16. Tings Nov 16

(9:19 am Nov 16, 2005)

Radio.

Radio. A one time government monopoly here in the islands. Up until the early nineties when the first non-government radio station went on the air. What a breath of fresh air. What a difference those private signals made.

You know that they say:

The more things change, the more things change.

Or something like that, right?

Out of sight, out of mind.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Take your pick.

After the big celebratory party last night, most of the characters in this novel are still asleep at this hour. This poses a problem for the nano writer as he has been up for hours. The thing is, what do you do with about getting on and writing your daily nano quota when all of your characters are still asleep and you want to write something before heading off to work for the day?

Rolex, watchdog!

You introduce a new character who was not at the party and is not asleep.

Now, this Rolex was not XXIII, but he was the third so we shall call him III if we need to call him something other than Rolex.

Rolex was nothing like his dad but everything like his grandad. Rolex was a watchdog who liked swimming and ice and lizards. He shared his grandpapy's penchant for lizicles as well.

Now, when I tell you Rolex liked lizards, you would be mistaken if you were to get the wild idea that he would like to be friends with Frizz and Felina. He didn't like lizards in that way. He liked lizards to chase around the garden. He liked lizards to catch and maul. Occasionally he would try and eat them after a proper mauling. The thing is, they seldom agreed with his tummy no matter how good they tasted going down.

That was one reason he liked lizicles so much. He could lick away all of the cool, icy, flavoured goodness from the outside and then throw away the lizard stick when done. All the while pretending to himself that he was eating the actual lizard.

Frizz and Felina are having a bad dream right now. Yes, I know, they were at the party though.

The other odd thing I probably should mention to you about this novel is that some of the characters in it are almost ageless while others are generational characters of their ancestors. I think I have been giving enough hints along the way so that you can figure out which is which. Oh, yes, and some are fresh new characters created just for you in Tings, while others are old favourites brought back for encores in this star studded spectacular which is my two thousand and five NaNoWriMo novel. And what a spectacular year for nano two thousand and five is proving to be.

Rolex had been up for hours as well. In fact, he had been up for a few hours before the author thins morning. Up, watching. That's what he did. If I were to try and fill you in on all the things he had seen in his short life so far, it would require another novel.

Hmmmm, could that be what Bruno is writing about without my knowing it? I wonder what it is he is writing about. Other than claiming he is writing this book that is. What a joker. Imagine, trying to get people to believe that I don't exist. The nerve of that beat.

(9:40 am Nov 16, 2005)

Check you later. Work beckons.

(9:29 pm Nov 16, 2005)

TV.

TV. Television. Video. VCR. TIVO. MythTV.

Channels four, seven, and ten. The big three from childhood. Six had some good shows but their signal did not come in as clear.

As clear. Let me just say this. During childhood, the first thing you thought of around here when you heard the word snow as not winter and the powdery form of dihydrogenmonoxide. No, snow was the fuzzy mess that you tried to watch your shows through.

Big old antennas that you could climb topped by a pole with gut wires with the TV antenna sat at the top of the whole shebang. Boosters.

Nothing local.

Then came thirteen. Local. Wow, so that's what rabbit ears do. Short lived game shows and lots of British stuff.

Saturday morning cartoons. Before school shows. Was that what they call anime today?

TV. Another temporal vacuum cleaner for the unwary.

Can TV and nano coexist for the naoer during the month of November?

Hey, quick. Do you remember the fifth of November?

(9:40 pm Nov 16, 2005)

Wow, earlier today, there were what now seem like foolish hopes of breaking fifty thousand before the night was over.

Good luck getting the day's quota written you poor, poor, man.

You know, one thing about talking to yourself is that is can pad the word totals.

Before the day started, we were sitting north of forty four thousand. So, a measly six thousand words would have sufficed. Never mind that that word count exceeds the production of any tho thousand and five day so far this month, it is still a measly figure is it not.

But then, after getting home from work early, did he plunge right into writing? No, foolish lad. He pulled out his shuttle and hooked it up to his delta 1010 and to his MG16/6FX and his SM58.

It was all disassembled on account of a hurricane and a trip. It had not yet been reassembled due to nano time constraints.

Nano time constraints which still existed this afternoon by the way.

So, after it was hooked up, it did not seem to be working properly. So a few hours were spent troubleshooting. Almost reaching the point of despair. But, finally, a modicum of success. Sounds were recorded and played back in rezound and in ardour with the help of alsa and jack.

And so, when a local musician showed up, work started on recording The Low Voltage Blues and The NaNoWriMo Song.

That consumed a few more hours. It was lots of fun though. We recorded a lot of material for the audio out takes that will be in big demand when those two songs go gold or platinum. Don't forget your end of the bargain.

So, this musician brought a bass and his voice.

Words were re-arranged as the tunes were massaged and molded.

Fun. Fun can done. (Read: fun can't done. Didn't you ever learn about the silent T?)

Drum.

Drum. Junkanoo. Macbeth. Goombay.

Unfortunately, there was no drummer present for the sessions today. A massaged hydrogen demo filled in, but we need a drum track.

When those goatskin drums are stretched tight and they let loose, they will pound your chest, pound your pulse into submission. Pound you and move you.

The Russian was rushing to go rushin.

Bruno. Bruno was a beat. I will give you a little quote from the story titled "The Beat Meet" which is where he was first introduced to the waiting world.

"Bruno was a beat, and to be honest, the life of a beat was becoming
more and more difficult with each day that passed. Sometimes, Bruno
would find himself in a daze for days on end."

And:

"By the end of the 80s and the early 90s, beats everywhere were
in trouble! They were finding it harder and harder to find work.
Everywhere they turned they found the lucrative positions filled by
MIDI's creations."

So, you can see why it is proper to bring Bruno into this discussion of drums.

Which comes first, the drum or the beat?

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

"To get to the other side" (Cue laughter.)

So, the drums can give you the beat and the big ones can pound your soul into submission.

But, can they give you the melody?

Well, yes, the steel drums can, but what about the rest?

No, no! I would never diss the steel drums! I love the steel drums. I could sit and listen to them for hours. I have sat and listened to them for hours. Long years ago, in the sun, down on Bay Street by the British Colonial Hotel. By the Sheraton though, not the Hilton. Same place mind you, only it wasn't yet the Hilton on the day I sat and listened to the steel drums for hours. Yes, it could have been navy Lion Road, but I think it was Bay Street. You know, maybe it wasn't Bay after all, that small stretch is called Marlborough Street isn't it?

This is supposed to be a novel though.

Yes it is, but I am allowed, under the rules of nano to make it a novel novel, aren't I? Hey, if it a novel novel, should I apply for a patent when I am done as well as having it copyrighted. Or copylefted as the case may be.

Nah, who would think you could patent novels, even if they are novel.

True, true, but is this prior art? Is there any other? Is this indeed, art at all?

Mind you, I haven't seen Art in ages. I wonder what became of him.

Jelli met Bruno in a story titled: "Walking with a Beat"

Here leet me give you a taste:

"Jelli was of the opinion that life had a certain rhythm, a certain ebb and
flow. A certain waxing and waning, a gentle pulsing in the warp and woof of
the fabric of time. (Of course, time unfolded.)"

...

"Due to a strange kink in the fabric of space and time, both Jelli and Bruno
appeared on a beach in Guana Cay just as three men burst from the ocean and
shot about a mile into the air."

...

"Consequence of their meeting in such a strange fashion, the two tended to
distrust one another for the first several days of their acquaintance."

"After Jelli and Bruno had parted ways, Jelli found that in some strange
way, a part of Bruno remained with him. As odd as it seems, he found that
wherever and whenever he walked, he still walked with a beat. Even more
astounding was that he was able to pick out others who always walked with a beat and he realized that they could pick him out as well."

Nail.

Nail. Brad. (Sorry, no nail named Janet that we can ascertain.) Cut. Common. Finishing. Wire. Four penny. Eight penny. Roofing. Casing.

Now, the best place to buy high quality nails is at a nail salon. You know that the construction and home improvement industry in the islands is booming on account of all of the nail salons that have sprung up to cater to the demand.

It may surprise those of a less progressive nature to know that many of these nail salons which cater to the sadly still male dominated construction industry are owned and operated by the women of today.

Not me!

Rusty Nail. You can mix one and drink it, or you can cut your leg with one so that you need stitches and a tetanus shot. Trust me on this one. You can. Cut your leg on a rusty cut nail.

I wonder what happens if you mix a rusty nail with sex on the beach?

Writing, writing, writing. The word count is rising, but is the story progressing. There's the rub. (Wink, wink. Think, think. The bard slips some of his words into my novel again. I wish he would stop that.)

And there was Beethoven, decomposing. (Cue laughs.)

I left my harp, in Sam Clam's Disco. (Cue laughter, groans and applause.)

Block, block, block, block. Block.

(10:52 pm Nov 16, 2005)
It is getting late. I have to turn in. My characters all got enough rest today, but I didn't. I am sleepy. Plus, it is hard to write a day's worth of words when your characters are sleeping off a wing ding. But I mean, if last night wasn't the night for one, I don't know if there could ever be one.

Now tonight is different. The dogs were sitting outside late tonight. Howling.

Remember I did some foreshadowing a few days back? Well, tonight is the night that was foreshadowed.

The moon is full.

Did you hear me? The ... moon ... is ... full!

Thankfully, I have reached my quota for the day so I will wait until tomorrow to tell you about tonight.

(10:57 pm Nov 16, 2005)