAY A PRAYER FOR CALIFORNIA VOLUME:TWO WORKING TITLE: DEAD LANGUAGE IN A DYING CITY that’s it! love y'all, and good luck. -GG
It's Fight Scene week, aka the week GG is gonna be a miserable bitch
That time has come AGAIN to write an integral scene in which two or more characters engage in fisticuffs and I already want to set all of my notebooks fully the fuck on fire. It is hard enough to keep track of where these assholes are and what they're doing while they're there, now I have EIGHT LIMBS to account for?? It's like turn-based role play but by myself which is sad and could very easily become as boring and painful for the audience as it is for me UGH WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF I HAD TO PICK BANDITS I JUST H A D TO PICK A BUNCH OF LITTLE SHITS WITH SEVERE EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS AND NO RESPECT FOR LAWS OR SOCIAL NICETIES ahem. tl;dr stand by for me: •swearing •yelling •blogging when I should be writing •tearing out my hair •crying •falling to my knees •cursing God I can't wait to DO THIS -GG
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Hello, babes.
My personal life is generally a dumpster fire that I'm thoroughly involved in trying to put out and so I neglect this blog but I swear to CHRIST I am trying to be better about it. So, updates, let's do them, bullet-style. •Reached the final chapter of SAPFC: Notions of a Revolution (FINALLY AT LAST AFTER SIX YEARS I CAN SEE THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL AND IT DOES NOT LOOK REMOTELY LIKE A TRAIN) •Opened an aesthetic blog (@doomsayersclub) to show y'all what the people/places/things look like in my head! •Will be mood boarding the main cast of characters and queuing them to post at regular intervals during the first week of NaNo. •Found a gorgeous and hardworking artist who has agreed to do the artwork for the books thus making possible my dreams of collaborating on sequential ART. We're looking into Kickstarting or Patreon-ing the binding and printing, so more updates on that when they come. That's it! Back to firefighting. Love and more love, GG
