Creativity: feeding and byproducts thereof

[winter]

First of all, in the immortal words of Garfield, FEED ME. There are people on my friendslist who read and write Van Helsing fiction of the Dracula/Gabriel genre. Please, some recs? I'm starving here!

In other news, I don't think I mentioned it here except in a custom-locked post. I'm doing Nano this year, too.



It's far less consuming now, because I'm hardly ever checking the boards. I would be, but they took away the "mark everything as read" and "new since last visit" features, as well as several others, so it's a pain to find things. I also completely didn't touch the outline until yesterday; all I jotted down were ideas for disjointed scenes.

Yesterday morning the whole cast showed up in my head. Except Bernard, because as usual the main bad guy remains elusive. But I think I can kick his fat English ass into making an appearance.

Still, I goofed off yesterday and did rpg_aman-related things instead. And this morning I wrote 1157 words in an hour.

I have about 2/3 of the book outlined, and it's going strong. I have all of this evening to write, since everyone's busy. I think it won't be a problem to come up with stuff, even though I'm still getting the hang of the book, as evidenced below.

PROLOGUE

One. Soran.

What is a beginning? One can say that nothing can truly be called that way. Everything but the truly random is informed and caused by what came before. And even chaos, if we are so inclined, is subservient to the whims of a God or gods, with their own baggage of theology and myth.

But when Soran thought of the start of his time in Bangor Naga, he did not go back to Jyazmin, or the London university that came before that, or to his boyhood a stone's throw from Kashmir. The beginning, for him, was a single sentence Jeremy Struan said almost offhand as his eyes were fixed on a pachinko machine in Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan.

"If you have nothing better to do, come work for Struan's in Bangor Naga. Nell's been after me to find someone like you."

There were a hundred reasons for Soran to ignore that offer, from the flat he had finally managed to rent (and Bangor Naga would mean another hotel, and after two years he was heartily sick of them) right up to the point the Dragon Town was far too close to Jyazmin for comfort. One refugee settlement too many.

But it was a Tokyo night, shrill neons and an air drunk on something he could never understand. A job offer from Jeremy Struan, easily the most carefree guy he had ever known - and it was easy for him to be carefree, with the millions of the Struan family and their business, Struan's Trading, two hundred years old already if he remembered right... - was just another surreal point in an evening that was an oneiric labyrinth already. On the other side of the arcade, a group of girls were laughing. One wore a white ruffled dress, the other something out of Michael Jackson's thriller, a slashed leather motorcycle suit festooned with chains. They saw him looking and stared back with the insolence of Japanese female rebels. White Ruffles had had her eyes fixed, disconcertingly Caucasian in a face from a Heian-era drawing.

He looked at them and didn't think about what he was saying. Only later he realized he had said, "Why not?"

*looks at friendslist* I keep feeling I forgot something. Oh, right. If you're a US citizen, go do me a favour and kick Bush out of the White House. Or there'll be no living with uberbitsch :P

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