Tuesday, November 07, 2006

20,049 words. I fear that I've hit the 2/5 mark for complete crap speculative fiction.
The parts I like best are the minor story lines and, as a result, I think my book may be pointed at the wrong main characters.
Of course, the self-doubt ninjas continue to pelt me with the razor-sharp throwing stars of second thought, so I have no idea whether I should shift gears and change the focus or continue plugging away in the direction I've been traveling for 20,000+ words.
In short, OMG.
I think I need to see it printed out, but in its rough state the guilt over dead trees would further disable my ability to press on through the end of the book.
To top it off, one of my favorite authors released a book last week, as he does at the end of every October. It is the end of a trilogy, with the previous book having ended in a cliffhanger. I don't have time for that! I've got another 30,000 words to write!

Yesterday I was in a meeting about Disaster Recovery. The meeting ended with a short film about the subject.
The narrator, cast to look the middle manager, said, "This is our crisis response team. Every week we get together to discuss what might happen and how we might address the issue."
Good, right? Makes sense, and his voice over the scene of five or six people sitting around a box of doughnuts was not distracting. However, when he stopped talking the people around the doughnuts started. They took turns like this:
"What happens if our data storage closet is flooded? Do we have back ups stored off-site?"
"What if a fire destroys corporate headquarters? How do we get our people to work?"
"What if an armed band of multinational terrorists compromises one of our manufacturing facilities and the stand off lasts for weeks? How do we get office supplies to our people on the inside?"
I know, that last one sounds like a joke. It is funny enough that if it were a joke I'd claim it. Unfortunately, they really said that.
After swallowing the blood pooling in my mouth from clamping my teeth down on my tongue, I started spewing my own list of calamities:
"What happens if a swarm of rabid bats infests the server room? And the only admins available to do reboots have long hair, which tangles the biting, flapping beasts?"
"Let's say another naked homeless guy runs through the lobby, but this time the sight causes the accounting group to take a sick day en masse? Who cuts our checks?"
"Ok. A herd of angry, sleep-deprived weasels dashes through the cube farm, biting and scratching our employees. Does a standard fire extinguisher deter them? How about if you use it as a primitive weasel-smashing device? Does whacking them with a USB keyboard kill them or just stun them?"
In other news, yesterday I got "promoted" to Disaster Recovery Lead.

4 comments:

Joe said...

What if evil clowns, armed only with caulking guns and tubes of industrial-grade Dap storm the complex and tie us up while they simultaneously burn all coffee-related products in a bonfire of heretofore unseen proportions?

I think you should appoint your self with a rank, akin to the military, now that you're the Disater Recovery Lead. Perhaps you could be a Major? And people could call you Major Disaster? Or if they want to be more formal, they could call you Major Lead? (Which, if you read and aren't aware of the proper pronunciation, sounds like an adult movie stage name ...)

And one day, you could aspire to be a General Disaster?

The possibilities are endless.

Garrick said...

There are non-evil clowns? News to me.
I've got a long-standing personal policy of exiting the building through the nearest elevator, stair well, fire escape or window in the event even the rumor of a possible clown in the building is overheard.
If clowns show up, Major Disaster is smoke, a shadow, the whisper of a memory.

Joe said...

After that, my guess is that you will never hear from him again. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And like that... Major Disaster is gone.

Good times.

Shana said...

Your novel is killing you.

It eats your ever-lovin' soul.