Yes, time for the next novel.
This one is quite a departure for me. It has absolutely no spec fic themes at all. Whereas as even Relick, which was a comedy adventure yarn, had religious fantasy elements about it, this one is nothing of the sort.
Spandex Dreams clocks in at 51000 words, and is a comedy story. Straight forward comedy.
It details the adventures of Tristan, a footballer kicked out of the game for being, basically, a moron, and who decides that professional wrestling is the best way for him to maintain fitness and keep in the public eye. Over the course of the book his attitude towards many things changes, and I like to think I have finally succeeded in showing a character grow in some way.
Most wrestling books and stories focus on one of three things: How great wrestling is if you’re at the top of the game; How depressing it is for has-been wrestlers (and the film The Wrestler is probably the best example of this, with a story so well written and acted I think it was seriously robbed at the Academy Awards); Or wrestling used as the back-drop for some tacky martial arts story (see Hulk Hogan’s deplorable No Holds Barred… or don’t. In fact, don’t. It’s crap.)
I like to think that Spandex Dreams tells of the lower end independent wrestling promotions in an affectionate manner. And while the book is written as a humourous one, I don’t think I put the wrestling down. And, for what it’s worth, I am really happy with this story. I like the characterisations, I like the action, I like the way the story unfolds. I think I didn’t do a bad job with this one. I like it.
Now, I’ve already detailed some of its rejections, but it received another one last week that I’d forgotten I’d even sent out, and it bombed out in another novel competition. Didn’t take long to be rejected, that was for sure!
SO… Rejection Total: 166+2 = 168
Anyway, that’s the next novel. The next one (number 30) exists at the moment as a 2-sentence precis, but it will be written as a part of my TAFE studies this semester. I am aiming for 40-50k words. As I am sort of steering away from spec fic at the moment, I might try and drag this one back in that direction… or maybe let it go the whole hog as a comedy. Not sure.
A brain fart.
That’s what I had – a complete and utter brain fart.
It was a brain fart on a grand scale.
One minute I’m running for the ball, the next I’ve thrown an opponent over my head and dropped a knee on his chest. I think he said something about my sister, a member of parliament and maybe a hamster, but I don’t remember. All that mattered was he said something that I, strangely, found offensive enough to physically assault him.
And the stupid thing is I don’t even have a sister, just a brother. And his relationships with members of parliament and hamsters is unfortunately well known.
Still, there’s no denying it caused a brain fart, pure and simple.
I guess if it had stopped there, I might have gotten away with a few weeks’ suspension, a hefty fine and maybe some community service. The football overlords are big on their community service – coaching underprivileged kids, giving lectures about not being silly to underprivileged kids, telling overprivileged kids to stop being arseholes towards underprivileged kids – as I have discovered more than once in the past when other minor, shall we say, indiscretions had occurred. It makes their money-hungry ignoring of the grass roots of their sport seem not so bad.
But the problem was, it didn’t stop there.