Seeking Pleasure in the Old West

So, I've gathered a great many books on the Old West to get myself in the mood a bit. One of these books has the same title as this blog entry. It's entirely about how people entertained themselves on the frontier, and I have to say it's wonderful to read.

One thing I notice, over and over, in the old photos is the freedom with which men used to display physical affection to each other without that being perceived as non-masculine or weird. It's not unusual to see good friends hand in hand or sitting with their arms around each other, and I think it's tremendously sweet.

One thing I don't want to forget, as I write this book, is that in the midst of what is a very large sort of story, this is a story about two guys who love each other like crazy in a purely heterosexual way.

The problem with me, basically, is that I'm a damned romantic and I really do earnestly believe that if anything can turn back the face of apocalypse it will be the love of one friend for another.

So there's that.

My outline continues to transform and the plot continues to change. The book is now so far removed from the antecedent ideas that I hope the people who were into the couple of pieces I toyed with won't be disappointed.

The main concern for me is that I need this 30,000 word piece to stand entirely on its own. I don't want there to be the need for more in order for it to have both impact and resonance. I worry that I may not meet that challenge. That's because I now have a much grander scope in mind for the story, and for its conclusion.

For years and years now, I have been fascinated with the idea that characters from long running series of books don't seem to age along with the times. Very little of this is usually made of it in the books themselves. You are just expected to sort of go along with it, and assume the characters live in a sort of omnipresent now.

In fact, we see the story of a kind of group of literary immortals. The stories that happen to them seem to freeze them in time and place, and the supporting characters of their life as well. I find this damned interesting.

This is the direction in which I've taken Silver Bullets. The immortals of this book are literary immortals. They don't die seemingly because their tale isn't over. There's more to it than that, but the society, such as it is, of these creatures is sharply divided on the implications of this, and on the nature of the story being told.

It's a complicated notion, and maybe not one that interests anyone but me, but I've been trying to tell the story for a long time. Since my fan-fiction days, in fact.

So, the story has taken on some internal philosophical momentum, which is good.

Also, I cannot lie, I plain stupid love Harry Parker. It's probably shameful to love your own creation as much as I love Harry. I fear desperately that people will think he's too Mary Sue. Or Anti-Sue. Or whatever they use to describe characters that are obnoxiously well-loved by their creators.

For my part, I love him because there is so little of me in him. He's enormously freeing to write about, and to think about because he seems to magically say and do things that are not of me. So he pisses me off, and he delights and surprises me.

I am in that camp that feels that his characters have a life of their own, and kind of do and say as they will. Some of them, however, do that more than others. Harry is one of those.

Anyway, I'm off on a ramble now, but if this blog is for anything, it's to talk and talk and talk about the process of the 3-Day. This is part of that.

So.