Working the stable...

17 years ago while attending a book fair I was bitten by a mosquito that must have just come from biting an award winning author. A drop of inspiration was transferred, resulting in a gene splice, a process that's still ongoing today. Science has no cogent explanation for it. All I know for sure is that ever since I have been writing and to date have put together a collection of 18 books that I keep safely stabled at www.seeWordFactory.com .
My family, on the other hand, claims that I haven't enough friends so I create them and surround myself with a host of characters. True enough, my books vastly enrich my life.

I like nothing better, than to disappear in one of my adventures.

In a way, my writing process devolved from a role playing game, a chose your own adventure phenomena, where I create a scenario and see how my characters deal with it as they encounter chance events. In effect, they end up writing the books. Believe me, resolution is often as much of a surprise to me as to my readers. In fact I suspect I write just to find out how things turn out in the end.

A finished book, however, is a wonderfully rewarding experience. Wrapped and packaged, out the door it goes to face the often critical world, to swim or sink on its merits. An anxious time for me, certainly. Meanwhile, back at the corral, the unpublished books mill about, demanding to be groomed to a higher level of quality. Keeps me fully busy as I cast an covetous glance towards a strand of inspiration that floats by, tempting me in a new direction. But often I have to let a promising filament go, because the corral is already full.

Partieee...!

We had a reunion... sort of.

It started with two too many glasses of a fine vintage and my mood became lugubrious. I was thinking wouldn’t it be nice to have a party right about now? But who would be available and willing at this late hour of the night?

You guessed it, just me and the bottle. We are, how shall I put it, infrequent companions. We say hello, click a glass, but rarely two. Tonight, we sort of drifted into this private moment after a long day of renovating my website (www.seeWordFactory.com).

Back to guests, however. I don’t know who thought of it first, me or the bottle, but I was telling stories about all the characters I have created, sweated over details, gave them each a persona. And the next thing you know there they were and we were having animated conversations. Before I knew it, there was music, dancing and another barrel being tapped for distribution. Marcus my Roman legionnaire was chatting up Amanda and Rufus was putting the move on Gitta (That’s not right... they promised eternal love to someone else...). Girard was ... well I better not tell you what he was doing...

The point is or was, the ones I thought were so entertaining, weren’t always, and the shy ones turned up to party, I mean really get it on. My heroes often weren’t so heroic, and to my surprise, the villains were well rounded, convivial guest who observed all the protocols. Yes Sir, my lofty, noble characters wanted to descend into chaos of the low side, and the curb side rose to meet them.

I had another glass, frankly I think by then it was straight out of the bottle (get rid of the middle man I say...) and I was thinking ... man alive, as I look around and see what I see, I would have written much different books.


I woke next morning, late, with a hangover, and a taste in my mouth that would have sank the Titanic if it had not been sunk already.

Later, as the pills mopped up some of the leftover detritus of the previous night, I thought, that how interesting it would be if I could write my own life, freely manipulate circumstances, conquer who or what I willed, rearrange my fortunes in some other way.

In the end I didn’t know how many actually turned up, but I caught a few glimpses of creatures that were part of some backstory who never even made it into one of the books. I also counted three bottles gone, one rolled way under the couch. And someone had pizza that smeared the finish of the cherry wood table...

The Downward Slide into Chaos

I had a bitch of a past week too, so I know about "moods."

First off a virus has been nibbling on the edges of my vocal cords, then to make things worse, much worse, a virus infected my computer. I fought it for five days, threw everything I had at it, downloaded stuff from the Internet but nothing quite worked. Four times I thought I had it licked, and four times it roared back. In a desperate race, I started to salvage critical files. Most I had in safekeeping already as I’m a real paranoid, and I have backup to my backup. Finally, a professional had to use 300% bleach to sanitize the machine and the thing is back, updated but with a new set of quirks I have to work around with. OK, that was one.

Two: In a spate of cold weather, my washer froze up, and trying to start, chewed through the gears. (I couldn’t remember how old it was, but I still expected it to outlast me.) A new one cost me $700. Just a basic machine, without the fancy colors and lights. I saw ones that looked like they were built by NASA and could be launched into outer space, fitted with life support, and survive reentry. They had dials, switches, push button controls, an entire console of flashing lights and zillions of programs, including single item wash cycle.

Three: On the other end of the spectrum, my son’s fridge went into a meltdown that thawed the freezer and things started going soft and soggy. That cost me another 700. Again I resisted the temptation to buy the delux versions, with French doors, ceramic colors, bottom drawer freezer compartment, and external receptacles that provided cold everything, like a vending machine. You heard me right, it could milk a cow.

Four: My other son needed a new laptop. Kiss another 700 dollars goodbye.
Five: Then the dentist called. The insurance was maxed out, and it appears I owed another 700. (Why is everything costing me 700?) This was for my middle son, luckily I have no more sons with outstanding claims on me.

Then my driveway froze. Parts of it turned into a solid sheet of ice. The ice shelf in the Arctic might be melting, but not my driveway. It had turned into a 350 yard obstacle course for the extreme sportlers.

I occurred to me that I was beset by things freezing and melting, but always in the wrong order. So I’m walking around the house, wondering what next. Savings been devastated, just when the deadline for annual contribution to a retirement fund is fast approaching. Again I’m on thin ice.
How much or how little? Come give me a figure.

So there it is. When I buy something I always turn down the extended warranty. The way I figure with the cumulative savings from all the plans, I could easily afford to replace a major item per year, but not three at one. Hence my mood swing.

One good thing, I got so hot and bothered over these happenings, that it burned out the flu that was working on me.

Or...?

I been so busy with working on my novels that I have been thinking of closing up shop here. I haven’t the time and what little I have I have to husband carefully. I have reached an age that forces me to maximize resources. My last entry was in February for God’s sake and garnered zero comments. So no one will miss me. Well, maybe a few furtive souls who happen on my blog by accident, then shy away as they note the inactivity.

I have not even installed a counter, because I didn’t want to know how many didn’t visit me. But then I started the site largely for myself, didn’t promote it or invested time in calling attention to it. I use it as a dumping ground for random thoughts, produced by the backwash of some intense effort I needed a break from. Even in the midst of a writing jag, part way through some novel, pressure builds for extraneous thoughts to accumulate at the periphery that have to be bled off. This blog is a repository of such. And then there are times between projects, that the lull produces a desire and need to write, then again this is a good place to unload.

I’m lucky for writing comes easy to me. Once my main character is established, he and I set off on a journey together, neither quite knowing where we’ll end up. Sometimes there are negotiations, diplomacy, and other times, when it is plain, brute force. At the very least a tug-of-war, where he and I fight for control. Yet, I must give my heroes credit for their contribution to all my works, and that’s why I went public, to get recognition for their own selves not just to harvest glory for my self as the author.

There is, or must be, a machine in my head that spin out tale after tale, and it is always a surprise what I find and end up with. I have 15 books, or 16, and there would be many more if I didn’t have to constantly interrupt the flow to polish something that I had written into a publishable form for outside consumption. I’m interested in the mainline plot, not about grammar and punctuation. It’s the progression of ideas and events that I find fascinating. When I write I gallop, not looking back until I have reached the end, then revisit and fix the fallen pieces or round out the fragments. But its the speed of the first run-through that’s exciting, when things get nailed down. The second pass is intriguing to fine tune and balance things out. But from then on, the anal fixation of editing and rewriting quickly becomes a chore.

Oops. Straying off topic again. I started with trying to decide whether to shut down... or...?

Writing without borders...

It’s been long enough. Nothing added since before New Years. If I were a farmer, I could say I’m letting the ground lay fallow to replenish itself. How would that work exactly? If words were left alone, would they spontaneously self replicate? Congeal into ideas, become a self-aware message? No of course not! How bizarre. Words don’t have DNA or RNA, they’re immune to evolutionary selection pressures. Well not quite. Go, rustle up some words, gather them into a book, and send it off to an agent or a publisher. You will run into selection quick enough, called market pressures. The literary highway is strewn with discarded and disowned works. (Thank goodness, for there are many poor, substandard works out there; you wonder how they ever made it… especially as your own hasn’t, yet.)

So, I’ve been busy, buzzy, bizzi. Believe it or not, I finished two novels since the last time. Some things called Where Arrows Fly and Chance Encounters. Well, not exactly finished, got through 1st and 2nd drafts. That’s when the creative impetus dies and work has to take over. Have to finish for finishing’s sake. The stories are good, it was fun working them to see where they would take me. As always I never quite know where I’ll end up, I let the story decide. What I insist on is a plausible, logical unfolding.

So now I’m looking for the next project. I’ve been thinking of a book, just the general parameters. But I’m looking at it as a product rather than a process. Would it not be something if we would have to label each work with constituent ingredients, like on the grocery shelves. Just think of it, you could flip the book to the back and read off cholesterol, carbohydrates, fats and fiber content. Let’s see if we can break it down.

First of all calories: how rich and plush is the story line in total? This is important, for this is what really puts on the extra pounds. Then of course, fat content, how much grease is there between the lines to make it a smooth reading? And then, how much of that is trans fats, overblown imagery, unpalatable writing fetishes that get out of control. Cholesterol: literary elements that plug up the progression of the plot, distracted sideways looks that contribute little to the forward progress. Sodium, intended to enhance the taste, but if overused, can actually ruin it. Potassium, I don’t even know what that means; is it good or bad for you and why? Carbohydrates: is the story too saccharine? You have seen it, too full of self-adulation, prettied up, too ornamented, overcompensating for hidden flaws. Proteins; a strong story line, the meat and bones of the thing, the engine that drives the bus to take the reader to the next level. We must not forget fiber; character development, be consistent, let them be true to themselves, it’s the thing that allows readers to digest the work safely.

So there you have it, the general outline of what I’m thinking. You could of course add the trace elements: vitamins, iron, zinc… the little things that round out the book, take the edges off sudden turns and twist, things that by themselves aren’t much but act as catalysts in combination with the more substantial fundamentals.

And given today’s health conscious climate we can’t ignore the negatives that detract: the germs and viruses, and lists of pathogens. Spelling issues are germ-like, they infest any work and lower its literary value. Viruses likewise infest, gobble up respect and weaken the entire being. Issues of grammar, incorrect punctuation fall into this class (if you see one, there are bound to be others around, so watch out) Opportunistic pathogens wreak havoc with readers’ enjoyment. These are things that lower the health of the whole book. They take over. Have you not read a book that’s so supercharged that nothing stands out of the unremitting excess. How many movies spring to mind, mindless action, one crisis after another. How about too much sex to destroy any romance? Too much glitz, evidence of poor inner life. And so on…the immune system soon overwhelmed.

The previous leads to the next consideration, medication? Change of life style? But let that be a subject unto itself on a future blog.

Amendment.

.
On sober reflection I have to issue the following amendment to my previous post.

In 2011, I will try to increase traffic on my blog.

I will also promote my website at www.seeWordFactory.com more aggressively.

Be more proactive. It seems, holding my breath had not worked too well.

Resolutions... BAH

.
December 31, 2010. The last we see of this year. Looking back, it has not been a bad stretch. We sort of survived the financial meltdown of the last two years with all its uncertainty and constant anxieties. I published Dreamcast 2, wrote Dreamcast 3 (it’s still at the printer), wrote zerodraft of Where Arrows Fly (now in third revision) and completed about two thirds of a new story I have no name for yet (perhaps The Canal Rat). So its been productive.

There had been progress in other parts of my life, but they don’t belong here. This blog is an outlet for all the leftover feelings, rants and musing of a restless mind. And please don’t assume any of it is true; I freely mix imagination with the real stuff. But if I have thought of it, and especially if I wrote it down, then it has an internal reality and occupies a track in my memory. That’s something to keep in mind. I often recall episodes in my books that have been edited out or in, and I have to backtrack to the completed product to see what the official version ended up as. "What were you thinking...?" I’m often asked, and I have to query back, "In which version?"

So it is in real life. I sometime have to ask my wife just "How things went down exactly...?"

But now here we are, starting a new chapter for 2011. I’m old enough to wonder just how many chapters are left in my book of life. Am I still climbing upward or have started on the decline? Should I be in first gear or am I still in overdrive? Not easy to tell. But life is still too much of a struggle, with aspirations ahead of me, so I must still be in drive.

But back to 2011. I resolve not to make any resolutions but to keep things as they are on their present course. There was a period when each year the list started with "I have to quit smoking for real this time..." and eventually, I did. Sometime later came "I have to write a book..." which was followed in subsequent years by "I have to finish the book(s)..."

But for 2011, read my lips, there are NO resolutions to pre-frame the year.

There will be challenges, setbacks, triumphs, miles stones achieved and passed, why burden it by artificial restrictions. I could say "This year, I will be a better husband, father or person in general..." but why force my character in some new straight jacket? Impose new borders on an already limited living space?

But you are a writer, surely you can come up with a better script for yourself? True enough. But that’s why I have my characters, to explore events and circumstances, feelings and emotions, not to forget consequences... to go where I myself dare not go.

My experience with resolutions... too often they are targets for failure. Aiming too high (insurance against success), or too low (evidence of a lack of commitment) makes the whole an exercise in futility...

Being environmentally conscious, I suppose, I could recycle something from past years... but NO!

So People, sorry, no resolution this year. Nada!