Deadlines suck people. Especially when self imposed.
Why, I hear you ask? Well, we already have the foundations that I am insane but here’s some specifics. I’ve been working non stop since the 3rd of this month. I had episodes 8-10 to finish up for Evil Plan Inc. and those are about 15,000 words apiece. That included creating the beats and actually writing them down.
That meant that for the first time since writing Firstborn I was putting in 12 hour workdays (show what number to anyone who says writing is a hobby – hobby, my dick!!). I had to make the deadline if I wanted to get the preview out by December (which is not gonna happen due to editing issues) and the full season out in January (see other brackets for same reason plus some cover issues too).
Yeah, shit don’t work like that. Other people have lives, Ryan, and not everyone is will to work until they are literally hallucinating. Serisosly I still think Genghis Khan was in my house – we did not talk though and I bind him away, like Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched.
Long story short, I plan to release the 4 episodes preview of Evil Plan Inc., by the end of December (think of it as a New Year’s gift – that’s how we roll over here in Ryan’s head). And sometime early next year (I wanna say February) the full season will be available. That’s ten episodes folks, or around 200,000 words.
Yeah. You read correctly. (For the same price as ONE novel).
I’m also working on a Legacy thing – some short stories – that will be a surprise for you guys. Legacy has been out for a year exactly (Book 1 Firstborn published on 12/13/13) and you guys are awesome in your support. Hence, my gift to you this year.
But let’s talk about deadlines and how much ass they suck. Okay show of hands (Ryan these people are reading – and they can’t go back in time, suddenly manifest teleportation powers and appear in your house just to indulge you in your Lord of the Flies schemes). Who here forgets to eat at times? Cos this happens all the time with me. I’ve actually shrunken down this month. Skinny jeans became bellbottoms and I’m pretty sure my bone structure became some sort of gelatinous goop that can squeeze through tiny crevices like an octopus.
And what I find hilarious is the displacement of stress. I can work 12 hours non stop and be all zen and shit. But two weeks later I can be typing something, bang my knee across the table and immediately think that my world is falling apart. That one strike on an edged piece of wood is the karmic trigger that will create a shit storm of rage and self doubt that may or may not end up with me in dry tears, watching episodes of the Newsroom and thinking the world is against me.
I’m not gay – but the evidence to support that case is getting less and less by the second.
So where am I now? After getting it through my skull that the early deadlines were for nothing, and freaking out (see above) I am not in that final stage of editing and post stress where I finish all my shit and think “That’s it? I remember more. There must be more – FUCK what am I doing wrong?”
And that’s when I start mining for more work. (It’s times like these I question me decision not to drink) On the other hand, I am no longer starving nor seeing ancient rulers (which is a shame. I better start picking mushrooms in the springtime)
But here’s some good news – despite shit hitting the fan and having to push deadlines I realised that I crushed NaNoWriMo so hard. In the past three weeks I burnt past the 50K word limit by another 20K, edited 50 K (that’s episodes 1-4) and the best part – I get to publish it afterwards.
And here’s the kicker. I did some counting before writing this and my tally for this year is about 500,000 words. THAT’S HALF A MILLION FUCKING WORDS OF PUBLISHABLE CRAP.
Holy kittens on a stereo system that explodes after playing Daft Punk.
That’s A LOT of words. Guess it was a productive year. You were right, Mr. Khan – I can make it. No, I won’t join you in your conquest of Space Mountain. Yes, I know Disney is an empire and that Star Wars 7 title is horrible. No, Miley Cyrus is not a real princess and if you wanna get with her you gotta take a number, right after the hammer (wrecking ball) and before her second cousin.
(Yes, yes I’m terrible, blah blah – I don’t hear you blaming Genghis. He came up with this shit).
Okay I’m done.
Peace out, Ryan
PS. I still cannot believe that number. Holy cows!!
PSS. If you haven’t already subscribed to the blog – there’s a button somewhere on the side. That way you’ll know exactly when I release something new. Remember that the Evil Plan Inc., previews and the Legacy surprise are both FREE.
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