Here’s the hot electric car I was talking about a few blog entries ago.
Here’s an open letter from my Significant Other talking about said car and why it makes sense.
A still-young Hollywood hotshot actor, who at one point in the nineties really was the hottest most celebrated young actor around, requested a Tesla for free “in exchange for promoting it”. (The company is selling off the first 100 cars for 100k each.) I told this with some amusement to visiting Canadian family members, who rolled their eyes and made exasperated comments about “spoiled!” but in Hotshot’s defense-of-a-sort, he’s been scoring deals like this (without even trying) ever since, as I said, he became SuperHotThing after a certain film came out nearly ten years ago.
But Tesla shut him down. “Tell him that this Famous Political/Hollywood Guy and that Famous Political/Hollywood Guy are paying for their cars,” they told him*. “Tell him that [this actor who is currently the biggest and most famous of all right now since he won his Oscar and basically became King of Hollywood] is paying for his. Tell him — and here I’ll quote directly from E’s open letter on the Tesla blog — When someone buys the Tesla Roadster sports car, they are actually helping pay for development of the low cost family car which is the company’s ultimate goal. It’s not like this is a cool new leather jacket or video iPod. That 100k gets plowed back into the company, into the development of cars the average person can one day actually afford. If Young Hot Actor Dude truly wants to save the environment — as well as drive a rare hot car that will win him a lot of attention — he should step up. Unless he’s been rolling through years of certain bank-account-depleting habits that, say, involve strategic sniffing in strategic places, he can certainly afford to.
I never really understood — or understand — writers who talk about ‘revising as they go’. I certainly understand line-by-line revising — polishing the language as you go, although I’ve learned myself to be wary of that, otherwise I’m polishing the first 100 pages for six months while the rest of the book never ever gets written — but for me, the essential first part of the revising process is revising for structure. This requires a whole complete manuscript to work with: you can’t hone and shape the beginning if you don’t yet know the finer points of how the thing ends, including the final line, final image with which you leave the reader.
I work off an outline, which helps, but my outline is a half-baked malleable thing, subject to its own reshaping as the writing of the book progresses; you carry an idea of the book in your head, but you don’t really know what it is until you write it all out. So there’s always that wonderful point in the revisions process when you see what the story really is, when it turns over its pale belly and surrenders to you (or, perhaps, a wise talented editor wrestles the damn thing onto the beach and turns it over and spits out water and gasps in exhaustion and exasperation, ‘See?’, and all of a sudden, you do). Then you know what to cut — I’ve never had a problem ‘killing my darlings’, I’m always happy and relieved to bash their little heads in — and what to keep and what needs further fleshing out; the story changes beneath your hands, settles and deepens. It’s immensely satisfying.
* Okay. Maybe not in those exact words.