Updated: Oct 16, 2021
It's the weekend!
Got up at the butt-crack of dawn because Goose tried to smother me in my sleep. It's a novelty when his attempted murder is a surprise because he usually wakes me up first.
I appreciate his efforts to keep things fresh.
Last night, I started thinking about the two MCs for The Thing About Frankie, my romcom about a hitman who teams up with a burlesque performer to foil his own assassination.
At this super early stage in story planning, I don't go anywhere near the computer. It's all Post-Its and Sharpies as I flesh out basic attributes for each protagonist, according to these five categories:
I'll eventually do the same thing for every major character and to a lesser degree for minor characters. I mean, the details are vague and quite often quite hilarious at this point, due to the application of some very broad strokes.
I have a fair idea of what Frankie looks like in my head, but translating it to the written form may produce descriptions like 'reasonably breasted'. Ask me what this means and I'd probably have to use my hands. Oliver is proving more elusive.
After having my morning coffee, I put on a YouTube video on the art of burlesque while I busted out a quick 15-minute workout. This is for research, as Frankie is a burlesque performer when she's not 'smithing in her studio (she's a metalwork artist). She also incorporates her metalwork art into her performance. I'm thinking chain mail and armour. And a big ass sword she makes from scratch. It's gonna be HOT.
During the workout, I was reminded that my knees feel about a decade older than the rest of me and at least two decades older than my sense of humour (which stopped maturing at around age 20). Goose was sad I wasn't doing any yoga this time. He loves sitting on my bank during cobra pose and he's not exactly small these days. Ragdolls don't stop growing until about 2-3 years of age. He's just turned two and his belated 'chunkification' is well underway.
I'm thrilled. I like my cats hefty.