The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

The Romancier’s Guide to Netflix, Part I

Most of the books I read during the (first?) COVID-19 lockdown were textbooks. As in, non-fiction. Try not to hate me for that; I have always consumed a wide gamut of literature. Figured I should make the best of a bad situation, using the downtime to learn a few new skills. For the inevitable moments when I felt like banging my head against a brick wall, be it from writer’s block, the fate of nations or a particularly troublesome bug in some app I was building, it was Netflix to the rescue.

The other night I happened across some animated series from India (presented in the original Hindi with no dubbing whatsoever, which I appreciated) depicting the hypothetical wacky adventures of Ganesha as a boy. A kids’ show, obviously. But kids’ shows are (more often than not) the shit after a couple of bong rips, so I decided to check it out. At first I found Bal Ganesh endlessly fascinating. I was being offered a glimpse into what kind of Saturday morning cartoons I would’ve been watching had the Fates decreed I be born on a different continent. Subsequent episodes impressed upon me that this was exactly like one of those gawd-awful religious shows my cousins used to watch when they were kids (if you have never heard of Psalty the Singing Songbook, consider yourself blessed), only with a Hindu angle to it. Once it dawned on me that every episode of this series basically has the same plot, the fatal flaw in its premise became abundantly clear to me; a flash of insight which I immediately tweeted…


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

A Chekhov’s Gun Who Pumps Iron

In the second chapter of SILVER BROWN there is a character known only as Nielsen, who could easily be written off as a throwaway character upon his initial introduction, but gradually becomes more important as the story progresses. There’s a point in the narrative where the shocking truth about him is revealed. I’m currently editing said point, finding it a challenging task that calls for nothing short of a channeling of the inner bard…


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My inner bard is something like this, except with tentacles.

 

The Journey of SILVER BROWN

I Title All My Chapters

This is a practice I’ve been doing almost since the beginning. Bestowing every chapter in a written work with its own title helps to give it some context, methinks. The few words that comprise it can be used to comment on the general vibe of the chapter or give supplementary information, in a way that doesn’t interrupt the flow of the narrative.


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My chapters frequently go through several working titles before they settle on a definitive appellation. The chapter I’m editing now sees our heroes visit the top-secret lair of a powerful warlock on the island of ₪KLAVERIOS, who after several rewrites has evolved into someone vaguely like a hybrid of Morpheus (of The Matrix) and the character Q of James Bond fame, with maybe just a smattering of Glinda the Good Witch thrown in. This exhibition-heavy whopper of a chapter’s original working title was:

…AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT

After fully digesting this chapter’s innards and melding my consciousness with its innate atman throughout the editing process, the old title found itself abandoned like an outgrown shell. Replaced with the (somewhat) more cozy WHO IS THE TRAINER? It’s possible the original title might be claimed by another chapter down the road; it would probably fit the next chapter after this one like a glove.


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