My car died today.
No, that’s melodramatic. My car broke down today. That is, it stopped starting. As in, it didn’t wake from the peaceful slumber I tried so valiantly to raise it from. It died.
Now, usually, when something of mine breaks and I’m all finished with lamenting its brokenness, I find a way to fix it and then go about doing that/having it done for the cost of hopefully just one limb. But the reason why this is particularly disconcerting is that the car (a real shitwagon, I’ll admit) was my source of transportation while I search around the city for a job.
Yes, an unemployed writer. Fits so well, doesn’t it? It’s like jam and toast; you don’t always see them together, you may never even put them together yourself for a tasty breakfast, but they are together in your brain.
Well, I want to divorce them. (Not jam and toast. Keep up.) I want to re-become a contributing human being, but these things don’t make themselves, apparently.
I consider the last week of August 2012 to be the week I got out of hell. And when I was done working construction, I thought to myself, “Now I can do what I want.” I read things on the Internet and honed what I thought would be my craft and started sending articles to newspapers. “I’ll be able to write and pay my bills at the same time,” I thought.
Well, life doesn’t work like that. Not for people with the stars in their eyes, at least. That’s a lesson I’ve learned more than once, so maybe it was never a lesson in the first place. It was just a neat little anecdote.
Anyway, with the car gone, I’ll be taking buses to places again for the time being. It’s a good thing I moved into the city in the late spring. It’s a lot harder to get to places when you have to hitchhike.
Now about writing. I have time for it! At least, my days are plenty empty enough for it. That’s what makes writing so attainable; you’re never more than a pen and a sheet of loose leaf away from it. Well, that and you have to be damned good at it to get anywhere. (There’s a connection between those two points, I think.)
I’m about half finished with editing the Beleaguered, so you might want to watch for that if you like reading stories about post-apocalyptic mutants and characters you’d rather not see die. I’m a bit excited about it, actually. I will serialize it.
Paper Trail, a novel that takes place in my own, much cooler version of the 1950’s, stands at about 16,000 words. It features a somewhat neat protagonist mixed up in some very complicated faerie court politics. This is still the first draft, so I’m excited to see where it goes. Let’s just say that the 50’s would’ve been much cooler drowned in neon lights and full of airships.
And I’ve started on another novelette that’s so sci-fi you might wonder what’s happened to me. That one’s called Probe and centers around a space probe covered in juvenile graffiti. This one is a backburner project that I’ll use to fill in when I hate everything else I’m writing.
Aside from that, there’s my newfound addiction to Borderlands 2 and my delighted discovery of all the mic-only servers in Battlefield 3. These probably make me a boring person, but I can’t help myself. Because headshots.