Do I want to do NaNoWriMo or not? I’m not sure that, come November, I’m going to have the energy to devote to writing a novel. But I would love to give it a try. I think tonight or tomorrow I might sit down and see what ideas I have percolating. It would be a good excuse to finish Back Roads if I can find the time.
I have to admit that I’d love to be a published author. I mean, I write stuff for work, but I’d rather write something people would actually like to read. Not something they have to read to do their jobs. I want to scare people with Back Roads and to shatter their conceptions of the slasher. I want to take a look at how real people, not slasher stereotypes, would react to such a situation. Most of all, I want to entertain people.
The slasher is so stereotypical and so thematic that I think it would be easy to surprise an audience. They expect gore and destruction. They expect brainless bimbos and swaggering jocks. I want to give them violence and chills and frights, but I want to do it with real people. Real people don’t exist in slashers.
Maybe this means that what I want to convey won’t work in print media. That it would only work on film. I hope not, but I may find that that’s what happens. I guess then I would start adapting the novel into a screenplay, but I would be disappointed a bit. Screenplays aren’t what I’m looking to do.
Maybe that could be fun, too, though. I mean, isn’t screenwriting a sort of natural corrolary to acting? I love being on stage. Perhaps I could learn to love being behind the scenes as well.
All of this assumes, of course, that the darned thing is any good! None of this will matter one tiny bit if what I write turns out to be a putrescent pile of excrement like so much other drivel that gets written.
Although look at Ann Coulter. That woman’s books practically fly off the shelves. Hmmm… I see now. To be successful, all I need to do is to write something “satirical” and piss off approximately half of the American public! And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take a page out of Kathy Griffin’s book (What? A pun? Me? Never!) and label myself a “D-list” celebrity. Brilliant! I’ll be infamous — which is much more entertaining than being famous — before I’m thirty!