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Insomnia:  A Muse In Disguise Or An Evil Prankster?

10/26/2014

6 Comments

 
By default, I'm a night person.  I always have been.  Fortunately, my job allows for me to sleep in quite late if I so desire, and sleep discipline is something I'm still learning.  My wife thinks I hold great discipline in other areas, but I think she has mistaken that for integrity.  I hold integrity very dear to me, and I like to think people can count on me.  When I make commitments I give it my all.  Waking up at 6:00 or 7:00 a.m. to start my day early is not a commitment I'm ready to make, so it doesn't happen.  I long to start my day at 7:00, spend a good half hour in prayer and meditation, and be at my desk working by 7:30.  If I were to stay completely focused (No Facebook.  No eBay.   No YouTube.  No Amazon.  No insertwritingsitenamehere.com), then I could quite possibly be done with my work day by lunchtime, and after a good hour of projects around the house, I could spend the rest of the afternoon writing until the youngest gets home from school.  Sounds great, but man...the discipline!  Instead, I fight the seductress that is sleep.  She's a tough one when I'm under her spell, and I tell myself all kinds of lies just to be with her for another half hour....hour....ninety minutes. 
A night person I am and a morning person I long to be.  I've wanted it for a long time.

In Stephen King's book, On Writing, he talks about his daily routine.  He's a morning guy, and that's when he writes, until about lunch time.  When I read that, I wondered if I could pull it off; if could even find my muse before noon.  I normally write at night when everyone is in bed (like now).  It's quiet, and it's when I feel most creative.  I normally go to bed between 12:30 and 1:30 a.m. and get up between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m., but since I started writing more regularly, I'll go three to four weeks of sleeping fine and then insomnia will visit me without warning.  She's a spontaneous little pain.
I haven't been able to recognize a pattern.  Perhaps my brain doesn’t want to stop reading the current book I’m devouring, or stop ruminating about the awesome new idea I have for a story or book, or all those contest entries I have sent out and other potential opportunities awaiting a "yea" or "nay".   I’ve contemplated writing and reading earlier in the day to allow my brain sufficient time to rest before I need to put it to bed for the night, but I've yet to start that.  Instead, I've just not written much at all, yet still she intermittently makes that midnight brain booty call.   I’ve even considered a glass of wine or beer before bed on occasion, but as someone with a history of excessive consumption, for now I’m passing on that.  Perhaps one day. 
It could be this late night “suffering” is bringing out the best in my writing and that there is some redemptive value here.  Would my writing style and subject matter change if I were to write in the morning?  With NaNoWriMo starting at the end of this week, perhaps I’ll find out, as I’ll be writing more than I ever have and will have to be squeezing it in whenever I can.   Pleasant dreams!

Updates:  As warned earlier, because NaNoWriMo is next month, don’t expect to hear too much from me other than to check in here and there.   The book tentatively titled “Twisted Christmas,” featuring one of my stories, has been changed to “A Merry Scary Christmas,” and rumor has it, it will be available within a week.
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Prompted by a Three-Legged Cat

10/19/2014

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This weekend my wife told me we were going to be the rescuing forever-family for a three-legged cat.  The part of me that loves all things unique, reveled in the idea of having a cat with only three legs.  It would be quite the conversation piece, but I told the wife no.  Alas, that never matters.  The cat is r̶u̶n̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ hobbling around my feet right now.

Well, if I am to lose the no-we’re-not-getting-a-cat argument, then I may as well make the best of it and name the poor creature.  The writer in me loves coming up with word play and puns.  Giving me the job of naming a cat with only three legs was like giving the local bully his pick of underweight, pale-white, acne-infested neighborhood kids to target and deliver what he does best; however his job is to scar lives while mine was to merely make light (okay, make fun) of a potentially serious handicap without the feline knowing any better.

Normally when naming a pet, I pick pop culture references that pertain to my interest in film, literature, art, and music.  For example, my boxer, Mucha, is named after the famous art nouveau illustrator, Alphonse Mucha, while my black Chihuahua, Poe, is named after…well, if I need to explain that one then we probably can’t be friends.  

Once I realized I’d lost the battle with the wife, I quickly began a mental list of names for a female, three-legged cat.  A few of the more obvious names came right away like “Eileen” and “Trinity” followed by “Tripod,” “Peggy,”  “C-3-Paw-O” and “The Black Knight” (though the cat isn’t black)  Ultimately it was the name “Tres-Si” (Tres Si is Spanish for "three, yes" and pronounced Tracy--or Trace for short--for for those who aren't savvy in the basics of the language) that we chose to call our new cat.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a kitty to attend to right meow.

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Facing the Fork:  Traditional Vs. Self Publishing

10/14/2014

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After having enough stories written (and a few more ideas to flesh out), I have enough for my own horror anthology.  The problem I'm having now is which road to take as a I stare the unpredictable fork in the road. 

Traditional publishing takes quite a bit of good time to get going, and that's even AFTER you've been accepted (we won't get into how long that could take, if it even happens at all).  Also, these days traditional publishing (unless you've got a best seller on your hands, and let's face it, a horror anthology will never be a bestseller unless your last name is Barker, Koontz, or King) is really no way to make money.  It's costly, and nowadays a lot of writers spend their time waiting for the dollar signs that never come.  There are pros and cons with taking each road. 
Self publishing gives me creative control, but it also puts every bit of advertising in my own lap.  I already spend more time networking, marketing, and building my writer platform than I do actual writing.  I've had my eye on a few different publishers that I'd love to have handle my book, but I am leaning toward a full DIY release.
My particular blog entry isn't going to cover all the pros and cons from each side, but I will say that while a lot of people seek out traditional publishing, they're looking at an old school publishing world, not a new school one.  With the internet, CreateSpace, Amazon KDP, Smashwords, Lulu, e-books, etc. things are much different than they once were.  Ideally, yes, being picked up by one of the major publishing houses is every writer's dream, but good writers can make things happen even on their own in the modern literary world.  There are success stories out there.  A lot of them.  

In the U.S. alone, between 600,000 and 1,000,000 books are published each year.  The good news is a very large percentage of those books published are complete trash that could have been written by any middle-aged dreamer with a 7th grade education, a keyboard, internet access, and zero originality.  Go to Amazon and type in any keyword under books and search through them using the most recent publication dates.  You may be amazed at the amount of titles you'll find using keywords like "breaking bad," "twilight," "vampire," "zombie," "shades of," "fifty shades," "throne games," "winter is coming and the dead are walking causing an American horror for sons of anarchy in Dexter, Michigan," etc.  Heck, there are even books cashing in on Ebola right now. 
If an award-winning television show starts this fall called "Cavities & Caspers" about ghosts attending dental school in a post-apocalyptic world run by albinos who hate rainbows, you'd better believe by next year not only will you find books holding all those choice keywords, but I'll bet even dental school admissions will be on the rise.  This is the kind of originality found in a large amount of the literary world.  Unfortunately, the fact that most of these books being published are trash, this is also the bad news.  People now no longer trust John or Jane Doe selling their book, because after a while your average reader (which also has dwindled...reading texts doesn't count) isn't going to fall for your book spiel because, they're still recovering from reading "Night of the Fifty Shades of Zombies at Twilight."  They've already been taken for a ride...and a misspelled, poorly written, boring one at that. 

This is where word of mouth comes in.  It's the real seller; the mother of sales.  Ads do nothing.  Posting in every writer's group on Facebook does nothing.  Tweets drowning in a sea of a billion other tweets covering a million other topics does nothing.  Spreading the word, sharing the author's blog, sharing the one-sentence review you've written for said book; these are what gets the word out.  I don't expect anyone to spread the word about something they hate, but my reader base so far has really managed to build my confidence that I happen to be a decent storyteller. 
Throughout this writing process, I've become stingy with my stories.  I have OCD tendencies and am a perfectionist (those who know me best will laugh at the understatement).  When painting my house, I use the paint sparingly and it takes me twice as long.  I save leftovers from dinner and then make sure they're used within the next few days.  I penny pinch at times.  Everything I do I try and make it last.  I stretch it out.  I add water to the shampoo and shake it to get the very last drop out.  When I smoked cigarettes, I'd save the longer butts (nothing like having a skunk in your pocket to enjoy later).  This collection of stories I've been treating the same.  I'm trying to stretch them out as if I'll never have anymore, or at least none as good.  The funny thing is, they just keep getting better.  I'm so torn because I want them to have the perfect home.  I want to share them with as many people as possible.  I believe in them. 

It's a lack of faith is what it is.  Like a tree limb down attempting to block the self-publishing road, is this faithless behavior of mine.  It's the only thing stopping me from taking the self-publishing plunge.  After NaNoWriMo (my last blog entry will fill you in), I think I'll have a better idea (and yet another book looking for a home).  Stay tuned for more rants and decisiveness when that's over.  For the most part, I think I've already made my mind up which road to take, but I like to vent.  Hopefully you like to read it.
News Update:  It's looking like the Twisted Christmas horror anthology from Dressing Your Book, featuring my story "The Cross Examining," will be available by the end of the month.  Also, stop on by Crystal Lake Publishing and read their "Beneath the Lake:  On Writing Horror" section.  They used my piece on finding your writing space.  View it here:
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National Novel Writing Month & All I'll Get Is A Lousy T-Shirt

10/5/2014

6 Comments

 
November 1st starts NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  For those who don't know, it's actually this big thing where you register, have a virtual camp with a "cabin" of other writers, accountability, etc.  It's kind of a big deal for writers, and this will be my first year participating. 

The goal in NaNoWriMo is to write 50k words from November 1st to November 30th.  If you can do that then you win.  What do you win?  You just win.  Me personally, I'll be treating myself to some NaNoWriMo swag; most likely a T-shirt to add to the ever-growing monster of a collection I own that I plan to one DIY into a ginormous quilt.  Hey, don't judge me.  If I can teach myself to draw/paint, play guitar, tattoo, skateboard (unfortunately it fades with ever-growing uncooperative knees), cook, and write then I can certainly learn to make a quilt....one day. 
A month or so ago I had come up with an idea for a YA fantasy/Sci-Fi novel, but all that got trashed (at least for now) when something much more appealing came to me.  I don't want to say too much other than it will not be horror, nor will it be Sci-Fi or fantasy.  The problem now is I'm itching to start and want to hit third gear immediately, but I can't even get it out of park until November 1st.  Well, yes, technically I can, but I'm pretty stoked about giving NaNoWriMo my all and starting the novel fresh on the first day of the month.  I know exactly what I'm writing going into this, and it's taking some effort holding back until the ready date.  Though the idea of a novel has intimidated me for quite some time now, I feel the particular idea I have will just flow right out of me once I get started on that first day, so meeting the goal shouldn't be too hard. 

To reach the goal, participants must write nearly 1,700 words every day for a month.  For me personally that will be quite the challenge, and I've no doubt my brain will love the break once it's done, but I love the idea of the incentive and the accountability.  However, don't expect a whole lot of blog entries from me next month.
News Update:  October 22nd I will be taking over Rebecca Boucher's blog, My Life With Books & Boys, for the special Halloween blog tour thing she's doing.

As always, thank you for spending the time you do reading my blog, sharing it, and commenting. 
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The One That Got Away:  A Fish Story

10/1/2014

8 Comments

 
A few months ago I began a Writer's Boot Camp that I found online.  Every day you're given a new prompt to practice your writing skills and work that writing muscle.  The boot camp was created as a weapon against writer's block.  On the second or third day, the prompt given was to create a story concerning an ex-love that you felt was "the one that got away."  Being that I've been with my wife for nearly quarter of a century, I felt the assignment was a bit inappropriate.  Reflecting on past relationships, and expressing in words my desire to be with them, didn't sound healthy to me, so I wrote the traditional "one-that-got-away" story, and here she is:

Canada was strange ground for me.  Sure it was still attached to my homeland, but I was out of the country nonetheless.  The day on the boat had been hot, much like earlier in the week.  Hours would be spent on the boat each day before we made our way back to the tollgate, paid our coin, and hit my home in the United State of Mitten.  Michigan had some great lakes.  Yes, it's a pun, but Canada had great lakes with monsters in them; one of which would end up on my line. 

My arms hated me.  They threatened to give up and just let the fish have the whole rod, reel, bait and all.  I began shaking.  I needed this fish.  I needed that picture of me; the one where my teeth are clenched, my neck turns into a capital A complete with bulging tendons and veins, while my shaky arms struggle to hold the monstrosity above the ground.  The obvious caption below reading "Help me.  Please." 

Nearly 20 minutes into the battle, my arms, in a desperate second wind, pulled back at the moment the Muskie's panic heightened, but in the opposite direction.  Physically, I had sudden relief.  My muscles sighed while my mouth screamed "Noo!"  The monster had taken my bait as trophy; hook still in mouth, a souvenir piercing to boast to his friends.  My adrenaline tapered slowly into heavy defeat as I realized I had just experienced "the one that got away."


Completely unrelated, my shark "Dead Jim" (yes, that was his name) died recently.  He was awesome!
The bite began like any other; an unsure tap followed by a very sure tug, followed by an all out assault on my pole.  This attack was from no throwaway nor from any average keeper.  It was from the top of that lake's food chain.  My pole bent, teasing the water's surface with a kiss.  I thought for sure the fiberglass would give and my pole would go plural.  My dad instructed me on the first 10 minutes or so.  "Don't pull back too hard.  Easy.  Let him come to you."  Let him come to me?  What creature in their right, panicked mind would come toward their assassin?  This monster was doing nothing of the sort.  More time under the hot sun went by as the beast revealed himself above water.  "A Tiger Muskie!"  my dad yelled.  "That sucker must be 40 inches long!"  Declarations only adding to my already anxious 12-year-old stomach.
Picture
"Dead Jim"
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