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Bagman's Gazette - Punctuation is Optional

 
Bullamakanka is a bent and twisted old man who does not have a cat. He does have five goannas though and a possum who lives in the wall. None of them help with the writing, the lazy buggers.

Bagman's Gazette - November 2006

Apologies

November 27th 2006 11:53
Yes, I’m sorry. Sad and sorry. I wanted to write a great post on editing. But my mind is a total blank. Has been for a couple of days now. So today you are stuck with some drivel spawned from mental exhaustion and an empty head.

A few years ago I was in a class called “Short Story”. Yeah, go on, have a guess what it was about.

The teacher set us a task, to write a short story containing the words “I remember” at the beginning. I have never been very good at following instructions. Anyway this is the story I wrote;

In 1994 I had a heart attack. It was a strange affair. One moment I was fine and the next I was. . . well not fine.


No I didn’t clutch at my chest and fall to the ground. I did not turn green, or any other colour. But I knew.

At first I told myself the lies, but I knew what it was. Somewhere inside you just know. I ended up in the hospital, one of many that I saw the inside of over the next few months. From this first hospital I got to ride in an ambulance with the lights and siren going. Missed the whole show actually, due to being pumped full of morphine. This trip brought me to my second hospital.

Very nice people in hospitals. In the second one I met a young male nurse who spent a long time cleaning my navel while we discussed photography and old buildings. After a week they sent me home.

A month later I saw the inside of another hospital in the city where they took pictures of my heart. I suspect that photography is a past time much loved in hospitals. I would like to point out that an angiogram is much worse than open heart surgery and I only got to see one picture.

Three months later I was in yet another hospital. This time I was to be gently opened with a circular saw through the chest. The people in this hospital were very nice. The night before I was to meet the man with the saw a fellow came and said that he was there to give me a shave. It is hard to describe the joy of a body shave. I mean this left the belly button cleaner for dead in no time flat.


The next morning they wheeled me down to the theater for the big show. While I was being preped for surgery the fellow doing the work on me approached with a needle and said ‘This may sting a bit.’ It did.

The last thing I remember saying was; “If I wake up dead I’m going to be really pissed off.”

Okay, hardly great literature, I know. But that is not the point. The point is that I thought of this story when Lauren at www.travelnottour.com mentioned Synchronicity.

Synchronicity - noun: The relation that exists when things occur at the same time.

Have you spotted the point yet?

Okay, I’ll tell you. After writing our little stories, we had to read them out to the class.

I got as far as; “From this first hospital I got to ride in an ambulance with the lights and siren going.” when from the fire station across the road a fire engine took off with the siren going.

That is “Synchronicity”.

And the editing, well, if this was a murder story and I had left out the vital clue to solving the crime, such as there being a fire station next to the school, the story would be rejected.
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Gods (cont.)

November 25th 2006 08:20
While we are on the topic of gods perhaps a bit on their relationships would be in order.
Why, well, because the relationships between characters is importent. While most of these gods may or may not show up in a story, I still have them on hand if needed. The same also goes for my other characters. keeping track of characters makes writing easy. Now as these gods are actually the invention of the people of Helengon they also define the people of Helengon.
This tale starts with the creation of the world of Helengon;

In the beginning the Earth was void. Mal, the God of Bad Luck, who was at a party when he heard about it, said this is not a good thing. As he lurched out the door, grasping a bottle of cheap rum, he yelled to the parking attendant, ‘Bring my flaming chariot ya daft bugger.’ Gods being what they are and the words spoken by gods being what they are his chariot was well alight when the attendant, complete with the ears of a donkey, crossed eyes and questionable sex habits, brought it around.

Mal leaped aboard spilling the rum down his beard and sped off into the night in a growing ball of fire. Flailing at his flaming beard with the bottle of rum in one hand and the reins in the other the horses flew on winged feet. At mach 3 Mal looked up and said ‘Holy shit’ and hit the Earth.

The impact raised a circular chain of mountains and blasted a crater across a substantial area of the surface creating the world of Helengon.

The other gods showed up to see what all the noise was about. Ziff the God of Wisdom said, ‘Well you’ve really screwed the pooch this time Mal.’

Mal retorted with ‘Oh great Ziff what wisdom you speak. Not.’

Piscus the Goddess of Fish said ‘I’m hungry what about a BBQ on the beach?’, and produced a couple nice Snapper.

‘I knew I should have brought the esky.’ Laughed Chuck the God of lost love and missed opportunities.

The Goddess of grain Peonie said ‘No worries.’ and with a wave of her hand a vast crop of Rye sprang from the soil. In her hand appeared two bottles of whisky.

Rupert the God of Fertility said ‘How about some mushroom stuffing?’

Syble the Goddess of Children said ‘I don’t want any of those stupid dildo shaped fungi stuffed anywhere. Can’t you just make ordinary round mushrooms like everyone else does?

Bob the God of Mountains was looking at the mountains ringing the valley and said, ‘You know Mal with a bit of work I could really do something with those hills you got there. Tell ya what, I’ll toss ya for them. Best two out of three.’

Shole the Goddess of Sandals said, ‘I’m not going down there without some sensible foot ware.

Judas Goat the God of Treachery and his sister Nanny the Goddess of Flint and Bestower of sharp edges were in the bushes laying traps and leaving sharp stones for unwary feet.

Zenor the God of souls and Keeper of the Gate to the Over World said ‘Right! You lot can stay here if you like but I’m off and I’m locking the gate at midnight. If you’re not home by then you’ll have to stay here all night. All the other gods, in the finest three part harmony, sang, ‘Piss off you bloody great ponce nobody cares.’

As the night wore on and bottles were emptied, the party wound its way through the wee hours. Judas Goat and Mal were playing chess. Each creating warriors and kings and pawns in an effort to win. Mal was having trouble, confusing prawns with pawns, and in the end Judas Goat won. Mal fell asleep while Judas Goat slipped off to the bushes with Peonie. The surviving chess men, knights and queens, pawns and bishops and the odd prawn made a break for freedom. Piscus was well beyond maudlin drunk and in a rather desultory way was creating fish and letting them go. All the while muttering, ‘Nope, that’s not it.’

And in the fashion of parties of children and gods everywhere, everyone eventually went home. Leaving behind the toys and games, the mismatched sandals, scattered about as well as the odd phallic mushroom for others to clean up in the morning.
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Characters, the gods

November 24th 2006 09:34
Am I sane or not? To tell the truth I don’t know. After all what sane person would undertake not one, but five novels. Six if we count the sci-fi as well.

It started when I was in a class called Myths and Symbols. Virtually on the first day, we were set the task of creating a world and twelve Gods. Yes, an even dozen of the little buggers. Sometimes I wish they would leave me alone. It’s, nag, nag, nag. This one complains about her wardrobe, another wants top billing and they all want to be the hero in every story.

Well I’ve got news for the bastards. Some of them won’t even appear in any of the stories and if they join the union there won’t be any stories at all.

Oh well, enough bitching about the hired help. Why develop a character if they aren’t going to appear in a story? Beats me. All I know is that there are twelve gods in this series of novels. Why? Why not? It’s just the way it started, a world and twelve gods.

Another way to look at it is this; I have a world. It has people, people are by their nature insecure, so they create gods so they can. . . well, you know, say things like, “it’s the will of God”, when they stuff up or want to tell others what to do. You know, just being human.

Let’s look at the development of a god. The god is “Mal the God of Bad Luck”. Where would such a god come from. Here is a sneak preview of the god Mal’s beginning.

From “The Last Fork Inn”

‘What’s my dad doing?’ asked Thomo.

‘Watching those other trucks that were behind us,’ Ian said.

‘Well, I was but it looks as though they have made camp for the night,’ Thomo’s father said as he stepped into the light of the fire. ‘Let’s eat. You got any idea, Ian, who might be in those trucks down the valley?’

‘The only one I can think it might be is Malcolm McDonald and his Kids. But he only has the one truck. The others could be anybody.’

‘Oh shit. It would almost have to be, wouldn’t it. Bloody Mal, “the god of bad luck”, McDonald. Well, whoever it is we get an early start. If there’s going to be any trouble I would like to be in a stronger position than here. Thomo, I want you to take the first watch on the valley. Just in case. Wake me at midnight.’

It’s from such humble beginnings that mighty Gods grow. From a nick name to a god in six generations. Not bad work if you can get it. Is it really important to develop characters to such an extent? Yes and no. All the characters that appear in your story should have some degree of back ground. That back ground should be consistent with your story line and plot.

So which came first, the god or the nick name? Well in this instance the god was the beginning that lead to the character of “Bloody Mal, “the god of bad luck”, McDonald”. If I didn’t already have the gods for my world poor old McDonald might have ended up as a complete non-event.

If you have a character that appears just once, say the “Door Man” at a hotel, and is never seen again, then yeah, you don’t need to worry about his back ground. But, if your hero always stays at the hotel when he is in town, then the door man may need some back ground, is he gruff or surly? On first name basis with the hero? Is he always prim and proper? He might only be seen two or three times, but if he shares any sort of a back story with the hero then he needs some history.

Why? After all he is just a bit player when all is said and done. But then all of a sudden your first novel makes a good showing, a second novel sounds like a good idea, your publisher has even offered an advance for it. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could remember all of your characters foibles with out having to thumb through your first book while you’re trying to write the second.

Here are the gods of my world, as described by Don Mal;

‘It is thus’, he said, ‘In the beginning the world was void and the great God Mal looked upon it and was pleased.
The great God Mal caused there to form in the heavens a holy ball of fire with which to smite the earth with the hammer of creation.
With one mighty blow was created the mountains and the valley.
Yea even the water and the land where we live. Such is the power of Mal.’ ‘Oh Master, what happened then?’ Asked the chosen boy.

‘Well my son, when the other Gods saw what perfection Mal had wrought upon the earth they were mightily impressed. But the God Judas Goat became jealous and sent warriors to despoil the land. Mal sent warriors of his own to protect the land. Mals warriors were defeated at aL saud Bakahn beach and forced to hide in the northern mountains and today are known as the Lost Tribe. When the other Gods saw the destruction that was wrought upon the land by the battle they were saddened. And so it was that they each gave of themselves to heal the land.

The God Ziff gave to us the wisdom to live with care upon the earth.

Zenor, the God of Souls, gave us the gate to the overworld to ease our passage in death.

Syble, the Goddess of Children, gives us childhood that we may learn to love our elders.

The Goddess of Sandals, the omniscient Shole, gave us sensible foot ware that we may walk without fear.

Rupert, the God of fertility, gave us the Phallic Mushroom to insure the future of our people.

The Goddess of Fish, the bountiful Piscus, filled the sea that we would not starve.

Peonie, our beloved Goddess of Grain, gave us the Holy Rye Bread that we may talk with the Gods. Not to forget the spirit whisky to keep us warm during winter.

The Goddess Nanny gave to us the skill of flint that we may prepare the salt fish for the time of storms when we cannot fish.

Judas Goat, though he be bad of heart, gave us the strangler vine which binds our boats.

The great Chuck, God of Lost Love and Missed Opportunities, looks over those that make bad decisions.

The God of Mountains, the mighty Bob, protects us from the winds of the Great Waste.

And the greatest of all. The mighty and just Mal, the God of Bad Luck, may he leave us alone, who created our world for us.


These are the gods of my world. Having given them life and a world, they and myself are chained together. Five novels form the links of that chain, my only hope of freedom is in writing those novels. The only option is to fail and live in eternity with twelve of the worst neighbours you could ever imagine.

P.S. The quality of these gods is not guaranteed the size and specifications may change do to circumstances beyond the control of the manufacturer.
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Writing

November 20th 2006 12:00
It doesn’t matter what you write, no matter what it is, from the crudest porn to the most precise encyclopaedia, there is a market for your writing.

Why can’t you get published? The number one reason is that publishers are in business to make money, pure and simple. Not as some believe, to publish books. They have to see the money in your book, no, I don’t mean you should stick a bribe in your manuscript, and never put it past the third page, they seldom read that far.

There are other reasons for not getting published. One is that your writing/story is crap. I’m sorry, but this is an honest assessment. Be aware that, while there are some who will never write beyond the level of crap, there is still a market for the work. You just have to find it.

On the other hand, your writing may be crap at this point in time, but, there is nothing stopping you from improving your skills, except your EGO. Listen to criticism, be prepared to be told the truth and act on it. Take a course on writing. Study the craft. If you are sure that everyone else is wrong you can self publish, or serialise your story in a blog. If it is as good as you think it will be noticed. If it is as bad as everyone told you, well, it will be noticed, but it is never to late to learn the craft.

Another reason for not having work published is marketing, are you sending your work to the right publisher. It pays to research publishers on the net. Look at the titles they publish. You may need to reassess the the category of your work. A romance set on another planet in the future might fair better pitched to a publisher who publishes science fiction or speculative fiction. A murder mystery set in the present may in fact do better as a romance. It may be that while you were concentrating on the mystery of the crime the love affair in the story is more interesting. Hey, it happens. Don’t be afraid to rewrite.

One more reason for not being published is sending your manuscript to a publisher the day you finish it. You may have finished writing it but it will be a long way from being finished. When you reach the end of your story, put it in the bottom drawer and don’t look at it again for a couple of months or more. When you do pull it out again and wipe the dust off, read it as though it is a new book, be critical, be ruthless, be honest. Fix your mistakes, correct the character’s flaws, rewrite the damn thing if it needs it. Then send it for assessment with an independent assessor.

When you get it back you must read it again as well as the assessors report. You can accept or reject the assessors judgement on any point, But be honest with yourself as to why you accept or reject each point.

Have I rained on your parade? Good, I hope it was a good downpour. Rain is what makes the best blooms.
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Tales from the Pub - The Gods

November 16th 2006 03:09
Well, it had to happen. I mean, in a place like this, it’s more or less expected. I’m just surprised it took so long, well, not as long as that I suppose. After all I’ve only had the job of bartender on a permanent basis for about six weeks.

It started the way it usually does in bars, with someone bumping into someone else who spills his drink down the cleavage of the girlfriend of a guy who pulls a knife and stabs someone else who had nothing to do with any of the preceding.

Things started to go down hill from here. The first someone was Judas Goat, the God of Treachery, I had just served him his Pink Gin Fizz and as he turned away from the bar he bumped into Bob, the God of Mountains, Now Bob is about eight feet tall and built like a granite shit house and Judas Goat is barely five six and built like a pipe cleaner. He would have been dead on the spot if it wasn’t for the fact that Bob’s drink, a Black Russian, if memory serves, had disappeared down the ample, indeed glorious, cleavage of Syble, the Goddess of Children, who had just turned to ask him if he had seen the planning permit for the creation of the world. She shrieked a word you wouldn’t think the Goddess of Children should know. Her boy friend, Mal, the God of Bad Luck, turned to see what the trouble was and as bad luck would have it, Rupert, a minor deity from the Department of Little Known Gods walked past at just that moment on his way to the little God’s room.

Well, it was a perfectly natural mistake. Mal, who was mad as hell and ready to jump anyone who insulted his girl, took a swing at Rupert with his dagger. And as everybody knows, you don’t last long as a minor God if you’re not fast on your feet, Rupert jumped back and only suffered a cut to his nose. Being a minor God, Rupert, who has an ego like a Mack truck and is ready for a fight at any time leapt for Mal’s throat. It was hard to say who would have come off the worse for wear, that question will have to go unanswered, for just as Rupert leapt, Syble spun around to tell Mal it was just an accident and poor Rupert was was swatted from the air by that magnificent 44DDD breast and landed on a table where there was a poker game going on.

This is where things get a bit out of hand. On the table was a pot of thirty five thousand pesetas, a corned beef on rye and someone’s grand mother.

The table collapsed. Somebody stepped on the corned beef on rye, grannie took off with a large part of the pot and three aces fell out of the sleeve of the dealer.

The other two of players each had three aces in their hands, throwing their cards down on the table top on the floor they started to accuse the dealer of cheating. Then they looked at each other, then at the cards on the table, then back at the dealer who was half way out the door, then back at the cards. One of them laughed, smiled at the other and said, ‘Bugger it, grab the money, will you, and we can go to O’Flanigans and have a drink.’ The other one bent down to scoop the money into a bag and was kicked in the head. ‘Cheat me will ya’, the first one said as he grabbed the bag and ran. He had only made it halfway to the door when a hand shot out from under a table and grabbed him by the ankle causing him to slide head first into the wall.

Judas Goat crawled out from under the table, picked up the bag of money and perched himself on a stool at the bar, ‘Give me another Pink Gin Fizz, will ya. Geeeez, For a moment there I thought there was going to be trouble.’ As he reached for his drink a hand the size of a VW landed on his shoulder and lifted him off the stool.

‘Watchya wanna spill ma drink for?’ Bob asked in a voice like the tectonic plates under San Francisco letting go.

‘Shit. . . I. . . you see. . . I was pushed. . . Yeah, that’s it, yeah, I was pushed.’

Bob pulled his other fist back. Judas could clearly see the lichen on the knuckles and was wondering how hard the wall behind him was when Bob was momentarily distracted when a table hit him in the head. He turned around to see Mal, who was standing on a chair so he could look Bob in the eye.

‘What you want?’

‘You poured a drink all over my lady.’

‘This’, Shaking Judas in front of him, ‘Pushed me.’

‘No, no, no,’ Judas whimpered, ’s’not my fault. I was pushed.’

Mal swung his fist at Bob who swung Judas up to block the punch and in a roundhouse motion spun right around to knock Mal of the chair with a Judas to the side of the head. The impact tore Judas from his grip, who continued across the room to slam into the far wall.

Syble, breast heaving like an iceberg in the sea sidled up to Bob and said ‘Oohh, Bobby, you are such a God, how would you like to come back to my place for little night cap?
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Why? (cont.)

November 13th 2006 12:18
Why write? Better yet, what to write. How do you write that book that people just can’t put down? Well, part of the answer is what I said about being the shaman of the tribe. It’s about the ability to reach into another human’s soul. It’s about telling a tale that resonates with the primitive part of a person’s brain. It’s about learning to use the myths and symbols that are imbedded in our racial memory.

It’s about magic


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Why?

November 11th 2006 13:10
Why? It’s such a simple question. I’m told the simple answer is, “Why not?”

Well so much for philosophy 101


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Why?

November 11th 2006 13:10
Why? It’s such a simple question. I’m told the simple answer is, “Why not?”

Well so much for philosophy 101


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Hero’s Journey

November 10th 2006 13:58
The “Hero”, other wise known as the protagonist. The hero is on a journey. This is the story arc. A simple story arc is “Aristotle’s Incline”

Aristotle's Incline
The Hero's Journey

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Character Development

November 6th 2006 11:08
Okay, ‘The godless ones’, What’s it all about?

Well, I’m building characters, from scratch as it were. And as I write what is commonly, these days, referred to as speculative fiction, I tend to mix scifi and fantasy


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Tales from the Pub - The godless ones

November 5th 2006 11:45
This is one strange damn pub. Or should that be one damn strange pub? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. This is the third time I’ve came here and the Chinese bar tender asked me to look after the bar for a while, said his mother was ill and he had to visit her. I gottta tell ya, I’m not surprised his mother is feeling a bit under the weather, I mean he looks like he is a thousand and one years old himself.

Anyway, that was three days ago, maybe, shit, it could be three weeks ago for all I know. There is a clock, it’s hanging over the back of the bar. The damn thing says the same time as when I came through the door. It’s not stopped, I can hear it ticking. Hell it even chimes occasionally. I’ve tried to count the chimes, but, well, I mean, I count but when it stops chiming I can’t quite recall how many times it actually chimed


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Why Write?

November 1st 2006 13:17
Why Write?

That's the question I was asked early on in my quest for a diploma in Professional Writing and Editing


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