Spending this morning reading Murakami got the muse stirring again. ("Oh, it's you," it said, drowsily, "I thought you had forgotten all about me. Don't you have, like, coding to do or something?") I have an idea for a new story. It's funny that this should happen, because the story is decidedly not Murakami-esque. In fact, it's not even new--it's
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But sometimes cool shit comes out of it, especially when it loosens its death-grip on pretension. Have you read The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno? It's an Encyclopedia Brown story, complete with mysteries and decoder rings and secret messages in Morse code, but set thirty years later. (Turns out being a precocious hotshot boy detective is surprisingly useless in real life law enforcement...and in real life in general.)
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Fuck literary credibility! I'm going full-blown genre hack.
Ha, you can join me as I build my neo-noir cyberpunk late-21st-century world, and we can ignore literary credibility together.
Actually, how would you feel about actually joining me in it? My editor bailed.
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Basically, you'd be more of a "test reader" than an editor. Steer me in the right direction, but not nitpick.
It's schlocky and probably not going to make much sense eventually, so it's an Exercise in Letting Go, as well as an Exercise in Having Fun.
If you're interested, I'll email you the synopsis and the chapters I have so far.
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You know, for fighting the yetis.
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Dinosaurs.
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