I have an itch to write something lengthy. If you didn’t know, I wrote and published two stories last year.
I started writing about the first firm I was employed by, which was a spin off of Stratton Oakmont. It was a bucket shop and no I never did business there. I was merely enslaved for 9 months on its plantation and bore witness to insane things, much of which should make for good prose.
Here is a sample.
My second idea is continuing the story from Journey into Fear. But to be honest, I don’t feel like going through it now. My alternative idea is completely fictional, a novel about an Irish farmer swashbuckling his way towards stock market success in the most obscene of ways. I have in my mind how it might play it — but admittedly it might be a challenge for me since I’ve never written anything like that. That’s not to say I can’t do it. For the love of Christ, if I wanted to, I can talk about Joe Hamburger , who is plagued by sudden heart attack syndromes attempting to make his way in the construction business in NYC, constantly dying on his customers and workers, only to be paddled back to life in the midst of the job site.
“GET BACK TO WORK YOU BASTARDS. WHERE’S MY CIGAR?”
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Go total fiction..A future dystopian crypto currency trading world that runs on solar power, as carbon based fuels are now banned and watts of energy are regulated by the new SEC (Solar Exchange Commission) the market hours are based on hours of sunlight. “After hours trading” is called “After sunset”.
Cold calling has made a comeback with leads taking the form of traces of DNA gathered from the exclusive places of the wealthy in a Manhattan surrounded by 20 foot dikes. Privacy has been restored to the digital world, but DNA databases are available where every aspect of a person’s life can be researched. A savvy trader will swab handrails of robo-transport vehicles and use the data to sell the willing the latest “watt” based digital currency to run their daily allowance of warmth and nourishment.
Oh shit — I could have fun with a future dystopian world guarded by 20 foot lesbians.
Just don’t forget the oatmeal in whatever you write.
“The market was supposed to jog on lower, but instead catapulted up. During the lows of the session, I got my weave drawn into the market thru 3x inverse ETFs — and fucked as a consequence.” — TRADING (LIKE THAT) WILL NEVER MAKE YOU RICH
Maybe you could get this guy to blog for IBC. He could go by the name mini-Fly.
http://kunstler.com/clusterfuck-nation/coming-attractions/
Limericks, that’s where it’s at. There once was a broker from Nantucket………
I like your writing Fly, but that excerpt is terrible. It is too explain-y. You need to clean up the flow. Also, what exactly is a flimsy desk? Never seen one in my life. Even the cheap ones from 70’s classrooms were steel and wood.
“connected, gray and flimsy” -> “connected, cheap and drab/gray”
“The desks were not…and 98 desks” ->
“The desks were assigned on a first come, first serve basis each morning: there were 98 desks and 100 cold callers.” (your audiense already knows what cold callers are)
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
Ernest Hemingway
After the last line of a poem, nothing follows except literary criticism.
Joseph Brodsky
STFU.
Bergamot
TLDR