WIP Wednesday: Hopes and Dreams

I'm on "tour" promoting Borrowed Saints (and writing in general) this week. Yesterday, I popped in to visit Cate Gardner and wrote about what was "Behind the Door". Today, I'm visiting Belinda Frisch's blog with a post about creating conflict and suspense. Stop in and say "hi". Tomorrow, I'll be leaning on Robert Swartwood with a little post about patience. God knows I need some.

More stops to follow.

So about this WIP Wednesday...

I'm writing a vampire-esque novella. I'm brainstorming for a middle grade (holy-sh*t, MG?) sci-fi, slipstreamy adventure book. My dear wife inspired me to write it, saying: "Why don't you write something Owen can read?" Yeah, why don't I?

And then there's the sequel to Borrowed Saints. Yes, I've already started writing that...

Sheesh. I'm starting to sound like Barry Napier with all this WIPing (love you, Barry).

Speaking of my dear wife... I want to share a dream of mine. I'd love for her to be able to stop working. She has terrible nerve issues in her mouse hand and a job which requires a ridiculous amount of clicking. She has back trouble stemming from a car accident when she was twenty.

I've taken on e-book formatting and cover design on the side (www.simplekindleformatting.com) to try and supplement our income. I'm continuing to write and hopefully build an audience. I'd love to add enough to the communal pot that she could stop working, or at least cut back and only see clients part time.

That's the dream.

Now that I've written it down, I need to get to work.

21st Century Digital Boy

Yesterday I was amped for a rant (of sorts). Actually, it was more of an airing of my dirty laundry, past mistakes and present failures...

Once upon a time I was a writer who doubted myself too much. Note the phrase "too much". Any good writer should doubt a portion of his/her work because, let's be honest, no one does it right every time. No one writes a perfect story on the first draft. No one. (Although Harlan Ellison has come close...check out "Flop Sweat"...he wrote it in one day to be read on air that night. Chilling as today's temperature: 3 degrees Fahrenheit--I won't even convert to Celsius...yow.)

I still doubt myself. But I've moved on. Sort of.

And I'm thankful for the 21st century. I'm thankful for the ability to do certain things* for myself in the future. I'm thankful a 21st century storyteller can reach out and find an audience, even a small audience, without having to prostate himself to the whims of the big meat grinder.

I'd rather have a small, honest audience than a huge audience to which I lie so somebody else can reap the benefits. Don't know what I'm talking about? For the latest example, read: "E-Book Royalty Math: The House Always Wins" (thanks for the link to Robert Swartwood)

Look, no publisher which intends to stay in business can have only an author's best interests in mind. Publishers are in business to make money, and there are plenty of want-to-be writers lined up waiting to take an author's place if that author doesn't pay the bills. Didn't make a profit for the publisher? Next...next...next...

I've had dealings with three small presses--Belfire Press, Virtual Tales, and Aqueous Press. Jodi Lee and company at Belfire have been great. I have certain reservations about the author agreements I've signed with the other two, although Virtual Tales has been top-notch with artwork, promotion, and other "intangibles". Certain things remain to be seen with Aqueous. I'm not excited at all with recent developments (which have nothing to do with my book) because of the "guilt by association" factor involved. Again, I'll refer you to Mr. Swartwood for the scoop. One thing I appreciate about Robert is his unflinching honesty. I'm too much of a chicken-shit most of the time.

So why did I sign on? Once upon a time I was a writer who doubted myself too much. Doubt leads to fear. Fear leads to decisions founded in sand.

I've come to the conclusion that an author's best interests are handled best by that author unless you are a machine (e.g., Stephen King, John Grisham, etc.). An agent can be great in looking out for an author's interests but only as far as it serves the agent (i.e., makes the agent money). No, it's not sour grapes; it's business, and I don't fault any agent for seeking only those clients which will make him/her the most money. That is an agent's job. Many have kids to feed.** But I haven't bothered to query an agent in almost two years. It just doesn't seem like the right time for me.

So for me, small time author, right now it's best to do what I can for myself. The 21st century has laid the tools in my lap.*

At least, this way, when mistakes are made, they're all mine.***

One final note: thanks to everyone who has purchased, promoted, or talked about 52 Stitches. Jamie was family, and it does my sometimes bitter and jaded heart good to see the power of my extended internet family.

*cover art, e-publishing, promotion, etc.
**I do. Let me tell you, having a family changes perspective on a lot of things.
***Selfish much?

WIP Wednesday: The Inferential Power of Hint Fiction

Yes, I was one of those who received my pre-order of this:

...before the official release date. I shared a story, Joe R. Lansdale's "The Return" with students and had them riff on it during a quick, three-minute writing session. My favorite (I haven't edited a word, but I want to):

They buried him deep again. The morning before we buried that old man six feet deep and covered him good. But last night, we found his open coffin with no one in it. The town was quiet. No one told their children. Our arrogant sheriff said it was rain that washed him up, but it was hardly a storm.

I love the last line, especially the well placed use of the word arrogant. Sometimes, I feel like the students are "getting it". (I reprinted that little snippet with permission, of course.)

The other magic I've found in the pages of Hint Fiction is how each tiny story encourages inference.

From the Kansas State Reading Standards:

1.4.5 - uses information from the text to make inferences and draw conclusions.

This is hint fiction--it's all inferences and unsaid conclusions. Many of the stories, even in the life & death section, are quite funny.

Nice work, authors. Nice work, Mr. Robert Swartwood. Thank you for helping me reach my students.

In WIP news, I'm looking over edits for Loathsome, Dark and Deep. If you haven't checked out the novel's web site, here it is. I smell a contest coming...

Oh, and buy a copy of Hint Fiction, okay?

Five Things for Friday

Okay, so here are five bits and pieces I've enjoyed 'round the next this week for your weekend reading pleasure:

1. Jeremy D. Brooks ballsy manifesto and cover art for his novel, Amity. Check it out. (ready to download at Smashwords...other formats pending) Okay, so that was more than one thing. Sue me.

2. Not that I like the problem, but Robert Swartwood gives thoughtful insight to the Problem of Prolificity. Some sad truths in there, folks. Mr. Swartwood's perspective is always welcome.

3. All 70+ episodes of Axe Cop at www.axecop.com. Oh, YES.

4. Norman Partridge's thoughtful and revealing essay about the publication of his first novel, "The Care and Feeding of First Novels".

5. And finally, something to chew on: "Facebook users 'are insecure, narcissistic and have low self-esteem". Solid research? Maybe not. Thought provoking? Sure.

Have a great weekend, world.

Why I'll Never Make a Living as a Writer

A comment made in response to Robert Swartwood's recent post about the state of short fiction has stuck with me, pestering me like a bad rash. (here's the full entry and comments)

from Jeff (commenter #3):

"I blame us – writers, but also editors and publishers of short fiction. My wife, who is not a writer but an avid reader, is rather fond of telling me (when I am down, depressed, and angry) that if I want people to read what I write, I have to write things people want to read. This advise goes against everything your [sic] taught as a writer, but it is also profoundly true."

Why has the comment held on? Because it is true. Too true.

I've bristled against popular "art" in the past. If art (be it writing, visual arts, music, performing arts...) is boiled down to "paste-pudding" (to steal a term from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451), it loses something. Make art accessible to everyone, and it is bland. Simple. Easy to ingest. Not art anymore.

Case in point:

Isn't this the kind of joke we used to make in college (while we were drunk)? How did it become an industry?

So call me a snob. I want my art, and my writing, to challenge me. I've felt the short story was the pinnacle of the "art" of writing for some time. Yes, there are wonderful, challenging novels out there, but most of what we're fed is paste-pudding. Short fiction in the highest paid magazines (and most well-read, even though they sport meager numbers) is more original, better written, more "artful" than popular novels--thus making itself (and the magazines which publish it) less accessible...less popular.

Alack.

I want to hear a little perspective in the comments...give me a piece of your mind, and I will cherish it well (in a jar of on my bookshelf).

Waiting for the Lion

Loaded with linkage today, folks.

So the most-magnificent Jodi Lee made my inbox happy with a home for "Tiny Fingers". The accepted-then-released story from the first run of Arkham Tales will appear in Jodi's forthcoming Ante Mortem. I know Natalie L. Sin will be among the TOC, so a big Huzzah! there.

(I don't know that I've squeezed more links into a single paragraph before...)

Robert Swartwood's novelette "Through the Guts of a Beggar" is available with nifty download options. You know you want to read it. (I do)

I'm trying to focus on edits this week...some for me ("Traveling Through the Dark" and a rewrite of "Keeper of the Dead"--I changed POV from 1st to 3rd and made the ending nasty), some for Strange Publications (Barry Napier's The Final Study of Cooper M. Reid). I also have some reading to do...but I won't let that particular cat slip out of the bag just yet.

Speaking of cats...it's almost the end of March; I wonder where that lion is hiding. Here kitty, kitty, kitty...

So, Yeah. Monday After Spring Break.

And my brain is a mess.

A former student (who graduated ten years ago...Gawd I'm old), posted a comment on Facebook: "went to the book store earlier to buy a 'Where's Waldo' book. When I got there, I couldn't find the book anywhere. Well played Waldo, well played."

Yes, my students used to call me Waldo. I'm tall, relatively thin with dark hair, and wear glasses. I'm sure you can understand the comparison.

In the "Local" section of the blog, this is pretty cool in an indie-filmmaker sort of way:

http://www.lawrence.com/news/2010/mar/19/zombietube-area-filmmakers-prepare-undead-online-s/

Good peeps in Lawrence, Kansas I tell you. Good peeps.

The indomitable Robert Swartwood takes Narrative Magazine to task today. I like his moxie, whatever that is.

Finally, I'm putting together a lens at Squidoo (www.squidoo.com) to help fledgling writers. I'm not much more than a fledgling myself, but I've learned sooooo much that I'd like to share. Stop by (www.squidoo.com/writinghorrorfiction) and give it a look. Comments and suggestions are welcome. I have a list of additions to make, including an expansion of "the writing process" that includes tips on finding ideas, editing, and revising.

Enjoy your day, folks.

Charlatans and Thieves

Here's the truth about truth: you'll never get the "real" story about anything that's ever happened.

Why?

Human beings have a propensity for skewing reality toward their own point of view.

Take my lies last Friday. Several people identified #6, When I was twelve, my mother took me on a cross-country camping trip in search of dinosaurs, sulfurous hot springs, and giant stone men, as the truth. Yes, we took a trip (in a camper) to see Dinosaur National Monument in Utah, Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, and Mt. Rushmore National Memorial in South Dakota. True.

But, all of the others held an element of truth:

1. The least true of them all, although I do have a score of unusual birthmarks and one sort of looks like Texas.

2. I did have a cat named MacArthur (General MacArthur was his full name). The others...not so much.

3. I didn't write the story, but I had plenty of nightmares and trouble sleeping after that funeral.

4. I dated a pre-med student once. (at least she said she was pre-med...) We did look at cadavers. She wouldn't let me snip an ear, though.

5. Oh, you know I will. I just can't keep doing it every week. (too many irons in the fire)

7. Totally true except for the part about stabbing the other kid. What did I offer for the exchange that year? Two Star Wars action figures from Return of the Jedi. What did I get? Lifesafers. Suckage.

So I lie. And I lie well enough to hide the truth some of the time. Do you feel robbed? Am I a thief of the first order?

Hope not.

But Robert Swartwood has a nice post today about a different kind of thief, and he raises questions that bear serious discussion. As to the New York Times article about e-book prices, just remember that stakeholders (editors and their ilk), have a stake or investment (hence the name "stakeholder") in keeping themselves relevant. And they are relevant. For now.

Me? I'm done giving away my work for nothing. Meaning, I will still give away my work to venues which increase my audience (I told you I was a liar), charities, and direct-to-my readers. Me to you. Free doesn't need a middle-man unless that middle-man brings something to the table (e.g., bigger audience).

I've got something free to offer in the next couple of weeks. Me to you. We only have to invite a middle man if you want.

Edited to add: You can preview a bit of "Empty Vessels" a short forthcoming in Morpheus Tales #8, here.

More Book Trailerage

First, a new trailer for Fifty-Two Stitches...

Then, go read Robert Swartwood's lovely "Dead Weight".

Finally: start writing.

The submission window for year two starts on Halloween, 2009. Guidelines here.

When Bad Guys Win

My wife plays kickball on a highly-competitive summer league here in Lawrence. You read that right: kickball.

Her team made it to the final four this year (out of like 30 teams). They lost last night to the eventual champions. I'm okay with losing. Losing is part of life. So is winning, sometimes. On rare occasions, you even tie.

I'm not okay with #4. #4, a player for the winning squad, is an ass. Aimee's team, The Eastsiders (don't ask...we live on the west side of town), played the champs twice this season. In the first meeting, #4 whined about numerous calls and even knocked the ball out of play after being thrown out, allowing one of his teammates to take first base. "That's how I run," he claimed. I don't see a lot of grown men, especially those involved in competitive sports, running with one hand wagging over their buttocks like a tail, but maybe that's just me.

The point is, #4 was a jerk last night, too. Whining about calls. Faking kicks. (this league needs a strike rule...seriously) Dropping a fly ball to catch two base runners in a dirty double play. (this league needs to reinstate the infield fly rule...nobody drops a fly ball in the infield except on purpose...right #4)

But his team won. Not only the semi-final against The Eastsiders, but the whole enchilada later that night. Congratulations, of course, especially to the gracious, sporting members of your team. But you're still a dick, #4, and you'll have to live with that.

__________

Today is the deadline to submit Hint Fiction for Robert Swartwood's Hint Fiction Anthology. I have two bits that I'm riding the fence about, but I might as well sub them, right? Losing is part of life. Sometimes winning is, too. But I can't do either if I don't try.

Vintage Sunshine

(with acknowledgements to Catherine J. Gardner for the title)

Two boys wiggle through the last few feet of earthen tunnel and drop, one after the other, onto the concrete slab below. Small puffs of dust dance into their flashlight beams.

“Bomb shelter,” the smaller boy says. "Really old bomb shelter." His draws his beam across a shelf of cans. The labels, once displaying bright fruits and vegetables with bold words, now wear a layer of filth that mutes the colors. “S’pose there’s still anything in these cans?”

“Dunno,” the big boy mutters. Shooting from the hip with his flashlight, he lumbers to the shelf in front of him. “This one looks good.” He sets the light on the shelf and pulls the can toward him. “Heavy,” he grunts.

“Look, maybe we should go…”

“Shine your light here,” the big boy says. He pulls a shiny device from his pocked and digs around the lip of the can. The tiny machine makes a dull hum as it cuts through steel.

“Really, should you open that? It’s been down here for what, a couple hundred years…”

“Shut up.” The big boy folds his tool and latches onto the can lid with his fingertips. He peels back the metal disc and fumbles for his flashlight. A crash sounds, followed by the metallic thunk of cans hitting the slab floor.

“Sorry…I tripped.”

The big boy frowns, turns to the can, and shines his light inside. A smile creeps over his frown. “No shit,” he mumbles, thrusting his hand inside. A moment later he fishes out a few limp, pale-green tubular objects. “Green beans.” He brings them to his nose and sniffs. “Still good, too.”

“You’re not going to…”

"Watch me." The big boy pushes a few beans into his mouth. “Well-aged,” he mumbles through the green mush.

__________

Now you know why I don' write science fiction.

I'm holding on to the other titles, hoping to make something out of "Rats with Long Legs" and "Hard Pressed". This little ditty is for Robert Swartwood: a story (almost) shorter than the title.

"How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You That The Dog Ate My Homework, Madonna Spit In My Face, And Aliens Abducted Me Three Times But Only Probed Me Once?"

"It wasn't even painful," Marcy said.

June frowned. "Getting the F on your paper?"

"No...not that."

"The spit?"

"No, silly."

"Oh," June said, nodding. "That."

"Of course, it would have been nice if I didn't have to ask. I figured 'third time's a charm'. Right?"

__________

Have a fantastic weekend.