Been a fun week for many of us; my day job has kept me up to my sideburns in conference calls and emails and the like due to the winter storms, blizzards, ice storms, and potentially lethal corporate human resources business decisions. To be honest, I've spent the better part of my week shaking my head at the power of corporations, and governments. I could say more, but that would risk violation of my code of business conduct at work. Just one more reason to strive for self-employement, I guess.
Worse than the impact to actual time I would have rather spent writing, it's kept my mindset so focused upon uncreative endeavors that it's requiring substantial effort to wrap my brain back around my author tasks.
But it reminds me of sleep. (warning: analogy follows!)
I have a certain knack to fall asleep on a dime. Like, just shut all systems down and be deeply REM-ing in moments. It's not like I'm narcoleptic; it's a conscious state of deep mental relaxation that permits me to slip almost effortlessly into a rest state. But this ability is a learned one, not a natural gift.
The key to it is building a practiced habit and series of "triggers" that my mind recognizes as a buildup to slumber; visualization, a particular playlist on my iPod, laying in my bed with a nice book, that sort of thing. As my mind notices these elements, it just slips right into sleep. Clockwork, baby.
The curiosity I have is how to train my brain in a different way, as well - how to train it to put myself into writing mode. I've tried using other playlists on my iPod, that sort of thing. It's becoming easier now than it once was - I tend to be easily distracted - but this week has been fairly all-consuming, and I'm struggling to get back into my preferred mode.
The big thing that weighs upon my shoulders is the fact that my day job - as a crisis manager for a major telecommunications company - requires me to be on-call 24/7. This includes setting up and hosting conference calls, email correspondence, or just being a central point of communication upstream and down in the middle of crisis events. When the sun shines, its' all reports and paperwork. When the snow/rain/ice falls, the wind blows, the ground shakes, or technology thumbs its nose at the business processes, then my life revolves around that.
When the system works, it's a wonderful sight to behold - managers, leaders and executives all pulling together to keep the employees safe and well-cared-for, ensuring that the customers' needs are met, etc. It's all grand when it works well.
But.... * sigh *
Anyway, all I can say at this time is that I was discouraged this week. Disappointed.
And that sense of being let down has distracted me somewhat more than usual. Today, I just want to get back on track with the multiple projects I've set myself to complete.
But it's not all gloom and despair. A new good friend of mine has given me a degree of inspiration I haven't felt in some time; and has been pure, undiluted awesomesauce in terms of challenging my conceptualization of my career path and direction. Essentially, I have seen a series of options that I hadn't really considered feasible or (yes, I'll say it) profitable. Some aspects of this will be forthcoming shortly; some will be flying well under the radar, as necessary. (don't fret - I simply mean that some of it may require the use of a pseudonym) However, the goal remains solid: becoming self-sufficient through writing.
A few things which have risen back from the grave include: a time-travel anthology, the children's story anthology, and a lot of other stories I've written that hadn't been getting much consideration. Oh, and the non-fiction "Collected Writings" tomes that had been once considered but set aside for the steampunk books.
The math is impressive - especially when considering I could potentially have at least 10 eBooks up by my birthday. And that's 10 of my own, not counting appearances in other anthologies.
Hmmm. Odd. Now I want to write. Gonna go grab some coffee. Want anything while I'm out?
Oh, and on that note: if you're an author and living in or planning to visit the pacific northwest - from Portland through Vancouver BC - - drop me a line. We should chat.
Feb 3, 2011
Jan 31, 2011
Many Hats; One Head
Okay; first four books in the Chronicles of Aesirium (out of 6) are complete and prepped for final formatting. I'm going to get them a final edit or two just to make sure all the Is are crossed and the Ts are dotted, but it's nice to be patting them on the head. Book 5 needs an edit or two, but it's mostly done, save for a few last bits, and book 6 is already a couple chapters in, but yearning for me to write it. In spite of the world, I proceed.
Was headed into a nice vibe yesterday when all hell broke loose across the nation in terms of bad weather alerts. Now, I'm not one to bite the hand that feeds me, so while I really can't hate the fact that I had a paying job that needed me to shift my focus away from writing fiction and onto hazardous weather tracking and continuity planning....well, at the time, it was fairly frustrating.
The entirety of wearing multiple hats is not unknown to me; don't get me wrong. It's good to have a grounding and foundation of an established job in those lean months of creativity - it's liberating in a very real sense in that I never need think "I MUST write, for if I do not, I will starve!" I'm fully capable of generating my own sense of urgency, trust me. What's more, I love writing. I'm very happy to just write and write anyway.
But all the same, there are days in which I do not enjoy the conflict.
And before I continue, please let me state for the record that I appreciate the irony of a person taking time out of his busyness to address his...busyness. I get it, I do. But at the same time, this sense of frustration is like a burr beneath my saddle. A moment of resolution will prevent catastrophe, trust me.
So here's a snapshot of where I am for my 2011 projects:
Chronicles of Aesirium (6 books total):
Steampunk Shakespeare:
Steampunk Short Stories (2):
Anachronology 101/The New (ab)Normal:
One of the big changes I'll be making this year is shifting my focus for my personal projects to an eBook one. Flying Pen Press has stated that they would be publishing the Chronicles of Aesirium books, but their focus is in POD distribution, and not on ePublishing, so there's still a vast arena to be explored.
But I've also met a very successful ebook author who has offered to introduce me through that process - so it may be a bit less dangerous than I'd previously expected.
Hmmm. I can't decide if this blog has helped me or made me feel more stressed. Bleah.
The entirety of wearing multiple hats is not unknown to me; don't get me wrong. It's good to have a grounding and foundation of an established job in those lean months of creativity - it's liberating in a very real sense in that I never need think "I MUST write, for if I do not, I will starve!" I'm fully capable of generating my own sense of urgency, trust me. What's more, I love writing. I'm very happy to just write and write anyway.
But all the same, there are days in which I do not enjoy the conflict.
And before I continue, please let me state for the record that I appreciate the irony of a person taking time out of his busyness to address his...busyness. I get it, I do. But at the same time, this sense of frustration is like a burr beneath my saddle. A moment of resolution will prevent catastrophe, trust me.
So here's a snapshot of where I am for my 2011 projects:
Chronicles of Aesirium (6 books total):
- Drafts complete: 5
- Concept Kit: Complete
- Final Edits complete: 0
- Formatting complete: 0
- Cover Art complete: 0
- Materials received and being assimilated;
- Business proposal will need to be written.
Steampunk Shakespeare:
- Sonnets completed: 0
Steampunk Short Stories (2):
- Steampunk Comedy; Conceptualized, outlined
- Cousins origin story: conceptualized, outlined
Anachronology 101/The New (ab)Normal:
- Data compiled, needs to be sorted and formatted
- Estimated: 5-6 books (faith, the internet, parenthood, work, politics, random observations about the world)
One of the big changes I'll be making this year is shifting my focus for my personal projects to an eBook one. Flying Pen Press has stated that they would be publishing the Chronicles of Aesirium books, but their focus is in POD distribution, and not on ePublishing, so there's still a vast arena to be explored.
Hmmm. I can't decide if this blog has helped me or made me feel more stressed. Bleah.
Jan 26, 2011
Editing Hell? Nah. Not even "Heck", really.
I hear a lot of other writers using the term "editing hell", as in I'm stuck in editing hell, etc. I'm in the middle of what I believe is what they're talking about - - I'm turning 3 full-length (92k+ words each) novels into 6 YA-length (50-60k+ words) books. And, to put this into perspective, here's the present status update:
I began with the following:
Book One - "The Morrow Stone" - 92k words, 277 pages, 7x9 format
Book Two - "Reaper's Flight" - 126k words, 285 pages (much smaller font), 7x9 format
Book Three - (working title) - 60% complete with 72k words
And this will be converted into 6 books, thus:
Book 1 - 60k words, 280 pages, YA paperback format
Book 2 - 55k words, 270 pages, YA paperback format
Book 3 - TBD
Book 4 - TBD
Book 5 - TBD
Book 6 - TBD
In terms of drafts, I'm almost done with reconverting what is now going to be book 2, and following a weighty review of Reapers Flight will then break it down into 2 books following the design formatting I've done so far with Morrow Stone. Then I'll be wrapping the first draft of what WAS book 3 into what will be books 5 and 6, also following the similar format. Follow me so far? If so, that might just make one of us.
The thing is, the books have made thus far for a fairly simple transition from one to two books. It's also given me the chance to expand on the narrative in ways I truncated in the original versions because of the constraints of space. When I look at them now, I already have 5 completely new chapters that weren't in the original books, and that's not even including the "director's cut expanded scenes" that are getting filtered in throughout the entirety of the books thus far.
As I wrap the expanded cuts of Reapers Flight and start back into the last half of the original 3rd book, though, I expect to see little additional expansion; I'm just going to write the books as the stories need to be told, and not worry about cutting for size or space.
Very liberating.
The biggest challenge so far has been on expanding the scenes; I've had to retain a coherent sense of where the characters are way back at the beginning of the books and ensure that I don't let them behave as they do much later, or that they don't know something they didn't learn until later, etc. I thought I knew my own books before, but the truth is that I know them now so much better.
That realization should probably frighten me.
But all the same.... "editing hell"? I don't know, I really just don't feel it. Yet.
Maybe that's the whole punch line of hell, really. Maybe it's one of those things that just slowly sucks you in, and you don't realize you're in it until it's much, much too late.
...
Okay, now I'm a little worried.
I began with the following:
Book One - "The Morrow Stone" - 92k words, 277 pages, 7x9 format
Book Two - "Reaper's Flight" - 126k words, 285 pages (much smaller font), 7x9 format
Book Three - (working title) - 60% complete with 72k words
And this will be converted into 6 books, thus:
Book 1 - 60k words, 280 pages, YA paperback format
Book 2 - 55k words, 270 pages, YA paperback format
Book 3 - TBD
Book 4 - TBD
Book 5 - TBD
Book 6 - TBD
In terms of drafts, I'm almost done with reconverting what is now going to be book 2, and following a weighty review of Reapers Flight will then break it down into 2 books following the design formatting I've done so far with Morrow Stone. Then I'll be wrapping the first draft of what WAS book 3 into what will be books 5 and 6, also following the similar format. Follow me so far? If so, that might just make one of us.
The thing is, the books have made thus far for a fairly simple transition from one to two books. It's also given me the chance to expand on the narrative in ways I truncated in the original versions because of the constraints of space. When I look at them now, I already have 5 completely new chapters that weren't in the original books, and that's not even including the "director's cut expanded scenes" that are getting filtered in throughout the entirety of the books thus far.
As I wrap the expanded cuts of Reapers Flight and start back into the last half of the original 3rd book, though, I expect to see little additional expansion; I'm just going to write the books as the stories need to be told, and not worry about cutting for size or space.
Very liberating.
The biggest challenge so far has been on expanding the scenes; I've had to retain a coherent sense of where the characters are way back at the beginning of the books and ensure that I don't let them behave as they do much later, or that they don't know something they didn't learn until later, etc. I thought I knew my own books before, but the truth is that I know them now so much better.
That realization should probably frighten me.
But all the same.... "editing hell"? I don't know, I really just don't feel it. Yet.
Maybe that's the whole punch line of hell, really. Maybe it's one of those things that just slowly sucks you in, and you don't realize you're in it until it's much, much too late.
...
Okay, now I'm a little worried.
Jan 6, 2011
New Year's Revolution
So let me get this straight - we're already a week into the new year? Shut the front door!
I am aware of the need to update things here, but every word is tinged with the bitterness of guilt that I'm not putting words into the novels. So, here's a quick update of what's the what.
Morrow Stone - am mostly done with the rewrite - the first 5 chapters have been recombobulated into a much more dramatic arrangement. Very happy with the new look and feel and pacing of it - shocked by how simple it was to reconstruct it and make it work so much more deliciously. Will be adding a second new chapter to it plus a prologue written by one of our favorite scoundrels. Then it's off for a new round of edits with Matt Delman at FPP to see what more needs to be changed. Plus I need to get it properly formatted to the printed page, AND I need the art done. And, if I can find the right person, a book trailer. Feelers are crawling out.
Reaper's Flight - will get to this one soon enough as well; will need to do a few tweaks in order to put it in line with the pattern being established by book 1's second edition and the steadily progressing 3rd novel. And then there's art.
Fall of the Shepherd - have crossed the midpoint of the book. Still a good ways to go. With the holidays behind, it's time to get back into gear and write.
Additional projects - FPP's "Steampunk & Co" is doing a pair of anthologies, and I'm submitting a "Cousins" prequel short story and some sonnets for the Steampunk Shakespeare antho.
And Matt's pitching around the idea of plushies for the Aerthos books - Mulligan, Yu and Rickets. That thought alone is making me giddy.
Oh, and if you hadn't already seen them, I've been interviewed twice this past month - one in Lexi Flint's blog and once in Lorna Suzuki's blog. Both interviews were absolutely fantastic experiences, and if you haven't read their blogs, then shame on you. Go do it now. Seriously. I'll wait right here until you're done.
Okay, all good? Sweet.
Let's see, what else. Oh, yes. Got a kindle for Christmas, so now I get to read EVERYWHERE. BWAH HAH HAH HAH! Awesome sauce.
And then, just when I thought I'd NEVER catch up, I won a contest from Tor publishing that netted me a BOX full of new books - like, 30 of them. They sit beside me by my writing desk and taunt me.
And if that wasn't bad enough, I need to update the site, too.
all right, now I'm just stalling. Back to work. Thanks for visiting!
I am aware of the need to update things here, but every word is tinged with the bitterness of guilt that I'm not putting words into the novels. So, here's a quick update of what's the what.
Morrow Stone - am mostly done with the rewrite - the first 5 chapters have been recombobulated into a much more dramatic arrangement. Very happy with the new look and feel and pacing of it - shocked by how simple it was to reconstruct it and make it work so much more deliciously. Will be adding a second new chapter to it plus a prologue written by one of our favorite scoundrels. Then it's off for a new round of edits with Matt Delman at FPP to see what more needs to be changed. Plus I need to get it properly formatted to the printed page, AND I need the art done. And, if I can find the right person, a book trailer. Feelers are crawling out.
Reaper's Flight - will get to this one soon enough as well; will need to do a few tweaks in order to put it in line with the pattern being established by book 1's second edition and the steadily progressing 3rd novel. And then there's art.
Fall of the Shepherd - have crossed the midpoint of the book. Still a good ways to go. With the holidays behind, it's time to get back into gear and write.
Additional projects - FPP's "Steampunk & Co" is doing a pair of anthologies, and I'm submitting a "Cousins" prequel short story and some sonnets for the Steampunk Shakespeare antho.
And Matt's pitching around the idea of plushies for the Aerthos books - Mulligan, Yu and Rickets. That thought alone is making me giddy.
Oh, and if you hadn't already seen them, I've been interviewed twice this past month - one in Lexi Flint's blog and once in Lorna Suzuki's blog. Both interviews were absolutely fantastic experiences, and if you haven't read their blogs, then shame on you. Go do it now. Seriously. I'll wait right here until you're done.
Okay, all good? Sweet.
Let's see, what else. Oh, yes. Got a kindle for Christmas, so now I get to read EVERYWHERE. BWAH HAH HAH HAH! Awesome sauce.
And then, just when I thought I'd NEVER catch up, I won a contest from Tor publishing that netted me a BOX full of new books - like, 30 of them. They sit beside me by my writing desk and taunt me.
And if that wasn't bad enough, I need to update the site, too.
all right, now I'm just stalling. Back to work. Thanks for visiting!
Dec 20, 2010
Yule Wish I'd Skipped This Pun
Sorry, yes, couldn't help myself. I'd blame the nog, but I've been nog-free for years and haven't fallen off the sleigh yet.
It's not just nearly the Christmas season, I notice, but it's very nearly almost no longer the Christmas season. Solstice is nipping at my nose, in point of fact. How do these seasons get away from my notice so quickly? Oh, yes, I've been busy, that's right.
Work on book 3 has been coming slowly. Have my new and shiny office mostly set up now, which if nothing else serves as a new and shiny reminder that I should be working on book 3. There is much, in fact, to be done at the moment, and only my day job seems now determined to get in the way - though I note in retrospect, if this were in fact the case, how exactly would I manage to be writing this? (Good question, but kindly do be quiet, inner monologue)
For example, my good friend H. L. Reasby has finished her re-write of her second book, Peret, and I need to sit down and give it a good reading. Matt Delman, managing editor of Flying Pen Press' steampunk imprint, is putting together a Steampunk-inspired Shakespearean anthology (or is that a Shakespeare-inspired Steampunk anthology? The mind reels.) and I have some material to create for it, as well. And if you're a writer and have wanted to write for a Shakespearean/Steampunk anthology, you should, too. Really.
Another anthology is in the works, too, and I need to finish a short story for that one - a prologue to The Morrow Stone. The Morrow Stone, speaking of which, is going through a bit of redevelopment as we get her ready for a second edition printing and re-design. Since Morrow Stone was nominated for Steampunk.com's 2010 Steampunk book of the year and is going to be published by FPP in 2011 - along with Reaper's Flight - there's a lot of little things to be done to get her all dolled up and ready for the ball.
And by the way, please, if you get a moment, swing by Steampunk.com and check out the other nominees, or even take a moment to vote, if you thus fancy a chance to support your local (or not local as the case may be) author. I still can't believe the amazing company I'm with, there. Truly amazing writers. In fact, if you haven't read much steampunk in the past, you really can't go wrong with them.
Cherie Priest in particular is rather awesome. I'm reading Boneshaker very nearly at this precise moment - come on, people. Airships and zombies, all taking place in Victorian Seattle. If it gets any better than this, it's obviously been declared illegal or at least regulated. Which is not to say Scott Westerfeld or Nick Valentino aren't also fantastic, because they are. I actually got to meet Nick briefly at Steamcon 2 this past month - great guy!
And, to top it all off, I'm expecting an entirely new project as well, involving sci fi and curious things I can't even talk about yet. God help us all when that starts up. I've already been doing a great deal of research and prep work on that one, but I'll let you know what it's all about when I can officially announce it. And believe me, you're likely to be pretty dazzled by this one, folks.
That being said, it is as mentioned previously the holiday season, and there's much yet to do before I can feel content to put this year into the archives. Thank you for reading, for your support, and for just being a part of the wondrous internet mosaic. May the new year find you well and prosperous, and may it be filled with bliss and satisfaction.
Much love, all.
It's not just nearly the Christmas season, I notice, but it's very nearly almost no longer the Christmas season. Solstice is nipping at my nose, in point of fact. How do these seasons get away from my notice so quickly? Oh, yes, I've been busy, that's right.
Work on book 3 has been coming slowly. Have my new and shiny office mostly set up now, which if nothing else serves as a new and shiny reminder that I should be working on book 3. There is much, in fact, to be done at the moment, and only my day job seems now determined to get in the way - though I note in retrospect, if this were in fact the case, how exactly would I manage to be writing this? (Good question, but kindly do be quiet, inner monologue)
For example, my good friend H. L. Reasby has finished her re-write of her second book, Peret, and I need to sit down and give it a good reading. Matt Delman, managing editor of Flying Pen Press' steampunk imprint, is putting together a Steampunk-inspired Shakespearean anthology (or is that a Shakespeare-inspired Steampunk anthology? The mind reels.) and I have some material to create for it, as well. And if you're a writer and have wanted to write for a Shakespearean/Steampunk anthology, you should, too. Really.
Another anthology is in the works, too, and I need to finish a short story for that one - a prologue to The Morrow Stone. The Morrow Stone, speaking of which, is going through a bit of redevelopment as we get her ready for a second edition printing and re-design. Since Morrow Stone was nominated for Steampunk.com's 2010 Steampunk book of the year and is going to be published by FPP in 2011 - along with Reaper's Flight - there's a lot of little things to be done to get her all dolled up and ready for the ball.
And by the way, please, if you get a moment, swing by Steampunk.com and check out the other nominees, or even take a moment to vote, if you thus fancy a chance to support your local (or not local as the case may be) author. I still can't believe the amazing company I'm with, there. Truly amazing writers. In fact, if you haven't read much steampunk in the past, you really can't go wrong with them.
Cherie Priest in particular is rather awesome. I'm reading Boneshaker very nearly at this precise moment - come on, people. Airships and zombies, all taking place in Victorian Seattle. If it gets any better than this, it's obviously been declared illegal or at least regulated. Which is not to say Scott Westerfeld or Nick Valentino aren't also fantastic, because they are. I actually got to meet Nick briefly at Steamcon 2 this past month - great guy!
And, to top it all off, I'm expecting an entirely new project as well, involving sci fi and curious things I can't even talk about yet. God help us all when that starts up. I've already been doing a great deal of research and prep work on that one, but I'll let you know what it's all about when I can officially announce it. And believe me, you're likely to be pretty dazzled by this one, folks.
That being said, it is as mentioned previously the holiday season, and there's much yet to do before I can feel content to put this year into the archives. Thank you for reading, for your support, and for just being a part of the wondrous internet mosaic. May the new year find you well and prosperous, and may it be filled with bliss and satisfaction.
Much love, all.
Dec 15, 2010
Steampunk Book of the Year
Steampunk.com has announced its nominees for the 2010 Steampunk Book of the Year, and "The Morrow Stone" is in the final five! Very exciting news!
The only real downside is that I feel like there are plenty of other fantastic authors who could just as easily have found their books on this list, and the other 3 authors (Cherie Priest had both her SP books nominated) are just amazing wordsmiths. But, really, it makes me feel quite fine to be counted among them. That whole "everyone's a winner" thing? Oh, yes, indeed.
Feel free to check out the other nominees here - - voting will be going on from now until December 21st: I don't want you to feel obligated to vote (not even for me), but I promise I will sing a song of gratitude for every vote I get. They may be short songs, however. Depends on my allergies.
Today is a little strange. Did something happen? Is this a new weather front passing over us?
It sure feels different.
Cool.
The only real downside is that I feel like there are plenty of other fantastic authors who could just as easily have found their books on this list, and the other 3 authors (Cherie Priest had both her SP books nominated) are just amazing wordsmiths. But, really, it makes me feel quite fine to be counted among them. That whole "everyone's a winner" thing? Oh, yes, indeed.
Feel free to check out the other nominees here - - voting will be going on from now until December 21st: I don't want you to feel obligated to vote (not even for me), but I promise I will sing a song of gratitude for every vote I get. They may be short songs, however. Depends on my allergies.
Today is a little strange. Did something happen? Is this a new weather front passing over us?
It sure feels different.
Cool.
Dec 8, 2010
Tis The Season
Christmas is coming, and word has it that the turkey has put on additional weight from all the autumnal lack of activity. Poor creature, but please don't mention it. Apparently, turkeys can become quite self-conscious about their figures.
Wow. Yes, I'm a bit of an odd duck (second bird reference in as many paragraphs. Hmm.) today, but I can safely say that cold medication might just have everything to do with it. Yesterday found me utterly laid to waste by a combination of cold + remedy. Brutal. All in all, I'm just happy November did not completely destroy me. Still not sure it hasn't.
November was nice in terms of getting stuff done. Domestic tasks were mostly completed, and I even managed to crank out 50,000 + words on Book 3, and have even gone back in and done some rough edits as well. The downside? That only puts me solidly into chapter 10. Of a 25 chapter book.
It's not easy to push through the third book of a trilogy, I'm finding. In books one and two, so many sub plots were left as tantalizing hints of narrative rewards yet to come: "I'll be addressing that in book 2 or book 3," I would say, fully meaning to do so.
I can't do that now, however. If a character is slated to die, they will die - and if their death is to be merely an obscured one, then I still have to resolve it IN THIS BOOK. There's a lot to revisit in this one, plots I've set in motion in the first two volumes. Such as, who is Cousins and why is he here? Why was the wall built and why do prophecies indicate that Rom will bring it down? Where did the Machines go, and why did they leave in the first place? Who are the Sheharid Is'iin? Who is Artifice and why is she killing the other Reapers?
Those are just a few of these, all just laid out from Book 1 and going forward. There were more questions dropped - as many as I believe I answered - in book 2. And yet, as I wade through book 3, I realize that there are some questions that I simply do not yet wish to resolve.
These first three books are most specifically a tale of the central character, the white-haired Rom, and closely outline her and her struggles along the paths of self-discovery and the question of pre-destination: a couple of my own favorite subjects. But no one travels a path alone, and Rom is no exception; she is shadowed in part by Kari the steamsmith and Cousins, the streetwise young lad with aspirations exceeding the norm for the rundown streets of Oldtown.
So even while I follow their individual story arcs as well as Rom's, Rom gets the focus, and they're left to secondaries. They come to small conclusions, but they're never given the same sense of priority as Rom is during these books.
And then there's Favo. He and Mulligan have fast become the fan favorites, which is no surprise as they're my favorites too. I'm already planning on having Favo get his own series of books (whether as prequels or parallel novels I'm not yet telling), and even Cousins is going to have a short story written as a prequel to The Morrow Stone. But there are so many bits and pieces to this world that I love...but I can't yet write about it all.
Some of the tertiary characters - like Force, Memory and Inertia, as well as Marcos and Jontal - are also really interesting to me. The Sheharid's lives all play into the history of Aerthos, so many of them will be tied into the plot and associated revelations in book 3, but I'm finding that they just reveal more of the culture and history that I want to later explore.
These books are starting to envelop me, but I don't yet know that it's a bad thing. Though at this point, maybe it's a bit of a moot issue, since I haven't really gone all full court press on the marketing of it. It's possible that the association with Flying Pen Press will change things - though at the same time, I expect to be fairly busy working with them on their own projects.
I really picked a bad month to get a cold. It's not easy to sit out and wait for health to return.
Talk to you later!
Wow. Yes, I'm a bit of an odd duck (second bird reference in as many paragraphs. Hmm.) today, but I can safely say that cold medication might just have everything to do with it. Yesterday found me utterly laid to waste by a combination of cold + remedy. Brutal. All in all, I'm just happy November did not completely destroy me. Still not sure it hasn't.
November was nice in terms of getting stuff done. Domestic tasks were mostly completed, and I even managed to crank out 50,000 + words on Book 3, and have even gone back in and done some rough edits as well. The downside? That only puts me solidly into chapter 10. Of a 25 chapter book.
It's not easy to push through the third book of a trilogy, I'm finding. In books one and two, so many sub plots were left as tantalizing hints of narrative rewards yet to come: "I'll be addressing that in book 2 or book 3," I would say, fully meaning to do so.
I can't do that now, however. If a character is slated to die, they will die - and if their death is to be merely an obscured one, then I still have to resolve it IN THIS BOOK. There's a lot to revisit in this one, plots I've set in motion in the first two volumes. Such as, who is Cousins and why is he here? Why was the wall built and why do prophecies indicate that Rom will bring it down? Where did the Machines go, and why did they leave in the first place? Who are the Sheharid Is'iin? Who is Artifice and why is she killing the other Reapers?
Those are just a few of these, all just laid out from Book 1 and going forward. There were more questions dropped - as many as I believe I answered - in book 2. And yet, as I wade through book 3, I realize that there are some questions that I simply do not yet wish to resolve.
These first three books are most specifically a tale of the central character, the white-haired Rom, and closely outline her and her struggles along the paths of self-discovery and the question of pre-destination: a couple of my own favorite subjects. But no one travels a path alone, and Rom is no exception; she is shadowed in part by Kari the steamsmith and Cousins, the streetwise young lad with aspirations exceeding the norm for the rundown streets of Oldtown.
So even while I follow their individual story arcs as well as Rom's, Rom gets the focus, and they're left to secondaries. They come to small conclusions, but they're never given the same sense of priority as Rom is during these books.
And then there's Favo. He and Mulligan have fast become the fan favorites, which is no surprise as they're my favorites too. I'm already planning on having Favo get his own series of books (whether as prequels or parallel novels I'm not yet telling), and even Cousins is going to have a short story written as a prequel to The Morrow Stone. But there are so many bits and pieces to this world that I love...but I can't yet write about it all.
Some of the tertiary characters - like Force, Memory and Inertia, as well as Marcos and Jontal - are also really interesting to me. The Sheharid's lives all play into the history of Aerthos, so many of them will be tied into the plot and associated revelations in book 3, but I'm finding that they just reveal more of the culture and history that I want to later explore.
These books are starting to envelop me, but I don't yet know that it's a bad thing. Though at this point, maybe it's a bit of a moot issue, since I haven't really gone all full court press on the marketing of it. It's possible that the association with Flying Pen Press will change things - though at the same time, I expect to be fairly busy working with them on their own projects.
I really picked a bad month to get a cold. It's not easy to sit out and wait for health to return.
Talk to you later!
Nov 25, 2010
Harvestday
(author's note: the following scenes take place at the end of the events of "Reaper's Flight", and prior to book 3)
Summer was behind them now; well behind them, in fact. The great Machines were deeply into their harvesting program, drawing in the last of the crops to be processed and churning down the remnants of the plants and roots, there to lay dormant until the first inklings of the spring thaw. The chaff and inedible leavings were channeled to the forge-fires, offering a finality to the growths that fed back into the unending cycle that balanced life and death for the people of Oldtown-against-the-Wall. The soot-tinged breezes blew up and over the great blank Wall to their east, mingling with the songs of celebratory bliss that mirrored the hearts and minds of the agrarian culture that had developed from their generations of exile.
Though it was a harder life than their ancestors had enjoyed in the virtual utopia of the city beyond the Wall, their years of migration into harmonious give-and-take with the land itself had cultured in them a respect and appreciation for the soil and water which raised their crops, as well as the fires and steam which powered their town. Full bellies and grateful spirits, as the Matrons had said so often in the orphanage, the young steamsmith Kari recalled.
She paused in her tinkering to scratch the small grey animal that lay near her behind the ears, just under the twin yellowed curving horns that grew from the top of his head. He raised his head and his leathery wings ruffled briefly, a soft purr vibrating from the depths of his chest. He opened his golden eyes slowly, blinking several times to let his pupils dilate to the flickering sodium lights in Kari's workshop.
"Sorry to wake you," Kari whispered. "We have to go soon; Goya is having a meal for the Harvestday celebration, and I told her we'd get there early to help."
The small creature nodded. "It's all right," he said lazily. "Was just having a dream. Odd things, those dreams."
Kari set the small wrenches down she'd been using on the control mechanism for her latest construction. "Did you never dream before..." Her words dropped off uncomfortably. "Well, before?"
With a single shake of his head, he replied, "No, not really. Before, I didn't even need to sleep or eat or anything like that, I just did it because...well, it was something to do like regular animals did. It's strange now, but it's also remarkably satisfying." He shrugged. All their conversations seemed to come back to the same long pauses, the same uncomfortable silences. Sometimes, it was just better not to say anything in the first place.
A sudden knock against the metal loading doors startled them both. Their shared gasps of surprise turned into rolls of laughter that continued even until Kari had crossed the room to the service door built into the large double doors that rose nearly all the way to the ceiling.
Kari knew who it was even before she opened the latch, but seeing Cousins' smiling face never failed to lift her spirits. The cold air gave his nose and cheeks a rosy tint beneath his goggles, making him seem ever so slightly more happy. She reached out and gave him an unexpected embrace, which he, after a moment to set aside his surprise, reciprocated.
"Blessed Harvestday to you too," he whispered into her ear. In spite of the pain of recent events, the two young friends had begun to discover a growing fondness for one another, however awkwardly they approached it. Cousins stepped back after a moment, waving a gloved hand in greeting to the feranzanthum who still rested upon Kari's workdesk.
"Hello, Mulligan!" Cousins said cheerily. The creature stood up, arching his back and flapping his wings several times to get the feeling back in them, before flying across the room to perch on Cousins' shoulders. He looked past the tousled blonde hair of the street-savvy entrepreneur to regard the young man's preferred form of transport: the two-wheeled, steam-powered runabout.
"Isn't it a bit...chilly...for that contraption?" Mulligan asked.
"Nonsense," Cousins countered, in spite of the wool riding coat and gloves. "It's a fine brisk afternoon," he said. "Besides, another few days and we'll have snow on the streets; might as well get my riding in whilst I can."
“Fair point,” the creature replied.
Kari rolled her eyes. “I’ll get my coat,” she said, retrieving it from the small apartment that sat on one side of her spacious laboratory. Cousins exerted an impressive amount of self-control to ask Kari about the nature of her latest work – it took up most of the space in her shop and strongly resembled their her first effort at a functional airship. That one, christened the Aethernaut, had been impressive in its own right, but had met with an equally notable end.
Cousins watched as Kari came back across the room, holding the thick black jacket over one arm as she fussed with her toolbag. He pointed at the grey sack that hung from her opposite shoulder, the various pouches clearly stuffed with her various pieces of equipment. “Seriously?” he grinned. “We’re going to dinner, you realize.”
Scoffing, she held the coat out to him to help her into it. “Well, you brought your cards and glasses,” she teased. “Planning on telling the future tonight?”
He held out the coat, raising it up over her shoulders. “If you must know, Goya asked me to bring my cards. But the goggles are to protect my eyes, oh sarcastic one.”
The three shared a laugh as Kari locked up behind her, they mounted up on the runabout and Cousins drove them to Goya Parva’s home and apothecary. They pulled up to the front, Cousins applying a fair amount of brakes and bringing them to an abrupt stop. Kari felt inhale sharply, and looked past him to see what had shocked him so much.
Standing to each side of the front door to the apothecary shop stood two Whitehold soldiers, clad head to toe in white, their faces obscured by featureless porcelain masks.
“It’s all right,” Mulligan whispered. “These aren’t the minions of the old Queen; I could feel it if they were. These are just soldiers in the uniforms, not Sandmen.”
With a curt nod, Cousins extended a hand to help Kari off the vehicle, snapping the kickstand down with a jerk of his right boot. He joined her after she stood clear, keeping Mulligan balanced across the back of his neck.
“Your driving has improved,” the animal said dryly. “Only half my fur is standing on its end.”
“Careful, my friend,” the lad countered. “The unfamiliar observer might think you were paying me a compliment.”
“Can’t have that, can we?”
Cousins chuckled. “Well, it is a holiday; stranger things have happened.”
The two soldiers nodded to the small trio as they approached, one reaching around to open the door for them. Even now, months after defeating Queen Karema and her army of undead soldiers, Cousins still felt uncomfortable around these Whitehold men and women. The new Queen had confided in him that she had considered replacing their uniforms, but the visible identity of the Induru Il-faraon still had traditional weight among the people of Aesirium, and in spite of their recent monstrosities, they remained an ultimately comforting presence in the city.
They found Briseida inside Goya’s living area, just past the store. The two women stopped whatever conversation they were having as Cousins, Kari and Mulligan entered, Briseida standing and greeting them all with hugs and smiles. The past few months had been transformative on them all, but none so much as on her. Cousins could scarcely see the soft-spoken and delicately hard-working apprentice as they’d come to know her beneath the radiant elegance she now possessed as the remaining heir to the throne. He was actually a bit disappointed that he hadn’t seen it earlier. Some seer he was, he thought ruefully.
An array of delicious smells wafted out from the kitchen beyond them, echoing out with the sounds of strangers’ voices and the general noise of metal on metal.
Following the youngsters’ eyes, Briseida smiled. “I brought some of my staff along to manage the meal; we’ll have more time to talk this way.”
“Well done!” came a familiar voice from behind them all. Favo Carr, reformed criminal (although there was some speculation as to just how much reforming had actually transpired) walked in, leaning heavily on a cane.
Kari frowned loudly, crossing the room to help him quickly to one of the many chairs present in the room. “You shouldn’t be up so soon,” she glared at him.
“What, and miss out on a feast fit for royalty?” He said, wincing as he sat. His wounds were mostly healed, but his side still ached with nearly every motion. “If you’ve ever known me to miss out on a well-catered function, well, you haven’t really known me at all, have you?” He ended his clearly-prepared rejoinder with a dapper wink, making Kari feel suddenly self-conscious and the room far too warm.
“Enough out of you, you wicked man,” Briseida chided him. “If you’re going to make a nuisance of yourself, you can do that well enough on your own.”
“Yes, my Queen,” he teased with a mock bow of his head.
Goya ignored all of this – or pretended to, at any rate – and waved the group to pay attention. Kari visited Goya nearly every day, but every day she was surprised at just how much older Goya seemed. Her hair seemed nearly transparent, and her eyes seemed to have been taking on a thin milky gleam. Kari brushed these thoughts aside as she always did. Goya had always seemed old, she decided, but that meant nothing in the broad picture of things. Just like the Wall, some things would just continue on as they always had, unchanging and unmoving.
Speaking to them in a voice which, though soft, carried the authority of a long and experience-filled life, Goya said, “You are the remainders of that which I could only describe as my family, which is why I have asked you to spend this Harvestday with me.”
The aged shaman leaned forward in her chair. “I know well the challenge it is for you all to be here, so stark are the painful reminders we all create in one another. But Harvestday is a day wherein we must address both the joys we have felt in our successes as well as the poignant losses which create the aching within our hearts. For to be grateful is not an emotion of pure joy so much as it is a joy which comes at great cost. Just like the crops we have toiled away all season long, we must cut them down – these things must fall away so that we may rise up.”
Mulligan jumped down to a nearby chair back, resting his chin upon his paws. Kari stepped to the other side of him, scratching him comfortingly behind the horns.
“I am grateful for you all,” Goya continued softly. “You are the closest thing I have to my children, all of you. Even,” she added, glancing meaningfully at Favo, “those of you who I should have liked to have educated more properly. And I love you all, bound as we are through our trials and by those of us who should have been here today and are not.”
Kari felt the tears welling up and for once felt no shame at it, letting them roll unhindered down her cheeks. She could feel Cousins’ arm around her, and she leaned her head against his.
“That loss is what makes the joy I feel at your presence today all the stronger,” Goya added. “And that is what fills me with the gratitude I feel.”
They all remained thus in silence for several minutes, each feeling the moment in their own way, until the chefs began to emerge from the kitchen with the fine meal they had prepared for the small gathering. Briseida crossed to Favo’s side, helping him in spite of his protestations to the table. She silenced him with a final threat of feeding him at the table if he wished to continue behaving like an infant, which seemed to satisfy his resolution to argue with her. Cousins noticed a lingering gaze that passed between them, however, but the enticing aroma of the dinner erased all further questions from him.
Mulligan sat atop the chair for several minutes longer, his golden eyes peering into the growing darkness outside the salon windows. Rom had been gone for several weeks, and though he was inexplicably left here in the realm of the living, he could not help but think it was some sort of final gift to him, giving him an actual life of his own. The idea that she was gone still seemed to escape him, eluding his grasp like the morning mists.
He couldn’t shake the thought that she might still be out there, somewhere, lost but looking for a way home. Mulligan knew it was a wild fancy of his mind, some abstract and illogical delusion his subconscious had devised to keep grief away from his consciousness, but he didn’t care. Kari called his name, distracting him from his thoughts. She held a piece of grilled fish in her hands, letting the tangy smell of it cross the room and fill his nostrils.
Rom, he thought as he leaped down to the floor, if you’re out there, please find your way home; we miss you so much.
Thoughts of his white-haired Sheharid Is’iin friend was then mingled with the warm laughter of their other friends, as they sat and partook of the Harvestday meal, filling themselves with delicious food and the company of their loved ones. Memories of struggles past lingered just on the edge of joy, like the shadows surround a solitary candle and making it the brightest of all things within the growing night.
Oct 26, 2010
Every Snowball Starts with a Flake. And I guess that's me.
I was reading a really interesting article this morning which discussed the inertial blindness affecting the various publishing industries - specifically music and literature, but I believe this can be seen in many more industries as well. It's basically the realization that people tend to trust word-of-mouth more than blanket napalm advertizing and that more industries need to learn how to shift their marketing model from the one they currently employ and adopt one that more closely follows software development.
In software, anyone can invent anything. They can "mass produce" it (in other words, distribute electronically) and build up a target audience and use that to gain credit with the larger distributors or developers.
But with music and book publishing companies, they will only invest in the sure things - - creators who they know - KNOW - they can make a buck off. And these creators are usually desperate enough to sign away their rights to getting that brass ring contract. Most musicians, for example, don't start making any money off their albums until they're 2 or 3 albums in, and usually only after they're able to re-negotiate their contract to something more favorable.
I saw a recent statistic that addressed the number of iTunes downloads you would need each month in order to sustain it as a career. Literally, it was in the hundreds and thousands. But as an independent producer, it goes up dramatically. It's not unusual for first-time musicians to make literally pennies off each unit sold through a major publishing company, most all of which gets absorbed back into the production and marketing costs and their advance. The number of bands who declare bankruptcy after selling millions of albums isn't even unusual anymore - if anything, it's become the average experience. How sad is that? Meanwhile, RIAA is blaming illegal downloads as the cause of their financial ruin. Nice.
So this is where I come in. I've now written two novels, and am preparing to start my third - but as I don't follow the old school structure of marketing (as I don't have $150,000 to simply toss around), I turn to you for help.
My two novels - "The Morrow Stone" and "Reaper's Flight" are presently framed up on two sites: Amazon.com and Goodreads.com. They're actually sold on the first site (paperback and Kindle versions), while Goodreads is set up as a reader/author site - - - think Facebook but with an absolute focus on reading. Now, I know times are tough - - so if the 11 bucks (for the paperback; the kindle versions are around 6 dollars) is too much an investment, it's not a worry.
What I'd really like are reviews, feedback; that sort of thing. In fact, if you're interested in doing a review, but haven't read the book but would like to and don't have the extra cash to purchase a copy, let me know, and we can work something out - perhaps a pdf review copy, that sort of thing could be exchanged. Amazon is a great place to put those reviews, as well - - all good feedback helps get my books higher up and more visible.
Additionally, on Goodreads, there are opportunities for leaving reviews or simply adding the books to your "To Read" list. There are also genre lists that feature books of a like vibe, and voting for these is not only free, but it's easy and can make a supreme difference in other people's decisions to invest in the books. For example, The Morrow Stone is currently on these lists, and simply voting for it can give it a new level of visibility and recognition, either one of which can help it to be picked up by other readers.
Also, there's a book by a fellow independent author friend of mine, HL Reasby. Her Egyptian-themed contemporary fantasy novel "Akhet" can be likewise found in both places - feel free to give her book some props, too. She's in the middle of edits on her next book, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind a bit of positive attention for her first one. Edits suck; she could use a little applause right about now, I'd wager.
Lastly, if you're an author or musician or artist, etc, and would like some additional internet praise, please let me know - - I will happily share the good word with my peeps and take one more giant leap for independent content creators.
So there's my plea and my offer. Thank you for - if nothing else - reading this; thank you twice for anything you can do to help get the word out. And thank you thrice for being involved at all, whichever way the process unfolds.
Be well, peeps.
In software, anyone can invent anything. They can "mass produce" it (in other words, distribute electronically) and build up a target audience and use that to gain credit with the larger distributors or developers.
But with music and book publishing companies, they will only invest in the sure things - - creators who they know - KNOW - they can make a buck off. And these creators are usually desperate enough to sign away their rights to getting that brass ring contract. Most musicians, for example, don't start making any money off their albums until they're 2 or 3 albums in, and usually only after they're able to re-negotiate their contract to something more favorable.
I saw a recent statistic that addressed the number of iTunes downloads you would need each month in order to sustain it as a career. Literally, it was in the hundreds and thousands. But as an independent producer, it goes up dramatically. It's not unusual for first-time musicians to make literally pennies off each unit sold through a major publishing company, most all of which gets absorbed back into the production and marketing costs and their advance. The number of bands who declare bankruptcy after selling millions of albums isn't even unusual anymore - if anything, it's become the average experience. How sad is that? Meanwhile, RIAA is blaming illegal downloads as the cause of their financial ruin. Nice.
So this is where I come in. I've now written two novels, and am preparing to start my third - but as I don't follow the old school structure of marketing (as I don't have $150,000 to simply toss around), I turn to you for help.
My two novels - "The Morrow Stone" and "Reaper's Flight" are presently framed up on two sites: Amazon.com and Goodreads.com. They're actually sold on the first site (paperback and Kindle versions), while Goodreads is set up as a reader/author site - - - think Facebook but with an absolute focus on reading. Now, I know times are tough - - so if the 11 bucks (for the paperback; the kindle versions are around 6 dollars) is too much an investment, it's not a worry.
What I'd really like are reviews, feedback; that sort of thing. In fact, if you're interested in doing a review, but haven't read the book but would like to and don't have the extra cash to purchase a copy, let me know, and we can work something out - perhaps a pdf review copy, that sort of thing could be exchanged. Amazon is a great place to put those reviews, as well - - all good feedback helps get my books higher up and more visible.
Additionally, on Goodreads, there are opportunities for leaving reviews or simply adding the books to your "To Read" list. There are also genre lists that feature books of a like vibe, and voting for these is not only free, but it's easy and can make a supreme difference in other people's decisions to invest in the books. For example, The Morrow Stone is currently on these lists, and simply voting for it can give it a new level of visibility and recognition, either one of which can help it to be picked up by other readers.
Also, there's a book by a fellow independent author friend of mine, HL Reasby. Her Egyptian-themed contemporary fantasy novel "Akhet" can be likewise found in both places - feel free to give her book some props, too. She's in the middle of edits on her next book, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind a bit of positive attention for her first one. Edits suck; she could use a little applause right about now, I'd wager.
Lastly, if you're an author or musician or artist, etc, and would like some additional internet praise, please let me know - - I will happily share the good word with my peeps and take one more giant leap for independent content creators.
So there's my plea and my offer. Thank you for - if nothing else - reading this; thank you twice for anything you can do to help get the word out. And thank you thrice for being involved at all, whichever way the process unfolds.
Be well, peeps.
Oct 25, 2010
Last Minute Checks
With Morrow Stone and Reaper's Flight completed and online, one last hurdle in my Trilogy plan remains: book 3. Throughout all the writing over the past two years, things like "marketing" and "promotion" and "submissions" have been essentially set by the wayside as I focused on the elements of writing which most appeal to me: namely, writing. Now, though, I have to consider that in a few months as production on book 3 comes to a head, I'll need to dust off that businessman hat and get ready to actually try and pitch myself. But it's only just occurred to me that this not only isn't such a bad thing, but that I'm actually rather looking forward to certain aspects of it.
Went and had coffee yesterday with another local writer, and we just sort of gabbed on about the state of the biz and specifically about the Steampunk genre, which appears to be having a few growing pains as it struggles for self-definition. I'll be honest about something while I'm on the topic - I don't really see myself as a "Steampunk Author", as it were. Yes, the current trilogy does employ various elements common to Steampunk as a setting - pseudo-Victorianism, steam-engine-based technology, pipes, gears, pocketwatches, and even a clever little pair of goggles.
I personally love the flair and sensibility of the setting inherent to the sub-genre, but I don't plan on writing all my books in this genre. My next series - the next one I plan to write, so it remains to be seen what I actually end up writing next - is looking to be more of a contemporary supernatural horror genre, taking place in Portland, Oregon. Not really a steampunk environment, that.
The books I have on track beyond that include genres like deep science fiction, an anthology of children's stories, and so forth. Although I already have plans to continue the books in the current world-setting, as well, so I'm nowhere near done with the steampunk yet, nor do I believe that Steampunk is done with me. There's an elegance and anachronology to it which has always appealed to me, and though I fear for its present overindulgence in pop culture, it looks to be around for a long while to come. So, basically, no worries.
I've been thinking about my affection for Steampunkery a good deal in anticipation of starting up this third book in the present series - how much embellishment of pipes and steam do I permit to have root in the book - is it requisite for story or setting; or does it strive to become its own character in the book, elbowing out narrative in an effort to steal the show?
I struggle with a lot of "Steampunk" books in much the same way as I struggle with books on new age philosophy or vampires. I love both as themes, but all too often the themes themselves take over the narrative. Too many vampire books feel like photocopies of photocopies - - with each author claiming to really "get" how a vampire might feel; when its clear that they're really just writing about how they think they might feel as a vampire. Are they correct? Are they accurate? Who knows, but then that's part of what lures me into a book - my belief that the writer a) knows what they're talking about, and b) isn't hitting me over the head with their brilliant observations.
Clearly, hitting one over the head with "brilliance" is best left for blogs.
Ouch.
Yes, that was sarcasm. And yes, I was indicting myself.
Anyway, sorry, before I went off on a preachy tangent, let me just cap that whole idea off with the realization that what "is" anything is a perception and a personal observation. Do I write "true Steampunk"? No, probably not. My books have a careful (and deliberate) balance of retro-tech and faith-based magic to at best classify my books as "Steampunk Sci-Fi" or "Steampunk Fantasy". But really, at their core, they are books about finding out what you're best at, and trying to do that as well as you can; and the acceptance that everyone finds their own path through their lives, and no one path is perfect for anyone but you.
So, armed with that recollection, I put the finishing touches on my synopsis/outline and prepare to start writing at the end of this week. My goal this year for NaNoWriMo is going to be 2k words/day, every day. Hell or high water.
I'll be posting daily updates on Facebook and Twitter - not because I expect you to care, but because it's harder to let myself slack if I'm trying to keep up a habit in public.
And to all my other NaNo friends, feel free to NaNo-buddy me.
Have a great month, peeps! Let's write novels!
Went and had coffee yesterday with another local writer, and we just sort of gabbed on about the state of the biz and specifically about the Steampunk genre, which appears to be having a few growing pains as it struggles for self-definition. I'll be honest about something while I'm on the topic - I don't really see myself as a "Steampunk Author", as it were. Yes, the current trilogy does employ various elements common to Steampunk as a setting - pseudo-Victorianism, steam-engine-based technology, pipes, gears, pocketwatches, and even a clever little pair of goggles.
I personally love the flair and sensibility of the setting inherent to the sub-genre, but I don't plan on writing all my books in this genre. My next series - the next one I plan to write, so it remains to be seen what I actually end up writing next - is looking to be more of a contemporary supernatural horror genre, taking place in Portland, Oregon. Not really a steampunk environment, that.
The books I have on track beyond that include genres like deep science fiction, an anthology of children's stories, and so forth. Although I already have plans to continue the books in the current world-setting, as well, so I'm nowhere near done with the steampunk yet, nor do I believe that Steampunk is done with me. There's an elegance and anachronology to it which has always appealed to me, and though I fear for its present overindulgence in pop culture, it looks to be around for a long while to come. So, basically, no worries.
I've been thinking about my affection for Steampunkery a good deal in anticipation of starting up this third book in the present series - how much embellishment of pipes and steam do I permit to have root in the book - is it requisite for story or setting; or does it strive to become its own character in the book, elbowing out narrative in an effort to steal the show?
I struggle with a lot of "Steampunk" books in much the same way as I struggle with books on new age philosophy or vampires. I love both as themes, but all too often the themes themselves take over the narrative. Too many vampire books feel like photocopies of photocopies - - with each author claiming to really "get" how a vampire might feel; when its clear that they're really just writing about how they think they might feel as a vampire. Are they correct? Are they accurate? Who knows, but then that's part of what lures me into a book - my belief that the writer a) knows what they're talking about, and b) isn't hitting me over the head with their brilliant observations.
Clearly, hitting one over the head with "brilliance" is best left for blogs.
Ouch.
Yes, that was sarcasm. And yes, I was indicting myself.
Anyway, sorry, before I went off on a preachy tangent, let me just cap that whole idea off with the realization that what "is" anything is a perception and a personal observation. Do I write "true Steampunk"? No, probably not. My books have a careful (and deliberate) balance of retro-tech and faith-based magic to at best classify my books as "Steampunk Sci-Fi" or "Steampunk Fantasy". But really, at their core, they are books about finding out what you're best at, and trying to do that as well as you can; and the acceptance that everyone finds their own path through their lives, and no one path is perfect for anyone but you.
So, armed with that recollection, I put the finishing touches on my synopsis/outline and prepare to start writing at the end of this week. My goal this year for NaNoWriMo is going to be 2k words/day, every day. Hell or high water.
I'll be posting daily updates on Facebook and Twitter - not because I expect you to care, but because it's harder to let myself slack if I'm trying to keep up a habit in public.
And to all my other NaNo friends, feel free to NaNo-buddy me.
Have a great month, peeps! Let's write novels!
Oct 11, 2010
Reaper's Flight giveaway done!
Thanks to the literally hundreds of people who jumped in on a chance to win a copy of my latest book, "Reaper's Flight". Sorry I couldn't give away copies to everyone who wanted one, but to the three who won (Scotland, Glouchestershire and Mississippi), your books are in the mail and should be there in the next couple weeks.
I hope to hear back on your thoughts regarding the book; I've enjoyed writing it and have been more than happy to share it out there.
Amazon's listing it below 9 dollars paperback (6.50 kindle) for a limited time, and in spite of the fact that even saying that makes me feel like I'm selling a Sham-Wow!, feel free to hop on that price while it lasts. Because, you know, it won't. Meanwhile, the giveaway for The Morrow Stone is still active for another week.
Meanwhile, I'll jump back into Book 2.5, which is like an itch I really have to get to scratching.
Oh, and Mully says to say hi. Or, in his native tongue, "meow."
So... um.... Meow.
I hope to hear back on your thoughts regarding the book; I've enjoyed writing it and have been more than happy to share it out there.
Amazon's listing it below 9 dollars paperback (6.50 kindle) for a limited time, and in spite of the fact that even saying that makes me feel like I'm selling a Sham-Wow!, feel free to hop on that price while it lasts. Because, you know, it won't. Meanwhile, the giveaway for The Morrow Stone is still active for another week.
Meanwhile, I'll jump back into Book 2.5, which is like an itch I really have to get to scratching.
Oh, and Mully says to say hi. Or, in his native tongue, "meow."
So... um.... Meow.
Oct 4, 2010
Going the Distance?
I'm taking a moment - right now, as we speak - to breathe in the satisfaction and high of completing a project and not yet thinking it was a pile of steaming fine. Buoyed by this mild intoxication, I've already sketched out an outline for the next book, which as it turns out will be a prequel to the current trilogy. Sometimes, it would seem, you must go back before you can go forward - a concept which certainly seems true in this case. The current outline, however, conservatively estimates things out at a 17 or 18-chapter structure, give or take. The assumption that this remains constant puts this next project as a 70 or 80 thousand word mini-novel.
Though, yes, that's "mini-novel" when it comes to the scifi/fantasy genres. It's almost a satisfactory quantity for an average novel. The plan is to have this available by springtime. The pacing of my books so far still seems very relaxed, though. Morrow Stone was 92,000 words, and I spent a year from start to finish; Reaper's Flight was 126,000 and took around 9 months. Just crunching those numbers, however, book 2 was a vast improvement over book 1. Book 1 would have averaged about 250 words/day, while book 2 would have been double that. It remains to be seen if I can improve on that kind of turnaround.
Granted, I have had days where I've clocked in 8000 words; I've had 15,000+ word weekends. But I've also had 20,000 word weeks that ended in a complete "writer's block". Thanks to my participation in NaNoWriMo the past two years, I no longer fear that sort of thing, though. I know that with the right controlled environment I can knock out words on a daily basis, even if I end up tossing them out later. But it's not crap; I somehow manage stories I still enjoy even after the morning blush has faded. It reminds me of that old rhetorical question of whether or not a particular process were a sprint or a marathon. In this particular one - of being an author - I'm going to go with a marathon.
For example - - the current trilogy is turning into a trilogy plus a prequel, followed by an anthology (or two) and at least one more book just focusing on Favo. Then I have another series in development following a modern supernatural horror concept, as well as another sci fi series which is already sketched out. And there's also the anthology of children's stories. And a smattering of different graphic novel pitches. And... god, there's so much. It's a mighty big whale, and it seems like the "one bite at a time" metaphor is just paling in comparison to this leviathan I see before me.
Will I ever get to write a Spider-man story? And now that JK Rowling is admitting that she'd like to write more Harry Potter, that HP: The College Years is right out. Okay, that last one was only mildly serious.
Sometimes, with all the ideas stretched out across my imagination, it seems faintly overwhelming. Will I live long enough to write all the stories I have in my head? I suppose I better. At some point, too, I'll need to become financially stable enough with the writing to dedicate more time to it and only to it. Working full time as a crisis manager certainly eats up a lot of free time and mental energy.
I should probably talk to other writers, and see how quickly they can churn out projects. Folks I know who write comics - they have monthly deadlines, but the 22 pages of story and dialogue are probably about equal to the chapters I'd need to type for mine, but they incorporate the edits, etc into that time. That process seems both insane and yet... so very ideal.
Okay, I can't tell if trying to crunch these numbers is an effort to schedule myself more efficiently or to distract me from writing. I suppose I should stop letting myself be distracted and get back into it.
Right. Sorted.
Though, yes, that's "mini-novel" when it comes to the scifi/fantasy genres. It's almost a satisfactory quantity for an average novel. The plan is to have this available by springtime. The pacing of my books so far still seems very relaxed, though. Morrow Stone was 92,000 words, and I spent a year from start to finish; Reaper's Flight was 126,000 and took around 9 months. Just crunching those numbers, however, book 2 was a vast improvement over book 1. Book 1 would have averaged about 250 words/day, while book 2 would have been double that. It remains to be seen if I can improve on that kind of turnaround.
Granted, I have had days where I've clocked in 8000 words; I've had 15,000+ word weekends. But I've also had 20,000 word weeks that ended in a complete "writer's block". Thanks to my participation in NaNoWriMo the past two years, I no longer fear that sort of thing, though. I know that with the right controlled environment I can knock out words on a daily basis, even if I end up tossing them out later. But it's not crap; I somehow manage stories I still enjoy even after the morning blush has faded. It reminds me of that old rhetorical question of whether or not a particular process were a sprint or a marathon. In this particular one - of being an author - I'm going to go with a marathon.
For example - - the current trilogy is turning into a trilogy plus a prequel, followed by an anthology (or two) and at least one more book just focusing on Favo. Then I have another series in development following a modern supernatural horror concept, as well as another sci fi series which is already sketched out. And there's also the anthology of children's stories. And a smattering of different graphic novel pitches. And... god, there's so much. It's a mighty big whale, and it seems like the "one bite at a time" metaphor is just paling in comparison to this leviathan I see before me.
Will I ever get to write a Spider-man story? And now that JK Rowling is admitting that she'd like to write more Harry Potter, that HP: The College Years is right out. Okay, that last one was only mildly serious.
Sometimes, with all the ideas stretched out across my imagination, it seems faintly overwhelming. Will I live long enough to write all the stories I have in my head? I suppose I better. At some point, too, I'll need to become financially stable enough with the writing to dedicate more time to it and only to it. Working full time as a crisis manager certainly eats up a lot of free time and mental energy.
I should probably talk to other writers, and see how quickly they can churn out projects. Folks I know who write comics - they have monthly deadlines, but the 22 pages of story and dialogue are probably about equal to the chapters I'd need to type for mine, but they incorporate the edits, etc into that time. That process seems both insane and yet... so very ideal.
Okay, I can't tell if trying to crunch these numbers is an effort to schedule myself more efficiently or to distract me from writing. I suppose I should stop letting myself be distracted and get back into it.
Right. Sorted.
Sep 29, 2010
On Making the Mental Shift
Pursuing a career in any of the "creative arts" becomes by definition a fairly complex and in many ways unlikely endeavor. It becomes an issue of ambition, determination, skill, natural talent, timing, social connections, and many times just a matter of dumb luck - and that's just the basics of getting your foot in the door! You also need tenacity, reliability, a work ethic, marketability, reputation and a lot of additional luck to remain in the game. It's an ongoing process, and I see many people with high quantities of skill and talent who never go anywhere. Some don't want to; some don't want to...enough.
Some of the fields of "the arts" are more competitive than others, clearly. Acting, popular music are two of the most intensive and difficult to be highly successful at, but anytime your skillset or potential market footprint is valued on an admittedly subjective scale, it's going to be a challenge to convince any of the "powers that be" to invest in you, to trust you to make money for them.
Oh, sure, in a perfect world money would never be part of the equation; in an artistic utopia, all artists would be greeted unilaterally with open arms, minds and hearts by all who happened upon their works; enjoyed and appreciated without being funneled into the merchandizing sausage-maker.
Clearly, we're not living in that utopia.
I've known a lot of musicians, for example, at all stages of commercial success. I remember a lead singer from a band you've never heard of who was eventually dismissed from the group because he insisted on having a roadie carry his microphone and mike stand from their van to the stage and back. This contrasted with their drummer who managed all his equipment himself, and did the full setup and sound check on his own. Some folks might believe that to live the dream, you have to start early. But make no mistake, the life of a diva must be earned. Earned. And even then, it's rarely a good idea.
I also knew a belly dancer who would often become very frustrated - to the point of casting vitriolic insults - at audiences who didn't "appreciate" her talent sufficiently, either by volume of applause or tips. Sadly, she'd neglected the primary rule of thumb: as a performer, you're there to perform. The audience is not there for you; you're there for them.
I give these examples for two reasons.
1) As an artist, you should forget that success rarely comes without much effort. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it.
2) If art is truly something you love doing, you should love doing it for the sake of doing it. If you're looking to be loved, you're in the wrong business.
Back in the days of striving for a gig as a professional musician, I confess that I leaned more in the direction of "maintaining my artistic integrity" - which is a wonderful, if not naive, perspective. And if, really, my artistic integrity was all I wanted, then, hey, I succeeded. I made music that I felt strongly about, and the music sounded the way I wanted it to sound, etc. Was I financially successful? Well, that's a point for debate. I paid off all my debts; I didn't make my millions, but I neither owed millions. That alone put me in a better place than many professional musicians.
In the end, I looked down the barrel of a music career and decided that in a combination of my own resolution and likely marketability, I just wasn't going to ever hit that magical plateau of artistic imaginings and economic payoff. But I also discovered that I was okay with shifting my focus. That alone - the realization that I really didn't want it so badly - was really informative.
So now, ten years later, I write books. I'm just getting started in the process (just the two printed novels thus far), but have been impressed with the vast and striking similarities between the two publishing industries (music and literature). Both are highly competitive, fairly subjective, and encourage perparation and self-sufficiency in their candidates for success.
In short, it isn't just about being "good enough". There are a slew of additional qualities that prospectives should struggle to engender in themselves, for example:
Some of the fields of "the arts" are more competitive than others, clearly. Acting, popular music are two of the most intensive and difficult to be highly successful at, but anytime your skillset or potential market footprint is valued on an admittedly subjective scale, it's going to be a challenge to convince any of the "powers that be" to invest in you, to trust you to make money for them.
Oh, sure, in a perfect world money would never be part of the equation; in an artistic utopia, all artists would be greeted unilaterally with open arms, minds and hearts by all who happened upon their works; enjoyed and appreciated without being funneled into the merchandizing sausage-maker.
Clearly, we're not living in that utopia.
I've known a lot of musicians, for example, at all stages of commercial success. I remember a lead singer from a band you've never heard of who was eventually dismissed from the group because he insisted on having a roadie carry his microphone and mike stand from their van to the stage and back. This contrasted with their drummer who managed all his equipment himself, and did the full setup and sound check on his own. Some folks might believe that to live the dream, you have to start early. But make no mistake, the life of a diva must be earned. Earned. And even then, it's rarely a good idea.
I also knew a belly dancer who would often become very frustrated - to the point of casting vitriolic insults - at audiences who didn't "appreciate" her talent sufficiently, either by volume of applause or tips. Sadly, she'd neglected the primary rule of thumb: as a performer, you're there to perform. The audience is not there for you; you're there for them.
I give these examples for two reasons.
1) As an artist, you should forget that success rarely comes without much effort. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it.
2) If art is truly something you love doing, you should love doing it for the sake of doing it. If you're looking to be loved, you're in the wrong business.
Back in the days of striving for a gig as a professional musician, I confess that I leaned more in the direction of "maintaining my artistic integrity" - which is a wonderful, if not naive, perspective. And if, really, my artistic integrity was all I wanted, then, hey, I succeeded. I made music that I felt strongly about, and the music sounded the way I wanted it to sound, etc. Was I financially successful? Well, that's a point for debate. I paid off all my debts; I didn't make my millions, but I neither owed millions. That alone put me in a better place than many professional musicians.
In the end, I looked down the barrel of a music career and decided that in a combination of my own resolution and likely marketability, I just wasn't going to ever hit that magical plateau of artistic imaginings and economic payoff. But I also discovered that I was okay with shifting my focus. That alone - the realization that I really didn't want it so badly - was really informative.
So now, ten years later, I write books. I'm just getting started in the process (just the two printed novels thus far), but have been impressed with the vast and striking similarities between the two publishing industries (music and literature). Both are highly competitive, fairly subjective, and encourage perparation and self-sufficiency in their candidates for success.
In short, it isn't just about being "good enough". There are a slew of additional qualities that prospectives should struggle to engender in themselves, for example:
- Work Ethic
- Quiet Confidence
- Objectivity
- Business Acumen
- A Thick Skin
- Manners
- Humility
- A Sense of Humor
- Financial Sensibility
- A Second Job
That last one - - I'm serious! I know plenty of professionally published authors who have to maintain a full time job in order to have enough money to actually write. Their usual advice to me boils down to this: "if you're just writing because you love writing, then no one's stopping you. Write and be happy."
I have no false aspirations about writing. The odds of ever being financially independent based upon my royalties and earnings as a published author are roughly that of winning the lottery(and, since I don't play the lottery, that should help put things in perspective for you). No, my aspirations are a little bit love of a good story, buoyed by the desire to share that story with others. Any money I make at the process (and once again, I find myself in the contented state of a balanced spreadsheet - no debts from writing, but no house in the Hamptons, either) just goes towards justifying what might otherwise be nothing more than a satisfying hobby.
Speaking of satisfaction, I got my first copy of my second novel last week. I found myself grinning every bit as broadly as I did from the first - like Christmas all over again. Oh, sure, I'll deal with balancing my dissatisfaction in this word choice or that, later. And I still need to jump back into the next novel, too. And there's the whole process of slowly building my net presence, taking the next steps along my marketing strategy, and so on. Those sorts of fundamental challenges which require the mental shift from creator to businessman are, yes, essential, because I would love little more than to be able to justify spending my Work-time each day on the various projects I have planned out for the next few years and beyond.
But for now, I get to wear each hat, one at a time. I'll take another few moments, grin stupidly at the new shiny cover, and celebrate with the realization that I've managed what was previously unlikely. The zen and tao training tells me to pause now, and recalibrate, and continue again on my path, feeling tranquility and joy in all things. The mental shift is mine to initiate, and for now, I choose to smile.
Take a moment, would you, and smile as well? It's a good world, and it's a good time to tell stories, hear stories, and be present for the telling.
Aug 30, 2010
Whethering Storms
Reaper's Flight is speeding its way through final edits - it's been much quicker and more painless than book 1, and I'll confess to a bit of mixed feelings on that. But, really, I think the majority of my trepidation comes not from the questions of "is it ready to release?" but more a renewal of my inner monologue and introspective curiosity of an undefined path.
I was introduced to the idea of "the road less travelled" at an early and impressionable age, and over the years I've added to that concept the counterpoint of "sometimes the roads are less travelled for good reason". And yet, here I am, continuing to embark upon an author's path that - at least in recent years - is counter to the established.
Just like in my earlier flirtations with music production, I see a pretty impressively endowed Industry, casting a tremendous shadow upon me and others like me. Authors who do not believe that one must be signed to the great and all powerful Oz, and that he's really just a little guy sitting behind his curtain pulling levers and hoping we don't look too closely at him. We are told - on professional websites, at writer's conventions and the like, that the individual does not succeed. We are given countless and often contradictory advice on how to write submission letters, how to try and seem marketable to a literary agent, and... well, the advice goes on and on.
I won't lie; a publishing contract - oh, yes, and certainly a tidy sum of cash - wouldn't send me into a spiralling depression. A bit of industry validation is always a good thing, and it would definitely broaden my audience. It would make future literary ventures also possible, and to be honest, the more financial and marketing elements of publishing tend to feel more like distractions from the act of creation. And I'm not even all that much of a purist!
I've submitted to a few agents who seemed in the proper market, but the ones accepting unsolicited queries rarely seem to have a lot of books published I've even heard of. It makes sense that the ones who publish the most wouldn't necessarily need to post out for the thousands of unpublished authors who would happily ship out their life's work to them for even the fleeting glimmer of hope that they'll get picked up. The polite declines I've received have never gotten me down, either. That was a pleasant surprise. I suppose, unlike the more intimately personal music, I'm just not so tender about my books. At least, I think that's part of it.
Added to that is the inexplicable reassurance that my books aren't half bad. I enjoy the stories they tell and on the levels they tell them. The idea of being signed or picked up by a publishing house rather feels like a secondary aspiration - I'm not writing to be published, I'm writing to put my tales on paper.
Speaking of which, I've got the next few projects laid out - - I've taken a week to pause and gather my sense of direction - - a short novella will be released in the early spring to present the background of one of the main characters of the current series of books; more on that after Reaper's Flight is available. The final book in the present trilogy should be out around this time next year, earlier if possible. Two anthologies of short stories about the world introduced in this "Aerthos Trilogy" is in consideration, as is another possible series focusing on Favo Carr, one of the more scoundrelly of the secondary characters. He's fast becoming one of my favorites, and I just can't tell more of his story now without hijacking the main plot. But I'll get to him soon enough, don't you fret.
I'm also looking into developing out some of the cross-marketing ideas for the books as well. Tarot Cards, stuffed animals, that sort of thing. I'm working with an artist friend of mine (he did the editing for "The Morrow Stone" and produced an amazing cover for HL Reasby's "Akhet") to do the covers for all three of the Aerthos books, but I can see more possibilities for the material, as well. So, see? I have the occasional marketable braincell as well.
I've also already figured out the setting for my next books - it'll be a bit darker, a bit more R to the current PG of the Aerthos books. Additionally, I want to put some more meat onto the bones of my children's story anthology. It has about 5 stories so far; I'd like to have 25-30 when it's time to actually publish it.
The time travel and zombie books are on the back burner for now. I don't have the time to put anything down on either one, and by the time I got around to them, I just don't expect there to be much interest for the themes. Additionally, my sci fi screenplay has been shelved, as has my "Pilot" book. Back into the vault, you two. I'll have to get to them later; just no time in the present. Ditto for my "Union Jack" treatment.
Now that I look at it, am I ever going to be caught up? I suppose, to be fair, it's better than the alternative, no? Okay, I've rambled long enough. I have a book I should be editing now. Plus, Hurricane Earl is bothering some friends of mine in Puerto Rico. Looks like there's a lot of storms on our horizons. Time to hunker down and prepare.
Later!
I was introduced to the idea of "the road less travelled" at an early and impressionable age, and over the years I've added to that concept the counterpoint of "sometimes the roads are less travelled for good reason". And yet, here I am, continuing to embark upon an author's path that - at least in recent years - is counter to the established.
Just like in my earlier flirtations with music production, I see a pretty impressively endowed Industry, casting a tremendous shadow upon me and others like me. Authors who do not believe that one must be signed to the great and all powerful Oz, and that he's really just a little guy sitting behind his curtain pulling levers and hoping we don't look too closely at him. We are told - on professional websites, at writer's conventions and the like, that the individual does not succeed. We are given countless and often contradictory advice on how to write submission letters, how to try and seem marketable to a literary agent, and... well, the advice goes on and on.
I won't lie; a publishing contract - oh, yes, and certainly a tidy sum of cash - wouldn't send me into a spiralling depression. A bit of industry validation is always a good thing, and it would definitely broaden my audience. It would make future literary ventures also possible, and to be honest, the more financial and marketing elements of publishing tend to feel more like distractions from the act of creation. And I'm not even all that much of a purist!
I've submitted to a few agents who seemed in the proper market, but the ones accepting unsolicited queries rarely seem to have a lot of books published I've even heard of. It makes sense that the ones who publish the most wouldn't necessarily need to post out for the thousands of unpublished authors who would happily ship out their life's work to them for even the fleeting glimmer of hope that they'll get picked up. The polite declines I've received have never gotten me down, either. That was a pleasant surprise. I suppose, unlike the more intimately personal music, I'm just not so tender about my books. At least, I think that's part of it.
Added to that is the inexplicable reassurance that my books aren't half bad. I enjoy the stories they tell and on the levels they tell them. The idea of being signed or picked up by a publishing house rather feels like a secondary aspiration - I'm not writing to be published, I'm writing to put my tales on paper.
Speaking of which, I've got the next few projects laid out - - I've taken a week to pause and gather my sense of direction - - a short novella will be released in the early spring to present the background of one of the main characters of the current series of books; more on that after Reaper's Flight is available. The final book in the present trilogy should be out around this time next year, earlier if possible. Two anthologies of short stories about the world introduced in this "Aerthos Trilogy" is in consideration, as is another possible series focusing on Favo Carr, one of the more scoundrelly of the secondary characters. He's fast becoming one of my favorites, and I just can't tell more of his story now without hijacking the main plot. But I'll get to him soon enough, don't you fret.
I'm also looking into developing out some of the cross-marketing ideas for the books as well. Tarot Cards, stuffed animals, that sort of thing. I'm working with an artist friend of mine (he did the editing for "The Morrow Stone" and produced an amazing cover for HL Reasby's "Akhet") to do the covers for all three of the Aerthos books, but I can see more possibilities for the material, as well. So, see? I have the occasional marketable braincell as well.
I've also already figured out the setting for my next books - it'll be a bit darker, a bit more R to the current PG of the Aerthos books. Additionally, I want to put some more meat onto the bones of my children's story anthology. It has about 5 stories so far; I'd like to have 25-30 when it's time to actually publish it.
The time travel and zombie books are on the back burner for now. I don't have the time to put anything down on either one, and by the time I got around to them, I just don't expect there to be much interest for the themes. Additionally, my sci fi screenplay has been shelved, as has my "Pilot" book. Back into the vault, you two. I'll have to get to them later; just no time in the present. Ditto for my "Union Jack" treatment.
Now that I look at it, am I ever going to be caught up? I suppose, to be fair, it's better than the alternative, no? Okay, I've rambled long enough. I have a book I should be editing now. Plus, Hurricane Earl is bothering some friends of mine in Puerto Rico. Looks like there's a lot of storms on our horizons. Time to hunker down and prepare.
Later!
Aug 11, 2010
Top Ten list!
Was recently contacted via Twitter regarding the Morrow Stone - a reader posted their blog with a top ten list of their favorite books, and included Morrow Stone at number 10.
I'm ashamed to admit I have no words to express how delightful that is. I'm really just pleasantly gobsmacked by the idea that people would LIKE my books at all, but there were definitely times that I worried about the delusionality of it all.
Doing anything that people love doing becomes at times a contest of will - - though most often pitting your own will to succeed against your will to not embarass yourself. And through my years of music production, I really saw a lot of bands that - to channel a bit of Simon Cowell - were really kidding themselves. And it wasn't that they sucked; the quality and skill of a musician isn't so clearcut. It was usually that they weren't very good and didn't realize they weren't that good.
A failure to honestly scrutinize onesself is a dangerous thing. Check the mirror before you go out. Look to the blind spot before backing up. Do you have your keys/wallet/cell phone? Are you forgetting anything? Have you practiced your ass off to become as good as possible? Have only your parents heard what you do? Have you considered all the angles? Are you ready?
Speaking of Simon Cowell, my heart breaks watching those shows when a child is thrust before the judges' headlights, and is clearly their first time auditioning for anything. Parents? Hello? What the hell?
I'm not saying that risk is bad, or that you should never try new things, or that it's wrong to hope for the stars. But if you're going to jump for the stars, you really should try and limber up first so you don't pull a muscle. Learn all you can before getting into that situation, talk to people who've been there, practice practice practice. Perform live (if your ambition is suitably designed for such things), and get some people as friends who aren't afraid to point out ways in which you can improve.
And then, when you're pretty sure you're ready for it, jump from the lion's mouth.
Now - - granted, even after all is said and done, all these things cannot guarantee that you're going to be the next Lady Gaga or Sting or Brad Pitt or whoever - but there is great satisfaction to be found when you know you've done your absolute best, even if you don't make the big millions.
Sometimes, just seeing your name on a blog of a complete stranger is enough to make your entire journey seem worth the effort.
Have a good day, my friends. Be delicious.
I'm ashamed to admit I have no words to express how delightful that is. I'm really just pleasantly gobsmacked by the idea that people would LIKE my books at all, but there were definitely times that I worried about the delusionality of it all.
Doing anything that people love doing becomes at times a contest of will - - though most often pitting your own will to succeed against your will to not embarass yourself. And through my years of music production, I really saw a lot of bands that - to channel a bit of Simon Cowell - were really kidding themselves. And it wasn't that they sucked; the quality and skill of a musician isn't so clearcut. It was usually that they weren't very good and didn't realize they weren't that good.
A failure to honestly scrutinize onesself is a dangerous thing. Check the mirror before you go out. Look to the blind spot before backing up. Do you have your keys/wallet/cell phone? Are you forgetting anything? Have you practiced your ass off to become as good as possible? Have only your parents heard what you do? Have you considered all the angles? Are you ready?
Speaking of Simon Cowell, my heart breaks watching those shows when a child is thrust before the judges' headlights, and is clearly their first time auditioning for anything. Parents? Hello? What the hell?
I'm not saying that risk is bad, or that you should never try new things, or that it's wrong to hope for the stars. But if you're going to jump for the stars, you really should try and limber up first so you don't pull a muscle. Learn all you can before getting into that situation, talk to people who've been there, practice practice practice. Perform live (if your ambition is suitably designed for such things), and get some people as friends who aren't afraid to point out ways in which you can improve.
And then, when you're pretty sure you're ready for it, jump from the lion's mouth.
Now - - granted, even after all is said and done, all these things cannot guarantee that you're going to be the next Lady Gaga or Sting or Brad Pitt or whoever - but there is great satisfaction to be found when you know you've done your absolute best, even if you don't make the big millions.
Sometimes, just seeing your name on a blog of a complete stranger is enough to make your entire journey seem worth the effort.
Have a good day, my friends. Be delicious.
Reaper's Flight: Post-Production
Sorry for the delay on my updates - I'd been bouncing around between introversion and distraction in my writing - shifting between "all sail, no rudder" and "all rudder, no sail"; I finally found my wind last week and pressed through until Book 2 of the Aerthos books was wrapped. I've started the oh-so deliciously tedious and occasionally heartbreaking editing process, although I already feel much better this go round.
I'm not logically certain that I should feel so confident, but there it is. Book 2 - "Reaper's Flight" is much more ambitious - we see more of Aerthos this time, with travels to centers of mythological and historical wisdom; we see more technological marvels and even pick up with Rom's journey over the Great Wall that haunted her youth in the scientifically stunted community of Oldtown. Old friends, new enemies, and even a look under the hood, so to speak, as to the nature of Rom and the Sheharid Is'iin.
From a specifically trichotomous (I dare you to find a way to use that one in a sentence!) perspective, I've technically passed the halfway mark in this Big Story, but I already don't want to leave. Book three (tentative title: Fall of the Shepherd) is already laid out and waiting for me to dip my quill (how did that sentence become so naughty?), but I will be spending my time also developing out a novella I plan to release - potentially for free, or at the least as an appendix to book three - focusing on the main villain, Artifice.
I do enjoy a good villain - and when I say "Good Villain", I mean the ones who have a perfectly sound justification for all their naughtiness. Take Darth Vader, for example. He was so much more interesting when he was caught between his love for his son and his loyalty to his Emperor. Granted, it was a challenge to follow him down the dark and sinister path towards the dark side, but I kind of have to point a finger of blame on George Lucas for that one. All the pieces were there, it was more a case of actual movie production dropping the ball.
But that whole idea of "best intentions" serves me not just as a warning sign for my characters, but for me. As much as I enjoy the stories that are there to be told, I am aware of the responsibility I have to tell them well. I'm not just concerned about people finding the books to be a waste of their money, but a waste of their investment of time. Every minute someone spends in one of my books is a minute they're not spending elsewhere - that's an investment which humbles me more than I can say.
But after all is said and done, I believe that all these characters - regardless of the outcome of their choices - have wonderful stories to tell. The whole world I'm discovering right along with my readers is even more fascinating than I had promised - and even as I fall ever deeper in love with it, I have to force myself to remember that it is only my vacation home.
We'll visit it together, shall we? And then come home and talk about our journeys.
So for now, the first draft of Book 2 is complete - it is being given a couple rounds of edits, and then will be into the final stages of production - design, cover art, etc. I've come up with a nice concept for the cover - and will probably have Morrow Stone re-designed as well, to balance all three books out with a solid visual staging, but don't worry - 2nd Edition of book one will also drop in price the moment book 2 is launched.
Plus, I'll be attending the Emerald City ComiCon 2011, and handing out freebies with the book art as well. Presently, we're on track for a September/October launch.
More deets as they become available.
I'm not logically certain that I should feel so confident, but there it is. Book 2 - "Reaper's Flight" is much more ambitious - we see more of Aerthos this time, with travels to centers of mythological and historical wisdom; we see more technological marvels and even pick up with Rom's journey over the Great Wall that haunted her youth in the scientifically stunted community of Oldtown. Old friends, new enemies, and even a look under the hood, so to speak, as to the nature of Rom and the Sheharid Is'iin.
From a specifically trichotomous (I dare you to find a way to use that one in a sentence!) perspective, I've technically passed the halfway mark in this Big Story, but I already don't want to leave. Book three (tentative title: Fall of the Shepherd) is already laid out and waiting for me to dip my quill (how did that sentence become so naughty?), but I will be spending my time also developing out a novella I plan to release - potentially for free, or at the least as an appendix to book three - focusing on the main villain, Artifice.
I do enjoy a good villain - and when I say "Good Villain", I mean the ones who have a perfectly sound justification for all their naughtiness. Take Darth Vader, for example. He was so much more interesting when he was caught between his love for his son and his loyalty to his Emperor. Granted, it was a challenge to follow him down the dark and sinister path towards the dark side, but I kind of have to point a finger of blame on George Lucas for that one. All the pieces were there, it was more a case of actual movie production dropping the ball.
But that whole idea of "best intentions" serves me not just as a warning sign for my characters, but for me. As much as I enjoy the stories that are there to be told, I am aware of the responsibility I have to tell them well. I'm not just concerned about people finding the books to be a waste of their money, but a waste of their investment of time. Every minute someone spends in one of my books is a minute they're not spending elsewhere - that's an investment which humbles me more than I can say.
But after all is said and done, I believe that all these characters - regardless of the outcome of their choices - have wonderful stories to tell. The whole world I'm discovering right along with my readers is even more fascinating than I had promised - and even as I fall ever deeper in love with it, I have to force myself to remember that it is only my vacation home.
We'll visit it together, shall we? And then come home and talk about our journeys.
So for now, the first draft of Book 2 is complete - it is being given a couple rounds of edits, and then will be into the final stages of production - design, cover art, etc. I've come up with a nice concept for the cover - and will probably have Morrow Stone re-designed as well, to balance all three books out with a solid visual staging, but don't worry - 2nd Edition of book one will also drop in price the moment book 2 is launched.
Plus, I'll be attending the Emerald City ComiCon 2011, and handing out freebies with the book art as well. Presently, we're on track for a September/October launch.
More deets as they become available.
May 13, 2010
Finding the Happy Place
Writing is really not a simple in the microcosm of a daily life as I'd like to pretend it is. I've been able to knock out entire novel HALVES in a month's time, and then go for half a year and barely eke out a chapter. This is no way to pace oneself.
There's a cold, hard reality to being a writer - shoot, being an ANYTHING, really - that depends so much on finding your rhythm and then getting all possible distractions locked outside your periphery. A good friend of mine who's working on his first manuscript actually took several days off from his paying job so he could focus on it. Another author I know actually works full time as an editor to pay the bills so he can afford to write.
Myself, I work as a crisis manager for a "major telecommunications company", meaning that on a good day I have almost nothing at all to do. And on a bad day I'm up for 24 hours straight, taking phone calls, sending emails, and generally trying to keep track of where all the bodies are. It sounds fairly idyllic, yes?
Then to dash that little fantasy, bear in mind that about 75% of my job happens without warning. Just your basic sunny day, birds singing, people laughing, all is fine in the world, when suddenly, BAM.
Tornado over Oklahoma.
Then, it's all sirens and phone calls and SMS messages and emails and .... bleargh.
Living in potential expectation of that possibility is what keeps me from just sitting at a desk and writing an additional chapter in the book. No, to be honest, I actually almost prefer the crazy days - - because, then, at least, I know something's happening. I can set things in motion and my mind can, oddly enough, relax. Once the crisis has passed, however, my brain remains keyed up to that elevated stress level, and it takes sometimes weeks for it to calm down and flush the adrenaline from my bloodstream.
And then, it's quiet. Almost...too quiet. And how am I supposed to write, then?
No, clearly my job does not intend for me to have any brain juices left with which to grease my creative wheels.
And that's not all. Occasionally, the flavor of my writing slips unnoticed into my professional communiques - and let's be clear on this: far too many professional types do not appreciate getting a little fictional prose in their bullet points. It's an entirely other kind of writing style - and one I can do, but one that I do not necessarily enjoy. I was reminded today that corporate professionals do not like italics or boldface. It reads to them like condescencion and superiority, not emphasis for content.
Now, when I say I was reminded today, I mean that in quite the literal sense. Reminded, in fact, by my grand-boss (the boss of my boss). Now, he was awesome about it. Really. He knows I write, and realized that I had dropped some of my chocolate in their peanut butter, and in this case the mix did not go over well. Execs took my points as abrasive and cocky and arrogant.
What a swell way to be reminded of why I'm not really in an occupational environment hand-designed for me. Granted, I whisper soft the faint reminder: "You are not your job," I say. "What pays your bills is not your Soul nor your Identity." But if you spend all day long working in the sewer, you still smell like s**t. And if I may be completely honest, I'm really tired of smelling like s**t.
So, on that recognition, I sent out another query letter today. Haven't heard back from TOR publishing, but then I didn't honestly put all my chips on that square anyway.
But I don't expect quick fixes. Need to write. I'm on chapter 13 of "Reaper's Flight." Not quite the home stretch, but it's about ready to smack into the end of Act 2. It's coming together much more cleanly than "Morrow Stone" did. But it also feels a lot like chiseling out a statue from marble:
Look.
Breathe.
Look again.
Measure.
Sip of Water.
Look again.
Position chisel.
Ready hammer.
Breathe again.
Change your mind; step away.
Repeat.
The rush will happen again, that's not my worry. The simplest way to respond to "writer's block" is to just embrace it and let it happen; clutching it just keeps it around.
Enough for today. Time to leave work and clear my head. The words will come again.
There's a cold, hard reality to being a writer - shoot, being an ANYTHING, really - that depends so much on finding your rhythm and then getting all possible distractions locked outside your periphery. A good friend of mine who's working on his first manuscript actually took several days off from his paying job so he could focus on it. Another author I know actually works full time as an editor to pay the bills so he can afford to write.
Myself, I work as a crisis manager for a "major telecommunications company", meaning that on a good day I have almost nothing at all to do. And on a bad day I'm up for 24 hours straight, taking phone calls, sending emails, and generally trying to keep track of where all the bodies are. It sounds fairly idyllic, yes?
Then to dash that little fantasy, bear in mind that about 75% of my job happens without warning. Just your basic sunny day, birds singing, people laughing, all is fine in the world, when suddenly, BAM.
Tornado over Oklahoma.
Then, it's all sirens and phone calls and SMS messages and emails and .... bleargh.
Living in potential expectation of that possibility is what keeps me from just sitting at a desk and writing an additional chapter in the book. No, to be honest, I actually almost prefer the crazy days - - because, then, at least, I know something's happening. I can set things in motion and my mind can, oddly enough, relax. Once the crisis has passed, however, my brain remains keyed up to that elevated stress level, and it takes sometimes weeks for it to calm down and flush the adrenaline from my bloodstream.
And then, it's quiet. Almost...too quiet. And how am I supposed to write, then?
No, clearly my job does not intend for me to have any brain juices left with which to grease my creative wheels.
And that's not all. Occasionally, the flavor of my writing slips unnoticed into my professional communiques - and let's be clear on this: far too many professional types do not appreciate getting a little fictional prose in their bullet points. It's an entirely other kind of writing style - and one I can do, but one that I do not necessarily enjoy. I was reminded today that corporate professionals do not like italics or boldface. It reads to them like condescencion and superiority, not emphasis for content.
Now, when I say I was reminded today, I mean that in quite the literal sense. Reminded, in fact, by my grand-boss (the boss of my boss). Now, he was awesome about it. Really. He knows I write, and realized that I had dropped some of my chocolate in their peanut butter, and in this case the mix did not go over well. Execs took my points as abrasive and cocky and arrogant.
What a swell way to be reminded of why I'm not really in an occupational environment hand-designed for me. Granted, I whisper soft the faint reminder: "You are not your job," I say. "What pays your bills is not your Soul nor your Identity." But if you spend all day long working in the sewer, you still smell like s**t. And if I may be completely honest, I'm really tired of smelling like s**t.
So, on that recognition, I sent out another query letter today. Haven't heard back from TOR publishing, but then I didn't honestly put all my chips on that square anyway.
But I don't expect quick fixes. Need to write. I'm on chapter 13 of "Reaper's Flight." Not quite the home stretch, but it's about ready to smack into the end of Act 2. It's coming together much more cleanly than "Morrow Stone" did. But it also feels a lot like chiseling out a statue from marble:
Look.
Breathe.
Look again.
Measure.
Sip of Water.
Look again.
Position chisel.
Ready hammer.
Breathe again.
Change your mind; step away.
Repeat.
The rush will happen again, that's not my worry. The simplest way to respond to "writer's block" is to just embrace it and let it happen; clutching it just keeps it around.
Enough for today. Time to leave work and clear my head. The words will come again.
May 11, 2010
Death and the Maiden
It might have started with the zombies.
Yesterday afternoon, the Bean and I were talking about this and that while working on her homework, and the conversation turned to zombies and ghosts. She asked me if I'd ever seen a ghost, which led to another conversation - one that I'll save here for another time, perhaps.
Then she asked me why I thought ghosts were here at all - this led to another series of topics involving ghosts vs spirits vs angels, empathy, reincarnation, and, well, death. This is a tricky conversation to have with a 9 year old, let's be honest. But the Bean has always been very sensitive to the concept of death - it's been kind of surrounding her since she was very young - with Lizz's parents and uncle Stan having passed away, it's just become a sort of thing present in the background ever since she was born. But also, it has really impacted her in general.
I made a kind of breakthrough, I think, in that we were able to address the concerns of life and death and life beyond in a way that didn't involve religious considerations, but still embraced the idea of faith and belief. Those are things that I had feared forever tainted by my exposure to religious indoctrination, and it was liberating to see that they were really only as inextricably bound as I allowed them to be.
I was able to tell Jillie what I believed, and it gave her something to consider - something that she realized she also thought was a good thing to believe in. We even talked about the scientific principle about the conservation of matter and energy; about how something can never be destroyed nor created, but can only be converted and processed. It gave her something to wrap the unwrappable in, and gave her a toehold to believing in the immortality of the human soul.
Belief really is a tricky thing. It's even stranger to think of how much it's been a part of my life, but, stripping away all the extra trappings of it all and leaving it in its primal, simplest state.... it's a very beautiful thing.
Jillie also made a comment that has stuck with me. She said "sometimes I wonder if I'm just dreaming or if this is real. Or if my dreams are real."
Nine years old, facing an existential quandary? Is that a symptom of bad parenting? Hrm.
It made me think a lot, as well, about my expectations for development with my characters in the Morrow Stone's sequel. I'm over halfway through the first draft at this point, and I've noticed little perceptions coming out in Rom and Kari, as well as Cousins, as they've learned more about who they are and about the world in which they live. The concepts of life and death have been radically altered, and it won't be the last time they have to face the transition of the two states of reality.
It's funny how life imitates reality, really; how sometimes our own characters have lessons to teach us - even those of us who pretend to be the gods of their destiny.
Yesterday afternoon, the Bean and I were talking about this and that while working on her homework, and the conversation turned to zombies and ghosts. She asked me if I'd ever seen a ghost, which led to another conversation - one that I'll save here for another time, perhaps.
Then she asked me why I thought ghosts were here at all - this led to another series of topics involving ghosts vs spirits vs angels, empathy, reincarnation, and, well, death. This is a tricky conversation to have with a 9 year old, let's be honest. But the Bean has always been very sensitive to the concept of death - it's been kind of surrounding her since she was very young - with Lizz's parents and uncle Stan having passed away, it's just become a sort of thing present in the background ever since she was born. But also, it has really impacted her in general.
I made a kind of breakthrough, I think, in that we were able to address the concerns of life and death and life beyond in a way that didn't involve religious considerations, but still embraced the idea of faith and belief. Those are things that I had feared forever tainted by my exposure to religious indoctrination, and it was liberating to see that they were really only as inextricably bound as I allowed them to be.
I was able to tell Jillie what I believed, and it gave her something to consider - something that she realized she also thought was a good thing to believe in. We even talked about the scientific principle about the conservation of matter and energy; about how something can never be destroyed nor created, but can only be converted and processed. It gave her something to wrap the unwrappable in, and gave her a toehold to believing in the immortality of the human soul.
Belief really is a tricky thing. It's even stranger to think of how much it's been a part of my life, but, stripping away all the extra trappings of it all and leaving it in its primal, simplest state.... it's a very beautiful thing.
Jillie also made a comment that has stuck with me. She said "sometimes I wonder if I'm just dreaming or if this is real. Or if my dreams are real."
Nine years old, facing an existential quandary? Is that a symptom of bad parenting? Hrm.
It made me think a lot, as well, about my expectations for development with my characters in the Morrow Stone's sequel. I'm over halfway through the first draft at this point, and I've noticed little perceptions coming out in Rom and Kari, as well as Cousins, as they've learned more about who they are and about the world in which they live. The concepts of life and death have been radically altered, and it won't be the last time they have to face the transition of the two states of reality.
It's funny how life imitates reality, really; how sometimes our own characters have lessons to teach us - even those of us who pretend to be the gods of their destiny.
Dec 14, 2009
My 2009 self-pimpage
Okay, I'm going to just post this and then get back to work on the other pending projects, and...well, work.
The Morrow Stone (paperback)
The Morrow Stone (Kindle version)
Obsidian Bridges (2009 re-release)
Broadening the distribution of the paperback, but also shifting my focus now back to a Time Travel anthology and book 2.
Have begun discussions with a few other local entrepreneurs on the merits of forming an actual business partnership for local publishing. Yikers.
The Morrow Stone (paperback)
The Morrow Stone (Kindle version)
Obsidian Bridges (2009 re-release)
Broadening the distribution of the paperback, but also shifting my focus now back to a Time Travel anthology and book 2.
Have begun discussions with a few other local entrepreneurs on the merits of forming an actual business partnership for local publishing. Yikers.
Dec 6, 2009
It's Official!
"The Morrow Stone" is now available for purchase, through Amazon.com and Createspace.com. It's available in Hard Copy and Kindle format.
The re-release of "Obsidian Bridges", with new songs, will be available soon.
The re-release of "Obsidian Bridges", with new songs, will be available soon.
Nov 9, 2009
Past and Future Presence (Presents?)
I might have picked a bad year to jump into another NaNoWriMo - - apparently, at least, the universe has other plans. There are several lessons it seems I need to learn - mostly about Desire, Belief, and Surrendering to the Will of the Wild or something. I'm still learning the questions to these many mysteries that are now waking me up at night; still far from having the answers they allude to.
The quest that presses me forward into publishing has brought some remarkable new friendships into my life, all of whom challenge me in new and deliciously brutal ways. I know it's brutal because I find myself half-longing for the darkness and relative seclusion I once favored. Or perhaps "favored" isn't the right word. I'd come to a point, intellectually and spiritually, where I felt I no longer lacked for dramatic surges in personal growth.
I should have known that was an illusion. Yes, I do get that.
The process of this latest book is forcing me to confront long-concealed self-recriminations, thoughts on my own value (as a person, writing or otherwise) in addition to simply questioning my own skill as a writer. One question I posited this weekend was: why do I write YA Fiction? Is that how I see myself as a writer, or a thinker, or is it just the genre I'm most comfortable in?
Comfort is a thing against which I have to remain on constant vigil - I don't want to become artistically or creatively lazy. I just refuse to take the process for granted.
I suppose this process wouldn't even be a blip on my blogging radar if it didn't seem to be mirrored in my personal foundation of belief and faith. I feel like I'm peeling back the foundation I laid down 15 years ago, when I first began scraping myself out of my old paradyme. and I knew the temporary foundation of faith was only that - temporary. But I appear to have laid a good deal atop it. And now I need to start resolving that ghost of religion past, before I get one of those "tonight you'll be visited by three spirits" conversations.
You know, with all this in mind, maybe it's a good thing I'm only writing YA fiction. Clearly, the adult resolutions are still a little ways out yet. I followed up on a recent suggestion by reading up on some of the work by Bill Plotkin in talking about the nature of the human soul, and the nature of... well, nature. Today, I sit at work (the one which pays me) in a vest and tie and recognize that I'm far from the wild man that wants to throw it all off and dance and sing and howl.
For now, though: stories about young children saving the world. Tomorrow, I'll work on the finer points of the soul. I've already got a couple books addressing that, I'm just not yet ready to write them.
Enough for now. Write on, space cowboy.
The quest that presses me forward into publishing has brought some remarkable new friendships into my life, all of whom challenge me in new and deliciously brutal ways. I know it's brutal because I find myself half-longing for the darkness and relative seclusion I once favored. Or perhaps "favored" isn't the right word. I'd come to a point, intellectually and spiritually, where I felt I no longer lacked for dramatic surges in personal growth.
I should have known that was an illusion. Yes, I do get that.
The process of this latest book is forcing me to confront long-concealed self-recriminations, thoughts on my own value (as a person, writing or otherwise) in addition to simply questioning my own skill as a writer. One question I posited this weekend was: why do I write YA Fiction? Is that how I see myself as a writer, or a thinker, or is it just the genre I'm most comfortable in?
Comfort is a thing against which I have to remain on constant vigil - I don't want to become artistically or creatively lazy. I just refuse to take the process for granted.
I suppose this process wouldn't even be a blip on my blogging radar if it didn't seem to be mirrored in my personal foundation of belief and faith. I feel like I'm peeling back the foundation I laid down 15 years ago, when I first began scraping myself out of my old paradyme. and I knew the temporary foundation of faith was only that - temporary. But I appear to have laid a good deal atop it. And now I need to start resolving that ghost of religion past, before I get one of those "tonight you'll be visited by three spirits" conversations.
You know, with all this in mind, maybe it's a good thing I'm only writing YA fiction. Clearly, the adult resolutions are still a little ways out yet. I followed up on a recent suggestion by reading up on some of the work by Bill Plotkin in talking about the nature of the human soul, and the nature of... well, nature. Today, I sit at work (the one which pays me) in a vest and tie and recognize that I'm far from the wild man that wants to throw it all off and dance and sing and howl.
For now, though: stories about young children saving the world. Tomorrow, I'll work on the finer points of the soul. I've already got a couple books addressing that, I'm just not yet ready to write them.
Enough for now. Write on, space cowboy.
Nov 5, 2009
Painful and Awkward Realizations
I once considered myself a would-be professional musician. I invested a good deal of time and energy into it, put myself out there in bands, solo work, studio sessions, live shows, radio shows.... etc. Have reels of studio recordings, demo recordings and a CD to show for it.
In the end - when life showed me the brutally explicit future my life as such held in store, I chose to step off that path.
Life without a creative outlet was as close to spiritual death as I could have imagined, but I rediscovered the joy of writing - of telling stories, crafting modern re-envisionings of mythologies ancient and contemporary. I'm in the middle of a second of three novels, YA SciFi/Fantasy genre, and I only just now forced myself - or allowed life to force me, more accurately - to see a brutal truth.
These books are not the books I have yet to NEED to write. These are fun books, stories, fantasies and pretends. But there are tales that are more primal to my consciousness, and I'm nowhere near ready to expose those deeper thoughts. The truer fears and founding principles that power me - or restrain me - still exist well out of reach from the fictional yarns I'm weaving.
The question I must ask myself, however, is this:
Can I survive as an author if I do not confront these darkest daemons from my core? Or will they one day claw their way unbidden to my surface? This is not the moment I expected to ask these questions. But, then, does any one of us make an appointment with their inner demons, in an effort to seek a confrontation of convenience?
The rest of this book should prove interesting.
In the end - when life showed me the brutally explicit future my life as such held in store, I chose to step off that path.
Life without a creative outlet was as close to spiritual death as I could have imagined, but I rediscovered the joy of writing - of telling stories, crafting modern re-envisionings of mythologies ancient and contemporary. I'm in the middle of a second of three novels, YA SciFi/Fantasy genre, and I only just now forced myself - or allowed life to force me, more accurately - to see a brutal truth.
These books are not the books I have yet to NEED to write. These are fun books, stories, fantasies and pretends. But there are tales that are more primal to my consciousness, and I'm nowhere near ready to expose those deeper thoughts. The truer fears and founding principles that power me - or restrain me - still exist well out of reach from the fictional yarns I'm weaving.
The question I must ask myself, however, is this:
Can I survive as an author if I do not confront these darkest daemons from my core? Or will they one day claw their way unbidden to my surface? This is not the moment I expected to ask these questions. But, then, does any one of us make an appointment with their inner demons, in an effort to seek a confrontation of convenience?
The rest of this book should prove interesting.
Oct 20, 2009
exerpt from "The Morrow Stone"
Still two streets from the fields, Rom knew her sense was right – the workers were running past her in a chaotic stream, more than one bloodied and obviously injured. After being run into for the third time, she took a deep breath and jumped up and onto the nearest rooftop. From there, she took another relatively small jump and landed just near the edge of the final building towards the fields.
A small gathering of workers seemed focused on something not too far from the city itself – they were clustered in a loose circle, and something large and blue moved quickly among them. Screams and calls for help made their way to her ears. She tapped the bracelet and summoned her shepherd’s crook.
“Hold on tight, this is a long jump,” she said. Mulligan complied.
She kicked off, and the winds rustled through the folds and pleated gathers of the dress – only the sound of the fabric and the wind whistling past them could be heard until she landed, just beyond the men.
“Run!” she yelled to them. “Go on, I’ll take care of this!”
A few of the men were reluctant to leave this young white-haired girl – particularly, the ones who did not see her just leap more than a hundred feet across the sky – but enough did so to give her a clear view of the indigo-furred creature.
It was taller than her at its shoulders, with a black mane and a single horn extending upwards from the tip of his nose. It had the look of a large dog, but with pointed ears and enormous bird’s wings protruding from its back. Its tail was long and flicking about, the end barbed with what looked to be a large assortment of quills.
“A mundaline,” Mulligan whispered. “They’re… really tough,” he said, falling substantially short of the mark for his efforts at nonchalance, but overcompensating as he continued, “but I’m sure you’ll best him.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I feel much better now.”
She slapped the staff into the palm of her hand. “Hey, you! Big blue dog-cat-thing!”
It fixed his attention on her and she began to back away slowly, drawing it away from the group of farmers. They opened the circle into a large curving line, standing as if to defend the city against this wild beast.
“Come on, you whatever you are! Come on and fight me!”
“You’re doing great, Rom, he’s definitely doing exactly what you’re telling him to do.”
“Hush, Mully,” she hissed.
“Do you have a plan for this?” he asked nervously.
“A plan for what?” She twirled the staff around a few times to keep its attention on her – the whistling sound created as the curved top cut through the air seemed to work.
His whisper increased in intensity. “What do you mean, a plan for what?”
She sighed. “You need to figure something out about me, Mully.”
“What’s that?”
She stopped moving backwards, and placed one foot back behind her, turning partially away from the creature and holding her staff in one hand, the top pointed low towards the ground. The mundaline paused, lowering itself towards the ground.
“I never plan things out.”
A small gathering of workers seemed focused on something not too far from the city itself – they were clustered in a loose circle, and something large and blue moved quickly among them. Screams and calls for help made their way to her ears. She tapped the bracelet and summoned her shepherd’s crook.
“Hold on tight, this is a long jump,” she said. Mulligan complied.
She kicked off, and the winds rustled through the folds and pleated gathers of the dress – only the sound of the fabric and the wind whistling past them could be heard until she landed, just beyond the men.
“Run!” she yelled to them. “Go on, I’ll take care of this!”
A few of the men were reluctant to leave this young white-haired girl – particularly, the ones who did not see her just leap more than a hundred feet across the sky – but enough did so to give her a clear view of the indigo-furred creature.
It was taller than her at its shoulders, with a black mane and a single horn extending upwards from the tip of his nose. It had the look of a large dog, but with pointed ears and enormous bird’s wings protruding from its back. Its tail was long and flicking about, the end barbed with what looked to be a large assortment of quills.
“A mundaline,” Mulligan whispered. “They’re… really tough,” he said, falling substantially short of the mark for his efforts at nonchalance, but overcompensating as he continued, “but I’m sure you’ll best him.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I feel much better now.”
She slapped the staff into the palm of her hand. “Hey, you! Big blue dog-cat-thing!”
It fixed his attention on her and she began to back away slowly, drawing it away from the group of farmers. They opened the circle into a large curving line, standing as if to defend the city against this wild beast.
“Come on, you whatever you are! Come on and fight me!”
“You’re doing great, Rom, he’s definitely doing exactly what you’re telling him to do.”
“Hush, Mully,” she hissed.
“Do you have a plan for this?” he asked nervously.
“A plan for what?” She twirled the staff around a few times to keep its attention on her – the whistling sound created as the curved top cut through the air seemed to work.
His whisper increased in intensity. “What do you mean, a plan for what?”
She sighed. “You need to figure something out about me, Mully.”
“What’s that?”
She stopped moving backwards, and placed one foot back behind her, turning partially away from the creature and holding her staff in one hand, the top pointed low towards the ground. The mundaline paused, lowering itself towards the ground.
“I never plan things out.”
Aug 21, 2009
I am David's White Blood Cell
I am David’s white blood cell. Just one of a million or so – probably more, if you believe the propaganda – little white blood cells just like me, doing our job. No need to thank me. Though, just between you and me, a little gratitude wouldn’t be a bad thing. Sure, it’s a thankless enough job, running around the veins and arteries and capillaries of this guy day after day, night after night. But I suppose you could say, just like any job, that it has its own rewards.
Long as I can remember, this has been me: microscopic little entity, floating among a stream of other white and red cells, just patching things up as we see them. Been doing this since the beginning, and it’s good enough work, I suppose. Though, originally I really wanted to be one of those guys up in the optic nerve. Now THERE’S a job with a view.
Let me tell you – since I have your attention – about my day. I don’t really sleep – we don’t need to – but I do like to kind of keep track of the days and nights. See, during the night, David’s pretty boring. Not a lot of activity in here, and it gets pretty quiet – but it’s peaceful and means we usually don’t get called up to head here or there, lay some smack down on foreign intruders or whatnot. Some of the bits of the innards get a bit creepy – lots of weird sounds that no one can explain, long miles of, really, nothing to do. You get that much time with nothing to keep you company, you start to really think about stuff. So I do a lot of pretending: I play like I’m a virus and beat up on some of the new Reds - that always screws with the other whiteys, who really don’t know what to make of that. Or I head down to the stomach and count the bubbles. David’s stomach has a lot of bubbles. It’s almost hypnotic, really, all that acid. Makes me wish I could eat an Oreo.
Then David wakes up and it’s back to work. My favorite days are when I get to go down the arms. David has a pretty low-impact job, so really I just watch as he types on his computer – the fingers all move in this weird little dance of language, and when he gets into a groove, that place really gets jumping. The places I don’t like? The ass, as you might expect, is pretty bad – but I haven’t been back there since I was on a written warning from the boss for trying to fake my timecard. I don’t like heading up to the brain, either. Too much electricity from all those neurons, it screws with my iPod. Last time I was up there, it erased my entire Nine Inch Nails playlist. So now when I get called up there, I just phone it in and hang out around David’s thyroid with some enzymes I met last year at a rave in David’s liver. Those girls really know how to party, man.
Hmmm – hold on a second, I need to check something out. Ah, never mind, just a shadow. Today, they’ve sent me down to check on the lungs for a bit, just kind of an employee exchange program they’ve been initiating lately. There were a lot of cut backs last year when David had some work done on his right knee, and everyone’s been really nervous. Turns out they brought in some outside help – cheaper, more affordable labor – but I personally believe that once you start outsourcing, it’s just a matter of time before they outsource everyone. Much as I might dislike my job, it’s the only one I got, and I’m in no hurry to try and spruce up my resume.
Buddy of mine found out that the whole outsourcing plan works both ways – he found an ad for donations, and made his way down to the testes. Never heard from him again. I hope he’s okay. Me, I don’t care for the kind of riff-raff you generally find down there. Maybe when I was younger, sure, but I’m no spring chicken any more – I get enough excitement from surfing the aorta. Honestly, that whole region is trouble, if you ask me. Any time you get too close to the exits, you’re running a pretty big risk of unemployment.
The lungs are a pretty fascinating place. I don’t really understand how this whole “oxygen transfer” thing works, but they come in cold and go out hot, and it seems to work out nicely for them in the long run. It’s pretty odd, really. I can’t imagine being a Red. “Red”. Heh. As if it’s all so easily defined. But anyway, they have such a simple life – from my elevated perspective, right? At least as a white, we’ve got some choice, some sense of variety to our menial existence. Not like the reds. Pick this up. Take it there. Drop it off. Come back to the lungs. Pick up another one. Blah blah blah blah. God, I’d have to shoot myself if that was my job. Ooh. Speaking of my job, I need to be heading back to the chambers again. Come on, we can talk on the way.
This job’s really not too hard. It’s just keeping an eye out for trouble, most of the time, calling for a few special forces teams to show up and take care of any undesirables, or to help patch up the occasional leak. Brain gets wind of an ache or twinge or something, they tell us to go check it out, make sure it’s all on the up and up. We don’t have to make the Big Decisions; we just follow orders, write up the reports, and let folks know if things need to be given more attention. Sometimes, we have to hang out on a crime scene, clean things up or whatever, but we usually just boss the little Reds around and make them do it. No, don’t make that face. It’s totally fine, they like to help.
Okay, hold on, we’re hitting the heart now, it’s my favorite part of my day. It’s all in the timing. Just – yeah, lift your feet just like that, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times - - and YEAH! God, what a rush. I love that place.
Hmm. Okay, see, here’s what I was talking about. A little spot of concern down nearDavid’s left kidney. It’s probably nothing. He had an infection there a couple of years back, and now whenever it’s about to rain, everyone gets all in a huff. A bunch of Nervous Nellies, if you ask me. Now, that over there is the digestive system – that big bloaty part is David’s stomach, like I told you about earlier. It may not look like much from the outside, but if we had time, I’d take you by there for the full effect. I heard someone say earlier that David was thinking about having sushi for lunch. Sushi is the best, I’m not even joking. If this turns out to be a false alarm, I’ll try to swing us back by.
All right, now this is exactly what I figured. See? That whole area ahead of us? That’s where the so-called “Pain Report” is coming from. And….nothing. Not a goddamned thing. Kidney’s fine, no unusual lumps or shapes, no leaks, no breaks. Just business as usual David’s Kidney. After a while, I just don’t even want to show up any more. It’s been nothing but false alarm after false alarm the past few months anyway. A guy never gets a chance to kick his feet up, take a breath, throw back a beer or whatever. And that’s no way to run a body, if you ask me.
We’re going to have to swing the full loop around, now that we’re down here, I might as well show you the sights. That bit over there is the whole “exit” area I was talking about. Nothing but piss, shit and the occasional ejaculation: nothing to write home about. And we’re gonna hang a right at the femoral artery. About this time of day, it’s just bumper to bumper there, and no one ever signals. It’s just an excuse for a hemorrhage, waiting to happen. Mark my words, there’s trouble there.
Now, that’s weird. That, over there – that finger-looking bit of nonsense? That’s David’s appendix. I heard from a guy who said he had to deliver a couple skanky endorphins there a year or so ago, said they’re some top-secret shit that goes down in there. No one ever likes to talk about it, it’s all pretty hush-hush. A couple years back, I might’ve hopped the fence and taken a look about, but, you know, I got myself to think of; a guy can’t take that sort of risk anymore, if you catch my meaning. Anyway, maybe it’s just the beer talking, but I don’t remember it looking quite that…big. Eh. It’s probably nothing. Besides, they don’t pay me to be proactive, that’s a job for David’s Brain.
Moving on, we’re making good time, so let’s head over to the stomach a bit. You hear that – that low rumble? That means the show’s starting. We’re pretty far away from David’s esophagus, but that’s the best view to check out the inbound arrivals. Some Whites buck for that kind of job – up in David’s head. They like to check everything out as it comes in – air, liquids, food, whatever comes down the pipe. I got offered a job up in Customs, but I’m not that ambitious. I prefer to just kind of handle stuff as it happens. Guy can work every day of his life and still not get anywhere, no sense in killing yourself just to try and get a medal pinned on your chest. “Most heroes are awarded posthumously”, as they say.
Geez, there’s a lot of traffic around here, all of a sudden. Seems like everyone’s always in a hurry these days. See that group over there, the bunch of Whites? You can see it in their eyes, the clenching of their jaws – they’re on the job. Got a bunch of their pet platelets along with them, too. I won’t bother asking them what’s up, they’re too busy to sit and chat. Kids. Full of dreams and optimism. Ready to change the world, one little symptom at a time.
Good way to get turned into a scab at an early age, that’s what I say. See? Take a look at those bubbles. That’s a good sight. Mmm… baked salmon rolls. David has good taste.
Damn it. Just when it was getting good. That’s a message from upstairs. Looks like they’re not ready to call that kidney pain a wash just yet, and they want me to go back and check it out again. No, don’t get up just yet. I’m on my lunch break. The kidney’ll still be there after David finishes his food, and we’ll go back for a closer look then. Besides, there’s a million other White Blood Cells, let one of them be the hero today. I’m no hero.
I’m just David’s White Blood Cell.
by Ren Cummins
Long as I can remember, this has been me: microscopic little entity, floating among a stream of other white and red cells, just patching things up as we see them. Been doing this since the beginning, and it’s good enough work, I suppose. Though, originally I really wanted to be one of those guys up in the optic nerve. Now THERE’S a job with a view.
Let me tell you – since I have your attention – about my day. I don’t really sleep – we don’t need to – but I do like to kind of keep track of the days and nights. See, during the night, David’s pretty boring. Not a lot of activity in here, and it gets pretty quiet – but it’s peaceful and means we usually don’t get called up to head here or there, lay some smack down on foreign intruders or whatnot. Some of the bits of the innards get a bit creepy – lots of weird sounds that no one can explain, long miles of, really, nothing to do. You get that much time with nothing to keep you company, you start to really think about stuff. So I do a lot of pretending: I play like I’m a virus and beat up on some of the new Reds - that always screws with the other whiteys, who really don’t know what to make of that. Or I head down to the stomach and count the bubbles. David’s stomach has a lot of bubbles. It’s almost hypnotic, really, all that acid. Makes me wish I could eat an Oreo.
Then David wakes up and it’s back to work. My favorite days are when I get to go down the arms. David has a pretty low-impact job, so really I just watch as he types on his computer – the fingers all move in this weird little dance of language, and when he gets into a groove, that place really gets jumping. The places I don’t like? The ass, as you might expect, is pretty bad – but I haven’t been back there since I was on a written warning from the boss for trying to fake my timecard. I don’t like heading up to the brain, either. Too much electricity from all those neurons, it screws with my iPod. Last time I was up there, it erased my entire Nine Inch Nails playlist. So now when I get called up there, I just phone it in and hang out around David’s thyroid with some enzymes I met last year at a rave in David’s liver. Those girls really know how to party, man.
Hmmm – hold on a second, I need to check something out. Ah, never mind, just a shadow. Today, they’ve sent me down to check on the lungs for a bit, just kind of an employee exchange program they’ve been initiating lately. There were a lot of cut backs last year when David had some work done on his right knee, and everyone’s been really nervous. Turns out they brought in some outside help – cheaper, more affordable labor – but I personally believe that once you start outsourcing, it’s just a matter of time before they outsource everyone. Much as I might dislike my job, it’s the only one I got, and I’m in no hurry to try and spruce up my resume.
Buddy of mine found out that the whole outsourcing plan works both ways – he found an ad for donations, and made his way down to the testes. Never heard from him again. I hope he’s okay. Me, I don’t care for the kind of riff-raff you generally find down there. Maybe when I was younger, sure, but I’m no spring chicken any more – I get enough excitement from surfing the aorta. Honestly, that whole region is trouble, if you ask me. Any time you get too close to the exits, you’re running a pretty big risk of unemployment.
The lungs are a pretty fascinating place. I don’t really understand how this whole “oxygen transfer” thing works, but they come in cold and go out hot, and it seems to work out nicely for them in the long run. It’s pretty odd, really. I can’t imagine being a Red. “Red”. Heh. As if it’s all so easily defined. But anyway, they have such a simple life – from my elevated perspective, right? At least as a white, we’ve got some choice, some sense of variety to our menial existence. Not like the reds. Pick this up. Take it there. Drop it off. Come back to the lungs. Pick up another one. Blah blah blah blah. God, I’d have to shoot myself if that was my job. Ooh. Speaking of my job, I need to be heading back to the chambers again. Come on, we can talk on the way.
This job’s really not too hard. It’s just keeping an eye out for trouble, most of the time, calling for a few special forces teams to show up and take care of any undesirables, or to help patch up the occasional leak. Brain gets wind of an ache or twinge or something, they tell us to go check it out, make sure it’s all on the up and up. We don’t have to make the Big Decisions; we just follow orders, write up the reports, and let folks know if things need to be given more attention. Sometimes, we have to hang out on a crime scene, clean things up or whatever, but we usually just boss the little Reds around and make them do it. No, don’t make that face. It’s totally fine, they like to help.
Okay, hold on, we’re hitting the heart now, it’s my favorite part of my day. It’s all in the timing. Just – yeah, lift your feet just like that, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times - - and YEAH! God, what a rush. I love that place.
Hmm. Okay, see, here’s what I was talking about. A little spot of concern down nearDavid’s left kidney. It’s probably nothing. He had an infection there a couple of years back, and now whenever it’s about to rain, everyone gets all in a huff. A bunch of Nervous Nellies, if you ask me. Now, that over there is the digestive system – that big bloaty part is David’s stomach, like I told you about earlier. It may not look like much from the outside, but if we had time, I’d take you by there for the full effect. I heard someone say earlier that David was thinking about having sushi for lunch. Sushi is the best, I’m not even joking. If this turns out to be a false alarm, I’ll try to swing us back by.
All right, now this is exactly what I figured. See? That whole area ahead of us? That’s where the so-called “Pain Report” is coming from. And….nothing. Not a goddamned thing. Kidney’s fine, no unusual lumps or shapes, no leaks, no breaks. Just business as usual David’s Kidney. After a while, I just don’t even want to show up any more. It’s been nothing but false alarm after false alarm the past few months anyway. A guy never gets a chance to kick his feet up, take a breath, throw back a beer or whatever. And that’s no way to run a body, if you ask me.
We’re going to have to swing the full loop around, now that we’re down here, I might as well show you the sights. That bit over there is the whole “exit” area I was talking about. Nothing but piss, shit and the occasional ejaculation: nothing to write home about. And we’re gonna hang a right at the femoral artery. About this time of day, it’s just bumper to bumper there, and no one ever signals. It’s just an excuse for a hemorrhage, waiting to happen. Mark my words, there’s trouble there.
Now, that’s weird. That, over there – that finger-looking bit of nonsense? That’s David’s appendix. I heard from a guy who said he had to deliver a couple skanky endorphins there a year or so ago, said they’re some top-secret shit that goes down in there. No one ever likes to talk about it, it’s all pretty hush-hush. A couple years back, I might’ve hopped the fence and taken a look about, but, you know, I got myself to think of; a guy can’t take that sort of risk anymore, if you catch my meaning. Anyway, maybe it’s just the beer talking, but I don’t remember it looking quite that…big. Eh. It’s probably nothing. Besides, they don’t pay me to be proactive, that’s a job for David’s Brain.
Moving on, we’re making good time, so let’s head over to the stomach a bit. You hear that – that low rumble? That means the show’s starting. We’re pretty far away from David’s esophagus, but that’s the best view to check out the inbound arrivals. Some Whites buck for that kind of job – up in David’s head. They like to check everything out as it comes in – air, liquids, food, whatever comes down the pipe. I got offered a job up in Customs, but I’m not that ambitious. I prefer to just kind of handle stuff as it happens. Guy can work every day of his life and still not get anywhere, no sense in killing yourself just to try and get a medal pinned on your chest. “Most heroes are awarded posthumously”, as they say.
Geez, there’s a lot of traffic around here, all of a sudden. Seems like everyone’s always in a hurry these days. See that group over there, the bunch of Whites? You can see it in their eyes, the clenching of their jaws – they’re on the job. Got a bunch of their pet platelets along with them, too. I won’t bother asking them what’s up, they’re too busy to sit and chat. Kids. Full of dreams and optimism. Ready to change the world, one little symptom at a time.
Good way to get turned into a scab at an early age, that’s what I say. See? Take a look at those bubbles. That’s a good sight. Mmm… baked salmon rolls. David has good taste.
Damn it. Just when it was getting good. That’s a message from upstairs. Looks like they’re not ready to call that kidney pain a wash just yet, and they want me to go back and check it out again. No, don’t get up just yet. I’m on my lunch break. The kidney’ll still be there after David finishes his food, and we’ll go back for a closer look then. Besides, there’s a million other White Blood Cells, let one of them be the hero today. I’m no hero.
I’m just David’s White Blood Cell.
by Ren Cummins
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