As I am trying to write this blog my five year old son as yanking my arm screaming,
“Give me ice cream! I want ice cream!”
So I decided to ignore him and began typing. Magically, it worked and now he is quietly holding on to my arm, silence of a lamb. Or he may be mesmerized by the My Little Pony cartoon on the television. Either way, he is subdued. And crisis is adverted, for now.
I decided to write a new story. I’m not one for short stories as I have so much to say about certain situations. So, on the way is another novella or novel.
Why is my nose running? I know I am not getting a cold. This is some bullshit.
However, before writing this new novel I’m doing something new and surprisingly fun. I am dissecting Stephen King’s Misery, a story similar to an idea of mine. I’ve read dissecting a novel ( noting scenes, transitions, twists and introductions of characters on cue cards or writing it down) is a way to learn sentence structure and character development. It is a type of literature engineering that I am unexpectedly enjoying. Helps with outlining. I forgot how much I liked taking things apart and seeing how they work then putting it back together as perfectly as possible if not better. Though Stephen King is way out of my league, I love the “self-challenge”.
The excitement makes my toes wiggle. I’m a book whore. Books turn me on.
I am reading the ebook version of the novel and using Scrivener to break it down. Fast and easy. Also, tedious however, my mind runs at 100 miles and hour and fast typing is helpful. It also pays to have OCD. I wonder how long this will take to complete. I will share my experiences as I delve into this project.
Oh I learned “KISS”, Keep It Short and Simple. Or is it Keep It Simple, Stupid? What do you think? Let me know in the comments. And have you ever dissected a novel? Was it helpful?
The five year old is now asleep on my arm. Good grief.
Some Kind of Funky
BTW, you may see me refer to “The Five Year Old” from time to time. He is my adopted son who is my nemesis and my mini me. He is a 37 year old man in a kid’s size six/seven body, explains the gigantism, who thinks he can reason his way through childhood. As a baby I said that he was boring because he didn’t speak. Now he is a nonstop motor. It’s like waking up to a car dealer every morning to making deals between two Pop tarts and a Sponge Bob cartoon to let him eat in the living room or eggs, bacon and oatmeal and he gets my phone in the car to play Need for Speed: Most Wanted on the way to school. Speaking of car dealership that’s what my living room resembles. Hot Wheels and Match Boxes are everywhere. Littered heavily among them are large dump trucks and ambulances. I have to play Minesweeper on the way to the kitchen and hope I don’t break my neck. He’s a great kid and drives a hard bargain. He makes me a better person and an exhausted one.