WIP Wednesday: You're a Writer, So WRITE

Anyone who has been paying attention to the little "Write 1 / Sub 1" update at the top of the page might notice it hasn't changed in the past few weeks. I know how these things become "wallpaper" and easily ignored...

Well, I haven't subbed any new stories in the past three weeks. I have four awaiting edits (hmmm, WIP). One is very short with a very long title: "Items Found Above the Bathroom Ceiling in Room 215, Best Western North, Wichita Kansas". Another is longish and needs some serious work, but I love the premise ("The Night of the Blood Moths"). So yeah, editing. "The Sons of Chaos and the Desert Dead" is in the queue for one more pass before sending it off, too. Editing.

Then I'm writing a novella for the hell of it. Because I want to. There will be blood.

One of the items from "Items Found Above the Bathroom Ceiling in Room 215, Best Western North, Wichita Kansas":

One worn copy of Stephen King’s Night Shift, paperback, 1979, with several pages missing (123-167).

WIP Wednesday: Tales of WIPs Past, Present, and Future

Hellnotes posted a great review of Shock Totem #3, and I'm thrilled to say the reviewer liked my story. "Wanting It" had a long and winding road before acceptance. For example: Ken Wood (editorial genius) and I exchanged several emails about what the narrator would call his butt. Anyway, the reviewer (Dave) had this to say:

"Facing facts leads to an emotional hurt that lyrically lingers in this lovely and haunting story."

Read the rest, here.

I'm working on Borrowed Saints (letting Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead cool before another editing round). Parts of the book are much better than I remember:

She held the razor up to the mirror. The black mouth of the mirror girl opened, anticipating.

Phoebe blinked.

Make it pretty.

So, yes, there's a fair bit of cutting in the book. And voices. And ghosts. Oh my.

WIP Wednesday: Weeding the Word Garden

I'm slashing and hacking through the latest Sons of Chaos novella. The first half--el stinko. I've spent plenty of time and ink getting it close to "okay". The second half, mostly action, chase scenes, and killing monsters, is much tighter. I'm also about halfway through a beta read of a rather strange novella for a delightfully strange writer.

But am I writing?

Yes. A little. I've taken characters and situation from one of my previously published stories and started to expand (it might grow up to be a novella some day). The first line:

Jack’s dreams brought monsters of steel and rubber and glass, hulking things which screamed and cried frigid tears.

Today's writing prompt: You hit your head while running through the woods. When you wake, you are tied down and surrounded by a group of woodland creatures discussing ways in which to kill you...

WIP Wednesday: Killing My Darlings

I don't find myself as attached to particular words, sentences, or even stories as I once was. This helps when I'm faced with the undesirable task of cutting chunks of flesh from tales which just aren't "getting the job done".

I finished drafting three stories in the past week (2,700 words, 900 words, and 1,500 words), and each needs a fair bit of trimming. An older piece has also staggered from the grave, begging for a new coat of paint.

I'm going to prune a bit today, and then move on to my first round revisions for The Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead.

And from that story which wouldn't stay dead:

Her stare rested on the blade, watching it glimmer as the sun caught its edge.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

She sniffled, but sucked in a deep breath, pushing out her chin in mock courage. “I ain’t too afraid of dying, mister. I buried two brothers already. Earl Ray was only two weeks old when the fever got him. Dean got kicked in the head by a horse at five.”

Watcher held the knife to her skin, but his eyes were locked with her face.

“Figure I’ll see them soon enough.”

WIP Wednesday: Done...for Now

My latest foray into the world of The Sons of Chaos is done. For now.

There will be edits. Oh my, there will be edits. But I did introduce Sam Isherwood's plucky little sister, Evangeline. Her favorite line:

"Sam, you know I don't like being a kept woman."

Whew.

That was fun. Here's a hint about the setting:

Treading Lightly

I'm still busy at work on the second installment of my Sons of Chaos series, wrapping up the big climax in the next few thousand words. Exciting? Yes.

Set in the late 1800s, both Sons of Chaos stories have involved interactions between"white" settlers and Native Americans. The real bad guys try to frame a Native group in the first installment. In the second story (shhhh...) the Sons are back to their usual tricks. The real balance, for me, is to make sure to paint the Native cultures with respect and dignity while writing what is essentially a souped-up horror tale.

I grew up in a time period of "Cowboys and Indians," bad stereotypes borne from years of Hollywood stock characters and broken-English Geronimo knock-offs. You could still buy bags of plastic cowboys and Indians at the local drug store, dollar bow and arrow sets, and other garbage. I haven't seen most of this stuff in years. Hopefully I never will again.

I'm proud of this review of Loathsome, Dark and Deep from Hellnotes which implies (albeit indirectly) I was able to avoid racial stereotypes. I'm aiming for more of the same...

WIP Wednesday: Old Friends

Thanks for all the birthday wishes yesterday. It was a good day.

I'll keep this brief because I have miles to go before I'm done writing for the day:

“Don’t worry yourself any, Sheriff.” Sam swallowed hard, remembering. He knew all about jobs too big for abilities. He’d struggled in his first month out at Broughton’s Hollow, fought hard with all the horrors the Sons of Chaos could bring. He motioned for quiet and peeled off his hat, peering over a blond rock. Below, at least two hundred yards away, the black mouth of the Old North Mine stood out against the painted yellows, reds, and tans of the hillside.

“Anyone?” Hesston asked.

Sam began shaking his head, but stopped and held back a hand.

At the edge of the entrance, a shape moved, not much more than the edge of a shadow. Sam tumbled back as a spray of rocks erupted a few feet from his face. The rifle report echoed through the valley a split-second later.

“Don’t move gentlemen.”

The voice came from behind, a deep, rough, and familiar voice.

Abraham Reaver.

I guess he didn't die, after all...

WIP Wednesday Gets Around

Let's start in Australia, where this:

has just been released. Not only is the cover art delicious (I promised scary, right?), but lookie here...I'm sharing a TOC with Terry Dowling. (I'm humbled, to be sure.) My little story, "The Weight of Children's Stories" is about stories (and caves, and monsters, and...oh just read it). Grab a copy in PDF or lovely dead tree edition.

On to the United Kingdom, which happens to be where the incredibly talented Cate Gardner lives. I've finally formatted and uploaded Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits to the Kindle store, and you know what? Cate's generously priced the book at 99 cents. Yippee! Check it out on Amazon.

Okay, so my WIP takes place in New Mexico, way back in the territorial days. 1881 to be exact, just about a year after the arrival of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railroad. Welcome again to the world of the Sons of Chaos (first seen in Black Medicine Thunder). I don't want to give too much away:

The thing had him by the throat, and the pistol fell with a thunk to the wooden floor.

So should I mention the "thing" takes out his heart? I did say scary, didn't I?