Rebel Writing

What is it like to be a REBEL? Realistically, I couldn’t really tell you, but I can tell you this, Rebel Writing is different. And I’m not talking about writing out of the normal (though sometimes it occurs that way). Rebel Writing has to do with my publisher, Rebel Ink Press. Due to the name, we are called Rebel Writers, Rebels, or even Rebelers, and from what I can tell the name fits. Of course, I am far less a Rebel than a few of the others. Let me take a moment to explain.

Rebel Ink Press, for the most part, puts out Romance/Erotica books. This is not their sole genre, but it is their most popular. And from what I’ve browsed through on a few of the author’s websites, some are far more erotic then I care to mention. I, on the other hand, do not write in this genre (the most I’ve ever done was make a few suggestion in the first 4 chapters of a book a friend wrote). Beyond those suggestions and a few descriptive scenes in Jeremiah Stone and Limbus, I don’t do erotica. What I do is write Fiction in the Sci-fi/Fantasy categories. And though I’ve written one romance novel which is named ‘The Romance Novel’, it’s not a steamy adventure.

So you may ask what I’m I doing here (or there as it may be) and I answer, ‘I got lucky’. I was at a convention with my son and happened to sit down on the right bench at the right time, which is the utter and complete truth. Two days later I had an offer to become a Rebel. A month later I took the offer. And this is incredible since the owner read a total of 2 pieces of my work. That’s right, ‘2’!!! So am I lucky, hell yes. Am I thankful? You better believe it! My one saving grace I believe is that both pieces I let her read were pretty good before I let her cast her eyes on them. So, one contract signature later and wham-bam-thank you, ma’am, I’m a Rebel.

Being a Rebel, however, is not about genre’ or luck or even a skilled pen. Being a Rebel is about having a passion for writing and spending the time to express your thoughts for all the world to view, review, praise, or criticize. Realistically, not everyone is going to like what is written here, but none of us expect them too. We all do this (writing) because we enjoy it whether it’s good or bad. Granted I have a million things I need to do between home, work, family, etc… but I still invest the time, the long nights, the cramped quarters of an airplane chair, or the noise of a bar to put my words on paper. We all do. Best of all we encourage other Rebels to expand and grow or just come along for the ride. It is definitely an adventure.

Now you may ask ‘How do they do this?’ Well I had no idea (especially because I’m a solitary writer) until one day there was a call to all Rebel Writers who wanted to be in on a joint project. A number of people signed up (I did not because I was new and it was not my genre’) and all of them were set to task. The task was one person starts a story, writes the first 500 words, and then passes it down the list with each author adding another 500 words. Cycling through the list twice provides a unique story none of them could’ve come up with on their own. By the time it was in the middle of the second cycle a contract went out to the authors for their parts, but that’s not really the point. Nor is the fact that all the editing is done by the publisher, meaning there are no fees. What is truly remarkable is what this novel idea truly provides, which is an avenue for new and old authors alike to share styles, get ideas, and become a part of something bigger. It fosters a community where someone’s not afraid to ask the stupid question and one in which people are able to express themselves openly in a forum that’s wholly and completely positive in nature.

The other nice thing about all of this is the owner put her faith in all of us and our writing, so we all strive not to disappoint.

That’s what it is to be a Rebel (Writer)… and I’m proud to be one. 

A Word about Editors

Since my first book (Jeremiah Stone) has just come out, I’ve been writing and editing like the energizer bunny. In fact I’m in the middle of editing two books while also writing two other books. It’s a bit daunting and maybe a little more than I can handle effectively, but for some reason I can’t help it. And neither can I help the smile I get when someone comments on my book, good or bad.

I’m sure everyone has heard of the phrase Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one. Now let me assure you that in my youth everybody’s opinion of me I took to heart and most of the time I was either devastated or angered by it. Since then I’ve grown up and realized I don’t have to take everything someone says so critically, but rather use their opinion as more of an outside view of who I am. Whether I take it as constructive criticism or ignore it completely is up to me. This change of view, however, was harder to accept when it concerned my writing.

Writing is my passion. The ability to express myself in every single one of my characters drives me to discover who I am. It’s a constant learning process which not only reflects on myself and my life, but encourages me to make myself a better person while enhancing my writing style for the better. Since I’ve realized this about myself, I’ve become more accepting of critiques. Therefore I’ve had to change the above commonly-used phrase to the following:

Editors are like assholes, everybody needs one and though you may not like what comes out of it you’re usually better off using it.

With this in mind, I took the 6 points the editor of Jeremiah Stone sent me and entrusted that she knew what she was talking about. From those points, I dove into editing Jeremiah Stone. I initially corrected hundreds of mistakes. And let me tell you I despise editing. Though I felt rushed, overall the story is better for every change that was made. Since then I’ve really tried to apply those same points to the next two novels in the series before I sent them off. Again, both stories are better because of the changes, though I can see dozens more I need to make.

In the beginning I entered into this publishing adventure expecting to learn a little but instead I’ve learned a lot. One of the most valuable lessons so far has been to take my time. Writing doesn’t happen overnight and neither does editing. It’s a process and like writing the more I do it the better I get and the less mistakes I make. Still I have to remember that nobody’s perfect and there is always one more round of editing that can be done. However, it’s my choice to do it.

The other thing I’ve learned is I can’t please everyone. Most of the time I can only be satisfied with my own work and even then there’s someone out there that is bound to say it could be improved in some way. What I do with that information is up to me, but as least I consider their perspective. It doesn’t mean I change everything to suit one person, but rather to suit myself. I’ve learned this through this long arduous process and it’s served me well so far.

While I was learning all this, I was also starting to get feedback on Jeremiah Stone. Of all the feedback I’ve received on my novel, there are overwhelmingly three comments.

            1. The story is great, though its starts off slow.

            2. The sex scenes are either too graphic or distract from the story.

            3. There are a lot of grammatical errors

As for the first one The story is great, though its starts off slow I have to both smile and frown. I say this because I really think the story starts with action and intrigue while only moving at a more intense pace the deeper a person reads into it. Lucky the two people who criticized the beginning are family, and around my household brutal honesty is the norm. After they explained their perspective (neither of them read this genre) I can see what they mean, though I’m not going to change the beginning just yet. To the contrary, I’ve added a few more lines to both the beginning and end to enhance their understanding and hopefully everyone else’s. Granted, Jeremiah Stone is already out in print so I can’t just send the edits out, but eventually I’ll create a 2^nd Edition version with all the corrections.

For item number two The sex scenes are either too graphic or distract from the story I’m not surprised. I originally wrote the story without the scenes, then added them in, then pulled them out again only to put them back before sending it off. Since then it’s been published, yet before I received a single comment on it I’d already edited the story and pulled them out. Of course the precursors to the scenes are still there, but the graphic details are gone. Not only does it seem to read better with them out, but it makes the book appropriate for young-adults, not they’re completely my target audience. What I need to find is the happy balance, so it’s still a work-in-progress

It’s also at this point I realized I need two types of editing for my books, content and grammatical. Most of the time as writers we just want things to flow right and because it’s our story we feel every scene is necessary. In the two books I’m editing now, I’m finding out that’s not the case as whole paragraphs are being ripped out only to discover the story’s better for it. Of course as I’m doing it I’m seeing hours of work going into the trashcan, but it’s not just about me. I write so my voice can be heard and sometimes it means tailoring your work to fit the people. And from everyone I’ve talked too they want the story to grab them and pull them in quickly. If a few pages of deletions and some re-writing is what it take to do that, then I’m game.

The last item concerning grammar is a problem. After all, this is why we have editors, to fix these things before they go into print. Though I’m not blaming anyone for the errors in my book, I have to repeat what I stated in my earlier paragraph (which is how I thought at the time), we are usually to close to the story to pick out the fine details like grammatical problems. Even now, I carefully read a paragraph and think it’s perfect only to look at it a day later and find an error or two. We skim because we know what it says and only a new set of eyes can identify those problems, right? WRONG!!! I was wrong to think I’m too close to the story to find my own errors. For the most part we have the tools to detect most of them ourselves. Here’s why.

I use three laptops and one desktop computer in my writing so I’m constantly shuffling files around between them. More importantly, however, I’m doing most of my work on the oldest of them. In fact, most of my book edits and communications concerning Jeremiah Stone were done from it. This is where my problems began. On that laptop I have MS Word 2000. One my desktop I have MS Word 2003. On my traveling laptop I have MS Word 2007 while my writing laptop next to my bed has MS Word 2010.

Now I remind you I’m working on four things at once now so while I’m transferring these files around between computers I discover something. On the MS Word 2003 computer I did a full grammar check of my next novel and it checked out clean. I since moved that file to my MS Word 2007 machine and decided to look at it again. Immediately the program discovered a grammatical error, so I ran it again for the entire book. To my surprise it found another 100+ errors. Seeing this, I then move the corrected file to my MS Word 2010 laptop. Needless to say it found a couple dozen more issues. Since then I’ve gone back and done a grammar check on Jeremiah Stone. And though it’s not atrocious, the MS Word 2010 checker found a good number of errors which I’ve since corrected.

Now let’s get back to item number three, grammar. Though I’d like to point the blame at someone else, I realize now I need to point a good portion of it at myself. I should’ve recognized newer programs have more features, more options, and improved utilities. Seeing as I’m in the computer industry, I can’t help but to kick myself for my ignorance of this fact. All I can say is it’s not a mistake I’ll make twice. It’s also a good reminder to keep all my software up-to-date. It’s also a reminder that sometimes the simplest of options (a button on a computer program) is often the one most forgotten and least trusted. As I said before, it doesn’t catch all the mistakes, but it’s a good place for any writer or editor to start.

This also means that when I get my next two books back from the editor (Limbus and Azazel) I’m going to spend a lot more time going through each and then hide all the changes and run it through a grammar check one last time. I also plan on printing the ‘final’ copy of the book and going through it once again because my eye catches items on paper far more easily than on the computer screen. Yet, even after all this, after all my checks and edits, after I’ve painstakingly gone over every word with a fine toothed comb, I still want an editor to tell me what’s wrong because there’s nothing better than an honest editor.

There’s one last thing I’d like to say. For everyone who’s picked up Jeremiah Stone and noticed the errors only to complain to me about them, I’d like to say thanks because it’s spurred me to investigate why and how this occurred. And in the end I hope my next book will be better crafted for your reading pleasure.

Opus

As you may know I’ve spent some time recently correcting Limbus and Azazel, the next two novels of the Jeremiah Stone series. Though it was a daunting task, I must say I really enjoyed reading the stories again. Though I remember what happens, I forgot the details, action, and excitement the stories have to offer. I also forgot the ending which choked me up a bit (and I wrote the darn thing – LOL). Anyway, as I’ve discussed before, there are two characters within the story which really pull the book Limbus together, Opus and Jebediah.

Here is a quick snippet of the character Opus out of Limbus. I hope you enjoy his cruelty. (By the way, this is the unedited version.)

The conversation dropped into small talk for the next thirty minutes until the doorbell rang. Without even thinking about it, Frank stood, while motioning everyone to stay seated, and answered the door only to find a small man pointing a gun at his face.

“Don’t say a word,” Opus stated, as he pushed the gun into the man’s chest forcing him backwards. “You’re Frank White, correct?” Opus asked.

“Yes,” Frank nodded.

“Well, Frank, I think you need to invite me to dinner,” Opus said, as he closed the door behind himself and motioned Frank back to the dining room.

Frank nodded, turned, and carefully walked back to the dining room. Upon entering, Candice saw the gun and immediately gasped as Frank moved to his chair, though remained standing.

Limbus, who had his back to the Opus, turned his head at Candice’s gasp and knew things were not as his father wanted. Limbus then turned his gaze back around to Frank, who nervously gripped the back of his chair.  Immediately Limbus recognized there was a problem while sensing Frank was no hero as the man twitched in long repressed anger. Then Limbus circled his head around further until he took in the one man his father feared. At first glance Limbus thought Opus appeared fatigued, frustrated, and pushed to the edge despite the man’s easy stance. And though Limbus had heard what this man could do, he doubted it until he now stared into the cold eyes of death.

Dad, Limbus called out within his mind hoping his father would hear him, Opus is here at the White’s.

“Oh, by all means, your honor, take your seat,” Opus said casually.

“What is the meaning of this?” Candice demanded, rising from her seat.

“Candice!” Frank yelled forcefully. “Sit down!”

Candice, both shocked and appalled, looked befuddled for a few seconds before she finally lowered herself back in her seat.

“Thank you, Frank,” Opus said pleasantly.

“Limbus,” Opus said plainly, “please move your chair around beside your girlfriend’s and take a seat.”

“Limbus?” Candice stated, not understanding even as Limbus cautiously rose from his seat.

“Oh, yes,” Opus replied. “Limbus Connor Stone, son of Jeremiah Stone and Isis Sinon, or didn’t you know that?”

“What is going on here?” Candice demanded, rising from her seat again.

“It’s okay, Mrs. White,” Limbus said, trying to remain calm. “Isn’t that right, Opus?”

“So your father has told you of me? How nice,” Opus replied smoothly.

“You know this man?” Candice accused incredulously, before turning to her husband. “I told you he was…”

Her last words were cut off as Opus put a bullet into her forehead causing Melissa to scream and Frank to stand up. Quickly, Limbus pulled Melissa into his chest to muffle her now realized fear, along with the unexpected loss of her mother, who toppled sideways onto the floor.

“Frank,” Opus tsk’d, using his gun to signal the man to sit back down. “How did you put up with her annoying voice for all these years?”

As I re-read Limbus, I actually made several adjustments to the story giving Opus a more severe and harsher quality even this example doesn’t demonstrate. In addition, a friend commented to me after just reading Jeremiah Stone that I should do a story just on Opus, which I’ve started. So far the story has an eerie quality to it and I’m only a few pages into it. And as most of my stories start, you’re thrown into the action right away. After all, I’d hate to disappoint. One other tidbit to bring it all together, Hades joins Opus in those first few pages. It’s killer, literally.

Thrill

I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I get a thrill out of writing. Not only is there a sense of accomplishment when I finish a project, but I also get to explore my imagination. I get to test the limits of my mind against the reality in which I live. Maybe this is different for those who write outside the sci-fi/fantasy genre, but for me it’s a great experience.

Now I have to admit a month ago my first book got published so it’s probably changed my attitude a bit because I can see the fruition to my years of labor, but I doubt it’s been a significant change. What it has provided me with, however, is motivation. It’s given me a greater sense of accomplishment while encouraging me to explore new depths. I also think it’s pushed me harder to find new storylines which are different and far beyond what I normally am comfortable with, though it’s not the first time this has happened.

A while ago an old friend of mine challenged me to write something out of genre, so I wrote a romance novel. Albeit it’s a little different from everything I’ve heard or read about because it’s written from a man’s perspective. After all, it’s what I know, but even then it was an exploration of myself which I believe has altered my style of writing just a little. It’s also pushed me to put more feeling into what I write, not that any of my writing would be aimed at a wholly female audience. I mean I do have limits. (LOL)

Now back to this newfound thrill of writing. It’s already made me make changes to the story I’m currently writing. Whereas Burden was always going to need a female element in it, that section of the story has increased in clarity and importance. I just hope I can do it justice. Seeing as the book is also being written in first person, I hope I can portray the feelings needed to make everything more believable, more personal. I know it’ll be a challenge, but if you don’t challenge yourself then you’ll never grow.

Moving in the opposite direction of Burden, I’ve come up with three storylines which are much darker than anything I’ve written (ever). In each of them I hope to explore a new part of me while properly conveying the emotions, the desperation, and the fear to the reader. Whether I can accomplish any of this is up for discussion since horror is not my norm, but in the end I hope each novel will only add more depth to my writing skills.

I do have one daunting task ahead of me though. The whole purpose behind writing Jeremiah Stone was to get published so eventually I’d have a resume’ of accomplishments before putting out my originally written series of nine books. That series, however, needs to be reviewed and edited, adjusted and consolidated, and probably re-written. Just thinking about it makes me shiver in dread. Maybe that’s why I push myself to discover new stories instead of reviewing my past ones. One day I’ll have to tackle it because it’s my original work of art and the whole reason I wanted to get published in the first place.

Until then, I’ll ride my current wave of inspiration while getting a thrill out of every written word.

Justice

I wrote this a long time ago and have since had to edit it just a bit as writing styles changes even within one’s self. It’s a little disjointed, but I like the intention and I hope you do too.

Justice

The organ waned in the background as the scene unfolded like on old B-movie in black and white ignorant of the man lost in the shadows.

He blended well with the darkness, his dark clothing and timid nature made him easily forgotten, and he liked it that way now. He stood silently observing the proceedings with disdain, separating himself from the joy he watched over. He was invited to be here, yet no one expected him to show, for he never had before. He did this time, not because he simply wanted to upset the balance, but to shed the necessary single tear in remembrance. He could turn and leave without anyone the wiser, but he stayed, though in actuality he was barely there for he was lost in his memories.

He remembered better times, when things stood still at a moments thought, when an inspirational moment led to endless adventures and curious situations, when he was greeted with a cheer and a toast where ever he went. But no more. Now he was far from those days and those ways. Like many, his life had turned in a moment.

He was barely that person now, the one to instigate juvenile behavior well into his adult years, and not just within himself. Back then he had a following, a light in his eyes that reflected defiance for his situation, and it made everyone around him better. The reason for it was simple, he had to be positive in light of the disease ravaging his muscles turning him into a cripple. He was almost to the point of having to wear braces on his legs just to walk while the medication he took kept him in a constant haze. He cared for neither the disease nor the drugs holding it off, but he was not slowed down by either, also.

Now, though, he was simpler, contained, restrained, but just as things changed, so did his life.

With college complete and his life beginning, he sought out the world despite his condition and it could’ve been his. Then, in an instant, it all changed in a flash on humanity and desperation. He barely understood what he had done, though he knew the why of it, but that didn’t matter as it was over in seconds. He was still amazed as life, his life, could change so much so quickly.

It happened fast when it did and before it had even begun, it was over. The tragedy played itself out in his mind, just as it had on the video, in blocking images. The scene was a common one in its simplicity, as act everyone had done as one point in their life. He had simply hobbled into the doors of a convenience store. In a flash, the three men entered brandishing guns demanding submission. Panic ruled the occupants, all but him. He didn’t understand why or even how, but he saw reflected in the gunmen’s face the deaths of a dozen innocent people, though they were not the people in the store with him. He saw the faces and gruesome deaths these men would commit in the future. One by one these twelve innocent, seemingly detached, people’s faces bore into his mind, his soul. And as he looked at each of the gunmen he saw their hearts and knew them for what they were, for what they would do.

Without thought he reacted despite his crippled body.

He reached forward to the closest gunmen even as a shot rang out and his mind reeled, but he didn’t slow. Grabbing the gun, he spun unnaturally quick bringing his elbow around into the gunman’s jaw collapsing him while wrenching the gun from the unconscious man’s grasp before he dropped. Then, almost off-handedly, the muzzle dropped and he sent a bullet into the man’s forehead. Just as quickly, he turned the gun on the others as more shots rang out, but he only saw the other gunmen drop in a deathly silence as he fired twice. He watched as the two men fell to the floor like rag dolls with blood dripping from between their eyes. Despite never having used one before, the gun dropped from his hand as what happened came back to him. And in his crippled state, he found his balance on the counter beside him.

Within minutes the police arrived along with the paramedics, but by then only body bags were needed. He gave his statement along with the others, looking back on the gruesome event not believing what occurred. In a daze, he was questioned and released, left to wander back to his home contemplating the truth. Days later he was arrested on three charges of man-slaughter.

Within a year, he was tried and convicted despite his good deed because the twelve members of the jury saw the cold nature in which he executed the gunmen. The video was hard to deny, even to him self. He was labeled a stone-cold killer, though he was only protecting the lives of the innocent. Strangely, the twelve people of the jury were the same innocent twelve he saw within the gunmen’s mind that night, though how could he explain that. How could he tell the jury he’d saved each of their lives that night when he killed those three men?

Fourteen years later he was released on good behavior, and here he stood, a shadow of a man watching what should be happening to himself as a single tear traced down his cheek as he watched the love of his life exchange vows with his best friend from college. And the organ waned.

In pain, he turned, and moved to the doors of the chapel, his cane and leg braces slowing his progress.

To this day he holds onto two secrets. The first is the smile the devil gave him in the courtroom as the jury announced its verdict. He recognized the devil for who he was, the man directly behind him in the courtroom, but he was unable to do anything about it. He did however realize the irony of the event, convicted by those he saved. The second secret he held was the eight holes he found in his shirt when he reached home, as if four bullets passed right through him during the gun fire. Neither instance he could explain to anyone, so therefore he told no one.

He pushes through the doors of the chapel into the bright sun and begins to hobble down the steps. He leaves, but he allows himself the one tear, the only one he can manage. In a sense he gave up his life, his love, his happiness, for fourteen years of incarceration, but it had been worth it. And if given the chance he’d do it again in a heartbeat. There was no question in his mind about that because in those few short seconds he was the hand of god. He had felt god’s presence within him, felt himself become the avenging angel, felt the righteousness of his actions.

To this day he doesn’t feel remorse, the same thing the jury saw in him over fourteen years ago, but none of that matters now. What matters is he saw the nature of god and he lives for a second chance of doing god’s work.