Once again, the sheer joy of pantsing is manifesting itself. The manuscript for my latest project, working title Gemini 13. This is a sequel to Laughingstock, and features good ol’ Duckie Dunne hunting for the tape of a legendary lost rock ‘n’ roll track.
Again, I am amazed at how things never go according to plan – not that there really is any sort of plan – that’s what pantsing is all about. Characters appear out of nowhere – or to serve what is ostensibly a minor role – and suddenly become main characters. Paul Plummer in Fester was like that = and he even made it into Fester Descent. I’ve got a new one like that – her name’s Karen. Originally, she was a random roommate, contrived to give someone a ride to the club. Now she’s shaping up to be a major character. Go figure.
I’ve long since given up trying to figure. The mystery is part of the fun. Writers are sometimes spoken of as having an almost Godlike power over the worlds they create and the characters who inhabit them. That might be true for those plotters, but for us pantsers, it’s another story.
I have come to look at the writing process in this regard as being limited omnipotent. I have created a world (I think), and can open up windows into this world and try to affect the behavior of the people who are running around in there. It’s harder than it sounds, sometimes. Those people definitely have minds of their own – and sometimes it’s really hard to change them! Like I said, however, it’s a lot of fun trying!
Sneak Preview!
A’ight, this post is running pretty short, and I doubt anyone but my Aunt Gail is gonna read it anyway, so I’ll throw in some random crap from the new MS:
Duckie went into a bit that ended with Trump getting a handjob from Jeffrey Epstein in the middle of the Reflecting Pool. From the corner of his eye, he could see Pig Hat passing through a whole Sherwin-Williams sample book of shades of red, going from Medium Rare through Beet to Fire Engine. The guy stood up and pointed at him and shouted, “You show some repsect for the President of the United States, you libtard freak!”
“I bet I’m showing the exact same amount of respect to Trump that you did to Obama, Jethro! Don’t try to tell me that you stood up and saluted and wiped a patriotic tear from your eye whenever President Obama came on the TV. Riddle me this, Fatman – did you ever call Obama the n-word?”
Pig Hat’s mouth dropped open for half a second, then snapped shut. “N-no!” he exclaimed. “Of course not!”
“Yeah, nice little pause there, man. You’re lying! I’m saying that right to your face!” Duckie knew that this was about to spiral out of control unless he did something to cool it down. He wasn’t sure if he could. He saw Candy slide out from behind the sound board and move towards the trouble spot. A couple of other ushers were converging there as well.
Pig Hat was sputtering now. “You … you stupid libtard! Donald Trump is the greatest president in the history of forever, and you’re too stupid to know! He’s made this country great again!”
“Oh yeah?” said Duckie, realizing that the chance of his de-escalating the sitation was rapidly diminishing. He didn’t care. He didn’t hate this guys politics so much as the willful ignorance he showed. “Tell me one thing – one – that bloated orange freak has done to make your life materially better. Just one!”
Pig Hat huffed and puffed, sweat beading on his face. He looked towards his table companions, but they looked away. Finally, Pig Hat said, “He got all of the trans freaks out of women’s sports!”
“Womens’s sports?” said Duckie. The remainder of his self-control slipped away. “Don’t tell me that you’re worried about women’s sports all of a sudden! What, you got big money riding on the field hockey match? Bullshit! You’re just afraid of someone else’s sexuality because you’ve never been able to figure out your own li’l needle dick, you loser!”
With an incoherent bellow of rage, Pig Hat lunged to his feet and charged the stage. His buddies stood up, but looked around, bewildered. They knew the crowd was against him. Duckie t ook a step back, so he could aim a kick at his assailant if he climbed up on stage. Before he could, Candy and an usher grabbed him from behind and pulled him, struggling, to the exit. Two more ushers materialized and grabbed Pig Hat’s companions by the upper arm and moved them along. They went without protest while the crowd hooted and jeered
