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.