I had collected all of Change (In the House of Flies) into one word document, including The Resurrection sub-series, and it topped out at 10 000 words. While the first three parts were usually written under duress or influence of alcohol, the Resurrection series was written with sober eyes and crisp memory. I read the differences. I read how my style did not change, but the detail of the women, the club and everything else added to the style. I thought about it for a while. I talked to Kay. I thought about a short story. I tweeted the number of words I had, around 13 000, after adding in some other posts from SFTD. Around the same time Willy Wonka asked me if I was writing a book, I had made the choice. This wasn’t going to be Roosh’s A Dead Bat in Paraguay (READ IT). No memoir, no travel story, no six months of waiting and having to shit 24/7. I was going to take my story, with little adventure and a ton of introspection and hurt and hate and Hell, and make it something people can relate to. A statement of my will, if not a young generation of men. Not a book that could change the world. That’s up to the readers, and I frankly look at anybody to be the voice of the people with much skepticism. This will be a book that makes me happy I wrote it and makes me happy that someone read it.
To write this, I have to pound away day after day, which is easy since I don’t have a job yet. On Monday, I got in around 5000 words. I know writers who can barely get in a paragraph some days. Putting meat on the skeleton this Change. Adding true detail. Pondering what fictional, yet related events I could add to keep the story true. Tuesday, less so due to family obligations and just not burning myself out. I have other interesting coming to the surface after years of suppression: music and exercise mostly. Downloaded a few DJ demo programs, gave it a few minutes of testing before returning to other things. I will have to get a job soon. My steady television work isn’t until near the end of summer, that’s if they end up hiring me. My bills will kill me before then, even when I’m spending little to nothing.
The most important things I can do right now is just plug away at it as much as I can, but not obsessing over every word or every moment. Just let it flow out. When I write of moments, I’m feeling the pain of the fights and the sense of loss. When I lose that. When I’m writing to fluff, I’ll have to stop. But, that’s a long time away. The last 5 months have been a hell of a ride.