Buh, balls, shit, piss, cocksucker, motherfucker, damn, tits. Oh, and cunt.
George Carlin makes me feel better, as does the link in the title, which'll take you to Cee-Lo Green's song of the same title.
Nanowrimo is about over. I said I intended to write one short story a week until the end of the year, and I have so far; I have five done, ready for a second draft, and a sixth on the way. It's the sixth I want to share (and I mean bitch about).
I don't know why it's so hard (did he say that?). It's a shorty about magic, real magic in the form of some flashy effects, and one big bastard of a cabinet. This cabinet makes people vanish. And then something comes along and takes them. I tried it once before and gave up. I am at 2000 words now, and depressed as hell over it. I loved magic as a kid, and though I was disappointed that it wasn't real, I liked the idea still. Pull the wool over an audiences eyes! Make the goddam Statue of Liberty invisible! Shoot fire from your fingertips!
My love of magic may have been influenced by the Lord of the Rings a little too much.
Because I hoped that these magicians - t.v. heavyweights and carnival card-tricksters alike - knew something. That magic was really an art, and with the proper talent, learnable. But it would have its dangerous side - lost artifacts, forbidden spells and tricks, blood magic! Good stuff!
And here I am with the story I want to tell, and it is like cutting my hair. A tangled mess that falls to the floor and piles up until the pile gains sentience and runs off.
That's my Nanowrimo story.