I caught myself mentioning in a work meeting the other day that I "made my living writing fiction", and I mentally hit the pause button and told myself, no you don't, you fool. You only wish you made your living that way.
But that brief internal dialogue stuck with me. I'll make no secret about the fact that although my books do actually sell, I do have a "day job" that pays the larger part of my bills. And that doesn't make me unique - most authors - even bestselling ones - do have other jobs that allow them the option of spending their free time with their literary pursuits. But is that my living?
I still consider the first time I held a printed copy of one of my books in my hands as one of the great and individually triumphant moments of my life - up there (but not above) my wedding day, the birth of our daughter, my first real kiss, et cetera. Just above listening to my CD for the first time, or that time I was on stage with Douglas Spotted Eagle. Or being with my belly dance troupe "Parthenon" at the 1999 Kismet Bellydance festival. It's just a certain kind of creative triumph that sets itself apart from other moments in my life, and one that has only been replicated with each successive release of my other books.
It's become, for me, a strangely altered sense of success and joy. Like the proverbial game of "Poohsticks" (a reference that will only make sense if you're a fan of Milne or Hoff), it's not about who wins so much as the playing which makes it a joyful game. It's an unusual manner of self-consideration, reminiscent of a piece I recall from Robert Fulghum, speaking of what he did for a living. He summed it up by saying he breathed, slept, ate and wrote, among the many sundry activities which comprised his existence. I first read that some time back, and it kind of stuck with me like the summit of the mountain calls to the climber. "Here I am," the philosophy waved to me, "come on up and claim me for your own!"
It takes me back even further, to my days of reinvention back in high school. Did anyone else think of that as a specifically elective period of time, wherein we deliberately craft ourselves into the people we want to be. Granted, we're teenagers, so our perspective is often quite limited, but it can - if we really think about it - help us learn the valuable skills of self-guidance and self-determination. Or, in the words of that great classic Oingo Boingo song, who do you want to be today?
But I have to be honest. I have days where I'm more successful at that than others. I have a few tracks off my CD on my iPod and they pop up from time to time, and it often takes me several moments before I realize it's me. I glance at my books on their section of the bookshelf and smile at the thoughts of the many little miracles that happened to bring them to print. But at the same time, it doesn't always FEEL like a big deal. If I check the map, sure; the 'You Are Here" button has changed places, and when I really consider the last few years then I have no choice but to accept that things are in fact in a different sphere than they were back then. I'm a different person, too, with a whole assortment of new recognitions of experience waiting to be sorted out and offered up as material offerings to the gods of fiction (and when I say "gods of fiction", I'm talking about the metaphorical ones and not people like Neil Gaiman, Tom Clancy or the rest of you lot who really aren't actually reading this blog, even though I wrote this sentence as if you did).
I keep reading so many articles on line about "what it takes to be an author" or so forth - - lots of fantastic advice and suggestions for what it takes to be successful. But along with all of that, I can't help but think that the best advice I ever heard on how to be a writer was.... "Write."
I know, I know. That sounds oversimplified and trite. But doesn't every journey start with the first step? Doesn't being begin with believing?
So, I'll ask you: who do you think you are?
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 19, 2011
Author, Edit Thyself!
An old roommate of mine once engaged me in a conversation wherein he was very serious about wanting to go back to high school and live it again. Like, not in just a subjective "what if" scenario, but he actually literally, seriously, wanted a do-over. I initially entertained the notion; in a purely philosophical examination, how we review our own history is a fascinating conceptual revelation as to how we see ourselves and look at the world in the present.
It's like that old adage, that history is written by the victors. Well, I believe that can be applied to ourselves and our "remembered" pasts. Kind of a curiosity, isn't it? What does how we remember our own past say about who we are?
In the case of my roommate, he, as a then-twenty-something, looked back on his high school life as a bit of a failure, riddled with missed opportunities and "almost was" moments. Granted, I thought he took the concept a bit far in that he wanted to not so much turn back time as just go back to high school as a twenty-something and go a couple of years under the guise of being a high school-age student. The legal ramifications of potentially dating classmates far below the age of consent aside, I eventually saw a few layers of flawed logic to his arguments, dismissing the entire concept under the reality of living in the now and not allowing the past to govern the future, etc.
Because, the truth is that you can't go back and change the choices you made, once upon a time, right?
Well, that's where I love editing.
Writing books - especially under the present technological opportunities afforded authors now - is so much more instantaneous and liberating than it once was; or, I suppose, for some, still is.
When I was recording "Obsidian Bridges", I was hampered by the constraints of affordable studio time and just the premise of analog recording. When you're laying down tracks and don't have your own studio or unlimited time to spend there, it seems like there inevitably comes a point at which you must make a sort of Sophie's Choice of takes where, combined within a surgically inalterable sequence of notes, both statistically impossible good and bad notes exist. And you have to ask yourself, "do I erase that and try to nail it all again, or do I live with the one bad note?"
I got to that point on one song - "All Along", a track which appears on the original CD print, but not on the newer MP3 download album offered on Amazon (woo hoo! Blatant plug!) and decided I could live with that. Well, turns out, ten years later, I can't. I don't even like LISTENING to that track anymore, because I can hear the bad notes. *sigh*
With publishing, that has ceased to be a concern.
I got book 5 - "Into the Blink" - back from Quiana, my editor, last week, and, giving myself one day to take a deep breath, jumped in and reviewed/corrected over the next three days. Finished up the edit on Sunday, and sent it back for another (final?) review. Made a few additional changes, such as chapter sequences, and I'm going to have to revisit the opening paragraph, which still isn't quite where I want it.
And I'm also working on the cover, which is "close but no cigar" level, and I may just dump it up and run a proof to help with the review process (I seem to catch my typos and work choice issues better on paper, don't know why that is), but, pending changes....I mean, the book could be available for purchase in a couple weeks, outside guess. And, thanks to the online submission process, if I find any errors after that, I can simply make the corrections and upload the new document, and voila - done!
The traditional publishing model sees books being announced - cover art, etc - months in advance of actual sales. I understand that much of that has to do with the release schedules of other books, the constraints of distribution, etc.... but honestly, I like the fact that I can get my books out there as soon as I can get them written and edited. I like being able to go back and make corrections - - - like, for example, the choice to redesign my trilogy into a six-book series. The whole process took me less than a month to break out 2 books into 4, covers and all.
But to be honest, I love the stressless mindset that comes from the peaceful knowledge that I can make the books look however I feel they need to look. I don't have to feel like some arbitrary requirement is being placed upon them or upon me, or that I, due to some larger body's marketing expectations, am forced to put up a sub-standard product just in time to make the Christmas present shopping season.
The fact is, I'm writing books. I'm telling stories. The process, though somewhat structured, is still relatively organic, and I can't help but wonder if the loss of that organic quality is where a lot of authors find themselves struggling. Dunno.
The honest truth is that I'm probably not as meshed into that scene to really make a judgment on it. And, strangely enough, I'm kind of okay with that.
I'm out. More to do. Chat later.
It's like that old adage, that history is written by the victors. Well, I believe that can be applied to ourselves and our "remembered" pasts. Kind of a curiosity, isn't it? What does how we remember our own past say about who we are?
In the case of my roommate, he, as a then-twenty-something, looked back on his high school life as a bit of a failure, riddled with missed opportunities and "almost was" moments. Granted, I thought he took the concept a bit far in that he wanted to not so much turn back time as just go back to high school as a twenty-something and go a couple of years under the guise of being a high school-age student. The legal ramifications of potentially dating classmates far below the age of consent aside, I eventually saw a few layers of flawed logic to his arguments, dismissing the entire concept under the reality of living in the now and not allowing the past to govern the future, etc.
Because, the truth is that you can't go back and change the choices you made, once upon a time, right?
Well, that's where I love editing.
Writing books - especially under the present technological opportunities afforded authors now - is so much more instantaneous and liberating than it once was; or, I suppose, for some, still is.
When I was recording "Obsidian Bridges", I was hampered by the constraints of affordable studio time and just the premise of analog recording. When you're laying down tracks and don't have your own studio or unlimited time to spend there, it seems like there inevitably comes a point at which you must make a sort of Sophie's Choice of takes where, combined within a surgically inalterable sequence of notes, both statistically impossible good and bad notes exist. And you have to ask yourself, "do I erase that and try to nail it all again, or do I live with the one bad note?"
I got to that point on one song - "All Along", a track which appears on the original CD print, but not on the newer MP3 download album offered on Amazon (woo hoo! Blatant plug!) and decided I could live with that. Well, turns out, ten years later, I can't. I don't even like LISTENING to that track anymore, because I can hear the bad notes. *sigh*
With publishing, that has ceased to be a concern.
I got book 5 - "Into the Blink" - back from Quiana, my editor, last week, and, giving myself one day to take a deep breath, jumped in and reviewed/corrected over the next three days. Finished up the edit on Sunday, and sent it back for another (final?) review. Made a few additional changes, such as chapter sequences, and I'm going to have to revisit the opening paragraph, which still isn't quite where I want it.
And I'm also working on the cover, which is "close but no cigar" level, and I may just dump it up and run a proof to help with the review process (I seem to catch my typos and work choice issues better on paper, don't know why that is), but, pending changes....I mean, the book could be available for purchase in a couple weeks, outside guess. And, thanks to the online submission process, if I find any errors after that, I can simply make the corrections and upload the new document, and voila - done!
The traditional publishing model sees books being announced - cover art, etc - months in advance of actual sales. I understand that much of that has to do with the release schedules of other books, the constraints of distribution, etc.... but honestly, I like the fact that I can get my books out there as soon as I can get them written and edited. I like being able to go back and make corrections - - - like, for example, the choice to redesign my trilogy into a six-book series. The whole process took me less than a month to break out 2 books into 4, covers and all.
But to be honest, I love the stressless mindset that comes from the peaceful knowledge that I can make the books look however I feel they need to look. I don't have to feel like some arbitrary requirement is being placed upon them or upon me, or that I, due to some larger body's marketing expectations, am forced to put up a sub-standard product just in time to make the Christmas present shopping season.
The fact is, I'm writing books. I'm telling stories. The process, though somewhat structured, is still relatively organic, and I can't help but wonder if the loss of that organic quality is where a lot of authors find themselves struggling. Dunno.
The honest truth is that I'm probably not as meshed into that scene to really make a judgment on it. And, strangely enough, I'm kind of okay with that.
I'm out. More to do. Chat later.
Tuesday Open Mike Blog! "Lost and Found"
Today's question option:
What's the strangest and most random item you've ever found? As in, "Found", as in stumbled upon, tripped over, seen by the side of the roadside, Found?
or
What's the one physical object from your childhood which has gone missing from your life and you would most wish to find again? (and as I said, physical objects - your youthful optimism doesn't count.)
What's the strangest and most random item you've ever found? As in, "Found", as in stumbled upon, tripped over, seen by the side of the roadside, Found?
or
What's the one physical object from your childhood which has gone missing from your life and you would most wish to find again? (and as I said, physical objects - your youthful optimism doesn't count.)
Apr 12, 2011
Tuesday Open Mike Blog!
Screening a new feature here on the Steampunk and Synthesizers page: the open mike blog day.
Although this blog is mostly dedicated to my journey as a writer and my hobby of being human (when I have time), I wanted to open it up to the five or six people who show up here from time to time to chime in. I do tend to go on and on, as you know.
But rather than just drop the mike in your lap, I'll even give you a choice of topics:
1) if you were already a superhero, what would you want your secret identity to do for a living?
or
2) if you could take a train to ANYWHERE, where would you go? (and let's not allow silly things like time or space be a problem. Let's assume that your train is magic and could go ANYWHERE.)
Okay, then. Hit me. Gimme what you got, baby!
Although this blog is mostly dedicated to my journey as a writer and my hobby of being human (when I have time), I wanted to open it up to the five or six people who show up here from time to time to chime in. I do tend to go on and on, as you know.
But rather than just drop the mike in your lap, I'll even give you a choice of topics:
1) if you were already a superhero, what would you want your secret identity to do for a living?
or
2) if you could take a train to ANYWHERE, where would you go? (and let's not allow silly things like time or space be a problem. Let's assume that your train is magic and could go ANYWHERE.)
Okay, then. Hit me. Gimme what you got, baby!
The calm before the ... calm?
The Pacific Northwest gave us a rare gift this past weekend - and by gift, I mean that it was sunny for about 24 hours and forced us to put everything else we'd planned to do on hold long enough to shuffle around outside like cockroaches under the cover of shadow and get all those "have tos" out of the way. In our case, it was the idea of mowing our lawns so that we weren't "those people".
It was the first mow of the year, so naturally the lawn mower tried to roll back over and tell us to leave off, but after a couple near misses, the poor beast finally started up. But I was struck by a strange sensation of excited anticipation as I pulled the cord - "oooh, is it starting? Maybe this time? What about this one?" It was a silly sort of holding of one's breath for something that really shouldn't be all that exciting, but maybe due to being in writer mode, I was just open to analogies.
Nevertheless, the engine engaged, sputtered to life, spat out the most incredibly funky puff of smoke, and then ran like a champion. The grass didn't stand a chance.
How this is seeping into my consciousness now is the idea of feeling like I'm doing that exact same thing with publishing. I've got the four Chronicles of Aesirium books on line now, I've got #5 with my editors, and I'm chomping at the bit to begin working on book 6. I'm doing a few side projects with Jen, also, and have been doing as much research as I can manage into my next series so that I can as much as possible hit the ground running as the Aesirium books wrap up. I've got that whole series, plus a few other standalone books knocking on my cerebellum, so it's really now turning into a situation of trying to focus on whichever of the voices in my head scream at me the loudest. So this is what crazy feels like, hmm?
My good friends Heather, Garth and Quiana and I are laying out the groundwork for our tiny coalition of writers, including an anthology (or two), and it turns out that we'll be having a booth at next year's Emerald City ComiCon, so that's one more big thing to start prepping for.
Jen has been an amazing help to me the past few months. I can't say the process of fully efforting a shift into a writing career has been overwhelming, but it's definitely been whelming. It's exciting, like putting in a day at a theme park - you just know in your soul that you're unlikely to hit every ride before they close the park, but, by God, you're going to give it the best shot. But in addition to her advice and reassurance, it's just been wonderful to become friends with someone who's actually successful in this line of work. She doesn't feed me false expectations of the challenges, but she lays out the whole process of it, and has been fantastic and helping me learn a lot of the lessons she's found out the hard way. Simply an awesome person, and I'm very proud to have come to know her. Everyone should have a friend like that, seriously. But you'll have to go find your own "Jen", so don't get any ideas.
Seriously, though, it finally sunk in yesterday that things are proceeding well. I think I needed a moment to look back and see how far things have gone in only a couple of years. And if things have gone so well so far, what will happen next? Yes, I know - - the future is vast and filled with alternatives - I accept that things will only succeed insomuch as I am diligent and remain positive. But I am Zen with a Purpose, baby. I am Tao with a Motor. Life is good, the towels are oh-so fluffy, and the sky smells like Root Beer. Not an altogether bad place to be, and the further things go into publishing, the more and more wonderful people I've been meeting.
For example, those of you who come here from my comments on Twitter? Please say hey, would you? I'm curious to see how much actual traffic I get to this blog from Twitter. Or, if you came here from Facebook, please let me know. Feel free to pimp your own site on your comment as you like, I'm all about cross-marketing.
And... let's see, what media bits have crept beneath my eyelids? Duran Duran has a new album (quite wonderful), trying to finish a season of any show at all (not even halfway through with season 1 of Fringe, but keeping current on Castle), haven't seen anything in the theater since... god, I can't even remember. Maybe Tron? But very excited for Doctor Who this month, and the Green Lantern movie this summer. (and speaking of GL, why hasn't "Ring Capacity" been put onto that movie's soundtrack? Seriously, people, that's just gotta happen.) Beyond that, the most consistent schedule of media I've maintained has been listening to Kevin Smith podcasts - er, sorry, Smodcasts.
But really, Doctor Who. I can't wait to see the Neil Gaiman episode or hear the new Murray Gold soundtrack. Ah, such wondrous delights! Thank the universe for putting such talented souls upon this world, in whose works I so shamelessly soak my creative noggin.
And thank you, too, for dropping by. You're quite awesome. Have a day, man!
It was the first mow of the year, so naturally the lawn mower tried to roll back over and tell us to leave off, but after a couple near misses, the poor beast finally started up. But I was struck by a strange sensation of excited anticipation as I pulled the cord - "oooh, is it starting? Maybe this time? What about this one?" It was a silly sort of holding of one's breath for something that really shouldn't be all that exciting, but maybe due to being in writer mode, I was just open to analogies.
Nevertheless, the engine engaged, sputtered to life, spat out the most incredibly funky puff of smoke, and then ran like a champion. The grass didn't stand a chance.
How this is seeping into my consciousness now is the idea of feeling like I'm doing that exact same thing with publishing. I've got the four Chronicles of Aesirium books on line now, I've got #5 with my editors, and I'm chomping at the bit to begin working on book 6. I'm doing a few side projects with Jen, also, and have been doing as much research as I can manage into my next series so that I can as much as possible hit the ground running as the Aesirium books wrap up. I've got that whole series, plus a few other standalone books knocking on my cerebellum, so it's really now turning into a situation of trying to focus on whichever of the voices in my head scream at me the loudest. So this is what crazy feels like, hmm?
My good friends Heather, Garth and Quiana and I are laying out the groundwork for our tiny coalition of writers, including an anthology (or two), and it turns out that we'll be having a booth at next year's Emerald City ComiCon, so that's one more big thing to start prepping for.
Jen has been an amazing help to me the past few months. I can't say the process of fully efforting a shift into a writing career has been overwhelming, but it's definitely been whelming. It's exciting, like putting in a day at a theme park - you just know in your soul that you're unlikely to hit every ride before they close the park, but, by God, you're going to give it the best shot. But in addition to her advice and reassurance, it's just been wonderful to become friends with someone who's actually successful in this line of work. She doesn't feed me false expectations of the challenges, but she lays out the whole process of it, and has been fantastic and helping me learn a lot of the lessons she's found out the hard way. Simply an awesome person, and I'm very proud to have come to know her. Everyone should have a friend like that, seriously. But you'll have to go find your own "Jen", so don't get any ideas.
Seriously, though, it finally sunk in yesterday that things are proceeding well. I think I needed a moment to look back and see how far things have gone in only a couple of years. And if things have gone so well so far, what will happen next? Yes, I know - - the future is vast and filled with alternatives - I accept that things will only succeed insomuch as I am diligent and remain positive. But I am Zen with a Purpose, baby. I am Tao with a Motor. Life is good, the towels are oh-so fluffy, and the sky smells like Root Beer. Not an altogether bad place to be, and the further things go into publishing, the more and more wonderful people I've been meeting.
For example, those of you who come here from my comments on Twitter? Please say hey, would you? I'm curious to see how much actual traffic I get to this blog from Twitter. Or, if you came here from Facebook, please let me know. Feel free to pimp your own site on your comment as you like, I'm all about cross-marketing.
And... let's see, what media bits have crept beneath my eyelids? Duran Duran has a new album (quite wonderful), trying to finish a season of any show at all (not even halfway through with season 1 of Fringe, but keeping current on Castle), haven't seen anything in the theater since... god, I can't even remember. Maybe Tron? But very excited for Doctor Who this month, and the Green Lantern movie this summer. (and speaking of GL, why hasn't "Ring Capacity" been put onto that movie's soundtrack? Seriously, people, that's just gotta happen.) Beyond that, the most consistent schedule of media I've maintained has been listening to Kevin Smith podcasts - er, sorry, Smodcasts.
But really, Doctor Who. I can't wait to see the Neil Gaiman episode or hear the new Murray Gold soundtrack. Ah, such wondrous delights! Thank the universe for putting such talented souls upon this world, in whose works I so shamelessly soak my creative noggin.
And thank you, too, for dropping by. You're quite awesome. Have a day, man!
Mar 21, 2011
Changing the Flat Aspire
I had a recent conversation with a friend regarding fiction and non-fiction, and we discussed the concept of how each category of book defines and treats the concept of honesty. Their assertion was that fiction treated honesty with a lie - wrapping all truth in metaphor and analogy, like saying "the sky is blue" by actually describing it as if it were brown. My point was that because non-fiction books only talk about the truth, they can be biased by only painting a partial picture of the truth; focusing it through the director's lens, so to speak, and only using those scenes or details which support the writer's objective. I'll grant that the debate was mostly facetious, but in the midst of it all, we stumbled upon a clever observation: that one of the most consistently honest of all books ends up being our high school yearbooks.
At the time, we laughed about it, but it stuck with me. Because, in its own way, the high school yearbook is really just a big wish, a terrible lie. There we are, forever locked in what in many cases would now be regarded as the worst of all fashion decisions, immortalized in the frozen carbonite of one of the most social awkward stages of our lives, our smiles beaming of optimism and aspiration, but our eyes often betraying our deepest fears.
High school may have been many things, but honesty might not have been one of them; although, looking closely at the lies we told ourselves, or the ones in which we chose to believe, we were at least the most sincere about our self-deceptions. We believed it would be the most significant time of our lives, it would be filled with cherished memories, we believed it would determine the paths of our respective tales of success or failure. And yet, I suspect we knew on some level that it wouldn't be any of those things. We knew that with pimples and bad hair, the cards were stacked against us from the outset. Oh, certainly we did the best we could. In some cases, we owned our awkward attempts at social redemption, struggling for the Breakfast Club moments that could propel our sense of self up and over the challenges of our teen years, and some did a fine job of coming to terms with the reality of it all.
Many did not.
The reality didn't really start setting in until later. Now, though, many years later, I look back on it and don't wonder why I didn't know better, but rather how I'll feel when looking back on myself now. You know, in the now when I feel like I understand the me of twenty+ years ago and think I understand myself from then better than I did then.
But if nothing else, our old yearbooks serve as an intriguing time capsule for not just the people we thought we were (and hoped we really might become), but exposed our sense of the definitions of the future. How many of the kids who were most popular in school were selected as Most Likely To Succeed? I think I got "Most Unique" - - which I concede is not really what most kids in my high school would have wanted, but I wore it as something of a badge of honor in that I never really did feel comfortable on the path most traveled. But that's a whole other story, and not even the point of what I was feeling today.
I was looking through my twitter feed today, and just looking at some of the people I follow and who follow me back, and, it's no big surprise that I follow a lot of authors - I'd follow more if Twitter would let me! - and, if you don't already know this, there are some amazing, fantastic and supremely talented authors out there, not getting the recognition they deserve. And strangely enough, a lot of them keep using the term "aspiring author" or "aspiring writer".
Aspiring.
I see that word a lot, and yet, I don't think I ever truly analyzed its meaning or historical evolution. So, let's examine it.
If you're not deeply familiar with the definition, it's like Inspiring (which means to breathe in) and Expire (to breathe out) but means the act of breathing. Literally, that's what it means, To Breathe. Now, along the way, it got equated to more of a panting, exerted breathing, and became synonymous with desire - - the kind of exertions... well, you get the idea.
So it eventually took on an applied definition of more that sort of an empassioned, generally focused sort of desire with which we equate it today. But I fear it's being used, perhaps, too much. Yes, I might just be thinking that because I've seen it a lot, but... well, okay, it's not really a big deal.
I guess the deal is that I don't want to just aspire anymore. My friend Jen wrote the other day how thrilled she was to realize that she was no longer looking forward to living her dream, but that she was living it. That's the goal, isn't it?
It got me thinking. See, as much as I've tried (lol - I almost wrote "aspired" there. Oh sweet irony!) to pursue a more taoist mental path, I've begun to see how I have still projected much of my joy onto a conditional set of parameters. You know the deal, where you tell yourself "I'll be happy when..." And though I've been mostly happy with life, I keep leaving this little bit of "extra" happiness for when I'm able to dedicate myself completely to writing and publishing, etc.
It's weird, but looking at that last sentence, I can't decide which thing I find more incorrect. How much of that is accurate, versus how much is only accurate based on how inaccurate it is? It's like, back when the world believed that the earth was flat, they were essentially, completely wrong - - - but that misconception tells us so much about the truth of the world at that time.
Keeping all that in mind, it does point out a very real truth: that I can never place too much faith on my present perceptions. The lens is always biased, as they say. But, in the end, that will have to be enough. Rather than turn the lens, I focus on letting the world happen; letting me happen, whatever that will mean. And while I'm still the Captain of my vessel, I will work with the wind, the great and breathing tides of the universe. But even while I respect and accept the wind and tides, I remain at the helm, keeping my eyes fixed on the constellations and the seas ahead.
Aspiration isn't a bad thing - - we must have a passion for the life we lead - - but the danger comes when we are passion without focus - a sail with no rudder, or a rudder with no sail.
And, trust me, the only person I'm preaching at today.... is me.
Good morning, my friends. Let's get something wonderful done today.
At the time, we laughed about it, but it stuck with me. Because, in its own way, the high school yearbook is really just a big wish, a terrible lie. There we are, forever locked in what in many cases would now be regarded as the worst of all fashion decisions, immortalized in the frozen carbonite of one of the most social awkward stages of our lives, our smiles beaming of optimism and aspiration, but our eyes often betraying our deepest fears.
High school may have been many things, but honesty might not have been one of them; although, looking closely at the lies we told ourselves, or the ones in which we chose to believe, we were at least the most sincere about our self-deceptions. We believed it would be the most significant time of our lives, it would be filled with cherished memories, we believed it would determine the paths of our respective tales of success or failure. And yet, I suspect we knew on some level that it wouldn't be any of those things. We knew that with pimples and bad hair, the cards were stacked against us from the outset. Oh, certainly we did the best we could. In some cases, we owned our awkward attempts at social redemption, struggling for the Breakfast Club moments that could propel our sense of self up and over the challenges of our teen years, and some did a fine job of coming to terms with the reality of it all.
Many did not.
The reality didn't really start setting in until later. Now, though, many years later, I look back on it and don't wonder why I didn't know better, but rather how I'll feel when looking back on myself now. You know, in the now when I feel like I understand the me of twenty+ years ago and think I understand myself from then better than I did then.
But if nothing else, our old yearbooks serve as an intriguing time capsule for not just the people we thought we were (and hoped we really might become), but exposed our sense of the definitions of the future. How many of the kids who were most popular in school were selected as Most Likely To Succeed? I think I got "Most Unique" - - which I concede is not really what most kids in my high school would have wanted, but I wore it as something of a badge of honor in that I never really did feel comfortable on the path most traveled. But that's a whole other story, and not even the point of what I was feeling today.
I was looking through my twitter feed today, and just looking at some of the people I follow and who follow me back, and, it's no big surprise that I follow a lot of authors - I'd follow more if Twitter would let me! - and, if you don't already know this, there are some amazing, fantastic and supremely talented authors out there, not getting the recognition they deserve. And strangely enough, a lot of them keep using the term "aspiring author" or "aspiring writer".
Aspiring.
I see that word a lot, and yet, I don't think I ever truly analyzed its meaning or historical evolution. So, let's examine it.
If you're not deeply familiar with the definition, it's like Inspiring (which means to breathe in) and Expire (to breathe out) but means the act of breathing. Literally, that's what it means, To Breathe. Now, along the way, it got equated to more of a panting, exerted breathing, and became synonymous with desire - - the kind of exertions... well, you get the idea.
So it eventually took on an applied definition of more that sort of an empassioned, generally focused sort of desire with which we equate it today. But I fear it's being used, perhaps, too much. Yes, I might just be thinking that because I've seen it a lot, but... well, okay, it's not really a big deal.
I guess the deal is that I don't want to just aspire anymore. My friend Jen wrote the other day how thrilled she was to realize that she was no longer looking forward to living her dream, but that she was living it. That's the goal, isn't it?
It got me thinking. See, as much as I've tried (lol - I almost wrote "aspired" there. Oh sweet irony!) to pursue a more taoist mental path, I've begun to see how I have still projected much of my joy onto a conditional set of parameters. You know the deal, where you tell yourself "I'll be happy when..." And though I've been mostly happy with life, I keep leaving this little bit of "extra" happiness for when I'm able to dedicate myself completely to writing and publishing, etc.
It's weird, but looking at that last sentence, I can't decide which thing I find more incorrect. How much of that is accurate, versus how much is only accurate based on how inaccurate it is? It's like, back when the world believed that the earth was flat, they were essentially, completely wrong - - - but that misconception tells us so much about the truth of the world at that time.
Keeping all that in mind, it does point out a very real truth: that I can never place too much faith on my present perceptions. The lens is always biased, as they say. But, in the end, that will have to be enough. Rather than turn the lens, I focus on letting the world happen; letting me happen, whatever that will mean. And while I'm still the Captain of my vessel, I will work with the wind, the great and breathing tides of the universe. But even while I respect and accept the wind and tides, I remain at the helm, keeping my eyes fixed on the constellations and the seas ahead.
Aspiration isn't a bad thing - - we must have a passion for the life we lead - - but the danger comes when we are passion without focus - a sail with no rudder, or a rudder with no sail.
And, trust me, the only person I'm preaching at today.... is me.
Good morning, my friends. Let's get something wonderful done today.
Mar 17, 2011
Reaper's Return: The Giveaway!
I'm also going to include a complimentary copy of my CD, "Obsidian Bridges" with the three winning copies. Oh, you know you want that.
Hop on, and good luck!
Mar 15, 2011
Reaper's Return; Chapter 1
A couple things are in the plans to celebrate the new launch of the Chronicles of Aesirium; a Goodreads giveaway will be forthcoming (expected start: St Patrick's Day), but to whet your appetite, I'm going to share here the new opening chapter.
Enjoy, friends!
-----------------------------------
Chapter 1: Rom
Rom leaned close, hugging her friend. “Count to a thousand. If I’m not back by then, run home.” Rain pelted the tattered umbrella just loudly enough to mask the chattering of the two girls’ teeth; Rom wiped away a clump of her unnaturally white hair from her face so she could look directly into her friend’s eyes. Finally, Kari’s head bobbed in as much as shiver as a nod. Leaving before either one of them could talk her out of it, Rom pressed the umbrella into Kari’s hands and vaulted the fence into the unknown beyond. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Kari there, but they needed to move fast if they didn’t want to be late, and the rainfall was slowing them down. Plus, Rom reminded herself for the forty-seventh time, there were monsters out here past the fields.
Facing a choice between slow caution and fast defensiveness, Rom chose the latter. The orphanage’s standard issue long dress and jacket protected her against the hundred small whips of the thorns and sharp leaves as she first began to make her way through the plants. After only a few moments of it, she grew annoyed with the many slight stings and pushed off from the ground, using her unnatural degree of skill to cover ten, twenty, as much as thirty meters in a leap. She was never able to really push herself like this: the rooms at the orphanage were small, and the tiny courtyard used for their afternoon constitutional was only barely big enough for the children’s daily game of “try to hit ratgirl before she gets away”. Plus, Rom didn’t like to jump as far as she knew she could, if any of the other children were around to make fun of her. Her hair was unique enough; no reason to give them any other excuse to tease. For a few moments like this, it felt like flying. They said that there were animals out in the Wild that could fly too, far from Oldtown-Against-The-Wall, where the sort of thing like being different could get you punished; but flying was said to be a “challenge to the Wall itself”, and was a crime listed among the worst of them.
Five hundred meters out, a distant lightning flash lit up the area near the landmark drawn on the map they’d been given – the wrecked remains of one of the large Machines, left partially-submerged in the ground. She’d seen drawings of them in the daily class sessions, and a few of the larger and simpler constructs were still left rusting around the edges of the fields, but this was the first time she’d seen one of the latter generations of them with her own eyes. They probably looked less unsettling in the daylight, she told herself. Or when it wasn’t raining. Or both.
The actual constructs which had been built to tend to the fields had been simple – designed for the functions they required. Thus they were boxy, blatantly mechanical things – but when the constructs began to make their own machines, their designs took on a much more organic look. They had never known why the Machines began building new Machines, much less why they had built them so unrestrained by the tenets of apparent efficiency; but one thing was certain. When the Machines began to create other Machines, they made them look like people.
All the historical lessons the matrons had taught her came back to her with that single strike of lightning as she looked upon what could only be described as a face – albeit one which had to be ten meters in height – half-submerged in the dirt and dramatically overgrown with the brush and plant life left unattended and wild this far out beyond the fence line. As her eyes readjusted to the darkness, she could make out the darker shadows of what must be a shoulder, an arm, and so on. The Machine had to have stood more than ten times as tall as she was, she decided. She shivered, but was pretty sure it wasn’t from the rain. She wished Kari were there to see it: this was old Science, and there were few things her friend loved more than that.
Her eyes caught a smaller patch of darkness near the face, a slight movement, roughly boy-shaped.
“Cousins?” she yelled. “Is that you?” Rom growled, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater. With the rain crashing down on the metal shell of the ruined Machine, there could be someone yelling right into her face and she probably wouldn’t hear it.
She took a half-step closer when there was a great commotion from behind her; it registered only briefly what a wonder it was that she could hear it, but a growing ache in her stomach seemed to be accompanied by a strange enhancement of all her senses, as if time were slowing down. She’d felt this before in the orphanage courtyard; her body seemed to react to certain situations by seeing everything more clearly, more distinctly, making her more aware of everything as it was happening.
And now, in spite of the rain, she could make out three sets of footsteps – one the hurried run of a girl, and the other, two pairs of feet, most definitely not human. Kari’s voice rushed at Rom even more quickly than her feet.
“Rom!!! Help!!” her friend screamed, from somewhere still beyond her in the overgrowth.
Rom stood in the center of the clearing, and her eyes looked quickly around her for anything she could use as a defense or a weapon – a rock, a stick, anything – but in the falling rain, all she could see was mud and water, pooling up around and leaking into her tattered boots. Whatever it was out there, Rom hoped it was small enough that she could kick it until it went away.
Cupping her hands to the sides of her mouth, she called to her friend through the darkness. “Over here!”
A moment later, Kari burst through the branches, still clutching the battered umbrella. Right behind her by a scant breath, a large feline creature jumped into the clearing as well. Lightning crashed somewhere far behind the girls, but momentarily coated the clearing in a silvery brightness that gave them both a clear look at what had been chasing Kari. It stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them both, its grey fur matted by the rain, with yellowed horns emerging from just in front of its ears and curling back around to angle slightly outwards past each side of its jaws. Across its back was what looked like a black leather folded shell, extending from just below its neck and down to its long tail. From its belly down, it was coated in mud, and its golden eyes were rimmed in red, and a sickly green foam curled around the corners of its fanged mouth. It reared back at the flash of lightning, but Rom could still see it silhouetted in place when the darkness once more engulfed them all. Though the lightning might have disoriented it, it evidently realized that a second potential prey stood before it, and it paused to adjust for its next attack.
“Get behind me,” Rom said. “When I tell you, run to the Machine back there.” Her eyes glanced to the umbrella, and, without thinking, took it from Kari’s hands. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
“M-machine?” Kari said, her curiosity threatening to overcome her fear.
“Don’t study it; you need to hide in it!” Rom hissed. “Please, Kari, just think of this like another game of hide from Milando!” she added, referring to one of the larger bullies also living in the orphanage.
“Hide?” Kari repeated.
“Yes, I need you to wait for me over there while I go box his ears, nothing to worry about.”
She could sense, somehow, the creature preparing to make its move. The beast seemed to recognize her confidence and crouched, she thought, preparing to jump at Rom. It was basically predatory, and it saw her as getting in the way of what it wanted to eat.
“Get ready, Kari,” she whispered above the sound of the rain. Rom could see, even in the darkness, its back muscles and hind legs shuddering, tensing. The horns would be a problem, she figured, so a strike for the head was out; the ends of the horns would keep her from getting to its throat, and that shell was going to make it impossible to get at from above. It was an impressively made monster; Rom thought that if it wasn’t trying right now to kill her, she’d probably think it was brilliant.
She spun the umbrella over in her hand, feeling its balance. The handle might be strong enough to use as a weapon – it was metal with a solid wooden handle, and came to a metal end the length of her hand. Absently, she considered that it was a poor choice to bring out into a lightning storm, but she would hopefully be able to regret that later. That was one nice thing about regret, Rom thought, you can always do it later if you’re too busy.
The creature tensed one last time and pounced. Even before the creature’s paws left the ground, Rom was telling Kari to run, even pushing her back with her left hand to make sure she moved. Rom ducked slightly to draw the beast’s eyes down and away from her friend, hoping as well to create a smaller target for her much larger opponent.
Time seemed to drag even more – the monster looked like it was jumping almost comically slowly. Rom looked closely; she could somehow perceive the angle of its jump, and knew instinctively that by shifting her weight to the right and rolling down and back across its path, she would avoid its front paws and bring her up in a position to land the first strike. With its weight, claws and teeth as its obvious advantages, she would have to play on its disadvantages – its size and desperation for food meant she might be able to out maneuver it, and hopefully outthink it. The rain, mud and darkness, she hoped, would keep everything else even for them both.
Hopefully.
She dove under the angle of its jump and stabbed upwards as it passed harmlessly past her, feeling a warm streak of its blood spray across her face and arms. It let out a loud cry and hit the ground unsteadily. Instantly, she felt a pang of remorse. It wasn’t the beast’s fault it was attacking her and Kari. It was just trying to get food, and…
“You’ve got babies!” Rom breathed. “Oh no.”
The animal was between her and Kari, and she could see Kari making her way quickly to the machine’s head. But the creature must have decided that Kari would make a less difficult catch. It quickly spun away from Rom and was after Kari in a heartbeat.
“No!” Rom yelled, leaping up after the creature. “Run, Kari!” she screamed.
She landed on the animal’s back, just above the shell and behind the horns. She grabbed on to one of the horns with her right hand to both secure herself and to try to somehow steer the cat from her friend. The animal stopped running, and turned its attention on trying to rid itself of this unwanted rider. It leapt backwards in a completely circular flip, Rom somehow managing to keep herself from falling off. It spun its head from side to side, raking the girl’s legs with its horns.
But then, with a snarl, it opened what Rom had mistakenly believed to be the shell on its back – and two great leathern wings unfurled. Before Rom could jump free, the cat leapt into the air, and they flew up into the night sky. She dropped the parasol so she could hold onto the horns with both hands, and gripped the cat tightly above the shoulder blades with her legs. Higher, higher, they flew, up towards the clouds themselves.
Below her, she could see the distant blue glow of the town’s defensive barrier, mirrored by flowing sheets of lightning in the clouds above. She could feel the creature’s panic and fear – it wanted to run, but it was conflicted by a need to acquire food for its young. Rom clung to the creature, however, hoping they would soon descend to a low enough altitude that she might safely drop off without injury, but they continued to ascend higher and higher. The rain crashed against her, a sensation washed away by a single thought: I’m flying.
The momentary exhilaration lasted only thus; replaced by the realization that it was not so much flying as it was riding; but for a sudden jolt and the ground would break her into small pieces.
She frowned, blinking against the falling rain. “Hang it,” she grumbled.
Just as she thought her situation couldn’t get any worse, a light – brighter than any she had ever before seen – filled her vision with a thunderclap that stopped her heart and burst her ears.
Distantly, she felt as if she was falling, slowly, insubstantial like a snowflake, drifting down towards the far away ground; helpless on the winter breeze.
Reaper's Return - and the following three books in the Chronicles of Aesirium - are available in paperback and ebook format at Amazon.com.
Enjoy, friends!
-----------------------------------
Chapter 1: Rom
Rom leaned close, hugging her friend. “Count to a thousand. If I’m not back by then, run home.” Rain pelted the tattered umbrella just loudly enough to mask the chattering of the two girls’ teeth; Rom wiped away a clump of her unnaturally white hair from her face so she could look directly into her friend’s eyes. Finally, Kari’s head bobbed in as much as shiver as a nod. Leaving before either one of them could talk her out of it, Rom pressed the umbrella into Kari’s hands and vaulted the fence into the unknown beyond. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Kari there, but they needed to move fast if they didn’t want to be late, and the rainfall was slowing them down. Plus, Rom reminded herself for the forty-seventh time, there were monsters out here past the fields.
Facing a choice between slow caution and fast defensiveness, Rom chose the latter. The orphanage’s standard issue long dress and jacket protected her against the hundred small whips of the thorns and sharp leaves as she first began to make her way through the plants. After only a few moments of it, she grew annoyed with the many slight stings and pushed off from the ground, using her unnatural degree of skill to cover ten, twenty, as much as thirty meters in a leap. She was never able to really push herself like this: the rooms at the orphanage were small, and the tiny courtyard used for their afternoon constitutional was only barely big enough for the children’s daily game of “try to hit ratgirl before she gets away”. Plus, Rom didn’t like to jump as far as she knew she could, if any of the other children were around to make fun of her. Her hair was unique enough; no reason to give them any other excuse to tease. For a few moments like this, it felt like flying. They said that there were animals out in the Wild that could fly too, far from Oldtown-Against-The-Wall, where the sort of thing like being different could get you punished; but flying was said to be a “challenge to the Wall itself”, and was a crime listed among the worst of them.
Five hundred meters out, a distant lightning flash lit up the area near the landmark drawn on the map they’d been given – the wrecked remains of one of the large Machines, left partially-submerged in the ground. She’d seen drawings of them in the daily class sessions, and a few of the larger and simpler constructs were still left rusting around the edges of the fields, but this was the first time she’d seen one of the latter generations of them with her own eyes. They probably looked less unsettling in the daylight, she told herself. Or when it wasn’t raining. Or both.
The actual constructs which had been built to tend to the fields had been simple – designed for the functions they required. Thus they were boxy, blatantly mechanical things – but when the constructs began to make their own machines, their designs took on a much more organic look. They had never known why the Machines began building new Machines, much less why they had built them so unrestrained by the tenets of apparent efficiency; but one thing was certain. When the Machines began to create other Machines, they made them look like people.
All the historical lessons the matrons had taught her came back to her with that single strike of lightning as she looked upon what could only be described as a face – albeit one which had to be ten meters in height – half-submerged in the dirt and dramatically overgrown with the brush and plant life left unattended and wild this far out beyond the fence line. As her eyes readjusted to the darkness, she could make out the darker shadows of what must be a shoulder, an arm, and so on. The Machine had to have stood more than ten times as tall as she was, she decided. She shivered, but was pretty sure it wasn’t from the rain. She wished Kari were there to see it: this was old Science, and there were few things her friend loved more than that.
Her eyes caught a smaller patch of darkness near the face, a slight movement, roughly boy-shaped.
“Cousins?” she yelled. “Is that you?” Rom growled, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater. With the rain crashing down on the metal shell of the ruined Machine, there could be someone yelling right into her face and she probably wouldn’t hear it.
She took a half-step closer when there was a great commotion from behind her; it registered only briefly what a wonder it was that she could hear it, but a growing ache in her stomach seemed to be accompanied by a strange enhancement of all her senses, as if time were slowing down. She’d felt this before in the orphanage courtyard; her body seemed to react to certain situations by seeing everything more clearly, more distinctly, making her more aware of everything as it was happening.
And now, in spite of the rain, she could make out three sets of footsteps – one the hurried run of a girl, and the other, two pairs of feet, most definitely not human. Kari’s voice rushed at Rom even more quickly than her feet.
“Rom!!! Help!!” her friend screamed, from somewhere still beyond her in the overgrowth.
Rom stood in the center of the clearing, and her eyes looked quickly around her for anything she could use as a defense or a weapon – a rock, a stick, anything – but in the falling rain, all she could see was mud and water, pooling up around and leaking into her tattered boots. Whatever it was out there, Rom hoped it was small enough that she could kick it until it went away.
Cupping her hands to the sides of her mouth, she called to her friend through the darkness. “Over here!”
A moment later, Kari burst through the branches, still clutching the battered umbrella. Right behind her by a scant breath, a large feline creature jumped into the clearing as well. Lightning crashed somewhere far behind the girls, but momentarily coated the clearing in a silvery brightness that gave them both a clear look at what had been chasing Kari. It stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them both, its grey fur matted by the rain, with yellowed horns emerging from just in front of its ears and curling back around to angle slightly outwards past each side of its jaws. Across its back was what looked like a black leather folded shell, extending from just below its neck and down to its long tail. From its belly down, it was coated in mud, and its golden eyes were rimmed in red, and a sickly green foam curled around the corners of its fanged mouth. It reared back at the flash of lightning, but Rom could still see it silhouetted in place when the darkness once more engulfed them all. Though the lightning might have disoriented it, it evidently realized that a second potential prey stood before it, and it paused to adjust for its next attack.
“Get behind me,” Rom said. “When I tell you, run to the Machine back there.” Her eyes glanced to the umbrella, and, without thinking, took it from Kari’s hands. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
“M-machine?” Kari said, her curiosity threatening to overcome her fear.
“Don’t study it; you need to hide in it!” Rom hissed. “Please, Kari, just think of this like another game of hide from Milando!” she added, referring to one of the larger bullies also living in the orphanage.
“Hide?” Kari repeated.
“Yes, I need you to wait for me over there while I go box his ears, nothing to worry about.”
She could sense, somehow, the creature preparing to make its move. The beast seemed to recognize her confidence and crouched, she thought, preparing to jump at Rom. It was basically predatory, and it saw her as getting in the way of what it wanted to eat.
“Get ready, Kari,” she whispered above the sound of the rain. Rom could see, even in the darkness, its back muscles and hind legs shuddering, tensing. The horns would be a problem, she figured, so a strike for the head was out; the ends of the horns would keep her from getting to its throat, and that shell was going to make it impossible to get at from above. It was an impressively made monster; Rom thought that if it wasn’t trying right now to kill her, she’d probably think it was brilliant.
She spun the umbrella over in her hand, feeling its balance. The handle might be strong enough to use as a weapon – it was metal with a solid wooden handle, and came to a metal end the length of her hand. Absently, she considered that it was a poor choice to bring out into a lightning storm, but she would hopefully be able to regret that later. That was one nice thing about regret, Rom thought, you can always do it later if you’re too busy.
The creature tensed one last time and pounced. Even before the creature’s paws left the ground, Rom was telling Kari to run, even pushing her back with her left hand to make sure she moved. Rom ducked slightly to draw the beast’s eyes down and away from her friend, hoping as well to create a smaller target for her much larger opponent.
Time seemed to drag even more – the monster looked like it was jumping almost comically slowly. Rom looked closely; she could somehow perceive the angle of its jump, and knew instinctively that by shifting her weight to the right and rolling down and back across its path, she would avoid its front paws and bring her up in a position to land the first strike. With its weight, claws and teeth as its obvious advantages, she would have to play on its disadvantages – its size and desperation for food meant she might be able to out maneuver it, and hopefully outthink it. The rain, mud and darkness, she hoped, would keep everything else even for them both.
Hopefully.
She dove under the angle of its jump and stabbed upwards as it passed harmlessly past her, feeling a warm streak of its blood spray across her face and arms. It let out a loud cry and hit the ground unsteadily. Instantly, she felt a pang of remorse. It wasn’t the beast’s fault it was attacking her and Kari. It was just trying to get food, and…
“You’ve got babies!” Rom breathed. “Oh no.”
The animal was between her and Kari, and she could see Kari making her way quickly to the machine’s head. But the creature must have decided that Kari would make a less difficult catch. It quickly spun away from Rom and was after Kari in a heartbeat.
“No!” Rom yelled, leaping up after the creature. “Run, Kari!” she screamed.
She landed on the animal’s back, just above the shell and behind the horns. She grabbed on to one of the horns with her right hand to both secure herself and to try to somehow steer the cat from her friend. The animal stopped running, and turned its attention on trying to rid itself of this unwanted rider. It leapt backwards in a completely circular flip, Rom somehow managing to keep herself from falling off. It spun its head from side to side, raking the girl’s legs with its horns.
But then, with a snarl, it opened what Rom had mistakenly believed to be the shell on its back – and two great leathern wings unfurled. Before Rom could jump free, the cat leapt into the air, and they flew up into the night sky. She dropped the parasol so she could hold onto the horns with both hands, and gripped the cat tightly above the shoulder blades with her legs. Higher, higher, they flew, up towards the clouds themselves.
Below her, she could see the distant blue glow of the town’s defensive barrier, mirrored by flowing sheets of lightning in the clouds above. She could feel the creature’s panic and fear – it wanted to run, but it was conflicted by a need to acquire food for its young. Rom clung to the creature, however, hoping they would soon descend to a low enough altitude that she might safely drop off without injury, but they continued to ascend higher and higher. The rain crashed against her, a sensation washed away by a single thought: I’m flying.
The momentary exhilaration lasted only thus; replaced by the realization that it was not so much flying as it was riding; but for a sudden jolt and the ground would break her into small pieces.
She frowned, blinking against the falling rain. “Hang it,” she grumbled.
Just as she thought her situation couldn’t get any worse, a light – brighter than any she had ever before seen – filled her vision with a thunderclap that stopped her heart and burst her ears.
Distantly, she felt as if she was falling, slowly, insubstantial like a snowflake, drifting down towards the far away ground; helpless on the winter breeze.
Reaper's Return - and the following three books in the Chronicles of Aesirium - are available in paperback and ebook format at Amazon.com.
Steampunk Jesus, with a side of Chopsticks
Thanks to a brief interaction with @TeeMonster and @lavietidhar over on Twitter, a conversation regarding variant offshoots and "sub-genres" of Steampunk into things like "Dieselpunk" and "Sandalpunk" included the latter triggering thoughts of Steampunk Jesus, blessing his disciples with a robot arm. The image made me giggle in so delicious a fit of sacrilege that I declared on the spot that I was going to blog about it. In fact, I'm a little disappointed I didn't come across that sort of idea earlier....but whatcha gonna do. Inspiration is a polyamorous lover.
(author's note: a brief typo there led to the accidental invention of the word "PolyArmory", meaning, as I can only imagine, a person who enjoys putting his sword in many weapon rooms? Hmm. I'm saving that concept for later.)
Having a series of YA Steampunk books, I get into the question a lot, "What is Steampunk?" I've been asked that question in, I believe, every interview I've done, and I must say I'll be sad the first time I don't get that question. The simple answer is contained in the specific traits that nearly all Steampunk books contain - goggles, airships, mad scientists, etc. And yes, not all of them do, but they're common enough traits that everyone pretty much gets it. But there are other traits; more subtle ones, that whisper more to the sensibilities of steampunk. It's a frame of mind, it's an aesthetic, it's a slow waltz with a pocketwatch in the priomordial aether to the sounds of an all-automaton somnambulistic boilerplate quintet. (And, yes, I know that means they're 5 machines playing water heaters while sleepwalking. I was just checking to see if you were paying attention. And now that we've established that you are, in fact, doing thus, we shall proceed.)
Part of my fondness for Steampunk is its industrial pioneering spirit, of boldly going where no one had completely gone before. I was always a fan of that throughout my youth, of taking the untravelled road if, for no other reason than because no one had yet taken it.
There was a conversation - one which most of us have at some time or another with our parents, when they give us the whole "if everyone else was jumping off the bridge...?" challenge. I remember once asking my mom for something, and explaining that I was interested in that because several of my friends were involved (not because I wanted to be just like them, but because it made whatever it had been seem curious). So to respond, she inexplicably tossed out the bridge dilemma, but I responded that if all my friends were jumping off the bridge, the only explanation could be that I already had.
(Author's Note #2: Let me be clear a moment - - I don't actually believe that. Nor did I then. I was trying to be funny, I swear.)
But there's something to that notion that both tickles and sets me to a mind of pondering in the Unwavering Determination to Pioneer that I have encountered as much in Steampunk as I have seen in many other genres, subcultures and the like. Allow me to elaborate, if you will.
An analogy, I should think, could be found within the concept of atheism.
Now, being a long time student of All Things Religious, I have found myself on many sides of the Great Theist Debate, and I have found there two be two generalized definitions of Atheism, and they both vary depending on your own personal belief structure. To the monotheist or polytheist, they generally see an atheist as a person who doesn't believe in god. But to an atheist, they generally believe that an atheist is a person who believes there are no gods. Very subtle distinction, and it boils down to the perception of whether or not an atheist believes, which, if they are truly an atheist, DOES believe - - they just believe in something different; diametrically opposed to the theist, in point of fact.
I've even heard the term "atheist" spun to include people who don't like religion, but this isn't the same thing either. (Personally, I think there should be more atheist religions, but I once mentioned that to a friend, and she told me that's what Sunday Football was for. I'm still not sure about that.) But at the same time, not all people who don't believe in religions are agnostic, either. Sometimes, people just don't like worshipping their god with other people.
Some people don't like following herds/packs/mobs/congregations/what-have-you - - they'd much rather just go their own way. And while I suppose some people would go their own way just out of an act of rebellion, I think it's a vast oversimplification to presume that anyone who rebels at any time against any particular thing does so from the base cause of rebellion for rebellion's sake.
Take the character of Jesus (messianic allegations aside, treating him for the context of this blog as a literary character), for example. Here's a guy who was nothing more than a thirtysomething Jewish carpenter who decided to preach his own way of looking at the universe, challenging two major societies: the Mosaic Law and the Roman Empire. It isn't surprising that he ended up being executed, it's only shocking that it took them three years to do so. He ruffled feathers, man. It would have been a simple thing on several occasions to not say the sorts of things that would infuriate them the most, but he stood up and said them anyway. Kind of an impressive degree of wanton stubbornness, I would say. Or, you know, conviction.
Rebellion doesn't need be quite so bold, or so unrelenting. It can be the little things, like letting someone merge ahead of you on the road, or, maybe not parking your shopping cart in the dead center of the aisle and ignoring everyone else who's trying to get around you.
Sometimes, like in the world of literature, it's about writing the stories you want to tell, regardless of the genres and the industry's need to place your books into a single genre. Or sub-genre. Or sub-sub-sub-genre. Yes, on the marketing side, we authors need to have a strategy in mind for the distribution and categorization of our work - because we all want to be read, we want to be purchased; we all want to make some sort of living off of the work we do. The people who honestly only write because they love to write are rarely ever going to be published or, for that matter, read by many people - but if a person says they want lots of people to enjoy their writing, then let's be honest: whether they know it or not, they're opening themselves to the same arena of the literary publishing industry as the rest of us. It's competitive, and it includes having to jump through many of the same hoops as anyone who tries to publish for a mass audience.
And, unfortunately, one of those hoops is Genre.
Now, I don't have a problem with Genre itself - not even with any of the genres - but it becomes a challenge when your book conforms to more than one genre. For example.
The Chronicles of Aesirium books aren't Science Fiction OR Fantasy. There are elements of both - magic and high tech; mystical creatures and mad scientists. But in this case, the glue that holds them together, the concept which draws them into a shared orbit like the moons of Grindel and Prama, is a Steampunk sensibility. It just worked as a general concept, in form and spirit, like chopsticks, you know? One of my favorite old Jerry Seinfeld bits was about the chopsticks - why, in an age of forks and spoons, are people still using a couple of polished sticks to eat with? Well, to answer that, there's an elegance and grace and tradition inherent to that; not to mention, it forces you to eat slower so you can be filled up with less food.
Steampunk reminds me of that. An almost hopeless rebellion, with a touch of elegance. Steampunk Jesus, with a side of pork fried rice. And maybe some gyoza, because damn those are tasty.
And now that I've wasted more of your time than need be, I'm getting back to writing. Or tweeting. Or perhaps just looking busy. It's still early yet, I could go either way.
(author's note: a brief typo there led to the accidental invention of the word "PolyArmory", meaning, as I can only imagine, a person who enjoys putting his sword in many weapon rooms? Hmm. I'm saving that concept for later.)
Having a series of YA Steampunk books, I get into the question a lot, "What is Steampunk?" I've been asked that question in, I believe, every interview I've done, and I must say I'll be sad the first time I don't get that question. The simple answer is contained in the specific traits that nearly all Steampunk books contain - goggles, airships, mad scientists, etc. And yes, not all of them do, but they're common enough traits that everyone pretty much gets it. But there are other traits; more subtle ones, that whisper more to the sensibilities of steampunk. It's a frame of mind, it's an aesthetic, it's a slow waltz with a pocketwatch in the priomordial aether to the sounds of an all-automaton somnambulistic boilerplate quintet. (And, yes, I know that means they're 5 machines playing water heaters while sleepwalking. I was just checking to see if you were paying attention. And now that we've established that you are, in fact, doing thus, we shall proceed.)
Part of my fondness for Steampunk is its industrial pioneering spirit, of boldly going where no one had completely gone before. I was always a fan of that throughout my youth, of taking the untravelled road if, for no other reason than because no one had yet taken it.
There was a conversation - one which most of us have at some time or another with our parents, when they give us the whole "if everyone else was jumping off the bridge...?" challenge. I remember once asking my mom for something, and explaining that I was interested in that because several of my friends were involved (not because I wanted to be just like them, but because it made whatever it had been seem curious). So to respond, she inexplicably tossed out the bridge dilemma, but I responded that if all my friends were jumping off the bridge, the only explanation could be that I already had.
(Author's Note #2: Let me be clear a moment - - I don't actually believe that. Nor did I then. I was trying to be funny, I swear.)
But there's something to that notion that both tickles and sets me to a mind of pondering in the Unwavering Determination to Pioneer that I have encountered as much in Steampunk as I have seen in many other genres, subcultures and the like. Allow me to elaborate, if you will.
An analogy, I should think, could be found within the concept of atheism.
Now, being a long time student of All Things Religious, I have found myself on many sides of the Great Theist Debate, and I have found there two be two generalized definitions of Atheism, and they both vary depending on your own personal belief structure. To the monotheist or polytheist, they generally see an atheist as a person who doesn't believe in god. But to an atheist, they generally believe that an atheist is a person who believes there are no gods. Very subtle distinction, and it boils down to the perception of whether or not an atheist believes, which, if they are truly an atheist, DOES believe - - they just believe in something different; diametrically opposed to the theist, in point of fact.
I've even heard the term "atheist" spun to include people who don't like religion, but this isn't the same thing either. (Personally, I think there should be more atheist religions, but I once mentioned that to a friend, and she told me that's what Sunday Football was for. I'm still not sure about that.) But at the same time, not all people who don't believe in religions are agnostic, either. Sometimes, people just don't like worshipping their god with other people.
Some people don't like following herds/packs/mobs/congregations/what-have-you - - they'd much rather just go their own way. And while I suppose some people would go their own way just out of an act of rebellion, I think it's a vast oversimplification to presume that anyone who rebels at any time against any particular thing does so from the base cause of rebellion for rebellion's sake.
Take the character of Jesus (messianic allegations aside, treating him for the context of this blog as a literary character), for example. Here's a guy who was nothing more than a thirtysomething Jewish carpenter who decided to preach his own way of looking at the universe, challenging two major societies: the Mosaic Law and the Roman Empire. It isn't surprising that he ended up being executed, it's only shocking that it took them three years to do so. He ruffled feathers, man. It would have been a simple thing on several occasions to not say the sorts of things that would infuriate them the most, but he stood up and said them anyway. Kind of an impressive degree of wanton stubbornness, I would say. Or, you know, conviction.
Rebellion doesn't need be quite so bold, or so unrelenting. It can be the little things, like letting someone merge ahead of you on the road, or, maybe not parking your shopping cart in the dead center of the aisle and ignoring everyone else who's trying to get around you.
Sometimes, like in the world of literature, it's about writing the stories you want to tell, regardless of the genres and the industry's need to place your books into a single genre. Or sub-genre. Or sub-sub-sub-genre. Yes, on the marketing side, we authors need to have a strategy in mind for the distribution and categorization of our work - because we all want to be read, we want to be purchased; we all want to make some sort of living off of the work we do. The people who honestly only write because they love to write are rarely ever going to be published or, for that matter, read by many people - but if a person says they want lots of people to enjoy their writing, then let's be honest: whether they know it or not, they're opening themselves to the same arena of the literary publishing industry as the rest of us. It's competitive, and it includes having to jump through many of the same hoops as anyone who tries to publish for a mass audience.
And, unfortunately, one of those hoops is Genre.
Now, I don't have a problem with Genre itself - not even with any of the genres - but it becomes a challenge when your book conforms to more than one genre. For example.
The Chronicles of Aesirium books aren't Science Fiction OR Fantasy. There are elements of both - magic and high tech; mystical creatures and mad scientists. But in this case, the glue that holds them together, the concept which draws them into a shared orbit like the moons of Grindel and Prama, is a Steampunk sensibility. It just worked as a general concept, in form and spirit, like chopsticks, you know? One of my favorite old Jerry Seinfeld bits was about the chopsticks - why, in an age of forks and spoons, are people still using a couple of polished sticks to eat with? Well, to answer that, there's an elegance and grace and tradition inherent to that; not to mention, it forces you to eat slower so you can be filled up with less food.
Steampunk reminds me of that. An almost hopeless rebellion, with a touch of elegance. Steampunk Jesus, with a side of pork fried rice. And maybe some gyoza, because damn those are tasty.
And now that I've wasted more of your time than need be, I'm getting back to writing. Or tweeting. Or perhaps just looking busy. It's still early yet, I could go either way.
Mar 8, 2011
Emerald City ComiCon 2011: Post Con Wrap Up
Several years back, in the days/nights when I was a graveyard shifter, I'd find myself stepping across the divergent social ecosystems of Nightlife and Daylife, blinking into the analogous sunlight at all the people who frittered about their day-to-day meanderings with the literal confusion of a new alien arrival among my unsuspecting soon-to-be-thralls. Or, putting that less verbose-ly, I simply felt dramatically out-of-phase with the rest of the world. It was as if, each night, the world slept and I was Legend, a solitary man among the slumbering masses. Only the other darkened spirits wandered the streets, and we, unspeaking, nodded distantly against one another in a primal "guy nod" of acknowledgement, and nothing more.
The eventual transition of night to day took me quite some time, but on occasion I find myself drawn back into the sensation, when circumstances envelop me in a transitional vortex of divergent sociologies - the emergence from the big matinee, so to speak.
This weekend has done it to me again.
I spent the past four days engaged in assistance with the Emerald City ComiCon - - volunteering for some friends of mine who run the show, essentially as an unpaid extra to their Circus des Comiques sideshow of fun that goes on each spring in Seattle, Washington. It was my...umm... fifth? year at volunteering, and each year has become progressively more and more a practice of managing my own aging corpse into the demands placed upon it and finding ways to chat with some of the people there who are gradually moving from the category of "really cool peeps" into "really cool friends".
Got to sit with Michael Oeming and Taki Soma, a local pair of creators who are not only extremely talented, but are genuinely nice people. If you aren't familiar with their work, go pick up any copy of "Powers" or "Rapture" and I suspect you'll be pleasantly content with the purchase. Also, Mike does the art for the new Brian Michael Bendis graphic novel "Taki-O", which I have waiting for me in my comic stop box and am VERY much looking forward to. Again, they're both simply fantastic people, and have become collectively one of the reasons I love being a part of the Con.
I had a bit of time to chat with the SteamCrow team as well - along with Camilla d'Errico, some of the art which has had a tremendous inspirational impact on visual cues for my Chronicles of Aesirium books. Talking with both of these creators at much more length than I've previously been afforded fills me with an additional layer of urgency to push through the last two of my books so I can focus more on the marketing aspects of the series, and even go on a promotional book tour or two, and spend additional time working with these people on more of a peer level.
There were many other creators, as well - from Emonic to Bryan Glass to Kirby Krackle to Ron Marz... I really didn't have any of the time to spend with them as I would have liked, but they're all quite forged from the fires of Mount Awesome, all in their own aspects. I should very much have liked the con to have lasted a few weeks, just so I could have had enough time to spend with all of them.
A few of the media guests were, as always, on hand this year - William Shatner, Bruce Boxleitner, Brent Spiner, Jonathan Frakes, Wil Wheaton, James Marsters, Felicia Day, John Noble, Jasika Nicole, Sean Patrick Flanery, Norman Reedus, Amy Okuda, Clare Kramer, and Nicholas Brendon (did I forget any? If so, sorry) - but I never really made it down to their floor. I did get friendly guy nods in passing from Brent and Bruce off-site, and, really, that was nice all on its own. Never crossed paths with the Shat, but, then, he was swarmed, so I'm okay with not adding one more body to the throng.
But on another note, I got to meet Phoenix Jones, Red Dragon, the Black Knight and Blue Sparrow - all actual local costumed superheroes from the local streets. My feelings about these people are varied and expansive, but it was by itself one of the more surreal moments from the con. My mind has been thus beseiged with ideas about future books involving (or being inspired by) their actions. I Invited Jones to talk more via email; the concept of being a self-appointed community soldier and protector is just... well, it's something I can very realistically understand. Sometimes, yes, the pen may be mightier than the sword; but sometimes, you have to use the sword, too. So it's something that really resonates with me. In my own world, I juggle the two faces of Ren: the successful project manager for an accredited telecom company by day, an author of fiction by night. Granted, neither facade is particularly mild-mannered, but what are you gonna do?
Hopefully, I'll have more to say on that topic later.
The downside of all of this is that I'm still in the middle of transitioning my eyes into the light of day; having spent my weekend in the world of science fiction and fantasy, I am once again in Mister John Anderson's cubicle, and idly wondering why everything has that pervasive green tint to it, and hoping against hope for that FedEx package containing Morpheus' cell phone to arrive.
And, evidently, doing everything I can to postpone that inevitable reintegration for as long as possible, by blogging about it.
* sigh *
On a related note, I got the proofs for books 1 - 4 this weekend and found errors on the first two, delaying the paperback availability yet again. They're updated now, just waiting for them to be re-processed, and then I can announce them.
Errors aside, they look great. I'm happy with them so far. I need to review Books 3 and 4 as well, and make a simple edit to the ebook of Morrow Stone, and then I should be all caught up. And then back to writing and editing books 5 and 6.
And working on the new Talaria Press anthology, and.... oh, did I not mention Talaria Press? I guess that's something else we can talk about later.
Later!
The eventual transition of night to day took me quite some time, but on occasion I find myself drawn back into the sensation, when circumstances envelop me in a transitional vortex of divergent sociologies - the emergence from the big matinee, so to speak.
This weekend has done it to me again.
I spent the past four days engaged in assistance with the Emerald City ComiCon - - volunteering for some friends of mine who run the show, essentially as an unpaid extra to their Circus des Comiques sideshow of fun that goes on each spring in Seattle, Washington. It was my...umm... fifth? year at volunteering, and each year has become progressively more and more a practice of managing my own aging corpse into the demands placed upon it and finding ways to chat with some of the people there who are gradually moving from the category of "really cool peeps" into "really cool friends".
Got to sit with Michael Oeming and Taki Soma, a local pair of creators who are not only extremely talented, but are genuinely nice people. If you aren't familiar with their work, go pick up any copy of "Powers" or "Rapture" and I suspect you'll be pleasantly content with the purchase. Also, Mike does the art for the new Brian Michael Bendis graphic novel "Taki-O", which I have waiting for me in my comic stop box and am VERY much looking forward to. Again, they're both simply fantastic people, and have become collectively one of the reasons I love being a part of the Con.
I had a bit of time to chat with the SteamCrow team as well - along with Camilla d'Errico, some of the art which has had a tremendous inspirational impact on visual cues for my Chronicles of Aesirium books. Talking with both of these creators at much more length than I've previously been afforded fills me with an additional layer of urgency to push through the last two of my books so I can focus more on the marketing aspects of the series, and even go on a promotional book tour or two, and spend additional time working with these people on more of a peer level.
There were many other creators, as well - from Emonic to Bryan Glass to Kirby Krackle to Ron Marz... I really didn't have any of the time to spend with them as I would have liked, but they're all quite forged from the fires of Mount Awesome, all in their own aspects. I should very much have liked the con to have lasted a few weeks, just so I could have had enough time to spend with all of them.
A few of the media guests were, as always, on hand this year - William Shatner, Bruce Boxleitner, Brent Spiner, Jonathan Frakes, Wil Wheaton, James Marsters, Felicia Day, John Noble, Jasika Nicole, Sean Patrick Flanery, Norman Reedus, Amy Okuda, Clare Kramer, and Nicholas Brendon (did I forget any? If so, sorry) - but I never really made it down to their floor. I did get friendly guy nods in passing from Brent and Bruce off-site, and, really, that was nice all on its own. Never crossed paths with the Shat, but, then, he was swarmed, so I'm okay with not adding one more body to the throng.
But on another note, I got to meet Phoenix Jones, Red Dragon, the Black Knight and Blue Sparrow - all actual local costumed superheroes from the local streets. My feelings about these people are varied and expansive, but it was by itself one of the more surreal moments from the con. My mind has been thus beseiged with ideas about future books involving (or being inspired by) their actions. I Invited Jones to talk more via email; the concept of being a self-appointed community soldier and protector is just... well, it's something I can very realistically understand. Sometimes, yes, the pen may be mightier than the sword; but sometimes, you have to use the sword, too. So it's something that really resonates with me. In my own world, I juggle the two faces of Ren: the successful project manager for an accredited telecom company by day, an author of fiction by night. Granted, neither facade is particularly mild-mannered, but what are you gonna do?
Hopefully, I'll have more to say on that topic later.
The downside of all of this is that I'm still in the middle of transitioning my eyes into the light of day; having spent my weekend in the world of science fiction and fantasy, I am once again in Mister John Anderson's cubicle, and idly wondering why everything has that pervasive green tint to it, and hoping against hope for that FedEx package containing Morpheus' cell phone to arrive.
And, evidently, doing everything I can to postpone that inevitable reintegration for as long as possible, by blogging about it.
* sigh *
On a related note, I got the proofs for books 1 - 4 this weekend and found errors on the first two, delaying the paperback availability yet again. They're updated now, just waiting for them to be re-processed, and then I can announce them.
Errors aside, they look great. I'm happy with them so far. I need to review Books 3 and 4 as well, and make a simple edit to the ebook of Morrow Stone, and then I should be all caught up. And then back to writing and editing books 5 and 6.
And working on the new Talaria Press anthology, and.... oh, did I not mention Talaria Press? I guess that's something else we can talk about later.
Later!
Mar 1, 2011
Conventions and Mile Markers
Good morning, world!
Uusually, I have some idea of that which I will be blogging, before the first character hits the screen; in fact, I usually begin the darned thing with a title which I will ascribe (I actually considered both proscribe and prescribe before settling on that one. More coffee, please, miss?) to either hubris or folly. Though I suppose you can't go wrong with "folly", since it goes with everything. It's like a good black leather belt, I suspect. Today, however, it took me until nearly the end before I realized what this blog was about. All I did know when starting out was that I needed to write.
I'm of a silly mind today. I quite literally stand with feet stretched out into both careers - a situation in which I find myself more and more of late. For example, I'm taking the next week off from my day job so that I can work as staff for the Emerald City ComiCon. The gentlemen who own the show are some solid folks; I look forward as much to hanging out with them for a few days each year as much as I do working towards making the con an enjoyable event for all the attendees and guests.
It makes me think back to riding in the car on long family vacations. One of the ways I'd pass the time was to count (up or down) the mile markers along the highway. Every once in a while, the big "Miles To..." signs would whoosh by, and I'd keep myself from asking "Are we there yet?" by actually doing the math on how far we'd gone and how much further we had yet to travel. I probably asked a few times prior to that and was told to keep my mouth shut or something. At any rate, I busied myself in my mind, keeping the brain-numbing effects of the open road at bay.
Over the years, I learned to enjoy the spaces between those mile markers as well, though. They were the bits that made the mile markers mean something, you know? It's in line with that saying of how it's all about the journey, not the destination.
So, back to ECCC - one of the elements that has meant so much over the years has been the apparent diminishing of perceived space between me and my creative aspirations and all the great and talented artists and writers who attend this con each year.
My first year of volunteering, we also had Peter Mayhew as a guest - Star Wars fans may recognize the name as the actor inside the walking carpet, Chewbacca himself. Let me say, Peter is a fairly awesome and impressively tall gentleman. He and I chatted a bit during and after the con, and I had the chance to thank him for being part of a movie which - when I'd been all of seven - had quite convinced me of the plausibility of life on other planets. And even now, I can kind of track it to the performance of Chewie. Something about how he played that cracked a hole in my young and burgeoning imagination. Yeah, I knew it was a guy in a costume (I wasn't a total gundark. Yes, I said it. I embrace my geekdom), but for just a moment, it made me wonder how "aliens" really were. And were they sitting there, wondering how "aliens" were. And so on. It just kind of connected the constellations for me.
But also, shaking Peter's hand was a trip. It is just freaking huge, I'm telling you. I literally felt like a child again, shaking his hand. So it was a weird juxtapositioning of a span of 30-some years from then to now. But that illusory temporal wormhole - being simultaneously 7 and 37 - brought it all into a sharper focus, like some sort of time capsule of imagination and youthful, undaunted and unlimited capacity for dreaming.
Successive ECCCs have had a similar sort of effect - it's like having a high school reunion now, but a new one every year. And much like we do each month with our daughter, I line myself up along a sort of mental/professional wall and chalk off the line atop my head to see how much further I've grown.
Two years ago, for example, I was struck by the realization that, after more than ten years out of college, I still hadn't finished a book. Last year, I had one completed. This year, I've got 4 - plus anthology and short story work. Plus, developing an e-publishing coalition. A fifth book is in edits, a sixth is being written, and more anthology work is forthcoming. Five non-fiction collections are being sorted, and even my children's story anthology has taken more shape. I've made a lot of friends in the writing and publishing biz, now, my twitter account went from about a dozen followers to just under a thousand, and I've even been interviewed. That's not a bad year. A crazy good year, in fact.
It's just a funny thing about mile markers. On their own, they're just a number. Taken on their own, they represent a fixed point, and, when speeding by, only account for a moment in the large journey. They spend more time in your memory than in your vision, but the journey needs them. You can't simply arrive, else there is no journey at all. And after all is said and done, the journey is what crafts you, molds you, makes you into something more than the moments. It turns you from the image of you into the fully realized film.
So, that being said, here we go. I'll take good notes at the convention, though I suspect I'll be working hard and coming back to my hotel each night exhausted, aching, and most likely a little bit drunk.
Until then, friends, have a spectacular week, and enjoy the journey until we speak anew.
Uusually, I have some idea of that which I will be blogging, before the first character hits the screen; in fact, I usually begin the darned thing with a title which I will ascribe (I actually considered both proscribe and prescribe before settling on that one. More coffee, please, miss?) to either hubris or folly. Though I suppose you can't go wrong with "folly", since it goes with everything. It's like a good black leather belt, I suspect. Today, however, it took me until nearly the end before I realized what this blog was about. All I did know when starting out was that I needed to write.
I'm of a silly mind today. I quite literally stand with feet stretched out into both careers - a situation in which I find myself more and more of late. For example, I'm taking the next week off from my day job so that I can work as staff for the Emerald City ComiCon. The gentlemen who own the show are some solid folks; I look forward as much to hanging out with them for a few days each year as much as I do working towards making the con an enjoyable event for all the attendees and guests.
It makes me think back to riding in the car on long family vacations. One of the ways I'd pass the time was to count (up or down) the mile markers along the highway. Every once in a while, the big "Miles To..." signs would whoosh by, and I'd keep myself from asking "Are we there yet?" by actually doing the math on how far we'd gone and how much further we had yet to travel. I probably asked a few times prior to that and was told to keep my mouth shut or something. At any rate, I busied myself in my mind, keeping the brain-numbing effects of the open road at bay.
Over the years, I learned to enjoy the spaces between those mile markers as well, though. They were the bits that made the mile markers mean something, you know? It's in line with that saying of how it's all about the journey, not the destination.
So, back to ECCC - one of the elements that has meant so much over the years has been the apparent diminishing of perceived space between me and my creative aspirations and all the great and talented artists and writers who attend this con each year.
My first year of volunteering, we also had Peter Mayhew as a guest - Star Wars fans may recognize the name as the actor inside the walking carpet, Chewbacca himself. Let me say, Peter is a fairly awesome and impressively tall gentleman. He and I chatted a bit during and after the con, and I had the chance to thank him for being part of a movie which - when I'd been all of seven - had quite convinced me of the plausibility of life on other planets. And even now, I can kind of track it to the performance of Chewie. Something about how he played that cracked a hole in my young and burgeoning imagination. Yeah, I knew it was a guy in a costume (I wasn't a total gundark. Yes, I said it. I embrace my geekdom), but for just a moment, it made me wonder how "aliens" really were. And were they sitting there, wondering how "aliens" were. And so on. It just kind of connected the constellations for me.
But also, shaking Peter's hand was a trip. It is just freaking huge, I'm telling you. I literally felt like a child again, shaking his hand. So it was a weird juxtapositioning of a span of 30-some years from then to now. But that illusory temporal wormhole - being simultaneously 7 and 37 - brought it all into a sharper focus, like some sort of time capsule of imagination and youthful, undaunted and unlimited capacity for dreaming.
Successive ECCCs have had a similar sort of effect - it's like having a high school reunion now, but a new one every year. And much like we do each month with our daughter, I line myself up along a sort of mental/professional wall and chalk off the line atop my head to see how much further I've grown.
Two years ago, for example, I was struck by the realization that, after more than ten years out of college, I still hadn't finished a book. Last year, I had one completed. This year, I've got 4 - plus anthology and short story work. Plus, developing an e-publishing coalition. A fifth book is in edits, a sixth is being written, and more anthology work is forthcoming. Five non-fiction collections are being sorted, and even my children's story anthology has taken more shape. I've made a lot of friends in the writing and publishing biz, now, my twitter account went from about a dozen followers to just under a thousand, and I've even been interviewed. That's not a bad year. A crazy good year, in fact.
It's just a funny thing about mile markers. On their own, they're just a number. Taken on their own, they represent a fixed point, and, when speeding by, only account for a moment in the large journey. They spend more time in your memory than in your vision, but the journey needs them. You can't simply arrive, else there is no journey at all. And after all is said and done, the journey is what crafts you, molds you, makes you into something more than the moments. It turns you from the image of you into the fully realized film.
So, that being said, here we go. I'll take good notes at the convention, though I suspect I'll be working hard and coming back to my hotel each night exhausted, aching, and most likely a little bit drunk.
Until then, friends, have a spectacular week, and enjoy the journey until we speak anew.
Feb 24, 2011
New Edition! (sorry, not you, Bobby Brown)
I should probably clear up something on a more technical front. I've done some massive reconstructions on my original trilogy, turning them from 3 huge books into 6 normal-sized ones. In the process, I've apparently confused the snot out of folks, however. As an apology, please allow me to try and reconcile this.
The original Trilogy - "The Aerthos Trilogy":
Book 1: The Morrow Stone
Book 2: Reaper's Flight
Book 3: The Fall of the Shepherd (unreleased)
The new series - "The Chronicles of Aesirium":
Book 1: Reapers' Return (available as eBook, pending proof for Paperback)
Book 2: The Morrow Stone (pending review for eBook)
Book 3: The City of the Dead (available as eBook)
Book 4: Reaper's Flight (available as eBook)
Book 5: Into the Blink (to be released Spring 2011)
Book 6: The Crook and the Blade (to be released summer 2011)
Note: What WAS Book 1 of the original Trilogy has been broken up and expanded (a la Director's Cut) into Books 1 and 2 of the new series.
Note 2: What WAS Book 2 of the original Trilogy has been broken up and expanded into Books 3 and 4 of the new series.
Note 3: I have discontinued the printing on Books 1 and 2 of the original series, and am in the process of replacing them to match the format and content of the 4 currently-released ebooks.
Note 4: I'm not trying to emulate George Lucas here; I swear.
I hope this answers any questions you may have; I'll update soon when all four books are uploaded into Amazon and ready for purchase. Thanks for bearing with me on this; I promise I'll be posting something clever and witty very soon.
The original Trilogy - "The Aerthos Trilogy":
Book 1: The Morrow Stone
Book 2: Reaper's Flight
Book 3: The Fall of the Shepherd (unreleased)
The new series - "The Chronicles of Aesirium":
Book 1: Reapers' Return (available as eBook, pending proof for Paperback)
Book 2: The Morrow Stone (pending review for eBook)
Book 3: The City of the Dead (available as eBook)
Book 4: Reaper's Flight (available as eBook)
Book 5: Into the Blink (to be released Spring 2011)
Book 6: The Crook and the Blade (to be released summer 2011)
Note: What WAS Book 1 of the original Trilogy has been broken up and expanded (a la Director's Cut) into Books 1 and 2 of the new series.
Note 2: What WAS Book 2 of the original Trilogy has been broken up and expanded into Books 3 and 4 of the new series.
Note 3: I have discontinued the printing on Books 1 and 2 of the original series, and am in the process of replacing them to match the format and content of the 4 currently-released ebooks.
Note 4: I'm not trying to emulate George Lucas here; I swear.
I hope this answers any questions you may have; I'll update soon when all four books are uploaded into Amazon and ready for purchase. Thanks for bearing with me on this; I promise I'll be posting something clever and witty very soon.
Feb 18, 2011
Full Steampunk Ahead!
The universe has been a great place to chill lately. Not that I've been taking the time to do so, but clearly, if I did... it would so totally be a delight.
I've been given some great advice recently about rolling up my sleeves and getting some established work done; I'd been essentially spinning my wheels, waiting for the right artist to fall into my lap with respect to designing my ebook and paperback covers, and it's been so slow going.
But my new best author friend Jen walked me through her recent success story of accomplishing her publishing goals just by e-publishing, and in an effort to "pay it forward", has been showing me the ropes.
And, voila, I give you The Chronicles of Aesirium - "Reaper's Return" (book one) and "The Morrow Stone" (book two).
I've converted books 3 and 4 to ebook format, and will be working on the covers this weekend, so they should be up within a week. Book 5 is in the hands of my editors, so final launch date is pending rewrites, et cetera. Book 6 is still in first draft stage, but I'm pausing while book 5 gets processed. But they should both be up by the end of spring, barring other complications.
I've got the prices more in line with where they ought to be, and as I dive back in, it is nice to see the positive reception the new designs are already receiving.
I'll be honest, I really question the value added by traditional publishing models. The success of ebook authors like Amanda Hocking, JR Rain and Jen Ashton should really stand out as examples of exactly why book stores like Borders are struggling or imploding.
I mean, honestly, are books no longer being written? No. Are they no longer being purchased? Not at all. So why are these large chains collapsing? They haven't changed their business model.
Well, as of now, I'm changing mine as well. This will result in various potentially inexplicable comments from me over the next few weeks (with a brief interlude while I attend the Emerald City ComiCon 2011), but I assure you, all will be revealed.
Yes, it's full steampunk ahead, my pretties. Get your tickets now. It's gonna be a fantastic ride.
I've been given some great advice recently about rolling up my sleeves and getting some established work done; I'd been essentially spinning my wheels, waiting for the right artist to fall into my lap with respect to designing my ebook and paperback covers, and it's been so slow going.
But my new best author friend Jen walked me through her recent success story of accomplishing her publishing goals just by e-publishing, and in an effort to "pay it forward", has been showing me the ropes.
And, voila, I give you The Chronicles of Aesirium - "Reaper's Return" (book one) and "The Morrow Stone" (book two).
I've converted books 3 and 4 to ebook format, and will be working on the covers this weekend, so they should be up within a week. Book 5 is in the hands of my editors, so final launch date is pending rewrites, et cetera. Book 6 is still in first draft stage, but I'm pausing while book 5 gets processed. But they should both be up by the end of spring, barring other complications.
I've got the prices more in line with where they ought to be, and as I dive back in, it is nice to see the positive reception the new designs are already receiving.
I'll be honest, I really question the value added by traditional publishing models. The success of ebook authors like Amanda Hocking, JR Rain and Jen Ashton should really stand out as examples of exactly why book stores like Borders are struggling or imploding.
I mean, honestly, are books no longer being written? No. Are they no longer being purchased? Not at all. So why are these large chains collapsing? They haven't changed their business model.
Well, as of now, I'm changing mine as well. This will result in various potentially inexplicable comments from me over the next few weeks (with a brief interlude while I attend the Emerald City ComiCon 2011), but I assure you, all will be revealed.
Yes, it's full steampunk ahead, my pretties. Get your tickets now. It's gonna be a fantastic ride.
Feb 14, 2011
Caught Between the Scylla and New York City
How Arthur's Theme and The Police's "Wrapped Around Your Finger" got mashed up in my head I'm sure I couldn't tell you. But that's how these things go sometimes. The best that you can do... (the best that you can do...) oh wait. More lyrics. Ah well.
So, in the process of shaking off the monday morning lazies, and trying to remain under the radar at my day job is turning into a full time process of its own today. However, no one particular stream of coherence is ruling the roost thus far, so I suspect this blog is one part killing time and three parts conscious efforting towards a specific consciousness. I am uncertain as of yet precisely what this will bake up, but I'll be the first one to taste it, don't you worry.
Recent conversations have engaged upon me a particular awareness of attempting to balance two particular lives. In my case - lest ye fear for my eternal soul - it is the precarious juggling of a full time job, complete with marginal benefits, and the aspirations of being a full time author. The former is an occupation which I have spent the past 20 years cultivating. It bears fruit, it possesses some degree of shade, and though it is a frightfully horrific sight, it persists as a utilitarian success story. It provides for my family, offers me an ongoing sense of achievement, and bolsters my genetic needs for being a provider. Well, sort of. The economy being what it is, my wife and I both work; my job just happens to make a slight bit more (which I say as point of fact, and not out of an obligatory sense of competition).
The second of my two lives in in being an author. Self-published thus far, but with Flying Pen Press working on publishing my books later this year. I'm taking this a step further and moving on ebook publication, as well, working with my new friend Jen Ashton to learn the ins and outs of finding success through ebooks. As it turns out, it's nowhere nearly as complicated as I once thought; I've already converted the first 4 of my YA Steampunk books into e-form, and once I get the covers nailed down, I'll start releasing them.
But beyond the basics of ebook construction and marketing, one of the things Jen's helped me come to see is exactly how much of our success in life begins with decisive ambition and resolve. Logic laughs at me here - it realized this truth years ago, and I'm pretty late to the game, as it were. But the fact is, what we get from life is based almost entirely (either directly or otherwise) upon what we think, do and maintain.
It's like this:
Three years ago, I'd never finished a full book. Several aborted starts, but never anything that flowed all the way from cover to cover. And now I have five novels, several short stories, and even more "next ideas" than ever before. And did this happen all at once? Of course not.
Ask any author how they write a book, and eventually it's going to boil down to this: One Page at a Time.
And that's the key to doing anything. The danger comes from looking at JK Rowling or Stephenie Mayer and thinking "yeah, that's how you get successful!" But the fact is, JK and Stephenie are like Lady Gaga or Justin Beiber - they're quite successful, but they're also the exception. For every Gaga or Beiber, there are thousands of people out there, struggling through in various levels of success; some you might hear of, but most.... well, you won't.
Having sold a few hundred copies of my books with essentially no marketing strategy to speak of has already given me a greater degree of success than many writers out there - people with incredible talent and dedication to the craft, and yet whose work may never even see the light of day. Hell, I've written a lot of things that will never see print. It's just how these things go, I'm sure.
But that brings me back to the title of this blog.
One of the things Jen and I were talking about the other day was about the kind of faith it requires to just "take the leap from the lion's mouth" - (yes, an Indiana Jones reference. If you don't like it, learn to cope.) and how that sort of thing - Faith - has been a sticking point for me most of my life.
But something occurred to me today - - -
Faith in a supreme being - a concept I in many ways have simply come to the conclusion that I may never fully resolve - is something that people either have or they don't. They may even have faith that there is NOT a supreme being, but that's faith, too. But for me? It borders on the faintest edge of hope. And though this screams in the face of my youthful aspirations, I have also come to the realization that a lack of hope in a divine being does not mean I want to live my life as an experiment in anarchy and remorseless hedonism. Life may exist to be experienced, but I also want to have a purpose, principles, a guiding path that governs my decision-making processes. Even if only to me, I want my life to mean something. I want to live well.
Doing that doesn't require Faith, it just requires choice, with a smattering of foresight and resolve.
So, perhaps faith in oneself can work along the same basic principles? Mayhaps one doesn't need to well and truly believe that they're going to be successful like Stephen King or Neil Gaiman; maybe just being resolved to write and write well is enough to define one's sense of accomplishment, and let the universe do what it will.
I used to observe - with some degree of disillusionment - that one of the most disappointing side-effects of religion was the idea of being good so that your god will reward you (or at least not punish you). But I think that holds a secret truth to any sort of faithful pursuit. In the end, it's not about the rewards bestowed upon you that will give you the deepest satisfaction.
At the end of the day, will you look upon your works with satisfaction at a job well done, or will you with fear and derision avert your gaze?
Something to think about, today. As for me, I've got a couple of jobs to do. More later, peeps.
So, in the process of shaking off the monday morning lazies, and trying to remain under the radar at my day job is turning into a full time process of its own today. However, no one particular stream of coherence is ruling the roost thus far, so I suspect this blog is one part killing time and three parts conscious efforting towards a specific consciousness. I am uncertain as of yet precisely what this will bake up, but I'll be the first one to taste it, don't you worry.
Recent conversations have engaged upon me a particular awareness of attempting to balance two particular lives. In my case - lest ye fear for my eternal soul - it is the precarious juggling of a full time job, complete with marginal benefits, and the aspirations of being a full time author. The former is an occupation which I have spent the past 20 years cultivating. It bears fruit, it possesses some degree of shade, and though it is a frightfully horrific sight, it persists as a utilitarian success story. It provides for my family, offers me an ongoing sense of achievement, and bolsters my genetic needs for being a provider. Well, sort of. The economy being what it is, my wife and I both work; my job just happens to make a slight bit more (which I say as point of fact, and not out of an obligatory sense of competition).
The second of my two lives in in being an author. Self-published thus far, but with Flying Pen Press working on publishing my books later this year. I'm taking this a step further and moving on ebook publication, as well, working with my new friend Jen Ashton to learn the ins and outs of finding success through ebooks. As it turns out, it's nowhere nearly as complicated as I once thought; I've already converted the first 4 of my YA Steampunk books into e-form, and once I get the covers nailed down, I'll start releasing them.
But beyond the basics of ebook construction and marketing, one of the things Jen's helped me come to see is exactly how much of our success in life begins with decisive ambition and resolve. Logic laughs at me here - it realized this truth years ago, and I'm pretty late to the game, as it were. But the fact is, what we get from life is based almost entirely (either directly or otherwise) upon what we think, do and maintain.
It's like this:
Three years ago, I'd never finished a full book. Several aborted starts, but never anything that flowed all the way from cover to cover. And now I have five novels, several short stories, and even more "next ideas" than ever before. And did this happen all at once? Of course not.
Ask any author how they write a book, and eventually it's going to boil down to this: One Page at a Time.
And that's the key to doing anything. The danger comes from looking at JK Rowling or Stephenie Mayer and thinking "yeah, that's how you get successful!" But the fact is, JK and Stephenie are like Lady Gaga or Justin Beiber - they're quite successful, but they're also the exception. For every Gaga or Beiber, there are thousands of people out there, struggling through in various levels of success; some you might hear of, but most.... well, you won't.
Having sold a few hundred copies of my books with essentially no marketing strategy to speak of has already given me a greater degree of success than many writers out there - people with incredible talent and dedication to the craft, and yet whose work may never even see the light of day. Hell, I've written a lot of things that will never see print. It's just how these things go, I'm sure.
But that brings me back to the title of this blog.
One of the things Jen and I were talking about the other day was about the kind of faith it requires to just "take the leap from the lion's mouth" - (yes, an Indiana Jones reference. If you don't like it, learn to cope.) and how that sort of thing - Faith - has been a sticking point for me most of my life.
But something occurred to me today - - -
Faith in a supreme being - a concept I in many ways have simply come to the conclusion that I may never fully resolve - is something that people either have or they don't. They may even have faith that there is NOT a supreme being, but that's faith, too. But for me? It borders on the faintest edge of hope. And though this screams in the face of my youthful aspirations, I have also come to the realization that a lack of hope in a divine being does not mean I want to live my life as an experiment in anarchy and remorseless hedonism. Life may exist to be experienced, but I also want to have a purpose, principles, a guiding path that governs my decision-making processes. Even if only to me, I want my life to mean something. I want to live well.
Doing that doesn't require Faith, it just requires choice, with a smattering of foresight and resolve.
So, perhaps faith in oneself can work along the same basic principles? Mayhaps one doesn't need to well and truly believe that they're going to be successful like Stephen King or Neil Gaiman; maybe just being resolved to write and write well is enough to define one's sense of accomplishment, and let the universe do what it will.
I used to observe - with some degree of disillusionment - that one of the most disappointing side-effects of religion was the idea of being good so that your god will reward you (or at least not punish you). But I think that holds a secret truth to any sort of faithful pursuit. In the end, it's not about the rewards bestowed upon you that will give you the deepest satisfaction.
At the end of the day, will you look upon your works with satisfaction at a job well done, or will you with fear and derision avert your gaze?
Something to think about, today. As for me, I've got a couple of jobs to do. More later, peeps.
Feb 4, 2011
Turn, Turn, Turn
One of the first grownup books I remember reading as a small person was a post-apocalyptic book called "Earth Abides" - fairly solid read, but what really got to me were the elements of personal philosophy that were interwoven between the chapters. One that to this day, so many years later, has still remained with me was the concept of perceived immortality.
Essentially, the idea was reflecting upon mankind's tendency to extrapolate their future purely from their past. Namely, that what they believed to be within the realm of possibility could only have been previously experienced, which inaccurately limits their ability to prepare for future eventualities. The examples thus were given: just because I've never broken my arm does not imply that my arm is unbreakable; just because I have not died does not make me immortal.
And yet, as a world and as individuals, we do that same delimiting comprehension of our expectations. "It's never happened, and thus it never shall."
What a load of crap that is, though.
Case in point:
Twenty years ago, I'd never recorded an album. I'd never written a novel. I'd never been married. I'd never had children. Hell, twenty years ago, I still had a full head of hair. Life does funny things to you whether you're paying attention or not - - - which was, by the way, the general intent of yesterday's blog, though I suspect the point may have been lost in my general sense of meandering.
This week has been far less productive in terms of book progress than it has in making a perspective shift. It's a challenging enough prospect to stand up and say "Oh hi there, I'm an author" after so many years of being so many other things, and I suspect perhaps it took a bit for the blood to make its way back into my head. But a series of powerfully well-timed conversations gave me the appropriate nudges into my present state of mind, and, as I know now so many other authors who find themselves either previously, presently or potentially in this same transitional state, I wanted to mark the occasion with a few declaratives.
First, it's essential to remember this - - you are as you decide you are. No one else has more power over your destiny than you do. Want it? Then be it.
Second, there is neither an expiration date nor an incubation period for happiness. Happiness is a choice, not a result. You want happy? Be happy.
Thirdly, if you want something done, get off your ass and do it. If you don't know how, ask someone. "The only thing stopping you is the stopping," as Jim Morrison once said to me in a really funny dream.
And lastly, never forget that this world is a pretty damned impressive place. If you're a student of life, a writer, a lover or a fighter, just take a moment to breathe it in, every chance you get. The only form of hell I can imagine would be the regret for a life unlived.
And on that note, I got some writing to do. Be back soon, hopefully with some news and a bit less soapboxiness.
Be well, peeps. Let me know how you're doing.
Essentially, the idea was reflecting upon mankind's tendency to extrapolate their future purely from their past. Namely, that what they believed to be within the realm of possibility could only have been previously experienced, which inaccurately limits their ability to prepare for future eventualities. The examples thus were given: just because I've never broken my arm does not imply that my arm is unbreakable; just because I have not died does not make me immortal.
And yet, as a world and as individuals, we do that same delimiting comprehension of our expectations. "It's never happened, and thus it never shall."
What a load of crap that is, though.
Case in point:
Twenty years ago, I'd never recorded an album. I'd never written a novel. I'd never been married. I'd never had children. Hell, twenty years ago, I still had a full head of hair. Life does funny things to you whether you're paying attention or not - - - which was, by the way, the general intent of yesterday's blog, though I suspect the point may have been lost in my general sense of meandering.
This week has been far less productive in terms of book progress than it has in making a perspective shift. It's a challenging enough prospect to stand up and say "Oh hi there, I'm an author" after so many years of being so many other things, and I suspect perhaps it took a bit for the blood to make its way back into my head. But a series of powerfully well-timed conversations gave me the appropriate nudges into my present state of mind, and, as I know now so many other authors who find themselves either previously, presently or potentially in this same transitional state, I wanted to mark the occasion with a few declaratives.
First, it's essential to remember this - - you are as you decide you are. No one else has more power over your destiny than you do. Want it? Then be it.
Second, there is neither an expiration date nor an incubation period for happiness. Happiness is a choice, not a result. You want happy? Be happy.
Thirdly, if you want something done, get off your ass and do it. If you don't know how, ask someone. "The only thing stopping you is the stopping," as Jim Morrison once said to me in a really funny dream.
And lastly, never forget that this world is a pretty damned impressive place. If you're a student of life, a writer, a lover or a fighter, just take a moment to breathe it in, every chance you get. The only form of hell I can imagine would be the regret for a life unlived.
And on that note, I got some writing to do. Be back soon, hopefully with some news and a bit less soapboxiness.
Be well, peeps. Let me know how you're doing.
Feb 3, 2011
Busy Making Other Plans
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.
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.
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.
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