Humans, Octogenarians, Hate Mail and Sexbots...BoJack Can Come Too

Are you wondering about this post title? I will explain it below. 

This post is probably going to be a collections of some random thoughts as my novel reaches the end of its 3-year gestation period and will soon be born!  

1. I've been wanting to talk about Doctor Who's love of humans and Earth at some point in this book. It struck me as very appropriate since this book is all about humanness and what makes one so and how machines alter that "humanity". Also, I need to explain why my characters love and value this quality so much. Doctor who has some good lines. Like below!

Anne found this awesome Doctor Who quote for me and i decided to give it a prominent place in my novel.  You'll see where. ;-) 

 2. IT IS COMING! (I keep wanting to say "winter is coming" but that is inappropriate here even IF it is stuck in my head. Thanks, George). There is still a little ways to go with my novel.  I added all the chapters headers and have gone through 2/3 of my friends' edits. The 3rd friend had a lot of really involved comments, which is great though some of them really will involve some reworking.  (If your friends can't shit on your dreams, who can?) Which means, I have to determine which items are worth investing in that change and which ones are too much of a deviation from the story.  

One of his suggestions was to change the 1st chapter from one person's perspective to another's.  Unfortunately, that would ruin the flow and put the reader in a precarious position. Which isn't something that I really want to do.  So instead, I added a page-ish from that character's POV to get inside his head, just slightly, before you really get to know him.  I think it worked well.  You can see it below.  It is out of context here, but just go with me, OK? 

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Samson was frozen, literally frozen. No, he hastily corrected himself, not frozen. He was in the air, floating…or falling incredibly slow. His boot had scraped off a layer of paint from the banister and it puffed out behind him in a small cloud. Below was a glass “skylight” – one of those tacky creations that had been popular during the decade before he was born and even though it had never been subjected to the elements, years of smoke, dust, and dead insects had crusted its edges, through which Sam could see a slightly blurred, cinematic view of the first floor cafeteria.

The patrons paid little attention to him, save for one, being wrapped up in their coffees, booze or the undoubtedly witty conversation with their modded-up, Johnny Depp-like date. Johnny Depp on a bad day, anyway.

The other one: dressed in all black, she stared openly with a startled frown, lifting her dark glasses away from her eyes, cappuccino cup in hand. Sam’s confused expression met hers and held her within the trance that he was currently experiencing.

Sharp stinging on his knee was the only indication that he had crashed through the bug-smeared skylight.  He barely felt even that pain as glass fragments gently twirled around his face, falling like weightless snowflakes toward the yellowing linoleum.  A hair-like wire glittered at the corner of his vision, lazily undulating like an animal.  What was that thing?

The dark woman had moved. Arm arched behind her back, she had launched the ceramic cup in his direction.  It gracefully slid past his ear as the aroma of overly-roasted espresso tickled his nose. Closer to the ground now, he felt his left leg tucked sharply into his chest, and his right leg…he wasn’t sure.

Something was on the floor below him, it looked like a limb. A leg. His leg? He shook his head. He was in shock, he told himself, gazing at the eerily-familiar boot toe, resting in a pool of blood. His blood?

Everything is too clear, he rationalized, I’m fine. Red droplets surrounded him, mimicking large jewels or small marbles.  He could see the surface of each one dimple and shift as the circular shapes became amorphous.  There was too much red around him, he thought, as the metallic tang shot through his taste buds. His chest fluttered as he forced himself to breathe.

His left leg was tucked underneath him, but his right…the floor reached him.

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Another was to add a "Briefing" scene before the final climax.  Think of the rebel briefing before the Battle of Endor in Episode VI.  I think this could work...it may also be able to give you a bit more of a look into Sam's head as well as reintroducing Drake and hinting at the havoc he's going to wreak later.

3. The importance of the first page...it needs to have a hook. If I try to get published, I will need the first page, the first 20 pages or the first 3 chapters to be awesome. Eye-catching, tit-grabbing, dick-hardening awesome. Hmm..maybe I should use that? 

Anyway, I have a sentence on the first page that I have gotten mixed-reviews on. I love this sentence. It flowed from my fingertips as naturally as anything, and took absolutely zero thought. Unfortunately, it may be too unreachable for most people for one reason or another.  It's been a bitch finding a replacement.  I worry that I'm going to go with it's mediocre, C-student cousin. Nothing to get stoked about, but safe enough to get you through. But would it be enough? 

The sentence is as follows:

"She was wrapped in black leather pants the shade of an octogenarian’s favorite easy chair." 

Most people don't know how to parse it, and others think that 80-year-olds just remind them of the smell of pee. Which is NOT what I'm going for here.  I'm more aiming toward worn, comfortable, creased, faded, loved, once-fashion-conscious but not anymore. Clearly I am misunderstood. But unlike Captain Shakespeare (stardust) below, the misunderstanding probably will not make me look more badass...

You see, I'm very much
a man of my own creation.
  
Even chose the name specially.
Took me ages.
  
See, I'm thinking
Legendary British wordsmith.
 
My enemies and crew are thinking,
"Shake! Spear!"

While I don't have a fearsome rep to uphold, I do want to be that writer that thrills you and holds you captive or 350 pages. Losing you on a sentence on the first page, is a bad start...

4. Lastly some distraction because the cold meds are finally starting to kick in. I think I've found a hidden gem of the internet: Sexy Robots. I am fairly certain that I could write an entire blog post JUST about these, but here are a few samples. I am particularly fond of the last one.

Of course, robot is made sexier with Vodka...

Or pool...

Who needs clothes when you have tubes and ten inch heels?

On the other hand...what is she trying to cover up with that barely-there bikini anyway?

"Oops, I totally just fell into a pool with its cover on. And sexbots can't swim. Whoever will help me?"

6. BoJack horseman is telling you to write:

7. Also, just going to put this out to the universe: I hope one day I am popular enough to start getting hate mail. Because that will mean that people 1. took the time to read my work and 2. took the time to write me an angry letter. That's more investment than a lot of people will put into something. I'm good on the death threats though...those I can live without. :)