J~ Can Write Good

B43 Writing Update

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 16:33:36 GMT

Rough word count for all Bush43 issues I have written and posted to date: 73,000
Rough word count for Bush43 #20 to date: 60,000
B43 #20 to date, including scenes waiting to be used: 74,000

Woo doggie, and stuff like that.

And I'm no where near done yet.

My Nanowrimo Project

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 17:41:52 GMT

I'm doing Nanowrimo. The story will focus on Isiah Rowe but will take place in the near future of the current AC universe so will be chock full of plot spoilers and such. Which makes me torn as to whether or not I should post it. If I do, it'll be friends only through jcanwrite (so buddy up now, folks). To make this more of a challenge, I'm going to toss in a lot of things to write about that I'll have to research. I'm going to try and take this seriously and actually do the research, not just on vernacular but on weather and technical stuff, you know, all the things I let slide in Bush43 and most of my AC writing (ever notice how no one in Australia actually uses any Australian slang? Weird how that happens...)

So, yeah, 50,000 words about Isiah Rowe involving stuff that hasn't even happened yet in the ACU. Should be fun.

Should I post it?

Character Development Profile: Isiah Rowe

Wed, 12 Oct 2005 20:14:58 GMT

A while back I mentioned starting a little series of articles on here called Character Development Profiles where I talked about how I went about developing original characters used in the Bush43 series. In here I'll look at what I was thinking when I originally came up with the character and what happened to make them who they are in the series today. You won't see one of these for EVERY character because, well, not every character has had to undergo changes over time. Just a few. Like this one.

***

Isiah Rowe is probably the most worked over character I've ever created. The character that made his first appearance in Anthology 2 #25 Bush43/Isiah Rowe "A Friend Indeed" started off as a complete stranger to Jeffery Carter and was first seen wearing a Bush43 mask.

Back when I started writing Bush43 I just got into this groove and churned out a ton of stuff that I still pick through and use to this day. A lot of plots and stories have been pushed aside because of the direction the series has taken after events like the Siege Engine or the New Mages. And, honestly, I think the new directions are better than what I had planned, so no big loss. That's the nature of the beast, as it starts to move and grow and become more interactive in the shared universe it adapts in ways I never anticipated.

One arc that was tossed aside was planned for around issue #5, before I worked with Jac to get Bush43 involved in the Siege Engine saga. The story started with Carter running into a mermaid lady and stopping some big Russian mafia shipment from going out of PC's harbor. This was followed by Carter finally sitting down and chit-chatting with Alfonse, something that does not happen in the regular series until Alhazred. This is where I first wrote the flashback scene that appeared in Bush43 #7 of Carter watching his parents die during the Imperial Magistrate invasion.

Carter also goes to buy a new mask at Al's Magic Shop, an interaction that leads directly to the scene that made its way into the A2 B43/IR story, but the whole thing works out differently for our hero:

I ran to Al's Magic, trying to catch it before it closed at seven. I made it with fifteen minutes to spare.

"Hey, Jimmy," I said as I walked into the door.

"Heya, Jeff," Jimmy Smitts replied from behind the counter. He was Al's son, Al being the owner and namesake of the place, and a good kid, just out of high school and not doing anything with his life. Like me, only a few years younger, a few pounds heavier and without the alter ego, at least, that I knew of.

I walked to the far wall where they kept the masks and searched to no avail.

"Looking for another Bush mask?" asked Jimmy as he walked up behind me.

"Yeah," I said, not seeing it.

"Just sold out." I turned with my jaw dropped. Out?!?!!! "Yeah, thing got popular real quick, sold five today. We're expecting more next Tuesday..."

"Tuesday? But that's five days away." I turned back to the wall.

"Yep, but that's what happens when there's a media push."

Media push?

"What?" I asked, turning back around.

"Yeah, didn't you hear? Bush43 finally made it big?"

Play stupid.

"Who?"

"Who?!?!!!" said Jimmy, looking shocked. "Not surprised, no one's heard of him until last night. There's some hero running around in a Dubya mask and he saved a buncha lives last night. He's been around for a couple months now but no one's been paying attention to him."

Saved a bunch of lives.

Media push.

I had done it.

I had made the big time.

Right when I didn't have a mask.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of him," said Jimmy, "considering you're in here every other week for a Bush mask."

"I just got them for friends as gag gifts," I said, using my prepared excuse. "Guess they have new meaning now."

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, well, if you're looking for another gag gift I have a few Dick Cheney and Laura Bush masks floating around."

Jeffery Carter purchases a Laura Bush mask.

So while running around that night and dealing with a lot of personal problems that hit him (the overall plot of the story moved a LOT faster in my first drafts), he suddenly sees something in the sky:

I rolled onto my back and looked up for a moment, freezing as I stared at the gut wrenching site that reflected off of the clouds above.

The state of Texas silhouetted off of the clouds as a spotlight shined brightly like a beacon in the night sky.

He had done it. The little round guy had actually gone out and made a Bush Signal.

Even though my mind told me not to, even though my gut told me not to, even though every fiber of my being told me not to, I started to hobble towards the source of the light.

Look familiar? This scene was used in Bush43 #13

But Carter isn't the only person to see the light:

"Hey, what a nice signal!" called a voice and the two of us turned to see another man climb onto the roof.

One wearing my mask, one wearing my suit, one just about to steal my name.

"It's perfect for Bush43!" said the newcomer as he struck a stupid ass pose that I guess was supposed to be heroic.

It was going to be a loooooong night.

And so ends that issue. Ah, but we haven't met our good friend Isiah Rowe quite yet. That the opening scene of the next issue:

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" I demanded of the guy wearing MY mask.

"I'm Bush43," said the man, looking to me, "and you must be Laura. Awfully nice of someone to dress up like my wife. We can have a whole Bush Administration Super Team!"

"Like hell," I said, stepping towards the imposter, "give me that damn mask, I'M Bush43!"

The man took a step back and held up his hands.

"Wait a minute, sport," he said. I hate it when people call me 'sport'. "I'm Bush43, I actually have the mask and a suit. You, on the other hand, have nothing but a Laura Bush mask and a t-shirt. And are those sweat pants?"

"I do believe they are," came another voice. I turned to see another man climbing onto the roof wearing a God damn Bush43 mask.

"Damn it, DICK!" I shouted, turning to Jimmy wearing a suit and a Dick Cheney mask. "Turn that damn light off!"

Dick snapped out of whatever daze he was in, moving for the first time since he had recognized me.

"Sure, Je..." he started as he turned towards the light.

"DICK!" I shouted. He looked back to me. "Alter ego." It took him a couple seconds, but then I think he got it.

"Right, 'Bush'," he said, then turning back to shut off the light.

But it was too late.

"What's the commotion?" said another voice as yet another person in a Bush mask climbed onto the roof. I turned to see two more fighting their way up the stairwell of the building and another coming over the roof as well. There were two more standing on a nearby rooftop, one of them looking to be getting the nerve up to leap across to this roof.

"Oh, shit," I said, running towards him as he ran towards the ledge and jumped. Most of the other Bushes on the roof turned to watch this man (who was obviously not me by fifty pounds heavier and missing six inches of height) try and leap from one rooftop to the next over a very busy street twenty stories below.

He was about halfway there when he fell like a rock. I ran to the ledge, bent my knees during the sprint, and jumped over the edge, not sure how I was going to save this guy, but sure as hell gonna give it a try, only to be caught in midarc.

I looked to the man who held the front of my t-shirt in his left hand and the Bush who leapt dangling in his right. I looked to his feet and noticed him not standing on anything. I looked to his face and noticed him wearing a mask.

My mask.

"Bush43 does not fly," I stated.

"He does now," the man replied, and I could see the smile in his eyes.

Ladies and gentlemen, Isiah Rowe. For the sake of total disclosure and my being lazy, I'll give you a bunch of the original story and let it speak for itself:

I stomped towards Dick as I was set back on the roof by that other Bush43.

First I have to get a damn Laura Bush mask for patrol. Then I get home to find my apartment burning. Then there's the freakin' Bush Signal. And NOW there's an army of nuts claiming to be me!

"This is all your fault," I hissed at him after I pushed past three Bushes who were trying to talk to Dick.

"Jeff..." said Dick, "I mean, Bush, Mister Pres... Christ, are you really him?"

"Yes, I'm really him, 'DICK'," I said, emphasizing the alter ego.

"How do I..."

"The Human Termite, Dick, you did a great job with that one, but I didn't need a sidekick then, and I don't need one now."

Dick gasped as he finally fully realized I was the real deal.

"Oh, crap," he said. "Sorry I ran out of Bush masks."

"Me, too," I said, looking around to the other Bushes.

Bush, Bush, Bush, everywhere Bush, all shapes and sizes, and none of them right, none of them me.

What the hell were they doing?

"So what's up?" asked one Bush of no one in particular.

"I saw the Bush Signal and came running," said another.

"Mean's there's trouble," said yet another.

"No," said Dick so all could here, "I was just testing it to see if it would work. Guess it did."

"Yes," said the Bush who could fly as he walked towards us, "I guess it did." He turned to the gathered crowd of Bushes. "You can all go home now, the city is safe in my hands."

"WAIT!" shouted a few from the crowd, but one voice coming through. "Who the hell are you? I'm the real Bush43!"

"No, I am," shouted another.

"Look," said the flier calmly as he raised his hands. "Can any of you do this?" he asked as he rose above the crowd's heads. Mumbled no's responded. "There."

"But Bush43 can't fly!" shouted one from the crowd, a chorus of "yeah"s following that up.

"But he is super strong," I shouted, "and practically invulnerable." I had their attention now. "Can any of you throw yourself off of this building and land on the street below hard enough to tear through the pavement and still get up and walk away from it?" I turned to the flier. "Can you?" I asked him. He lowered his head for a moment and then looked to me.

"Can you?"

"Damn right I can," I said, pushing through the crowd of Bushes and to the edge of the roof and then turning to them. "Don't try this at home kids," I said, and then I fell backwards off the roof.

***

"Someone give me a damn George Bush mask," I said as I came up the stairwell and back onto the roof. A bunch of masks were held out in front of me, ready for me to take.

"Wait!" shouted one of the Bushes who still had his mask on. "I can do that to!"

Oh, no.

He climbed onto the ledge as a couple of others did the same.

Crap, crap, double crap.

I looked to the Bush43 who could fly and he looked to me with a nod. I hope he was nodding because he knew what I was thinking.

"Look, guys," I said, taking a step towards them, "how about we just believe you and you step away from the..."

One of them leapt off, followed by another. In total, four Bushes threw themselves off the ledge and towards the street below. I turned to the Bush who could fly, but he was gone. By the time I had turned back to the ledge, there he was, a Bush over each shoulder and one in each hand.

"No fair!" shouted one as he pushed himself away from the flier. "He got to leap off," he said, pointing at me.

"That's because he's the real deal," said the flier, looking at me and taking off his mask.

Eight guys dressed up like George W. Bush took off their masks and threw them at my feet as I stood there in my t-shirt, sweatpants and Laura Bush mask and smiled.

Damn straight.

"Now what the hell were you all doing coming up here and pretending to be me?" I asked. A few of them looked away sheepishly while the others had to think for an answer.

The flier was the first to speak.

"Because someone had to respond," he said, standing with his arms crossed.

He was the cleanest cut of all of them, about my height, well built, probably a jock of some sort. The rest all looked like fanboys and geeks. This one looked like he had potential. And not just because he has powers.

He had the hero look down better than any of these guys.

Better than me.

"I personally figured that you might have been beat after last night," he said stepping towards me, "and I figured I'd lend my powers to your cause." He reached out his hand. "I'm Isiah Rowe."

I shook his hand.

"Pardon me if I don't tell you my real name," I said, and he smiled.

"Of course. I've been a fan of your work for a few weeks now." Another fan. "You saved my mother from a mugging. I felt the need to repay you."

Wow.

"Yeah," said another guy nearby, "me too! You, like, saved my dog and some stuff and..."

"Shut up," said another, shoving the first. He didn't fight back.

"Look, guys," I said, looking at all of them, "I appreciate this, really, and to know that there are people out there that care or whatever you want to call this, well, that's great. But for God's sake, what the hell were you thinking jumping off of buildings?!?!!!!"

No one looked at me on that one.

"Listen, go home and go to bed and when you get up tomorrow morning, mow the lawn, mow your neighbor's lawn, and then go guy a homeless guy lunch. You'd have done a hell of a lot more than I've done if you just do that."

Wow, that sounded damn good. Where's a reporter when you need one.

"Now get out of here and let me talk with my sidekick," I said, and I saw Dick's head pop up out of the corner of my eye.

"Sidekick?" he asked. Isiah remained standing while everyone else started to leave.

"Dick, unplug that damn thing and put it away," I said, gesturing towards the Bush Signal. "And, I swear, if I ever see that thing light up again I'll break it."

"Yes, sir, Bush!" said Dick as he ran to the light.

I bent over and picked one of the Bush masks at my feet. Isiah stood behind me as I took the Laura Bush mask off and tossed it to the side.

"You're like everyone else, aren't you?" asked Isiah behind me. I turned around after I got a mask on, happy to be in my second skin once more.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're normal. I mean, beyond your powers and what not, you're prefectly normal. You probably have a regular job and a shitty apartment with expired food in the fridge just like everyone else."

"Yeah," I said, not really knowing where this guy was heading.

"That's refreshing," he said with a smile. "Normal guys can make a difference."

"I'm not sure I'd call this making a difference."

"What? Being a hero? Of course it's making a difference. You're stopping crime, you're saving lives. If it weren't for you my mother would be dead right now. Maybe hundreds would be dead from that guy last night. You saved them."

Isn't that heart warming?

So Isiah Rowe was born. In name at least. But these issues were shelved because of plots and stories developing in a different direction but Isiah was still bouncing around my head. Part of it was because Jac liked the character after I shared these stories. I kinda did too, even though he was just a shell more or less. There was nothing to the character at this point, just that he could fly and thought highly of Bush43.

But I was also facing character development issues elsewhere at this point. This time with Jeffery Carter.

The way the Bush43 series developed worked out pretty well in that I started with the mask and only the mask. You get the rookie hero going out and having a good old time. You don't even get his name until issue #5 (well, part of it in #2, but full name in #5). There is no man behind the mask at first, you are forced to get to know the hero and his actions but his motivations, his life outside the mask, I keep that a secret for the first few issues. Then it starts to come out.

Well, in the process of building Jeffery Carter's life I realized the man had very few friends. Actually, NO friends at first. Which is okay on some level, not everyone has a million friends and if he was spending all his nightlife jumping around on rooftops he wasn't about to go out and make more. But, given that he'd grown up in Pacific City and was an American in a foreign land for all that time I figured he should have at least one good friend that he could call on in times of need.

I started to write some sort of sappy flashback scene for a potential Bush43 story in a sorta letter format. Once I started going on it I realized it didn't fit Jeffery Carter at all. At least, not as I'd presented him up to this point. But what if I changed the scene and had it from a pal of his remembering instead?

That was the opening scene to A2 #25:

You probably won't remember that day, but I do, just like it was yesterday.

That tree behind my uncle's place where we used to go spend a week every summer since we first met when we were five. Every summer an entire week in that old five-room place in the middle of nowhere with nothing but fields and a stream and a lone tree to keep two young boys busy. And it was more than enough.

Especially that tree.

I think it's still there, though I'm not certain. Last saw it four or five years back when I went to help my parents clean the place out after Aunt Jean died.

And, you know, I had kinda forgotten about it until then. The years will do that, make you forget things that seem so important then. And right when it's almost gone forever there will be one thing, just one little thing that pulls it back out, reminds you, replays it, makes it seem so recent, so real.

I must have stood on that back porch for ten minutes staring at that tree.

The tree we used to climb and hang from.

The tree that started falling apart when we were ten.

What a way to discover how feeble such a large thing could be.

It was huge to us back then, enormous. Its roots must have reached through the world and if we climbed to the top we could have touched the clouds. It was invincible, it was immortal, that tree. And we'd climb it and conquer it and spend all week in it. Such an amazing tree.

Until it splintered.

And there you were, hanging from the branch by your legs like you would always do, swinging back and forth. And me, climbing up to join you. And the branch, giving way.

And you fell.

The ground at the base of the tree was not soft, was never soft. Not even during the rains would that ground soften. It might as well have been rock because it practically was.

They'd always said you had a hard head, they just never knew how right they were.

You bounced. It was the most sickening thing I ever witnessed. My best friend, falling head first, and then bouncing off the ground. I didn't think it possible. No one would ever believe me when I'd tell them.

But you know all of that already.

I screamed and hollered and clamored out of the tree, lucky to not fall out myself in that fit of panic.

And at the bottom of the tree you sat up and rubbed your head. You sat up. You moved. You spoke, said "ow". You were alive. You were unhurt.

We chalked it up to luck.

We always would remember it as nothing more than luck.

And you've probably forgotten.

But I haven't. And now I know it's not luck.

Switch the "I"s and "you"s and you have how it was originally.

I needed a name for this friend I started to create, though. And maybe I was in a creative glut or feeling lazy, but I just mined the work I'd already done and dug up the one guy I had yet to introduce but still seemed to resonate with the two or three people who had heard of him.

Isiah Rowe.

But I didn't want him to fly. What good is that, really? No, I wanted to make this guy interesting. Something that kinda fed into the sappy nature of this opening scene.

What if he could read minds? But not "read" read them, but pick up on the electrical pulses in the mind and read those? It's like, instead of seeing the images, he sees the pixels and has to be able to read those to see the image.

Neat, huh?

And so Isiah Rowe as he is now known and loved was born.

There were times where I thought of tweaking him more. What if he worked for Lansing Technologies? Things like that. But, no, I think right now he's in a good spot, buddy and support for Carter. Low key yet still a big role.

We'll see what happens to him in the future.

Isiah Rowe's Appearances in the ACU (There may be others):

- A2 #25 - Bush43/Isiah Rowe "A Friend Indeed"
- Bush43 #11 - "A Pox Upon Thee"
- Bush43 #16 - "Wannabe" (By James Queally)
- Bush43 #18 - "Hide And Seek"
- Bush43 #19 - "Tug"
- Bush43 #20 - "Public Relations"
- Shadestalker #12 - "City Slickers" (By James Queally)

Bush43 Scene Preview 3

Sun, 09 Oct 2005 23:08:32 GMT

Another scene I've had written and just typed up. As I normally say, if you want to wait to see this, go ahead (though I may not really use it) but if you're willing to take a peek or willing to give me some input (please?) then have at!

***

The knock on the door got my attention and I turned in my seat while Romanov told whoever was on the other side to enter.

Speak of the devil.

I shot Romanov a glare as I stood up while Officer Michael Self opened the door and came in.

Romanov remained seated.

"Glad you could make it, Officer Self," said Romanov as Self stopped a few feet from the chairs in front of Romanov's desk.

"You said it was urgent," said Self without looking at me. "But, please make it quick, I've got work to do."

"So do we all." Romanov gestured to the chairs and Self and I sat down. "Mister Carter was just filling me in on your

adventures last night, officer."

Romanov let that hang. Self didn't move, just staring right at Romanov.

I cleared my throat.

"And I was also just saying," I said, "that the city would be better served by letting the police keep their new equipment."

I looked to Self who finally looked at me. "But that you keep future dealings on the level."

"Unfortunately," said Romanov, getting our attention again, "Mister Carter does not run this city. I do."

"Everything we received last night is already being distributed to people in the field or put into service," said Self.

"Get it back," said Romanov. "All of it. I want it back and I want it destroyed."

"No," said Self.

"Have you read this morning's Globe?" I asked Romanov as he had opened his mouth to retort. "Front page is all about this

shipment, Erlend. I came in to a stack of messages from people wanting comments and answers from us.

"This can go one of a few ways. The public knows this is here, that the police now have it. But they don't know where it

came from or who paid for it. So, we can be the really bad guys and turn on the police, which will kill us in the public

eye..."

"I don't care," said Romanov.

"Or," I continued, "we can ride this out, say that yes, the police are now equipped and we are happy that they are, that now

they can do their jobs, that we want them to have this equipment. Or we can 'no comment' ourselves to death."

"Or we can confiscate these illegal arms and remind you, Mister Carter, who runs this city." Romanov never raised his voice,

just stared at me.

"We will strike," said Self.

Romanov shrugged.

"No big loss," he said as he reached for his pack of cigarettes.

"Which would you rather have, sir," said Self. "A well armed police force working under your administration or a well armed

police force working against your administration?"

That gave Romanov pause and the smirk disappeared from his face.

"You are in no position to threaten me, Officer Self."

"Not a threat, your honor, just a statement of face. That equipment is now in the hands of the officers that need it and

they aren't just going to give it back. If we strike, we take our guns with us. If you want that equipment, you're going to

have to come and get it. Very publicly."

"And," I chimed in, "I believe the world seeing what would amount to fighting in the streets between the police and those

loyal to you is going to get this city a lot of attention you don't want."

Romanov lit his cigarette and took a long, slow drag off of it, his eyes glaring at me as he blew out.

"The police work for us and with us, Erlend," I said. "They are not our enemies here."

"The question here is not who our enemies are," said Romanov, "but who our friends are."

He continued to glare at me so I knew exactly what he was saying.

"The police are here to protect the people," I said. "You say you want to protect the people, this is the best way to do

it." I gestured to Self to emphasize my point. "It's what the people want."

Romanov narrowed his eyes at that comment.

We all sat in silence for a few moments, Romanov the only one moving, bringing his cigarette to his mouth for another drag.

"Officer Self," he said, his eyes still on me, "you are to contact whoever is distributing these supplies and tell them to

cease while I make up my mind on the issue. And they have ten minutes from now to do so. If I find that even one bullet is

moved after that, I don't care how hard you resist, I will purge this city of every weapon no matter what the cost. Am I

understood?"

"When should be expect a decision?" Self asked.

"When I have one. Go."

Self was on his feet, gave a stiff nod to Romanov and left without another word, leaving Romanov and I staring at each other.

Romanov leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette as we once again sat in silence. I broke it.

"I want you to give Nancy a raise," I said, leaning back in my seat as I realized I had been sitting on the edge of it.

"Take it out of my pay if you want, but she really deserves more than she is getting. I swear, that woman could run this

city single handedly if you asked her to."

"Does someone close to you have to die before I get my point across, Jeffery?"

That caught me off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Because it has become quite obvious to me that you fail to understand what I am trying to do here." He pushed himself to

his feet and came around the desk. "You seem deadset on defying me at every turn and I just can't seem to get through to

you.

"And since you seem to care so little about your own personal safety, perhaps it is the safety of others that needs to be

addressed."

I was too shocked to speak.

"Perhaps you need time to think this over, Jeffery," said a new voice, a new face as Erlend Romanov was suddenly Anna

Romanova.

"Take the day off," she said, walking behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders, massaging. "Relax a bit. Spend time

with your friends, with your girlfriend. Think about what's important."

She stopped robbing and I heard her move, her breath on my ear, her lips nearly touching it.

"And let's not have this conversation again."

I pushed myself out of my seat and turned to her.

"Letting these officers keep that equipment will go a long way to making sure of that," I said as I straighted out my suit

coat.

"And if you are anything less than a guardian angel to those I care about..." I said as I locked eyes with her, glared at

her, felt my anger showing.

But I paused, not sure what I was implying, what I could really do.

Romanova sensed it and smiled, laughed and came from around the chair, reaching up and putting a hand on my cheek.

"My, how our little Jeffery has grown."

She pulled her hand away and walked past me and back around her desk.

"The police, acting on a tip, will raid the apartment of Cassandra Trellis this evening and arrest her for the crimes she has

committed as 'Typhoid Mary'."

I remained silent and just glared at her as she lit herself a new cigarette.

"This raid will be covered by the Pacific City Post and be in the paper the next morning."

She smiled at me.

"I will then ask you to submit your resignation."

"And your administration will be ruined," I said.

"The people will be getting what they want, Jeffery. Police enforcement against science villains."

"People will wonder how the Mayor allowed this to happen or, worse, why Ms. Trellis was apprehended so shortly after I

personally funded a resupply of the police, information I will gladly provide the public in a series of interviews after you

fire me because I will not be resigning."

"You didn't fund that resupply, Jeffery," said Romanova with a large grin. "Bush43 did."

"Bush43 was the contact between me and the police. He set it up, I paid for it."

I let that sit for a bit, but her smile didn't waiver.

"Let the police have their equipment, leave my friends alone, and all of this will work much better for you."

"Sounds like you spent a lot of time rehearsing this, Jeffery," said Romanova, tapping ash off her cigarette. "Here's a

little reality check." Her smile was gone.

"I run this city, not you. And I couldn't care less that you think or want to do. I have indulged you to this point because

I had hoped you would get it out of your system. Instead, you've continued to overstep you bounds time and time again.

"So put yourself in my shoes, Jeffery, and tell me, what would you do here?

"And don't say you'd let yourself do what you will," she said as I opened my mouth to speak.

I granted her a smirk and nodded.

"To be quite honest, I'd probably have killed me by now."

Her grin was harsh and predatory.

"But," I said before she could respond, "that would be based off of what little you know I've done.

"Anna, I'm picking my battles here. There are things the people want or even I want that are against your philosophy or aims

but I don't push it.

"The people want a city council, they want a new commissioner, and while both might benifit the people in the long run, it'll

create conflict and gridlock in the short term and their actual needs won't get met.

"Letting the police do their jobs, actually giving them th emeans to do so, is harmless to you and goes a long way to

pacifying the public."

We both stood in silence as she smirked at me and I nervously clenched and unclenched my fists.

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration," Romanova finally said, turning from me and walking to the window behind her

desk. "I want you to take the day off to think about what's been said here today."

"I've got work to do..."

"It can wait," she said with a glance over her shoulder. "Go home, Jeffery."

I turned to leave and had opened the office door when something dawned on me.

"The Globe is percieved as having an unfavorable view of us," I said to Romanova who just stared out the window. "Going

after Cassandra is certaily not going to look good from that angle either."

"Go home, Jeffery."

"Yeah," I said softly.

At least I tried.

And I closed the door behind me.

B43 stuff

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 01:25:37 GMT

Typed up a few scenes I'd written out over the last couple weeks. 2200 words worth of stuff to be used in the next arc or so. I'll probably share later but I've got to run now. Just wanted to say "Look, progress!"

Coming Soon To "J Can Write"

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 15:50:29 GMT

So I just thought of a good way to put jcanwrite to use: Character Development Profiles.

I'm going to discuss the process through which original characters I've created came to be where they are. I mean, the more interesting ones at least. I'm going to start with Isiah Rowe because there was actually a lot of work put into the character early on in that he is no where near who he was in my first draft. I hope that it'll be a nice insight into not only the way my mind works these things out but also the process of trying to create a well rounded character that resonates on some level with readers. (Wow, I think highly of my shit.)

But, I wanted to give a heads up because, well, I want to invite you all to request Profiles. Are there any characters I've developed in Bush43 or ACU or even my fanfic that you want to know more about or about how they came to be who they are or anything like that? Make suggestions, what character do you want to get into the nitty gritty details of? Cause that way I don't have to work too hard in figure out who to do next.

Writing Exercise

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 17:55:20 GMT

Writing Exercise

Here's one I'm making up and I hope others will join in. It's to help me get back into the groove of writing and maybe prepare me for Nanowrimo. We'll see.

So I've grabbed a random novel off of my bookshelves, turned to page 184 and given the first sentence of the fourth full paragraph. Now write a scene that opens with that sentence. There's no time limit or length requirements, it's just to challenge myself and maybe you (if you're up for it).

Today's book: Western Swing by Tim Sandlin

The Line: The body was still there when my eyes opened.

Update: Use MY sentence. That's the challenge. Don't go digging up your own book. I mean, unless you want to. But try and use what I found, that way you don't know the context and can come at it fresh. I'll share the scene this came from later, like, tomorrow or something.

The body was still there when my eyes opened. I had hoped it was a dream. I had hoped. And after everything, Hope was gone too.

"Shit," I said to no one in particular, though maybe I thought someone would hear, as if that would solve the problem, excuse it, do something.

Maybe Hope hadn't left me yet. No, she was still around. Mocking me.

And I deserved it. I'd been riding on Hope for years now.

I crouched down next to what was left of whoever this kid was and reached out to grab his arms in an attempt to get him up when the son of a bitch coughed.

I was quick to my feet as he started to hack and convulse. Bastard wasn't dead.

Is that you Hope?

I shrugged my shoulders and leaned over, picking up the aluminum bad with a dent in it, with blood on it, with this kid on it, and I brought it up over my head.

And I brought it down on his.

And I brought it up over my head.

And I brought it down on his.

Over and over and over. And so on.

I stopped well after when the kid ceased to have a head, well after the aches in my arms and lungs and body told me I should stop. My arms went limp, the bat falling to the ground, bouncing off the concrete, the sound echoing through the dark alley.

"Was it worth it, Frank?"

The voice floated through the night air and into my ears, a sweet siren song I had never been able to build up a resistance to.

There's still Hope yet.

"You tell me," I said, not bothering to turn to her, not bothering to take my eyes off of the mess I'd made of what at one time was a person.

I felt her eyes star at the mess she'd made of what at one time was a person, burrow into my back, burrow and dig and search for a way out on the other side. If looks could kill.

"He was just a kid, Frank."

"So was I."

"We were both kids, Frank. But we grew up."

"You never changed."

"You don't have to change when you grow, Frank."

The harsh click clashed with her smooth voice, creating it's own little subplot to our conversation.

"So this is it," I said more than asked, a smile spreading across my face as I turned to her, turned to look into her eyes, to avoid the gun that extended from her hand like a letter, a message, a delivery, C.O.D.

"It didn't have to end like this, Frank. You could have just left…"

I cut her off with a chuckle, a dry laugh empty of humor, empty of life.

"We both know that's a lie."

"You don't know shit, Frank."

She couldn't even cuss right, not with a voice like that, coming from lips like those, coming from a body like that. Her blonde hair pouring over her shoulders, her blue eyes like ice as they glared, as they sighted, as they aimed.

"I know that that's my gun. I know you can't shoot worth shit."

Brother, was I wrong.

The roar of a dragon, a spat of fire, a flight of lead.

"You don't know shit, Frank," she repeated herself, and I wasn't about to argue as darkness came to me as I embraced the floor below me.

Yeah, like J~ needed another home on the web...

Sun, 18 Sep 2005 16:50:27 GMT

Well, everyone else was doing it, so I figured I might as well do it too. Yes, I've drank the "writing specific LiveJournal" Kool-Aid and I've started, well, a wrtiting specific LiveJournal. Sure, LifeofJason was originally going to be my writing journal, but as the last few months have shown, I've kinda turned it into something more personal. And instead of paying money and creating filters so I can post in different categories, I'll just start a new journal!

So what is this for? Well, I'll talk about writing. Not just my writing, but the craft of writing at times. I'll talk about editing, not just being EiC of Artifice but the process I use for editing stories. I'll post stories. I'll do all these things and even sell you a nice piece of swampland in Florida.

Yeah, so I have no idea what exactly this will be like. But it's a start.

Welcome, and watch your step.