Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Strange Fame

And I'm back from vacation...for about a week. Then I disappear for TWO weeks, even more so than this last stretch. I am not actually fleeing the country for unnamed horrible crimes. Just taking some long overdue and highly extended vacation, visiting friends and so on and so forth. Next year (which ain't that far away) will be more normal and I'll settle back into my usual sordid routine.

It's a strange thing to see the things you're highly ranked in Google for.

Star Trek, yes. I see myself ranked with Trek quite a bit because of that rpg I wrote a ways back.

Various fitness and gaming forums, okay. That also makes sense.

The major hit for this blog?

"Moment of shit."

What a thing to be "heavily"* linked for. I'm in the top three results currently, probably because it's not a heavily searched term, probably because of this awesome site right here.

Makes you wonder what other writing market terms could be gamed, giving me the SEO chops to stay on top. I could probably completely own head-hopping or anacoluthon. Negative capability probably already has its own embedded and fiercely defended corners of the market. I am reasonably sure I could snap up engfish.

Just imagine the marketing possibilities. Advertisers would pay upwards of one or two dollars a year for the high-spending wanna-be writers market.

Or maybe not.

I'd nearly forgotten about that post, actually. It's still one of my favorite industry terms. I can't imagine what kind of grind writing for a multi-season by-the-numbers sitcom must be, what sort of dread you'd face sitting in front of each blank screenplay, knowing you'd have to pound out twenty-two pages of rote humor and drama each week. It's one thing working on a show with a great dynamic, like a Seinfeld or a Friends. Imagine the dull existential horror of writing deep-run episodes for something truly insipid, like Just The Ten Of Us or Small Wonder where you could probably change character names mid-episode and no one, not even the actors would notice or care.

Actually, I take that back. Small Wonder would have been, with a sufficient amount of pharmaceutical products in your bloodstream, rather hilarious to write for, in a surreal way.

No totals to report, obviously. Spent a week up north in the frozen wastelands of the Upper Peninsula, six miles away from everybody's favorite strip-club-in-the-middle-of-nowhere, studiously doing nothing much except helping out with various chores, reading and eating.

Heavily featured on the reading list has been pulp detective novels, specifically Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest.  I'm a little in awe of it. It's fast-paced, to a point where it feels like the story is being flung at you from a machine gun. The writing is tense, terse and very funny. No spare words, no wasted verbiage. Any plot you need to know is fed you quickly and efficiently, via brutally effective dialogue. I can see why Hammett's considered a classic in the genre.

I can also see his Pinkerton service background as well, particularly in the echoes of MacParland that show up whenever he mentions his boss.

Fun stuff, in other words.

* For this blog.

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