I love inside jokes. Inside jokes are the only thing that allow you the opportunity to grunt at a friend while rolling your shoulders backwards and make them laugh. It's a unique form of humour that can make or break the believability of a friendship in a story.
Maybe I've just read too much terrible fiction lately but I've come across so many stories that have had characters do or say incredibly weird things around a friend, have the friend laugh, explained that 'She laughed because it was an inside joke' and expected the reader to find it funny. It might be amusing to picture someone doing the macarena behind the back of an unsuspecting teacher in a hallway but it's not funny to be told it's funny. This breaks the believability of that friendship, because suddenly the reader is being told that the friends are friends and they have this inside joke because they are friends and it is funny because it is a joke. Maybe this boils down to show-not-tell, but I definitely think there's something more to it than that.
Some inside jokes in stories are good, and not just because the joke is funny to the reader. In fact, the entire point of an inside joke is that it's only funny to the people that are in on it. A good inside joke should be explained in a way that ends with 'I guess you had to be there'. It should seem weird to an outside observer. It doesn't even have to be funny to the characters anymore. The hilarity of it might have worn off and now it's a force of habit for those friends.
That seems boring though, doesn't it? What's the point of a form of humour being placed in a story if neither the reader nor the characters are laughing? It's simple really, the reader believes the friendship very quickly. I distinctly remember reading John Green's 'An Abundance of Katherines' wondering why the main character and his best friend kept saying 'fug' instead of the notably more offensive 'fuck'. It wasn't even explained to me directly that it was an inside joke of theirs (which, for good measure, had lost its humourous quality and was now a habit for them, which added to the implied closeness of the friendship). It was eventually explained to another character and only then did I come to understand the origin of the joke. Up until that point I had seriously been questioning whether Mr Green had simply been lamely censoring himself.
I think this all links to a wider opinion I have on writing humour into a story. In it's most basic form, the theory goes something like this:
Only write the humour in if you understand why the humour works.
Everyone has laughed at jokes before. Some of us have had the pleasure of making others laugh at jokes before. Few truly understand why they made the other person laugh. Even if they do understand it all, they must always keep in mind that when writing you lack the ability to truly apply things like comedic timing, intonation and rants about the Oxford Comma.
Monday 29 April 2013
Friday 26 April 2013
A Preview
I feel the most natural part of the story to preview is the first chapter. A part of me considered showing something later in the novel, trading off mystery for action, but I decided against. Anyway, here's the opening chapter:
Chapter 1
Ice
In the city dug into the cliffs above Lake Lucerne winter was becoming spring. The ice on the walkways slowly vanished and only the out-of-towners still clung to the handrails as the world grew warmer. Below the cliff districts the rest of the city began to make its way back out onto the water as it shifted its blue from a harsh white-tinged shade to a deeper, glistening colour. Ropemen rappelled in ever increasing numbers down the many levels of the cliff districts, checking for cracks in the rock that had been pried further open by the frost. As the numbers of Ropemen scouring the rocks increased, the numbers of Ropemen on the de-icing shifts decreased and slowly they all moved into a new season of work. The air was still cold and thin but the city, as anyone could tell you, was alive once more. Malcolm Chevin hadn't rubbed his eyes out of tiredness in weeks.
The last de-icing shift on the Skyrail was a week or so after all the other de-icing work had dried up. There was no such thing as too cautious when it came to the new invention's first peak season. During the winter the trains had floated to and from the lakeside only when factory shifts began and ended but now in spring it would be running non-stop up and down between the two halves of Lucerne. Malcolm Chevin was on this last shift, suspended far above the ground by a mass of ropes and clips, scraping away the solid water on the highest stretch of the railway before the 5 am train set off with the first few Factorymen. Malcolm wasn't a Ropeman though, he was an Engineer, a very dedicated Engineer. The mastermind behind the Skytrain. He'd put in hours designing, planning, constructing and, over the winter, de-icing the whole gorgeous project. He knew his invention better than anyone else, down to every rivet.
The Skytrain was perhaps the most notable, and important, project Lucerne had worked on in decades. The freedom of movement between the lake districts and the cliff districts was revolutionary. It would have probably been easy in the Early Times, but that was before the cliffs were settled. The train relied on the new discoveries in lighter-than-air flight. Essentially it was an airship that ran on a line of cables so as to avoid the dangers of crosswinds, for which Engineers now claimed they would soon have a solution. The train was the first of its kind and, if the peak season went well, the first of many.
The last ice was off by 4:30 and Malcolm scrambled his way up and off the wire with the Ropemen, marching back to their headquarters and turning in his ropes for the last time. The busiest season in the city was beginning, but for Malcolm the hard work was done.
"Happy retirement, Mal m'boy!" called one of the older Ropemen as Malcolm dumped his ropes in the collection box, feeling surprised that he had been spotted among the relatively taller Ropemen.
There was meant to be a presentation at the Engineer's headquarters at eight but aside from that he hadn't the slightest need to be anywhere in particular for a long while. It was a pleasant freedom, afforded to few in his line of work, but since he had contributed something of massive importance to the people through his invention, the Skytrain, his guild's law dictated that he was not obligated to do any professional work until he chose to. It was initially written in as a way for Engineers to retire. Someone's life's work would come to completion, the fruits of their labours fully ripened, some brilliant new piece of revolutionary technology would be revealed to the Swiss masses and the old genius behind it could live the rest of his life on guild payouts from his invention. Malcolm was far from an old genius though. Some considered him a genius in any case, but even then he was still young and had no wish to retire. He was more than happy to take a break, though, even if only for a few months.
He strode down the worn paths in the rock to his home in the halls where the scholars lived, though he was not a student himself. He let the sweet air envelop him, washing him with waves of the scents of all the early flowers in bloom. Soon the florists would be preparing arrangements showcasing the unique mountain flowers to send down to the lake for the spring festival.
Loveless Malcolm wouldn't be attending, not that that bothered him. It was a celebration for those couples who had survived the winter as a symbol of mankind's ability to survive The Ending, the grand apocalypse that destroyed the Early Times and set the world back to square one. Then there was the long years of hell, according to the few records from the time, where tribe-like organisations were torn between assisting each other for mutual benefit, or slaughtering each other for control of impossibly scarce resources. Slowly the land recovered and more food could be grown, and that is why the first flowers of spring were collected, cut, washed and arranged for everyone to admire and enjoy in the parades, even though only the couples could join in the massive parties throughout the week.
The scholar's residences were dug straight into the rock of the cliff beside the older caverns the early settlers had dug, which had themselves become the University of Lucerne. He pushed open the wooden door and entered the short cave behind it. Though it was intended to match the style of the old caverns beside it, the scholar's building was very obviously a more sophisticated excavation project. The surfaces were smooth, with proper micro-tunnels for the elecs wires sitting just behind them, ferrying power around the structure. Brackets for lights had been purpose-built for the solid rock ceiling so that the bulbs sat uniformly above everyone's heads. Door hinges had small cavities housing them so that the doors sat flush with every surface. By comparison the university building was ever so slightly more haphazard. The surfaces had been smoothed, but they were nowhere near as mathematically precise as the residence's. Occasional bumps and dents were common and there were all manner of small alcoves people could stand in when a private word was needed. The lighting was an absolute mess, to say the least. It was considered far too difficult to convert the whole building to micro-tunnelled elecs, so the wires were mostly exposed as they ran across the ceiling like an absurdly labyrinthine spider web. The bulbs were not evenly-spaced as they were in the residences, having been placed simply wherever old torch brackets had been. In the deeper rooms, dug in a time where the caverns were used as the home of a small community rather than as a system of caves survivors hid in, everything was a bit more uniform. The lighting was well-patterned, the corridors were decently straight, the doors were square and there were even some fireplaces with chimneys channelling smoke to up above the frozen peaks. After a time, when those groups of survivors that refused to fight each other heard of the settlers in the cliffs, the population began to grow. The tunnels went deeper, the rooms got bigger, the construction became more sophisticated. It wasn't until the world began to stabilise that the people of the caves emerged and began to develop the cliffside, by which point their community numbered around two thousand people. Those that couldn't stand the elevation and exposure to vertical death-drops made the journey back down the mountain to settle the lakeside, and Lucerne as Malcolm knew it took form.
"Take the scenic route, did you?"
Malcolm jumped just a little. He knew the voice. It belonged to his roommate, a tallish blonde man with sharp, sculpted cheekbones and rather piercing blue eyes, the sort that had no trouble with women provided he maintained a mysterious air about himself. That was, of course, where he fell short. He was too fond of talking, though he did have a fairly lush and enjoyably deep voice. It was not a voice he often heard at 5 in the morning.
"Every route's a scenic route up here Douglas." he replied with a tiny sigh travelling along with his words.
He was falling into a deep, contemplative mood this morning and he had no wish to be pestered by his roommate. A pestering was inevitably in order though, he realised as he turned to face his friend. He sat there at the table, already dressed for lectures, with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Seeing the question on his face, Douglas explained himself with a cheer in his voice.
"I thought we could celebrate your retirement."
"It's a shame there's no Bachelor of Comedy programme for you." he retorted dryly.
"Well I'm having a drink, you're well aware of how hard this sort of beverage is to procure." said Douglas, handily recovering from Malcolm's disinterest.
He was right, too. 'France' as it was in the Early Times was a mess. At the moment it was stable, more so than it had been in a long time, but trade with the Francians was still filled with difficulties. Douglas had a grandfather who was a senior in the Tunnelman's guild, so there had been plenty of inheritance waiting for Douglas when he started his studies, but even then this wasn't the sort of purchase someone made lightly. Another light sigh escaped his lips and he sat down while Douglas uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass.
"Here's to the genius from Switzerland. May he find his way into many history books." Douglas cheered at him.
"You know, sometimes I want to be remembered, but then I realise it will be history students remembering me and I change my mind" he replied with a grin after they had customarily touched glasses and sipped their drinks.
As per usual, Douglas had found a way to lighten his mood. Not that he was one to be in a mood very often. Douglas, however, was seemingly never in a mood other than happy. The constant upbeat behaviour could grow sickening at times, but for the most part Malcolm was thankful of it. Douglas being happy made him happy, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than happiness.
"You're not planning on putting away too much of this bottle before lectures I hope." he said.
"I got up this early to celebrate with you, I think I deserve at least two glasses." Douglas responded, "In any case, it's the first lecture of the Spring semester, I'll bet they don't cover anything I don't already know about old land vehicles."
Douglas was a history student himself, an Archaeology major. He loved nothing more than finding bits of things from the Early Times and assessing what they might have been and what purpose they served. Admittedly the Archaeologists were great friends of the Engineers, their finds of Early Tech assisting in the rediscovery of many old technologies, elecs being a fine example. It was believed that Lucerne was the first city this side of the Dividers Range to rediscover and install such a thing.
"One day, Douglas, the past will surprise you, I'm sure, and you will soon become a quivering wreck as you ponder on the revelation that men were once apes or something similarly absurd." he mused, staring into is glass as though Douglas wasn't really there.
"One day you'll run out of jokes about history students, I'm sure." Douglas retorted.
"Let's hope by then you've graduated." he closed, raising his glass cheekily before taking a final sip.
He stood and moved to the small kitchen, grabbing easy morsels to top himself up after his early shift, calling out to Douglas as he did so.
"I have a guild meeting at 8 and I plan on visiting a Threadman beforehand, so I'll be going in a minute. Seeing as you have no objection to drinking on your own I'll ask that you leave some of that bottle for this evening."
"What's the point of retiring if you don't let yourself enjoy the freedom?"
He wasn't retiring, and Douglas knew it, but of course he was pouncing on the opportunity to poke fun at Malcolm.
"And at that I'm going." he called with finality as he opened the door.
"See you tonight." said Douglas.
Malcolm closed the door behind him, marching back through the halls and out into the slightly less freezing Spring air with a pastry in his hand, finally letting his mind tick over to wondering what the meeting today was about.
If you want to see something later in the story then tell me in the comments section. I won't be posting the whole story chapter by chapter, but this will certainly not be the last you see if this novel.
Chapter 1
Ice
In the city dug into the cliffs above Lake Lucerne winter was becoming spring. The ice on the walkways slowly vanished and only the out-of-towners still clung to the handrails as the world grew warmer. Below the cliff districts the rest of the city began to make its way back out onto the water as it shifted its blue from a harsh white-tinged shade to a deeper, glistening colour. Ropemen rappelled in ever increasing numbers down the many levels of the cliff districts, checking for cracks in the rock that had been pried further open by the frost. As the numbers of Ropemen scouring the rocks increased, the numbers of Ropemen on the de-icing shifts decreased and slowly they all moved into a new season of work. The air was still cold and thin but the city, as anyone could tell you, was alive once more. Malcolm Chevin hadn't rubbed his eyes out of tiredness in weeks.
The last de-icing shift on the Skyrail was a week or so after all the other de-icing work had dried up. There was no such thing as too cautious when it came to the new invention's first peak season. During the winter the trains had floated to and from the lakeside only when factory shifts began and ended but now in spring it would be running non-stop up and down between the two halves of Lucerne. Malcolm Chevin was on this last shift, suspended far above the ground by a mass of ropes and clips, scraping away the solid water on the highest stretch of the railway before the 5 am train set off with the first few Factorymen. Malcolm wasn't a Ropeman though, he was an Engineer, a very dedicated Engineer. The mastermind behind the Skytrain. He'd put in hours designing, planning, constructing and, over the winter, de-icing the whole gorgeous project. He knew his invention better than anyone else, down to every rivet.
The Skytrain was perhaps the most notable, and important, project Lucerne had worked on in decades. The freedom of movement between the lake districts and the cliff districts was revolutionary. It would have probably been easy in the Early Times, but that was before the cliffs were settled. The train relied on the new discoveries in lighter-than-air flight. Essentially it was an airship that ran on a line of cables so as to avoid the dangers of crosswinds, for which Engineers now claimed they would soon have a solution. The train was the first of its kind and, if the peak season went well, the first of many.
The last ice was off by 4:30 and Malcolm scrambled his way up and off the wire with the Ropemen, marching back to their headquarters and turning in his ropes for the last time. The busiest season in the city was beginning, but for Malcolm the hard work was done.
"Happy retirement, Mal m'boy!" called one of the older Ropemen as Malcolm dumped his ropes in the collection box, feeling surprised that he had been spotted among the relatively taller Ropemen.
There was meant to be a presentation at the Engineer's headquarters at eight but aside from that he hadn't the slightest need to be anywhere in particular for a long while. It was a pleasant freedom, afforded to few in his line of work, but since he had contributed something of massive importance to the people through his invention, the Skytrain, his guild's law dictated that he was not obligated to do any professional work until he chose to. It was initially written in as a way for Engineers to retire. Someone's life's work would come to completion, the fruits of their labours fully ripened, some brilliant new piece of revolutionary technology would be revealed to the Swiss masses and the old genius behind it could live the rest of his life on guild payouts from his invention. Malcolm was far from an old genius though. Some considered him a genius in any case, but even then he was still young and had no wish to retire. He was more than happy to take a break, though, even if only for a few months.
He strode down the worn paths in the rock to his home in the halls where the scholars lived, though he was not a student himself. He let the sweet air envelop him, washing him with waves of the scents of all the early flowers in bloom. Soon the florists would be preparing arrangements showcasing the unique mountain flowers to send down to the lake for the spring festival.
Loveless Malcolm wouldn't be attending, not that that bothered him. It was a celebration for those couples who had survived the winter as a symbol of mankind's ability to survive The Ending, the grand apocalypse that destroyed the Early Times and set the world back to square one. Then there was the long years of hell, according to the few records from the time, where tribe-like organisations were torn between assisting each other for mutual benefit, or slaughtering each other for control of impossibly scarce resources. Slowly the land recovered and more food could be grown, and that is why the first flowers of spring were collected, cut, washed and arranged for everyone to admire and enjoy in the parades, even though only the couples could join in the massive parties throughout the week.
The scholar's residences were dug straight into the rock of the cliff beside the older caverns the early settlers had dug, which had themselves become the University of Lucerne. He pushed open the wooden door and entered the short cave behind it. Though it was intended to match the style of the old caverns beside it, the scholar's building was very obviously a more sophisticated excavation project. The surfaces were smooth, with proper micro-tunnels for the elecs wires sitting just behind them, ferrying power around the structure. Brackets for lights had been purpose-built for the solid rock ceiling so that the bulbs sat uniformly above everyone's heads. Door hinges had small cavities housing them so that the doors sat flush with every surface. By comparison the university building was ever so slightly more haphazard. The surfaces had been smoothed, but they were nowhere near as mathematically precise as the residence's. Occasional bumps and dents were common and there were all manner of small alcoves people could stand in when a private word was needed. The lighting was an absolute mess, to say the least. It was considered far too difficult to convert the whole building to micro-tunnelled elecs, so the wires were mostly exposed as they ran across the ceiling like an absurdly labyrinthine spider web. The bulbs were not evenly-spaced as they were in the residences, having been placed simply wherever old torch brackets had been. In the deeper rooms, dug in a time where the caverns were used as the home of a small community rather than as a system of caves survivors hid in, everything was a bit more uniform. The lighting was well-patterned, the corridors were decently straight, the doors were square and there were even some fireplaces with chimneys channelling smoke to up above the frozen peaks. After a time, when those groups of survivors that refused to fight each other heard of the settlers in the cliffs, the population began to grow. The tunnels went deeper, the rooms got bigger, the construction became more sophisticated. It wasn't until the world began to stabilise that the people of the caves emerged and began to develop the cliffside, by which point their community numbered around two thousand people. Those that couldn't stand the elevation and exposure to vertical death-drops made the journey back down the mountain to settle the lakeside, and Lucerne as Malcolm knew it took form.
"Take the scenic route, did you?"
Malcolm jumped just a little. He knew the voice. It belonged to his roommate, a tallish blonde man with sharp, sculpted cheekbones and rather piercing blue eyes, the sort that had no trouble with women provided he maintained a mysterious air about himself. That was, of course, where he fell short. He was too fond of talking, though he did have a fairly lush and enjoyably deep voice. It was not a voice he often heard at 5 in the morning.
"Every route's a scenic route up here Douglas." he replied with a tiny sigh travelling along with his words.
He was falling into a deep, contemplative mood this morning and he had no wish to be pestered by his roommate. A pestering was inevitably in order though, he realised as he turned to face his friend. He sat there at the table, already dressed for lectures, with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Seeing the question on his face, Douglas explained himself with a cheer in his voice.
"I thought we could celebrate your retirement."
"It's a shame there's no Bachelor of Comedy programme for you." he retorted dryly.
"Well I'm having a drink, you're well aware of how hard this sort of beverage is to procure." said Douglas, handily recovering from Malcolm's disinterest.
He was right, too. 'France' as it was in the Early Times was a mess. At the moment it was stable, more so than it had been in a long time, but trade with the Francians was still filled with difficulties. Douglas had a grandfather who was a senior in the Tunnelman's guild, so there had been plenty of inheritance waiting for Douglas when he started his studies, but even then this wasn't the sort of purchase someone made lightly. Another light sigh escaped his lips and he sat down while Douglas uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass.
"Here's to the genius from Switzerland. May he find his way into many history books." Douglas cheered at him.
"You know, sometimes I want to be remembered, but then I realise it will be history students remembering me and I change my mind" he replied with a grin after they had customarily touched glasses and sipped their drinks.
As per usual, Douglas had found a way to lighten his mood. Not that he was one to be in a mood very often. Douglas, however, was seemingly never in a mood other than happy. The constant upbeat behaviour could grow sickening at times, but for the most part Malcolm was thankful of it. Douglas being happy made him happy, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than happiness.
"You're not planning on putting away too much of this bottle before lectures I hope." he said.
"I got up this early to celebrate with you, I think I deserve at least two glasses." Douglas responded, "In any case, it's the first lecture of the Spring semester, I'll bet they don't cover anything I don't already know about old land vehicles."
Douglas was a history student himself, an Archaeology major. He loved nothing more than finding bits of things from the Early Times and assessing what they might have been and what purpose they served. Admittedly the Archaeologists were great friends of the Engineers, their finds of Early Tech assisting in the rediscovery of many old technologies, elecs being a fine example. It was believed that Lucerne was the first city this side of the Dividers Range to rediscover and install such a thing.
"One day, Douglas, the past will surprise you, I'm sure, and you will soon become a quivering wreck as you ponder on the revelation that men were once apes or something similarly absurd." he mused, staring into is glass as though Douglas wasn't really there.
"One day you'll run out of jokes about history students, I'm sure." Douglas retorted.
"Let's hope by then you've graduated." he closed, raising his glass cheekily before taking a final sip.
He stood and moved to the small kitchen, grabbing easy morsels to top himself up after his early shift, calling out to Douglas as he did so.
"I have a guild meeting at 8 and I plan on visiting a Threadman beforehand, so I'll be going in a minute. Seeing as you have no objection to drinking on your own I'll ask that you leave some of that bottle for this evening."
"What's the point of retiring if you don't let yourself enjoy the freedom?"
He wasn't retiring, and Douglas knew it, but of course he was pouncing on the opportunity to poke fun at Malcolm.
"And at that I'm going." he called with finality as he opened the door.
"See you tonight." said Douglas.
Malcolm closed the door behind him, marching back through the halls and out into the slightly less freezing Spring air with a pastry in his hand, finally letting his mind tick over to wondering what the meeting today was about.
If you want to see something later in the story then tell me in the comments section. I won't be posting the whole story chapter by chapter, but this will certainly not be the last you see if this novel.
Thursday 25 April 2013
Explaining Myself
All zero of my lovely commenters have been asking me to explain what my current novel is about. Seeing as everyone I've told about my book has also asked me this, I'll try and go about explaining the premise in an approachable and understandable way.
Wow, that made it sound like a very complex story...
The most rudimentary way of describing it, and the way I always initially describe it to anyone who asks, is 'it's about a dude on an airship'. I'm not lying to you if I say that.
To elaborate further I feel I must set the scene of the world as a whole. There has been an apocalypse. Exactly how this apocalypse occurred is largely unknown, given that everyone at the time was running and screaming rather than calmly writing down what was going on around them. It has been about 500 years since this apocalypse and society has largely recovered and is now going through an industrial revolution (for the most part). I won't describe each region, only those which are relevant to the story, but do keep in mind that the whole world is not like Europe. Yes, the story is set in Europe.
Possibly the most significant change is that the northernmost parts of the world, from around the tip of Denmark upwards, is permanent ice. There is also a massive and largely impassible mountain range separating Europe from Asia. These mountains run from approximately the Baltic coast down to the top of the Arabian sub-continent. Though travel across these mountains is possible it is not very common and there is essentially no communication between Europe and Asia.
The story itself follows Malcolm Chevin, a young and somewhat prodigal engineer living in the city of New Lucerne in the re-founded Swiss nation. Malcolm volunteers himself for the maiden voyage of the world's first long-haul airship, a journey that will take him over the rest of Francian-controlled Europe, across The Dividers and back again. The journey, of course, does not turn out to be that simple.
I feel I should end the description there and hope it is enough to titillate those reading this post. Tomorrow (or potentially today, if I'm feeling generous) I will be posting an excerpt from the book.
When does mystery in a story (book, film or elsewhere) stop being important? Comment below with your views.
Wow, that made it sound like a very complex story...
The most rudimentary way of describing it, and the way I always initially describe it to anyone who asks, is 'it's about a dude on an airship'. I'm not lying to you if I say that.
To elaborate further I feel I must set the scene of the world as a whole. There has been an apocalypse. Exactly how this apocalypse occurred is largely unknown, given that everyone at the time was running and screaming rather than calmly writing down what was going on around them. It has been about 500 years since this apocalypse and society has largely recovered and is now going through an industrial revolution (for the most part). I won't describe each region, only those which are relevant to the story, but do keep in mind that the whole world is not like Europe. Yes, the story is set in Europe.
Possibly the most significant change is that the northernmost parts of the world, from around the tip of Denmark upwards, is permanent ice. There is also a massive and largely impassible mountain range separating Europe from Asia. These mountains run from approximately the Baltic coast down to the top of the Arabian sub-continent. Though travel across these mountains is possible it is not very common and there is essentially no communication between Europe and Asia.
The story itself follows Malcolm Chevin, a young and somewhat prodigal engineer living in the city of New Lucerne in the re-founded Swiss nation. Malcolm volunteers himself for the maiden voyage of the world's first long-haul airship, a journey that will take him over the rest of Francian-controlled Europe, across The Dividers and back again. The journey, of course, does not turn out to be that simple.
I feel I should end the description there and hope it is enough to titillate those reading this post. Tomorrow (or potentially today, if I'm feeling generous) I will be posting an excerpt from the book.
When does mystery in a story (book, film or elsewhere) stop being important? Comment below with your views.
Wednesday 24 April 2013
The First Post Should Have a Clever Title
It's almost 11 O'clock. I'm fully clothed, sitting in bed with my laptop having just started a blog. 'Blog' has always struck me as a word that will, in a few hundred years, be a swear word. 'Wot the blog is goin' on 'ere?' a cockney policeman will yell at miscreants in a dystopian future.
I've done a terrible job of introducing myself to my nonexistent audience. I'm Pixie, I need a pseudonym for publishing, my parents did not actually name me 'Pixie' and I have, metaphorically speaking, recently thrown myself into the abyss. That's what it feels like. Here's my tragic backstory:
I have (tragically) been studying at university for the last year and a half after (tragically) leaving high school a year early. I have been (tragically) unhappy with my chosen degree at university and found myself growing increasingly miserable in all aspects of my life. (Tragically) I recently started writing a novel after not writing very seriously for a very long time. This has caused me to (tragically) make the decision to become a full-time author. Maybe it's a premature decision, and maybe that's why I feel I have thrown myself off a cliff.
My backstory is undoubtedly not the most heart-wrenching narrative ever to grace the blogosphere, but the fact of the matter is I now find myself in strange terrain, rocketing toward "real life" (and I wish there was a way I could make those quotation marks extra bold) angling myself toward a career in writing and (tragically) starting a blog.
I guess the latter half of this post is a bad place to start explaining why I'm starting this blog, but if I told you everything from the get-go there'd be no mystery. I want a place to broadcast my journey, even if no-one listens. I fully intend to update this blog regularly with a combination of my writings, events from my life and writing advice (if I'm feeling cocky).
Maybe the real reason I'm starting a blog is I want to have people watching me fall into this abyss, arms flailing as I hope to catch an outcropping of rock or whatever substance is most meaningful in this metaphor. Perhaps I want to make a spectacle of myself so that even if I fail I will have had an audience. Maybe I want someone along for the ride though, maybe I want someone to fall with me. Frankly I'm not sure what I want in most areas of my life right now. I do know, however, that I want to be an author.
I have six weeks of tertiary study left. After those six weeks I will unceremoniously ask for more shifts at my job so I can pay for an array of courses for hopeful writers. Outside of that I'll be writing as much as I can bear, hoping that the light at the end of the tunnel does not turn out to be a dead-end and a flashlight.
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