So You Want to Know How a Writer Works

So this is late. Shoot me. Blog-city wouldn’t let me in. Some faffle about DNA samples and passwords… I think there’s a clone running around.

Anyway. Dug this up recently, thought it a pretty interesting view into this warped entity I call my mind. This is a free-write I attempted more than seven years ago, trying to begin my book. For anyone wondering, yes I did complete the book in the year and a month spoken of, but then life intruded and I’m only now finding the time and computer resources to do something with it. I will be published! (No, really. I will. Watch.)

Again, anyway. Each paragraph is a different ‘speaker.’ You can call the boys in white coats if you like, they’ll never find me! :::Maniacal laugh, whirl away dancing to music only I can hear:::

Mary says start outside. I think she’s right. Okay. What does this place look like? How are the buildings set apart on this station? Is there a sign? What does it look like? Where does he pause to gather courage, and does anyone disturb him? Why don’t I just go to bed? Because I’ve wasted too much time lately as it is. I won’t be done in a year and a month if I don’t get back to work.

I want to be an Airborne Ranger, I want a life of sex and danger, I want to be a drill instructor and cut off all my hair!

Any other smartasses in there?

Probably. Was there something else you wanted?

I want the first chapter of this damn book, and I want it now. We’re not going to bed until I have two pages in this computer.

Gee, I guess we’d better get to work. Where were we again?

Outside the Wayward Comet. Mark’s in the street across from it, watching the entrance and gathering his courage.

What’s he afraid of?

Well, he just saw a human Marine thrown out by a species he didn’t recognize, and he doesn’t think he wants to know it. But he needs a berth, he needs out of the service now.

Wimp. The Fleet is the place for real men..

Tell that to Marcori.

Shut up. Why’s he want out?

He’s tired of assembly-line surgery, and he’s running from (spoiler deleted.) He has a major guilt trip going.

Okay, fine, so what’s that got to do with this bar?

Inside the bar, or so he hears, is the captain of the Vagabond’s Dream, and the captain is looking for a crew. As a doctor, it should be easy for him to get on. If the captain isn’t suspicious over being so lucky as to get such a good doc for beans.

Beans have doctors?

Shut up or I’m going to hurt you. Are we ready to write yet?

No. What’s this place look like?

It’s under a warehouse. They had to put it under something to give it that proper ambience.

So some poor slob hauled a Marine up the stairs to throw him out?

Hey, it was a big alien.

Where exactly is Mark?

You tell me, man, I just work here.

This doesn’t count as the two pages. Straighten up, you idiots.

I want to be an Airborne Ranger, I want a life of sex and danger. I want to be a drill instructor and cut off all my hair.

Hey, he’s right. It can’t be downstairs. How could Mark stand and stare at it without blocking the stairs and getting a Marine in the face?

So make it like the Sunset Strip, with two layers of heavy curtains, the area between brightly lit, where they check you ID. If you don’t have a military ID you don’t get in, unless you’re really good-looking.

Is he?

He’s small and cute, just the type for hulking Marine women. And he thinks he’s scared now…

Okay, troops. Are we ready?

Aye, sir.

Lock and load, Sarge.

One more time! I want to be an Airborne Ranger, I want a life of sex and danger. I want to be a drill instructor and cut off all my hair.

“I winced sympathy as the Marine bounced in the dusty street…”

Yes, the first sentence has changed. But hey, all that jabber has been cut out too. Yes, this is really how I write. Scared?