NaNoWriMo is, without a doubt, the olympics of writing. You have some great athletes, pulling out incredible performances… but the Michael Jordans and the Tiger Woods still get all the chicks (in Tiger’s case, that’s literal).
I would love to participate in the challenge. There’s no shortage of ideas, but there is a deficit in time.
I’m working on starting a business. No, not some multi-level marketing thing where I can ‘work from home’ and makes millions in my first week, all I have to do is send this guru thirty thousand dollars and then subscribe to every belief system he’s created.
I’m writing out the business plan and working on the product line of ERRANT Studios Inc., a new digital comics and book publisher focusing on, as the name would insinuate, a ‘different’ kind of entertainment. Basically, we’re talking about a publishing company manifested into reality and controlled by and geared towards creators and writers.
It will be ran as a business, focusing on quality. But our genres aren’t going to be so horribly restricted. We’ll accept different kinds of subject matter. And all titles we publish must be able to exist in the same universe. (We will have a different line for out-of-universe stories called Erratic.)
To do so, like I said, I’ve been working on the business plan. I’ve been developing our marketing strategy and doing research on various aspects of the industry. I’ve also created write ups of our member-owned products, describing in full detail their summaries, market analogies (what popular titles are they most similar to), how they are similar to those analogies, how they differ, and what innovations the product will bring to the table. (The business plan is to find investors willing to give us money to start this company… We need quite a bit.)
On top of all that, I need to write out the scripts for the graphic novels in which I have a personal stake. Normally our numbers are balanced between the CORE Members but out of the EIGHTEEN titles we have ready to go, I own part or all of SIXTEEN.
This creates quite a predicament for me.
So I’ve come to announce that instead of taking part in NaNoWriMo, I’m going to do NaGraNoWriMo.
That’s right, National Graphic Novel Writing Month.
Not to be confused with GrannyWriMo, NanoRyhmo, NanoThighsMo, or BananaRhymo. (All of which are equally made-up.)
Of course, NaGraNoWriMo isn’t real. I made it up this morning while recovering from a headache. I don’t have the foggiest idea of where it came from.
That being the case, I might as well take part in another fake challenge. I like the sound of BananaRhymo.
So here’s my entry:
It’s not perfect. But, I have a month to perfect it.
Yep, I’ve got a book cover for my short story collection.
You may be wondering to yourself… Why does it say ‘we’ and why in the hell is it only ‘compiled’ by me?
Wonder away. The introduction to the book will answer all the questions. Too bad you’re going to have to wait until editing is finished. HA HA… HA HA HA… ah, crap, I think the devil has rubbed off on me.
That’s illegal and unsanitary. You may want to get a napkin.
I meant you.
Preposterous. I’d never masturbate on another person unless they requested it.
… There’s nothing I can say after that, really, there isn’t.
I’ve been sick for the last two weeks. I’ve been sick and I’ve had problems with my left eye. I’ve been sick, had problems with my left eye and my laptop power adapter nearly caused a house-fire which rendered my laptop useless during the last stretch of Story A Day.
But I’m still smiling. Oh, by god, I’m still smiling. Read the rest of this entry
Aaron would like me to tell you that, to fully comprehend this story, you must read all the ones that came before. Doing so is not necessary to enjoy it, but there are a bunch of Easter Eggs and this is the conclusion to the ‘Reapers’ miniseries… and it directly ties in with another, previous unrelated story…. So, basically… He’s fucking with you.
The knob turns easily enough but, as your mind was trying to tell you, music doesn’t work in this place. Not only is there a lack of radio waves, a lack of towers outputting beats to the masses, it’s worse; records, tapes, cds, nothing plays. You miss the rhythms and harmonies.
Besides the silence, there’s an undeniably calming effect to sitting in the front seat. You’d forgotten exactly how much of a difference there is. You had convinced yourself a while ago that sitting in the back, hiding from the red and the horror of this realm was the best for you. But now, with the breeze on your face and a little more connection with the new driver, you feel in control. As much as you can, at least. Read the rest of this entry
He seems to be getting more and more messed up in the head as the challenge concludes. Frankly, I’m frightened to be a part of his imagination.
“No, Darling, you can barely tell you’ve gained any weight at all.”
Against his eyes’ better judgment, Ron assured Anna that she was as beautiful as always. He wasn’t the best at complimenting anyone. He’d nearly been fired from his best job after he insisted his Boss’s hairplugs looked more natural than the missing strands had in their youth. Of course, when the idea hit him to run his own business, he left anyway.
Anna had been gorgeous. Their relationship was so physical it would exhaust him. She didn’t feel truly loved unless it was beneath the sheets. That was before the incident. Since then there hadn’t been much playing around in the bedroom or any of their other favorite carnal spots. He hadn’t seen her naked since she brought home the news.
“You’re lying. I’m a cow. I’m a pig in a dress. Worse, I’m sweating. Pigs don’t sweat. I’m a goddamn sweating cow-pig in a stupid Kmart sundress going to see my goddamn queen of a fucking mother-fucking mother.” Read the rest of this entry
It’s not what you think… It never is…
I sat in my chair and closed my eyes. The numbers didn’t lie. It was going to be today. It was going to be in just a few hours. That was how exact the book was. It wasn’t a matter of faith. I simply knew. I’d known for a while. When I discovered the pattern, everything made sense. All the stories contained within the pages, all the great messages and teachings we needed to know.
I had spread the word as I knew he wanted me to do. I spoke the ancient words and cast out the pamphlets. Our trucks were covered in the teachings. It was coming soon. We would all be saved, all of us who believed in him. And believe we did. Read the rest of this entry
First in a four part short story series called ‘The Writer, The Girl, The Sheriff and Madam Delaunney”… perhaps Aaron may think to rename the series ‘Moon and Stars’.
“Watch yur step, Mr. Terrence, tha carr’age’s got icy”
Mr. Herrison, the coachman continued to attempt the charade at calling his coffin-on-wheels a ‘carriage’. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that carriages have seats, not planks of wood tethered to the ceiling with a thin twine prone to snapping under a poor writer’s practically nonexistent weight.
He was rather infallible about the weather, though. Before leaving, I had remarked on the need for sun and dry air. The east coast is a strange hell of flurries and sharp ocean gusts. I wanted warmth and prairies. Apparently, my research on the destination was poorly done. The papers and stories told me of a dusty, arid, sweltering California. They said nothing of how long the territory ran or how far north it’s highest reaches rested.
Nah, Mr. Terrence, things get mighty cold in Gilbert Mines. ’Specially in Jan’yary.
Then why the hell are we going there? Read the rest of this entry
Is there anything more dangerous than a crazy-ass writer?
Maybe one of these… MAYBE…
“Tacos are the source of all things good and right in this world.”
Vic had a habit of speaking to himself on long hauls. It seeped into his daily life. Even today, when he was pretty much just waiting around for his next call, he’d had three conversations already.
He pulled his pickup through the small ramp and gunned the engine. He cut in front of a tiny car of high school kids. He gave a little smile. They just looked like the type that were out for no good. They looked like the type he’d hung out with when he was that age.
The nearly setting sun tried to blind him though the windshield when he turned the corner to order. He stopped and pulled down the visor.
The window took a bit to roll down. It was sticking lately and he didn’t want to force it so much that he ripped the handle. It was an older truck, without power windows and heated seats. It had a great engine, though. That’s what he cared about. Read the rest of this entry
Don’t check this one for errors. You’ll see why, soon. It’s not just Aaron’s ridiculous way of writing. There’s a point this time.
We named him Ashkii.
He’d been given to us by the Navajo tribes as they came through a couple years back. Wanted to trade for some of our crop but didn’t have much on them. They wasn’t too well off as they marched through the dirt road leading to nowhere. All they had was a few puppies from a litter they was duped into buying from a Dutch swindler a few towns over.
The kid kept saying that word, over and over, shaking the little thing in front of us so we could see he meant to send it our way. They didn’t know english. To be perfectly honest, I ain’t too keen on my own language neither but I reckon that between us, we had enough for a good college teacher. Or maybe at least a bad one. Read the rest of this entry
It’s official, he’s possessed. He’s speaking in tongues. We need a priest, people!
No, it’s beat-boxing. Sorta.
… I DON’T BELIEVE YOU! BACK, PEDANTIC PERPETRATING PUPIL OF THE PERVERTING PAZUZU!! Read the rest of this entry