Laziness

What a lazy week I had . . . and this is actually stemming over from last week as well.  I haven't done much of anything, except sit around and stare at things on the Internet.  I did however contact the local music academy about a possible teaching position, but other than that . . .

I had hoped to have Dead Again all nice and tidy and ready for submission, but instead I chewed it apart and started anew; I'm still in favor of the introduction, but I decided to stick to a more simple third-person narration as opposed to the first-person/stream-of-conscious/dialogue narration I originally had.  Just look at the difference:

First Draft:

He would always come to Mackie’s every so often, boasting himself as he would burst through the busted door frame.  “Robert!  Not just a ghost!” he would announce.  “But rather a host; toasting from east to west to north to south the concerning and yearning for heaven . . . or the learning of burning in hell.”  I never understood what he meant by that; honestly, I think he was trying far too hard to sound intellectually stimulating.  He was an idiot, a goofy quack-nut, a bastard.  He would just go on and on about all these wild experiences he had, as if he was some other worldly explorer.  As if I’m not already dead myself?  Though, some of his stories were fascinating.

He would talk about murderers he stalked, whispering the names of their victims in their ear while they slept; he would tell us about the naughty secrets of politicians and celebrities, as if we cared about such meaningless soulful monstrosities of humanity; and sometimes he would just say he went and had lunch with Elvis.  But most of his stories were about what he really enjoyed: a good, old fashion haunting.

First Rewrite:

He would burst through the busted door frame, announcing himself:  “Robert!  Not just a ghost, but rather a host toasting from coast to coast the concern of yearning for heaven or learning of burning in hell.”  The atmosphere of Mackie’s was always different whenever Robert came to visit; there was a juvenile fascination whenever he shared his tales.  He talked about murderers he stalked, whispering the names of their victims in their ear while they slept; he would share the naughty secrets of politicians and celebrities, which some ghosts took a particular interest in, as if their vote still counted; and sometimes he would just say he had lunch with Elvis.  But the stories Robert loved the sharing the most (which were his best stories) were about what he really enjoyed: a good, old fashion haunting. 

I feel this narration is much tighter and flows better, not too mention it makes the rewrite/editing process a little bit easier . . . although it does imply that there will have to be yet another rewrite following this one.  Oh well . . .