Learning Experience

I thought I'd share with everyone the things I've learned within the last 2 years concerning writing and publishing.

1. Learn to take criticism because in the end it will only improve your writing because no writing is perfect.
2. Learn to edit your own work. For me, editing was my nemesis, but I've learned to edit by a cheat-sheet of common mistakes I make.
3. Grammar rules can be broken but only if it makes the text flow more smoothly. The last thing you want is for someone to have to re-read a line or paragraph for lack of understanding the first time.
4. Word count doesn't matter. My first editing job trimmed 10,000 words from my first book and its better for it.
5. Live your characters. Each one should be individually identifiable within your mind and should have their own personality trait.
6. Self-publishing is easy. Seriously. If you doubt me, then ask me and I'll walk you through it. Advertising, getting readership, is the hard part.

Also, here is the new back cover for Azazel. Thoughts?:

Azazel: With Jeremiah near death in a hospital hundreds of miles away and Limbus under attack, Azazel looks to be on the verge of Armageddon, but Azazel has more enemies than friends. Yet, despite his immortality, he can still be beaten and it’s up to Limbus to figure out how. But with the pressure of the world weighing on his shoulders, Limbus realizes he can’t protect everyone he’s placed in danger and flees into the hands of Opus Wright. So in a last ditch effort to save his family, Jeremiah puts his trust in the one entity who hates him above all else; the demon Hades. Is his faith justified or has he just doomed the world for eternity?

You Above All Else

There is time I've spent in Paris. I have seen the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. I have seen the Mona Lisa and been in awe of every detail. I have seen the flying buttresses of Notre Dame and wondered at the inventions of man. There is time I've spent in Rome. I have seen the ruins of an ancient empire. I've seen the Vatican and all that’s within. I've even had mass with the Pope.

I've spent time on the sandy beach of Sicily and let the waves crash against my soul. I've seen lightning storms off the Sahara that strike fear into the hearts of demons. I've even been to Jerusalem and walked the path of Jesus. I've felt the masses of emotions overcome me why standing beneath his resting place because nobody stands above the Son of God. And I have shed tears at his sacrifice.

I've been a hundred other place and done a thousand other things, experiencing the best any man can enjoy. And I've imagined great things, things unbelievable, thing incomprehensible to anyone but myself. But what I fail to understand is how all of them pale in comparison to spending a single moment with you.

I wrote this piece a long while ago, but after finding it in my romance novel I thought I'd share it with you ahead of publishing. I hope you enjoyed it.

Relegated

So I'm reading through my romance novel and rediscovering a bit about myself when I came across this very short paragraph. I think it describes what we all should want along with what our problem could be. At least, I know it is in my case.

He wants to smile at just the thought of his ideal woman. He wants to enjoy sharing those surreal silences with someone who understands what they mean to him. He wants to share the joys and tears of a person as if they’re connected on a higher level. He wants undying passion. And of course, he knows he’s asking too much.

I think I might of posted this tidbit of writing before, but when I checked I didn't find it. Anyway, I recently updated it and thought I'd put it here.

Relegated: Relegated to a secondary thought, that is my status. Or rather it is how I think you view me because I’m longer the focus of your attention. In fact, to me it’s as if I’m the last thing on your mind. Meanwhile, I impatiently wait for some indication that you even care about me, but as the minutes tick into hours then days, I know my place within your world. It bothers me, not because it affects my life, though it does, but rather because it’s just plain rude. I’d never shove someone off to the side in such a manner and I find being treated in this way pushes me past the point of caring about how you’ll react to my disappearance. What really angers me, however, is that I hate myself for being drawn into such a situation, but that’s a problem I've dealt with for a long time. What’s nice is that this time I’m actually doing something about it. It doesn't feel good, far from it, but it settles the twists in my heart. I guess being decisive at times does limit the pain and gives a person a sense of worth. For a person of low self-esteem, it’s about adding a bit of pride among the sorrow. I must admit it’s not much, but it’s something. And of course it’s all I've got out of this turmoil. I wish it were different. I wish I could regain your sight, but I know I’d just vanish from it once again. Sadly, the truth is… you don’t care enough about me for me to be part of your life. Because of that, neither can I care about you…at least not anymore.

Compassion

For those few who are interested in reading about the romance novel I've written, I'll give you a quick synopsis. The story is written from a guy's perspective, though its not the smut filled, pornographic book most would suspect. Rather, its about a guy writing a romance novel (thus the title) as he tries to find love himself. For him, this is not an easy task because he has self-esteem issues. And though the main character is not me, I've modeled the man after my experiences and the years of guy's things I've encountered. Also, intermixed within the story are tidbits of things I've written throughout the years which express the main characters views on the world, and thus a view into his personality. In the end, I think the book, as a whole, is cleverly done. Moreover, because it is so personal to me, I would not think of publishing it unless I've made the same changes in my life that he goes through (mostly).

Anyway, at the end of a book is a tidbit I wrote which is very heartfelt to me. Its a fantasy piece and doesn't reflect me, other than to demonstrate the depth of compassion a person endures. Here is a tiny bit of it which I've just re-written because it didn't read right. Enjoy...if you can:

My father, who out of spite named me Richard Dickless Johnson, thought he was being clever, my name representing the pinnacle of humor and depravity. To this day I go by Connor and he hates me for it, but he hates nearly everything this world has given him. His only love was my mother and he blames me for her death, though it was his fists which clubbed her to submission because she wouldn’t hand him a beer before she answered the telephone. Unfortunately, through both their eyes, I relive that moment in fear, hate, and love. It is a vision which haunts more of my life than any other and one I cannot let go of. Even to this day, I hate both of them for it.

As for my father, he secluded me within our trailer where I had no visitors which is a good thing considering my life at the time. I was kept inside a dog cage, fed scraps of his left over food, and not bathed or changed for days. In fact, I was shown no kindness or humanity at all and was beaten relentlessly until the age of three. Had it not been for the memories of the nurses and doctors within me, I would surely have turned into a monster bent on pain and hatred, but their strength and compassion allowed me to endure. It was only after a loud drunken fit by my father that Child Protective Services discovered me and took control of my life.