3-Day Novel Contest and me

Just over a week ago, I participated in the 3-Day Novel Contest. This contest is very appropriately named, as it requires its contestants to write a novel in three days, over the Labor Day weekend.

Perhaps "novel" isn't the right word. They state that the average entry is 100 double-spaced pages. My 92 page entry clocked in at just over 24,000 words; a far cry from novel length these days, maybe even insatisfactory for a novella. But, forgetting for a minute the juxtaposition of people reading less, and books getting longer and less approachable, I am still very proud of my entry into this contest and consider its length sufficient. After all, it's not how big it is, but how you use it that matters.

The whole thing started, for me, just after the stroke of midnight and I wrote until about 4am. "Wrote" meaning that I redid the first three pages six times, mostly coming out the same, and hitting myself for it being shitty, until I finally went to sleep.

The theme of knowing what I was writing was shitty would continue through the whole process. To this minute, I still consider the whole thing to be a disaster as far as readability, character development, and plot are concerned. This concerns me, as I usually consider my stories to be the best thing since sliced bread, and they often turn out pretty alright.

Time did a funny thing while I was writing. Time just seemed to disappear. I would look up after finishing an almost-page-long scene and an entire hour had passed. It did not feel as though an hour had passed, it felt more like ten minutes had, but I trusted my clock enough to believe that, in fact, an hour had passed. It was as though I had entered a separate place in time, aging at one-sixth the normal rate.

Hunger operated along those same lines. Over the entire weekend, I ate two plates of nachos, a can of salt and vinegar Pringles, and a beef stick. I drank almost constantly, whether it be water, coke, or grapefruit juice.

And that's it. Not half as elegant as I wanted to describe the process, but whatever. More to come when I feel comfortable letting folks read it.

Omission and apology

The author of the previous post, and all of us here at Why Not Just Blog? would like to formally, and publicly, apologize to Rogue brewing for omitting them when referencing wide-spread and popular microbreweries. Though Rogue is, as a general rule, not as inventive as Stone or Dogfish Head, they engage in the most bottling and certainly have the widest selection of brews of the three. Indeed, Rogue practically defines the gambit along which beers may run, no matter your tastes, there's always one, often two, expertly crafted Rogue beers to enjoy.

Like Stone and Dogfish Head, Rogue embraces and supports the Microbrew Revolution, even moreso than then others, and it does so with far less ego or eccentric psyche.

Apologies to an excellent brewing company. Sorry.

Beer in politics

It's been a month since I last posted, so I wanted to get one in here so that my archives tag the month as having a post instead of just omitting it altogether. Seems sad, to be needlessly padding my blog in its earliest days, kind of like putting a five-year-old on Ritalin, to avoid the responsibility of actually having to do some work. But, alas, there was a news story that appealed directly to my interests.

New York Times: What A White House Beer Says About Race And Politics

That link, at least at the time of this posting, connects to the story about Obama's solution to the allegedly-racist-white-cop-pulling-over-black-Harvard-professor turned presidential-scapegoat-incident-on-racism-in-police: he had everyone over for a beer. While we can debate endlessly whether or not this was a good solution—though I, for one, am a huge fan of colloquial politics—to a problem that was at least self-created, we can all agree there was one major loser here: beer.

The president reportedly asked his attendees, "Do you want a Bud, Red Stripe, or Blue Moon?" before the incident (presumable so the mugs would be properly chilled for best enjoyment). We know the president has a Bud Light, the vice president a Buckler (nearly non-alcoholic brewed by Heineken), the officer a Blue Moon, and reports vary on whether the Harvardite had a Red Stripe or Sam Adams Light.

Assuming he did have the Sam Adams Light, the professor is the only person there who went American. Presumably, the president chose Bud Light because it is, symbolically, the American beer. There's even a tale that, while on the campaign trail, someone in a stereotypically hickish, red state told Obama, "I'm going to vote for you if you drink Budweiser," shortly after the politician ordered one.

But far more important than going American, the professor may have been the only one there who went craft brewer, showing that the true losers are microbreweries and discerning beer drinkers in general. I presume that you can get any beer currently in existence if you're going to be drinking it at the White House in a publicized event with the president. I can just imagine a White House staff member cruising liquor stores looking for the Dogfish Head 120 Minute IPA or Stone flying out a growler of the first-ever batch of Imperial Pilsner (yes, they just invented it, in 2009). And those are just my suggestions from the well-distributed microbrewers and beers that fit the summer afternoon.

As Dogfish Head proved within the last twenty years by inventing the Imperial India Pale Ale (or double IPA, or IIPA), a beer that essential turned brewing on its head, and Stone did with their just-developed Imperial Pilsner, American brewing has some merit. Merit far beyond slamming the same, simple, three brands of beer. A merit that deserves to be recognized and is, obviously, ignored by those in the upper echelons of power.

We will not be ignored, discerning beer drinkers. Let us raise this incident as just the most recent in a series of grievous crimes committed against brewing. We shall unite, probably drunk, under the flag of flavor as we battle this injustice from the barstool. The macros have awakened a dangerous beast with this flagrant display, for now our cause is a righteous rebellion.

Viva la bière locale!

So far, so alright

I've already spent more time working on this particular blog than any other. Sure, there's not much content here, but I'll be damned if it isn't rife with pretty colors--I opted to go with black and white, with just a dash of pink--and laden with wonderful features to the right of these words right here.

Also, it appears my font changed. This sucks, because I hate sans-serif. Gotta take care of that before I write anything of substance.

Here we go again

This is the sixth blog I've tried to make since deciding I was a writer. Traditionally, I've always made the first post self-referential and, in spite of the overwhelming success of those previous projects, the theme is sticking. This is because I feel a need to justify the project, having spit upon the concept of blogs for much of my life.

Essentially, I hated blogs because they're just a bunch of assholes writing their opinions online and pretending everyone cares. Then it occurred to me that 90% of professional writers fall into the same "assholes who think people care" definition. And so, I either had to revise my opinions of blogs or admit that writing is bogus, and I refuse to do that. Thus, this was created.

Why I think this particular incarnation will succeed, at least better than the previous projects, is that I'm embracing the spirit of engaging in selfishness, unabashedly; it's like I'm writing a cover letter. In that same spirit, creating a body of writing so that people who hire people with bodies of writing have a body of writing to refer to. Basically, yes, I'm trolling for a job with this. If you happen to know anyone, let me know. The final reason I have hope in this project, is that I'm presently blogging for WakeUp Naptown!, an Indianapolis-area blog, and have already come up with numerous ideas for entries that are either too long, too short, too fictional, or too fantastic to include on that website, thus creating a need for a dump such as this.

So here you are, reading about what I think and, yes, I do think that you care if you've made it this far. To many happy returns.