About Completing Silent Hill: The Manipulated Dead
by Elliot Bowers
This amateur novelist finished writing yet another Silent Hill practice novel… Well, that's not fully accurate. I actually finished the raw typing on the last chapter some time last week. Don't ask for an exact time; sleep deprivation plays drunken Hell with one's chronological perceptions. And don't say that I use "big words," either: The young 'uns at my places of academic toil re-state that complaint too often! Yes, AngelicaA, that includes some of your fellow students. What are they teaching you all at that new school anyway? The buttoned-down white shirt is off, my sleeves are shortened, and now comes time to yell about it all! Let's rock; this how I roll.
There are an awful lot of things for this amateur novelist to be anti-happy about. Darned tootin', I'm an amateur novelist! That means my time is track-lock dedicated to writing full and proper novels. This does not mean plunking away at piddling nothing-little short stories that cater to short attention spans. This also does not mean entering an altered state of consciousness and diddling out some vaguely rhythmic phrases to call it poetry. It means doing what real and proper writers all ought to be doing: writing nicely sized volumes that take readers on journeys while giving them full thematic meals along the way. I am here to do the real deal. And to anyone who can't even fake the funk long enough to do the same at least once in your life, it is too darned bad, gosh-darn it!
This guy at this keyboard can't even stand short stories any forking more. When folks leaf over hard-earned currency to buy a game, a DVD-movie or—dare I say—a book, they are not going to want something just to while away a piddling fifteen or twenty minutes. Everything commercially available is supposed to be bigger, better and in more quantity. With DVDs, one expects at least a ninety-minute romp—not including all the cutesy extras that the cheap-butt movie studies wanted to stop including a few years back. And games are not games unless they have over six hours' worth of gameplay. Chunk on the idea of some game industry folks of demanding no less than twenty hours' worth of time, and you just may see where the sidewalk is going—not where the sidewalk ends. Likewise, when one boots up the net-surfing machine and sits down to do some reading, one should not get a haphazard page or ten. We want more, because more is more.
So if you're going to write a story, dang-nabbit, it had better be of proper duration. What is proper? Proper would be more than forty thousand words. Better yet, best yet, make that tale over 200 pages in length—double-spaced in a Times New Roman Font, one-inch margins all around. Oh, by the byway, don't even ask me to review anything under forty thousand words unless you're a student at one of my schools! It's no more forking short stories for this dude. Even more by the way, this does have something to do with me adding to the amazingly long roster of writers who have dedicated novel-length talent and time to making yet another Silent Hill work.
What does this have to do with this latest tale about our beloved Alessa-Heather-Cheryl—the character widely and succinctly known as Heather? It's all about youthful angst and anger, struggle and troubles, frustrations and flibbertigibbets. The character Heather has it real hard in life, the way I have written it. She had this somewhat crummy job of working a bookstore and barely paying her half of the rent. Then some nightmarish mess from her questionable past begins intruding on her life. And here I am as a struggling amateur novelist in trying to hold things down—me being someone in the 18-35 aged bracket, somewhat fresh out of college and the military… I've got frustrations, and so does my version of Heather. In my country, anyone aged 18-35 is having a Hell of a lot of challenge in getting started in life. Who doesn't?
What the Hell kind of struggle could this amateur novelist have to deal with? That is, what could possibly be as bad as having demons and crazy cults try to pull your life into Hell? Why not try—again—the annoyances, frustrations, and downright stupid things that an amateur novelist has to put up with: stuck-up professional writers who hate amateurs (such as Anne Rice not quite appreciating us folks), fellow amateurs who hate following the basics of written English, and the fact that even the professionals of the publishing industry steadfastly refuse to respect any one set of standards other than their own anal-retentive and Ivory-Tower beliefs that sometimes end up being flat-assed wrong anyway! Those are the demons an amateur novelist has to deal with—and more!
Of course Heather has it tough. Heather is an American…sort of. Heather is also in that oh-so-squeezed 18-35 aged bracket that is having such a Hellish time economically and sociologically in getting by. Yup, there I go with those big words again! Well, deal with it. Just as my interpretation of things would have a real-life Heather struggling and scraping to get by in life without proper documentation, we should all struggle a bit.
Or maybe reading my work was a struggle? For those of you who bothered to read my work, and for those of you who have computer knowledge, I am giving you a little something to use in the PC version of Silent Hill 3. Yeah, this amateur novelist is a sort of game addict. It beats being a drunken alcoholic—as are many writers. And it is cheaper. Go here to get a package of goodies. And if this link doesn't work, e-mail me or something. This is something to make the Silent Hill 3 experience last a wee bit longer.
http/ eliotbauers dot tripod dot com forward-slash sh3modtool.zip