no posts

Fear & Collaboration in Joytown

I have some bad news, folks: the sun is shining again.

That’s right! Hundreds of birds are making their flippity-fluttery return-to-roost commotion, complete with peeps and caws and squawks (with their full-on assault of Cute, how dare they?). Fragrant grape hyacinths are blooming en masse next to my front steps (a creeping, sentient army of evil flora; mark my words, they’re not as innocent as they look). Their scent is putting an extra zip in my step. They’re making me happy, dammit. And that’s a problem for me.

I write horror. I will admit, it’s goofy horror; it’s hardly all fear and gut-ripping. Still, in order to write my kind of shit, I have to be in touch with the dark side of my muse. And right now–because the Multiverse is conspiring to destroy me, obviously– my muse is acting like he took a handful of Valium, slipped on a pink tutu, and, in a final act of unfathomable douchiness, starting warbling old love songs that make me wanna gnaw my own brain out.

I sat down to write about zombies (this morning, it was the fast ones, not the classic slow shamblers) and between the tea (gosh, it was yummy, just the right temp, perfectly brewed) and the sunshine (wasn’t it supposed to rain? Maybe later) and my combat butler vacuuming around my feet (must admit, it’s hard to find fault with that) I was just too damned happy to write scary stuff. And the more I wanted to write, the more content I felt, and then I got mad, and the cat on my lap started purring, and I had cherry pie, dammit, cherry pie, and suddenly being happy was the worst possible thing that could ever infect my soul and I was MAD AT ALL THE THINGS!

I ask you: what kind of lip-diddling ninny gets mad about being happy? Well, me, but with good reason. I need some fear. Monsters. Thunderstorms! Darkness! Slime and sludge and grit and misery! I might–no, I almost said it, but I’m not quite there yet. You’ll know it’s bad when I turn to clowns.

So, since I am perfectly handicapped in the fear department (I don’t believe in writer’s block as you know, but I’m starting to accept that I might have “horror block”) I was going to focus my contentment to write about my cheerful attempts to collaborate with fellow writer Jason D. Ready, shown here, about to be decapitated by yours truly (note the smile on my face–see? Too happy!).

I had a whole blog in my head about the secrets to writing fiction with another author … blending styles, reworking one another’s dialogue, Outlining For Two, idea sessions, parcelling-out characters and scenes … trying not to kill each other … But then I got happy again. It’s totally the sun’s fault *cough*. Plus, I’m all schloopy-brained, because I carbo-loaded yesterday (if I say it like that, I totally sound like a long-distance runner, and not someone who hoovered three pounds of leftover cherry pie down her suckhole, amiright?). Also: I realized that, despite my legendary earlybirditude and pitbull-on-soup-bone perseverence, I know dick about writing as a gruesome-twosome, since we have only just dipped our toes into the process.

The Aalto-Ready (Ready-Aalto?) collaboration blog will come, as will an interview with my poor, hard-done-by collaborator. Sorry, dude, but I’m pretty sure all of our writing sessions are going to look just like this …

Jason: You know what really shouldn’t come next? <insert most disturbing thing ever>

Me: THAT HAS TO HAPPEN! Plus <makes idea worse>

Jason: Or this … <makes idea ten times worse>

*both dissolve into tipsy giggle fit*

Too much fun. Oh dear Crom *worried face* what if I never get the fear back? Now that’s scary ….

This entry was posted in Opinions, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Fear & Collaboration in Joytown

  1. RJ Davnall says:

    Is that tequila or bourbon in those pictures? ;D

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Time limit is exhausted. Please reload the CAPTCHA.

  • Categories

  • Networked Blogs

Back My Book Theme Author: Websites for Authors © 2019