A personal diary keeping people abreast of what I am working on writing-wise.

Friday, December 06, 2002


I am under the gun with Angelic Layer volume 5. It’s due Tuesday. I am on page 20, and there are about 175. Tonight is probably the last night I will have the opportunity to work on it this weekend, as Oni is having a little bit of a fifth anniversary celebration and some folks are coming in from out of town. I’m going to be forced to be social. Worse comes to worst, we pull an all-nighter on Monday night. I haven’t done it in a while, but can easily pull it off. Could even be fun.

The problem has been trying to write in the evenings right after work. It’s hard to get revved up. It’s taken me about three hours to get started tonight, and it pretty much took me leaving the house again, free of distractions. Between Oni work coming in over e-mail, TV and DVDs, and just laying on the floor and wishing death on everyone who has annoyed me and tired me out—shit just doesn’t get done.

So I’m armed with a ginger bread latte and TLC’s 3D. T-Boz has always been my favorite.

I also listened to The Trash Can Sinatras, Cake and Supergrass, Life on Other Planets and “Grace” b-sides.

My night’s biggest frustration—beyond waiting for a good chair to open up (my back and neck are killing me from trying to work in an easy chair)—is the translator of AL doesn’t list the speaker’s name before their dialogue. This makes it a pain in the ass to sometimes decipher who is who (all the players Misaki has beaten seem to keep hanging around) or know who new characters are. I have to hunt through dialogue for clues. It’s not like the translator on Wish, who makes it pure heaven. No detail goes unnoticed. Bless.


Man, this totally creepy guy has come in and he’s sitting in an easy chair across from me. Every time I look up, he’s looking back at me, and he’s got this real odd look on his face. I can’t be sure, but it does seem like he’s watching me. I’m on page 86 after a couple of hours, and the place closes in like twenty-five minutes. I want to hit page 100, but if this guy keeps it up, I dunno…this town is full of freaks.

(Okay, good, he’s leaving. I dunno, though. That dude’s vibe is way off.)


My latest theory is that if you are going to leave a band and go solo, your name has to be recognizable on its own. If not, then you’re too big for your britches and you need to sit back down and put your ego in check. Like this Chad Kroeger son of a bitch. His crappy band gets one hit, and he’s doing all this solo stuff—but they have to call him Nickelback’s Chad Kroeger. He ain’t ready to go out on his own. (Plus, I hate his songs. And I don’t hate a lot of music—not truly hate. This shit I hate.) Same thing with Art Alexakis. He tried to go solo and pussed out. Because he knew it. He tried to play some solo shows, and they had to call him Everclear’s Art Alexakis. At least he had the good sense to realize he was nothing, and went back to the only thing he could cling to.

I hate his music, too.

Stupid people say hate is a strong word. I say it isn’t strong enough.

Plus, Chad Kroeger and that creepy guy that was giving me looks a remarkably similar in appearance.


Got to page 103, with the help of The Style Council. Modernism: A New Decade.

Current soundtrack: KGON, classic rock radio


No comments: