So I’ve been brainstorming this dystopian not-too-distant-future thingy for NaNo. 50 years before my story starts I’m having the Y2K bug fuck things up, cos really, in real life it was a bit of a pussy. Hubby lets me bounce plots and shit off him as long as I don’t mention the man on man part of what I write ;) so I started bouncing.
He sits there at the kitchen table as I pace the floor, gesturing with my hands and losing track of my thoughts.
And he stares.
And I stop. And I stare back.
And then he speaks:
“Don’t be a wuss. Grow some post-apocalyptic balls and kill the fucking world! Fuck them up something good! Then let the survivors pick up the shit that’s left over.”
That’s about the gist of it. A wee pearl of wisdom from my darling husband.
Thing is, he’s completely and utterly right. I dunno whether it’s because I’m a girl, or because of my penchant for sticking as close to reality as possible or just that I’m a fucking pussy, but I do have a tendency to pull back from the cataclysmic shit. So I’m gonna fuck them up good. I’m gonna bring that cataclysm *nods*
*deep breath* I think I’ll be looking for lots of ‘bring that shit’ pep talks in November…