| Notes on Ian |
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an experiment in novel development The following notes are intended for the author in collaboration with himself in order to formulate characters. They are posted here for your perusal. |
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It's been a long time. Dear Ian. Sweet innocent, Sandy blonde-haired Ian. I am so grateful for this tool. I've created. No rules here. No rules anywhere. Ian's mother eats many pastries. She loves him so. Makes sure to tell him Jesus loves him, too. Calls herself Mama Timpson. Ian's last name, by the way.
"I signed a deal with the devil. Don't yah see. Only way'z my word'z could gets' out don't yah seez?," Ian said as his heart bled a deep bleed muscles falling toward the earth. Fools abound a wicked curse. I'll never return, it's not my choice. It's what must be glee, glee, glee, glee
Fuckin heaven can wait for my ills. Listen I've got these pills. Listen. Everybody they work real great, make me feel like JAke the Snake.
Ian sauntered off with his cumbersome legs dragging their checkered polyester paints through the icy mud.
Ian is a nauseating drunk. Sadly sick. Sick beyond what a mere mortal would no. Why his very soul is amiss is confusion.
"He was actually very sexy, Deon. He smelled divine. And made me feel altogether relaxed . . . What? . . . Yes, I'm not crazy," she smirks and her lips curl, "those panties are too expensive to dry . . . ugh, especially here. God knows what bacteria lingers in the lint!"
Lost at Sea, Ian:
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