The fact that I’m posting these a day late is good news, and means that I’m caught up in the rhythm of editing. Once a method has been devised, editing is not so bad, and removing the serif helps immeasurably. The story is carrying me, plotting why each paragraph is necessary, and of course, the suspense surrounding the mystery is quite the motive for wanting to finish this thing. Unfortunately, I’ve been to Ramsey Cambell’s website today and by reading the face page, I learned that horror writing is not exactly adored by the mainstream populous of book buyers, this mainstream populous being women. Actually, I’m writing a ghost story, but what is unusual about the prospect of horror stories not being great sellers is that Hollywood Video is crammed full of movies starring young women who love to be “in” horror movies, and the sales on those things go through the roof. So there you have it, the horror story conundrum. Luckily enough I like more than horror writing and I can dig on writing on a variety of fiction providing it’s compelling and hopefully contains an element of the supernatural. Love story writing? Eh, I’ll have to get back with you on that one girls.
I had to assure these guys I wasn’t from OSHA, but the hole was so impressive I had to get a shot:
Don’t laugh, this picture reminds me of the conclusion of the mystery in The Robots of Dawn, by Isaac Asimov:
The problem of homelessness is rampant in this town, and a virtual community has emerged underneath this bridge just recently, fully equipped with tents, dogs, barbecues and visitors. How frightening, but I suppose it’s kind of nice to know how these types band together and make things work regardless of the destitution. Running the problem of homelessness through my mind never provides any clear answers, but I’m thinking as long as the health conditions don’t get too ugly, let them stay for a while, have them move, clean the area and debacterialize, then let them come back. Okay, that’s a modestly un-thought out method of action, but what can one do really, they’re people just like me and you.
Well, not all of them are like me and you:
That’s the scene in front of my house on a mild day, which can basically get a bit nerve-racking, but the rent is cheap enough that obviously a compromise has to be involved. By contrast, at least I have scenes like this to help bolster my determination to succeed in the face of the odds that weigh me down. I hope to capitalize on my opportunities and continue to be a better person, because being a bad person just sucks; nobody likes a bad person. I’m a little startled by the fact I’m moving so soon, but with all the nonsense that occurs around here, moving can’t come soon enough.
I ran across a blog about a girl who was telling stories about her father who had her when he was age 47, and she devoted two entire posts describing how much she loved him. This was a refreshing read for me in that I’m thinking if I can get situated in a few years time, I’d like to have children, though I don’t think I’ll wait that long. The read gave me inspiration, but the road seems lengthy, a road piled on top of many roads; but if I look at these roads as one solid path, then maybe my path was diverted, but with the right navigation one can always get going in the correct direction, with a wealth of experience for reinforcement.