Easier than Shooting Wolves in a Helicopter

6000 Words down. 94000 to go.

Progress Report: On Track So Far

The first chapter is done. It is roughly 3800 words long. Since I’m doing 2000 words a day, I also sent Skip the first 200 words of the second chapter. The first part was largely about the heroes in the world that Grenademan is visiting. The second introduces our demented protagonist. We’ll see how things go. I thought it was funny, but my humor is not always universal.

I have a basic frame work down

The real problem is...that there have been an awful lot of Zombie parodies lately, and an awful lot of super hero parodies....though I admit I haven't seen a lot of Zombie Superhero Parodies.

Another problem with Frank (Frank Noble) is that, while he is comic and he is in some ways a parody....Grenademan isn't the Tick. He's not Plastic Man either. He's more complex than that. In some ways he's a very simple, elemental character, but his alter ego isn't. In fact, he's the closest to a true author Avatar character I've ever created. He's almost Micky Mouse or Super Man in some ways...he's so 'morally pure' that making a story about him is...difficult.

Some of the ideas I got involve the arc of progression of the character from insane 'parody' to genunine hero.....

But that wouldn't really be humorous. Oh it might, but the scope of the story is such that there can only be so much progress. Not to mention the fact that I really want to respect my own existing continuity, and the only place this story possibly fits is after the non existant sequel to the movie script but before he becomes sane.

That makes him a compotent but utterly insane character who, on the immediate surface anyway, has very little depth. He's more force of nature than character....like Hercules Ra or Quissence Prow in that element, but Prow had some change to him....and where Hercules Ra is an alien perspective, Grenademan is a very understandable, albiet highly warped one.

So to top it all off, the story really can't be about Grenademan, despite the fact that it largely consists of Grenademan fighting zombies. But you can't have 100,000 words of that, as fun as it might be. Stories are about their characters, and good stories are about how those characters change.

Generally speaking, Zombies don't change, and neither (at this phase) does Grenademan. So the story is really largely about all of the people caught in between.

Should be interesting.

New Plan

So, I'm not entirely sure why I did this, but I've accepted a challenge to write a 100,000 word novel in 50 days called "Grenademan Vs. The Zombies." Its due on October 31, 2008 due or die and Skip has offered to help edit the thing. This pushes Flotsam forward in time to more like March because I'm going to need a break. I won't do any other rpg writing but I'm already committed to work with Ken on the Precyberpunk novel.

So basically we're talking 2000 words a day for 50 days.

This is going to be a challenge, and quite frankly, probably impossible. But we'll give it a try.

Since we have no prep time for plot, other than the weekend I have over dragon con, we'll have to pull from the existing idea and setting pool. Which means using the Grenademan from Tossing Grenades At Windmills (hence the blog name) with the Zombie movie idea I had bouncing around in my head for a while. It will be end of the world and it will be romeroesque, but honestly, my heroes are going to be competent against the undead.

At least as competent as anyone can be.

Post Mortem - Le Story

I started reading the third part of a trilogy that shall be unnamed. I normally like this author a lot but I found myself utterly not caring about the characters involved; I liked them for the first two books but 6-7 chapters in, I just...didn't care. I think it was a lot of things...the reality disolving aspect of things....

It is hard to say exactly what it was, but I think it was mainly, I didn't care about the characters or the world anymore. Artificially creating things from nothing is a problem. I learned this in Eye of the Mindstorm.

This story tells me some things. First, Ful needs to suffer more, because as it is he's kind of hollow. Dode has some potential, but she seems kind of flat too.

The REAL problem is...Flotsam (or our hero who shall soon be named) can easily be overshadowed by the other characters. I follow Mr. Card's advice in this in that Flotsam needs to suffer more, which means he needs more to lose. We're going to have to follow Flotsam for a few chapters before Ful and his entourage enter in and turn his life upside down. Flotsom has to suffer more than any other character. Suffering builds empathy with the character, but it can't be pointless suffering.

Why are you Hear?

"Why are you here anyway?" Ful asked.

"I'm here to help you be you." Dode smiled.

"Huh?" Ful picked up the last batch of wood and grunted because of its weight. He didn't understand what the girl was saying.

"Do you know who you are?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm Ful Farmerson." He grunted as he dropped the wood and took a deep breath. What kind of a stupid question was that?

She looked patiently sad. "Is that all you are?"

"Of course it is. Its all I'll ever be."

"It is if you want it to be Ful." She looked hopeful.

"Huh?"

"I don't entirely know myself. The lady told me that you could be a lot more if you want to, instead of what everyone else wants." She looked up into the sky.

"What lady?" Clearly Dode was crazy.

"The moon lady. The one that shows up in my dreams." Dode put her hands next to her face as if she were sleeping, closed her eyes and then opened them again. She smiled.

"You listen to dreams? That's crazy. Not unless you're some kind of sorceress or something."

"Do I look like a sorceress?" She smiled. She seemed pleased at the idea.

Ful stood up and cracked his back. He was finally done and now he wanted to go play. "No. Not really."

"Then I probably aren't one."

Ful shrugged, "It all sounds stupid to me."

Dode stamped her foot. "It is not foolish. It is important. Oh, and Ful...could you not tell anyone about what we talked about?"

Ful shrugged, "Join the club."

Dode hugged him and then quickly ran off. After about thirty seconds she stopped and then asked him again, "What club?"

Ful chuckled and didn't say anything. He wouldn't be very good at keeping secrets if he told her 'what club.' Everyone told him things and no one wanted him to tell anyone else. He was a regular lock box he was. What was it about him that made people want to tell him things no one else knew?

The silence lingered until finally Dode stuck out her tounge and skipped away. The sky was getting dark, with a tinge of gray. It felt like it might snow, but it was way too early for that. Who knew? Ful went inside by the fire where he could read.

Chores

Ful fetched the water, chopped the wood, weeded the fields, milked the cows and set the fire to burning. As he was gathering up an armful, DoDe showed up again to watch him.

"Can I help you with the wood?" She asked.

"Sure. I guess." Ful was not happy because of the trouble she had gotten him in.

She giggled again. She did that too much. It was starting to annoy him. She picked up an armful of wood and began to help him.

After several loads, Ful asked, "Are you doing this because you're sorry?"

"Sorry for what?"

"Making me late."

She giggled. "I didn't make you la-ow! Why did you hit me?"

Ful rubbed his fist. Mother would punish him for slugging a girl but he didn't care. It had only been in the shoulder. "You were laughing at me."

"No I wasn't." She stuck out her toung.

"Yes you were."

"No I wasn't."

This continued back and forth for about five minutes before Ful finally got bored and said, "Why were you helping me with the wood then?"

"Because I was sorry-"

"AHA!"

"-for you." She giggled.

Ful hit her in the other shoulder.

Dode looked like she was going to cry, but she whispered something he couldn't hear.

Ful said, "What?" and leaned in closer.

Then Dode bit him on the ear.