first snow of the year!
this may sound strange, but i wanna write a kung fu novel. filled with all the gimmicks and tricks. maybe throw in some romance to boot.
and then tonight i get an email from someone who's been been achingly slow in reading my present book, and she feels compelled to say now - just as i'm getting ready to submit to agents - that i should eliminate the entire first chapter and the start the book on the plane to london. there are about 20 reasons off the top of my head why that is a stupid idea, but i think for once i'll keep my big mouth shut because i don't want to sound like the asshole i usually am.
if there wasn't the first chapter, then there wouldn't be this:
"With the shampoo lathered in his hair, spiked up in a rapidly collapsing Mohawk, he imagined himself to be Ferris Bueller, his hometown hero, singing an improvised chorus of undulating hums, interspersed with the occasional doots, dahs, and dees. At once jealous of and reverential towards Ferris and all that he represented in his persistent display of carpe diem, David daydreamed about cutting class to attend afternoon Cubs games, driving ruby red Ferraris, and twisting and shouting atop a float during the Von Steuben Day Parade. He yearned for his own Sloane Peterson to kiss, sitting on benches nestled away in secret corners of art galleries."
and then tonight i get an email from someone who's been been achingly slow in reading my present book, and she feels compelled to say now - just as i'm getting ready to submit to agents - that i should eliminate the entire first chapter and the start the book on the plane to london. there are about 20 reasons off the top of my head why that is a stupid idea, but i think for once i'll keep my big mouth shut because i don't want to sound like the asshole i usually am.
if there wasn't the first chapter, then there wouldn't be this:
"With the shampoo lathered in his hair, spiked up in a rapidly collapsing Mohawk, he imagined himself to be Ferris Bueller, his hometown hero, singing an improvised chorus of undulating hums, interspersed with the occasional doots, dahs, and dees. At once jealous of and reverential towards Ferris and all that he represented in his persistent display of carpe diem, David daydreamed about cutting class to attend afternoon Cubs games, driving ruby red Ferraris, and twisting and shouting atop a float during the Von Steuben Day Parade. He yearned for his own Sloane Peterson to kiss, sitting on benches nestled away in secret corners of art galleries."