Alright, so I'm back in the proverbial saddle again. Got a real-life jolt that put things into perspective, which is always a good thing.
Blood Stone is going to be edited and needs a lot of work, but that's fine. It's already written (as the beginning of a trilogy).
I am reading two really good books (at the suggestion of author Randy Henderson): 'Book Life' by Jeff Vandermeer and 'Story Engineering' by Larry Brooks. In retrospect, I wish I would have read those before writing Blood Stone, but meh, if wishes were horses, right?
Anyroad, I've decided to use some of my new found knowledge (from those books) to write some short fiction. I just finished a short work entitled 'Gravedigger' and will have it hopefully revised by the end of next week so that I can start trying my hand at Query Letters and Submissions (you can tell they're important... I used capital letters). :)
Monday nights are still going strong, though the crowd has thinned due to work or school commitments. Still, my hetero life-mate Evil Dennis and I are pushing through the drop in attendance.
So, that's it for an update, more next week!
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan (aka Baldbeasty)
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Chicon 7 WOW
Hey all,
I know, it's been like a month since I made a blog entry.
Sooo... how have you all been? Good, good.
Anyroad, I just got back from Chicon and wow. It was pretty amazing. I was able to attend a panel which had a great array of authors as well as had coffee with another awesome author (Randy Henderson), who gave me a LOT of info and pointers.
I also sent my application in to join Barfleet. Fingers crossed. :)
Last I heard there were at least 6200 attendees, so, you know, lots and lots of people.
We only had one issue and that was when we were put on a party floor (which did not sit well with any of the residents of our room, particularly the guy with the migraine aka me, or the Benvolio, who took an hour and a half to put down that night). So, we had to change rooms in the middle of our night on Friday, but still, it worked out pretty good.
What was awesome was seeing a lot of the authors I'd met earlier, like Matt Forbeck and Jim Hines. Congrats Jim, for winning a Hugo!
I also got to meet and chat with one of my favorite author/bloggers: Chuck Wendig. He signed (again) a copy of his book for me and personalized it for me. How he does that is by predicting how you're going to die. Me, I'm going to get chewed up by an artificially intelligent lawn mower. Awesome. It was great to meet him.
I also saw the line for the George R.R. Martin autograph session. I saw him as well.
So that was about it. I found more motivation (behind the curtain in our room) and have renewed my focus. I know now that I need to be either reading about how to be a better writer, or writing. When I'm not working on my family or my health or Eggplant. :)
So, that's an update, probably will be more next week when I talk about my short fiction project, 'Gravedigger'.
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support! :)
~Stephan
I know, it's been like a month since I made a blog entry.
Sooo... how have you all been? Good, good.
Anyroad, I just got back from Chicon and wow. It was pretty amazing. I was able to attend a panel which had a great array of authors as well as had coffee with another awesome author (Randy Henderson), who gave me a LOT of info and pointers.
I also sent my application in to join Barfleet. Fingers crossed. :)
Last I heard there were at least 6200 attendees, so, you know, lots and lots of people.
We only had one issue and that was when we were put on a party floor (which did not sit well with any of the residents of our room, particularly the guy with the migraine aka me, or the Benvolio, who took an hour and a half to put down that night). So, we had to change rooms in the middle of our night on Friday, but still, it worked out pretty good.
What was awesome was seeing a lot of the authors I'd met earlier, like Matt Forbeck and Jim Hines. Congrats Jim, for winning a Hugo!
I also got to meet and chat with one of my favorite author/bloggers: Chuck Wendig. He signed (again) a copy of his book for me and personalized it for me. How he does that is by predicting how you're going to die. Me, I'm going to get chewed up by an artificially intelligent lawn mower. Awesome. It was great to meet him.
I also saw the line for the George R.R. Martin autograph session. I saw him as well.
So that was about it. I found more motivation (behind the curtain in our room) and have renewed my focus. I know now that I need to be either reading about how to be a better writer, or writing. When I'm not working on my family or my health or Eggplant. :)
So, that's an update, probably will be more next week when I talk about my short fiction project, 'Gravedigger'.
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support! :)
~Stephan
Friday, July 27, 2012
Blood Stone update and first chapter
Holy CRAP but it's been a long time since I posted.
Anyroad, it's been an arduous journey (and it's not over yet) but one of love. I'm full of all kinds of tumultuous emotions right now. I just finished the edit on my draft of Blood Stone. I've included the first chapter, below, for those that are interested in it. Keep in mind that there will probably be a few more edits so the chapter you read below may not be the chapter that's in the final and I'm open to criticisms and comments (though please keep them constructive and germane).
Thanks to my friends in the Monday Night Writing Sessions for putting up with my maniacal laughter and constant reading aloud passages to them. Dennis, Googs, Dana, I appreciate your ear (and patience).
To all my friends, thanks for your support and to my wife and family, thanks for believing in me. I know it's not over, and I've still got a lot to do, but to come this far wouldn't have been possible without your faith and belief.
OK, enough sappiness, on with the fiction:
---
Blood Stone by Stephan Kelly
Chapter One
"No."
Years of state ordered therapy and foster care granted me the ability to show a distinct lack of emotion on my face as I spoke, even while the word carried with it a weight of weary denial. This was a pretty commonly used talent for me, particularly in my current situation. My foster parents call me Ricky, which I hated and my high school principal calls me Richard, which I also hated. It was with the latter that I found myself in a discussion with.
"So you're saying you did NOT provoke Mister... Cavanaugh and Mister... Richmond to throw a wastebasket across a school hallway filled with students?" Principal Bailey was what I would call an 'experienced' principal. He had been around long enough to know most of the stunts and lies students told and yet had not been around so long that his stress level rose high enough to give him any health problems. Yet. Still, he dropped his glasses on his desk and massaged the spot between his eyes.
"You are correct, Principal Bailey," I said with the same malaise.
"Richard," the exasperation in Principal Bailey's voice was evident and he still hadn't raised his head, opened his eyes or retrieved his glasses from the desk, so he didn’t notice my cringe at his use of my name. "You have been in my office three times over the past month. It's April. Spring Break is only a week away. Now I have twenty statements from other students saying that..." and at this point, Principal Bailey opened his eyes, replaced his glasses, ran a hand over his bald head and looked at the stack of papers on his desk, sighing. He grabbed one, seemingly at random and began reading it.
"...Rick was harassing Russ and Brock, saying awful things about their mothers and other family members." Principal Bailey looked up from the paper and stared over his round-rimmed glasses that were resting on his nose, at Rick.
"No." That same tone, that same blank expression, that same weary denial.
"Look, I don't have any proof other than that all these statements appear to coincide, and I am not so ignorant that I don't recognize that all of these statements are from associates of Mr. Cavanaugh and Mr. Richmond. Fortunately for you no one was hurt, otherwise there would be serious repercussions."
"Whatever." Again, no reaction but the distant voice.
"Richard! Unless you want to spend the entirety of your Spring Break doing nothing but dust-mopping the whole of this school, repeatedly, you will stop causing trouble and start behaving yourself. I do NOT want to see you in my office again this month, is that understood?"
"Yeah." My response was quick, too quick and it only further angered Principal Bailey, which was evidenced by the redness of his face that rapidly spread over his entire bare scalp.
"OUT!"
I quickly made my way with my hood up and head down. It may have been April, but in Michigan, the spring can be as cold as the winter. There were still small piles of snow on the ground, and the sky was gray and overcast, threatening snow.
Putting my ear buds in, I stopped at the vending machine for a few bags of corn chips and a soda and went outside. Not even paying any attention to the group lingering on the steps just outside the main door I pulled my hood down further over my face and stalked to the bike rack. In a few moments, I was pedaling away down the road.
More than a few miles later and I was no where near home. Sure, it took me nearly an hour to get here, but it's the only place I really felt safe. I coasted down the final hill toward the two towering structures, each separated by over a hundred yards of ruins. As usual, I ignored the 'No Trespassing' sign and shot down the dirt path toward the further of the two buildings, which was adjacent to the small lake. Mist hung low over the water and the slopping mud as my tires sloshed through it, making the downhill path a bit treacherous. Still, in the dusk at the end of the day the sight brought me some semblance of calm.
Once at the bottom of the hill, instead of taking the muddy path around the site, and right past a neighboring farmhouse with nosy residents, I dismounted and walked my bike straight for the ruins. Even though I knew the way well enough to navigate in the darkening nebulous environs, I also knew that there were things here I’ve yet to see and a misstep could land me in a silo below ground.
Rumor had it that this place was a cement factory that mined underground six or seven levels. All at once they broke the water table and flooded all but the first sub level, killing hundreds of workers. That was back in the Seventies, and they closed it down and knocked all but the two tallest buildings down, for safety reasons. They also took out the first section of ladders that went to the top of the buildings, but some inventive youths tied ropes to the next highest section and let it hang down for those that would seek out such heights.
I glanced back at the ninety foot tall towering silo that some brave soul had hung halfway down and painted in giant letters, "Jesus Saves" and smiled, the first sign of any genuine emotion to cross my face since before school started that day. I stopped at a piece of concrete jutting from the ruins and knelt down to tie my shoe. My eyes fell on the discoloration of freshly moved earth near my left foot and something oddly shaped grabbed my attention. A small stone circle with a hole in the middle on a leather cord. It looked old and the leather looked like it could have been stained, but it was hard to tell in the deepening dusk. Sure, I usually find things like broken tools or pieces of things one would find in a broken down old factory, but not usually by happenstance and not like this. This had a personal feel about it. Shrugging, I pocketed it like I had done with so many other trinkets I had found here and without any further thought to it, I continued on my way.
Looking ahead I saw the familiar tri-silo building squatting at the base of the small lake. This building was harder to get to the top of, but not impossible. It just took a bit of courage. Still smiling, I locked his bike to the skeleton of a tree that protruded from the ground between the building and the lake. The tree had its branches touching both lake and building and I climbed up the twenty feet to one such outstretched branch. Even though I’d done this a hundred times, I still took care as I balanced on the branch. I took two large steps and leaped toward the building, reaching for and grabbing a rusty metal railing of the walkway that jutted out like an odd growth on a perfectly rounded silo. I pulled himself up and over and then stalked inside the yawning doorway.
Once inside the vacant structure, I glanced down the thirty feet to the floor of the old workspace and noticed a few tracks and some remnants that were usually stacked up, knocked over. Probably some local kids trying to get up where I was. I allowed myself a gloating chuckle before I ascended the rusty metal stairway to the roof access.
I kicked open the door and at last I arrived at my sanctuary. The roof was flat, save for an old pump shed made from galvanized metal that leaned something terrible. I approached the edge and looked out over the ruins with sigh-worthy nostalgia. Not as tall as its counterpart across the way, it still had a commanding view of what used to be a thriving workplace. Not that any of that really mattered to me. All that mattered was that it was quiet, it was not school and it was not home.
The evening set in sooner than I would have liked no thanks to my meeting with Principal Bailey. Not wanting to waste any more time getting upset about either school or home, I sat in my usual spot, on an old bleacher cushion, dangled my legs precariously over the side.
I pulled out my makeshift dinner and munched away, sat and watched, allowing my eyes to get adjusted to the darkening sky. The ruins faded into the shadow of night and all of a sudden, my ear buds beeped at me a sound that informed me that my battery was about to die. "Great" I whispered to myself and with a frown I put them away and contented myself to sit and watch the night descend. I listened to nothing but the slight breeze, the creak of the old tree near the lake and the distant sounds of the highway nearby.
I’m not really what you would call a nature guy and so didn't really appreciate not having my music to pull my consciousness from the reality of where I was and what I hated about my life. In other words, it didn’t really make me happy, but it did allow me to hear things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Like the sound of rubble being moved.
The wind all but ceased to blow and the quiet that surrounded the ruins was almost invasive. It sent a shiver down my spine, so I sat, shivered and listened. I nodded to myself in the conclusion that there was definitely something out there, but the near darkness in the ruins obscured my vision.
"SONUVA..." came a deep southern drawl from somewhere within the ruins and instantly I held my breath. Here I was, sitting on the edge of this tower, thinking I was alone. I mean, I certainly hadn't seen anyone when I first got here or after I took my seat here on the roof.
Shortly after the first disruption, a roar ripped through the silence. I blinked as I watched a large shadow move in an arc and then a loud crash as if two very large stones were smashed together.
OK, at this point I wanted to leave, but couldn't bring myself to move. Half out of curiosity and half out of fear, I watched and waited.
There was silence for a long time, but then, closer to the building I was sitting upon, I heard it. A sniffing sound, directly underneath where my feet are dangling over the edge. Sure it's fifty feet down, but there's still something unnerving about that sound.
"I can hear your heart beat, boy..." comes the deep southern drawl from whatever is at the base of the silo and that was enough for me. I, not very bravely, scrabbled back up over the side of the silo, quickly gathered my things, strapped on my backpack, pulled out the pepper spray and backed towards the door.
The sound of clambering was heard and before I made it all the way to the door behind me a looming shape pulled itself up over the ledge in the very spot I was just sitting.
"Ain't no use runnin' since I'll catch ya anyway..." I looked full upon the towering giant of a man standing where I was just moments ago. The man, if it was that at all, was built like a body-builder on steroids. He must have been over seven feet tall with shoulders the size of basketballs and hands the size of, well, basketballs. He looked like he could rend steel with those hands and also, why was he out in only a tank top. It’s barely forty degrees outside and he isn't shivering at all. In fact, there was no steam coming from his mouth when he talked. That's odd.
As the creature, the giant man, looked full upon me, something flickered in his eyes as if a light was reflected but there were no light sources, anywhere, aside from the moon. Then, in what can only be described as sheer surprise, the enormous jaw on the juggernaut standing before me gaped open.
"Y...you." The giant just stood there in awe, staring, not moving, not breathing, covered in dust and dirt.
"Who?" I had finally found my breath and thought that if maybe I could keep this guy talking long enough, I might be able to keep him from ripping my arms off, which he looked completely capable of doing without much effort.
There was no response for some time... just this huge slack-jawed guy staring at me with a look of sadness on his face.
"Huh. Well. That's... somethin’." He closed his jaw and tilted his head to the side, looking me up and down. "I believe you have somethin' of mine, I'd like it back please." The giant took two large steps towards me and held out his hand, a hand that could easily crush a normal person's skull I noticed.
"You mean the necklace thing... yeah, sure, I mean, I didn't think it belonged to anyone so I just, you know kept hold of it." I tried to act cool, relaxed, but I was freaked out. Usually I don’t talk this much. I have rarely ever said more than a few words to anyone at school and here I am jabbering on at this behemoth who hasn't stopped staring at me... and also hadn't blinked once since he got up here.
I pulled the necklace from my pocket and felt a twinge of something, like when a chord is struck that really resonates inside you. This is where it got weird. I glanced down at the stone in my hand and noticed a slight change. Where the stone was a gray granite-like color when I had pocketed it, now it had taken on a reddish-brown hue.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one to notice the change. "On second thought, why don't you keep it. Call it a gift... so what's your name, kid?"
I froze, and then, feeling uncertain, I re-pocketed it. I felt compelled to fill the silence and really didn’t want to take any chances lying to a guy this big, so I answered, "Rick."
"Well, have a seat Rick and talk a spell, we got some time yet..." and with that the giant man cracked his knuckles that made a sound like metal breaking and sat.
Finding no real excuse not to, and not really wanting to upset him, I warily sat.
"Name's Jake. Good to meet ya. Oh, and in case you ain't noticed, yeah, I'm a vampire." Jake grinned and revealed canines the size of a roll of quarters, then chuckled.
Anyroad, it's been an arduous journey (and it's not over yet) but one of love. I'm full of all kinds of tumultuous emotions right now. I just finished the edit on my draft of Blood Stone. I've included the first chapter, below, for those that are interested in it. Keep in mind that there will probably be a few more edits so the chapter you read below may not be the chapter that's in the final and I'm open to criticisms and comments (though please keep them constructive and germane).
Thanks to my friends in the Monday Night Writing Sessions for putting up with my maniacal laughter and constant reading aloud passages to them. Dennis, Googs, Dana, I appreciate your ear (and patience).
To all my friends, thanks for your support and to my wife and family, thanks for believing in me. I know it's not over, and I've still got a lot to do, but to come this far wouldn't have been possible without your faith and belief.
OK, enough sappiness, on with the fiction:
---
Blood Stone by Stephan Kelly
Chapter One
"No."
Years of state ordered therapy and foster care granted me the ability to show a distinct lack of emotion on my face as I spoke, even while the word carried with it a weight of weary denial. This was a pretty commonly used talent for me, particularly in my current situation. My foster parents call me Ricky, which I hated and my high school principal calls me Richard, which I also hated. It was with the latter that I found myself in a discussion with.
"So you're saying you did NOT provoke Mister... Cavanaugh and Mister... Richmond to throw a wastebasket across a school hallway filled with students?" Principal Bailey was what I would call an 'experienced' principal. He had been around long enough to know most of the stunts and lies students told and yet had not been around so long that his stress level rose high enough to give him any health problems. Yet. Still, he dropped his glasses on his desk and massaged the spot between his eyes.
"You are correct, Principal Bailey," I said with the same malaise.
"Richard," the exasperation in Principal Bailey's voice was evident and he still hadn't raised his head, opened his eyes or retrieved his glasses from the desk, so he didn’t notice my cringe at his use of my name. "You have been in my office three times over the past month. It's April. Spring Break is only a week away. Now I have twenty statements from other students saying that..." and at this point, Principal Bailey opened his eyes, replaced his glasses, ran a hand over his bald head and looked at the stack of papers on his desk, sighing. He grabbed one, seemingly at random and began reading it.
"...Rick was harassing Russ and Brock, saying awful things about their mothers and other family members." Principal Bailey looked up from the paper and stared over his round-rimmed glasses that were resting on his nose, at Rick.
"No." That same tone, that same blank expression, that same weary denial.
"Look, I don't have any proof other than that all these statements appear to coincide, and I am not so ignorant that I don't recognize that all of these statements are from associates of Mr. Cavanaugh and Mr. Richmond. Fortunately for you no one was hurt, otherwise there would be serious repercussions."
"Whatever." Again, no reaction but the distant voice.
"Richard! Unless you want to spend the entirety of your Spring Break doing nothing but dust-mopping the whole of this school, repeatedly, you will stop causing trouble and start behaving yourself. I do NOT want to see you in my office again this month, is that understood?"
"Yeah." My response was quick, too quick and it only further angered Principal Bailey, which was evidenced by the redness of his face that rapidly spread over his entire bare scalp.
"OUT!"
I quickly made my way with my hood up and head down. It may have been April, but in Michigan, the spring can be as cold as the winter. There were still small piles of snow on the ground, and the sky was gray and overcast, threatening snow.
Putting my ear buds in, I stopped at the vending machine for a few bags of corn chips and a soda and went outside. Not even paying any attention to the group lingering on the steps just outside the main door I pulled my hood down further over my face and stalked to the bike rack. In a few moments, I was pedaling away down the road.
More than a few miles later and I was no where near home. Sure, it took me nearly an hour to get here, but it's the only place I really felt safe. I coasted down the final hill toward the two towering structures, each separated by over a hundred yards of ruins. As usual, I ignored the 'No Trespassing' sign and shot down the dirt path toward the further of the two buildings, which was adjacent to the small lake. Mist hung low over the water and the slopping mud as my tires sloshed through it, making the downhill path a bit treacherous. Still, in the dusk at the end of the day the sight brought me some semblance of calm.
Once at the bottom of the hill, instead of taking the muddy path around the site, and right past a neighboring farmhouse with nosy residents, I dismounted and walked my bike straight for the ruins. Even though I knew the way well enough to navigate in the darkening nebulous environs, I also knew that there were things here I’ve yet to see and a misstep could land me in a silo below ground.
Rumor had it that this place was a cement factory that mined underground six or seven levels. All at once they broke the water table and flooded all but the first sub level, killing hundreds of workers. That was back in the Seventies, and they closed it down and knocked all but the two tallest buildings down, for safety reasons. They also took out the first section of ladders that went to the top of the buildings, but some inventive youths tied ropes to the next highest section and let it hang down for those that would seek out such heights.
I glanced back at the ninety foot tall towering silo that some brave soul had hung halfway down and painted in giant letters, "Jesus Saves" and smiled, the first sign of any genuine emotion to cross my face since before school started that day. I stopped at a piece of concrete jutting from the ruins and knelt down to tie my shoe. My eyes fell on the discoloration of freshly moved earth near my left foot and something oddly shaped grabbed my attention. A small stone circle with a hole in the middle on a leather cord. It looked old and the leather looked like it could have been stained, but it was hard to tell in the deepening dusk. Sure, I usually find things like broken tools or pieces of things one would find in a broken down old factory, but not usually by happenstance and not like this. This had a personal feel about it. Shrugging, I pocketed it like I had done with so many other trinkets I had found here and without any further thought to it, I continued on my way.
Looking ahead I saw the familiar tri-silo building squatting at the base of the small lake. This building was harder to get to the top of, but not impossible. It just took a bit of courage. Still smiling, I locked his bike to the skeleton of a tree that protruded from the ground between the building and the lake. The tree had its branches touching both lake and building and I climbed up the twenty feet to one such outstretched branch. Even though I’d done this a hundred times, I still took care as I balanced on the branch. I took two large steps and leaped toward the building, reaching for and grabbing a rusty metal railing of the walkway that jutted out like an odd growth on a perfectly rounded silo. I pulled himself up and over and then stalked inside the yawning doorway.
Once inside the vacant structure, I glanced down the thirty feet to the floor of the old workspace and noticed a few tracks and some remnants that were usually stacked up, knocked over. Probably some local kids trying to get up where I was. I allowed myself a gloating chuckle before I ascended the rusty metal stairway to the roof access.
I kicked open the door and at last I arrived at my sanctuary. The roof was flat, save for an old pump shed made from galvanized metal that leaned something terrible. I approached the edge and looked out over the ruins with sigh-worthy nostalgia. Not as tall as its counterpart across the way, it still had a commanding view of what used to be a thriving workplace. Not that any of that really mattered to me. All that mattered was that it was quiet, it was not school and it was not home.
The evening set in sooner than I would have liked no thanks to my meeting with Principal Bailey. Not wanting to waste any more time getting upset about either school or home, I sat in my usual spot, on an old bleacher cushion, dangled my legs precariously over the side.
I pulled out my makeshift dinner and munched away, sat and watched, allowing my eyes to get adjusted to the darkening sky. The ruins faded into the shadow of night and all of a sudden, my ear buds beeped at me a sound that informed me that my battery was about to die. "Great" I whispered to myself and with a frown I put them away and contented myself to sit and watch the night descend. I listened to nothing but the slight breeze, the creak of the old tree near the lake and the distant sounds of the highway nearby.
I’m not really what you would call a nature guy and so didn't really appreciate not having my music to pull my consciousness from the reality of where I was and what I hated about my life. In other words, it didn’t really make me happy, but it did allow me to hear things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Like the sound of rubble being moved.
The wind all but ceased to blow and the quiet that surrounded the ruins was almost invasive. It sent a shiver down my spine, so I sat, shivered and listened. I nodded to myself in the conclusion that there was definitely something out there, but the near darkness in the ruins obscured my vision.
"SONUVA..." came a deep southern drawl from somewhere within the ruins and instantly I held my breath. Here I was, sitting on the edge of this tower, thinking I was alone. I mean, I certainly hadn't seen anyone when I first got here or after I took my seat here on the roof.
Shortly after the first disruption, a roar ripped through the silence. I blinked as I watched a large shadow move in an arc and then a loud crash as if two very large stones were smashed together.
OK, at this point I wanted to leave, but couldn't bring myself to move. Half out of curiosity and half out of fear, I watched and waited.
There was silence for a long time, but then, closer to the building I was sitting upon, I heard it. A sniffing sound, directly underneath where my feet are dangling over the edge. Sure it's fifty feet down, but there's still something unnerving about that sound.
"I can hear your heart beat, boy..." comes the deep southern drawl from whatever is at the base of the silo and that was enough for me. I, not very bravely, scrabbled back up over the side of the silo, quickly gathered my things, strapped on my backpack, pulled out the pepper spray and backed towards the door.
The sound of clambering was heard and before I made it all the way to the door behind me a looming shape pulled itself up over the ledge in the very spot I was just sitting.
"Ain't no use runnin' since I'll catch ya anyway..." I looked full upon the towering giant of a man standing where I was just moments ago. The man, if it was that at all, was built like a body-builder on steroids. He must have been over seven feet tall with shoulders the size of basketballs and hands the size of, well, basketballs. He looked like he could rend steel with those hands and also, why was he out in only a tank top. It’s barely forty degrees outside and he isn't shivering at all. In fact, there was no steam coming from his mouth when he talked. That's odd.
As the creature, the giant man, looked full upon me, something flickered in his eyes as if a light was reflected but there were no light sources, anywhere, aside from the moon. Then, in what can only be described as sheer surprise, the enormous jaw on the juggernaut standing before me gaped open.
"Y...you." The giant just stood there in awe, staring, not moving, not breathing, covered in dust and dirt.
"Who?" I had finally found my breath and thought that if maybe I could keep this guy talking long enough, I might be able to keep him from ripping my arms off, which he looked completely capable of doing without much effort.
There was no response for some time... just this huge slack-jawed guy staring at me with a look of sadness on his face.
"Huh. Well. That's... somethin’." He closed his jaw and tilted his head to the side, looking me up and down. "I believe you have somethin' of mine, I'd like it back please." The giant took two large steps towards me and held out his hand, a hand that could easily crush a normal person's skull I noticed.
"You mean the necklace thing... yeah, sure, I mean, I didn't think it belonged to anyone so I just, you know kept hold of it." I tried to act cool, relaxed, but I was freaked out. Usually I don’t talk this much. I have rarely ever said more than a few words to anyone at school and here I am jabbering on at this behemoth who hasn't stopped staring at me... and also hadn't blinked once since he got up here.
I pulled the necklace from my pocket and felt a twinge of something, like when a chord is struck that really resonates inside you. This is where it got weird. I glanced down at the stone in my hand and noticed a slight change. Where the stone was a gray granite-like color when I had pocketed it, now it had taken on a reddish-brown hue.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one to notice the change. "On second thought, why don't you keep it. Call it a gift... so what's your name, kid?"
I froze, and then, feeling uncertain, I re-pocketed it. I felt compelled to fill the silence and really didn’t want to take any chances lying to a guy this big, so I answered, "Rick."
"Well, have a seat Rick and talk a spell, we got some time yet..." and with that the giant man cracked his knuckles that made a sound like metal breaking and sat.
Finding no real excuse not to, and not really wanting to upset him, I warily sat.
"Name's Jake. Good to meet ya. Oh, and in case you ain't noticed, yeah, I'm a vampire." Jake grinned and revealed canines the size of a roll of quarters, then chuckled.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Another Post About Editing
OK, so by now you've read (or maybe you haven't at which point you might want to get a point of reference) my previous post about editing and know pretty much how I feel about it.
Well, recently, I've beefed up my editing schedule to about two hours a day at least five days a week (more on Monday's but we'll get to that in a bit). At this rate, I should be done editing and have a second draft finished in about two weeks.
So, that's led me to another rant on my feelings about editing or what it's done to me as a writer. I do, however, feel the need to qualify this by describing my feelings of inadequacy when I turn on my social media tools (Twitter and Facebook) and read that all the other authors I truly admire are pounding through the writing/editing process with much more apparent ease. I know, I know. They've all had much more experience with this sort of thing. They've all done this before. They've all got deals or made tons of money doing it. This is my first time. I got it. It still doesn't make me feel much better.
*Muppet-Flailing while shouting in my Lois the senior-citizen-chain-smoking-vespa-riding Assassin voice* "I'm a deeeee-VAAAAAAA".
Now that THAT is out of my system... moving on.
To me, going through this process is a lot like going through therapy. There are days where I get done with an editing session and am all excited and think, "YES, this book is gonna be AWESOME!!!!!". I feel good about my work, my choice to write, and my life.
Then there are days where I get done, feel like the dried up dirt that cakes sidewalks after the puddle has dried up, and think, "This sucks... why am I even doing this?".
It is an emotional roller coaster, at least for me.
Fortunately for me, as with therapy, I've got a great support system. Aside from my awesome wife, I also have a great (and steadily growing, feel free to join us) group of friends who meet up with me on Monday nights for a few hours to communally get work done on whatever personal projects we all have. Plus, they have to put up with me chuckling a LOT to myself while I'm editing and then suffer through me reading aloud to them.
So, ultimately, my affair with editing is like an affair with a counselor. Some good, some bad, always dramatic and when it's over... it's OVER...
...until the next book. Then the process starts all over again.
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
Well, recently, I've beefed up my editing schedule to about two hours a day at least five days a week (more on Monday's but we'll get to that in a bit). At this rate, I should be done editing and have a second draft finished in about two weeks.
So, that's led me to another rant on my feelings about editing or what it's done to me as a writer. I do, however, feel the need to qualify this by describing my feelings of inadequacy when I turn on my social media tools (Twitter and Facebook) and read that all the other authors I truly admire are pounding through the writing/editing process with much more apparent ease. I know, I know. They've all had much more experience with this sort of thing. They've all done this before. They've all got deals or made tons of money doing it. This is my first time. I got it. It still doesn't make me feel much better.
*Muppet-Flailing while shouting in my Lois the senior-citizen-chain-smoking-vespa-riding Assassin voice* "I'm a deeeee-VAAAAAAA".
Now that THAT is out of my system... moving on.
To me, going through this process is a lot like going through therapy. There are days where I get done with an editing session and am all excited and think, "YES, this book is gonna be AWESOME!!!!!". I feel good about my work, my choice to write, and my life.
Then there are days where I get done, feel like the dried up dirt that cakes sidewalks after the puddle has dried up, and think, "This sucks... why am I even doing this?".
It is an emotional roller coaster, at least for me.
Fortunately for me, as with therapy, I've got a great support system. Aside from my awesome wife, I also have a great (and steadily growing, feel free to join us) group of friends who meet up with me on Monday nights for a few hours to communally get work done on whatever personal projects we all have. Plus, they have to put up with me chuckling a LOT to myself while I'm editing and then suffer through me reading aloud to them.
So, ultimately, my affair with editing is like an affair with a counselor. Some good, some bad, always dramatic and when it's over... it's OVER...
...until the next book. Then the process starts all over again.
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
The Long-Awaited "Editing" Update
OK, so for the record: I hate editing.
-Also-
For the record: I love editing...
...but mostly I hate it, and let me tell you why. Of course, if you're not interested, you could stop reading right here, but why stop, you may find something amusing (or at least entertaining). If you don't I encourage you to check out Youtube for that video of the animatronic dinosaur scaring that little kid.
Anyroad, here's why I love editing (since I'm sort of an optimist, we'll go with the good news first):
It helps me find my voice. More importantly, it helps me actualize my voice so that you, the reader, can understand it and get a clear idea of what that voice is like (when you eventually pick up a copy of my best seller).
It also helps expand my vocabulary. Sure, I love words like bellicose and defenestration, but those are only two words. Hard to fill a sixty thousand word novel with those two words over and over again (though I've already done it and made a movie about it... in my head... it stars Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Ron Perlman, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, The Rock, Triple-H, Chuck Norris, Clint Eastwood, and Samuel L. Jackson) and taking the time to edit allows me to utilize one of the best tools I've found for writing: Thesaurus.com (though it's currently tied with Wordhippo.com).
Now, because I like to rant, sometimes, here's why I hate editing (and I can already hear Chuck Wendig's voice in the back of my head bellowing, "Quite yer *expletive deleted* whining you *expletive deleted* pansy. Put yer *expletive deleted* big boy pants on and *expletive deleted* write!"):
It's slow. I put all that effort into getting the words onto paper. Sure, it was writing for quantity and sure there were parts where I put "<insert really cool fight scene here>", but in comparison to spending an hour to pound out a few thousand words. Here I spend an hour and I've gotten MAYBE three pages done... out of one hundred and seventy three. Now, with maintaining a healthy, happy relationship with my awesome wife, helping her with two home-based companies, maintaining a household (laundry, dishes, lunches, breakfasts, lawn care, home repairs, etc...), child care for a one-and-a-half year old and an eight year old, time devoted to editing is very limited (Yup, there it is, Chuck's voice again cursing at me). I felt way more accomplished when I could say I got a few thousand words out. I'll get over it (and myself, and my ego yelling at me in Chuck Wendig's voice).
It's hard to see what I've written converted into something that isn't what I wrote: like when I change tenses, point of view, etc... I wrote it and when I re-read it, it sounded fine... Now I change the tense and the point of view and it sounds a bit clunky... well, at least to me, but I'm overly critical... just ask the other theatre majors from my Theatre Criticism class... none of them wanted me to come see their shows... ever.
It's slow. Yeah, I know I mentioned this already, but it's really important to me, so you know, repetition makes things stick and all that.
Anyroad, that's really all I have to say about my love/hate relationship with editing. I'm sure I'll get over myself, but not before I can whine just a bit more (and not before I can experience defenestration first hand by my ego/Chuck Wendig voice, at least metaphorically). :)
As always, thanks for your support and if you got all the way down here, thanks for reading!
~Stephan
P.S. Chuck, if you actually read this blog entry, I love you man, keep up the awesome work... you're a *expletive deleted* inspiration! :)
-Also-
For the record: I love editing...
...but mostly I hate it, and let me tell you why. Of course, if you're not interested, you could stop reading right here, but why stop, you may find something amusing (or at least entertaining). If you don't I encourage you to check out Youtube for that video of the animatronic dinosaur scaring that little kid.
Anyroad, here's why I love editing (since I'm sort of an optimist, we'll go with the good news first):
It helps me find my voice. More importantly, it helps me actualize my voice so that you, the reader, can understand it and get a clear idea of what that voice is like (when you eventually pick up a copy of my best seller).
It also helps expand my vocabulary. Sure, I love words like bellicose and defenestration, but those are only two words. Hard to fill a sixty thousand word novel with those two words over and over again (though I've already done it and made a movie about it... in my head... it stars Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Ron Perlman, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, The Rock, Triple-H, Chuck Norris, Clint Eastwood, and Samuel L. Jackson) and taking the time to edit allows me to utilize one of the best tools I've found for writing: Thesaurus.com (though it's currently tied with Wordhippo.com).
Now, because I like to rant, sometimes, here's why I hate editing (and I can already hear Chuck Wendig's voice in the back of my head bellowing, "Quite yer *expletive deleted* whining you *expletive deleted* pansy. Put yer *expletive deleted* big boy pants on and *expletive deleted* write!"):
It's slow. I put all that effort into getting the words onto paper. Sure, it was writing for quantity and sure there were parts where I put "<insert really cool fight scene here>", but in comparison to spending an hour to pound out a few thousand words. Here I spend an hour and I've gotten MAYBE three pages done... out of one hundred and seventy three. Now, with maintaining a healthy, happy relationship with my awesome wife, helping her with two home-based companies, maintaining a household (laundry, dishes, lunches, breakfasts, lawn care, home repairs, etc...), child care for a one-and-a-half year old and an eight year old, time devoted to editing is very limited (Yup, there it is, Chuck's voice again cursing at me). I felt way more accomplished when I could say I got a few thousand words out. I'll get over it (and myself, and my ego yelling at me in Chuck Wendig's voice).
It's hard to see what I've written converted into something that isn't what I wrote: like when I change tenses, point of view, etc... I wrote it and when I re-read it, it sounded fine... Now I change the tense and the point of view and it sounds a bit clunky... well, at least to me, but I'm overly critical... just ask the other theatre majors from my Theatre Criticism class... none of them wanted me to come see their shows... ever.
It's slow. Yeah, I know I mentioned this already, but it's really important to me, so you know, repetition makes things stick and all that.
Anyroad, that's really all I have to say about my love/hate relationship with editing. I'm sure I'll get over myself, but not before I can whine just a bit more (and not before I can experience defenestration first hand by my ego/Chuck Wendig voice, at least metaphorically). :)
As always, thanks for your support and if you got all the way down here, thanks for reading!
~Stephan
P.S. Chuck, if you actually read this blog entry, I love you man, keep up the awesome work... you're a *expletive deleted* inspiration! :)
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Dispelling the Mysticism
So, today I went to my local library (http://www.fountaindale.org/) for their Local Author Faire. I learned a lot about the reality of writing and authorship today along with meeting a lot of awesome people (see below).
The first thing that I learned (or re-learned or actualized or whatever adjective you want to use to describe understanding) is that authors are people. Like you're a person and I'm a person... they're a person. Whether they've sold ten books or ten thousand. Whether they've written one book or one-hundred. Whether they're self or commercially published. They're people. They have likes, dislikes, issues and whatnot like the rest of us. The awesome thing is that we have something in common. We all, on some level or another, enjoy to read or write.
I'm not really what you would call a shy person <insert snark here> and so going to something like this was pretty awesome for me, because I got to talk to people, writers and authors, who were at some point in their career (a career that I envision myself moving further along in) and discussing their journey.
What they can do, what they have done (and are planning to do again), I can do, and if it's your passion, so can you.
So, that said, there's no mystical "thing" about being an author or a writer. There's no hidden secret that will get you somewhere that others haven't gone. It's just about being a person and having a story to tell. So, what are YOU waiting for? Go tell YOUR story!
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
The first thing that I learned (or re-learned or actualized or whatever adjective you want to use to describe understanding) is that authors are people. Like you're a person and I'm a person... they're a person. Whether they've sold ten books or ten thousand. Whether they've written one book or one-hundred. Whether they're self or commercially published. They're people. They have likes, dislikes, issues and whatnot like the rest of us. The awesome thing is that we have something in common. We all, on some level or another, enjoy to read or write.
I'm not really what you would call a shy person <insert snark here> and so going to something like this was pretty awesome for me, because I got to talk to people, writers and authors, who were at some point in their career (a career that I envision myself moving further along in) and discussing their journey.
What they can do, what they have done (and are planning to do again), I can do, and if it's your passion, so can you.
So, that said, there's no mystical "thing" about being an author or a writer. There's no hidden secret that will get you somewhere that others haven't gone. It's just about being a person and having a story to tell. So, what are YOU waiting for? Go tell YOUR story!
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Monday, April 9, 2012
Back in the Saddle...
What-ho and all that!
Alright, even though there is nothing equine or even remotely related to saddles in this post, I felt it an appropriate title given that it's been nigh upon a month since my last post.
What have I been doing, you ask? Good Question, I say!
Well, I took a small vacation both from writing and the internet. Then I started doing research into agents and publishers. Now, now I am beginning revisions. What is a 171 page document (Courier New 10 pt font, manuscript style, from what little I know of it) is now slightly revised... er... well, the first six pages are anyway.
The process is slow going, but I'll get there. I'm very proud of it and glad to be back working on it. This is the first time I've done anything on this scale and I'm very happy to have a supportive family and friends.
So, now that things are rolling again, you'll probably see a blog post or two a week, though not on the level like you saw while I was writing 10K words a week (an hour or two a day, on top of keeping up the house, raising a family and maintaining a general sense of calm). Don't worry though, you'll see that again when I start the next book project (horror this time, I believe).
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support! Both are greatly appreciated as I delve into new and unknown territory.
Toodlepip!
~Stephan
Alright, even though there is nothing equine or even remotely related to saddles in this post, I felt it an appropriate title given that it's been nigh upon a month since my last post.
What have I been doing, you ask? Good Question, I say!
Well, I took a small vacation both from writing and the internet. Then I started doing research into agents and publishers. Now, now I am beginning revisions. What is a 171 page document (Courier New 10 pt font, manuscript style, from what little I know of it) is now slightly revised... er... well, the first six pages are anyway.
The process is slow going, but I'll get there. I'm very proud of it and glad to be back working on it. This is the first time I've done anything on this scale and I'm very happy to have a supportive family and friends.
So, now that things are rolling again, you'll probably see a blog post or two a week, though not on the level like you saw while I was writing 10K words a week (an hour or two a day, on top of keeping up the house, raising a family and maintaining a general sense of calm). Don't worry though, you'll see that again when I start the next book project (horror this time, I believe).
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support! Both are greatly appreciated as I delve into new and unknown territory.
Toodlepip!
~Stephan
Monday, March 19, 2012
A More Thoughtful Post
Ok, so here it is. A more thoughtful post.
In the last four weeks I wrote over 40,000 words, compared to the last two months, where I wrote 20,000. I'm sure that everyone has read numerous articles on how to be a better writer and all that, so I will try not to bore you too much with repetitiveness.
I'm also not at all deceiving myself that my work is finished. Like I said in previous posts, this is my first draft. Anyroad, I do have to say that this is the first time I've done anything like this and to sit there on St. Patrick's day, bleary-eyed (and hung over) watching the words swim together as I typed those final words, a sense of accomplishment flooded through me. I felt successful. I felt like I'd done something worthwhile. That feeling lasted about two hours (I was asleep after that).
When I woke, I found myself thinking about it, knowing that the ending needs more work. Then my brain kicked into high gear and wanted to start editing right away (as exhausted as I was, only getting a few hours sleep). I listened to the advice: PUT IT AWAY.
So, while I feel accomplished (though not quite like the rush I felt on Saturday night) I also feel a bit lost:
I feel that I understand now what it takes to get into the process of writing and sitting down and doing it. I also feel that I understand how it's different for everyone. What worked for me is not focusing on the things that were keeping me from writing, not looking for excuses not to write, but to just get it done. I had a weekly goal, which I broke up into daily goals (but if I missed one, it was OK since I knew I could make it up by the end of the week). Making a daily goal felt good, but making the weekly goal felt AWESOME!
Now to the feeling lost part: How do you deal with not going in there and editing it right away? I understand that it needs time to gel and that the mind's eye needs some time away from it so that it can refresh and be more perceptive. I mean, I know I should (and will be) writing the next one (I've got two pretty strong ideas to roll with) but other than that, what works to get the mind from thinking about that project while you're working on the next one? I'll have to do some looking into it. I've made lots of new friends on Twitter, I'm sure there'll be something on there with some advice that will work. :)
OK, one more time and then I'll stop riding this scooter: I feel pretty good at finishing the rough draft of my first ever novel, over 60K words.
Well, that's it for now, I'm sure I'll be back on later in the week to talk more.
Have a great night everyone, thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
In the last four weeks I wrote over 40,000 words, compared to the last two months, where I wrote 20,000. I'm sure that everyone has read numerous articles on how to be a better writer and all that, so I will try not to bore you too much with repetitiveness.
I'm also not at all deceiving myself that my work is finished. Like I said in previous posts, this is my first draft. Anyroad, I do have to say that this is the first time I've done anything like this and to sit there on St. Patrick's day, bleary-eyed (and hung over) watching the words swim together as I typed those final words, a sense of accomplishment flooded through me. I felt successful. I felt like I'd done something worthwhile. That feeling lasted about two hours (I was asleep after that).
When I woke, I found myself thinking about it, knowing that the ending needs more work. Then my brain kicked into high gear and wanted to start editing right away (as exhausted as I was, only getting a few hours sleep). I listened to the advice: PUT IT AWAY.
So, while I feel accomplished (though not quite like the rush I felt on Saturday night) I also feel a bit lost:
I feel that I understand now what it takes to get into the process of writing and sitting down and doing it. I also feel that I understand how it's different for everyone. What worked for me is not focusing on the things that were keeping me from writing, not looking for excuses not to write, but to just get it done. I had a weekly goal, which I broke up into daily goals (but if I missed one, it was OK since I knew I could make it up by the end of the week). Making a daily goal felt good, but making the weekly goal felt AWESOME!
Now to the feeling lost part: How do you deal with not going in there and editing it right away? I understand that it needs time to gel and that the mind's eye needs some time away from it so that it can refresh and be more perceptive. I mean, I know I should (and will be) writing the next one (I've got two pretty strong ideas to roll with) but other than that, what works to get the mind from thinking about that project while you're working on the next one? I'll have to do some looking into it. I've made lots of new friends on Twitter, I'm sure there'll be something on there with some advice that will work. :)
OK, one more time and then I'll stop riding this scooter: I feel pretty good at finishing the rough draft of my first ever novel, over 60K words.
Well, that's it for now, I'm sure I'll be back on later in the week to talk more.
Have a great night everyone, thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Saturday, March 17, 2012
St. Patrick's Day Completion
First Draft COMPLETE! 60,225 words.
There is a lot I want to say right now, but I am exhausted. Look for a more thoughtful post tomorrow. Until then, I'm going to have a well deserved lie down.
Thanks for your support and thanks for reading!
~Stephan
There is a lot I want to say right now, but I am exhausted. Look for a more thoughtful post tomorrow. Until then, I'm going to have a well deserved lie down.
Thanks for your support and thanks for reading!
~Stephan
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Wednesday Night Headbutt
Total Word Count (approx.): 54K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 1K
Well, I can see what my Saturday night is going to be like: Me, any alcohol still left in the house, and my laptop, hammering away to get those last few thousand words.
Didn't get much of anything done today as far as writing is concerned, but I do feel a bit more accomplished as a social networker. I got connected to a lot of experts out there who both influence me and educate me and I'm pretty stoked about it. Enough so that it's worth trading off some drinking time for writing.
Just came out of the Horror Book Club meeting as well and it was pretty awesome. Read a great book (which spoiled me and set the bar for all horror stories I read from here on in) and discussed it at pretty good length. I mentioned it before, Brian Keene's 'A Gathering of Crows'.
Anyroad, I have discovered a thing or two about pacing and looking forward to utilizing that knowledge in the revision of the story. Also, I'll need a title which is something that I'll be working as well on Saturday night.
So, for all those that I said I'd get together Saturday night, sorry, no dice, gotta work. Trust me, though, it'll be totally worth it.
Thanks for your support and thanks for reading!
~Stephan
Well, I can see what my Saturday night is going to be like: Me, any alcohol still left in the house, and my laptop, hammering away to get those last few thousand words.
Didn't get much of anything done today as far as writing is concerned, but I do feel a bit more accomplished as a social networker. I got connected to a lot of experts out there who both influence me and educate me and I'm pretty stoked about it. Enough so that it's worth trading off some drinking time for writing.
Just came out of the Horror Book Club meeting as well and it was pretty awesome. Read a great book (which spoiled me and set the bar for all horror stories I read from here on in) and discussed it at pretty good length. I mentioned it before, Brian Keene's 'A Gathering of Crows'.
Anyroad, I have discovered a thing or two about pacing and looking forward to utilizing that knowledge in the revision of the story. Also, I'll need a title which is something that I'll be working as well on Saturday night.
So, for all those that I said I'd get together Saturday night, sorry, no dice, gotta work. Trust me, though, it'll be totally worth it.
Thanks for your support and thanks for reading!
~Stephan
Monday, March 12, 2012
MNWS IV - Rage against the Monday
Total Word Count (approx.): 53K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 3K
So, today was a helluva Monday. Through it, though, I got a good deal of writing done. Closing in on the finish line and got to hang with a friend, both of us feverishly hovering over our laptops, brows furrowed in concentration. We even got some writing done through all our posturing. :)
Actually it was very productive and these sessions are very helpful for me. Plus, the cookie helped. Still, it's important to note in this journey that while it may seem that I've been very productive (because I have been) recently, it's been a more recent thing and this has been the end result of a less productive time.
Not to mention that writing in a good headspace is not as difficult than writing from a not so good headspace (which is where I have been today, pretty much all day). It can be helpful for material to be reminded of your repressed anger (by its untimely escape) but it certainly isn't productive in the long run.
Anyroad, I've jabbered long enough. Thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
So, today was a helluva Monday. Through it, though, I got a good deal of writing done. Closing in on the finish line and got to hang with a friend, both of us feverishly hovering over our laptops, brows furrowed in concentration. We even got some writing done through all our posturing. :)
Actually it was very productive and these sessions are very helpful for me. Plus, the cookie helped. Still, it's important to note in this journey that while it may seem that I've been very productive (because I have been) recently, it's been a more recent thing and this has been the end result of a less productive time.
Not to mention that writing in a good headspace is not as difficult than writing from a not so good headspace (which is where I have been today, pretty much all day). It can be helpful for material to be reminded of your repressed anger (by its untimely escape) but it certainly isn't productive in the long run.
Anyroad, I've jabbered long enough. Thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
Friday, March 9, 2012
Funny thing about motivation and momentum
Total Word Count (approx.): 50.1K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2.3K (700+ on Thursday afternoon)
OK, so here's the thing. I've done more in the past few weeks than I have ever before. That's certainly not how things started.
OK, so here's the thing. I've done more in the past few weeks than I have ever before. That's certainly not how things started.
I started out working on this whenever. An hour here, a few hours there, but not on a daily basis. What got me motivated was attending that panel at Capricon and seeing my peers giving advice. It was at that point (and the beginning of this blog) that I started devoting nightly time to writing.
I heard this quote once (or maybe I read it) and it stuck with me. How we treat ourselves in failure describes who we are. That said, I don't always get my stuff done when I want to. Yesterday, for example, I wanted to have 2000 words but got only 700.
The idea is that when you don't reach a goal, don't beat yourself up. Try and stay positive and get motivated to continue on with your work.
It is this idea, this concept that has pushed me forward to meet my weekly goals every week. Here I am, one week away from achieving my goal of finishing my first draft.
So, at the end of an exhausting week, after life has interjected itself in my writing goal, I sit here in somnolence and try to say something motivational that doesn't sound egotistical and I hope that I have achieved that.
Keep your chin up, roll with what life throws your way, and don't let your setbacks take you out of play. It's alright to be delayed, but don't let those things that delay you change your life for the worse. You're better than that. :)
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
When in doubt... drink!
Total Word Count (approx.): 47.1K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 4.1K
I preface this post by saying that this is the first time I've ever done anything like this. After this afternoon, I didn't really feel like writing tonight. I was pretty exhausted, I already wrote my two-thousand words (even though I skipped last night since I knew I'd have the option today) and I had just come home from having dinner with the in-laws.
So, instead of succumbing to the lethargy of it all, I found something that smashed away the torpor, with a vengeance. It's called alcohol. In fact I'm hard pressed at this very moment to find a problem that a pint glass (or two) full of Irish Creme and Buttershots (with some ice) couldn't help with.
Not that I'm encouraging alcoholism, nor do I want to feed into the stereotype that all writers must drink before composition. I am, however, saying that it really cut into the languid feeling and while it didn't energize me, exactly, it did what alcohol does best. It got me to issue a challenge.
Fortunately for me, the challenge was internal and was with the written word and not in a bar facing down a few belligerent (and also drunk) hooligans looking for a fight.
Anyroad, I believe this is a milestone for me. I'm only about thirteen-thousand words away from my end goal for my first draft and I've never written over four-thousand words of fiction in one day before. Well, unless you count grad school, but I don't.
Thanks for reading and as always, thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Monday, March 5, 2012
MNWS III - Control is an Illusion
Total Word Count (approx.): 43K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2K
Control is an illusion. Organization and dedication are the keys.
I woke today with a feeling like an undefined revelation. I felt good, even for getting only a few hours sleep. I didn't dwell on my lack of sleep, nor did I question this good feeling. OK, that's a fib. I did wonder where it came from, like perhaps I uncovered the "Secret" during the few hours I did get some sleep, or perhaps my dream self took an astral journey to Valhalla and brought back a pewter mug or something.
Then, on my way here to my writing session, a phrase came to mind. It just popped in there. It's a phrase I've heard over and over from one of my favorite movies ("Revolver"). Control is an illusion.
Life isn't meant to be a struggle, it's meant to be lived. Unfortunately, we do struggle, most of the time it's what we focus on in our daily lives (and not judging, but this is focus is greatly enhanced and enabled through things like Facebook).
What this revelation is, what has me in such a good spirit, is that I've given up the notion that I have any control over my life. By embracing this thought, I've stopped focusing on struggling to control the things I can't, and accepted the things that come into my life, either good or bad.
That is not to say that I believe this is a "roll over and take it" attitude, not at all. I have certain beliefs of right and wrong and if those are crossed, there will be consequences for the transgressor. What it IS to say is that I have rid myself of the fear that I will "lose" control. Since control doesn't really exist, I can't "lose" it.
That is also not to say that I believe we have no control over any aspect of our lives. That's not true. We have choices to make on a daily basis on how we act. The difference is that I no longer carry the belief that I can control my "life" or anyone else's. Sure, I can impact someone else's life, but I cannot "control" it. How that impact is handled is out of my control. Sure I might be able to predict the flow of events, but I cannot control it.
I imagine that what is needed now is the definition of "life". This is a grand undertaking that has been the focus of most self-help books for the past three decades. What I am meaning by it in this context is that I cannot control my happiness or my sadness. I cannot control my feelings or my thoughts. I cannot control what happens to me or what happens to others. The more I try, the more I focus on the struggle of trying to control those things rather than focusing on accepting that they are present, acknowledging that presence and their impact and then moving forward with my life.
So, a lot of my life has been focusing on the struggle. I've been aware of this issue for a long time and have a shelf full of self-help books to prove it. This awareness has given me a semblance of power and a zen-like demeanor, but it has not been true understanding. I feel that I have connected with a notion of true understanding and while I sit here and type and type, I ultimately find the more I attempt to define it further, the more words become diluted and weak.
The main point, the point of this whole post and I could (and probably should) have just left it at this: Control is an illusion.
It is my belief that in order to overcome those things that are holding us back, whatever they are, it comes down to organization and dedication. Organize what it is you want into an achievable goal and then dedicate yourself to following the plan towards that goal. Focus on the action towards the goal, not the action of struggling to achieve it (or what happens if you don't).
So, once more: Control is an illusion.
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Friday, March 2, 2012
Gnarly Head Writing!!!
Total Word Count (approx.): 41K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2.5K
Weekly word count (10,000 words) achieved!
Weekly word count (10,000 words) achieved!
So, this is going to be short and sweet. I've accomplished my weekly goal, have a little over 41,000 words on paper and am two weeks away from finishing up.
I have to say this: One of my favorite things about writing is that I get to do it while drinking wine. This Gnarly Head is a pretty awesome!
Have a great weekend everyone! Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Family Game Night!!!
Total Word Count (approx.): 38.5K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2K
It's good to have something to take one's mind off the trials and tribulations of real life. Tonight was Family Game Night and the Munchkin expressed a strong desire to play DnD again. I realized it would be a lot of work (since I usually run it), and my wife did too, because she offered to run it.
I had a blast and I can say that the Munchkin did as well. Quote of the night (paraphrased due to fatigue and having just pushed out 2000 words in about forty-five minutes) in response to why she can't understand the squeaking of bats (something her character can't do normally), "They're not English bats then. They must be French bats, of course." Not bad for a 7-year-old.
Anyroad, enough about gaming, on to writing. I'm pretty happy with where this is coming along. This is the most I have ever written about one thing. I have over 105 pages (courier 10pt double spaced) and I'm getting closer to the end. After this week only twenty thousand more words and I'll have a first draft... lots of things to wrap up by then.
So, all in all a good day, great night and now I can sign off, happy that I've accomplished my daily word count and only 2500 words to go for my weekly to be met. Looking forward to getting past that tomorrow.
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Leap Day!
Total Word Count (approx.): 36.5K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 3.5K
This will be a short post with absolutely no motivational speaking in it whatsoever. Ok, maybe a little.
I took last night off with the knowledge that I'd get some work done today. Turns out, I did, just not enough to put me over the word count missed last night. Still, there's tomorrow night and Friday with some evening time, so I'm not worried.
I imagine that working on a deadline is much different. I mean, I have a deadline, and I'm going to stick to that deadline (believe me, you'll hear me shouting for joy, of course, it may also be the alcohol since my deadline is St. Patrick's day and, well, I am mostly Irish!) but it's not like if I don't meet it I will lose cash. It's a self-imposed deadline rather than an advanced-driven deadline.
The thing to keep in mind about deadlines (particularly self-imposed ones) and goal setting (at least for me anyway) is that it's easy to take them out of context. For instance, sure, it's easy to say, "Yeah, I can write three thousand words a day" but if you don't look at the other impacts on your life and free time, then this may be a road to failure. Set goals for a week and then break it down by day, giving yourself some "wiggle" room. Really. Especially if you have plenty of other stressors in your life (like kids, work, bills, etc...). Find a goal that's right for your lifestyle. Understand where you want to be with your work and when.
So, that said, I'm pretty happy I pushed through my exhaustion to get some words on paper. If I can do it, so can you, the reader, who I am assuming has in interest in writing.
That said, get that butt in that chair and write, dammit!
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
This will be a short post with absolutely no motivational speaking in it whatsoever. Ok, maybe a little.
I took last night off with the knowledge that I'd get some work done today. Turns out, I did, just not enough to put me over the word count missed last night. Still, there's tomorrow night and Friday with some evening time, so I'm not worried.
I imagine that working on a deadline is much different. I mean, I have a deadline, and I'm going to stick to that deadline (believe me, you'll hear me shouting for joy, of course, it may also be the alcohol since my deadline is St. Patrick's day and, well, I am mostly Irish!) but it's not like if I don't meet it I will lose cash. It's a self-imposed deadline rather than an advanced-driven deadline.
The thing to keep in mind about deadlines (particularly self-imposed ones) and goal setting (at least for me anyway) is that it's easy to take them out of context. For instance, sure, it's easy to say, "Yeah, I can write three thousand words a day" but if you don't look at the other impacts on your life and free time, then this may be a road to failure. Set goals for a week and then break it down by day, giving yourself some "wiggle" room. Really. Especially if you have plenty of other stressors in your life (like kids, work, bills, etc...). Find a goal that's right for your lifestyle. Understand where you want to be with your work and when.
So, that said, I'm pretty happy I pushed through my exhaustion to get some words on paper. If I can do it, so can you, the reader, who I am assuming has in interest in writing.
That said, get that butt in that chair and write, dammit!
Thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
Monday, February 27, 2012
Monday Night Writing Session II
Total Word Count (approx.): 33K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2K
Three cups of Hazelnut Coffee: Check.
English to Latin phrase translator: Check.
Writing a scene where a Southern hick vampire from a trailer park speaks a phrase in Latin: Priceless.
Ok, so the second Monday Night Writing Session has been completed with much success. Got my daily word count of 2000 words in. Got to hang with my friend Dennis, who is also writing his story. All very productive.
I encourage anyone who wants to partake in this productive creativity fest to come out and join us on Monday evenings from 7 - 9 at Panera Bread in Bolingbrook. It's the one by Target and Jewel.
Anyroad, not much else to say. I'm pretty exhausted and am running on pure caffeine now, so I'll sign off by saying thanks to Dennis for helping me stay focused, my wife for being awesomely supportive, and to all of you for reading this journey.
Have a great Monday night. See ya tomorrow!
~Stephan
Friday, February 24, 2012
Admiration
Total Word Count (approx.): 31K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2.3K (Weekly goal of 10K words achieved!)
So, as the title of this blog insinuates, this post is about admiration. Looking at my daily routine and knowing my energy level at the end of a full day (which is to say, all but none) and sitting down to write is one of the more difficult things I've had to do. It'd be so easy to say, "I'm too tired" or "I've got a head-ache". It'd be easy to fool myself into not doing the writing...
...but then I'd not be a writer. Because then I look at some of the authors I've met who are a great influence to me, like Jim Hines, Tim Akers, and Matt Forbeck. I look at the things they're doing, like Jim, who works a full time job outside of being a successful author and Tim who also worked a day job while being a successful author and Matt Forbeck who is on track to writing 12 novels this year. I'm sure they all have days that they don't feel like writing, yet they do it. And they've succeeded.
So, tonight, through my exhaustion, through my head-ache, I achieved my weekly goal of ten thousand words. I am officially half way done with my first draft (and have nearly 100 pages of text). Sure, I felt like just lounging in the Poang and watching an episode of Being Human (UK) on Netflix, but instead, I wrote. I put words on paper (virtual as it is). I achieved my goal and now I have two days off. To reward myself, tomorrow night should once again be a night filled with Talisman with friends.
So, as the title of this blog insinuates, this post is about admiration. Looking at my daily routine and knowing my energy level at the end of a full day (which is to say, all but none) and sitting down to write is one of the more difficult things I've had to do. It'd be so easy to say, "I'm too tired" or "I've got a head-ache". It'd be easy to fool myself into not doing the writing...
...but then I'd not be a writer. Because then I look at some of the authors I've met who are a great influence to me, like Jim Hines, Tim Akers, and Matt Forbeck. I look at the things they're doing, like Jim, who works a full time job outside of being a successful author and Tim who also worked a day job while being a successful author and Matt Forbeck who is on track to writing 12 novels this year. I'm sure they all have days that they don't feel like writing, yet they do it. And they've succeeded.
So, tonight, through my exhaustion, through my head-ache, I achieved my weekly goal of ten thousand words. I am officially half way done with my first draft (and have nearly 100 pages of text). Sure, I felt like just lounging in the Poang and watching an episode of Being Human (UK) on Netflix, but instead, I wrote. I put words on paper (virtual as it is). I achieved my goal and now I have two days off. To reward myself, tomorrow night should once again be a night filled with Talisman with friends.
Thanks for reading, thanks for your support and have a great night!
~Stephan
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Family Game Night!!!
Total Word Count (approx.): 28.7K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 1.5K
Alright. I wasn't going to write at all tonight. I'm pretty exhausted. Long day with the Benvolio, not much sleep, crazy anger dreams and all that.
Still, for not going to write and getting 1500 words done, it's not bad. Fun scene too. By the end of this week, I will be half way through with the first draft. Then, three more weeks and the first draft will be done!
So, I guess the lesson I learned tonight is: even if you don't want to write... write anyway. Again, it's the first draft, so who knows.
Family game night was awesome. Played Talisman with the fam. Good times were had by all and it was a very close game.
Well, not much else to report tonight, looking forward to the snow we're supposed to be getting (and probably won't).
Thanks for reading, thanks for your support and have a great night!
~Stephan
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Hump Day... and I'm spent.
Total Word Count (approx.): 27.2K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2K
Some days the words come easy. Other days, not so much. Tonight was one of those days. I wrote for an hour and barely got 2000 words and it felt much harder than normal. Still, I love where the story is going and it's getting tighter for being almost half finished.
Some days the words come easy. Other days, not so much. Tonight was one of those days. I wrote for an hour and barely got 2000 words and it felt much harder than normal. Still, I love where the story is going and it's getting tighter for being almost half finished.
Looking forward to family game night, tomorrow night. Other than that, I'm signing off for tonight. Gonna curl up and hopefully finish reading the horror novel I have.
Have a great night everyone. Thanks for reading and thanks for your support.
~Stephan
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Advice Day...
Total Word Count (approx.): 25.2K; Daily Word Count (approx.): 2.2K
Well, today was rough. Trying to stick to a schedule with a one year old who doesn't can cause quite a bit of stress. Particularly when sleep is missed. Still, it ended on a positive note. Had a great work-out at the gym, an awesome dinner, and then, when all I wanted to do was curl up and watch bad television shows on Netflix, I instead pounded out 2200 words.
So, as the title states, today is advice day. Not that I'm giving any. Nope. I just wanted to let folks know about it, where to get it, and how I feel about it.
First, for those of you who also follow my Facebook page, you'll note that I shared a link to Chuck Wendig's 'Terrible Minds' blog. Today's article was very germane (one of my favorite words) to my life currently. It was about Advice for Aspiring Authors. Not only is it funny, but it's also very true, or I should say that its truth resonates with me strongly. Like the Force. I highly recommend reading it. Especially if you feel you're one of my friends and want to offer me unsolicited advice.
Speaking of, I did a rant yesterday about it and I don't want to hash up what's in the past, but I do feel it important to re-iterate a few things with an addition: Be a friend who offers support (NOT unsolicited advice from a "friend" of yours who may or may not be an "authority" on the subject). If you want to help and offer advice, do research. If you don't, that's fine too (I won't ever judge someone for NOT giving me advice), just admit it to yourself and move on. Just don't be that person who offers uniformed information in a definitive manner. It's self-aggrandizing and that's just unflattering. More importantly, it's not at all helpful. OK, moving on.
Where to get advice? Just like how I mentioned Chuck Wendig above, find authors, particularly authors you enjoy reading, authors whose works you've read and whose works are similar to what genre you're writing in. Follow them on Twitter and Facebook. Find their blogs, read about their trials and tribulations. Ask them questions. Visit them at Conventions, sit on their panels, meet them in the bar afterwards and buy them a drink. OK, don't STALK them, but you know, be cool. They all started somewhere, probably where you're sitting right now, and they probably did a lot of what you're looking to do. In other words, they are an "authority".
Well, today was rough. Trying to stick to a schedule with a one year old who doesn't can cause quite a bit of stress. Particularly when sleep is missed. Still, it ended on a positive note. Had a great work-out at the gym, an awesome dinner, and then, when all I wanted to do was curl up and watch bad television shows on Netflix, I instead pounded out 2200 words.
So, as the title states, today is advice day. Not that I'm giving any. Nope. I just wanted to let folks know about it, where to get it, and how I feel about it.
First, for those of you who also follow my Facebook page, you'll note that I shared a link to Chuck Wendig's 'Terrible Minds' blog. Today's article was very germane (one of my favorite words) to my life currently. It was about Advice for Aspiring Authors. Not only is it funny, but it's also very true, or I should say that its truth resonates with me strongly. Like the Force. I highly recommend reading it. Especially if you feel you're one of my friends and want to offer me unsolicited advice.
Speaking of, I did a rant yesterday about it and I don't want to hash up what's in the past, but I do feel it important to re-iterate a few things with an addition: Be a friend who offers support (NOT unsolicited advice from a "friend" of yours who may or may not be an "authority" on the subject). If you want to help and offer advice, do research. If you don't, that's fine too (I won't ever judge someone for NOT giving me advice), just admit it to yourself and move on. Just don't be that person who offers uniformed information in a definitive manner. It's self-aggrandizing and that's just unflattering. More importantly, it's not at all helpful. OK, moving on.
Where to get advice? Just like how I mentioned Chuck Wendig above, find authors, particularly authors you enjoy reading, authors whose works you've read and whose works are similar to what genre you're writing in. Follow them on Twitter and Facebook. Find their blogs, read about their trials and tribulations. Ask them questions. Visit them at Conventions, sit on their panels, meet them in the bar afterwards and buy them a drink. OK, don't STALK them, but you know, be cool. They all started somewhere, probably where you're sitting right now, and they probably did a lot of what you're looking to do. In other words, they are an "authority".
Ultimately, these are the things I'm doing and they work for me. Find what works for you and do that. It's the best advice I've gotten since "put your butt in the chair and get words on the page".
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for your support!
~Stephan
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