Monday, August 15, 2005

Longer Than I Thought

The more experience I have with writing, the more I realise that it all takes longer than you expect. And ends up being longer.

I started the novel on August 2nd, 2004. That means I've been at it for just over a year now. I originally meant to finish it by April 1st, 2005.

I thought that would be funny.

Every month or so I reshuffled my rough word count targets and spread the finish date further out. My original estimate of a 65,000 word novel is panning out to be closer to 70,000, or maybe even 75,000.

Last night I unfroze Danny Hawaii and his 'friends', Piper and Bernadette. One of them was verbally cutting loose on the others. They drove off, leaving the verbal abuser at home, alone.

My next scene involves something upsetting happening to Mr. Hawaii, involving a large material possession.

Alright, that's enough teasing.

The point of this ramble is to re-iterate how excited I am. I have an outline document that I use as a reference while I'm writing, and I'm very close to the end of the outline. This means I'm close to finishing. I can't wait to find out what happens. There are still details that are somewhat up in the air, details that I can only discover through revision.


Word count: 65,221 (over 65K!)

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Romance And Detectives

I can't help cringing when this happens.

A detective is waiting in his office, drinking the hair of the dog. A tall blonde/brunette/redhead walks in. She's tough, but vulnerable.

Legs you could climb like a mountain. A figure to use as a benchmark for fractal geometry. A nose you could pinch without feeling silly. Genitalia that's built for ...

He takes the case, she pays in small, unmarked bills. There's chemistry between her and the detective, but he keeps his distance. Later on, after some heavy, dramatic conflict, they take comfort in each others arms and legs. Ashtrays and bottles are knocked over in the frenzy on the bed. Or maybe the couch in the office.

If she's real tough, on the concrete in the back alley.

In the end, it turns out that she was playing everyone all along, especially P.I. Dick Randomski. She goes to gaol, but he still gives her one last kiss.

Get my drift?

When Bogey and Bacall did it, it was classy. When Chandler wrote about it, the same. Now it's expected and overdone. Time to move on.

My preference (after very little research) is a detective novel that doesn't have romance in it. It always feels tacky and cliched. Sheesh. It's even cliched to call it that.

Have I just revealed a clue? Yes, probably. You never know.