So Much For That

So I thought I was going to take a break from it all and read a few books, but once again I'm distracted by something else. This time it's Burden, which I started to correct some out-of-order context issues and am now immersed in the story once again. Best of all, the main character is starting to evolve while questioning that evolution, yet he still is unaware of where this will end, or even where it's leading too. Hopefully the reader will be just as shocked once I get to that ah ha moment near the end. And believe me, there will be a twist. The best part is I've got it figured out already, its just the journey I have to complete now.

On another note, I was speaking to my uncle about his books, the one already published and the one he's currently writing, and discovered he's having a problem with his ah ha moment. The problem is I don't know how to help him, though he says he's probably only about 30 pages from the ending. I wish him the best of luck and can't wait to read it beyond what he's provided me so far.

And, of course, I'm still running through a few edits on Azazel before sending it back for final editing. As with any author, the more you read what you've written the more you find little places to tweak it here and there. The small changes I continue to make are probably unnecessary, but I do think the story reads better because of them. Just a slightly better flow, if you will. The question is how much do I really want to make these alterations? I guess I've got about a week to figure out the answer to that.

Now back to the grind. Hope everyone had a good Holiday Season and will have a prosperous New Year.

Back to My Passion

I’m always been told I have an excellent imagination and for that I am thankful. But having vivid thoughts and putting them to paper is quite different. I can imagine the chill in the air, how my warm breath fogs the mirror, and even shiver at my imagined scene, but describing it in words is something I’m not good at doing. This is why I write sudden-fiction, which is a style of writing that leaves more to the imagination of the reader than to the writer. However, I see everything clearly within my mind, it’s just the process of expressing it on paper I find difficult.

In one of my first blog posts ever, I wrote a scene written in two different ways: regular fiction and sudden fiction. And though I prefer one style to the other, I've trying to slowly switch to the other or at least incorporate it further into my preference. It’s not easy for me. I don’t like describing the minute details of things, but for my vocabulary to grow I need to expand my style a bit. In conjunction with that, I also need to read more.

Lately, as previous blog entries have alluded to, I've been in editing mode for over a year, though I have delved into writing Burden at times. This will end soon. I will get Limbus and Azazel out through my publisher. Then I’ll put out Beginnings and Ferryman. After that, I think I’ll take some time to read a book or too. Maybe I’ll come up with a few more ideas or maybe I’ll be inspired to finish Burden, I don’t know.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll start editing my series of nine called Shadow Gods. No matter what, though, I will work on my style; refine it, test it, play with it a bit, and see where it will take me. In the end, I hope I’ll be a better writer for it. If not, then I hope it’ll be a good vacation from my passion.

Wandering a Circular Path

Previously, I've written things which spur emotions or challenge the norm or skew our perspectives on life. I've written of heroes and villains and men in between. I've written of women both fragile and strong. I've even written of the inane or scribbled out thoughts without a clear purpose until something twists within my mind giving them meaning. Lately, however, I write nothing; not like I used too.

My writing has switched to editing which doesn't conjure the imagination, but only turns it toward an already defined purpose. It’s the fault of not being a perfect writer, though I doubt anyone writes perfectly the first time. It also doesn't help that I type slower than I think therefore I'm prone to make mistakes. I wish to dedicate some effort to become better, but only time will tell if I'm truly successful or not.

Then there are times I want to write, but the opportunity escapes me like a raindrop in the fog because by the time I final grasp the ending I've forgotten the beginning.  Sometimes it’s simply because I don’t have anything available to write on or with which seems to be the primary reason of late. But what I notice the most is that because I’m not exercising my imagination with new things, I find my thoughts wandering more freely at the most inopportune times. I struggle to remember those instances of creativity, but they are often ghost in the night while haunting images prod thoughts of what would've been, could've been.

I should learn to put my time to better use.

In the near future, I hope to have that time. I've just completed final edits on Limbus and am reviewing the final write-up of Azazel. By the holidays, I shall be finished and free which brings me back to my own need for creativity.

I have books I want to work on; new books, exciting books. Books that twist and stretch my abilities, but they are not for me, not yet. I also have books written which need editing, though editing gets me back into the realm of the inane. Then there is Burden; the book I began nearly a year ago and have put aside. I've done some recent thinking on this project and have not picked it up for months because I've not liked where its headed, but I think that’s about to change. In my contemplation of dislike over my progress, I think I've found a fix. I can change the story, alter the last chapter, and present a clearer, more concise context for the main character’s choices. This will make his desperation to pursue the ultimate goal far more decisive which is what I believe the story has lacked to this point.

Having said that, I hope to dust off the file, reboot the character, and once again let my imagination take flight with only an end goal in mind. I can’t want to see what I can come up with once my creative juices get flowing again. Wish me luck.

Hope

So I have two books on my plate right now, Limbus and Azazel, but I asked for both as final edits came back quicker than I expected. Of course, I'd rather be busy than not. And I'd also like to get both these books published and off my plate. I have to add one more thing, considering the amount of edits, I can tell my pre-edits and writing are both getting better. Now on to another matter.

I write action adventures in which cold-blooded killers and men without remorse wander the earth. I write about tragedy in graphic detail at times. I write about things some people hate to contemplate. But in the end, good wins. Love conquers. And though some may die, the whole survives and some of the most unlikely people become heroes. This is as it should be, as it will be, as it is. For right now, we are stuck in the horror of what's happened in a small community in Connecticut. Its a shame upon the face of this nation, a smear none of us should endure, though many families are forced to endure this more than the rest of us. I grieve for them, yet I know we shall heal. I don't say this to diminish the tragedy, but to provide hope. And hope breathes life into all of us. Its what moves us forward in times like this. Hope gives us strength. In the end, its what I write about and its what's needed right now. So give of your heart, pray for those suffering the most, and hope tragedies like these never happen again.

It's Been Done Before!

So I said I was taking a break for the holidays, but boredom has struck; either that or the lack of money that usually comes with the Christmas season doesn't allow me the normal freedoms. Whatever it is, I’m back on the computer thinking of story-lines while trying not to edit. Editing, however, often takes my thoughts as I can think of nothing else with which to do of just a few minutes. I mean to write and write effectively a person should dedicate a good four-plus hours to the task. And I rarely have four hours in which to dedicate to anything.

But my mind tends to wander.

On those trips into my imagination, I've become fixated on one story-line; the one I posted last blog. The problem is I’m trying to discover what hasn't been done yet. Now, I have the basic concept I want to explore, but a key detail is lacking. As I begin to contemplate the possibilities, I can only think I’m repeating something that’s already been done is some way. It’s not a good feeling especially for my normally creative mind. This block I eventually hope to overcome, but right now I’m stuck in a vicious circle of useless ideas.

After all, Jeremiah Stone was original, right?

New Book Idea

This is an idea I've been exploring which I finally put to paper, in a way. The beginning of yet another book.

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Cass was late, but she was perpetually late. It was hereditary in her family, at least that’s how she always explained her tardiness. In reality, she had no sense of time, especially when she got involved in something. He mind just got into the zone and everything else didn’t matter. In this respect, she mimicked her father and mother both, which is why she continually claimed her behavior had been passed down to her through multiple generations. This time, however, her lateness was solely her fault, but for reasons other than her inherent family trait. The fact of the matter was she didn’t know what to pack, how much to pack, or even how to fit it all into a suitcase. And though she’d traveled before, none of it mattered like this trip did because on this trip she had to be both rough and tumble as well as studious, which didn’t lend itself to easy wardrobe decisions though no one else seemed to have the same problem.

“Cassandra Jean Thurston!”

“I’m coming,” Cass yelled at the closed door in utter panic, though she was nowhere near finished. Of course, Sarah, her roommate, knew this which was why she was prodding her forward like a horse with a switch.

“They’re gonna leave without you,” Sarah impatiently yelled back.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Cassandra responded, suddenly standing defiantly tall while placing her fist on her hips clearly mirroring her mother’s behavior. Then, almost as quickly, she realized she didn’t have time to be proud and went back to packing.

“None refundable tickets,” Sarah taunted.

Crap. Bending forward, Cass grabbed an armload of clothes, scooped them up, and stuffed them all into the suitcase before squishing it all down enough for her to pull the zipper closed. A moment later she swung the door open with a proud look on her face as if she was the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Told you I was ready,” she said with a lifted chin.

Her roommate only looked at her with disdain, glance down at the overstuffed piece of luggage with a smirk, then shook her head. “Now you just have to haul it down three flights of stairs. Good luck with that.”

“Shit,” Cass cursed as she tried to heft the bag out of her room into the small shared living area. “Can you help me? Please,” she pleaded desperately only to receive a shake of her roommates head. “I’ll pay you,” she implored.

“A hundred bucks,” Sarah answered.

“No way,” Cass immediately replied only to see Sarah shrug one and sit herself comfortably on the leather sofa with a broad smile. Then with a look down at the heavy suitcase, she realized she’d already reached her limit of frustration and verged on mental collapse. “Fine,” Cass said, not wanting to deal with any of this anymore. After all, mundane tasks like this were why a person had servants. And though Sarah wasn’t a servant, she also knew Cass hadn’t done a hard day’s worth of work in her life. She also knew if Cass was allowed one, she’d have a servant here at the university. Her parents would disagree with it, which is where Sarah came in. Sarah’s family wasn’t as well-off, so she exploited Cass to no end about things like this and Cass knew it. Cass didn’t care though because she had the money, or rather her parents had the money.

“Pay me first,” Sarah said, standing with her palm out.

“This is ridiculous,” Cass stated. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Then carry it down yourself.”

“Ahhh,” Cass groaned in frustration even as she pulled her purse out and thumbed out a hundred dollar bill, slapping into Sarah’s palm. “Just hurry up,” Cass ordered in defeat before grabbing her laptop bag and marching out the door.

Three flights later Cass leaned out over the curb looking up and down the street incredulously.

“They’re gone,” Cass stated in skepticism. Then, as Sarah plopped the suitcase down beside her, all her disbelief turned to anger. “This is all your fault. If you wouldn’t have made me pay you on the spot we would've made it in time!”

“Ah, shit, time!” Sarah exclaimed. “I forgot its daylight savings today. And I didn’t set the clocks back,” she grinned mischievously.

“What?!” Cass exclaimed then realization struck. “You did this on purpose!”

“Prove it,” Sarah replied with a sly wink. “And just think of it this way, you’ll be early for once.”

Cass gritted her teeth and, if she was at all a physical person, she might’ve slapped Sarah, but all she could do was tremble as Sarah turned away to return to the oversized sorority house. Inside Cass’s head, though, all sorts of heinous acts were playing themselves out.

Beep, beep.

Cass jumped, startled out of her trance of hatred only to realize her schoolmates had arrived.

“Hey, Cass,” Tom said, climbing out of the car while handing over a twenty to Jerry, who sat in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Cass replied with a wave then paused. “What was that about,” she motioned to Tom’s hand.

“Oh, nothing,” Tom said, grabbing hold of Cass’s suitcase and hauling toward the trunk. “Just a little bet we had.”

One plus one all of a sudden made two within her head as she realized the world had turned against her today. Her friends, well not necessarily her friends, but her companions for the next three weeks had all conspired to alter the one trait she was known for and it frustrated her to no end. However, she was above all this childish behavior. So with a lift of her chin and a stiff stride, she moved around the car to the passenger seat and looked hard as Fontaine. “Move!” A moment later she was sitting shotgun as Fontaine and Tom silently squished themselves into the backseat without a word.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Cass could only wonder how the rest of this trip to England would turn out because so far it was just going peachy.

Back Covers

Beginnings: Back Cover Blurb

Skirting the law while skipping between Ivy League schools in search of himself, Jeremiah finally finds someone who accepts him for who he truly is. This love, however, is short-lived as his latest interlude raises more than just the police’s curiosity. Within weeks he’s on the run again with only one safe option to turn too, but can he manage to endure his choice while surviving the initiation process or will he lose himself within the folds of the mafia with powerful enemies on all sides. His life hangs in the balance as both friends and enemies weigh their options against a quick profit. In a last ditch play, he returns to the one person who might love him in return. The only question he has is will she accept him where his choices have led him while knowing the danger he’s in or will she turn away like so many others. More importantly, can he live with himself if he puts her in danger? Unfortunately, it’s not his decision as external forces converge around him in an explosive confrontation.

Ferryman: Back Cover Blurb

Brian Dalton thought he was going to survive his genius with only a resentful childhood, but when his parents are murdered in front of him his life takes an odd change for the worse. Now, obsessed with death, Brian is pulled into the CIA who’s more than willing to use his abilities to their advantage in a massive mole hunt. Brian, however, has other plans as he uses his mental prowess and new found skills to commit a string of murders against his own personal enemies. But no one’s perfect and as an up-and-coming FBI agent starts to close the noose, Brian taunts the man’s morals while disappearing under his CIA cover, Opus Wright. But soon his superiors are pulled into the mix as he struggles to stay one step ahead of everyone in a game he’s still learning. With his plans on the verge of backfiring, he wonders if his fascination with death will prove to be his savior or his downfall.

Vocabulary verses Style

I’m always been told I have an excellent imagination and for that I am thankful. But having vivid thoughts and putting them onto paper is quite difficult for two reasons. One – I want to get the intent of the scene written down and move onto the next so I don’t miss the flow. Two – I don’t know enough adjectives to express the feel in minute details.

Now I can imagine the chill in the air, how my warm breath fogs a mirror, and even shiver at my imagined scene, but describing it in words is something I’m not exceptional at doing. This is why I write sudden-fiction, which is a style of writing which leaves more to the imagination of the reader than to the writer. However, I see everything clearly within my mind, it’s just the process of expressing it on paper I find difficult.

In one of my first blog posts ever, I wrote a scene written in two different ways: regular fiction and sudden fiction. And though I prefer one style to the other, I've trying to slowly switch to the other or at least incorporate it further into my preference. It’s not easy for me. I don’t like describing the intricate nuances of things, but for my vocabulary to grow I need to expand my style a bit (or maybe vice versa). In conjunction with that, I also need to read more.

Lately, as previous blog entries have alluded to, I've been in editing mode for over a year, though I have delved into writing Burden at times. This will end soon. I will get Limbus and Azazel out through my publisher. Then I’ll put out Beginnings and Ferryman. After that, I think I’ll take some time to read a book or too. Maybe I’ll come up with a few more ideas or maybe I’ll be inspired to finish Burden, I don’t know.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll start editing my series of nine called Shadow Gods. No matter what, though, I will work on my style; refine it, test it, play with it a bit, and see where it takes me. In the end, I hope I’ll be a better writer for it. If not, then I hope it’ll be a good vacation from my passion.

Jilted - trailer

Just imagined this up after rethinking a possible story-line of a future book named Jilted. And if you'd like to understand more, you can go back to previous posts and find a few entries there as well. Enjoy.

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Scrambling for purchase on a ledge made for squirrels, Marcus clung to the bricks in frantic desperation. He didn't want to die. He didn't deserve to die, but fate had chosen otherwise. Fate, at least in this instance, came by the name of Justin Turner, an eccentric billionaire who offered Marcus the role of a lifetime. Unfortunately, Marcus wasn't perceptive enough to pick up on Justin’s level of deceit at the time. Now, far too late in the game to crawl out of the grave he’d so willingly dug for himself for a few thousand dollars, Marcus realized his stupidity was going to cost him his life. More than that though, he knew this was all part of a plan to crush the life out of Cristina, the woman he seduced and later married at Justin’s request. That was the role he played, an actor’s dream if you will, but it’d all gone terribly wrong. People were after him, bad people, wanting money for the drugs they believed he’d purchased, but it was all a setup. Then he slipped, his fingernails scrapping across the red bricks leaving claw marks as he started to fall from his precarious perch. It wasn't a short fall, seven floor of pending doom passed by like an eternity before the deadly thump of impact on hard pavement. No one would know his final thoughts during those last seconds except Marcus.  And what he imagined was not his life, nor the lives of Cristina or Justin, but rather how things got so out-of-control.

The Introverted Mind

A piece of writing from my past...

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For a dozen dark eternities and across a million miles of endless wastelands I walk, but these are just the jagged steps I take within my mind. In an attempt to discover myself, I became lost. I explored the crevasse, the gulf separating reality and fiction, and all of the emptiness held within in the hopes of finding that which I have endlessly searched for, but I am only further away from it now then when I began. I have found no meaning, no answers to deep questions, and no awe-inspiring thought. In fact, I find more questions without answers. I find the world turned around with bits flowing in directions unimagined. I find a separation of fact and reality, where the conceptual belief brings about a turn within the actual. I wonder how can this be. Can the mind define the reality? I have no way of confirming my suspicions, but I can feel the world bearing down upon my shoulders as my small belief goes against the norm. So I turn and walk away.

My giving in is a submission to follow and not to lead, but that is my choice. I will choose, when the time comes, to air my voice alongside another. I will lend my support to a braver, stronger, heartier man than I because he has the strength to fight the norm. His beliefs, though the same as mine at one time, will change the world, even though I held them long before he did. He will receive the credit, take the praise, and be glorified for his accomplishments while I receive nothing. It does not bother me for I have moved on. I have found other discoveries, but again I keep them to myself and wait for another to bring them forth. Why you might ask? Because I lack the means to validate my theories and the world does not support my ideas right now. So I turn and walk away.

In my ignorance, I watched the world pass me by, but worse yet I let my imagination die with each passing day. I have succumbed to the norm. I look back now and realize it has all been by choice. My choices, made for foolish reasons; made out of fear, made out of ignorance, made out of weakness, were my own. I have no one to blame, but myself. So I have wasted my life. What I do have in return, though, are the memories of bloodied feet and longing loneliness of the miles I’ve walked across the endless waste that is my mind. It is not a satisfying thought, but then few are when you only share them with yourself.

And yet again, I turn and walk away.

Walking Dead

Over the past week+, I’ve put aside the editing of Azazel, Book 3 of Jeremiah Stone, in favor of watching NFL football and The Walking Dead. It’s the second of these I wish to discuss.

Let me begin by saying I’ve enjoyed watching the series up to the current episode. In a way I was addicted to it for several days. On the other hand, I was also appalled with the nonsense of the show. It was absurd; not the premise, but rather the people. Their stupidity is unbelievable as they continually bring shame upon every writer I have dared to read. The fact they survive past the first few shows is almost more than I can stand and that is what I find so upsetting. The only way I can forgive this atrocity is the fact that if the characters were smarter then it’d be more a sitcom than a suspenseful TV series.

Now I could list most of the reasons why I believe this, but I’m not. Instead I’m only going focus on a single person and the absurdity of this person’s survival. The person I’m speaking of is Carl, the boy who pays no mind to his parents, wanders off on his own all the time, and blatantly disregards danger even though there are flesh-eating zombies all over the place. The sheer stupidity of this kid and his mother, who never knows where he is, push logic and sensibility completely out of the realm of possibility, especially concerning the boy’s survival. In fact, the only time the mother panics is when she can’t find her son in the middle of a zombie attack. Never mind the fact zombies are attacking all the time and she never knows where Carl’s at, but the nerve of her to suddenly care only when surrounded by danger makes me want to slap sense into her. 

This, of course, would occur after I take a belt to the kid’s behind because the child doesn’t listen to anyone and wanders away from the group all the time. In fact, nearly every time someone wanders off on their own something bad happens, yet when they stay together they survive. This alone would prompt me to always go somewhere in a group, but even though they know this they continue to separate themselves from each other.

Contrary to this, however, is Darrel, the hillbilly biker dude with the crossbow. He’s the only one of the group who has a proper head on his shoulders all the time. His presence within the group is the group’s only saving grace. Here-here for the single redneck out of them all who actually uses logic. And I must say it’s going to be the guys in the country with a trunk full of guns and ammo which carry on this nation if this should ever occur. It’s their ‘all for one and shoot the rest’ attitude which will likely prevail.

Now I understand all this is to create drama and suspense, but seriously! The writers should be chastised for making the common person appear so ignorant. Or maybe their message is to not act like these people (through continued repletion of the same theme) should this ever occur. Either way, they’re setting a bad example on how intelligent people would behave in a time of dire emergency.

Then again, after watching the people who stayed put during Hurricane Sandy and the devastation she wrought, it’s almost hard to believe intelligent people actually do exist.

Multiple Perspectives

I'm way confused about a section of writing within Azazel because there is so much going on from several different characters that I see no easy way to consolidate it down to a simple thing, even if I rewrite it entirely.

Or do I even need to do that? I ask this because (though it doesn't seem odd to me) I wonder if its distracting to have so many people coming together as if in a finale. And even though its not the finale, it is a major turning point in the book.

After all, I've been repeatedly chastised by my editor for providing too many perspectives.

Now I've broached this subject before and received a little feedback. I've also heard nothing but praise from people who've read the first book, especially from the college ranks, which is who I want to market towards, though not entirely. Anyway, I wonder what I can do to simplify it even if it's possible to do so. Or even should I?

A Cold Life

An experimentation in horror:

I live a cold life. This is not to say I live in Alaska or even keep my home at a moderate sixty-five degrees for most of the year, but rather I keep myself absent of emotions. I hide things inside myself, locked away in a box without latches. It’s a dark place, full of hatred and greed, full of things I regret, and full of memories a dare not bare. It’s a place where my childhood is kept at a distance, far away from the nerve center which I act upon. Yet it is within this dark place I find the will to accomplish what I must.

For as long as I can remember I have been like this. I am the oak in the middle of a field. I am the lone spider in the corner of the room. I am the watcher of world, though I try not to participate in it any more than I have to. I am nothing but a black spot on a white sheet of paper. I exist, cannot be denied, yet I am what everyone refuses to acknowledge. I am, however, not worthy of your time to remove, so I remain the blight society accepts. Fortunately, society doesn’t know me.

For those who have met me, I am far different than what I’m perceived as. I am the chill running up your spine. I am the hairs on the back of your neck when you feel something is wrong. I am the goose-bump which rises from your skin when the unexplained happens. I am the tense fear piercing your heart when something crashes in the night. I am the one who feels no remorse, though nothing can describe me properly.

What I can describe in detail is my victim.

I can tell you of the high-pitched muffled sound of scream I hear through the gag like a harpy wailing against the wind. The sound is full of hate and pain, of agony realized. It chills to the bone, reverberating terror on a level equaling death. It’s full of despair, desperate out of fear, and full of hated anticipation. It’s the sound of a hundred dreams dying spewing forth from an enraged animal knowing its life is ending.

I can tell you about of the sickly sweet aroma of blood, how it permeates the nostrils. How it slides between my fingers smoothly only to congeal into sticky blobs hindering movement. It runs like oil, slick with life, red with loathing until it realizes it won’t be replenished. It’s as if it intuitively knows death is upon it as soon as it escapes the vein like a baby gazelle wandering from the herd only to find a lioness waiting in the tale grass.

I can tell you of the bile, the revulsion, the gasping clarity of thought as realization strikes all at once. For I am no stranger to those I meet. I was once in their charge, given a chance for life where it had once been lost, but their caring was an illusion. It’s because of them my emotions became my illusion, played like a record for their benefit though without any internal meaning. Had they delved just a little bit deeper they would’ve seen the pain I locked inside myself. They would’ve felt the death of my soul. They would’ve grieved as my compassion died within me. And they would not have become the final nail closing the box around my heart.

Now, I can tell you I see her tears of regret for all the wrongs she’s committed against me. They leak upon the plastic covered floor in waves as I tighten the tourniquet just above her knee before the first stroke of my saw slices through her flesh to rasp against bone as a Siren’s cry breaches the air.

I bet she feels me now, though I can tell you I don’t feel a thing. I am numb to it as if frostbite has taken me. The only thing left is the tingling of dying nerves bursting as my flesh freezes, but even that fades.

This is what I mean when I say I live a cold life. 

Avoiding Kryptonite (a.k.a. Team BAM)

I wrote this a while ago as a magazine article and now think its appropriate as the Pheonix Ironman approaches. Hope you enjoy it:

Avoiding Kryptonite

Is it menopause?

I ask myself this as I stare across the room at my nearly frantic, questionably insane wife. And I think to myself, as her feet hop from side to side and her hands scurry over all the objects in her pack, she’s kind of young to be going through menopause. But what else could it be?

Along the same lines, I sincerely doubt it’s a mid-life crisis thing either. If I hazard to guess, I’d have to say it’s more of a bucket list sort of mindset.

In retrospect, my wife has never been frantic. High-strung, more than a little, but always with a purpose. On top of that, she’s very goal oriented even if her goals seem to make very little sense to me. She has, however, made me a better person and, as if her work with me has been completed (or she’s simply given up trying to change my little quirks), she’s moved on to the next bigger item.

However, lists of items are not my wife’s strong point. To think she’s that organized is a little bit of a joke to me, but I have to give her some credit. During my wife’s 40 years she’s accomplished her first bucket list and started her second. To say she’s ahead of the game is an understatement. All I can imagine is that within her stray thoughts she has her list of accomplishments, her list of to-do’s, and her list of soon to be completed actions. It’s my supposition that all this lingers in the back of her mind and, at any opportunity, she can pounce on a chance for fulfilling any one of them.

Though I do not wish to offend, and maybe it’s just the kind of women my wife attracts as friends, but I find all of them can switch gears within their minds in a moment’s notice. My wife is no different. In one sentence I’ll be standing there in mid-conversation and in the next instance I will witness her booking tickets to a far off destination (without me) or sign up to take part in a play she’s always dreamed of being in. For me, it’s all part of the adventure of living with her and in a lot of ways I envy her spontaneity. That is until she tells me her next goal.

Her latest ambition: becoming an Ironman.

Of course I laugh upon hearing this, which was completely inappropriate and caused me to receive the nastiest glare all of woman-kind could deliver. In hindsight it was not the most thoughtful of responses, however, I can easily defend my reaction.

First, my wife is no athlete. She is klutzy, uncoordinated, and sports a small ‘Buddha’ belly that it a permanent fixture of her figure no matter what her weight may be. This is not to say she’s rotund in any way, but rather that even at a size 4 she retains a paunch. On top of all this, the only sport she’s been involved in is swimming back in high school, she can barely ride a bike, and her ability to run is somewhat questionable because of numerous ankle and knee injuries. And for those of you who are not familiar with a full Ironman, it consists of a 2.4 mile swim followed by a 112 mile bike ride and completed with a full 26.2 mile marathon. That’s 140.6 miles of torturous exertion.

Even I, who grew up with a swimming pool in the backyard, ran track and field, biked since I could stand on two feet, and played soccer most of my life along with almost every other sport known to man, finds the tasks daunting, even when I was in great shape. To think my wife could accomplish completing a full Ironman just seems absurd. But being the supportive husband I am, after my initial flabbergasted response, I say ‘sure, why not’.

Now I’ve almost always gone to the gym and stayed in relatively good shape, except for a brief three year stint in which I gain 45 pounds through snack cakes. However, being somewhat prideful of my appearance and seeing picture of my fat rolls while on the beach with my son, I decided enough was enough and lost the weight by returning to the gym once again. It was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself and will never regret the hard work I put in to be classified as ‘skinny’ in this somewhat ‘obese’ world we’ve become accustom too. So when my wife says she wants to get in shape and do this, I can only cheer as I’m in full support of her losing her baby weight through diet and exercise.

On the other hand, my support is limited. My job requires me to travel a lot, so I can’t be there all the time to provide the encouragement she needs. Thankfully she finds a friend who is just as crazy as she is about becoming an Ironman. Within days they are feeding into each other’s (dare I say) delusions and I am all but forgotten. Again, this is not a bad thing because her new training partner provides a similar level of mental stimulation and support they seem to thrive on which I find exacerbating.

In addition to this there are several other differences in the level of support I can provide. For example, I only require the minimum amount of tools to complete a task, whereas I’m not concerned with the fashion statement I make while doing so. This is not the case with my wife or her friend as they tirelessly search the web for the latest training wear, dieting tips, and workout regimes. Within weeks they know volumes about diets and exercises, training methods and schedules, and which companies are coming out with the newest sportswear and equipment. Where I would get overwhelmed and tone her out within seconds, she and her friend flourish on this stuff.

From a distance I find their constant obsession with products and training techniques rather fascinating, this is before I realize just how expensive her next ‘accomplishment’ is going to cost.

Being a triathlete is not cheap. What started out as a membership to a local fitness club, turned into the need for a personal trainer, a treadmill (or two), a spin bike, a carbon-fiber bike (or three), a wetsuit (or three), high end running shoes (which last about 3 months), workout clothes for every size as she loses weight and gains tone, and all the accompanying paraphernalia. The cost is staggering and does not include travel and competition entrance fees. Needless to say, I’m shocked, but I’m also caught up in her obsession as much as my job allows, so I succumb because it makes her happy and I enjoy the ‘be fit’ lifestyle.

This does cause me to analyze her need to do this particularly grueling event. After all, I am a quizzical person, so looking under the hood is second nature to me and I want to know why an Ironman. Why not something less intimidating, more realistic? I do understand the need to set goals, but the goals I set for myself are at least obtainable. Her goal to become an Ironman seems ridiculous at first, but she takes it with a seriousness I’ve rarely seen within her. So what am I missing here?

My journey towards understanding, if I can call it that, begins with looking into the insanity of what she’s training to accomplish.

Now my wife is a swimmer, so I see no problems with her completing the swim portion of the race. At least that’s what I thought when I jumped into the pool to swim a few laps with her. 200 yards later I was gasping for breath and remembering just how hard swimming any distance can be. Considering that 2.4 miles in the water is roughly 4200 yards, or 21 times longer than what I just swam, I begin to rethink just what I consider a ‘swimmer’ to be. This is when I tell myself an Ironman race is not a sprint. In fact the swim portion is just the first leg in an event a person is given 17 hours to complete.

My view of the bike portion is a bit different. Not only does my wife spend countless hours looking at every single bike specification on the market before deciding to even purchase a two wheeled contraption for herself, she also spends hundreds of hours on a spin bike at the local health club. With both these things in mind, I believe my wife can actually ride a bicycle proficiently. This is where I learn that knowledge does not always translate to practical experience. The word ‘unsteady’ comes to mind when I first see my wife try to ride around the block. Deep inside, I’m fearful for her life and any small animals that might inadvertently wander into her path. Her saving grace is she falls down well, which is to say she’s learned the tuck and roll philosophy over years of doing just that. The other thing is there are a lot of riding trails around our area allowing her to become more proficient without having to endure traffic. Both of which calm my fears a little, but still does not provide any insight into her desire to become an Ironman.

Lastly, I can only wonder in dismay at why anyone would want to run 26.2 miles. I mean I have a car and for me a 26 mile drive is longer than my commute to work, which I’d never consider doing on foot. Why a person would purposely torture themself by traveling that distance with legs alone borders on insanity in my book. In conjunction, my wife has notoriously bad joints in her legs, though very shapely legs if you ignore all the scratches and scars from numerous falls and surgeries. So for her to run a marathon is almost unimaginable, let alone a feat in pain management. And I’m sorry to say that any amount of medication taken in order to cover up the day-to-day nagging soreness is not good for anyone to take, yet she put up with it for months.

My only thought into this is why women can give birth more than once whereas every man would say no way after their first child if they were to experience the same. Women, as a whole, have to be gluttons for punishment. There can be no other explanation. This epiphany, however, only leads me to believe that craziness is the only logical explanation for why my wife would choose to participate in an Ironman.

Deep down I dislike this answer. I tell myself this is not correct, she’s not crazy despite what I’ve viewed of her athleticism. So I continue to investigate why.

My next turn of thought, at least down my wife’s line of thinking, is that this is all about the event. An Ironman event is a mecca of people and personalities from around the world committed to a common goal. This fulfills two aspects of her personality.

First, as I’ve said before, she is very goal driven. She thrives on setting daunting tasks in front of her, tasks only a few can accomplish, and finding a way to finish them. Her focus does not stray, her outlook is always positive (despite her occasional grouchy demeanor), and she makes people believe it can be done. She’s a leader and her attitude is unmistakably optimistic. There are no stops, no hindrances, nothing that can’t be overcome. For her it’s not a question of ‘if’, but rather a question of ‘when’. So with every fiber of her body she know this will be done and being around people with the same type of drive only plants her eventual success deeper into her mind.

The second aspect is what she gets out of it. With any achieved goal there is a reward. As with most men’s line of thinking, I believe the first (and possibly best) reward would be bragging rights, an ‘in-your-face’, ‘I’m better than you’ superiority complex. My wife does display this type of mentality at times, but the more I dwell on it the more I realize she only does so with me and in a joking manner. She’s not a braggart. She doesn’t show off. She’s humble, yet confident enough about ‘who’ she is she doesn’t have to tell people she’s better than them. She just knows it internally, which suits her just fine.

So if not bragging rights, then could it be the merchandise? That would be a more subtle, less intrusive, way of showing people up. Now this is more along the lines of what she’d do. She’s also honest enough not to wear the t-shirt without accomplishing the goal first. But there are just not t-shirts. There’s jewelry, clothes of all sorts, bumper stickers, and the always present, have it till you die, Ironman tattoo. Trust me, I’ve heard about them all. And though I see she is intrigued by what she can get, it is not a driving force. 

Once again I am stuck since neither reason seems strong enough as to deliver adequate motivation for her to participate in an Ironman event.

My thoughts now stray as I contemplate whether it could be about the people. My wife is very worldly. Like a magnet, she attracts interesting people. In the past she’s associated with other worldly people on an intellectual level. With this new interest, she can do the same but on a more physically demanding level. In other words, it’s a whole other genre for her to discover.

She has also traveled extensively, but almost always in a business environment, so doing so for ‘fun’ is also captivatingly new. This task provides an entirely different and distinct venue for her to participate in allowing her to explore things both within herself and external to her for the first time. This thought occurred to me before I actually went to one of these races and has changed since.

After witnessing an Ironman event, I have to admit I was inspired. Even before the race started, the crowd on hand was electric. The air was charged with excitement, the people energized, and it wasn’t due to the early hours and amount of coffee most of us needed to drink to remain awake. I also have to admit that if I could’ve done it, I would’ve signed up there and then to try it myself. In fact, throughout the entire day there were people watching and cheering, and let me remind you the event doesn’t end for seventeen hours. That’s a lot of time spent on your feet yelling encouragement to strangers and new friends alike. And from start to finish I had a smile on my face which didn’t go away for another 24 hours. Even as the last competitor crossed the finish line, I remember to the boom of cheers and the announcer saying “You are an Ironman”. In a word, it was ‘awesome’.

As great as all this was, I know cheering crowds are not enough to put yourself through months of training or that kind of physical exertion. So I went back to the drawing board to find out what truly motivates my wife. I must think of her. I must come at the reason from her angle, her perspective.

The first thing popping into my brain is that she is not ‘one of the crowd’. She is unique. She cannot be the median in anything she does. By the time I’ve searched through the other possibilities and come up with this, I find out she’s created ‘Team BAM’. Thought up by both her and her training partner, Team BAM (Bad Ass Moms) encompasses older women that kick butt. Women that strive to do more, be better, than what society expects of them. Team BAM members are those who are young at heart, who never quit, who never say die, and who never look back. And most of all, they don’t accept age as an excuse.

It is upon realizing this when I find my answer to why an Ironman, which I believe is something akin to ‘Rosa Parks Syndrome’. Rosa was defiant. She stood up for herself, who she was, what she believed in, and a nation followed. She encouraged generations after her to do the same, be the same, whether they knew it or not. She was Superman.

In this day and age, and in my wife’s mind, completing an Ironman is synonymous with becoming Superman, being super human in mind, body, and soul.

So it’s not about menopause or bucket lists or craziness. Nor is it about fame or fortune or materialistic items. It’s about a mindset. It’s about achieving the impossible. It’s about stepping out of the norm and doing something fantastic. It’s about accomplishing something memorable against the nay-Sayers. It’s about women, not just my wife, doing more every day. It’s about Team BAM!

As for me, I can only stand back and cheer because nothing in this world is going to stop them.

A Simple Reality

From the moment of our birth, we have the hope of never dying. We wish to live forever, to forget about our mortality. We never plan on death occurring. We never believe every moment could be our last. Because of this our spirit floats among the heavens.

Then as we age, we come down to earth. As the years pile up we begin to ground ourselves realizing there is an end. With this knowledge we try to live it up, to experience all we can on this world. We travel, we cherish, we experience what we all believe to be the best things in life.

Then when our bodies collapse under the pressures of old age, our universe shrinks even further. No longer do we envision the stars or moon, or even proffer to the sun’s magnificence, but rather find solace in the four plain walls surround us. And when we look up, we no longer see the stars, but rather just painted spackle. Nor do we dream as we did in our youth.

And when that moment comes and we drift off to whatever existence we deem as ‘our’ place, we should all remember one thing. We are all part of one, shared moment. We have lived forever. We have all witnessed the creation of the Universe. We have all come from the darkness and seen the light. We are made out of collapsing stars. We have crossed light years and remain immortal. Most of all, our journey is not ending, but rather we are still just witnessing the beginning. And our time does not tick away in seconds or minutes or years, but rather in that fact we shall be reborn again in a thousand lives as our atoms once again become a part of everything.

New Stories

So I've been thinking about a few books I plan to write and thought I'd take a stab at beginning one of them. So here is the opening scene from The Wicked (maybe):


“I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff,” Deputy Martin Dobson said as he reached the top of the dusty ravine with his lungs burning from the climb. 

Sheriff Richard “Granite” Johnson observed his overweight prodigy with barely a glance knowing the man fluctuated between gaining and losing the same forty pounds every year throughout the course of the last decade. Instead, he took in the scene with a stern expression. Of course from his position he couldn’t see much, but he didn’t have too. He could smell it, the stench of rotten flesh on stagnant air. Fighting back the bile in his throat, he tried to breathe out his nose to vacate the putrid air from his nostrils, but it lingered until he was almost forced to gasp for air.

“I know, sir,” Martin acknowledged. “It’s pretty bad.”

This time Granite looked at his deputy wondering how the man could stand there without covering his nose. “How can you stand it?”

Martin chuckled softly for a second. “I’ve lived with Carla’s cooking for fifteen years now, so this isn’t that bad.”

“Glad you can keep up your sense of humor right now.”

“Sorry, sir,” Martin apologized now realizing this was not the time for his normal quick-witted humor.

“That’s quite alright,” Granite corrected the man. “It’s best not to lose yourself in times like this. Just be aware that others may not be as understanding as I am at your seemingly blasé attitude.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what’ve we got?” Granite asked as he tried to forget about his reoccurring gag reflex and focus on why he was here.

“I’d have to say it’s an older woman, probably in her sixties as best as I can tell,” Martin answered as a pure guess.

“How would you know that?”

“Her jewelry, sir. My mother wears the same style.”

“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions, but it’s a place to start,” Granite said with a nod. “Anything else?”

“No, sir. We’re still trying to locate the pieces.”

“Pieces?”

“I…” Martin started then closed his mouth for a second gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t want to blast it over the radio, sir, but it looks like the woman was cut into pieces before being dropped out here.”

“Couldn’t be coyotes?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Some of the cuts look too clean, at least from what little flesh remains.”

Granite observed the man closely wondering how the man, who’d never investigated a possible murder before, could come to such a conclusion. “How would you know that?”

“I watch a lot of television, sir. CSI. Bones. Can’t get enough of the shows.”

Granite frowned. “Let’s hope by the time this thing is over you’ll be broken of that habit.” Then he glanced over the edge of the ravine. “So what’s the easiest way down?”

A few minutes later the two men were at the bottom crossing over the police tape into the area. Of course Martin was huffing and puffing from the descent, but Granite didn’t say a thing feeling tightness in his own muscles which meant he couldn’t really chastise the man for his weight. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the same shape he’d been five years ago as a slight beer gut started to show on his usually tone physique and it upset his slightly because his paunch didn’t reflect his nickname. Then again, this town somehow bred laziness. It promoted the simple life mentality which even affected him. It’d slowed him down whereas his previous assignment as a New York City cop had kept him in better shape. Now, back in his home town of Walsenburg, Colorado, where he’d thought he could relax in what he considered an early retirement, he found this scene. And even with just a moment’s observation he knew this murder was going to interrupt his plans of being a lazy small town sheriff. 

Stepping around the area trying to find a place which was upwind of the body, he took it all in. He’d seen dead bodies before, plenty of them. He’d even come across a few semi-decomposed ones, but none of them made him want to hurl like he did now. Besides the stench, there seemed to be a ring of blood drawn around the remains which brought in a swarm of flies and gnats. Beyond that, the shadow of vultures circling above cast an odd swirling pattern over the ground. And then there was the body itself, a mangled mess of rotting flesh strewn about in an odd pattern as if creating a piece of obscene modern art. Taking in every detail with only a scan of the area, Granite could easily the whole place buzzed of death.

Worst of all, he knew this wasn’t going to be the first one, as a cold dread filled his thoughts.

Azazel - Back Cover Blurb

With Jeremiah near death and Limbus under attack, Azazel looks to be on the verge of changing the world, but Azazel has more enemies than friends. Despite his immortality, he still can be beaten and it’s up to Limbus to figure out how. While plans are made to counter Azazel, Limbus can’t forget about Opus Wright. As Limbus twists and turns his way through New York while trying to protect his girlfriend, Melissa, and get to know his mother, Isis, he also realizes he’s got more enemies than friends. Moreover, the fallen angel Azazel’s plan has consequences no one has anticipated.

In a hospital several states away, Jeremiah recovers, but finds himself trapped by the FBI. Knowing he has to escape and find Limbus before Opus does, he struggles to enlist Agent Tom Rice to his side. Agent Rice, however, feels as if he’s been pulled into a battle larger than he ever imagined and knows siding with Jeremiah will probably cost him his job. And possibly his life. Nevertheless, he tries to play both sides of the coin as Opus Wright, the demon Hades, and the fallen angel Azazel, try to corner Jeremiah and anyone who’s helping him.

But how do you defeat a creature who can’t die?

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Thoughts?

Killing the Monolog

So the other day I was having a discussion with a co-worker about books and movies and how predictable some things are. Now I must say I’m one of those people who tries to figure out the ending in advance, who analyzes the plot looking for errors, and tries to pick out things that are wholly stupid or absurd. I just don’t go to a movie to enjoy it for its pure entertainment value, but rather as a way to test my deductive reasoning a little. This is not to say I don’t find enjoyment in these movies, but that I actually put a purpose behind my viewing of them.

For instance, I realized Bruce Willis was a ghost in Sixth Sense early on in the movie. Doing so, however, did not detract me from thoroughly enjoying it. On the other hand, I didn’t get the twist of Usual Suspects until the end and for that fact alone I love the movie and can watch it again and again to see if there are clues I missed along the way. At the other extreme is Premium Rush with a plot line that’s been repeated in so many other movies I find it agonizing to watch. The only reason I stayed  was because I found the bike tricks fascinating.

Anyway, the discussion we were having circled around the need for books and movies to put in the one scene which explains everything at the end, or sometimes before the end. Either way, it’s a way of catching up the viewer/reader to a person like myself or to explain away something that’s too hard to convey other than just laying it out verbatim. Most of the time, however, this is done in a monolog by the villain at the end of the story when he has the good guy trapped in some way. Yet here’s the twist, the good guy somehow escapes.

It often reminds me of the old Batman television show in which Batman and Robin inevitably get captured in some elaborate trap only to have the Joker (or some other bad guy) monolog their end all plan before walking away without killing either Batman or Robin, though leaving them in an end-all-be-all killing machine (from which they escape only to fool the Joker’s hand.

My problem is if I was the bad guy and captured those chasing me, first thing I’d do is put a bullet between their eyes. Maybe even more than one. I mean even in the movie The Incredibles, the villain goes into a speak about how these monologs are the downfall of bad guys and then once he gets the upper hand he goes into a monolog himself. Absurd!

This brings me back to my point in a way. In my books I try to leave little clues which will point the reader in the direction of solving the mystery if they pay attention. However, if they don’t and read my books purely for entertainment  and miss everything I tried so cleverly to convey, then I spell it out enough that they should still get it at the end anyway. What I hope is different about the way I do this is at the end, for those readers not paying close attention to the details, they go “AHA!” as all the little clues I left finally create the big picture, a picture they should’ve seen coming. And I do this all without a monolog (I hope).

By the way, the worst example I’ve seen of late of this “bad guys capturing the good guys and letting them go only to get foiled by them in the end” is in the movie Expendables 2. Horrible, not the movie, but the absurdity of it all.

Dreaming

Right now I’m in the middle of an editing/writing dilemma. For the past couple months, I’ve been editing the heck out of a couple books I’ve written while also conceiving ideas for new books and knowing I’m still in the middle of writing my book Burden. Of course editing is the least enjoyable of the three for me, but it aligns with my goal to have 5 books out by end of year. Therefore I’m trying to concentrate on editing first and pushing everything else off to the side. Unfortunately, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed because the book I’m editing is Beginnings and with just 5 pages into it I’ve realized it needs a lot of work which is going to take more time then I expect.

So instead of writing a lengthy blog entry, I’m going to just post the beginning excerpt from one of my other books called Dream Savior. I hope you find it intriguing.

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Ever have a déjà-vu? Is it reality or just the mind playing tricks on you? 

Some experts say it’s just how the mind perceives a reality by substituting a bunch of similar past experiences into an account of a present occurrence. Others say it could be more, that a deja-vu is a look into the future. However, few experts are willing to risk their reputation on the improvable. For the select one or two who do believe there is more to a deja-vu than can be easily explained, they have only their beliefs at the moment. And they believe there has to be more.

Their reasoning behind their view, however, is due to the fact scientists know we use very little of the brains ability. On this premise, they suggest we are all capable of so much more than we think, but we rely on our senses too much, we believe we are incapable too often, and we believe what others tell us.

In an article written by Dr. Jessica Somersby, an expert in hypnosis, the study of the brain’s neural pathways, and interpreting dreams through a process she invented called cortex visualization, she suggests there is a temporal sense within all of us. For most of us, however, this ability is squashed, diverted, or unexplored because as the brain ages, as it matures from its infantile states, we suppress our own ability to sense temporal anomalies and thereby fail to react to them.

This is why, as children, we experience déjà-vu’s in greater numbers, and by the time we reach adulthood they seldom occur. This is because we’ve supplanted this ‘sixth sense’ by forcing ourselves to live in the here and now. According to her, we force ourselves in the present because that is what we’ve been taught to do.

Of course her work has come under fire within the scientific community with cries for proof, but her proof eludes her, though she will not stop searching for it. In fact right now, through dozen of tests on subjects both young and old, she has begun her search for this proof using her cortex visualization method which she, along with several other scientists, are researching.

Nay-sayers think it’s a waste of time and effort, but demonstrating her commitment to her belief, these attacks on her credibility have only cemented her search for this elusive ghost all the more.

And what happens if and when she finds that proof? 

True to herself, her answer creates havoc among the religious community by suggesting if we are pre-destined to experience something (as a déjà-vu suggests), then we should first recognize there was a plan for us to fulfill and we should accept the plan coming to fruition. Furthermore, if it is even possible, we should try to change the outcome. Her reasoning for this is simple, why show us a future if we are not able to alter it.

If you’d like to know more, Dr. Jessica Somersby is conducting a symposium on her work this week in Atlanta.

Fighting

For those who have read Jeremiah Stone, you are aware of the fight scenes within the story. However, I doubt they understand just how difficult it is to write a good battle, after all it doesn’t seem that difficult. Right? Well, maybe.

One-on-one fights I find pretty easy to write because it they are easy to picture within my mind and therefore easy to put onto paper, though it does take a knack to make it believable. As the number within the battle grows, however, it becomes more difficult. For instance, I take the initial fight between Eris and Jeremiah verses the fight between Jeremiah and the demons in the subway tunnel.

For myself, when Jeremiah fought Eris the only difficultly I had was remembering that Eris’ goal was not to kill Jeremiah, but rather to kill Zygi. It was something Jeremiah forgot during her initial attack and remembered just in time. The only other problem was dealing with how Zygi would deal with Jeremiah and Eris since he was the only one who had a gun. Its little details like this which get the writer in trouble during fight scenes. I mean the writer had to keep track of each person’s primary motivation: Eris wants to kill Zygi. Jeremiah wants to take Zygi captive. Zygi wants to see what Jeremiah is capable of, though not succumb to either Jeremiah or Eris. In this way the scene was difficult, though only three people were involved.

In the subway tunnel, Jeremiah took on six demons (if I remember correctly), though three of them he removed rather quickly. And from Jeremiah’s point of view, removing them quickly was a necessity. My problem was trying to visualize all of the demon’s movements with Jeremiah in the middle of it. Thankfully, a tunnel limits movement when dealing with numbers, which was to Jeremiah’s advantage. However, he also fought against three demons in the restaurant and was losing ground quickly. And in that instance, he would’ve lost altogether because it was a bigger, more open space. Had it not been for the sirens, he knew he would’ve died unless he could’ve retreated into the kitchen where space was more confined.

I guess the truth of it comes down to tactics, something I don’t see in every movie or read in every book. It is, however, something I’m aware of and try desperately to write toward in order to make the scene as realistic as possible. I hope you enjoy my efforts.

On another note, I’ve got the go ahead to write the story based on my friends idea as long as I give him initial credit for the concept. I’ve also come up with another idea for a book based on gypsy culture and astrology invoking powers within select people. Though I’m not sure when I’ll get to either, I think both might be fun to write.

Yippie

I know I’ve been agonizing about editing, but I’m done. Jeremiah Stone edits are complete and so I’m going to stop bitching now (mostly). I still hate the fact I have to edit, but the book is better for it, so I’m happy.

Now on to bigger things… Um, maybe.

Though Jeremiah Stone is done, my next task is to edit Beginnings: A Jeremiah Stone Novel. I’m not looking forward to it because I just reread/edited it recently, but I have to do a once over again to be sure. I do, however, like the new editing process in which I do edits on the computer then print it off for a full read through with a highlighter. I find it’s easy to just mark sections and then go into the computer to fix things later, which gives me another chance to read through the markup and decide if the change really needs to be made. I find this method works well because sometimes some things I might have changed remain the same as I read them once again. The other nice thing is Beginnings is written almost strictly from Jeremiah Stone’s perspective and it’s shorter, just over 60,000 words.

And for a taste of a simple change in Jeremiah Stone, here’s the intro (which I hope clears things up a bit for those of you who’ve already read the story):

“Did Job not satisfy your curiosity?” God asked.

“The world is a different place now, with different motivations, thereby I propose a different test,” the Devil answered.

“And what shall it be this time?”

“Instead of taking away a man’s livelihood to affect his faith, I propose we affect a newborn soul. Each of us may give or take one thing from the soul and see which gift sways the soul the most toward either good or evil.”

“Agreed,” God replied.

“What shall your gift be?” the Devil asked.

“Belief,” God responded. “If the soul believes strongly enough then I give it the power to accomplish whatever it desires. And your gift?”

“I don’t give, I take,” the Devil replied. “So I’ll remove his morals.”

“So the soul will know right from wrong, yet doesn’t need to follow either and holds no remorse. Clever,” God nodded. “And if the burdens we provide do not sway the soul’s intent?”

“Then we burden the soul with knowledge,” the Devil responded.

Repetition

Editing, editing, and more editing; it’s all I seem to be doing lately. Deadlocked on making Jeremiah Stone better before taking a solid crack at Beginnings, I find I have ideas for other books yet no time in which to pursue them. And I still have Burden to finish. I have, however, put some thought into what my next book will be after Burden, though I have a couple possibilities.

The first is a post-apocalyptic novel in which the world is devastated by an unlikely, yet possible, chain of events which wipes out a majority of the world’s population in a matter of weeks. As to the storyline, I haven’t figured it out quite yet, but I do have the beginning of the book in mind. However, I may just write it as a short story, 50-100 pages at most, and put it into an anthology of sorts.

My second choice is called Hybrid, a novel which takes place in the future after man starts colonizing planets. What I like about this story is it’s narrated from the alien’s point of view. Furthermore, the book would begin something like this: I was not given a name when I was formed, only a purpose. My purpose is genocide. I think it’s a pretty catchy beginning to a story about how man is invariably linked to morality. I’ve actually got a good idea of the storyline of this book, though it’s still in its infant state.

The next choice is basically five short stories all interlinked. The first four stories pertain to four separate people who each have a special ability due to an experimental drug given to their mother’s during their pregnancy. The fifth story would take place with all of them together. Now I’ve done some thought on this and think it’s a clever idea, but I don’t think it’s a novel. In fact there is only one character which truly entertains my imagination out of the four, so I doubt this idea to be a solid choice. This might be another good add to the anthology book.

Last, there is the idea my brother gave me, which I believe is doable. Furthermore, I think it’d be kind of fun to do. It has to deal with stereograms, but that’s all I’m going to say about it. Writhing this book would also help me with a writing technique I want to use for another book idea I have, which is a murder-horror-mystery novel.

All-in-all, I think I have too much to do and too little time right now. I do have a number of books I want to write, a few I need to edit, one I need to finish, and then a lot of promoting to do also. It’s going to be a busy end of year and I hope I can finish. Focusing on Jeremiah Stone is my primary task now. Wish me luck and let me know what story you’d like to see written of the choices above.

Rant

So lately I’ve been doing a lot of ranting about editing, editors, and author control. As much as I despise having to go back and correct my writing even though I know it’s far from perfect, I do know it’s a necessity. I make mistakes. I’m far from perfect. And is some ways I’m a perfectionist, though I do know I have limits. With this is mind, I figure the editing process is a must. In fact, there are a few who think I enjoy it because I’ve been doing so much of it lately. Those people are WRONG, but here’s the problem.

First, I want to put out a good product which coincides with my perfectionist side. I also want to put out a good story. In publishing Jeremiah Stone, I believe I completed the second, but not the first. I feel, and a few have confirmed, the amount of grammatical errors is distracting to the story. As for the story, everyone who’s read it has thoroughly enjoyed it (save one), but with a few tweaks I know it can be better. I’m about to make those tweaks. For the past five months, I’ve dedicated a lot of time to editing and altering Jeremiah Stone. Now I’m just weeks away from doing a final read-through to find any last obvious mistakes, then the book will go back to the publisher for revision one upload to Amazon and B&N. Once that’s complete, I’ll push getting an Ingram number and hopefully with some backing it can be out in stores. That would accomplish another life goal of mine, to see my book on the shelf of a major retailer.

Second, I hope to have five books out by the end of the year. In order for this to happen I have to diligently edit Limbus and Azazel while also taking what I’ve learned from them and put it toward Beginnings and Ferryman. To accomplish this five book goal, I have to dedicate all my spare time to editing which is not easy. Writing is not my job, it’s my hobby. Second, I have a family. Third, I’m rebuilding a vintage trailer so I can go camping (nearing the end of this year long project). Last, I travel a lot and tend to put in long hours when on the road which is where I try to do most of my writing. Needless to say, I’m busy, but again I have a goal and I’m striving to achieve it. In this respect, I’m pushing myself harder than ever while trying to keep up with life. I hope to succeed in both.

Third, I can’t edit on a computer. Or rather, I can, but it’s not nearly the same as reading the story on paper. To that end, I’ve printed off the edited Jeremiah Stone and Beginnings recently and plan to spend a solid four days with a highlighter. Doing this is a task and can’t be done is small blocks of time which is why I’m dedicating vacation time for the event. All I can say is wish me luck.

So those are the reasons I’ve immersed myself into editing.

On another note, a friend of mine contacted me and stated he’s about 25% of the way through Jeremiah Stone. So far he says he’s really enjoying the book and can definitely see it as a movie. That’s the kind of feedback which provides the encouragement for me to continue writing. I love to hear it and I’d also love to see Jeremiah Stone on the big screen. One other thing, I’ve also got some good feedback on the book covers I’ve created for Beginnings and Ferryman. Hopefully I can make both of them a reality, though doing so takes time away from editing.

I guess that’s it for now. Back to the grind with highlighter in hand.

Drawing Blanks

For a few days now I’ve been thinking of a couple things: rewriting the ending of Opus in order to make it more suspenseful, reviewing the edits on Limbus with the possibility of deleting one other short section which really isn’t necessary, possibly starting edits on a few of my other stories, and finally looking at drawing the cover of my series of nine books named Shadow Gods. Now I’m sure that’s a lot to digest and let me assure everyone all of it needs to get done, but it’s the last one which I might be the most motivated to complete. But am I an artist when I barely consider myself a writer.

Writing to me is a hobby with my imagination creating stories I believe should be told. These stories I put into print consist of thousands of words, but does that make me a writer? Now that I’ve one of these stories published, it makes me an author, but is that enough to consider what I do more than a hobby. After all, these stories are not poetic or insightful or present any meaning beyond the written word. They are thoughts expanded into novels. The only redeeming value they represent is the fact each one of them contains a piece of soul. They are a part of me revealed which is enough to make me cringe at time (especially if A Romance Novel makes it to the stand).

Art, however, is different. If I barely consider myself a writer, would my dabbling with pen and paper, my chicken scratches of arches and shading, be considered of any more value? I would like to say anyone’s opinion beyond my own doesn’t matter, but it would be a lie just like with my writing. I take my writing personal and though I’ve tried to understand and accept criticism, it’s still hard for me. Ignoring that, I do have a background in drawing and drafting. I’ve dabbled at times with the cover of Shadow Gods before. This time, however, I want to make my vision take a finished form. I want my drawing to become the symbol on every one of the nine books. I want it to have significance. Can I do that? I don’t know, but I honestly want to give it a try.

My only request is for you not to laugh to hard at what I produce.

Round One

After a massive session lasting a full eight hours, I’ve completed the review of the first round of edits on Limbus. Despite the agony of it all, I must say I’m pleased. Through the pain, I feel the story is more streamlined, the necessary points are made, and the characters remain true to who they are. In all, it was a huge cut as the original 99,500 word story was cut by a full 7,000 words. For me, that’s nearly a full day of writing, but I can live with it especially since it was fluff. That’s not to say I wrote all that to increase its length, but rather to add depth, though it was depth I didn’t need. Most of all, however, was the fact I once again learned a lot. Unlike Jeremiah Stone, I'll not immediately send these edits back to my publisher. 

During the process of Jeremiah Stone, I was under a crunch for time. Because of that, I skipped through the edits quickly, perused the final copy, and marked it good without a thorough reading. I also didn’t use my most current version of software to edit the story with and thus later found hundreds of grammatical errors both me and the publisher should’ve caught. I have vowed this time will be different.

This time I'll create a hard copy of the book and go through all of it with a highlighter because I find it’s easier to see mistakes on the printed page then in its digital form. Maybe it’s because I’m old and used to reading and flipping real pages. Maybe it’s because my eyes are trained for it. Either way, I’ll be making my way to the local print shop and spend the thirty bucks to put my work in print. Then I’ll read every word again with the intent of making sure the story flows well, that nothing completely necessary is left out or the reverse, and give it my final okay. I'll do all of this prior to sending it back knowing another round of editing is in order.

Then, and only then, will I take what I’ve learned and apply it to the other stories I’ve written. I, however, will not work on Azazel. That book has made it to the publisher and may be in the middle of the editing process already which means any changes I make in Azazel will not matter to them. It’s obvious I have my work (and a lot of it at that) cut out for me, but despite my loathing of editing I know it only makes my writing a better product. And though I know I should be happy to even be published, I want my stories to be something I can be proud of. After these edit, I truly feel that way.

Editing Limbus

So I received edits back on my book Limbus and, though I have some disagreements with some of them, overall I think I'll accept most of them. After scanning through them all I see a lot that I am to cut out and even more I have to alter is some way, shape, or form. However, there are two items I want to discuss which are suggestions from the editor that I have a problem with: Too Many Changes in Point of View and my short synopsis at the end of some chapters to keep the reader abreast of a story-line concerning two primary characters. I'm going to address the second one first.

Not to give away the story, but by the blurb I published on my blog earlier readers here will know that Jeremiah is captured by Opus in the story as Limbus runs for his life. For a good portion of the book the central theme is the trials and tribulations Limbus and his girlfriend go through as they're being hunted. During this section of the story, however, I throw in a paragraph or two at the end of a few chapters to keep the reader abreast of Jeremiah's plight and Opus' cruelty. These short entries were suggested to be cut out, yet I disagree for two reasons. First has to deal with Jeremiah's struggles, his hopes, and his fears and how they take possession of him on this journey. Because of this I've decided not to cut these out, but rather expand on them. The second reason deals with Opus who's cruel nature truly begins to show as he tortures Jeremiah on their journey. I also like (and need) these entries because I've written another book focused entirely on Opus. In order for that book to exist, I believe I need Opus to have a bigger roll in this book so the transition from this other book into the Jeremiah Stone series will show his progression towards obsession. What I have to remember is that the editor doesn't know of this other book so she doesn't fully understand the reasoning behind keeping these short pieces intact.

Now for my constants changes of Point of View (POV) within chapters. Granted, for the most part people have stories focused on a single character or two and I understand that.  In fact, my book Beginnings is solely written from Jeremiah Stone's POV. It doesn't switch back and forth as the rest of the series does, but I don't believe I can do the same in Jeremiah Stone, Limbus, or Azazel. There's a lot going on and for the story to flow I believe I need these separate points of view. It also ingratiates the reader into some of the characters and their motivations, along with how Jeremiah influences those motivations. Little does Jeremiah know or understand how his ability changes these people's view of the situation. To continue, it's also suggested that if I want to show several points of view then these POVs need to be seperate chapters. I disagree with this. I try to keep the chapters based around time or action, not characters. Its a different type of writing, but I believe it works for these books. I also use separators between each POV, which I could also do by changing these separators into chapters, but I f

What I'd really like to hear back on is whether or not those who have read Jeremiah Stone believe these POV changes hurt the story? Thanks.

Immortality

So I’ve been working on a few things, namely the covers of two books: Beginnings and Ferryman. Here's what I’ve come up with so far though these are rough drafts and need some tweaking.

On another note now that I’ve been working on Burden, I’ve began to contemplate (from my character’s perspective) just how far someone would go to become immortal. Would you sin? Would you lie, cheat, steal, or even murder for it? Would you sell your soul for it? Personally, the more I think about it the more I believe I don’t think I’d even want the chance at it.

Furthermore, what I thought would be a simple question has raised questions on whether or not it’d actually be worth it to be immortal. I mean would you want to live forever just to watch everyone you know die or to have to worry about who you’d have to become in order to go unnoticed within society. Would you want to go unnoticed? Could there be some benefit to becoming known as immortal? Do you think a person could achieve god-like status from it?

In addition, what about the limits of that mortality? Could you still get injured? Could you be chopped up into little pieces and still live (as I saw in a Narato episode)? Or would you be impregnable? Would you have to eat or drink? And at some point if you wanted to die, could you? These are the thoughts which push about within my mind as I contemplate the infinite passage of time.

Of course all these questions only bring about the fact I wouldn’t want to live forever. But if you were desperate enough or cared so little about your life at some point in time, would you at least give immortality a chance? Think about it.