Muse: So, lack of constructive writing aside, have you decided if the Dogs talk or not?

Jon: Inquiring minds want to know! *pause* Well, not really--

Writer: It would be easier if they did.

Muse: Not what I asked. *fishes beer from cooler*

Writer: Technically they don't, I mean what kind of common ground would they have for even basic concepts? Much less actual language. *sighs at blank screen* But if they don't talk then--

Muse: Then there's a whole lot of world building the reader won't ever see.

Writer: Well, not anytime soon anyways. In theory the 'uberbond' that Akela's looking for will be more of a telepathic hivemind entity, at which point verbal linguistics are moot.

Jon: That does not sound like fun.

Writer: Magic companion humans don't get a say, sorry.

Jon: I'm pretty sure this counts as fictive abuse.

Muse: You should see how she treats the other Johns.

Jon: Other Jons? *panicked look*

Writer: With an H, with an 'H'! Calm down for for chistsake, there's only one of you! Sheesh.

Jon: *is not comforted*

Muse: My point still stands.

Jon: I'm changing my name to Fred.

Writer: No you're not, now go back to watching-- wait, what is that?

Jon: The Young and the Restless

Writer: ...

Muse: Why don't just go over here and work on what's getting cut while you two hash this out, kthkxbai. *flees*

Jon: I can haz freewill!

Writer: No you canz not. *grabs for remote*

Jon: Canz too. *sits on remote*

Writer: You realize this means war.

Jon: Bring it on.


It was a dark and stormy night...

Jon: You do realize moving requires more than simply dumping boxes from one space to another. *eyes mass posts of story-in-progress*

Writer: Meh.

Akela: *sniffs around the piles of world building and sets to gnawing happily on one of the story bones* I have backstory!

Writer: Hey, hey, I need that!

Akela: Mmmm... *gnaw*

Jon: You could at least label them... *pokes one of the boxes with a foot*

Box: *growl*

Jon: ... Please tell me I imagined that.

Writer: Technically, you imagine everything.

Jon: *is not comforted*

Muse: Hey, how's it going? *enters apartment, beers and scooby snacks in hand*

Akela: Beer!

Jon: Snacks!

Box: *mutter*

Writer: *headdesk*

Muse: So. *pokes LJ* I suppose you'll be rearranging things a bit?

Writer: Maybe.

Muse: At the very least you could fix the chapter and retcon tags. *eyes jumble of posts* You know this won't make sense to anyone but you as it is.

Writer: Sad, but true. *pokes posts* I do sort of want to leave the NaNo posts, for posterity or something.

Muse: I think posterity would be more impressed if you tried to pretend you had a linear thought once in a while.

Writer: Wild tangents are your friend. *solemn nod*

Muse: Hey, I gave you a plot.

Writer: After NaNo was over.

Muse: Technicalities.

Jon: Wait, we have a plot?

Writer: *shifty eyes* Maaaaybe.

Jon: eep.

Writer: I will not be amused that now you give me a full description of the room. After we've basically left the premises in terms of plot.

Jon: I have no idea what you're talking about. *sips beer*

Muse: That's what December's for. Am I right?

Jon: Quite right. *nods solemnly*

Writer: *sighs*

Muse: *looks over at Writer from the comforts of the Imaginary!Couch* You really need to get Laptop!Sven fixed. *eyes giant piles of longhand warily* Otherwise you're going to spend all next week just typing stuff in.

Writer: Most probably, but at least I have a plot now. *waves index cards victoriously* Wiktory is mine!

Muse: Do I get to point out that the time you spent making scene cards and the cartoon doodles on said cards could have been better spent actually writing?

Writer: No.

Muse: *snatches cards away from Writer* At some point you do have to scan these in. *flips through cards* You really can't draw cars. At all.

Writer: *unrepeatable muttering*

Jon: *wanders in, grabs a beer from the mini-fridge, collapses on the couch... and then notices the company* Hey, wait, who's that?

Muse: I'm a Muse. *pause while Jon just stares at her, confused* Personification of as abstract concept? *pause* I'm the one that harasses her in a more generic sense.

Jon: Ah, got it. Wanna beer? *offers*

Muse: *accepts* I like this guy.

Writer: You would. *takes back index cards with a snort* Now lemme see what else I need to block in before I move forward.

Jon: Hey, that's our plot?

Writer: Yup. *eyes cards* Well, sorta, I still have a few that say 'stuff happens'... *attempts to look innocent*

Jon: ...Stuff?

Writer: Plotty stuff. *wiggles fingers mysteeeeriously*

Jon: Is she always like this?

Muse: More or less. *digs about in the pile of random things on the coffee table in front of the couch* Ooo, Doritos!

Jon: Mi casa, es su casa.

Muse: I really like this one. *leans back munching Doritos and sipping a beer*

Writer: *sighs*

Jon: Wow, I think I'm actually impressed with how much you haven't written. *pokes wordcount*

Writer: Well now that I know that what I thought was the plot was only the first half--

Jon: Third.

Writer: --third of what I was actually writing, it makes a lot more sense now. *pause* Sort of.

Jon: I don't care if it makes sense or not, I just want something to do. Booooored.

Writer: Says the slacker.

Jon: I'm not a slacker, I'm differently-motivated.

Writer: *sigh*

Writings from Barnes & Nobel write-in!

------------------------------------

...they work out what to do next.

Jon: And that is?

Writer: I have no idea.

Jon: That's typical.

Writer: Hey, I'm just following where you guys lead at this point. Do you see an outline? *waves pages of completely ignored notes at fictive* Do you?

Jon: Not my fault you don't do contingency planning. *ignores the piles of paper*

Writer: I can't keep you on one scene for more than four hundred words, how on God's green earth am I supposed to keep you on a plot??

Jon: Well, at least you could try giving us a theme or something. *reaches for a beer*

Writer: You want a theme? How about 'generic cookie cutter fantasy'? That seems to be y'all's modus operandi at the moment.

Jon: I protest this uncouth assessment!

Writer: You're a normal schmoe caught up in a paranormal world unexpectedly. *holds up one finger* You've got magical companion animals.

Tos: RRRRR

Writer: Oh shut up, you are too. *finger two* Plus you've got this detective shtick going on and the Dead Men Mafia, which I had to say is the most clichéd thing ever...

Jon: Since when is a band of rebel humans and renegade Veil creatures a cliché?

Writer: Hmm, true, normally they're the good guys--

Jon: And for a band of generic bad guys I'm sure they could have picked something more cliché than bringing back dead people. I mean, normal dead people, not dead dictators or dead gods or something more earth shattering than Mr. Prescott, attorney at law.

Writer: ...Who?

Jon: Never mind, he's a secret. *attempts to look mysterious*

Jon: ... You know, I'm not sure it counts as a novel if none of the pieces match up. *eyes the chaos of Day 6 storylines*
Writer: I'm in a nonlinear mood, so sue me.
Jon: And I'm pretty sure the judges aren't going to count you talking to yourself as a valid wordcount.
Writer: Oh ye of little faith.
Jon: I have plenty of faith, just not in your ability to pass off a pile of colored glass as a stained-glass window.
Writer: It just needs soldering, is all. *pulls out welding mask* Behold!
Jon: So I take it today is going to be spent outlining?
Writer: Mwahahaha!
Jon: Right, I'll be on the couch then. *wanders off to restock the endless cooler and grab a TV Guide*

Jon: You know, I think most folks would have had a breakdown right about now…
Writer: What, generic 'dissociative state' ain't good enough for ya?
Jon: When we’ve gone from normal life to ghost dogs and ghost deer and people shooting at me and then getting killed by boxes of dead fish all in the space of, what, a chapter?... no.
Writer: You're just grumpy because there weren't any bears.
Jon: *sighs*
Writer: Fine, fine…

Suddenly! For no apparent reason! ...there were bears.

Jon: Lemme guess, this is the part where you write down anything you can think of in order to make today's wordcount.

Writer: Got it in one!

Jon: Go me. Woo.

Jon: Okay, stop, just-- stop.

Writer: What?

Jon: I'm throwing fish at a guy with a gun. Well, a teenager with a gun, still. Fish. Gun.

Writer: And?

Jon: ... *sigh*

Jon: So your plan was to write nothing? Good plan.

Writer: Oh shuddup and pass me a beer.

: frustrated

Writer: Okay, okay, this time I have plan!

Jon: ... You mean you didn't last time?

Writer: Err, no.

Jon: You do realize just about everything you've written so far is gonna get cut as soon as you do the first edit.

Writer: Most likely.

Jon: So I'm assuming the new improved plan is...

Writer: More stuff that'll get cut!

Jon: *sighs and reaches down to fish out another beer from the cooler*

Jon: Wow, that is probably the most boring start to a story I've ever read.

Writer: Oh sush, it's NaNo, I'm allowed to suck.

Jon: Suck yes, engage in endless bouts of exposition? Not so much.

Writer: Me Writer, you fictive, so thbbbbbbbpt.

Jon: Just move us into some sort of active something, ok? At this point I'd be willing to suffer through 'and then there were Bears'.

Writer: ... Bears?

Jon: Something! Anything! You're already five hundred words behind and if I spend any more time slogging through info dumps I'm quitting.

Writer: You can't quit!

Jon: And then there were bears.

Writer: ... This is going to be a long November.

(and yes, I’m counting this, so thhhhbpt to you too ^_~)

Writer: So tell me a story.

Jon: Why?

Writer: I'm bored.

Jon: Doesn't this work the other way 'round?

Writer: Normally? Nope. *tosses popcorn at him* Entertain me!

Jon: You just want the TV remote.

Writer: You're watching American Idol. *pause* American Idol reruns.

Jon: *settles into couch happily*

Writer: I'm not watching this, now gimme.

Jon: *sits on remote* Make me.

Writer: ...

Jon: *smug*

Writer: You are the most annoying fictive I've ever met.

Jon: Ha! Victory is mine!

Writer: ... You are never allowed to watch Family Guy again.

Jon: My remote, my rules.

Writer: Dogs! Help me!

Dogs: *amused doggie grins*

Writer: I hate you all.

Jon: November is going to rock. *channel surfs using the annoying 'if I hear more than one syllable I've paused too long' method*

Writer: ... *whimper*