Finally finished off "Creative Debt Restructuring" this morning. Needs some polishing and fine-tuning next week, but it's basically done and I'm gonna walk away from this for a few days.
This one wades in at 15K, so basically a novelette. (An average paperback being about 90K, a novella 40-ish...)
Anyway, this story so fucking rules. It's one of the nastiest, mean-spirited, darnright evil stories ever. It's also funny as hell.
It's basically a full-on 300mph seriously transgressive sf-action-movie packed into a single, one-stop shop of mega-carnage, uber-strangeness and deviant post-human sexuality. There's more ideas in this one story than...well, there's a lot of ideas in this story. I am extreeeeemely pleased with this.
I've got a possible publishing home for this lined up (maybe. Tho its length won't do it any favours), but I also wanna maybe run this past some agents...I think that if you planed off some of the more wilfully surreal elements then it might have some serious legs where other media are concerned. I used to have an agent in the States back when I was doing comics work, but I misplaced him somewhere in the 90s. Since my return to health I've had to handle all this shit myself and it's a chore.
Still, every time I give people a quick vague two-sentence precis they immediiately say something like "Holy Fuck. I'd pay good money to see that film..." Which has got me thinking I might have hit on something here.
Can't let out too much detail yet, as I don't want ideas getting poached. Suffice to say it's set in, er, The City Formerly Known as Chicago, and a simple pitch tag-line would be, um, "...Crank meets Bonfire of the Vanities." On DMT.
Anyway, this should hopefully clear enough brainspace to get really stuck into Da Book Project.
Here's a short, throwaway taster:
"O'Grady was howling like one of Warren Zevon's werewolves. The MiniMan tm had come out of hiding and was poking at his shattered kneecaps with the biro, rooting around in a bloodied jumble of tendons, ligaments and bone fragments until he provoked an appropriately anguished response.
I emptied out Miranda's hand-bag and gave the MiniMan tm a nail-file, tweezers and a pair of small scissors to play with. “He's all yours,” I told him and left him torturing the Chinaman. I'd warmed to the little fella, even though my wife had presumably been using him as a dildo.
I was about a kilometre down the slip-road when I heard the Nissan explode."