NaNoWriMo Day 11 End Count

So Close...and Yet, So Far...no cigar for me.

I've just uploaded Snippet #16 and my current wordcount is 37,900 words. Argggh. Yes, I could probably stop being lazy, write the rehashing of Steffan's death (when Lacey and Rainey break the news to Lisa) but....no. Still not interested. Despite it being at least a hundred words right there...no. Pass. I'm good.

Maybe tomorrow morning. I'm positive I'll be breaking the 40k word mark tomorrow, no problemo. I've got the next couple of scenes just pressing at the gate to go, just have to clear the headspace to crank 'em out. Will do by 0300 tomorrow. For now, at 1717 CST (love those magic numbers) I'm outta' here.

Enjoy #16 - it's a doooooosey of a twist!!

But wait! There's more! Snippet #17 is gonna be AWESOME! Sean Gartlan and Derek "Tony" Benner come back onstage.

And so the end begins :-)

In the Zombie Room...Lacey's Run Begins!!

So, I've finally got it. I know how and why Lacey's "run" begins. I know where. I know when. I'm in the middle of writing it now. Snippets 16 and maybe 17.

It's not the way I'd wanted it to be, not the way I'd envisioned it would be, not even involving Lisa and an ice pick (at the moment) but it's working very, very well with where I last left Rainey and Lacey, their "relationship issues" and of course, the evil plot by the Villian, Roger Townsend (aka Jolly Fucking Roger).

Not to mention Lacey's sudden disappearance under these (new) circumstances really works well to fuel Rainey's eagerness to wipe out the little gnat, maggot, blood-sucking leech and all-around waste of space on God's Green Earth as soon as possible. Or am I painting too evil a picture of Roger Townsend? Hmmmm.....

Well, see, it's like this :) I know what you do not--or not yet. I know what Roger did to Lacey. Can you guess? Rainey hasn't, not in his worst nightmares, but he'll find out. Two or three snippets from now. I can't wait!! Better get my F-bombs loaded 'cause Rainey is sure gonna cut loose when he gets the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth--and God bless Mark Townsend's naive little heart and soul for telling him. The pack of Rottweilers are on their way, Mark, for you and your little dog, too. Aren't cha' glad you agreed to be Tuckerized? *evil grin*

So our mood music this happy weekend, naturally must have some dark and sometimes lewd undertones. Who else? Depeche Mode's Exciter album, a cut in the middle titled "The Dead of Night" with lyrics (quoted below). These are lyrics to inspire and plunge my Muse down into the dark depths of insanity.

Snippet #16 coming later today but play the clip now to enter The Zombie Room while you're waiting.

We're the horniest boys
With the corniest ploys
Who take the easiest girls
To the sleaziest worlds

With our lecherous plans
In our treacherous hands
You'd be wasting your time
Saying no, it's a crime

All that we life for you'll regret
All you remember we'll forget

We are the Dead of Night
We're in the Zombie Room
We're twilight's parasites
With self-inflicted wounds

{CHORUS}
We are the Dead of Night
We're in the Zombie Room
Heavenly oversights
Eating from silver spoons

With our decadent minds
And our innocent lines
You'll be playing our games
With your bodies in flames

When delirious fun
Has seri-ously begun
You'll be down on your knees
You'll be begging us please

All we're demanding you'll supply
All we're accused of we'll deny

{CHORUS}

NaNoWriMo - Day 11 TechToy Sidetrip

Okay, so the story is a fun excuse to delve into all kinds of stuff I'll never see let alone use in my real life. But I'm trying to paint a realistic texture on this story's background, so I don't really mind all of the side trips. One reader sent in the following correction. Interestingly enough, I'd written "infrared" and then took it out. Silly me.

[...] there is a technical problem in snippet 11. When you have Lisa wishing for thermal binoculars so she could see the people in Lacey's flat through the walls. Thermal cameras cannot see people through walls. They can only see heat differences that have been in the same place for a period of time through a wall. People are neither warm enough nor do they stay in the same place long enough to be seen through a wall.

Quite correct. My problem was laziness. Pure and simple. I wanted to have Lisa lusting after Rainey's "cool toys" and just decided to say that by obtuse reference and not actually elaborate on which toys for the moment.

I told myself I lacked the time to focus on collecting a list of "cool toys" for him to own and neglect after which she could lust. Again I say, silly me. Have my priorities all skewed wanting to get 50,000 words done (I'm at 35,000 now) instead of spending 3 days researching for 2 sentences. Okay, okay, I'm just venting--and I feel much better now. Thanks for listening!

So, what sorts of cool toys? In particular what sorts of FLIR toys for visual imaging that she could actually use in this particular scene? Well, FLIR's Canadian web site (recall Lisa is of Scandinavian lineage but has some growing up time in Canada - if you missed that, you missed reading her updated introduction where I corrected a typo in the Tuckerization and embelished ;-))) really seems to push thermally-enhanced digital cameras. So I wouldn't be having her wist for a pair of binocs at all, eh?

Then there's this idea that Rainey is often blowing things up. Don't forget, explosions make fires - duh! So maybe he'd like one of these ThermaCAMs that can "see through the flames" to check his job performance before leaving a scene. Perfectionist that he is, of course. And record-keeper. Likes to have everything on record so he can justify killing you later ;) but Lisa wouldn't lust after a ThermaCAM so what else?

Another reader who has thrown himself on the grenade of "unofficially" providing me with tech review help has suggested the IR ProX by Imaging1. Pretty nifty. Still won't let Lisa see across the street, up to the fourth floor, and through walls and/or windows, but pretty nifty, Michael. Thanks :)

Gonna have to find a telescope with excellent magnification that also has FLIR enhancement. Maybe it's time to start looking at spotting scopes and kill two uhhh, birds *grin* with one stone. Lacey will need a spotting scope later on anyway, so I'm taking suggestions - use the comment thread to offer your favorite techtoys.

On a totally unrelated topic but way too fun to pass up there are these pen-sized pocket cattle prods - jolt your friends and loved ones with up to 500,000 Volts in the palm of your hand!!!

Thank you, Steve Yee, for eating up this story's budget and utterly distracting me with tech toys every other day. Recall, Steve is the one who offered up the 5.11 Tactical Watch and Ballistics Calculator for Lacey's use. Cruel man, that Steve, ain't he?

-sry

13 Lines - The "OSC Test" of an Opener

Okay, not gonna use this space to make wiseass jokes at the moment. In the spirit of Orson Scott Card and his Hatrack River critiquing methods, here's the first 11 lines - he sez to critique the first 13, but I'm just giving you 11, so it's a harder test.

What do you think? Are you hooked?

If you've been reading the snippets in my Snippet Hole, does this SOUND LIKE the rest of the story? It should (according to the Almighty OSC ;-))) be capable of:

* setting the tone/tenor
* introducing at least one of the MCs
* giving an indication of the genre
* most importantly, HOOKING the reader to continue reading

So? Hooked or not hooked? Got a clue where you are or what's happening? Oh yeah *chuckle* I have to give you the first 11 lines, huh? Here you are - leave remarks on this post's comment thread, please.

+ + +

Autumn, 2000
Somewhere in England

Dead. They're all dead. She's the only one left. Her and the police, of course. They'd see her if she moved right now, but she couldn't move, wasn't even thinking of moving. She lay still in her cocoon of leaves and bugs and cold, worm-ridden soil, just trying to breathe and take it all in. She was safe here, wasn't she? She could still see that tiny hand moving, though. Would that image ever fade from her mind? She had to wonder. Worse, if it did fade over time, what sort of woman did that say Lacey Townsend had become? How could such a thing ever be brushed aside from her thoughts?

NaNoWriMo - Day 10

So, instead of continuing onto Lisa's ice pick scene (which has me stumped by showing up in my head at two conflicting points in the timeline), I'm thinking about the beginning again. Recall, I don't have an "opener" for this yet. The first snippet occurs some 10k or so words into the story. Maybe only 5000-8000 words, but at least one chapter.

My feel after writing as much as I have (about 1/3 of the book already) is that the opener should be in Lacey's POV, maybe the "Death of Dean Gestner" scene. A revelation in a person's life (or a total crash and burn) always makes for a good opener to a story, and I definitely don't want to open with Rainey's harsh language. No one else "can" show up until we've met the two MC's so....

I'll play with that today, might not upload it after all. Have to see how it turns out. The one thing Barfly Steve Smith has drilled into me is that the claim Lacey's been at this for 10 years (in the present, 2006, setting) won't fly. If she were going to break, she'd have broken long before years had flown by. I knew this and had originally had her (10 years ago) cracking after killing Gestner, taking several months (6-8 mos) to pull it together again. Might work, might not.

To borrow some of Lois McMaster Bujold's words (speaking as Emperor Gregor) Let's see what happens.

NaNoWriMo - Day 9 Update

I didn't do nearly enough writing today. I'm still way ahead of the game (at 32,100 words as we speak) but I'd hoped to get more done. I got a lot of "life" done instead and that feels good, too. I could have skipped the hour and half of raking, though. My hands are all rubbery now :-( Even worse, I only got half the yard done. I have to go back out there. Maybe this weekend.

So Snippet #14 has been uploaded and I've decided, The Crystal Method's song PHD is definitely Lacey's music. Just feels like her attitude--her recent attitude anyway. So you wanna get a piece of this? Yep. Sounds like Lacey's 'tude in Snippet 14. Listen to the long clip while you read, let me know if you agree.

Next Tuckerization--Emerson, That Will be All

Yes, I couldn't resist the proper name Emerson when I found myself in need of a Gentleman's gentleman. Well, no not a valet but a parking garage attendant--and I'm not saying that as though it's a dirty word, though Lacey sure seems to be a snob about it.

I got a little worried last night when first drafting this 13th Snippet--it nearly looked as though Rainey might actually hit Lacey. I've never written a male character who hit women who wasn't also a clear Villian in the most despicable sense. I couldn't imagine what I'd do if Rainey had actually struck her. I think he and I would have had to part ways, I do.

So no mood music I have will suit this Tuckerization: Emerson Clark Mitchell, "the guy with three first names," and noted in the Tavern for his exuberant nature, has been woven into the Lacey & Rainey Story for posterity. It makes for a long excerpt, but WTF, why not? This is (probably) all of your stage time, Emerson, sorry.

I take it back, I have some mood music for this snippet. Sitting targets... anticipating... nothing :) Naturally, it's Depeche Mode again, this time, from the CD Music for the Masses, the clip titled "Nothing" but it's SOMETHING. Download and play it while you read to see if you agree.

When Rainey pulled into the garage under the Bristol, the sun was just turning the sky interesting shades of pink and orange with a bit of slate directly overhead. He swore to himself that he'd be asleep before the sun finished rising and pulled Lacey's Mercedes up to the edge of the carpeting. The attendant's face broke into a smile. Damn, the man knew him. Emerson something, three first names. Emerson...Mitchell... Emerson Clark Mitchell? Mitchell Clark? Emerson, it is.

Emerson reached a white-gloved hand out to open the door for Rainey with a courtly bow. "Mr. Rainford, always a pleasure to see you back, sir. Your McLaren is well. Shall I make a spot beside her for this car?"

Rainey left the engine purring away and got out. "Yes, thank you, Emerson. Don't block in the McLaren, but somewhere near--"

"Oh! We'd never block in your McLaren. We'll see that this..." He leaned over and looked past Rainey, at Lacey, still sitting in the passenger seat. "...goes right next to the McLaren, sir. Will you be taking the McLaren out for spin, perhaps?"

The man sounded more eager to see Rainey's new car hit the streets than Rainey was himself. "No, not likely. Will you be on duty all day, Emerson?"

"Yes, sir! If you'd like to take the McLaren out this evening, I can stay a little late to--"

"No, no, it's not that. I--there's some...extremely valuable luggage in the car." He grasped Emerson's hand between both of his own, pressing hundreds too many euros into the attendant's palm. "I'd like to entrust you, personally, to guard it with your life, see that nothing is touched outside of my presence. Not by anyone, not even the Bellman."

The man's face drew somber. "Of course, sir. We always guarantee the security of our regular customers here at The Bristol." He glanced down but to his credit, didn't hesitate or let his voice falter. "But I'll give this matter my personal attention, Mr. Rainford. I should be on until half three today, in case you change your mind about the McLaren."

Rainey walked around the front of the car, a little surprised and puzzled to see another attendant whom he didn't recognize still standing patiently at Lacey's open door. She was still inside, arms crossed. Pouting, he realized when he got close enough to lean on the top of the open door.

"Is there a problem, Lacey?" He asked as though he didn't know precisely what the problem was, but even if she held every gun in the car on him, it wouldn't keep him from going upstairs and going to sleep right now this minute.

"I'm not leaving these things here, Rainey. I thought I'd made that clear, nothing--but nothing--leaves my person. If it's staying in the car, then so am I. Have a nice nap."

"Lacey, Emerson isn't allowed to operate the vehicle with you in it. Something about liability insurance. In this case, I wholly support The Bristol. You have to get out now, darling." Rainey leaned forward and spoke to Emerson, sitting half in, half out of the driver's seat. "I'm sorry, Emerson, this will only take a moment." The attendant took the hint and got out of the car again. Rainey snapped in undertones to the seemingly grown woman in the passenger seat, "Get out, Lacey, now."

"No." She stared blankly through the windshield.

Rainey stood up and the second attendant stepped back, anticipating him. He came around and reached inside the car to unlock her seat belt. She caught his wrist, held it over her lap, and glared at him.

He glared back then narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me hurt you, luv. There's a big, soft bed up there just screaming our names. You're getting out of this car and you're doing it now."

Her eyes were icy cold and an odd calm washed over her. That was what signaled him to look down at her hands. Quietly, she told him, "I believe I have you at a disadvantage."

Lacey had her SIG in her lap, aimed up under their hands. At that angle, he calculated, it was aimed directly at his crotch. He was not amused.

Emerson cleared his throat and stood off a pace or two with his hands behind his back, pretending the entire disagreement was of no concern to him. Likewise, the second attendant stepped back another pace and watched hopefully for new arrivals at the garage entrance.

"I can't believe you're throwing a temper tantrum at a time like this. Can't you wait until we get upstairs? At least let me lie down for this."

"I can see that you're tired, Rainey. You're not making any sense. If you were thinking clearly, you'd understand that I'd rather shoot your balls off in front of ten witnesses than leave this gear in the hands of a--a--" she lowered her voice and hissed, "a parking garage attendant. Are you out of your bloody mind? Do you hear what you're suggesting?"

Rainey clutched the headrest but relaxed the rest of his stance and told her in calm, rational tones, "I do, and I know this man. He's been working here for years. He's taken very good care of me and my property whenever I've been in Paris. We'll stop at the Concierge Desk and ask them to arrange a special security detail to watch the car. Satisfied?"

"A special security detail? Of what? Armed parking attendants? Using my own--"

"Armed security personnel, trained to guard things such as spoiled little rich girls and their cars. The Bristol has excellent security here, I assure you. My McLaren has been just fine for the past month while I've been gone."

"Your McLaren's just a thing. There's not even anything valuable in it."

He ignored the affront to his honor--or his baby's--and upped the offer. "Lacey, their security personnel will suffice until Sean can get here. Sean and his team can stand guard over your things until we wake up, better?"

She wouldn't relent. He ground his teeth and told her, "I'm willing to pay an arm and a leg to have Sean--Sean Gartlan himself!--standing around doing absolutely nothing all the bleeding day, the least you can do is agree it will give you peace of mind to let me fu--finally go to sleep. I'll gladly pay the day charges for the whole bloody lot of them."

She rested the SIG against her leg, but he could see she wasn't quite resigned to it.

"I'm not even swearing at you about this, Lacey. I'm giving you the respect due something which I know is important to you. I'm not even making light of it, but I need to fucking go to sleep! I need you to give me that. Now stop behaving like a fucking child and get out of the car."

He wrenched his wrist out of her grasp and stood up, fuming. "If I have to physically drag you out of that car, you'll regret it. I assure you."

She glanced over at the second attendant, carefully two more paces away now and looking anywhere else but at her or the car. She slipped her SIG back into its holster under her coat.

When she swung her feet out, Rainey cleared his throat and called across the car roof to Emerson. The man stopped short of the car, didn't get in.

"Will that be all now, Mr. Rainford?"

"Yes, Emerson, thank you, sorry for the delay. I'll be having a couple of lads come by in a few hours to relieve you, but as you can see, these things are very near and dear to Mademoiselle Townsend's heart. Please do guard them with your life."

"Of course, sir." Emerson got in, fastened his seat belt, closed the driver's side door.

Lacey reluctantly stepped back far enough to allow the second attendant to close the door, and then watched with clear dissatisfaction as her little Mercedes disappeared into the depths of the parking garage.

Two More Tuckerizations

One and a half but who's counting? And Sean needs to be redshirted later so it's really two half-Tuckers. From Snippet #12, we have Rainey and Lacey chatting in Lacey's apartment. Her "important" things (read: weapons, reloading equipment, other accessories) have been packed--finally!!--and it's nearly dawn. They've been up all night. Yeah, they had some of that going on, too, but that's in earlier snippets. This one is just banter and a review of Lacey's weapons that "must" go with her person or she's not leaving.

Now playing: "Freestate" by Depeche Mode - listen to the lyrics of this one while reading and you'll see why it's the mood for this snippet! The full version anyway. Here's the snippet excerpt:

"Come on, Lacey, that's enough."

"I'm not leaving all of this, and besides, there's that mess you made in the hall still to be tended."

"I told you, Tony will have a crew here before dawn, and they'll take care of it." He checked his watch. Nearly dawn now.

"They'll have a van, many more strong backs than mine and they'll take care of everything. Trust Tony to handle this. He has excellent organizational skills or I wouldn't keep him on hand."

"He's a computer dweeb. He doesn't know the first thing about how to handle this sort of equipment. As for those goons you keep hiring--"

"Sean Gartlan is not a goon and I advise you never to call him such a thing to his face. He's very sensitive about how hairy a fellow he is. He might take it the wrong way, think you're calling him some sort of gorilla. He fancies himself a wolf, from what I hear." He chuckled at the words before he could stop himself. He was definitely getting silly now.

She hissed and turned her back to him. Rainey went over to her, clasped his hands around her waist, rested his head against the hers.

"Lacey, it's been a long night. I haven't slept more than two hours in two days. The car is full. We're leaving."

Politicians Sweep the Polls Again!!

This is just too funny not to blog it. The Onion never fails to amaze and delight me with their lunacy. For a serious reflection on Election Day 2006, refer to my prior post, here.

Barrell of a Gun Mood...AGAIN.

Yeah, I'm just in that kind of mood. I didn't upload and link to my own ripped MP3 in this earlier post because....I dunno, figured you should go clicking around online, I suppose. But take a moment out of your busy life and just listen to my mood. Then maybe you'll understand why I'm writing Rainey's language the way I am. Or is the music to help me be able to write him this way? *heh*

Update: the embedded MP3s are killing my blog load time so I'm trying to replace them all with links for you to just download yourself - except my birthday music :) gotta keep that in "play mode" :-)

Download and listen to Barrel of a Gun, clip off the Depeche Mode's Ultra album

Patrotic Anectdote on Election Day

Yes, I voted--at 0630 this morning. For some reason, standing in line listening to the little mechanized devices running along inside the touch-screen ballot machines as they attemped to punch the voter's choices, my mind drifted into the nostalgic realm of history in the making.

The lines were so long in our little polling station (smack dab in the middle of a residential area--so we all live there and are coming there to vote--no businesses to offset the voter density of the area) because they only had 3 machines in the small schoolroom set up for Voting Day. They had to snake us around the room, like we were in some sort of Conga dance line. We all chatted and joked about this to pass the time and then it struck me. That WOW moment.

I was one of only two white people there to vote (the other was a man two or three ahead of me in line) and most of us were women. One hundred years ago, not only would most of us have not been legally allowed to be there at all, but we couldn't even have spoken to each other, despite being de facto neighbors. Women and blacks were not allowed to vote and certainly whites and blacks didn't "integrate" in public places like good buddies and pals. These were "illegal" and "immoral" ideas a hundred years ago.

I mean, in 1905 Saint Louis, Missouri, could you envision a white woman and black man having carried on a chatty, almost celebratory conversation in a public building without attracting some kind of ridicule, if not a call to the police?

A flush of patriotic pride washed over me.

Just look at how much has changed in a hundred years? Sure, there's a lot--a LOT--wrong with the country today, I'll be the first to admit it (and blog about it), but it sure felt amazingly good to be an American standing in that room this morning, with that particular mix of people, about to do that particular activity (Voting). Wow. Just wow.

Another One Bites the Dust...erm, Anodized Steel

I'm not snippeting out here in public, on my blog, for reasons that have been explained elsewhere and repeatedly, but I know some of the Barflies wanted to read the kill scenes without having to wade through the snippets as a whole. Here's my first cut of Robert Cruze, Jr.'s ("Crazy" Bob Cruze in the story) kill scene. This excerpted snippet is told in Rainey's POV (sorry if you find it too laced with expletives for your taste; Rainey talks that way. Deal.)

Big H/T to Barfly Michael Sayer for helping me tweak this and of course, to 'flies James Cochrane, Steven "Steffan" Stewart and others who brainstormed the various means and methods for Rainey to use in killing Cruze without resorting to firearms (too noisy). And last but not least, to Steve Yee for the loverly Gerber Mark II knife with which Rainey kills Crazy Cruze. Play the "mood music" if you like :) Hopefully, it does not start on its own.

Knife at the ready, Rainey started down the dark hallway and hoped it was Cruze. He'd really hate to have to kill Lisa with a fucking knife. Whoever it was, they were definitely in the parlour.

Parlour, he mused to himself as he crept along, who the fuck calls it a parlour besides Lacey? The intruder thumped against something and was muttering to themself about it. He smiled. Lisa might curse at furniture but she wouldn't walk into it, which meant it was his lucky night. He was finally going to kill Crazy Cruze.

He stopped at the door jamb, posed to pounce as soon as Cruze managed to turn the doorway. He didn't have to wait long. He would rather not have had to take Cruze from the front, but he moved quickly enough out of instinct, it was a done deal before he'd had time to reflect on the disadvantage at which he'd put himself.

With one hand crushing thumb and fingertips into Cruze's cheeks, he shoved Cruze back against the wall, and slipped the Gerber in just under the jaw, up through the little fucker's tongue and upper palate and into the lunatic's brain.

From his vantage point, he got to watch Cruze's eyes bug out, but even thumping the little shit against the wall didn't stop the dying Cruze from kicking Rainey in the shins. He lifted with both hands to get Cruze's feet off the ground. After a moment, the jerking finally stopped. He felt liquid seeping in between his bare toes as he lowered the body and retrieved his knife, wiping it off on Cruze's shoulder.

He didn't want to think about whether the liquid on the floor was urine, blood or whatever Cruze had had for dinner. He'd get bloody hell from Lacey for the mess he'd made on her Oriental hall runner even if it had been plain water. So be it, he decided, she'll be moving soon enough and replace it anyway.

More Good "Redshirting" Music

The Crystal Method is not on my list of "music to write by" like Depeche Mode or (for killing scenes) The Prodigy, but sometimes TCM just has a good thing going. That's why, several years ago, I bought their "Tweekend" CD, from which the first cut titled "PHD" is just "one of those things." It just grows on you, what can I say?

Better to get me into "the game" is (aptly titled) "Name of the Game" (great crazy driving video btw--nothing to do with my "game"--but better than the "official music video" which is too tame for the lyrics) and when I hear "Murder" I haven't even realized it before I've written another death scene, something violent, lots of noise and lights or if the only lights are behind bloody eyues, then just noise....until the roar of Death settles in.

Listen to all the clips of the "Tweekend" album (yes, yes, some of it was featured in that T&A movie "Charlie's Angels") with TCM's Flash player keyboard.

So, You Say It's Your Birthday?

Yes, it's my birthday and I'm a whole 2 years old. Okay, 12. No? Would you believe 22? Heh. Okay, okay, I'm 249 just like the blog profile says. Geez, give a girl a break. You're not supposed to ask a lady for her age. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?

:-)

NaNoWriMo - Day 6

I am pretty darn close to the 25k mark. Have not uploaded much in the way of Snippets (#8 last night/early this morning but was written yesterday) because I'm still writing and worrying and writing and laughing and writing and ...you get the idea.

Will have the Snippet Hole updated sometime later today. My pace is slowing as I get to less clearly-formed segments. I had already envisioned the A to B to C to *here* stuff that's been written and I was just spewing it out. I have a handful more of those scenes left, but only a handful and from various parts of the story.

If all else fails, I'll snippet those out and then go away to a cave to read source materials (The Ultimate Sniper, On Killing, various and sorted Army FMs, too many PDFs to list). My current pace suggests I'll reach 50k around the 14th or 15th but I think it will be the 16th or 17th. My "gut feel" on the length of the completed work holds steady at 120k and the Firefox addin "predicts" 122.6k as of right now so I'll trust my gut.

Once I pass 50k, I shall definitely take some time out for "life stuff" that's on hold right now. Uhh, like cranking up the job search about ten freaking notches. I've only followed up on 2 previous applications and sent in 3 new ones in the 6 days since NaNoWriMo began. That's less than one a day and I should be sending out one an hour at this point. NaNoWriMo is completely consuming my focus. This is not good. Well, it's great but Greatness won't pay the bills. Might have to reconsider that 'fly suggestion about wage work at the area's "Largest Employer in St. Charles" just for cash while I keep looking, waiting, wondering how to get back into aerospace or DoD contracting. Got a job to fill? Get my CV and see if I'm a match.

Laters.

Speaking of Plans Coming Together

Remember the "Help us John Carry.." photo (blogged here) and my pointer that there were bumper stickers and tee shirts available,too? And that the proceeds from getting your own "Help us John Carry..." statement would go to help the troops?

We'll the love just keeps going around, doesn't it? So nice to see that when a plan comes together in the US Armed Forces, it really comes together (even if there was some mistake in the arithmetic and someone claimed that Army could possibly beat Air Force 43-7 ...had to be a mistake!! :)

Thank you, Gentlemen *aherm* and Ladies ;) Yeah, I'm still a sexist gal.

Sniper Gets 3000-yard TRO

MACON, GA—Citing Emily Holman's right to feel safe traversing vast open spaces, especially when within visual range of clock towers, parking structures, and tall buildings, a judge awarded the 28-year-old a 3,000-yard restraining order yesterday against her former boyfriend, retired Marine sniper Gordon Lee Blackwood.

"When we broke up he started calling me 10 times a day from his job," said Holman, who realized Blackwood's office building, which had an open, flat roof, was only 1,800 yards away. "He had me flinching every time I saw sunlight glinting off any surface within two and a half miles."

Blackwood would not comment on the judge's decision, saying only that he still loved Holman and was trying to understand the distance and crosswinds that separated them.

Yeah, I'm playing around here instead of writing more NaNoWriMo stuff. I'm 42% done on Day 5, gimmee a break!! And besides, this is funny isn't it? :-) It's even related since it's about a sniper.

If you're not chuckling or at least snorting at this one, you have no taste. Go away.

RIF kids...not a new "obsession"

Update: The show just started and I recognized it INSTANTLY. I actually blogged the 9min clip that is the centerpiece of this show back on September 5, 2006. It's excellent. If you cannot access FOX news to watch the "expanded" version, go here to read my comments on what I have been calling "The RIFs' War on Peace" and watch the embedded YouTube of the 9min clip.

---

Remember this photo? I posted it in September here, and today, while watching the 5min preview of the FOX news Special "Obsession," I saw the same image--but with kids. Kids. Yeah, children.

I've captured some of the images from the 5min preview for "Obsession" but the images are so horrific, so chilling, I decided to montage them together and make you click through to see the detail. I don't even want to see this myself the next time I open up my blog.

But please, for the sake of the children, look, accept the reality of this RIF idea of "good parenting." The "proper Muslim father" teaching his kids makes me want to be sick. Then if you're seeing this post in time and have access to FOX News TV, watch "Obsession". It's real. It's now. It's not just some more propaganda.



Click on thumbnail to enlarge and see detail.

NaNoWriMo - Day 5 - Part 2

So moving forward here, I plug in The Prodigy's next album, "Fat of the Land," whose opening cut "Smack my Bitch Up" has the most amazing (female) guest vocal in any electronica ever.

And not to discount the extremely creative video of that clip which the US version of MTV banned--due to scenes of full nudity, the sexually-repressed twits. But I have it on my hard disk, available to play for "artistic inspiration" at any time. So there. Yeah, go you file-sharing prodigies of the world. If you've never seen the amazing video for this clip...well, you don't know what you're missing. It's a mindfuck for sure. Heh heh. Oh wait! It's already on the internet in all its glory. Yeah, like that didn't happen 5 years ago. (sorry if your browser plays the clip automagically against your will. UPGRADE today. Or just click the pause/play toggle. The audio quality on this clip--during the great guest vocal--sucks but watch the moving pictures just for the fun of it all.) You can see from the "mood" and "pace" of this video why The Prodigy is doing such a fine, fine job of assisting me in my NanoWriting, can't you?



This celebration of life comes on the heels of passing the 18k word mark in my NanoWriting and best of all, completing *tad-dah* (drum roll please) Steffan's Death Scene. At long last, the sucker's dead. Not sure I got the smile plastered on his face though. Will have to work on that in editing (to begin once I extract myself from this blogging addiction I seem to have developed).

NaNoWriMo - Day 5 Begins

So I've finished editing Snippet #6 and am starting #7, where Steffan will die no matter what. I've put on The Prodigy's CD "Music for the Jilted Generation to get in the mood.

Get this, the boyz are coming back to the States!! First time in years. Visit the "Tour" page for details on the Hoo Doo Voo Doo What You Don't Dare Do People

They'll be in California for two nights in November, 2006. Wow, why do I live in St. Louis again? I miss Boston's great music (ahhhh, laminated's at Foxboro, those were the days)