So, This Thing Happened...

Peace, Patient Perusers!

It's been nearly a year since I last felt compelled to write a post here but something very, very important happened this spring which virtually demands that I do an update. An update which, mercifully, has nothing to do with a dead celebrity or trying to save the country from political seppuku.

Six years ago ("Yikes!") I left a miserable, soul-deadening call center job. My goal: fulfill a life-long dream of being paid to write. In retrospect, it was a pretty daunting task, especially when you read some of those early posts. Cripes, I just wince at some of that stuff now.

Given the absence of any sort of guiding force in my life, I started up this very same therapeutic blog and then self-published my first novel. The former turned out to be a great way to "hone my craft", as pretentious jack-holes say, while the latter turned out to be a genuine labor of love as well as a surprising, if minor, source of revenue.

Intoxicated by the immediate feedback that comes part n' parcel with blogging, I added two new efforts: one which encapsulates my love for all things entertaining and one which celebrates my obsession for tabletop games. Each new venture got more attention than the last in terms of hit count and feedback but unfortunately it did precious little to improve my bank balance.

With my savings slowly bleeding out, I was forced to take on a part-time job. This actually turned out to be an unexpected boon since it dovetailed nicely with my interests, kept my days free to write and introduced me a whole platoon of awesome new people.

During this time the odd writing and / or editing gig came down the pike, but it typically involved helping out a friend or a family member. I don't count those as legit jobs since, IMHO, three criteria need to be fulfilled in order to really call yourself a writer. They are:

1. An impartial party must either requisition you to write a story or agree to publish something you've written based solely on the quality of your work or your body of work in general.
2. The resulting publication has to be readily available for people to read en masse.
3. You needs to get paid, yo.

Over the last six years, I've deliberately refrained from calling myself a WRITER. When asked what I do I'd always tell people "I like to write" or "I've written a book" but I'd never be so bold as to call myself a WRITER since I hadn't met all three of conditions listed above. I could have, I suppose, but it would have been the equivalent of posting me reciting a six-second snippet from an Othello soliloquy on Vine and then calling myself a master thespian.

So what I'm trying to say, in the most roundabout way possible, is that this happened:

The funny thing is it didn't happen the way everyone told me it should happen. It didn't happen because I blanketed every periodical in the nation with random query letters and pitches. It happened because I was lucky enough to get an invite to a very cool Meetup event that had nothing to do with writing and during the Meetup someone asked me what I did and I said "I like to write" and then after the Meetup I wrote an informal recount of the Meetup and then one of the people that read it turned out to be an editor and then several months later he contacted me outta the blue and said "Hey, you can write! Do you wanna write this thing for money?" and I said "Hell's to the yeah!" and then I wrote it.

Notwithstanding the fact that my editor, Joey, would be well within his rights to fire my lame ass after reading that last run-on sentence, this all took place, in the immortal words of Emperor Palpatine, "according to my desires". Lend me a few moments of your time, Kind Reader, and I shall endeavor to elaborate.

When I started this crazy quest six years ago I had two choices:

1. I could spend all of my time composing and sending out unsolicited queries, the equivalent of throwing darts at a dartboard blindfolded, and then drown under the resulting tsunami of a trillion rejection letters OR...
2. I could I work my ass off to become a reasonably-competent writer and hope that eventually someone with authority and discriminating tastes would recognize that I have some semblance of talent and roll the dice.

I decided to pursue Option #2 and now I'd like to take this opportunity to invite all the naysayers to merrily SUCK IT.  In fact, seeing this story in print finally gives me the authority to hoist a great big middle finger up to certain people (you know who you are) who wanted to see me waste my time collecting a ream of rejection letters, get demoralized, "come to my senses", throw in the towel and then crawl back to the same shitty job that I left six years ago.

Now don't get me wrong; things still ain't a bed o' roses. Between the part-time job and the writing gigs, I'm still not making anywhere close to the bank that the crappy call center job provided. Also, if I had my druthers I'd much rather be writing about social issues, creative people and board games, but ,hey, I gotta go where the money is now. 

Even if I'm eventually forced to tap out and take a full-time job for purely mercenary reasons, these personal achievements will always be there. They can't be undone. Regardless of what happens to me over the next few years, no-one will be able to strip this triumph away for me.

And to all of my loyal readers out there: thanks for visiting this blog and thanks for your support, whether it was active, passive or just plain karmic. Without your precious hit counts and feedback to spur me on, I'm convinced that none of this would ever have happened.

***

EPIC

Well, since that thing I mentioned above happened (and apparently happened reasonably well) this thing happened (see page 14) and then this thing (see page 6) and then this thing (check out page 18).

In fact, I'm pleased to report that at least five (!) other things are scheduled to happen over the next few months. Stay tuned, Tireless Reader! We're just gettin' warmed up!

FAIL

No fail today. Today is all about the EPIC. 

Cold Turkey

 
Greetings, Persistent Perusers.

During my forty...um...three years I've never come remotely close to tobacco, alcohol or drug-related dependency. Hell, I've barely even touched the stuff. All told, I think I can safely declare that I don't have an addictive personality.   

Yet now I find myself in the throes of a compulsion that may be just as ruinous. It's hobbled my finances, distracted me from potentially lucrative opportunities and even impacted my health. What is this dire pursuit, you may ask? In one incongruous word it's:

WRITING

Now, I know you're thinking: "C'mon, Dave, dramatic much?" But I'll prove it to you. Just listen for a second...

 

January gives me a chance to look back and see what I managed to accomplish during the previous year. For example, back at the end of 2011, this was my admittedly-"impossible" Things To Do list for 2012:

1. Try voice acting work.
2. Make more board game videos.
3. Attempt to find some sort of film crew gig.
4. Make my first book available to Kobo readers.
5. Keep promoting my first book.
6. Start working in earnest on my second book.
7. Produce four blog entries (!) and six reviews (!!!) per month.
8. Sell some of my crap.
9. Travel.
10. Find a practical job that will somehow jibe with this irrational creative workload whilst not driving me insane in the process.

As sad as this underachieving checklist might be, the most depressing part about it is the ending:

"Even if I manage to check off a few of these, I'll be happy.   In my current situation, 2012 is virtually rife with limitless, unpredictable and downright giddy possibilities." 

Wow. You poor, deluded, naive bastard.

I say all of this because my single-minded obsession with número siete on this list caused everything else to fall by the wayside. In fact, instead of diversifying my efforts, I started up a third blog and then proceeded to write like a possessed maniac throughout the entire year. In fact, I only managed to accomplish seven through ten on this list.

Now granted, some of these goals were either goofy and/or pie-eyed anyway so a part of me is relieved that I didn't waste a lot of time on them. For example, with the rise of iPads and other tablets, I'm glad I spared myself the pain and misery of wrestling with super-frustrating formatting issues just to appease a couple of Kobo users. 

And even though I really enjoyed the time I've spent on movie sets (documented here, here, here and here for what it's worth), I no longer have a burning desire to be a mobile light stand or a human-shaped prop in the background. And although I had a lot of fun emoting in my one and only "acting" gig, I just don't posses the level of self-awareness (nor the wardrobe, apparently) to become a career actor. Or whatever passes for "career actor here in the impoverished Maritimes.

No, the two things I really regret not doing over the past two years is making more of my own short films and writing the sequel to my first book. My very first board game video was so wildly successful (over twenty-one thousand view as of this writing, holla!) that I really should have followed up on it immediately. Also when I think about how many chapters of a new book I could have written instead of blog posts, my mind reels. And, believe it or not, I still think I've got something to offer as a voice-actor.

Anyway, a year goes by and my next "things to do list" sounds a helluva lot more sober. Self-disappointment must have been getting me down, since I reduced my goals from ten the previous year to only two:

• Break my ruinous addiction to writing
• Stop my savings from swirling down the commode

See!? Even back then I was referring to writing as a "ruinous addiction"! Clearly feeling defeated, I bashed out the following weary resignation:

"It kills me to say this, but I'm either going to have to quit these blog posts cold turkey or, at the very least, scale back my usage."
 
Well, I'll have your know that I did scale back that year. I just couldn't bring myself to quit. When you're a closet extrovert who's desperately seeking creative validation, you begin to live for that steady stream of visitor hits, the rush of positive comments and the optimistic delusion that the right person will come along, read what you've written and magically offer you a paying job for something that you're clearly passionate about. Is there any wonder why the alluring l'il devil mounted on my shoulder kept reeling me in whenever he leaned into my ear and whispered: "C'mon, man, just one more post! You know you wanna!"

Sorry, but compared to chipping away at the third chapter of a full-length novel that may or may not ever see the light of day, the instant gratification offered up by a blog entry is just waaaaaay too tempting.    

Regardless, I now find myself in the same position again, looking back at the prior year and trying to see 2014 in a positive light. Even though my monthly balance sheet still keeps going in the wrong direction, at least my savings have stopped hemorrhaging. I really don't want to hit rock bottom. As such, I gotta start making some really tough decisions. I need some help.

To follow through on this goofy addiction analogy, I seriously considered going cold turkey at first. But then I found out that the odds of this working were actually pretty slim. In fact, according to one source, only "three to six cold turkey quitters out of every one-hundred will succeed during any given quit attempt. This makes cold turkey the least effective of all treatments."  Hmmmmm, not very promising.

Honestly, my vow to quit writing cold turkey is nothing but an unrealistic, overly-optimistic New Years resolution. Taking a break from breathing would be an easier for me. Just last week I tried to go as long as I could without writing something. Within a few short days I started to feel anxious, surly, unfulfilled and vaguely depressed. I felt like I was wasting my time. I even took my unconscious frustrations out on a poor, innocent sandwich press.

So, with the cold turkey approach out of the running, I had to find a more realistic strategy. Taking another hackneyed page from the simile book, I'm going to try a Gradual Reduction combined with a little dash of N.R.T., I.E. Notary Replacement Therapy. As such, here are my goals for the coming year:

1. Keep this blog alive even if it means committing to a single new post a month and more if the  spirit really moves me.
2. Reduce my reviews to a minimum of two per month instead of striving for one a week. If I need to do more then that I'll use "Pro" and "Con" bullet points if I have to.
3. Maintain my board gaming blog at its current pace since it's clearly the most popular of the three.
4. Finalize at least one chapter a month for my new book. 
5. Start making those damned board game videos. Monthy, by rights.
6. Put more focus on writing projects that may actually yield a bit of money one day down the road. The iPad ap I've been dabbling with now gets top priority!
7. Keep looking for ways to snare the almighty dollar while keeping my mind and soul intact. At least cobble together enough scratch in order to travel someplace this year. Travel is the only luxury I really can't do without. 

Slowly but surely I'm coming to realization that writing has to be one of the worst pursuits to burden yourself with. In this age of fleeting attention spans, visual artists, pod-casters, musicians and film-makers have a huge advantage over writers, because the things they create can be experienced and enjoyed passively. Writers, on the other hand, need to engage people in the active endeavor of reading, which oftentimes ain't easy.

Even I'm guilty of literary sloth from time to time. Occasionally I'll click on a superficially-intriguing link, quickly appraise the resulting wall of text that's been magically conjured in front of me, dive in and then start to think 'Ugh, this is waaaaay too much effort. I wonder if there are any new talk show clips with Bill Burr on YouTube that I haven't seen yet?'

In spite of this, I'm glad that I gave myself so much time and opportunity to practice and hone this wonderful craft. When I first started, I really wasn't a writer. I was just some dude who could kinda string a sentence together and occasionally come up with something vaguely funny, witty and/or crude. At least I can do a reasonable impersonation of a writer now. And as such, I'm really looking forward to turning my attention to producing a vastly superior second novel.

Wish me luck, Gentle Readers, as I try to stay on the straight-and-narrow path and not backslide into temptation. If you could just feel the same gloriously-wonderful sensation of creative endorphins happily frolicking around in my head as I'm about to finish up this sad, navel-gazing exercise in self-therapy, you'd know why I'm so strung out on the written word.      

I appreciate your continued support just not, y'know, too much support. Whatever you do, don't be an enabler. If I get too much encouragement then, who knows, I might fall off the wagon and go on some crazed, five-post-a-week binge like back in the good old days.

*sigh*

EPIC POEMS   The photo that appears at the top of this post comes from this site, which features some heartfelt poems produced by real people in the throes of real addiction. Pretty harrowing stuff.

EPIC SHMALTZ:   Corn-ball but true...

EPIC SENTIMENT  Yeak, I know, I know...another Patton Oswalt clip. But, hey, the dude keeps encapsulating my exact thoughts on the overwhelming drive to practice your true calling, regardless of how financially daunting that can be. Just listen to what he says here at the 30 second mark:

FAILED ANALOGY   'Don't bury your lead...don't bury your lead...don't bury your lead...'

The White Flag

A assure you, that is John Cleese in this blurry-ass photo.

Greetings, Fellow Capitulators!

Back on the 16'th of this month I had the unique pleasure of seeing comedy legend John Cleese give a two hour presentation about his career. Interestingly enough, one of the most enduring themes of the show was the importance of luck.

According to John it was sheer kismet that his first stage show with the Cambridge Circus was elevated from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival to London's West End and then went on to tour extensively in New Zealand and on Broadway. It was pure good fortune when David Frost took John under his wing as a writer for The Frost Report where he met future collaborators Terry Jones, Eric Idle and Micheal Palin. And it was a masterstroke of fortuitous happenstance when Thames Television offered these four, enterprising young lads a blank check to produce a new show that would eventually be known as Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Although I suspect that John is short-changing his prodigious talent somewhat, I also believe that, no matter how good you are or how hard you work, sometimes you need someone with power and influence to recognize what you've got, validate your worth and give you a shot.

***        

Way back in April of 2010 I quit a lucrative-yet-thoroughly-despicable job and started writing this here blog. When I began, I had several lofty goals in mind. At first, all I wanted to do was vent about my miserable working career thus far. I also wanted to sharpen my writing skills, show that I could maintain a self-imposed deadline and avoid accusations of goldbricking. I didn't know what "goldbricking" was, I just knew that I didn't want to be found guilty of it.
 

But more then anything else, I really hoped that the blog would showcase my ability to string a sentence together. In turn I thought, rather naively, that someone in a position of influence might take notice of my previously-mentioned aptitude for sentence-stringablilty and offer me some sort of paying gig. Clearly this Pretty Woman-style scenario was the product of a fevered brain warped by watching one too many formulaic rom-coms.

Clearly, this delusion is entirely my own problem. Well, maybe writer J.F. Lawton deserves some of the blame, but mainly the onus is on this cowpoke right here.         

Alas this tacked-on, eleventh-hour, test-screened, feel-good, slap-happy ending didn't materialize for me. Sure, I made some cheddar from my book, a few shekels from the odd writing and editing gig, and a coupla bucks from the occasional background acting job but hardly enough money to be described as "sustainable". As a result, by savings account has taken more abuse then Bill O'Reilly's studio crew.     

As such, I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I've been forced to seek out non-editing / non-writing jobs that pay me actual real money. The good news is that I've found something in an area of interest that just might dovetail with writing on the side. Details not to follow, BTW, so you can exercise yer nosy proclivities some place else. 

So what does this mean for the three blogs? Well, the most consistently popular in terms of overall traffic, the board game blog, will get top priority. The days of detailed session reports are officially over and game play recaps will likely be limited to a few paragraphs with more of an emphasis placed on information and reviews. Basically, quantity over quality will become the order of the day.

I've managed to maintain a fairly regular posting schedule for my entertainment-related blog thanks to a stockpile of older, pre-written reviews which I've been dusting off and posting. Also helping to keep me productive is a self-imposed restriction that I can't watch a new movie until I review the last one I watched. Needless to say, this is pretty masochistic for someone who could routinely spazz out on three or four movies in one sitting. All new reviews will be capsule-style without a great deal of synopsis or analysis, I.E. more like this and less like this.    

Which leaves me with the sounding board you're inexplicably wasting time on right now. Regular Readers have probably already noticed that my entries lately have dwindled down from once a week to twice a month and that trend is likely to continue. This gives me a raging sad-on since this blog is by far the one I enjoy writing the most. It's free-form, creatively unrestrained and the one which feels the least like work. 

Here's the bottom line: if time retrains dictate that I can either write a chapter for my new novel or espouse some crackpot theory about Syria, gun violence or the ravages of unchecked mailbox rust, I'll probably go with the former. In fact, it's distinctly possible that I'll never write anything for free public consumption ever again.
     

And so it ends. Schadenfreuders, start your engines! 

Now, just because I've temporarily thrown in the towel it doesn't mean that my dreams have been permanently interred. At least I hope not! I still believe that my Richard Gere is out there somewhere and one day he'll notice me, foist me up and validate my real purpose for being here on this earth.

I just hope it happens before they put me in the earth.

EPIC SKIT Some inspired proto-Python lunacy on At Last The 1948 Show with John and his hilarious contemporaries Tim Brooke-Taylor, Graham Chapman and Marty Feldman.

REALITY FAIL  Sorry, but I just can't understand this world we live in. If velcro-head here can make $40,000 a night as a DJ, why the f#@k can't I make a living as a writer?  

Don't Worry, You'll Fix It In Post

Salutations, Subsequent Scribes!

True story, Star Wars almost killed its creator.

Due to a constant onslaught of one crisis after another, George Lucas nearly had a coronary while filming A New Hope.  While shooting on location in Tunisia, none of the robots would work.  A freak rainstorm destroyed half the sets.  Anthony Daniels, who played C-3PO, nearly died of heat prostration and had his own foot impaled by the costume.

Even after the production moved into the domesticated environs of Elstree Studios in London, Lucas's woes didn't end.  The seasoned British crew often looked down their nose upon the film's "kiddie" subject matter as well as its young, upstart American director.  Sometimes, after spending hours on a complicated set-up, George would be left apoplectic with rage when the entire crew suddenly decided to drop everything and have tea.  

Just when things couldn't get any worse, they did.  Lucas's startup special effects house Industrial Light and Magic hadn't lensed a single useable effects shot, despite having blown a million dollars well into production.  At the same time, Lucas was fighting a daily battle on set with veteran cinematographer Gil Taylor over the use of soft-focus lenses.  George wanted a dreamy, fairy-tale look for the film, but the prickly Taylor chafed under such specific orders.

Even the actors were overtly willful and contentious.  Kenny Baker, the little due inside R2-D2, fully expected the film to be a complete and utter disaster.  Harrison Ford was particularly critical of Lucas's dialogue, famously telling him "You can type this shit, George, but you can't say it!"  As a result, Lucas became even more depressed, withdrawn and uncommunicative.  Most of the time, his primary direction to the actors consisted of repeating "Faster, more intense!" over and over again.          

As the film started to go over budget and over schedule, another layer of pressure was introduced.  The bean counters at 20'th Century Fox gave the young director a terrifying ultimatum: either finish shooting the film within a week or the production would be shut down.  By splitting the crew into three separate shooting units, Lucas managed to finish principal photography just days before the plug was pulled.

During this particularly trying time, Lucas began to experience severe chest pains and shortness of breath.  Assuming that it was heart failure, George was rushed to the hospital where doctors diagnosed him with exhaustion and severe hypertension.  He was ordered to reduce his stress level and get some rest; two luxuries that he simply did not have.

To get the movie finished under such brutal time constraints, Lucas was often heard to say: "We gotta keep moving.  Don't worry, we'll fix it in post."  Sometimes I wonder if the young film-maker actually believed his own advice, especially after seeing the film's initial rough cut.  By all accounts, John Jympson's first edit of the film came as a crushing blow to Lucas.  It made the movie look like deleted footage from a cheap 70's T.V. cop show.

But slowly, inexorably, things did start to get fixed in post, just like he'd predicted.  ILM began delivering some groundbreaking special effects shots.  John William's grandiose score elevated the sometimes-cheesy material into the realm of myth.  And, most importantly, the masterful editing work by Paul Hirsch, Richard Chew and George's rarely-lauded ex-wife Marcia transformed the listless, boring footage into dynamic and exciting motion picture.  In fact, the trio would go on to win an Oscar for their efforts.

So what's the point of this extended title crawl?  Only this: the lesson contained herein is vital to every single writer.

Many a day I've dragged ass on a piece of writing because I'm totally convinced that what I'm writing is garbage.  But then, when I run it through two or three editorial passes, something magical happens.  First it becomes presentable, then it becomes palatable and then it become something pretty durned good.

For what it's worth: here's my current work flow:

1. Getting an Idea That's Worth The Trouble    Some may argue, with considerable evidence, that I'm not discriminating enough in this regard.  To this, I offer the eloquent rebuttal: cram it with walnuts, poncho.  Hey, at least I never have to deal with writers block, which, frankly, is the kiss of death for any writer as far as I'm concerned.  
2. Filtering Ideas Through A Pen Is Like Pumping Oil Through A Straw  As long as I've got  a stout cup of dark roast coffee in front of me I usually don't have any problem getting my ideas down on paper.  But the process is hideously inefficient and often results in wastage.  I think that's why most people despise the process of writing.  By the time they're done scratching up a journal or mashing their keyboard the Übermensch concepts frolicking around in their head come out looking like something in a David Lynch movie.
3. From Analog To Digital  I often subject myself to this additional step which I admittedly have  a love/hate relationship with.  Although I'm currently typing this directly onto Blogger's blank-white compositional face, I often do a first draft on looseleaf.  I usually do this with my "work-related" movie reviews but sometimes I just wanna write in a coffee shop and I don't want to drag my laptop along with me.  Sorry, but feverishly scribbling something onto filler paper always makes me feel like a kid again.  Even better, people look at me as if I'm going math problems with an abacus.  Despite this seemingly archaic method, I can usually expunge my ideas a lot quicker via these frenetic chicken scratchings then with the old hunt n' peck keyboard method.  To be perfectly candid, I actually hate typing stuff into a computer.  In fact, I despise it with all the fire of a million suns.         
4. Three Words: Fine Tooth Comb  Seriously, folks, this is where the magic happens.  To all the prospective writers out there: don't be discouraged if your first draft looks irredeemably stillborn and twisted.  You'll be surprised what three editorial passes will do for any nebulous chunk of poetry or prose.  On the first read-though, you'll wipe away the embryonic fluid and gently gather your fragile creation into your arms.  With the second bash, your ideas will shakily come to their feet like Bambi on ice, anxious to impress.  On the third and final brush-up, your brainchild will now be standing erect, hands on hips, with bright eyes beaming in a silent challenge to be appraised and appreciated.  

So, please, don't become despondent when you sit down to write something and it comes out all wonky.  Just tell yourself "Don't worry, I'll fix it in post."  It certainly worked out for Star Wars, didn't it?

Note to self RE: the Star Wars prequels: consider writing blog entry about the importance of collaborating with people more talented then yourself.  

EPIC EDIT  See, judicious trimming makes everything better!

EXCISE FAIL  Although her ample contributions to Star Wars have been excised from history like a member of the Politburo, fans really owe a debt of gratitude to Marcia Lucas.

2013's (Hopefully) More Realistic 'Things To Do' List

This time last year I posted a pretty massive list of things that I wanted to achieve in 2012.  

This year I'm paring things down to two (hopefully simple) goals:

1. Break my ruinous addiction to writing.
2. Prevent my savings from bleeding out like Marcus Fenix during a full-scale Grub invasion.

I love my life right now.  I love getting up every day and nurturing instead of ignoring the creative thoughts germinating in my skull.  I love exploring these ideas through mad loose leaf scribbling over a cuppa joe.  I love the process that occurs when I trap these thoughts in electronic amber, refining them twice before releasing them to the world.  Above all, I love it when people read what I've written and give me feedback.

There's only critical thing missing from this seemingly perfect equation: I'm not making any money.  Y'know, money...scratch, shekels, dinero, cash, bread, currency, cheddar, dough, rupees, coin, capitol...friggin' greenbacks.  I.E. those numbers on a paycheck or scraps of colored paper that we receive in exchange for goods and/or services rendered?  I.E. that mass hallucination which arbitrarily assigns a relative value to everyone and every thing in our society.

Hmmmm, for some reason the NHL settlement just popped into my mind.  How odd. 

Anyhoo, this irrational compulsion to write has set me on an inexorable collision course with the iceberg of financial ruin.  In fact, because of my three-to-five-times-a-week-habit I didn't even attempt to do most of the things on last year's list.  

It kills me to say this, but I'm either going to have to quit these blog posts cold turkey or, at the very least, scale back my usage.  As I transition back into some nebulous, yet-to-be-determined "real" job, these posts will become less about composition and research and more like diary entries.  I just hope that I can find a paying gig that offers even a fraction of the bliss I feel whenever I'm writing something.

I honestly didn't expect to degenerate into a word-slave when I started exploring the blog culture over two years ago.  My first tentative posts were only designed to hone my skills as a writer and maintain a regular production schedule.  In doing so I was hoping, rather naively, that some hypothetical employer would notice that I could string a sentence together, work under self-imposed deadlines, and attract a healthy cadre of followers.  In my warped imagination I though that this might lead to some sort of regular paying gig.  Surprisingly, this hasn't materialized yet.

I also recognize that I should have paid my dues as a writer back when I was in my twenties, not now.  It's forgivable to be dirt poor in your twenties but it's considerably less romantic and indie when your forty.  In fact it's kind of, hmmmmm...what's the word I'm looking for...oh yes, pathetic.    
 
Now, I certainly don't regret using the last two years to practice my craft.  In fact, I think I've exhibited dramatic improvement as a writer, editor and all-around embloginator.  But as I've come to learn rather painfully: producing content is considerably easier then parleying it into a career.  Although I'm still holding out some hope for an It's a Wonderful Life-style resolution to my story, I now know that life isn't like the movies.  No-one's going to magically materialize out of the ether and grant me some semblance of a future.

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, after Kirk has become disillusioned with the administrative assignment of Admiral, Spock tells him: "Commanding a starship is your first best destiny.  Anything else is a waste of material".

If the last two years have taught me anything, at least I can say with total confidence that my own "first best destiny" is to be a writer.    

Unfortunately if I keep blindly pursuing this destiny, I'm gonna end up wasted by the material.      



EPIC SUPPORT  I just want to say a hearty thanks to anyone who's ever contributed to my hit count either here or at my entertainment site or my gaming blog.  If you're a regular reader and you want to help, honestly the best thing you can do is pick up a copy of my book in paperback for $19.99 or the e-version for a paltry $4.99.  You can also throw a coupla bucks my way by using the Paypal link above.  Considering the state of my finances, these donations should technically be tax deductible.    

Honestly, I had no illusions about becoming J.K. Rowling-rich while persuing this racket but I'd love to  keep writing without loosing my shirt.  The funny thing is, if all four-hundred and twenty-three people who read last year's "Things To Do" post had donated a dime to the blog I'd actually be well on my way!

NOT GETTING PAID TO DO WHAT YOU LOVE?  YOU'RE FAILING AT LIFE!  Honestly, I understand the world less now at forty then I did when I was twenty.

FAILED PRIORITIES  If this douchebag can get paid over five million dollars a year to chase a friggin' black rubber disc around a rink (or not in the case of this disastrous season) then I don't think it's unreasonable for people in creative pursuits to earn enough money to pay for basic living expenses.
    

Kill Your Darlings

Aloha, Audacious Alphabetorical Art-o-philes!    

When William Faulkner wrote “You must kill your darlings” he wasn't referring to what your neighbors are thinking when your pack of Pomeranians start the act of collective barkening at 2 am in the morning.  He was referring to the nigh-heartless attitude towards editing that all good writers must learn to embrace whilst writing in flagrente as well as post prose coitus.

After my patron saint for the arts moved on to another division in the company I soon lost my dedicated weekly writing day.  In spite of this jarring leg sweep I'd seen enough progress on the book during this time to ensure that this was only the briefest of setbacks.  My momentum now was juggernaut-esque and I dedicated every free moment to completing the first draft.

When this was accomplished I wasn't quite sure what to do with my Frankenstinian creation.  I read back through it once and made some superficial corrections and improvement.  I showed it to a couple of  people.  And then...nothing.

It went to fallow for a long time until I discovered the aforementioned Stephen King memoir On Writing.  After voraciously devouring that book, I discovered to my giddy thrill that I was already practicing quite a bit of what King suggested neophyte writers do.  I also uncovered some truly fantastic tips that made the process of Darling-euthanasia fairly painless.     

Here's a list of his biggest Do's and Don't and my own personal take on whether not I was already a practitioner, if I adopted his advice or chose to avoid the suggestion like the plague.  Ready?  Okay, here we go!

1. Write What You Know and Tell The Truth  This is some solid advice right here.  I followed it in the sense that I was already quite familiar with Greek and Shakespearean tragedy as well as Medieval history.  Granted,  I didn't know a lot about the aristocracy of Italian city-states in the Middle Ages, but I researched what I needed and since my book is historic fantasy, I fudged the rest.  I was also pretty comfortable (as most of us would be) writing about familial dynamics.  King goes on to make an encouraging point: just because you've spent your entire life as a chartered accountant doesn't mean that you shouldn't write a sci-fi novel.  Just consider the possibility of writing about chartered accountancy...IN SPACE!!!  After all, most readers are looking for "echoes of their own lives and experiences" while reading a book.  I thinks this goes to great lengths to explain why I tend to fly though contemporary novels and often drag ass when reading the average fantasy book.  It's usually because so many works of fantasy don't really bother to include anything relevant to the life a modern-day person. 
2. Adjectives and adverbs suck.  Amen, brotha!  Writing something like:  "Adele had petulant eyebrows" not only sounds gut-bustingly awful it's also shamelessly lazy.  If Adele is supposed to be petulant, show her being petulant in behavior not on her forehead.  
3. Beware of Crappy Metaphors and Similes  I was initially quite guilty of this and I think a lot of budding writers suffer through an unfortunate bout of this as well.  In order to prove that they're "lee-jit-uh-mit" writers, a lot of folks will do the literary equivalent of jumping up and down, waving semaphore flags and screaming: "Hey!  Lookit me!  I'm a writer!  I've got style!  Look at how clever I am!"  Well, I hate to break it to you, Beulah May, but when you write stuff like "Bob fought like a jackal" (or worse: "Bob fought like a deranged jackal") you actually look like a schmuck.  Go sit down...James Joyce hates you now.          
4. Speed Doesn't Kill, Bad Dialogue Does  This could be the hardest thing for inexperienced writers to do properly and it's often virtually impossible to improve.  It's also, as it should be, a literary deal-breaker. Your either gonna be able to write good dialogue right now or you can't.  The main reason for crappy dialogue is often the writer's own social inexperience and ineptitude.  If you haven't been around a lot of different people in your lifetime and were weaned on network television, your characters are likely gonna sound like a bunch of maladjusted shut-ins.  Or, even worse, they'll all sound the same.  King makes the observation that even a descriptive genius like H.P.Lovecraft was wretched with dialogue.  As soon as he stopped cataloging the thirty-third tentacle on the unspeakable horror approaching the narrator and that character had to actually verbalize something, fuggedaboutit.  Speech by rural characters or characters of race were particularly wince-inducing.  Frankly, Lovecraft makes George Lucas look like Aaron Sorkin.  Now, although I grew up a somewhat shy and sheltered kid, my self-induced tenure in university residence and then immersion in two massive call centers soon allowed me to develop a good ear for realistic, naturally-flowing dialogue.  Even when I decided to make my characters sound contemporary to appeal to modern-day readers, I still had to ensure that they  actually sounded like real human beings communicating naturally with one another.  In fact, if I'd stuck with a "Middle English" mode of speech it would have been easier to pull of since most people wouldn't have had a clue what they were saying to one another.  But that kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it?  One bit of good news: if you follow King's advice to "write a lot and read a lot", eventually your dialogue-writing capabilities should improve. 
5. Be Conscious of Showy Literary Gimmicks  This sort of dovetails with Point # 3, but in a way it's worse because it usually eats up a ton of unnecessary space.  Once again, you usually see this coming from a rookie novelist who's trying too hard to impress people by trotting out the literary lug nuts in his or her stylistic toolbox.  Even the Mighty King has been guilty of this one as anyone who's ever read Carrie can testify.  King's first published novel is chock-a-block with showy newspaper clippings and diary entries.  Frankly, the time spent on such gimmicky things would have been w-a-a-a-a-a-y better spent on developing the main character in the book's "here and now".  Mercifully I'd manged to steer completely clear of anything like this in my own book.  The closest I came was in Chapter Forty when I had the Rogues speak only in dialogue to one another to see if readers could discern who was saying what to whom.  It was a simple, Hemmingway-like experiment to see if I'd done my job as a writer to make each character's voice sound unique and identifiable.  Best part about it: it actually decreased the book's page count, not increased it.
6. Symbolism ISN'T One of Those Gimmicks  In fact, it's an awesome tool to help re-enforce your theme, increase repeat reader appeal and give your audience some unconscious tasty bits for their brains to gnaw on.  In my book I took my dedication to symbolism quite...um...literally.  The number three features prominently in the book and it ties into the Triple Sword sigil and the 'Strength, Wisdom, Courage' mantra that no less then three major powers are all vying for.  I could go on but I've already said too much...
7. Two Drafts and a Polish Should Do...Not!  I actually went a wee bit further.  Actually, I went a lot further.  I read through it, made any glaringly obvious corrections, followed the procedure laid out in Step # 12, made corrections and revisions based on their feedback, and then did something totally nuts.  I re-read every passage of the book, out loud, four times in quick succession.  The neighbors probably thought I'd gone loopy, but by the time I was done, any wonky descriptions, tinny bits of dialogue and gratuitous adverbage had been exorcised.  Basically, I wanted to eliminate any passages that might cause me to trip up if I ever had the privilege of reading the book in public.  Remember: Your Darlings.   Kill 'em with impunity.  
8. Finish First Draft Before Waving It Around  In retrospect, the dude at the Nova Scotia Writer's Federation actually gave me some solid advice here.  Make sure the first draft of your book is completed to your personal satisfaction before letting anyone else paw all over it.  This will ensure that, at the very least, it's free from undue influence and the oft-corrupting powers of committee decision.  No matter what you say about it initially at least it's still the product of one clarion voice. 
9. Give It A Six-Week Burial  After that first draft is done, put it away for at least six weeks.  Go work on something else.  Clear your head.  Forget about THE BEAST in the desk drawer.  King maintains that time and distance will allow you to tackle the book with fresh eyes and make the Darling-related executions far less painful.  Lord know I followed this advice but I think I did six years instead of six weeks. Yeah, don't do that, BTW.
10. Editorial Book-Keeping  When you sit down to do your first edit, make sure you're equipped with a pen and separate pad of paper.  Record page number, line reference and the desired or suggested correction.  Personally, I didn't do this for my own first edit, I just made changes right in the manuscript. Having said that, one of my trusted volunteer readers/guinea pigs adopted this fastidious strategy all by herself and, bless her heart, it turned out to be ludicrously helpful.
11. "Plot Hole!  'Roit Ahead!"  Be on the lookout for plot holes so gapingly big you can drive a Mack Truck through 'em.  Someone once said that "if there's a gun that's described over the mantelpiece in Chapter One is has to be fired by the end of the book".  'Nuff said.
12. "*PSSST!*  Wanna See My Captain's Log?  Show your beloved tome to two or three trusted friends. These people should represent your ideal reader but also stand in as fair and constructive critics.  Hell, I even subjected my three test subjects to a friggin' survey!  King suggests that this process be fairly democratic and I mostly concur with him.  Now, I don't believe that your readers should dictate major elements of your story, but if you hear the same concerns over and over again you seriously need to look at changes.  For example: if one reader loved the way a character was miraculously redeemed at the end of the book and another hated it, consider it a draw.  However, if everyone surveyed thought that it was completely improbable, you may want to do a few revisions.  One major caveat: if in doubt, make sure that your novel doesn't become the equivalent of a "choose-your-own-adventure" book.  Too many good movies are homogenized and subsequently ruined this way.  If you decide to alter your original ending just make it's not because someone said: "Well I just wanted it to be happier" or "I wanted the hero to end up with the girl".  Frankly, most people are unhealthily enamored with convention.  If they want something that white-bread, encourage them to watch reruns of  7'th Heaven.
13. "Get Along, Little Plotty, Get along!"  Have your test readers really pay attention to the book's pacing.  Again, this is very important if your book is loosely plotted since the danger of meandering is considerably higher.  As I've previously detailed, before sitting down to write I'd always jot down a one-sentence description of what I wanted to see happen in the next chapter in order to drive the story onward.  I think this tactic kept me pretty well on course based on the feedback I've received thus far.
14. Second Draft Is The First Draft Minus 10%  Again, this is more appropriate for authors who write without plotting.  This is not to say that I didn't mercilessly cut, hack, chop, jettison, raze and demolish Kaiju-style anything that failed to serve the plot.  Remember, don't be afraid to push your Darlings down the steps and then kick them in the sternum a few times to make sure you've properly killed them.
15. Flashbacks are Boring  King follows this up with the following truism: what will happen is always more important then what has happened.  If you don't believe me, just have a look at those crappy Star Wars prequels.  As King puts it ever so delicately: everyone has a history, unfortunately, most of it isn't very interesting.  In my book, there were a few times in which I had to resort to a super-brief flashback for the sake of story economy but it didn't happen very often.  I'm a big proponent of the old writing adage:  show, don't tell.        

I'm tellin' ya, fellow fledgling writers...this is some Grade-A solid advice right here.  Seek out On Writing.  Read it.  Embrace it.  Become one with it.         

You'll thanks me later.

EPIC  The invaluable tome in question:

       
HILARIOUSLY EPIC:  Comedian Patton Oswalt illustrates what will happen is always more important then what has happened in the only way he can.  WARNING: not suitable to work.  Like, at all.      



FAIL  Bad dialogue is everywhere.  Do your best not to contribute to it's proliferation!

http://www.ew.com/ew/gallery/0,,20174698_20399906,00.html

Saviour

And a Fine Mahok To You, Hallowed Reader!

Before I start prattling on about the editing of my book, I wanted to discuss something that, technically, should have been covered in my previous entry about the challenges that writers face.  It's a biggie, so I thought it deserved it's own separate mention.  It's a big, hairy bugbear that stands directly in your path like a bully and pushes you down on your well-intentioned ass.

That challenge is TIME.

For most creative types who work a full time job, time is most assuredly not on your side.  There's the time you allocate getting ready for work, there the time you burn getting to work, there's the time you spend actually at work, and then there's the time you waste getting back home.  Add in various other errands, chores, and responsibilities and it's little wonder why aspiring writers don't just say f#@% it, fire up the ole' X-Box and then spaz out in a virtual world where they actually feel like they're accomplishing something.

And perish forbid if you've got kids to take care of.  Maybe one day when I'm independently wealthy as a self-employed writer I'll consider replication but until then I'm gonna avoid parenthood like the movie Zookeeper.   

I say that not to be miserable, but because it's the way it should be.  It's been my experience that people who hesitate to have kids (and actually ponder the ramifications of parenthood) are the one who actually  should be having kids.  As I've stated clearly right here, as far as I'm concerned, as soon as you start spurting out mini-me's you're livin' for someone else from there on in.  IMHO, your feeble, bulls#!^ self-concern should be as dead as acid wash jeans.

Now, mercifully, around the time I began the book in earnest I also became convinced that T.V. was a vast, time-sucking wasteland.  Like Steven King says, if you've got the time to watch crap like Sarah Palin's Alaska then you've got time to write. 

Indeed both of us are in complete agreement when he records in his memoir On Writing that in order to be a good scribe you have to do two things: read a lot and write a lot.

Although my idiot box was collecting a lot of dust at the time, I wasn't really reading as much as I should have. This is a character flaw in me that I struggle with to this day.  I either blow through a book in a few days (usually anything contemporary and written by Irvine Welsh, Chuck Palahniuk or Douglas Coupland) or it takes forever (witness my recent experience with Pillars of the Earth) or I just abandon the damned thing because I'm bored with it.

Okay, let's all swear this right now, Determined Readers: "I hereby do solemnly pledge that I shall emancipate myself from the Plasma/LCD teat and read at least four books a year.  We'll DYB, DYB, DYB, DYB and we'll DOB DOB, DOB.  Hey, nonny, nonny, etc, etc."

After all, according to Unca Steve: "A day without a book is like a day without sunshine", and let me tell ya, folks, us poor Vitamin-D/Spring-deprived slobs on the East Coast here really know what it's like to be livin' without sunshine lately.  I swear to God I'm developing Rickets.        

Although I was slack with the reading, I tried to write whenever I could.  Between calls at work.  When I was left alone at a coffee shop.  After being abandoned by my wife in a mall and turning up at the Lost n' Found looking dazed and frightened.  If I was left home alone for a time.  Any moment of peace I had I'd endeavor to compose a spot o' prose.

Trouble was, these moments were fleeting.  The opportunities weren't consistent enough and huge stretches of semi-abandonment threatened to occur.  As a result, the process began to drag.  Things got worse after the whole Sears debacle.  In September 2000 I started a new full-time job with a major American office supply vendor.  I don't want to give away their name but it rhymes with an ancient southern Italian city close to Mount Vesuvius.  Called Naples.

The fixed nature of the nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday, forty-three hour a week job dove-tailed very nicely with my wife's schedule, but now I didn't have any randomly scheduled middle-of-the-week days off when I could work on my book.  As my life became more regimented by this new job my opportunities to spend time at home working on the book began to fall by the wayside.  Despair and desperation began to set in and I secretly feared that it would never be finished.    

Before I started this new gig I spoke to people working there to see if they could give me the inside scoop on what managers were good to work for and which ones were Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs.  I'd used this same tactic in university to find out which Intro Philosophy profs would force you to mathematically chart arguments and which ones would play audio tapes of Monty Python skits.  

My future co-workers/moles put in a good word for me and said in no uncertain terms that the team I wanted to be on was Linda Shaughnessy's.  As soon as met her I instantly knew why.  Linda was possessed of a warm disposition, a creative soul and a genuine desire to keep her people as happy as possible in such a challenging environment.

As such, a year or so later when we were in the middle of my performance review we somehow got on the topic of art.  I may have mentioned my Dad's paintings at the time and I was impressed to learn that she also liked to paint.  Then, of course, came the inevitable question:

"So, do you have any artistic talent yourself?" she quizzed.

After I got over the initial shock of her not asking: 'So, what do you paint?' I spilled the beans about my book.  Right off the bat, Linda was inordinately sympathetic to my plight.  A few days later, after I brought my MONSTER IN A BOX in to show a few people, she took me into her office and told me:

'Look, if I get you some extra time every week, do you think you can finish it?' she asked.

'Yes!', I shouted, throwing her for a loop.  'You're darned tootin' I can!'

I could scarcely conceive that this gracious lady was going to bat for me over what a lesser manager would likely make fun of.  I was even more shell-shocked next week when she took me aside and said:

'Look, David, I managed to get your shift adjusted.  From here on in you'll only work Monday to Thursday.  You'll have Fridays off to work on your book.'

I was so happy I think I cartwheeled out of her office.  Knowing what she'd likely gone through to procure this privilege for me, I vowed then and there not to squander my rare opportunity.

That Friday I used my newly borrowed time to attack the nigh-dormant manuscript.  The consistent effort of that day and many that followed really helped the book's narrative flow take off.

I can say in all confidence that my book would never have been completed without this woman's charitable intervention and for that I will be eternally grateful.  Needless to say, when it came time to design the paperback's Dedication Page, I made sure Linda's name was included:

For Linda Shaughnessy for understanding the importance of creative needs over business needs.

EPIC  To get a jump on our minimum "Four Books A Year" pledge, here are four contemporary books that I positively flew through:



FAIL  What the eff is Rosario Awesome doing in this cinematic turd?!?

The Easy Part

And a Kind Greeting To You, Incessant Reader!

Last time I talked about the initial spark that inspired me to write my first novel.  Little did I know that my initial approach to tackling the book put me in direct opposition with the greatest contemporary author of horror, suspense, fantasy and sci-fi....none other then Stephen King.

I wouldn't know it until years later, but Stephen would have chastised me for my initial approach.  Before I began to write in earnest, I sat down and meticulously plotted out every single chapter of my book right down to the very end.

Years later, after I'd finished the first draft of my book I read the following passage in King's amazing memoir On Writing:


"I won't try and convince you that I've never plotted any more then I'd try to convince you that I've never told a lie, but I do both as infrequently as possible.  I distrust plot for two reasons: first, because our lives are largely plotless...and second, because I believe plotting and the spontaneity of real creation aren't possible."   

Well, this might be all well and good when King produces a situational book like The Shining or Misery (two genre masterpieces, BTW) but as a voracious reader of his, it was also easy for me to detect when this anti-plotting stance failed him, resulting in the literary equivalent of being painted into a corner in the end.  Anyone who's ever read the novel IT likely knows what I'm talking about.  Here's an actual transcript of my thoughts in reaction to that book's finale: 

"Wow, I'm really digging this book.  I love the characters, I love the flashbacks to the 50's with them as kids.  That friggin' clown is totally creeping me out.  Oh, wait...it's not a creepy clown after all it's actually some kind of a...a giant...wow...really?  Um, okay.  Okay, sure, we'll go with that.  I guess.  But, oh yikes, now the kids are all lost underground and starting to freak out, I wonder what King's gonna do to get them out of...*Whoa!*  Really?  She's doing that? Really?!  With all the boys?  Yikes!  Man, I wish there were girls that accommodating to boys without self-esteem back when I was hittin' puberty!  Cripes!"    
  
Actually, in spite of IT's lame ending,  I actually totally agree with him.  If I was writing some slice-o'-life novel, like my own Atlantic Canadian version of James Joyce's Ulysses, I certainly would have taken the "plotless" tact.  But I'm sure that even Mr. King would have to admit that a certain amount of mercurial navigation would be required for what amounts to a fantasy love letter to classic works of tragedy such as Oedipus Rex or MacBeth.  After all, since so many of those classic plays feel like an inexorable march towards certain doom I really wanted my hapless readers screaming at the page "ABORT!  ABORT!  ICEBERG 'ROIT AHEAD!"  

So, before I sat down to write any new segment, I would start with a one-line synopsis such as:  "Justinian Gets Sacked", "Tyranis Seeks Fafnir", "Valarius Confronts Couris" or "Tyrian En Route To Darkfrost".  As such, I tackled each new chapter like the equivalent of your Language Teacher giving you a milquetoast topic like "What I Did Last Summer" except that instead of detailing my family's boring trip to Rainbow Valley, I could make all kinds of crazy shit up!

Now, that's not to say that I kept my characters confined within the restrictive rubber walls of these one-line playpens..oh, no.  They were more then free to run riot within the chapter, often spawning more one-line sequels just from their actions alone.

This is best typified by the so-called villains of the piece, the Rogue Pirates.  In the realm of Brother's Keeper, this notorious organization is born when an angry young war veteran named Tyranis gathers a pack of unemployed ruffians together to attack his adoptive home Norrvik while it sits virtually defenseless.  He organizes and leads the sneak attack for two reasons: first...to seek revenge for the loss of his father who died at the hands of Northerners and second...to raid the town's prodigious coffers.

Amidst all the treachery, betrayal, loss of life and virtual destruction of the town, Tyranis has no qualms about robbing everything of value and exiting stage left.  Then something weird happens: in an action of either mercy or guilt, Tyranis spares the women and children of Norrvik!  Not exactly the actions of a vicious, bloodthirsty pirate, eh?

Years later we come to realize that despite how nasty the initial raid might have been, Tyranis really isn't that evil.  He just came up with what he thought was a good (though selfish) idea and followed through on it.  Problem is, he now finds himself at the helm of a truly nasty bunch of professional criminals.

To make sure readers could get a feel for this, I made the decision early on to allocate almost as much face time to the antagonists as I did to the protagonists.  These two concurrent story lines alternate back and forth until both factions meet at the end for the inevitable war of attrition.

I was amazed by how readily these characters came to life: how they began to breathe, speak and do things for themselves.  Valarius goes from milksop to master of his own destiny to someone slightly unhinged.  Tyrian, like many ne'er-do-well kids who think they know everything, begins to realize that he's not so bad-ass after all.  Syrach, their father, spirals down from nominal leader to a mental train wreck after he looses track of his exponential pack of lies.  Their mother, Cassandra, initially seen as a dizzy stereotype, rises to the occasion when her husband falters.

I also had to immediately make the call as to how these characters would speak to one another.  The producers of the recent movie Thor must have had the same thoughts I had on the matter: no-one on earth will possibly relate to characters pontificating in Olde English medieval-speak.  As such, the characters in my novel speak quite informally but nowhere close to the conversational nadir that was on display in such dreck as The Adventures of Sinbad T.V. show from the late Nineties.  Sin-BAD, indeed.

In fact, I took great pains to give all of my characters their own unique voices.  Older characters such as Syrach, Fafnir and Urland speak in reserved tones when compared to younger characters and Valarius and Tyrian as kids.  Here are a few examples:

Tyranis (To Fafnir): “Obey me, old man, or I’ll split you open and smear your carcass across this deck!”

Tyrian (shaking a textbook in his brother's face): “Val, how many times do I hafta tell you these things?  You’re playing right into Syrach’s hands.  I know you better than that; you’ve got less interest in this than I do!”

Calvin (noting Fafnir's prominent absence): “He said he had pressing matters to attend to, but if you ask me, he has more brains than all of us put together.”

Valarius: (addressing a hostile heckler in enemy territory) “I am heir to the House of Aligheri, you ill-bred dog!  Now take me to Couris before I imprint this ring’s crest between your beady eyes!"

Fafnir (to Tyranis) "“I’m sick and tired of watching children steal from the bodies of unarmed merchants.  I hate this coward’s enterprise we’ve fallen into and I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

Gideon (chastising Syrach for lamenting only his own son's battlefield injuries) "Every man that died out there was someone’s son.”

Cassandra (to a recovering Valarius):  "Now that you’re getting better, you and I are going to have a little talk.  I’ve been nice to you so far because I’ve been worried but now that I know you’re going to be alright, I’m thinking about turning you over my knee and giving you a good beating!”

Now some may argue that the dialogue is a bit too informal, but my reasoning is that everything you're reading here is a translation of some language.  Since folks have a tendency to speak very informally with one another in their native tongues (with colloquialisms thrown in like the conversational equivalent of "Mrs. Dash"), this is eventually what comes though in my "interpretation".

One thing that Stephen King and I really do see eye-to-eye on is description.  After reading Sir. Walter Scott's Ivanhoe I always promised myself that I'd never subject a reader to the sort of anal-retentive color commentary that Scott was notorious for:

"His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat and cuffs with what was called minever - a kind of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and formed, it is believed, of the skin of the grey squirrel."

I won't bore you with the rest, but just suffice to say that Scott book-ends this with endless, gratuitous details about this character's temperament, stature, body type, facial features, hair, as well as every aspect of his wardrobe right down to his golden-clasped sandals.  I mean, c'mon, dude!  Give our flabby imaginations a chance to fill in the blanks!

As Stephen King wisely observes: "I find wardrobe inventory particularly irritating; if I want to read descriptions of clothes I can always get a J. Crew catalog."

I prefer just a few quick impressionistic brush strokes which affords the reader just enough clay to mould the image in their own, unique mind's eye:

"Calvin, on the other hand, was in his forty-third year and his prime was slipping behind him.  His once thick blonde mane was thinning badly, leaving his fuzzy crown gleaming in the light.  His lean, ferret-like frame was beginning to paunch, showing mostly in his face and mid-section.  Too many years of carousing, driven by coffers that knew no bottom made Calvin besotted before his time."   

And yes, then there's the ending.  Given my inspirations, the finale of the book was never in question.  Nevertheless, it was very difficult for me to pull the trigger since I knew it would likely alienate some readers who were vainly hoping for some sort of network dramedy eleventh hour miracle.  But the novel's original ending has always been what it is and, frankly, if I'd altered it in any way it just wouldn't have been true to the story, the characters or myself.   It would have been like Old Yeller, minus the inevitable double-tap. 

When the first draft of Brother's Keeper was completed I set it aside and let it go to fallow for a bit.  It's during this time that I read Stephen King's memoir about his life's work.  Despite being at loggerheads with him RE: meticulous plotting, I was actually kinda relieved to find out that I was already doing a lot of things he was suggesting.  

But I still had a lot of work to do. 

Next time out: the editing process can sometime be cruel, but after subjecting myself to it's cold auspices, I now consider it to be cathartic and liberating.  Stay tuned, kiddies: lots more tips and tricks I learned from Stephen King (and my own nominal experience) in the next entry!

EPIC:  MUST-KEEP-FLOGGING-BOOK...!
       













FAIL: I'm really, really hoping these are fake but, sadly, they probably aren't...

http://dailyblowhole.wordpress.com/2009/11/19/worst-romance-novel-quotes-ever/

MONDO FAIL  Ah, Zen Gesner, where are you now, you blow-dried pretty boy?  Cripes, he's about as Arabic- looking as Steve Buscemi...

"A Creative Force"- Part III

After poring over the arcane secrets provided by the good people at Random House I threw the Jedi storybook down in disgust.

"This can't be what really happens!" I raged. "After all, didn't 'Starlog' say that some of the actors got fake script pages just to keep the secrets safe? Maybe the storybook writer got some of those fake pages by mistake..."

But it was not to be. When I saw the film a few months later my worst fears were confirmed. Amongst my issues with the film:

* Wow, another "Death Star", huh? Real original...
* What's with all the fake-looking Muppets? Half of the creature masks look like they were cobbled together by Don Post on an adrenochrome bender.
* Han Solo may have been thawed out, but apparently he left his balls back in what was left of that carbonite block.
* Boba Fett, who's been built up as the galaxy's greatest bad-ass, dies accidentally with all the majesty of an actor in a public service television ad for workplace safety.
* Why is everything burping? Isn't there any Pepto Bismol equivalent in "A Galaxy Far, Far, Away?"
* Why is Carie Fischer acting like she's all strung out on coke? Oooooo, eeeee, sorry 'bout that...
* Leia and Luke are brother and sister?!! Look, I can handle Leia just picking Han, but this is a f#@%ing cheat! And Lucas has the gall to tell us he had this planned all along? Well, I call bull$#!% on that unless Georgie Boy had a very unconventional relationship with this sister as a kid.
* Yoda's dead? Why?! One minute he says: "Soon I will rest" and the next minute he's deader than the escaped salamander I found underneath my radiator last week.
* Ewoks. Sweet, suffering Christ I hate these fake-looking little Jeezlers. They bean themselves in the head with their slings, single handedly annihilate dramatic tension whenever they're on screen for more than five seconds, say sickeningly cutesy crap like 'Yub! Yub!" and turn in the worst piece of music at the end of a movie since "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You" drove a stake through the heart of Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

Anyway, you get the idea. Up to this point in time, George Lucas was my creative hero. I didn't understand at the time that the first two films succeeded in spite of Lucas, who has long since proved to be a conceptual and editorial genius but a complete moron when it comes to dialogue and working in collaboration with real, talented human beings.

But at this point in time a thirteen year old kid was suddenly inspired to try and do better. It's all well and good to say something sucks, but it's another to point out exactly why it sucks and then to make it better. This is what I became fascinated by.

I'd already been encouraged to start writing back in 1979 when my Super 8 Star Wars film fell apart. I'd written an extended story based on the Disney movie The Black Hole and soon I'd find myself up in front of my class reading my latest chapter to them, serial style. The saga gained so much renown that my principal at the time took my Hilroy-scribbled manuscript and promised that he's return it only after it had been typed up and copies were made available to any student who wanted one. Wow, my first publishing offer!

Well, I'm still waiting. Asshat.

Yes, that's right, MY F#@$&*% PRINCIPAL LOST MY FIRST BOOK! Hey, I know it likely sucked like a Hoover, but I would have preferred a scathing diatribe in "The Literary Review" versus completely excising it from reality. After all, Battlefield Earth still exists, am I right? Who knows, maybe he was a mole for Disney studios and was tasked to destroy any unauthorized fan fiction on sight? I hope he didn't catch up to Mike...

Discouraged, I fell into a creative lull. Eventually my spirits were buoyed considerably by a pair neo-hippie school-teacher friends of my parents who had a Golden Retriever named Gandalf (how pimp is that?) and a huge library. They lent me a slew of books like Stuart Little and Jacob Too-Too Meets the Hooded Fang, both of which were considerable departures for me. After all, despite being a budding cinephile, up to then I'd really only read comic books and film novelizations, half of which were written quite competently by Alan Dean Foster.

One particular book of theirs that caught my attention was James Clavell's Shōgun. This was fascinating to me since I'd often caught fleeting glimpses of the miniseries on T.V. and was captivated by it. You mean books could be adapted into movies and not just the other way around? Fascinating!

So inspired, my first "original" novel was Amazōn (complete with bitchin' macron) which detailed the harrowing tale of a crew of Western sailors in the 1930's being ship-wrecked on the eponymous island, which is filled with savage tribesmen, snakes, piranha, and...rather inexplicably, dinosaurs. It was kind of a fusion between King Kong, The Most Dangerous Game and a piece of poo.

Despite it's dubious quality, Amazōn did well in local circles (read: my Grade Five class) so a sequel was soon green-lit.  Return To Amazōn also acquitted itself nicely, despite featuring a team of futuristic fighter pilots (?) now crashing on the deadly island and trying to cope with ever-escalating dangers. In order to come up with "futuristic" names for the characters I was forced to steal fabric names from my mom's electric iron settings. This resulted in the regrettably dubbed "Rick Dynel" and "Dan Fortrel" as protagonists in the novel.

With space and the future as a re-occurring theme my next novel was a real quantum-leap, the post-apocalyptic sci-fi opus Enter the Oblivion.  Oblivion was set on Earth after a nuclear war nearly destroys humanity. An advanced "friendly" alien race happens by not long after and attempts to shepherd humanity back from the brink, but, naturally, they have ulterior motives.  You knew you were reading a hard core, speculative sci-fi masterpiece when one of the characters at one point employs the use of a "thermal injector unit" to make toast.  Sheeesh.

Enter the Oblivion was never completed, mainly because I was about around the age in which I'd seen Return of the Jedi.  I'd to come to the harsh realization that what I was writing was nothing short of awful.  Enter The Oblivion was merely a blatant rip-off of the television mini-series The Day After Tomorrow and Arthur C.Clarke's Childhood's End.  I needed to find an original voice.

At the same time, as I've discussed prior, we as student in school were being encouraged more and more to abandon creative pursuits and concentrate on our Sciences and Advanced Math.  Except for occasional diversions in English or Language Class, my germ of creative writing was left to fallow.

But it would eventually return with a vengeance.

EPIC:  I've actually seen worse recruiting methods...

FAIL: Could be an omen, could be an ottoman...


And also, here's this week's Star Wars-themed comic...