Innards #12

All right, all right, hello! Welcome back! Finally, a new “Innards of an Erratic Writer” post. An update that I actually feel confident about.

I had completed my first manuscript. The first part of a trilogy, which will launch a hell lot of shit in the future. Now that my novel has its bones, it’s time to stuff it with all the meat beneath its skin, add cartilages, develop arteries and blood vessels to make it a sentient, flowing story.

The draft will be sent out to a good friend of mine who will give it a read and would design a kick-ass book cover for it.

In the meantime, the story itself is simmering, and in a few days the edits shall commence.

On other news. I have discovered Robert Rankin and his “The Brentford Trilogy.” Where had this been all my life? I am so happy to have found it just lying around.

My book mission to read the late, Sir Terry Pratchett’s “Discworld” books hasn’t started yet, which I’m ashamed to admit. I’m still reading Neil Gaiman’s “Trigger Warning,” China Mieville’s “This Census Taker,” and “Three Moments of an Explosion,” and Joe Abercrombie’s “Half-A-King.” This is after reading Brandon Sanderson’s “Shadows of Self,” which book cover I am so fond of because the image shows Marasi, and she looks a hell lot like “Arrow” actress, Willa Holland. I swear within the year to read at least five “Discworld” books. It’s the least I could do for an author so much revered.

Last thoughts for tonight. I had written three articles for a website. Each article under a pseudonym. Why? Because I was afraid to write in different styles. Writing under different names allowed me to explore and experiment. And much to my surprise, those articles were well-received and people found it entertaining and well-written. My mind is blown, really. This wasn’t the first time. In the past, I had been sub-editing tech-related articles for our technology section in the daily broadsheet. I am, by no means, an excellent writer, I understand there is much in the craft I need to practice and better understand, but the guy who submitted his article was fucking terrible. And I mean, shiiiit, what the fuck is this? A toddler can write something more creative, more insightful, more technical, and more whatever.

I had to edit it before my editor sees this. In fact, I did not edit it, the article endured a complete rewrite, under my fearless and whimsical writing style. It wasn’t my article anyway and if shit goes down, I won’t be on it.

And huh, what’d you expect, the editor and his assistant enjoyed the article. There was a small glint of pride in me as they praised the story. A little bit sad that I didn’t get credit or even made claims that I have given it an overhaul.

The fearless and whimsical style of writing only manifests itself while under the impression the story will be credited to someone else. It’s all right to fuck it up, cause, it wasn’t my story. It’s a bad habit that I’m trying to get rid off.

The last time I did so, I got scolded for bad writing. So, what the fuck? I’ll never know.

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