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See, I started a business late in September, and that has been crushing me. It's growing slowly, but "slowly" is the key word. So, it eats up a lot of time that could be better spent writing. It sucks every spare cent and every ounce of imagination and patience, and leaves you with a quirky stomach and numb. Makes you evaluate just what you're worth.
And then there's the writing... It's always so much a love/hate thing. Anyone who believes writing is just some storyteller hacking away at a keyboard and throwing a story together by the seat of his/her pants is vastly underestimating the process. Writing is hard. Very hard. We agonize over every word, and sometimes have to go back and cut all of those carefully considered words out. It's like breathing life into a creation, seeing it's flawed and cutting it to bloody shreds. Your baby. This thing you've worked so hard in every spare moment for, that you've sacrificed TV, movies, concerts, visiting friends, reading new books and family time for only to see it get stabbed, cut, shredded, erased, rewritten and tossed away a thousand times before a paying reader ever sees it.
Writers rely on other writers to help them see flaws, weak spots in plots, redundancies, inconsistencies, bad dialogue, cliches, grammatical errors and typos. Sometimes having them pointed out is like someone squirting lemon juice in your eye, but it's all part of the perfecting process--a process that is never done, but finally abandoned to submission.
We should have thick skin, but, the truth is, we're often far too sensitive. One writer's humor is another's insult; one unintended jab becomes a cause for battle. Friends become distant, acquaintances search for ways to avenge a perceived insult. We, who are so much a part of modern communication, seem to have a most difficult time making our feelings or intentions clear--before it's too late. Funny how we all have to be the ones to get the last word in, or to be the ones to express how we were more wronged. We, the people who ought to be observing and fair, forgiving and inclusive are the ones who can be most guarded and cold.
Did I say writing is hard? Very Hard?
- Mood:
melancholy
Well, I'm not dead. It turns out that opening a new business makes for a busy few months. There is still more running and investing we need to do, and we're waiting on another shipment of cards (which is supposed to be here today). Finally, business is beginning to pick up.
I got a review for my latest-published story: Purpose. http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?i
I'm onto my next short (title withheld for its eventual inclusion to WotF). I must admit I'm excited. But I usually get this way during the early stages.
I'll try and post more often.
Many of us support this cause already, with what we can, when we can. I know good friends who've been lucky enough to just lose a breast to this battle, and others who haven't been so lucky. James Maxey is supporting the fight in a special way: he's giving books to donors. Read more about his personal fight here: jamesmaxey.blogspot.com/2009/06/books-fo
Will you also step up. Click on the link. Donate, even just a dollar, to get us closer to conquering this enemy. Make a difference.
- Mood:
hopeful
I'm excited because it's moving along smoothly. I feared I wouldn't be able to make the necessary slashes, but it turns out I enjoy gutting words that waste space or are in the least confusing. Who knew? I've found places to use a different PoV, places where an entirely new scene must be added, chapters that can be cut in half or thirds (and create new chapters) and scenes that leave off incomplete. As much as it shows me where work needs to be added before polished, it also shows me that there are scenes that achieved what I wanted the first time around. It always nice to discover that.
The New book is trundling along fine, too. I will need to eliminate one thread, but that's okay. The consequences will be danger for my protagonist much earlier, and much more believable.
I'm currently reading an advanced reader's copy of Kevin J. Anderson's The Edge of the World. I have the privilege of designing a map for him, and it requires me to know a bit about the world. I couldn't ask for a better assignment.
As most of my close friends know, Kevin J. Anderson, Frank and Brian Herbert, and Steve Perry hooked me on Sci-Fi, and in turn KJA pointed me toward Orson Scott Card--which led to his website (Hatrack) and in turn led to meeting a great group of aspiring writers, both there and at Mike Munsil's Liberty Hall. This lead to getting published. So, not only am I a fan, I'm thankful, too.
As well as reading The Edge of the World, I'm writing steady. I'm slowly polishing APTW and my WotF entry, and advancing my current historical fiction project. My collaborator and I have had separate work interfere with our project, but it looks like that will crawl forward again soon.
I've learned that not only the voice yearns to be different with each work, but so does the style. Some stories beg to be 1st person, others 3PL, 3PO and Full Omniscient. They all have valid reasons for being used, despite what popular opinion might be. I've also discovered--for me at least--that if I have to force something, it's not right. That holds true for genre, style, PoV, voice and theme. There are, however, certain truths that navigate the advancement of any genre's story: Danger to the protagonist drives any story. The word danger can be defined as physical, mental, financial, romantic or imagined, and it still has the same effect--it causes tension. I've recently had reason o reexamine the level of danger my protagonists have. What I've found is that I can always add more.
- Mood:
contemplative
So much for more frequently, huh?
I'm working on another Writers of the Future entry. This time, it'll be done well in advance. I'm almost done with the first draft, and the next due date is 6/30/09. I usually rush to get something in on time, calling on my writer-friends to help with their critiques, and have only made honorable mention before. This quarter, I should have plenty of time to trim, patch and polish. I'm psyched about that idea. I'm using a different font than is preferred, but it's more comfortable on my eyes. I switch it to Courier 12 to check up on it--and I will to print it out--but the pages fly by this way.
The Historical Fantasy trucked right along until this story popped up. I needed some space from the heavy outline, anyway. I have an outline for the first book in a Pleistocene Era trilogy, and a bit on my Solomon Kane-type character. Also plans for my long-time fantasy series have begun to gel--I think I found my niche. I'd tell you, but then...
So, I'm finally coming out of an over two-week sick-spell, and I'm coming out writing. I hope everyone is enjoying as productive of a period.
I'll try to get back soon.
Well, I've been sick for two weeks now. Each week is a different set of symptoms. (It needs to stop. I need to get back to my cardio-routine.) Life's thrown me some flip-flops since I closed shop. I would have thought I'd bury myself in writing, but it hasn't worked that way.
So, I did finish the first draft of my Historical Fiction Novel. I have been threatening to start polishing it, but something has always interceded. I've written and submitted a few more flashes, too. I'm working steadily on a collaboration Historical Fantasy Novel and another collaborated work on the Dark Fantasy/ Horror line. I guess the good news is I'm working pretty steady, if not much.
Well, I'll try and update again, soon.
It seems my life balances good with bad, if balance it can truly be called. Every time something good happens, it seems that something bad (of equal or greater value) either paves the way or follows it up. Am I alone in this? Nah. Somebody else feels my pain. Christmas is usually my favorite time of year. I'm one of those lame people who enjoys kicking back under the Christmas lights on Christmas Eve, for nothing more than to stare at the lights. It is under their soft, multi-colored glow that I look back on my year and am truly thankful of how far I've come. This year, Christmas means scraping and digging and finding out if my faith is strong enough, because everything else is gone. The money's horrible this year, and we'll be rushing to get presents for our littlest one tonight. Only, I don't know where the money's coming from. It's ironic that I'm kind of living a piece of Pocket Change.
The Up-side. The novel's first draft is at the conclusion, 99,000 words in (397 pages) so far, and there's little (plot-wise) that has to be cleaned up. All of my beta readers (at least those who've commented) were positive. The collaborative novel I've been a part of has a growing rough outline, and it is getting deeper and more unique every time we work on it. (I'm a beta tester for EtherPad, and it's an amazing tool for collaborations.) So, it looks like I'll have something to work on while my Historical Fiction novel is cooling off. Given the nature of the HF novel, it also has a built-in sequel. I still have a few stories out to market, and I'm hopeful on at least one.
More bad news. As the time draws near for me to print of and send out my manuscript, I have no printer. A storm about two weeks ago--maybe a little more now--killed my work computer. With it, went my work printer--which I can't afford to replace--and I've long since lost the disc to the printer long ago. On top of that, our little one (the one I'm scraping together a Christmas for) shoved something in my home printer--and now it won't scan or anything! And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the abominable doofus (our family dog) hit a car. Right, he charged into a moving car. Thank God he is as thick as a bull, because he didn't suffer any wounds--that we've found. Fa-la-la-la la la-la la-la.
Well, Merry Christmas (or any of the myriad holidays that share this time of year) to all my friends, and here's hoping that your season is much better than mine.
The new Flash Fiction Online is up, and my story Pocket Change is in it. Of course I did all the art (except the classic flash, which is a photo). The votes are kept so unanimous at FFO that one of the staff readers (and voters) didn't realize I'd written it until I announced it on another site. That's my second pro sale.
My Historical Fiction novel is at about 80,500 words (about 322 pages), and I'm still diligently at it. It's definitely a learning experience. After a couple of hours of research, I learned that the brigantines and Square-rigged ships circa 1776 had actual brick hearths on them (with sand bottoms) for cooking purposes. I had thought they'd have Franklin stoves; many of the ships of the line did. I also find it interesting that, for as many records as the colonials kept, they have relatively little detailed information--and some of the smaller stuff (things they would have taken for granted) we're left to guess at.
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So, the wife bought a replacement bird for Luca. Same green, but no personalized beak (un-smashed). For a while, he had the upper hand, and it looked like he was taming Snowball...until we found him, too, dead. You'd think the murderess would be lonely by now.
I'm almost 50 pages into my Historical novel. It's tough, but I love it.
My collaboration is also developing new legs. My collaborator (cohort? partner in crime?) is polishing her solo project, and I hope it sells well.
Ans my last attempt for the WotF has decided it wants to br a novel, too.
Business is still booming, but I have the funeral of one of my best friends tomorrow. I've written a eulogy of sorts, but in these situations words never express enough.
I'll update as I can.
Meanwhile, I've been researching a Historical Fiction novel. In truth, the idea is for a series of novels which explores several generations of soldiers. The first novel arc begins in Lexington, Massachusetts on April the 18th, 1775 (Just before the first gunshots of the American Revolution) and ends shortly before the Battle of Princeton, New Jersey. I could see it becoming a trilogy about the protagonist's adventures (or misadventures) throughout the course of the war. Interestingly enough, the intended antagonist will not be a Redcoat, but a Loyalist.
On July 4th--as I thought it fitting--I began to write the story. It's been an uphill battle, in which I've learned little things I would never have considered, like the fact that barns had no haylofts until 1808. Who knew? How crazy is that? They had cellars... So, for every page I write, I find an alternate view, first-hand take, or dispute over the facts. It's funny how they kept records of what sheets were taken from whom, but not how long battles lasted, or what the towns were mapped out like. If only I could travel and research the actual site and towns--alas, but I'm only a lowly artist with a family, who I'm sure won't be interested (I drive them crazy with history already).
I'll try to keep this journal better updated, but it's busy season, too.
So, my wife was given three birds a month or two ago. A white one with a light blue on its lower back/tail feathers, a green one, and a green one whose beak had been bashed in by its peers when it was just a chick. There was a big dispute about what to name them (I voted for spicy, extra-crispy, and original recipe). They settled on Snowball for the white. Since the green one was in constant battle with Snowball, it was given away. The other green one, with the bashed in beak reminded me of the enforcer from The Godfather, Luca Brasi. My wife agreed, and the name was soon settled upon.
As time went on, we came to realize that, for all of her pristine beauty Snowball is a B*tch! She can't stand another bird sharing her swing, food, perch, etc. She defecates on anyone who picks her up, and altogether believes the world is her roost to rule. The opposite of Snowball is Luca, who is ugly but sings in lieu of squawks, and is an utter pleasure to hold. So, naturally, the ugly bird began to get all of the attention.
The other day, while my wife was out doing her morning errands and I was doing my aerobic workout, I realized that the cage hadn't been uncovered. I flipped back the cage cover, said hello, and went back to my workout. During my cool-down, Snowball was chirping like she normally defended her territory. So, I looked. I noticed then that I hadn't seen Luca either time. The first time, I thought he'd hidden behind the thrown-back cover. I looked closer. Then--it was like a scene out of the movie The Godfather, I noticed the body on its side, just under my eyeball.
I tried to call my wife and warn her, only to find that she'd left her phone behind. For a moment, I couldn't think. What should I do? Just then, the van pulled into the driveway. She was home. I met her in the at the van door; she was gathering bags to bring in. She looked at me, and I blurted out without thinking: "Luca Brasi sleeps with the Fishes."
"What?" she said.
I just nodded in reply. She ran in the house. I brought in the bags she'd left behind. Stoically, she'd already given Luca a Mafia burial (trash). WHere normally I'd expect tears, she just knuckled my arm and said (with a tsk-tsk in her voice), "Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes."
I'm glad she has as dark of a sense of humor as I.
Still no word on my most recent WotF entry--which is a good thing. I'm keeping my fingers crossed--as the blog postings of the Honorable Mentions appear--that I don't get the phone call asking for permission to post my name among them. When my call comes, it should be to tell me that I have won. {=^D
The story I'd been waiting to hear back on was bought! First sale, and at pro rates. Of course, it's under a pseudonym, so I can keep in disguise. }=^)
His principle stopped my wife in the grocery store and told her it seemed the part was tailor made for our boy. Indeed, it did. He hammed it up like a pro!
My wife lived it up a bit hard. (I'll receive dirty looks for this report.) Free of the kids--an abnormal state--and at her full vamipiric powers, she hit the bottle like she was trying to get inducted into AA. She appeared at about Two o'clock am. and informed me that she had enough shots. I smiled and finished what few words I managed to scribe, and when I turned back, it was to the door closing. Four o'clock this morning, she stumbled into the hotel room. Her true nature was visible (she looked like the undead). She hopped into the huge bed, and fell quickly asleep--for an hour. That was when the vomiting began. (Emphasis on began.) After an hour in supplication to the porcelain idol, she dragged herself back into bed, where she had the rest of the grave until close to check-out time. In her rush to pack the bags, her stomach revolted again, and she gave up more offerings to the porcelain god. (At which point she quoted every comedian on the subject: "I'm never drinking again".) It should've have stopped there, but, oh no, it became something of epic proportions (and recorded in the annals of excess for all time). We headed out to Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast. At the stoplight just before our destination, the van door popped open and she decorated the white-line. We crossed the street, pulled into the parking lot, and she exited the vehicle at a run. A few moments later, she tentatively ordered a coffee. We carried our food out to the van, and as soon as she opened the door, she did another mad-dash for the restroom. Afterward, we made it most of the way back to the venue before her teeth started sweating. (Here's where I departed for working the booth.) As she entered the building, she headed for the bathroom. Soon, she disappeared. She'd parked in nearly the furthest parking spot she could, and there spent the next several hours between dozing and...you guessed it. After the awards ceremony, we went out for our usual victory dinner at the Happy China Buffet. (I don't imagine the sight of baby squids and vegetables did anything positive for the maelstrom.) We're home now, and it's been hours since her episodic misadventures. She does, however, swear she learned her lesson.
Our return was to evidence that our oldest two either shouldn't hit the bottle, too, or that her episode may not be due to the culprit she suspected. Now everything's quiet and well, and--thank God-- she's feeling better (and the kids are too).
For better or worse, my entry is off. It's been an interesting journey this quarter. This story fulfill's a promise to my mother (who passed around my birthday last year). It's her premise, and it's taken me years to find a way to make it enough mine to write it. There's been mixed reastion from my critiquers, all but one really loved it (if only for the end). I've been more into the characters lately, and this story shows it. It has a slow start, but necessarily so, and shapes into a different story than the bordeline-cliche begins points to. I pray it does well, for all the wrong reasons (kind of). I'd like it to win mostly to really fulfill the promise (to get it in print). Since I have to wait until the snow's gone to fulfill her wishes dealing with her ashes, I'd like to send her off with extra honors--to do right by her for once. Keep your fingers crossed for me (prayers appreciated too).
Most of the critiquers read a first-draft, which was at a little more than 16,000 words. After 9 critiquers read it, I managed to smooth a lot of plot-points out and thin it by about 2 pages (roughly 500 words). Then my friend Jake (who is also editor at Flash Fiction Online) took scissors to its first three or four pages, and doubled that number. As usual, it took me a minute (hours) to see what great advice had actually been offered up. His cutting inspired me to break out my scissors. Thanks to Jake's trailblazing (and this credit is all his), I managed to trim over 2,000 words out! I'm finally happy enough to abandon it to the contest.
In Flash Fiction Online news: Four new stories, four new illustrations. This April Fool's issue is whimsical, to say the least. Even the Classic Flash is on the light side. (I wish Rod M. Santos had added another to the line-up, it's his forté.) This clutch of tales should elicit at least one chuckle. Jake's an eclectic editor, and I think his versatility really shows through in this issue. I have tried to keep up artistically.
In Tattoo news: This weekend, the crew and I are packing-up-shop to head out for the 17th annual D. E. T. S. (Down East Tattoo Show), in Bangor. Most of you know that I am an award-winning multi-medium artist, and that I have 147 at present for tattoos, 1 for poetry, 1 for writing and 3 for paintings. A good charge of them I've won at the D.E.T.S. over the last six years. This contest is the most important to me, because it is judged by Artists, Student Artists and an Anthropologist. For the past 3 years, I've broken records at this show: in '07 I won 12 awards, in '08 I took 17 (and was floored!), and last year I took 18 awards, and closed out (took 1st, 2nd, and 3rd) two categories. It was a humbling experience. I can't imagine beating 18, and it's a daunting prospect. So, I've set my sights on the number 3. Anything more is icing, but the show I thought would push me past 150 closed, and so I was robbed. So I'm aiming for my 150, but hoping one of them is the much-coveted Best of Show. I've collected 3 Best of Shows, but the one from D.E.T.S. has eluded me the longest.
Wish me luck!
Still no word on the submission I've been waiting on. (I'm hoping someone that has sway is reading these nudges. }=^] ) But, I have not been idle. The WOTF story I have been working on is of substantial girth--even with the trimming I have been at over the last couple of days. Two days until it goes off to California. Wish me luck. And good luck to all the others.
Still no word on my most recent submission. Hopefully that's a good sign.
I stopped in the beginning of my new WOTF entry. I had to rework some things. This story is one I promised my mother (Rest in Peace) that I would write. The problem all along was that it was working on a familiar--if not cliche--storyline. Inspiration struck when I figured how to make it original. Writing stopped because I hadn't thought the details out well enough. Hopefully, clarity will be visited on me today, and I will burn through the pages of this story.
Wish me luck. And good luck to all of you!
I have the second picture for Flash Fiction Online finished, and only one more is due before the new issue goes live. But, there is a special story this month--a story befitting the St. Patrick's Day theme--so there will be a holiday special. Not that I have much say, but I really pushed for this story. I liked the imagery my mind instantly created, and the humorous twist at the story's core. Hopefully, I can translate the mental image to paper. I also have an idea that I will slip a little twist of my own into the medium.
I have another short story out to market under a pseudonym. Other than WOTF, this makes my second real attempt. Writing for the WOTF competition helps you develop a number of skills, and the other entrants--who can be found in the WOTF forums--almost make a themed workshop. I'm hoping what I'm learning there and at Liberty Hall will hone my marketable skills, and help make me successful in the short markets.
Has anyone seen the movie Stardust? It enchanted me this past week. Had I more free time, I would have seen it in the theaters, but having it at home is much more beneficial. It's one of the best contemporary fantasies I've seen in a while. There is only one flaw in the use of magic (that is...one obvious lack of the pre-established cost) in the entire movie, and the cast is great. The novel it is based on was written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by Charles Vess. Now, I have a new book on the to get the kids list.
Well, I didn't win. I got a late Honorable Mention. Apparently, the reason that it was late is because my story was held aside; Kathy was winnowing on making it a Semi Finalist. Upon re-reading, I noticed a couple of errors glaring me in the face and wondered if they were most of what kept the story from winning. So, here I am debating whether or not to rework the beginning, clean up one plot point, and smooth out the prose (given I have plenty of time) and er-submit it there...or submit it do a different market. So far, nobody has advised me.
On the other hand, I have one illustration ready for the March issue of Flash Fiction Online. There is a story that I really pulled for that is going to be published in that issue--as a holiday special none-the-less--so I've got to work something special up for that. I already have basic ideas for the other two. Hopefully, I can manage to have them all done ahead of time--for a change.
I have another story out, which is under a pseudonym, that I have high hopes for. It's running the guantlet now. I submitted one piece (besides to the WOTF) last year. This is my first year aggressively submitting. If you can really consider it "aggressive".
