Painting With Shotguns XL
E3: Ehh, Ennui, and Empty-Headedness?
Man, I usually watch the E3 coverage with a kind of low-burning hunger. It’s just not happening this year, though. Not a lot is catching my attention in a big way. That feels… weird.
It feels weird because it’s one of two things.
First: they’re just not churning out really good stuff right now. Sure, I want to play Halo: Reach, but no, it doesn’t look like a really new experience. Yes, I thought the crazy awesome cinematic to Star Wars: The Old Republic was, well, both crazy and awesome (and cinematic!), but it didn’t show any gameplay and so it didn’t really light a fire in my belly. I greet most of the news and media coming out with, “Shrug, oh, that’s nice.” And then I wander off to look at something else. The Kinect (once, the Natal)? Very interesting. Very gimmicky. Until reviews come out (and tell us how much the device misses or how much it sucks to have to get up and run an actual marathon), I’m un-wowed.
Second option: I’m caring less and less about video games. I mean, here I am with Team Fortress 2, and I’ve played it a little and had a lot of fun. No anger against that game at all. And yet, I’d rather be dicking around on the Twitters. Or, better yet, writing. (It might be that I’ve yet to have a match with people I know. So, if you got yourself some TF2 on the PC, you gimme a ring now, y’hear?)
Not really sure what it is.
The two games I love the most right now are on my iPhone. Babo Crash HD and Angry Birds.
So, what am I missing over here? Anything coming out of E3 that you’re excited about? Anybody else feeling a slow, creeping malaise when it comes down to video games?
I’ll tell you one trailer that got me jazzed (you monster):
Beard Lasers: The Contest
I gotta say, hot dang some of you have really stepped up to the plate on this I Wanna Do Laser contest. Nicely played, freakazoids. I gotta hand it to you. You’re all insane geniuses.
Of course, contest isn’t even over yet. Got till Sunday morning, when I roll my can out of bed and crawl my way to the computer, the haze of tequila and fruit flies still humming about my brow.
Remember: prize is a copy of Nosferatu clanbook.
Hell, I’ve got so many entries over here — ten so far — that I think it’s only necessary to settle with with a poll when the time is right. (Anybody got a recommendation on the best way to do polls in WordPress?)
Oh, also: I updated the t-shirt shop. I didn’t know you ladies actually wore ladies’ t-shirts? I mean, I just figured, hey, a t-shirt is a t-shirt. This is why I’m a guy, by the way, because we assume shit like this to be true. Regardless: the terribleminds shop now accommodates People With Breasts And Non-Manly Figures. It’s Ladies Night!
You know you want a taste.
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.
*drops the mic, walks off the stage*
Speaking of Sunday, that’s also the day that, if you fine feathered fuckos carry my sorry ass to the “1000 Followers” line on Twitter, I will write you a free Codpiece Johnson short story.
That is the 20th, and it is now the 16th.
I am at 971 followers, and if my crappy math skills do not entirely fail me, that means I still need 390 more followers by Sunday. Right? That’s right, yeah?
*gets out a calculator*
Oh. Uh. I mean, 29 followers. In five total days (by the end of Sunday, remember). It’s doable, but it’s going to be a tight squeeze since I lose a couple few followers every day (and don’t think I don’t know who you are; thanks to Twitter Quitter, I got the hook-up).
See, what I’m secretly hoping for is that you get me to like, 999. Because then, I’m almost at at a thousand, and yet, I don’t have to write you people a short story! No effort on my part! A clear win-win situation. And I can just laugh and laugh and roll around on my waterbed filled with the tears of virgins, and sleep beneath covers stitched from the skin of millionaires.
Stuff Is Almost Happening Without It Actually Happening Yet
I have to reiterate: the life of the writer demands a steely patience, the kind of patience that runs deep.
I do not possess this patience.
Things progress in this eternal Game of Inches.
The film is really moving forward in a good way. I can’t or shouldn’t talk much about it, but suffice to say, it’s really starting to gain momentum.
The television project made it to another level, which is an interim level we didn’t know existed, but it’s still better than not being on any level at all, so we’ll chalk it as a clear “win.”
The novel is, well, the novel. Which is to say, it’s like a brick. That is sinking to the bottom of the ocean. This is of course mightily dispiriting so far, as every time I catch a whiff of possibility, of promise, of potential, it doesn’t quite go anywhere. Still, it’s not like the book is out of the game or anything. Hey, editors? Publishers? I will work my tail off for you. I’m a whore! I’m a writerly man-whore! Let me service your publishing needs!
Ahem. I have no shame, be reminded.
I’m cooking up this new novel, and it’s going better than I thought. I’ve finally got my hands around this story’s throat. Now I merely need to squeeze and force it to kneel. Outlining goes apace, and I’ll kick into high gear come Monday. And then, ideally, it’s a slippery chute straight down to Finishtown.
I’ve got an article coming up in a future Escapist issue, so that’s nice.
We’re selling a house, which is a Sisyphean task. Hell, it’s a Sisyphean Poopatorium. But we have a showing today, so cross your fingers. Sacrifice a white bull in our honor.
Oh, and I need freelance work again.
If you have some, or know of some, I’d appreciate a head’s up.
The Plague of Doubt
I don’t talk about it much, but sometimes, I am plagued with self-doubt. A feeling that, at any moment, I’ll be discovered for the fraud that I am. A dread certainty that someone will read my work and eventually say, “Did you know you’ve been writing gibberish this whole time?” And then they’ll laugh at me. And dump pig’s blood on me at the prom. And then I’ll need to go all Psycho Psychic on they asses.
I’m always waiting for the floor to drop out.
I don’t acknowledge it, generally. Not much good in it. It’s like hypochondria. Or a wasp hive. Once it’s in, it’s in. Hard to get out. Acknowledging it can give it power, lend it strength.
Still, once in a while, it’s not a bad idea to point at it and say, “Wuzzat?”
And then get out the wasp spray. Or the Xanax.
Links In The Great Chain Of Being
Wanna get a glimpse inside a television show “writers’ room?” Them folks at i09 gotcha covered.
Could the state of slow business in Hollywood lead not to a 3D explosion but rather to original, innovative material? Here’s hoping. Once more, a sacrifice of a white bull would go over nicely about now.
Newly-svelte and sexy sex-beast John Hornor Jacobs is over at his site offering us a killer interview with Steven Brust. So, go there. Read that.
And that’s all she wrote. Say goodnight, Gracie.