For Once, I Slipped

Oh well, it is the weekend.

Only done about 1000 words so far, pushing me up to 87, 000 words or thereabouts, but then it was time to hang out with the Fiance and not sit there obsessively thinking “Must… finish… book. Must… finish… book.”

Still, maybe I can squeeze in another thousand or three before bed.

Ah, it’s worth a shot…

At Least Insomnia Is Good For Something

Up far too late.

But as I was lying in bed next to the fiance, I told her about the story that popped into my head last night when I couldn’t sleep. The amazing thing is, it’s a children’s story. A really nasty one. Maybe it was writing about what I liked about Roald Dahl so much earlier that set it off, but large, large parts of the main plot have already crawled into my lap, nestled in and are looking up at me with large, large eyes, blinking and waiting for me to feed them so that they can grow up into a full story.

I got up, fired up the computer and wrote down all the ideas, I’m sure lots of things will change. But it’s a weird and vaguely frightening story, and I think if I pull it off, it would be the kind of story that, when I was a kid, I didn’t want to read, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.

And for once I have a title already, and it’s called Lost In Loveless. I don’t know when I’ll write this. Maybe not for a long time, but at least it’s there, in my lap, just waiting for food.

I Never Thought I’d Say This, But…

Thank God for Brad Pitt.

Just found out that Plan B, one of the production companies that ponied up money for Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, is owned by him.

Damn. I have such mixed feelings about this. I keep imagining him telling Johnny Depp, “The first rule of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory is you do not talk about Willy Wonka. The second rule of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory is you do not talk about Fight Club.”

“You mean Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.”

“What?”

“You said Fight Club, the joke is you repeat what you said the first time, you goofed it.”

Brad Pitt punches Johnny Depp in the face.

“You are not a unique snowflake,” he barks in his face. “Now get up and act, you’re not paid by the hour.”

“Actually, I am,” says one union stage hand.

“You’re fired,” Brad Pitt says.

The he grabs Helena Bonham Carter and disappears into her trailer. It bounces up and down while huge plumes of cigarette smoke stream from the windows.

Tim Burton Is Back In Form

I think it’s good for creative types to spread their wings and experiment. The experiments don’t always work, but you have to give them credit for attempting something different. Like while I will always think of James Cameron as the definitive Science Fiction/Action (Note, not Science Fantasy, which I still categorize Star Wars as) big summer movie God, I can understand the motivation behind wanting to do Titanic, even if I wasn’t necessarily all that juiced about the final result.

And the same goes for Tim Burton. I first saw his work with the infamous–and I still say genius–Peewee’s Big Adventure (I still have yet to see anything that remotely approaches PeeWee Herman telling a friend on the phone that he’s in Texas, and proving it by sticking his head out of the booth to sing, “The stars at night, shine big and bright!” while every Texan walking on the street stops, claps and responds, “Deep in the heeeeeeart of Texasssss!” and then continuing on as if nothing had happened) back in the 80′s. And from there he went on to prove that he was definitely of the auteur school of film-making, providing his own readily idenitifiable “signatures” to his films; the spirals and German-expressionist inspired art design, the neurotic characterization, the obsession with dysfunctional suburban life, and of course, a whacky, whacky imagination.

Then he went on and surprised me by doing stuff like Planet of the Apes and Big Fish, but to me, he was always the guy that created Edward Scissorhands, and vintage Burton is anything that includes him, Johnny Depp and Danny Elfman. So it was a no brainer when I heard about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and for once, the fiance was so pumped about a movie that she wanted to see on it opening day.

The short form is, I loved it. I’m already in line for the DVD.

Roald Dahl and Tim Burton are a natural combination despite the fact that they are separated by a vast gulf of decades. One of the reasons that the original Dahl work endures as a classic children’s book is because it’s not a typical children’s book. There is nothing entirely safe and comforting about the world Dahl’s children live in, and the characters that populate this world have motives and flaws that often lead to disastrous consequences. Dahl did it all with a deft hand, but he didn’t pull punches when it came to showing what happened when people gave in to their weaknesses, and often their fate, though presented in a light hearted manner, could be quite grisly, as with the final fate of James’ aunts in James and the Giant Peach. Dahl hearkened back to the earlier forms of children’s stories, fairy tales, which had no problem with dispensing justice or injustice to heroes and villains alike in brutal, direct manner.

Roald Dahl, in other words, was not safe.

And neither is Tim Burton. But this is a necessary thing I think, in the best of children’s stories. It’s a personal thing, but I don’t like sugar coating. I love fantastic fiction, since that’s obviously the vein I try to write in, but I’ve never believed in making that fiction an amusement park, a safe, wonderful world where nothing can hurt you. Stakes should be real, so that the end means something. It was G.K. Chesterton who hit on the value of fairy tales when he said, “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.” And both Dahl and Burton understand that.

Burton presents us with a fantastic–and at the same time undeniably dangerous–vision of Willy Wonka and his chocloate factory. Depp’s portrayal of a mad candy maker with serious issues stemming from a stern father figure is at once endearingly quirky and quietly menacing. I loved the fact that there was a level of complexity to Willy Wonka, that he did things that often seemed right for reasons of his own that maybe weren’t. It’s at once hilarious and at the same time pitiful and I think it was just such nuances that Dahl tried to engender in his own work. They aren’t trying to tell stories that reassure children that all is right with the world. They are telling stories in which they hope that mixed in with the magic and amazement, some ideas of what it is to be a good person and bad person will slip in through the backdoor and help add a little sanity and common sense to the travails of growing up.

And then there’s the visuals. The Oompa-Loompas. The factory itself. The selection of performers for the children and parents. All of them are inspired, and this is one of those movies where it seems like for once the muses all got together and said “Okay, let’s just try and make this one work.” There’s not a single bad performance in this film, and the factory–which one could make an argument for being a central character in the movie–is finally realized in the huge, epic scope that Dahl had conveyed to children in the original book. Of Depp there’s not much you can say, his characterization of Willy Wonka is by turns gut-bustingly funny, and then creepy in that quiet “I haven’t killed anyone. YET” sort of way. And I think Freddy Highmore, the kid who plays Charlie just nailed it. Maybe it’s schmaltzy of me, but I totally bought him, his sweetness, his love for his family, his genuine good natured heart, especially in comparison to his neurotic peers.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say I preferred this to the original 70′s version, but there are probably a few reasons for that, which are largely unfair, but they’re mine.

I think the biggest detractor–and this is purely me–would be the repitition of the Stuart version over the years. It was one of those movies that they periodically showed, practically an annual event, at my elementary school growing up, and being forced to watch it when I would rather be reading the original book didn’t endear the work to me.

And then there’s the purely nit-picky feeling that Burton sticks closer to the book. I understand that a tremendous amount of this has to do with budget (I loved finally seeing the nut room), but I had–as most children do–a very specific and grandiose idea of what the chocolate factory was supposed to look like, and Burton, who obviously grew up on Dahl himself and cared a great deal about the stories, tried to remain as faithful as he could.

And the songs. I think I was a brat, I found most of the tunes in the original Stuart version to be kind of annoying. I know I’ve mellowed over the years, because I like quite a few musicals now, but the fact that Burton only ever had the Oompa Loompas sing (As in the original book) scored more points. Well, that an the Oompa Loompas, all digitally multiplied Deep Roy’s in all-singing, all-dancing numbers of total lunacy, were kind of appealingly ghastly in that retro-night sort of way, when the conventions and sound of a
particular musical period take on a new life.

But I think probably the biggest thing that sold me on the Burton version is that it is unabashedly for viewers of all ages. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory felt too much at times like a children’s film subversively trying to be adult on occasion, whereas Charlie and the Chocolate Factory feels like a film for grown-ups that kids can watch too. It doesn’t switch gears or try to tell one story for kids, then wink at the parents and throw in something for them, it’s purely its own story, and it treats everyone as a viewer to leave or take what they will from it.

So yeah. It was good. Me like lots.

Oh yeah, shouldn’t I be writing a book?

Time Is An Orange

Because when you squeeze it, you never get enough of what you want out of it.

The novel continues a pace, and is now 80,000+ words. Which is good, because today is going to be kind of busy. I’ve been hit with the inevitable script rewrites, and one of those rewrites has to be done by tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, it’s also the rewrite that more or less revolves a drastic, from-the-ground up fresh start, so that has me all panicky, though not in the “I’m not sure I can make this deadline” way, but more like the “But will I get to write more on my novel” way, which is far less stressful, but, ambition/dream-wise, more annoying.

There’s also the fact that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is finally premiering here tonight, and I am going to watch that in, oh, a couple of hours.

And here I thought I was being super-productive writing my novel last night. Now it looks like I’ve merely managed to meet my day’s quota since I can’t get that much done due to the movie (Which I don’t mind at all) and the script rewrite (Which I do mind, but a contractual obligation is a contractual obligation…)

On the other hand, last night’s bit of writing went fantastically well. It was one of those golden moments were the fingers were practically writing the story themselves, and after I looked at it, I thought, “I’m really proud of that.” I dunno whether that means it’s good or not, mind you. I’m just happy with what popped out. Every once a while, art needs to throw a bone like that to writers, otherwise they’d just slog through each day, wondering “Why the hell am I doing this, again?” and not being able to come up with a satisfactory answer. Moments like last night remind me of exactly why I want to be a writer, when it all comes together, and the muses conspire to keep you hooked by giving you a free sample of utter, unfettered imagination and story, to ensure you stay a novel junkie.

And I’ve got work to do.

And a movie to watch.

And a book to finish.

But at least the book only has 20,000 something words left to it, which is not a whole lot by my usual standards. I can actually see the finish line now, though I can’t yet read the words on the banner, but there it is, waving in the wind, the marathon is almost over for another book, and I can finally shut the light off in my head which has been nursing this story for the last couple of months, 24 hours a day. Stories are like that with me; they are these frail little plant like things that constantly need the sun of my imagination to survive, and it is only when they are finished that I know they can live on their own without the light of my brain to keep them alive.

Couldn’t Sleep

Put in some hard time at the keyboard. Another 2000 or so words.

78,000+ now. Only 22, 000 left.

It’s Miller time.

Another Theoretical Milestone

Assuming that the book really does manage to keep itself (hah) to only 100, 000 words, then today’s checkpoint of 76, 000+ total puts me firmly over the 75% mark.

The end is nigh. Whoo.

God, I hate re-writing and line-editing. Not. Looking. Forward. To this. At all.

The Guy’s Tootbrush

In an attempt to write something other than “The novel is now xx, xxxx+ words,” here’s something the fiance was complaining about.

Toothbrushes have, over the years, grown more ergonomic and increasingly more streamlined in terms of design. However, all this wonderful design philosophy about grip and ease of use has turned them into something that looks rather handy for the lonely, single woman to use on quiet nights at home, and is not generally the kind of thing that a Real Man (Y’know the type, climbs mountains naked, wrestles bears, has sex with an entire cheerleader squad while sharpening his hunting knife on his bicep) would deign to use. They are white, smooth, with elegant lines, and do not capture the flavor of a man that smokes cigarettes three at a time while punching his best friend in the face to prove how masculine they both are.

In the spirit of this obvious hole in marketing, I have decided to provide two solutions designed to appeal to the broad spectrum of masculine men that fall into the many diverse categories of A) Macho men that are on the cutting edge of killing as many people as possible, and B) Macho men that do it the old fashioned way, ripping entrails out of still breathing people with their bare hands.

First, the High Tech:

The Cruise Brush

Based on the fact that pretty boy Tom Cruise still ends up in just about every macho film made to date that involves the use of Incredibly Expensive Stuff, the Cruise Brush goes through a range of designs with such names as “Top Brush”, “Brush of Thunder” and, for a little historical nod to the ever masculine concept of martial arts and ninjas, “The Brush Samurai.”

One thing all of these brushes have in common is that they appeal to the tech-fetishsist who believes that a real man owns electronics that are black, full of buttons, and thanks to aerodynamic engineering in a wind tunnel, are capable of traveling at least Mach 2, should the enemy appear on radar.

In the spirit of this, the Cruise Brush is made out of Titanium, Chromium or some other complex alloy that will ensure that in the event of an earthquake, you will break into pieces before it ever does. It is full of ridges to ensure a better grip during a knife fight, and has about 36 buttons that do everything from control the vibration speed to giving you your exact location via GPS. It also has a control console with tiny monitor built showing such necessary information as the exact vibration rate and power consumption via computer rendered graphs that constantly update in real time. In the event that you get lost, it also doubles as a cell phone, compass, survival knife and miniature fishing kit. It’s powered by about fourteen AAA batteries, or it’s own private diesal electrical generator, which is roughly the size of a cat, and makes about as much noise. When using it, you have the option of playing your own MP3s, or choosing from the selections included, such as Kenny Loggin’s Danger Zone or the theme from Rambo.

The Rock

This is the low tech approach, for the back to nature guy that thinks the greatest thing in the world is sleeping on dirt while mosquitos do their best imitation of a blood bank, only you don’t get a cookie at the end of it.

This toothbrush is… a rock.

Yes, that’s it, just an ordinary rock of the kind you would likely find on any mountain or in any forest. It is small, jagged, an enormously difficult and painful to use. Perfect for the low tech manly man. While it lacks the features of the high tech brush, it more than makes up for it with the ability to gouge out your gums as you mercilessly scrape it across your teeth, biting back the pain and proving that your are a man. A real man. A real stupid man.

Should your teeth actually survive more than a few brushing sessions, the rock also doubles in the “Bite the bullet” scenario where the dentist, seeing the ruin your mouth as become, is forced to remove every tooth in there, while you make no noise at all, because you are gripping onto your rock, and concentrating on the bleeding in your hand as you squeeze it.

Dwindling Resources

And that makes 73, 000+ words.

Officially putting me into the 27, 000 remaining mark and needing to seriously think about wrapping this beast up.

Pleeeeeeease let me do it soon…

You Almost Have To Wonder

If there’s any point to keeping a journal/blog while writing a novel.

On the one hand, I have actually been amazingly faithful to the blog of late, and that’s partially because it gives me an excuse to keep writing while not writing the novel. Such as now when the characters are being uncooperative and just moping when they’re supposed to be doing something else, and I know what they’re supposed to do next-and-a-bit, but that transition between now, and and-a-bit has them sitting idly by in apartments and airports checking their watches and looking at the departure and arrival boards.

But aside from all that, it’s kind of annoying to be writing about something and wanting to talk about it, but not. Which can be can be frustrating for me as I try to circumsribe certain things without giving the story away–and of course, it’ll all make sense once the book comes out–but I really would like to discuss the story. Kind of like in a Writer’s Group where you can just flat out ask “But is this character working? Does this plot point ring true?”

Doing with that a potential audience however, is a definite no-no.

And of course, as Neil-O once wrote, it’s a incredibly boring to have entries that go “August 1st, wrote crap.” “August 2nd, wrote more, I think it’s working, this book is brilliant!” “August 3rd, no, it’s crap.”

I think the transition problem may be licked though. I decided to go for a walk and purchase a pack of cigarettes. However this turned out to be quite a bit less direct than I had planned when I went to the nearest convenience store, and their NETS machine was down, forcing me to go to an ATM, which dispenses $50 notes by default, and when I went back with that, they didn’t have change for a $50, and so I ended up going to the second closest convenience store, which necessitated me taking quite a detour, and then after successfully getting said cigarettes, I returned home by the customary back alley way, only to find that the lock on the gate was jammed and I couldn’t get it open, forcing me to go back to the entrance of the alley, and around to the main street, where Orange the cat followed me back to the apartment, after scaring a small child who was washing a step ladder with a hose.

Don’t ask, ’cause I didn’t either.

But the up shot of all this is that all that walking around finally got the characters bored of moping and it looked like they decided to do something slightly more productive like sparring in a gym. And that, at least, looks like something interesting can happen during which certain people can arrive from the airport.

I am now, although it is incredibly premature, also wondering about covers. The Fiance has a point, in that most covers, especially for first time authors, are astoundingly ugly. I’ve more or less resigned myself to this, but the Fiance says that just to keep her own sanity intact, she is going to design a cover for the book herself, and paste that on our house copy or something, so that when the first book comes out, there will be at least one copy in the world that doesn’t have a horrible cover.