I've re-submitted "I'm not what I used to be" after adding some feelings and amplifying on what some terms mean. I re-wrote the final bit as, I admit, it was a bit abrupt. This story should give anyone a bit of the feeling of what a rendezvous is like, except for the music circles, the story-telling and the passing-of-the-jug. There are many recipies for apple-pie, and most contain brandy and red-hots! One day I shall explicate on the newlyweds and their first night in a tipi--without a liner. Chairs were drawn up, and...well, I'll leave it at that. I repeat, I'm not good enough to make this stuff up. Cross my heart!
I've finished the bloody thing and await the returns from my editor with bated breath. Enough people have ranted about my 'nits and snits' that I've gone to the length of finding a freelance editor--one of the best, in my opinion. TeNderLoin. the downside is a delayed posting schedule. Bear up, it'll get there eventually.
Chapters 5-11 out for processing as I write.
I turned off the voting and comments because so many people decide that since they can't or won't write it's their god-given right to flame the authors of what they read, despite their inability to do the same. I regard this as a category F0 error.
(F*CK OFF)
Notes on retiring south of the border
I'm doing it again--writing about something that I've never had any practical experience with. Namely, existing on a diesel sea-going vessel.
If you catch me in something egregious (bloody stupid), please put away the knives--a gentle clubbing will do nicely. I realize that the staffing model I'm working with would be sheer folly to use in the real world and the arms the ship was originally designed for were probably on the order of miniguns. I've taken tremendous liberties with the deck plans and I assume that a free-standing hot tub would be idiotic. I stand by adding the sauna, though! Why the hell don't all commercial maritime vessels host a dry or steam sauna? It just makes bloody sense, eh?
I flunked geography in the 8th grade. The pigeons have come home to roost.
My attempts at denoting driving directons through south-central Texas prove it.
If you see a re-constructed bus with "don't follow me--I'm lost too!" on the back, pull me over and shake my hand. I'm the bewildered 300-pound white guy driving.
my patron saint is wrong-way Corrigan!
Keeping the characters straight is easy.
Keeping the timelines straight is easy.
Keeping track of the seasons is a bitch.
Time compression, seasonally keyed events, passing across the equator--they all contribute to havoc.
<CRY HAVOC!> (just had to slip that in.)
Just so you guys know--we dont just slap words down. We try our damndest to keep consistencies on top of consistencies. Previous chapters need re-writes to support later actions. I do six or seven passes over each chapter--somethimes more. This is more like work that you'd think but I still do it. That's what makes it a craft, dammit... What the hell else is going to keep me out of the bars? I'm a lousy fighter and detest hospitals. (drunken assholes get punched out, okay?"