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Origin Story

Origin Story

There once was a Perfect Being. The Perfect Being lived out his perfect life quiet perfectly. One day, after what felt like an infinity of perfect, and with nothing to compare it to, the Perfect Being grew tired of his perfect life.

The Perfect Being decided it was time for something new. The Perfect Being couldn’t carry on like this.

The plan was simple. the Perfect Being’s would be split into billions and billions of pieces. These piece would be other forms of life living in an imperfect universe.

As that universe, the Perfect Being would experience every walk of life, every high and low and every moment, good and bad.

The Perfect Being would be the sun that shone on the planet, the glass that grew on the planet, the animal that ate the grass, and the animal that ate that animal. They would give and receive every act of love or hate. All of it, imperfect.

When all this played out, the Perfect Being would be whole again, with a billion lifetimes to compare their perfect existence to. Or so the Perfect Being hoped. To perform this transformation they would have to die, not knowing if things would ever return to normal. No one had ever died before, that would be imperfect.

Anything was better than perfect. And so it began.

Going Into The Past (with the help of The Last Bookstore)

Going Into The Past (with the help of The Last Bookstore)

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Me and my step-daughter on our first trip to the last bookstore

The Last Bookstore is a used book store and, well, I guess, an art space. If not an art space, then it is a celebration of books. The two-story shop includes old and new books with fun art displays made out of mostly books. I went there this week as part of the Downtown Art Walk in Los Angeles (2nd Thursday of the month). They have a half dozen stores on the second floor which were closed on a daytime visit but a sign said they were open during the Art Walk so this month I got to enjoy them.

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The Last Bookstore

I only to the bookstore as I wanted to see the art stores, but since it houses so many books, including a room full of books that only cost a dollar, it’s hard to leave without at least one purchase. I managed to limit myself to two.

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The Last Bookstore Labyrinth

As I’m currently writing a comedy mystery I’ve been reading any pulpy, preferably silly, mystery novels. From Sherlock to Fletch, I’ve been working my way through all sorts of puzzling thrillers for inspiration, to make fun of,  and get an idea of genre expectations. At The Last Bookstore I found a book based on the 60s TV series The Man From Uncle. The characters I’m writing about we’re originally created for a web series which heavily referenced The Man From Uncle. For example. each episode of the show and therefore my web series had the naming convention of “The _____ Affair.”

I would watch repeats of The Man From Uncle all the time as a kid, not in an ironic way either, I genuinely loved the show. I haven’t revisited it as I’m scared it wont live up to the memory. It was in no way campy to me at the time, it was a fun and thrilling adventure. Today, a book version seems like a fine way to get reacquainted, since novels are the sandbox I’m playing in right now.

There are over twenty in the series (written from 1964 to 1968) and I picked out number 18, mainly because it had the most fun title “The Unfair Fare Affair.”

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I also picked up a copy of Charlie Chan Carries On.

I’m a Kindle man so I prefer to have a digital copy keep the shelf space, although I’ll probably donate this once read to keep my bookshelf thin, I appreciate having this original 60s book. It’s a little time-machine that show me what books were like back in the day. The back pages include an order form to buy back issues. You’d send off a cheque for 60 cents per book and mail it to them.

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Could someone direct me to the nearest newsdealer?

I forget that’s how people used to do business before the likes of Amazon. Just 15 years ago I remember being excited about having my first cheque book because I could buy things by mail order without asking my parents for help.

Oh how I am tempted to send off and order 46 years later and see what kind of a response I get.

First to Third Person: a guide

First to Third Person: a guide

Sometimes changing a story from first person to third person can be a bloody pain. The world view completely changes and it needs a complete re-write. Sometimes, it’s easy peasy lemon squeezy.

If the character’s voice isn’t any different from the narrative voice then it can simply be a matter of find and replace. For those occasions here is a helping hand.

Use the find and replace feature (control & F on Word) which is available in all the word processing software I use — currently Scrivener. Then change the following words:

I = Character name

We = They

Me = Character name

Us = Them

Our = Their

I’d= He’d

My = His

Myself = Himself

Me = Him

Don’t just replace all or you’ll replace the dialogue too. This will mean all the character’s will refer to themselves in the third person. That’s bad, unless the sentence is “Can you smell what The Rock is cooking?” Somehow The Rock gets away with it.

One last tip to is to search for the word with a space bar after it. So “me” becomes “me_” That way you skip all the words with me in the middle.

Be sure to give it a read and make sure it all still makes sense. I’ve actually been doing it manually so I can tweak the narrative voice as I go. Then when I finish a chapter I use the find feature to search for the replaceable words to see if I missed any.

Feast

Feast

Dad’s late evening shopping trips to Asda usually meant a nighttime feast. Seduced by the reduced aisle, he’d return with a bag of french baguette, tiger loaves and hedgehog bread. £1.09 to 29p, 80p to 25p, £1.20 to 68p.

Unpacking the bags at 10pm, the counter would be covered in speciality doughy goodness, all two hours from their expression date.

Although it was meant for tomorrow’s slightly stale packed lunch,  me and my brothers scoffed as much buttered slices as possible. The amount we were allowed, followed by the amount we could sneak.

We’d completely counter the discounted prices by gorging the extra bread. The next day we’d eat our plain lunches with no regrets, looking forward to the next time dad walked by the reduced aisle.