I’m not much for outlining. I try. I understand the concept. Except, then I write and everything goes off the rails. I write the end first, part of a prequel, thirty pages of backstory, and then the thing I outlined except with a different plot glued together from three other stories I wrote when this process happened on another project. The story, “Hollow” that appeared on Beat to a Pulp a few years back was a hybrid of three random scenes that came together after reading a magazine article and after two other plots fell out and got together to form their own thing — then those other two set a building on fire and haven’t been seen since, but I’m sure they’ll reappear at some point. The always do.
I was trying to explain this last night to friends; I have a love-hate relationship with Miami. It has tons of culture and a thriving arts community, cool architecture — art deco, Mediterranean, modern…certainly some of their newer buildings around Miami-Dade county are more visually appealing than some of the boring boxy glass towers Broward has let get thrown up — funky signage, diversity of people and activities… There’s a lot to see and do and experience and a vibrancy you can feel. It’s also full of the most insane traffic this side of L.A., terrible drivers, illogical parking — when you can find it, — rudeness and entitlement stemming from that sort of obsession with hyper-coolness I can’t begin to understand. Continue reading
There’s been a shitstorm all week surrounding the Clean Reader app and what it does or doesn’t do to books readers try to read with it. There are better places to find out what actual authors with real books out in the known world think of all that. The whole thing reminded me that I needed to call my mother because A) it’s been awhile and B) she’s totally the kind of person who will read books in which people behead each other for no other reason that “serial killer = bad man” yet get her panties in a twitch because the detective character, after finding the fourth headless body in the book, mutters, “Shit!” while sipping his cheap coffee as a blizzard threatens to blanket the crime scene. Continue reading