It’s only been a week since I finished the rough draft of my book, and I am just itching to start the first revision. I resist with the iron will of a horny chipmunk….or something. I started another story and got through about 45 pages, but I keep thinking about my geeky fantasy story. How am I supposed to work on a modern comedy when I’ve got swords and shit just a click away?!
Yesterday I allowed myself to start a project related to The Book, as I’ll call it (I so clever). I did some research on conlangs, or constructed languages, which super dweebs make up so that their elves, dragons, and wizards can sound even more impressive dorky when they throw curses of doom at each other. So yeah, I started making up a language for the world my head keeps drifting back into. It’s filled (the world, not necessarily my head) with only sounds I like, such as both th sounds and more v’s and vowels than you can shake an elvish walking stick at. I’ve omitted those I’ve never found too aesthetically pleasing, like the nasty ch and qu sounds.
Creating your own language is easier than it sounds. It really depends how complete you want it to be. If you just need to be able to name things quickly, you could have a functional language within a few hours of creativity. If you plan on using an occasional verse written in the new tongue, you’ll have to devote at least a few more hours. If your inner linguistic/sci-fi/fantasy geek has got a hankerin’ to make up your very own vernacular, take a peek at Holly Lisle’s Create a Language Clinic. Hers is the easiest I found to sit down with and start cranking out usable crap. If you’re hard-core or just a special kind of crazy, there are some more in-depth sites to explore:
In other news, I wanted to at least prepare myself for my eventual slash-and-burn revision process, so I compiled my story (The Book) into one Word doc just to see what it looked like. I practically had to chew off my hand to keep me from hitting the print button, mostly just because I don’t have that much ink and paper at home. Instead, I put it on a flash drive and went to FedEx Office/Kinkos/whatever-the-hell-they-call-themselves-now, and had them print one bound copy of horse shit. It cost me $28. I wanted to run through the streets skipping with that thing when the guy handed it to me. I think most of it is embarrassingly awful writing, but it was so damn cool to see all those pages printed. Don’t worry–I put it away on my bookshelf, which was a bit of a moment for me. As I slid it onto the shelf, I thought, “someday soon, you’ll be a real published copy.”