Udopia REALLY Ready For The World

by Michael Seese

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”
                         -- American journalist Gene Fowler

 
Boy, it's been a while since I took to this stage. As I alluded to in a post ages back, I've been completely absorbed with a massive rewrite of a book I finished a couple of years ago.

Udopia is set in near-future America. A generation removed from “1984,” we now are Big Brother, dutifully detailing our lives digitally, and consigning our curricula vitae to The Cloud.

Our financial records? Got it.
Our travel plans? Got it.
Our changing shopping habits? You used to wear a 32” waist, but you just ordered a size 38; perhaps you should consider going on a diet.
Medical history? You bet.
Our allegedly private communications? Hmmm. That could be out there.
Our surfing habits, also known as what we’re even thinking of doing? That’s insightful. It sure connects a lot of dots.

And what would happen if the government decided to step in and claim that digital treasure trove?

I “first” completed Udopia in 2014, and tried to sell it to some small publishers. Suffice to say, I did not succeed. But one offered some really good feedback. Interestingly, despite the fact that I keep all correspondence, I can't find his letter. But I remember his words which (paraphrasing) were “Your first chapter reads like an old guy complaining about the modern world.”

Which it did.

Fast forward to late last year, and the very real prospect that a certain New York billionaire could win the Presidency. It seemed the time had come to revisit Udopia.

So I toned down the “Now get off my lawn” opening, though I had to keep a certain of reflection on how America got from point A to point Z. But I tried to really focus on the message. I killed a few darlings. Actually, one I relocated to the first chapter, which *I* think adds tension and drive. And I labored over every word. The latter is why what I assumed would be a two-month exercise took eight.

By way of example, below is a large chunk of chapter 1. The process of tightening the language  (meaning, I had already de-fogeyed it, and just wanted to make the words “good”) took two solid weeks. Chapter 2 didn't go any faster. But I think the effort was worth it. Hopefully the agents I'm about to start pestering agree.

They stole from me the light, as always, without warning. The sun king had abdicated some indeterminate number of hours prior, leaving me to wonder when would come the demise of my fluorescent day. But somehow sensing the imminent onslaught of darkness, I scratched out a short confession, and at last breached the dam.

"My burden comes not from any chain others have laid upon my shoulders. Rather, it is borne of the countless precious links I'd spent a lifetime forging, using mine own two naïve hands, fashioning a serpent in steel that, while I slept, coiled itself around my neck."

I like that. It might be a bit on the long side. But it's darned philosophical if you ask me.

I'd ached to capture these thoughts ages ago. A lifetime ago. But I could never muster the will nor the flexibility to kick my own behind with sufficient force to overcome inertia. Now, with the full moon painting her silver on the cinderblock, my pencil found the will to write. I just pray my newfound inspiration does not prove to be an exercise in “too little, too late.” Perhaps I'll get lucky, and the fat lady will run into a few red lights on her drive to the opera house.

A little joke there. What one might call “gallows humor.” Coming from someone who has an appointment tomorrow with said-same.

OK, now that I've gotten "the big reveal” out of the way, let me get down to business.

Despite the little timebombshell I just dropped, the truth is I am hardly the most interesting person in this story. I probably rank eighth or ninth. Out of eight or nine. Still, you do need to understand a bit about me to in order grasp the narrative’s gestalt, a term that prior to my being stationed in Germany I didn't know from gesundheit. So I'll share a few of the more important ones up front, then drop in any other necessary details as I go.

My name is Wilson. I came of age as the 1940s gave way to the 1950s. If you ignored The Bomb, it was a great time to be young. My prologue reads much like that of many men of my g-g-g-generation. Veteran. Family man. Cub Scout leader. Heavy on the stolid, light on the sordid. I suppose where my story sheds the ho-hummery of so many others is the part where I lay claim to having birthed a President of the United States. Though in the interest of accuracy, with respect to both biology and sweat equity, I must acknowledge my wife Jeannie did 99% of the heavy lifting that day.

It all started – and ended – in a country we used to call America. Now I know, I know, we’ve still got one with that name. But That America was a different place. People were politer. They talked to their neighbors over the side and back fences. They borrowed and lended cups of sugar. They didn’t routinely and gratuitously use words that had to be printed like @#$!*&# in the comic pages. Though I may be filtering my memories through rose-colored bifocals, life in That America resembled any one of the snapshots in oil by that Norman Rock-feller, whatever his name was. More so in the little town called Echo Falls, a place that before the advent of the Internet you'd have been hard pressed to locate on a map. And to be honest, I think many GPS systems to this day sometimes forget where it is.

Echo Falls did--and still does--look like many small midwestern burgs, though in a down-home-upper-middle-class mashup sort of way. If you closed your eyes, you probably could picture it in your mind. A town square. In the center, a gazebo guarded by a Civil War-era cannon. A mayor everyone called Henry or “The Honorable And Esteemed Mr. Mayor Henry, His Heinie-ness” just to yank his chain. The kind of place politicians flocked to looking for babies to kiss and hands to shake. Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and Cabernet.

I was born, raised, and woke up one day an old man here. I feel very fortunate. I’ve had a good life. I was lucky.

We all were.

After men like my father came back from The Big One, America rightfully saw itself as the undisputed #1. And truth be told, we didn't even think there was a #2. Everybody else was third. At best.

Then one day we looked at our hand and saw aces over eights. Those distant number threes we'd spent decades dismissing, especially the Chinese, began working hard, hard, harder, taking aim at our Top Dog spot; and, said the economists, inevitably they would own it. Our infant death rate took more than a few baby steps back, landing us at #46, behind the Czech Republic and Cuba. Cuba! In the Olympics, the rest of the world decided to stop playing Washington Generals to our Harlem Globetrotters and kicked our red, white, and glutes.

Like a hangover dawn, we slowly awoke to the bleary-eyed realization we were not so great anymore. We saw the brass rings we'd worked so hard to grasp had corroded away, leaving little more than chunks of rust.

How?

How did we go from a country founded by men who said, “Give me liberty or give me death” to one populated by people who said, “Give me security and free 4G?” How did we go from the land of the free and the home of the brave to the land of the freebie and the home of the brat?

Everyone has his own theory on the subject. And probably a syndicated talk show to soapbox that theory.

Me? I have my opinions. But I'll keep them to myself, mostly, lest I sound like some Hollywood has-been auditioning for the part of “Old Fogey 2” on “The Golden Girls.” Now get off my lawn.

The point is, we'd become so enrapt in our American dream that we apparently sleepwalked up to the edge of a cliff, imagining we could fly. Would we have spread our arms and tempted gravity? We’ll never know. Because before we had an opportunity to go full-out Icarus, someone stepped forward and dumped a bucket of ice water over our heads.

His name was Gabriel. My son.

Gabriel was a good boy. Always said “Yes ma’am” and “No ma’am.” Kept his shoes spit-polished and his ties straight. Did his homework and the chores around the house without having to be told once, let alone twice. The kind of boy any mother would be happy to fix up with her little precious daughter, because she could trust he'd have her angel home well before midnight, her clothes just as neat as when they left, if you catch my meaning.

But above and beyond an unwavering moral divining rod, Gabriel possessed what the people who don't call “it.”

He was always ambitious, and smart as a whip. But what made him stand out was a knack for making people like him. As early as grammar school, he had all the teachers buying extra gold stars just for him, and all the little girls fighting over who would marry him when they grew up. Even though all the other boys were icky. As he aged through the Echo Falls school system, he racked up the elementary and secondary accolades one would expect of “Mr. Popular.” Prom King. Most Likely To Succeed.

In short, he was born to be a leader. Interestingly, he never ran for class president. Though he did follow in his old man's footsteps by editing the school newspaper three years in a row.

I never was much into politicos and their political bunko. If brevity be the soul of wit, then it seemed to me most politicians were hellbent on proving just how witless they were. So at one end of the spectrum you had William Henry Harrison’s inaugural address, which clocked in at just under two hours by the sundial. Of course as we all learned in 11th grade history, President Harrison’s decision to deliver such a bag of wind in a cold, driving March rain ensured he would be remembered primarily as the shortest-serving U.S. President. At the other end of the spectrum you had Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address of 270 words, delivered in just over two minutes.

A century-and-a-half-and-change later, my son took the oath. Gabriel’s First Inaugural speech made the Great Emancipator’s classic seem positively long-winded.

Nearly 250 years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

You might recognize those words, as I have borrowed them from a well-known speech, recited on a battlefield in the midst of what was perhaps this nation’s most significant war. We are now engaged in another great civil war, one which is testing whether this nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

We face a number of enemies, both from within and without. So I am throwing down the gauntlet.

Those who steal from us—whether from the streets, from abroad, from a corporate boardroom, or from inside of the hallowed halls behind me—will pay.

Those who terrorize us—whether from the streets, from abroad, from a corporate boardroom, or from inside of the hallowed halls behind me—will pay.

And those who resist us, who stand in our way as we try to reclaim and rebuild this country we love so dearly, will pay.

I am but one man. I cannot do this job alone. It is therefore our great task to work to ensure that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Hell of a howdy-do.

At the time, I’m sure to many people it sounded like so much political rhetoric, so many empty promises. Been there, heard that, blah blah blah.

The thing is, Gabriel actually did it.

The problem is, he might have done it too well...

As always, dear friends, I cherish your opinion about what you've just read.

.

No Strings Attached...Finis!

By Michael Seese

If you are reading this blog, it is because of No Strings Attached. 

Huh? Let me explain...

Back in April 2009, I came up with an idea which has since become "Obsession," one of the stories in No Strings Attached, a collection of seven interconnected literary fiction short stories woven around the theme of strings, and how different lives, places, and times can be tied together. As I concocted the different pieces, I really felt as though I had something special. It was that realization which made me believe I could be an author. And authors these days who are not named Dan Brown or J.K. Rowling need to blog. So here I am.

I spent a little over a year writing scattershot, contributing a line here, a paragraph there, wherever I felt like adding something. By the summer of 2010, I had enough of an outline to work on a story to completion. By December, I had completed four of the seven.

I then put No Strings on the back burner for a while. I needed a break, and decided to let myself get distracted. Of course, these "distractions" were the completing of Udopia and Nightmares, as well as writing numerous short stories and poems, some of which have been published or are slated to be.

So what's next? As it turns out, my favorite agent (who STILL isn't my agent) Janet Reid has come up with a "new wrinkle in the query game-rules of the game." In short, if you send a query to her on Saturdays between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00 p.m., she will respond. But, as she warned, "The queries need to be for real.  If I request something and you tell me it's not ready, or you were just kidding, I will come to your house and gnaw on you till you realize the error of your ways."

I'm now putting the polish on No Strings, and hope to have it ready by next Saturday.

Wish me luck.

Distractions

By Michael Seese

Boy! Time does fly when you're busy.

Back in 2009, I conceived and began work on a book of interrelated short stories, No Strings Attached. I worked on it piecemeal -- filling in sentences and paragraphs here and there, based on whim -- for about a year. Then in the summer of 2010, I focused in and worked on it diligently. The end result was that I completed three of the seven stories; my word count went from 40,000 to over 100,000.

At the beginning of 2011, I decided to take a break from it, and worked on a few other things: Udopia, which I finished, and Nightmares, which I finished. I also wrote a few short stories.

Earlier this year, I resumed work on No Strings. I was making decent progress, but then a few other projects came up: "Worm Herding," "Never Mind The Nonsense, Here's The Sex Truncheons," "Tinkerhell," plus a few others I'm keeping under wraps. The first two have been published (Amazon link 1 & 2); the third is being reviewed. So it's not as though these distractions are bad. Quite the contrary, I think they've been worthwhile detours which have helped my writing resume.

But...

Yesterday, I went back to No Strings, and was amazed to see that the last time I had touched it was April 19. But I'm looking forward to continuing it, because the story I'm on now, "Obsession," is really funny.

Like I said, time does fly.

If At First You Don't Succeed....

This is a long one. But I think it's a good one.

Back in September-ish, I felt certain that I would have a good October-ish.  

Why?

Because I had bravely sent out four of my children into the world.

- I sent Udopia to the Main Street Rag (a publisher), which had an open submission period for novellas.

- I sent ten poems to publisher Manic D Press.

- I sent my short story "Tarantulas On Leashes" to Allegory Magazine.

- I sent four other short stories to Uncle John's Flush Fiction.

I fully expected great things to come of this effort. You could say I'm an optimistic fool. But if I didn't think they were good -- and worthy of publishing -- then why would anyone else? And why would I bother?

By November 30, all four had said "no." Actually, one did not respond at all, but their website says “You will be contacted only if the editors are interested in reading your entire manuscript.” (Fair enough.)

Naturally I was bummed. But did I contemplate slitting my wrists? Of course not!

What did I do? I guess you could say I channeled my inner Gloria Gaynor. Since you're probably scratching your head, she's the singer of the 70s disco hit, "I Will Survive." That song is featured in the movie Chicken Little, which is in heavy rotation in our house right now.

So I declared that my works were "single" again, and free to seek out other fish in the sea. (Finding Nemo is big right now, too.) I emailed five poems to Freshwater. I sent "Tarantulas" to Best Fiction.

Fast forward a few months...

Early last week, I had the same feeling: something good was about to happen. Unfortunately, the week did not start out so auspiciously:

- On Monday, I learned I did not win radio station WCLV's love poem contest; I didn't even place in the top ten. And, Freshwater said "no" to all five poems.

- Tuesday, nothing either way.

- Wednesday, as I mentioned two posts ago, I hooked up with a few former colleagues at a luncheon. I showed Jack my infosec book. 
   "This would make a great introduction to information security college course syllabus," he said.
  "Or, at the corporate level, instead of having a training program, hand them this book," I replied.
   His eyebrows went up. As it turns out, he recently started working for a new company, and has been tasked with improving their information security program...and creating a business contingency program as well.
   "I also have a book on BCP," I said.
   His eyebrows went up again.
   We'll see what happens.

- On Thursday, I heard back from Pill Hill Press regarding "Worm Herding." And what I heard was "yes!" The downside is that the pay is only $10. The upside...well, there is plenty of upside: an additional fiction credit, my name out there. You get the idea.  Yay!

- On Friday, the editor of the Disaster Resource GUIDE reached out to me and asked me to write an article. Of course I'll be jumping at the chance.

The weekend and early part of this week were kind of sedate. I kept hoping that I would get more good news which I could share...that "Never Mind The Nonsense, Here's The Sex Truncheons" would be picked up by Pill Hill Press (alas, it was rejected) or that an agent would ask to see Nightmares (alas, none did).

And, like before, I feel good about this coming week. More good stuff is on the way. I know it. Yes, maybe I'm just an optimistic fool. (OK, so there's no "maybe.")

The point to all of this is, I got one solid "victory" ("Worm Herding"), one unexpected win (the Disaster Resource GUIDE article), and one possible lead (the possibility of work with Jack's company). 

So I really can't complain about these past two weeks. Stay tuned...

Udopia Sample

In previous posts, I've offered snippets of my novella, Udopia. I had wanted to share more. But what was I going to do...paste 30 pages into a blog entry? I don't think so.

Then my friend Jim, owner of the Fireside Bookshop in beautiful Chagrin Falls, graciously offered to host a sample on their server. It's not a web page you can navigate to from their website. But here is a link to the first 30 pages.

Read, and enjoy. Comment if you wish.

Double Bummer

Well, the month is not shaping up as I had hoped. I got two rejection letters this week. Main Street Rag said "no" to Udopia, and Allegory Magazine turned down my short story "Tarantulas On Leashes." 

The former offered no feedback, which they are not obligated to do. But the folks at Allegory said: "First exchange of dialogue with Sybil may have been a way of showing social ineptness but it didn’t add much to the story." That was the purpose of that bit of dialog, so I think I want to keep it. But I'll take their comment into consideration. Perhaps I can make it more relevant. They also said, "Some adverbs could’ve been eliminated or replaced with descriptive phrases." I definitely will heed that advice.

On the bright side, I just finished Nightmares. 65,000 words, which is perfect for YA fiction. It's the first run-through, of course, so I have some editing to do. If I had to guess, I'd say I'll probably add 5,000 words. Not that I'm trying; it's just what I think. We'll see how close I come. But I believe I'll be able to wrap it up by December.

Of course, to put it in perspective, a very good friend of mine just lost her Dad. So in the grand scheme of things, I really can't complain about my week.

Write on!

Castle: "Kick The Ballistics"

I could get used to writing something about "Castle" each week.

I enjoyed this week's episode. Of course. I liked that this show built upon a previous one, and that the story arc is still not finished, one would assume. I'm not saying a show should be a complete serial, like "Twin Peaks" or "Lost." But having one or two continuing threads keeps the viewer on his toes.

It was nice to see the focus on Ryan. Too many shows devolve into The Star(s), and the spare parts.

At one point, Ryan tells Beckett about the dumbest thing he ever had done as a cop: he had called out the name of a narc informant in the middle of the squad room, which at the time was full of busted drug dealers. Five minutes later, Beckett reveals the name of the undercover cop (he went by "Seth;" I forget the detective's real name) to Mr. Lee, head of a crime family. What's up with that? Careless mistake? Or was she setting him up?

On the downside, they did something that I had seen on several episodes of "Law & Order," which always made me shake my head way back when. In the L&O episode I'm thinking of, the police find a woman who has been tortured to within an inch of death. She's alive, but she's not yet able to talk to them. So they question her ex-husband. His alibi is that he was with a buddy at some high-society fundraiser. The next scene shows (we assume, then learn) the buddy walking out of his swank tennis club, talking back over his shoulder to the police officers. "Yeah, he was with me that night until around 2:00 a.m. Blah, blah, blah." As he gets into his car, one of the officers asks, "Do you know who could have done this?" "No," he says. "And I hope I never meet him. He sounds like one sick bastard." And then he drives off. And I remember thinking, "Well, I see you have decided that the police are done. I hope they feel the same way." The same thing happened on "Castle." At some point, the bar owner says, "You can wait for Seth. I've got to get to work." And then he walks away.

Finally, I liked the surprise ending. If I can some day convince someone that it's worth it to publish "Tarantulas On Leashes," "Swarm Summer Nights," Udopia,"and especially No Strings Attached, you'll see what I mean.

On To The Next Thing...

Grrr!

I haven't heard back regarding Udopia from either the Main Street Rag or any agents. Allegory Magazine hasn't said anything about "Tarantulas On Leashes." And still no word on what the folks at Manic D Press think about my poems.

It's been like, two weeks. What is wrong with this people? Have they no sense of urgency? Removing tongue from cheek, of course it's going to be a while. So what am I working on now?

Well...

I had planned on finishing No Strings Attached. I estimate I'm about 40,000 words away, which would be a couple of months of good, solid effort.

But then something else struck my fancy. I pulled the first novel I ever began out of mothballs and began re-working it. I'm intentionally being vague on the details because...no reason, really. Just deal with it.

When I first wrote it, I put each chapter in its own document. Therefore, I had no idea how long it was. The other week, I put everything together. It's 75,000 words. I always had thought I was about 2/3 to 3/4 done with the the story arc. Working the math, it would be around 100,000 words when done. But also, in looking at it, I saw it takes a while to "get going." The action really didn't start until the 45th page, out of 170. So I've been mercilessly hacking, and re-configuring some stuff (such as the age of my protagonist).

It's definitely a case of addition by subtraction. It's now down to 54,000 words. But the good stuff starts on page 22 of 164. The story really moves along better now. It's crisper.

As I mentioned, I want to keep a lot of the details close to me. But here's the prologue:

    I am a dream weaver. That is how I make money:
        I make dreams for other people.
      Not just any dreams.
          But good dreams.
        And not just any people.
             But weak people, scared people. Everyday people, normal people.
    People like your friends, co-workers, maybe even your wife.
        People who are so close to the edge in this increasingly frightening world, that their nightmares begin to interfere with their lives.
      Virtually stop them from functioning.
          Literally scare them out of their wits.
        But I help them through the night by sharing my dreams, a sort of mental tour guide, if you will.
              Dreams 'R Us.
    We go there together, bound by the thinnest of filaments, to the place where the line between reality and creation bends and gives ominously.
            I hold their hands as we dodge and outrun the monsters, demons, ghosts, and                         bogeymen.
    In the morning, they are reborn, happy, and ready to go on.
           All because of me and my dreams.
    But…
    Dreams sometimes can go astray, and when they do, that's what we call nightmares.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered #2

Fresh on the heels of submitting Udopia to the Main Street Rag ...

 I sent "Tarantulas On Leashes," a 2,500-word short story, to Allegory Magazine. Their current submission period runs until 10/31. The publication date will be 1/1/2012. The competition is fierce. Per their website, they receive 150 unsolicited manuscripts per month, and accept eight per issue.

Though I'd like to think it was a Herculean effort--Wow, you completed a novella and a short story over the span of two days??-- the truth is that "Tarantulas" has been finished for quite some time now. I even had a chance to give the once-over. But I wanted to focus on getting the novella to Main Street before thinking about any other submissions. Now, maybe I'll try to get some poems published...

I posted about half of "Tarantulas" on my "In Progress Stuff" page. Stop by, give it a read, and let me know what you think.

Signed, Sealed, DELIVERED!

It's done! Udopia, that is. I am thrilled to say that Udopia has been completed (first draft, of course; 39,200 words), edited (a big thanks to my friend Bill), and sent to the Main Street Rag, two days before the end of their open call for novellas. Their website says they hope to respond by the end of October. Wow!

I've also queried a few literary agents. It can't hurt to have a backup.

So cross your fingers and think good, literary thoughts on my behalf.

And how am I going to celebrate? By doing the dishes and a load of laundry. But after that, maybe I'll have some wine and ice cream.

Also, I'll take a look over the "how-to sections" of this blog site and see if there is a way I can post a document, such as the first chapter.  I know I could just paste it in, but I think it would be neater / cleaner if I could attach it as a doc.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

...well not completely different.  But I've been posting this week about our experience at the music weekend at the Century Inn. I had planned on finishing up that joyful sonic tale, but this just in:

I completed Udopia! Really!

In a previous post, I said that I had finished it, but acknowledged that what I meant was that I had managed to join the beginning and the end. The literary golden spike, if you will. 

So the past couple of weeks have been an exercise in filling in the gaps, correcting glaring errors, and embellishing. And I have filled, corrected, and embellished to my heart's content.  

It's just north of 39,000 words, and covers 81 pages. I have two weeks until it's due in the inbox of the Main Street Rag. I plan to tap my buddy Bill (though he doesn't know it yet), an experienced newspaper man like myself, to proofread and edit.

Two weeks ago, I felt as though I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Now I'm out of the tunnel, and chuffing (sorry, I read a lot of Thomas these days) to the station.

Woo-hoo!

Udopia, Finis! ...

...well, sort of.

I did finish my novella-in-progress Udopia this week. Of course, "finish" is a relative term. I have gotten the storyline from point A to point Z. The reality, though, is that point Z--the ending--has been done for quite some time. So it was a matter of connecting the beginning to the ending with...that plot garbage. But I now have done that.

It's 35,100 words, certain to grow despite the fact that I need to get out my machete and hack away at the dead wood.

Now begins the arduous but exhilarating task of going back to the beginning and:

1. Actually making sure that everything is complete...that is, replacing all those SOMETHINGs that I use as placeholders with real words;
2. Making sure everything flows; and
3. Double-checking to make sure the grammar is in order.

I have just over a month until my September 15 deadline to get it into the Main Street Rag. I think I can do it. Cross your fingers. Offer some encouragement. Threaten me.

Keeping It Up

No! Not like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.

A few months back, I made a vow to myself: I wanted to do two "things," every day, that were related to the world of writing. Those things could be writing my own stuff; reading someone else's stuff; blogging; reading and commenting on any of the author / agent blogs that I read; or actively looking for a publishing opportunity. You get the idea.

This past Wednesday was a good day.  I:

Wrote 760 words of Udopia.

Wrote a 100-word short story (titled No Blues) to enter into the Janet Reid contest.

Later, added to the aforementioned story, with the idea of submitting it to Uncle John's Flush Fiction.

Wrote in my blog.

Posted a comment on the Bookends blog.

Considering my busy schedule, I think that's pretty good.

Thursday wasn't quite so prolific. But still, I was able to add almost 900 words to Udopia and work on No Blues a little more. Today I wrote 700 words for Udopia, created this, and posted to my technology blog at Silicon India.

The point is, if you want to be a writer, then do SOMETHING about it. Every day.

Udopia Update

Obsessive word counts, part two...

A while back, I mentioned my current novella-in-progress, Udopia. Later, I posted my word counts for the week of 7/18 - 7/22, which saw me log 4,400 words. The week that just concluded was a pretty good one, too.

I started with 24,055 words. Here are the daily counts.

7/25/2011    25,439

7/26/2011    26,157

7/27/2011    27,230

7/28/2011    28,332

7/29/2011    29,119

So that's 3,680 for the week, and just shy of 11,000 since July 13. That's progress. In fact, I suspect that I may "finish" either this week, or early next week. Of course, by "finish," I mean completing the linear progress, getting from the beginning to the end (which was written months ago). It's no where near the point where another person can look at it and judge it. I have too many "verbal post-its" to take care of.

But I will. And I believe I will make my September 15 deadline. 

Word Counts

I obsess about word counts. I probably shouldn't. But I do. I track them more compulsively than a fantasy football leaguer tracks his players' stats. Of course it helps me to meet my goals if I can see real progress.

So having said that, I'm happy to say that I had a good week working on Udopia. here are the daily counts.

I started the week with 19,652 words. At the end of each day, it was:

Monday:    20,623
Tuesday:   21,619
Wednesday: 22,302
Thursday:  23,026
Friday:    24,055

That's 4,400 words; 880 per day. Not bad for probably one hour of work per day.

What does it mean? Well, as I referenced Monday, the publisher I'm targeting said they will accept 50,000 words, max. So I'm at least halfway there!

Obviously, when I get to the end (the first time) I need to then get out my machete, go back to the beginning, and mercilessly hack away the crap. That will reduce the count. But once I fill in all the placeholders--the places where as I'm flying along I know I need more, but don't have it in the forefront of my brain, so I type "MORE" and keep going--it probably will even out.

"Udopia"

As much as I love writing for the simple pleasure of it, I always seem to do better when I have a deadline. It's probably a holdover from my newspaper days. As I have told people on many occasions, when I first started out, if I had to write two articles by Monday, my weekend was basically shot. But getting out of a council meeting at 10:00 p.m., and looking at a blinking cursor thinking, "As soon as I finish this, I can go to bed," will do wonders for your ability to knock it out.

And so I have given myself a new deadline. From a source I mentioned before, Poets & Writers, I found a publisher, Main Street Rag, which is looking for novellas in the range of 30-50,000 words. I've been kicking around an idea for literally years. I liked the concept, but somehow knew that I would be hard pressed to flesh it out to the 80-100,000 words typical of a novel. 

The title I settled on is Udopia. I think it is along the lines of Nineteen Eighty-Four. I don't wish to compare my work-in-progress to Orwell's classic, because that would be horribly vain. But like Nineteen Eighty-Four, it's  a cautionary tale about what can happen if we let our guard down, and give too much of ourselves to the government and, more critically, the Internet. I could not have written this ten years ago, because there was no Facebook, no Google, no geo-tracking, and no 9/11. But because of what I've read in the news, and because of what I've learned through my work as a privacy professional, I think I have some things to say.

Here is the opening:

    It's been a long day.  It's only. . .5:30, I think.  But it's just been a looong day. A long, trying day. One of those days. One of those days you just want to end. But I want to start. I need to start. I need to start now. Because there's a lot to say. And if I don't get started, I might not have time to finish.

    I wish I could call this a cautionary tale. But I can't. You can't think, "I’d better slow down before I get to that sharp bend in the road" while you're plunging off the cliff. You can’t think, “I wonder if there’s an undertow“ while being dragged beneath the waves and out to sea. And you can't think, "Maybe this isn’t the best place to seek shelter" while you're sitting in the lion's mouth.

    Near the town of Cairo, Illinois, the Ohio River meets up with the Mississippi River to form the “Lower Mississippi,” though those who live along it have another name, born of first-hand experience: the Mighty Mississippi. While neither river, on its own, would be called puny at any point north of Cairo, once the two join they form a nearly unstoppable force.

    What’s the point of my little lesson in geography?

    In the early years of this century two seemingly unrelated--and individually powerful—tides came together to create a different, though equally treacherous, unstoppable force. There was 9/11, and there was the Internet. Once they converged, no one could hold back the waters. Our world changed.
     So where do I begin?

    Most folks would say, “At the beginning, naturally.” But it’s not that simple. You see, to begin this story at the beginning really doesn't make sense, because the ending--or near the ending--is really where it all begins. The beginning is just, well, something that comes along in the middle.  And you can't begin in the middle, now can you?  If I began at the beginning, you'd get a good story, all right, but it wouldn't make too much sense.  Because the ending is really where it all begins.  And so if I began it at the beginning, you'd just be plain lost, because you'd miss the beginning.

    Or was that the ending?

    Am I rambling? Or would that be "wrambling," since I'm writing? I apologize. Like I said, long day.

    Let me just tell you how it ends, and you can judge for yourself.  At the "trial," they tried to paint me as a traitor. "How could he do what he did and claim he still loves America?" they asked, though it was more statement than question. And 24 empty eyes looked back at me, waiting for my response. I didn't answer. I didn't speak the truth, say what was on my mind: that I did what I did because I love America. Or at least the country that we once called America. It wouldn't have mattered. The judge, the prosecutor, and even the jury of my peers would have stared blankly at me, unable to decipher the words coming from my mouth. Words like “values” and “honor” and “freedom.” Especially freedom.

    And besides, what was I going to say?

    I am guilty.

   Of what? I guess that’s what I want to talk about.

   It all started, or should I say, ended, in a country that was called America. 

I imagine I'll post updates and progress in this space. I'd love to hear your comments. 

My deadline is September 15.