picking nits

Here's a very interesting take on the e-book revolution, from Wired Magazine. Though I don't necessarily agree with every point, I don't disagree, either. I see it as very tongue-in-cheek. Which is somewhat ironic, considering I have yet to truly benefit from this revolution. My first e-book has been VERY slow moving and, so far as I can tell, little or no marketing has been done to "get it out there." Not a reflection on the publisher at all, but more a reflection on the fact that being an "unknown" is problematic no matter what format one is published in. It's not that digital isn't working for me, so much as it hasn't started working yet. Even so, I'm busy working on the next one, in the hopes that it will be better received. Nothing different between print and digital there...

an unexpected boon

Mine has always been a very difficult muse to pin down. She can be at times fickle, scattered and even maddeningly unresponsive. Consequently, I can go for long periods without finding the words necessary to express myself creatively. Because of this phenomenon, I admit to having had second thoughts about starting this writer’s blog. That coupled with the fact that I simply haven’t been putting in the kind of time to make it viable. I’ve waffled for weeks about whether or not to simply delete it and find other avenues to explore my writing process. I’ve come close a time or two, but something always kept me from pushing that button. Now I’m really glad that I didn’t.

Late last week I received an alert letting me know that somebody had commented on one of my posts. As it was the first time this had ever happened in the five months I’ve had this blog, I was instantly curious. Imagine my surprise when I found that the comment was from one of the editors I had lost touch with when I fled Phoenix three years ago. After tracking me down through this very blog, he wanted to talk to me about including one of my stories in an upcoming anthology he will be releasing through his new publishing company. I immediately wrote back. We exchanged messages and the deal was done.

Even better, it seems he is interested in looking at more from me. His niche is Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror with a queer twist. As the majority of the stories I’ve had published, including my first solo anthology, have been in the erotica genre, this will be a nice change. I have several folders crammed with more “mainstream” (meaning non-erotic) stories that will fit his bill nicely. Haven’t had much luck getting them out there, because they tend to play with conventions in unconventional ways and it’s hard to find just the right niche. I write ‘em and file ‘em away, in the hopes that someday their niche will come.

Who knew that could actually work? Though it sounds like I’m making light of this situation, this is certainly not a trivialization. I may be lackadaisical about the publishing process, but I am far from adverse to its lure. I am extremely grateful to Jody Wheeler and his doorQ.com minions for taking the time to hunt me down and offer me this opportunity. And, yes, I admit that it wouldn’t have happened, or would at least have been more difficult, had I deleted this blog. So it gets a reprieve of sorts and I get another promising gig. The muse works in mysterious ways. I guess good things really do come to those who wait. Or waffle, as the case may be…

the play's the thing

Received some great news yesterday evening. Seems my latest stage play is going to be produced by my friend Scotty in Phoenix. I had hoped that this would be true, considering I wrote the main character with him in mind. He's already slated it for August of this year, which means I'll be planning a trip to Phoenix around that time. He's also interested in taking this play and a few other one-acts I wrote a while back on the road with his troupe. Los Angeles and San Francisco are stops under consideration, with some very interesting guest stars in talks to make appearances. The exuberance is palpable.

This is what comes from writing plays for drag queens.

I'm not complaining.

the price of a soul: a cautionary tale

What is the price of a soul? For me, it’s one percent of a film option. That’s how much I’m being paid to release my hold on a purloined property. Because of the terms of the agreement, I can’t give many details, but I am free to denounce the resulting travesty of justice to my heart’s content. Sounds like I’m bitter, but I’m really not. The situation has been dragging on for years and I’m just happy to be done with it.

As you’ve no doubt already guessed, the situation in question is theft of intellectual property. Years ago a friend and I wrote a stage play based on a classic 1950s science fiction movie that has been a favorite of mine since I was a child and is currently in the public domain. We are both huge fans of such musical adaptations as Little Shop of Horrors, Evil Dead: The Musical and Reefer Madness: The Musical. We just love that sort of thing and being the serial thespians that we are, it was really inevitable that we sit down and scribble out our own twisted take on the genre.

The result was actually pretty good. It was deadpan and true to the original, while being subversive and brilliantly funny. My partner in this endeavor is phenomenal at writing witty dialog and his expertise with double and triple entendre is masterful. He’s worked with other writers, including Peaches Christ and John Waters, and is very well known for his wordplay. To make a long story short, we ran into a little problem. We had a book, but no musical score. Neither of us are very adept in that area, so we decided to shop it around. That was our big mistake. Actually, the biggest was not getting the book copyrighted first.

Yep, you guessed it. One of the wunderkind musicians we were put in contact with was, and still is, a snake. We met with him once and he showed a great deal of enthusiasm for the project. Unfortunately, the ideas he started firing in our direction were not exactly brilliant. In fact, they were tired, hokey and more than a little juvenile. We wrote him off. He, on the other hand, wasn’t done. While we were busy talking to other people--including a very well known Broadway producer who was dating a friend of ours at the time and told us he was interested in looking at a completed project once we’d squared the music away—the Snake was busy plotting.

Some time passed and life intruded, as it so often does. I had a VERY messy divorce to deal with and my writing partner was pulled away to other projects. A year passed and I found myself living in another state. Then, one Spring day, I received a frantic phone call from my writing partner. He had just discovered that the Snake had entered a “new” piece in a national playwriting festival. Worse, he hadn’t even bothered to change the name. He’d stolen our property, dumbed it way down, wrapped his moronic musical numbers around it and was pushing it as his own.

We immediately contacted him to ask what the deal was and his response was, “Well, I thought you guys had decided not to do anything with it, so I went ahead and finished it.” He was completely unapologetic and added insult to injury by telling us that he had copyrighted his version. It was, so far as the law was concerned, his property. Yes, we probably could have made a big deal about it, but neither of us was in the position to hire a lawyer and besides, after reading his version of the script, we were convinced that his crappy, witless version of our property couldn’t possibly go far. Little did we know.

That play has now been produced by several theatre companies with questionable taste and is enjoying a modicum of success, though I’m convinced it’s only because it had a solid framework to begin with. The characters are all still the same, though the words coming out of their mouths are nothing like what my writing partner and I envisioned. For us, it’s a bit like taking the script for Little Shop of Horrors and letting the writers of the most recent American Pie moves have their way with it. Embarrassing, to say the least. The fact that we are not credited in any way is a blessing we’ve learned to live with.

Ah, but the plot thickens. Now, it seems, there is an independent movie production company interested in turning the Snake’s version of our property into a movie. Which means he has been working overtime to come up with a contract that would shut us the hell up, so he can pursue his lie. We’ve gone through several versions of the contract, in which we have been repeatedly insulted by stupid attempts at mollification, such as offering us a cameo role in the film as comic relief poking fun at our plight. Not funny in the slightest, but the man is a moron, so it isn’t surprising. We’ve gone round and round, with point spreads being offered and in the end have decided that it’s best just to be done with this business.

I don’t want to have anything to do with the finished product, IF there ever is one. Having working in the film industry for many years, I know there is a huge difference between having your script optioned and seeing it completed. Then there’s the problem of distribution. If this craptastic movie ever DOES get made, it will most likely find its way into the bargain bin at Big Lots before it ever makes it to Barnes & Noble. So, after much deliberation and hours of phone calls between my writing partner and the Snake, I’ve decided to settle. I’m selling that little part of my soul for one percent of the option price.

It just isn’t worth the fight anymore. I mean, it’s not the only thing I’ve ever written and it will hardly be the last. I’ve had my successes both before and after the writing of that script. And, if I have to be honest, as the time slips away, and as my writing partner finds more and more success in his own endeavors, the chances of us ever getting together long enough to orchestrate a musical score for our version are becoming slimmer by the month. Then there’s the problem of having to explain that OUR version is in no way associated with the Snake’s version. That’s not a discussion I want to have over and over again.

So, it’s done. The contract has been signed and a lesson has been learned. Never, EVER shop a property around until AFTER it has been copyrighted. It’s a very simple process and extremely important. By not doing so, we all run the risk of seeing our fresh, witty, intellectual properties mangled and morphed into a shambling pile of mutant fart jokes and musical masturbation numbers. It can happen. It has happened. I am a living example of this fact and have the paperwork to prove it. That and a check I will be very happy to spend. ‘Nuff said.

shifting gears

I had a very interesting conversation with the gorgon last night. Seems she feels that focusing my undivided attention upon her is making me a bit myopic. She may be right. I’ve always favored variety over the uniform, no matter how hot the person wearing it. One of the very reasons I’ve not tackled a full novel yet. Well, not fully. It isn’t that I get bored, really, so much as I tend to miss the finer points of the narrative, because the surprise factor has been negated and the long-range goals have become the paramount concern.

It’s a common problem amongst a certain kind of writer. There are those, after all, who cannot even begin to sit down and transcribe the unfolding drama within their cranial capacitors until a framework has been established, an arc formulated and a climax prescribed. Then and only then can they begin to add flesh, sinew and bone to their piecemeal creations. It’s the kind of storytelling much lauded in bastions of higher learning, where creativity is tempered and labels are eagerly earned by the easily led. Not that this is a bad thing, it just isn’t my thing.

No, I’m the type of writer who thrives on the unknown. I don’t necessarily need a framework on which to hang my phantasms. They cavort and gambol with Puckish abandon, whether I will it or not. For me, it’s enough to know that there is a story lurking, there in the darkness. A flash of promise. A beckoning finger. A glint of mischief in a capricious eye. A startling beginning that begs to be explored. That’s what I live for. Once my attention has been drawn and my mental quill liberally doused in the blood of Orpheus, it is the characters themselves who tell the tale. Most times I’m not even aware where they’re going with it or what the ultimate outcome will be. I’m not only okay with that, I crave it.

All of which makes it very difficult to return, day in and day out, to the same well of inspiration. Yes, the larger tale still begs to be told and yes, there are still a few surprises left, but for the most part, the narrative itself has been laid out like the Appian Way. Dangers may lurk around the bend, but the greater danger is creeping parochialism borne of predictability. We have come to the conclusion, therefore, that I need to step away from the book for a while. Gain an appreciation for the forest again. Which isn’t to say that I’ve given up completely on Otherwhen and the unfolding story within. Not hardly. We’ve just decided to take a break.

There are other stories that have been clamoring for my attention, of late. Dreams that have gone unrecognized. Voices that have become insistent. Visions that have become distracting. I may need to spend some time sorting through those and giving the stronger tarradiddles their due. Interestingly enough, some of those trifles may very well find themselves becoming part of the Otherwhen tapestry. They’re just that kind of concept. Others may not. It’s all good. All I really have to do is drag out the mental formaldehyde, and pin some of the winged beasties down on paper with an ornate punctuality. Get it out of my system, so to speak. Then I can return to the task at hand and give the gorgon her due.

She’s very understanding about all this, my lovely lethal gorgon. She should be. It was her idea. I wonder how much sway Pufnstuf had in the decision? Yeah, he was there, too, an officious maitre d keeping the rabble at bay while we sorted through our differences; distractions by Oscar Wilde and John Cameron Mitchell’s Shortbus ensemble orgy, notwithstanding. It’s a lush and fertile playground, my dream world. Which goes a long way toward explaining my creative ADD.

I blame it all on an oddly seductive Willy Wonka. The saucy gent has turned my head. Made me think of chocolate kisses bestowed by a lazy lash and the Hershey highways less traveled. There is a story there, just buggering to be told. And I, alas, am the humble instrument through which the madness must be funneled. I’m not complaining, mind you. Why should I? The gorgon has given her blessing, after all. And I, the avian primate that I am, must swoop to concur.

hamster thoughts

Finally, time to write. It feels good to be back in Otherwhen, even if it is only briefly. Still trying to parse through the whole Alice debacle. It isn’t really wonderland, after all. Problem is, the girl started out as an afterthought, inconveniently disposed of, if I’m going to be honest. Still, she has great importance later in the story, so fleshing her out early on stands to reason. I guess I’m just not feeling her, at the moment. Instead, I find myself falling in love with the elf, Ulric, all over again. He’s the one I really want to be writing about. I just hope I can do him justice in expanding his influence. He’s such a wild card. Just what Tristan needs, to be sure.

Side note: It’s the elder gods I’m really concerned about. Why do they do what they do? The eternal question, I suppose.

Moving on…

advice for writers

More advice from a master. Words to live by? As a writer who spends more time living than writing, I can definitely relate.

the long and winding road

It’s been a while since I posted here. To be honest, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to sit down and do any writing at all. A necessary evil to a life well lived, I’m afraid. I am currently about 30,000 words into the Otherwhen Chronicles, but have had to put it aside in order to conduct the business of self-sustenance. Yes, the evil scourge of filthy lucre must be addressed from time to time.

In the past two and a half weeks, I have written three press releases, organized four concerts, a Vegas magic show and one art exhibit, dealt with frozen pipes and a hellacious head cold and designed two posters and the first of several book covers for the publishers of Renaissance Books. All the while jotting down notes for my novel as ideas and thoughts crash through my brainpan in need of release.

Some day soon I hope to find the time to sit down and pick up the Otherwhen thread again. That day will not be today, nor will it be this week. Still way too much going on. In fact, I don’t really have a quiet moment looming for at least a couple more weeks. We’ll see. On the 25^th of this month, I hit the big Five Oh. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a writing binge for that milestone birthday. That would be sweetly satisfying.

As pipe dreams go, it’s among the best…

"The most solid advice . . . for a writer is this, I think: Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough." - William Saroyan

words of encouragement

As of this moment, I am 20,000 words into the Otherwhen Chronicles. What had existed previously as a series of loosely-connected short stories and vignettes is slowly being fleshed out into a full-fledged novel. This is proving both harder than I expected and easier in some ways, too. Easier, because having what amounts to a blueprint to draw from frees me from the contraints of plot development. I know how the story ends. Now all I have to do is fill in the blanks and smooth the transitions. Harder, because, as I’ve said previously, my predominant “style” is to let the characters tell their stories and go along for the ride as a transcriptionist of sorts

The latter is a very Bradbury-esque approach and one that has served me well through the years. Going back in to build upon already existing prose, however, is a new step for me. Oh, of course I’ve done something similar when I edit my work and find that I need to elaborate here, or clarify there, but I’ve never done anything as intensive as this. There have been entire scenes which have either been completely rewritten or disposed of entirely. In some ways, I feel like a vivisectionist, deconstructing the story at an almost molecular level, then reconstituting it in the hopes of giving it new life, like a latter-day Victor von Frankenstein. The method has both its rewards and its challenges.

Sometimes, I feel the need for a little advice, just to ensure that I’m on the right track. Writing, after all, can be a very insular pursuit. A while back, I remember reading a wonderful treatise on writing by the great Robert Louis Stevenson. Luckily, I bookmarked the website presenting those words of wisdom, so that when I felt my creative energies flagging, I might get a bit of a morale boost from somebody who actually knows a little something on the subject of writing. I mean, you can’t do much better than a recognized master in the art of literature, right?

A quick check in my bookmark file and I found what I was looking for: The Art Of Writing, by Robert Louis Stevenson. The following quote, lifted directly from Chapter IV: A Note On Realism gave me just the boost I needed, not because it told me what to do, so much as reminding me that I’m on the right track:

“A work of art is first cloudily conceived in the mind; during the period of gestation it stands more clearly forward from these swaddling mists, puts on expressive lineaments, and becomes at length that most faultless, but also, alas! that incommunicable product of the human mind, a perfected design. On the approach to execution all is changed. The artist must now step down, don his working clothes, and become the artisan. He now resolutely commits his airy conception, his delicate Ariel, to the touch of matter; he must decide, almost in a breath, the scale, the style, the spirit, and the particularity of execution of his whole design.”

These words and more can be found at the Literature Project, where Stevenson’s “The Art of Writing” are preserved in their entirety. As for me, it is time, once again, for me to don my working clothes and “become the artisan.” I just like the sound of that…

establishing the rules

It’s not a snag. Not really. More a point of divergence that may or may not be an issue. It does, however, raise some interesting points worthy of discussion. It goes something like this…

When creating a situation in which the “known world” we live in collides with the “unseen world” of magic and legend, there are choices to be made. To begin with, does the collision bring about a blending of magic and technology? Or do the two negate one another? I’ve been wrestling with this concept all weekend. I blame this on J.K. Rowling. We’ve been doing a marathon run of the Harry Potter movies, mainly because my partner, Donny, had never seen any of them, but also because I like the milieu. Call it research of sorts.

In any event, Rowling goes out of her way to keep technology out of the picture, which I find very interesting. The story of the boy wizard, Harry, is said to take place in today’s modern world. Even so, one never sees a cel phone or a computer. The few televisions that do make an appearance are brief and most likely present to put context to the Muggles who are too wrapped up in their own world to take notice of the magical one surrounding them. This is an interesting approach

Donny and I had a short discussion about this phenomenon and it is his opinion that the author made a conscious decision. Because the children of Hogwarts are there to learn the ancient arts of magic, it would stand to reason that they wouldn’t have computers or cel phones. It makes a kind of sense. There are private schools in existence today that don’t allow cel phone usage on campus. Also, as an author of children’s literature, Rowling is providing an alternative to the technologically-based entertainment option that often finds kids plugged into laptops, cel phones or televisions for hours at a time. Okay, I can buy all that.

Still, the question of just how much technology to allow is a large one. There have to be rules about such things. Where Otherwhen is concerned, is it an all or nothing situation? If Club Dark’s neon sign works, why wouldn’t a telephone? And if a telephone works, why wouldn’t a cel phone? Would televisions still work, though cel phones and laptops don’t? If so, what are the physics that allow it to happen? I am FAR from a scientifically minded person, so I don’t have the answers. And because I have such a shortage of time in which to ply my chosen trade, spending too much of it following threads of minutia that really have no particular influence on the plot, is futile at best. It all comes down to color and texture.

In one scene, I have the protagonist Tristan Desmond enter an Elvish safehouse with her partner, Ulric. There she sees a group of elves smoking pot and watching re-runs of Happy Days on a decrepit television set. She also notices that the set isn’t plugged in. When she asks how it’s possible, she is told that the elves have figured out a way to capture the transmissions that are still bouncing around in the atmosphere, but that they are distorted and “unpure.” Hence the “plot” of the episode she’s watching, in which Fonzie has to rescue Richie and the gang from a marauding Shoggoth. She thinks nothing more of it and moves along. This scene is incidental, but adds texture to the plot, which has Tristan dismissing the elves as allies, because they are too wrapped up in the more hedonistic aspects of humanity’s lure. It also serves to show just how screwed up the once “predictable” world has become.

Is this a cheat? I don’t think so. I believe that some aspects of technology would still exist in this changed world, but because of certain influences, distortion would be a problem. Consequently, most technology would be abandoned, because it has become unpredictable. Telephones may work, but you may not always reach the party you intended. Cel phones and laptops would be far too unpredictable. Imagine the viruses that a magic-based society could unleash. And what about combustion engines? Those should still be viable in their most basic forms, though computer chips would eventually prove worthless in terms of efficiency. The ramifications are legion.

There have been plenty of writers out there who have dabbled in this magic vs. technology field. Some of them are favorite authors of mine, including Jim Butcher, Simon Green and others of the so-called “Gritty Urban Fantasy” genre. Then there were the made-for-cable movies, “Cast A Deadly Spell” and “Witch Hunt,” both of which follow the adventures of hard-boiled detective Harry Philip Lovecraft in a 1940s Los Angeles peopled by wizards, witches and other supernatural creatures. Each has its interesting points of departure, but no two milieus are the same. Which leaves plenty of wiggle room for an establishment of laws.

Ah, but those laws must be established and that is where the “snag” comes in. I’d rather be writing, right now, but until I get a handle on this whole technology angle, I can’t really proceed. It should be simple and expressed quickly, I think. As I said, it isn’t a major plot device, so it shouldn’t become a sticking point. It should, however, make sense. Much like the genre known as steampunk, it has to be logical in order to work. Nothing drives me crazier than a “world” that doesn’t make sense. Establish the rules and follow them. That, then, has been my latest challenge. Still, it is a progress of sorts…

"I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen." ~ Louisa May Alcott (Little Women)

diversions

It’s been a week since I posted here. A week spent writing like a fiend and making great advances in the progression of plot and character development. Let it be understood, however, that those moments of writerly endeavor are far from regular and seldom focal points of any given day. I write when I can, stealing moments and setting aside hours when I can address the urge in private. Living in a household of boisterous energy and having a very busy life to pursue, it’s not often easy, but I take what I can get. As I don’t have much to impart on the process of writing, at this point, I thought I would give a glimpse into the other side of a working writer’s life. To wit, what this writer does when he’s not writing.

Bake Bread

I love cooking and try to do it often. Unfortunately, because of my schedule and the hours I keep managing the local historic theatre/performance space, I don’t often have the kind of time I’d like to spend on this particular stress-relieving hobby. Enter the latest gadget in our kitchen: a bread machine, handed down by my partner Donny’s parents. Now I can create culinary delights (like this loaf laced with pesto, feta, sun-dried tomatoes and walnuts )at the same time that I’m writing! I love it. Does it satisfy ALL of my gastronomic needs? No, but it does offer some respite from that annoying rumble in the pleasure me center and allows me to substitute knead for need.

Connect With Touring Friends

Living where we do—at the “crossroads” where I-25 and I-10 intersect--we occasionally have musician friends drive through, while on tour. When that happens, and if they don’t have a pressing gig in some faraway city like Phoenix, Tucson, Albuquerque, El Paso or Austin, we always offer a place to stay and decompress. This time around, it was dark glam goddess Venus DeMars who took us up on our hospitality, spending two nights, a wonderful day hiking in the nearby Organ Mountains and an evening of fireside musical bliss that will long be remembered by the denizens of this culture-starved household.

Play With Fire!

Having the kind of schedules we all do, the yard tends to get a little neglected. Okay, it gets a LOT neglected. After the nourishing rains of the Fall months, hardy weeds begin to proliferate and, if they’re not tended to, quickly overtake every square inch of available land. Which means that at this time of the year, we have to call out the big guns and blast them back to the nether reaches of whatever hell to which weeds wither away. Our friend Mike came by with his heavy-duty torch and we set fire to the entire yard, burning, raking and generally taking back the yard. It was an all day adventure and satisfied some deep primal need to destroy that which is unwelcome. Beats all hell out of taking out aggressions on door-to-door, pamphlet-pushing zealots sporting blue hair and Laura Ashley prints, no?

Entertain the Masses

I’ve already mentioned my job at the Rio Grande Theatre. It’s a rare weekend that doesn’t entail some sort of attention to on-stage performance. This particular weekend we played host to a visiting dignitary from the outback of Australia: William Barton, the “world’s foremost authority on the Australian didjeridu.” It was a magical afternoon of storytelling and foreign sounds. Highly enjoyable and definitely inspirational for those of us who are always looking for the unusual to spark an idea or ten in the netherfolds of our creative consciousness.

Ah, but a new week looms on the misty horizon and with it the promise of stolen moments in which I can return to the task of illuminating the exploits of the fiercely ungovernable denizens of Otherwhen. With all senses stimulated and engaged, it should prove most rewarding. Or, at least, characteristically challenging.

the creative process

It’s an interesting thing, the creative process. Though there have been volumes written and countless documentaries made on the subject, it still remains a mystery to most. I’ve spent the better part of the past 30 years or so exploring my process while reading about and listening to artists, writers, musicians, poets, sculptors, animators, actors and even video game designers talk about their own explorations of this elusive concept. What I have realized is that the Creative Process can be summarized pretty efficiently in two simple words: Whatever Works. There is no right or wrong way to be creative, so long as creativity is achieved.

Right now, I find myself in very unfamiliar territory, but rather than feel that I am straying from the formula that has always worked best for me, I’m actually enjoying the process of tweaking my process and putting it through its paces. After all, it was the creative process I know and understand that got me to the place I’m in now. As I’ve said before, I’ve been letting the citizens of Otherwhen talk about themselves and their surroundings for close to a decade; transcribing their adventures as I go, much like a musician writing down the music he hears in his head. Now I’m doing something I’ve never done before. I’m taking those individual orchestrations and rearranging them, full knowing what the outcome will be, and creating a more cohesive whole with an overarching beginning, middle and end. To continue the metaphor, it’s a bit like creating a concept album and I am loving it!

In fact, I’ve been plugging right along over the last few days and have now mapped out the entire book, scene-by-scene, and twist-by-twist. In the process, I’ve discovered a few discrepancies (easily fixed), a dead-end or two (backtracked and rerouted) and the need to explore and probably rewrite the motivations of a few of the existing characters. Sounds tedious and it is, but I’m still high on the possibilities and very much undaunted by the challenge. I’ll be hitting it again HARD first thing in the morning. There are a few elements I’d like to introduce and a scene or two in need of fleshing out. Just part of the process and one I’m looking forward to exploring further.

Meanwhile, here’s one of the stories from my new anthology, Dimensions Of Desire, entitled The Hero Trap. It comes courtesy of the Sizzler Editions Blog and my illustrious editor, M. Christian, without whom any of this would be possible. Not because I couldn’t have done it without him, but because I wasn’t doing it at all, until he introduced the means to do so and made me believe that the time was right. And isn’t that, in the end, what being a good editor is all about?

”You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” ~ Ray Bradbury

taking stock

I’ve hit my first snag. I’m now about 10000 words in to the new book and am realizing that there may be points of divergence here that I hadn’t counted on. The problem lies in the fact that the Otherwhen Chronicles began life as a round-robin experiment, in which I wrote the first segment then sent it off to another writer, who picked up the threads and wrote the next segment, then sent it back to me so that I could do the same and so on. It was a great deal of fun at the time, but admittedly not the best way to write a cohesive narrative. It was complicated by the fact that the first writer dropped out a few segments in and was replaced by yet another writer, with a completely different writing style. That continued for a while, until he too dropped out and I decided to continue on my own.

In a sense, what I’ve ended up with is an origin story that is literally all over the map. Plot twists are introduced that lead nowhere, characters come and go without explanation and storylines are left dangling, never to be picked up again. It’s very much like episodic television. Remember Buffy The Vampire Slayer? One week the characters would be very dark and the storyline dramatic, the next would be more comical and light-hearted and the next would be a musical. Fans loved it, but the overarching storyline tended to suffer. Just so this tangled mess in which I find myself re-immersed. The real difference is that we went the whole Perils Of Pauline route and tried to end each segment with a cliffhanger. The next writer’s task was to get the characters out of their jam, then build the story back up to another suspenseful faux conclusion. Very melodramatic. Not very conducive to smooth transitional storytelling.

Not that I am at all daunted by any of this. If anything, it just presents a new and unforeseen set of challenges. Somehow I’ve got to break down these unruly batches of prose into their base elements, either wrap-up the dangling threads or jettison them entirely and bring the story back to its arc. Either that, or rethink the whole concept of this book. There have been some very good examples of episodic, multi-writer tomes. The Borderland and Sanctuary series come to mind. However, since this particular “story” begins as a multi-writer manuscript, but eventually becomes a solo endeavor, it gets tricky.

A friend of mine once told me that the only way he can write his novels is to break every plot device down into segments and synopsize them onto 3x5 index cards, which he then tacks up onto a corkboard so that he can look at it, much like a storyboard used by film animators. This way, he says, he doesn’t lose track of the incidental moments that have become so important to the type of stories he writes. He can simply add or subtract index cards as he builds the story. Then, when he’s satisfied that all of the elements are in place, he sits down and starts writing. This is a very complex and sequacious way of approaching the craft. My style of writing has always been more freeform, much like what Ray Bradbury describes. I let the characters tell the story and many times I have no idea how that story is going to end until it is revealed to me. It’s a lot like watching a movie in my head and transcribing it as I go.

In this case, however, the movie is already in the can. Hours of footage that now have to be edited down to a serviceable and more easily manageable whole. I find myself wondering if my friend’s approach might not help, simply by virtue of the fact that it would allow me to keep track of all those untidy elements and either work them back into the storyline or extricate them entirely. He also tends to color code his cards, so that he knows which plot elements they are addressing. This, too, could come in handy here. What it means, however, is that I will be stepping away from the enjoyable task of word production and taking on the role of editor. Something I have a lot of experience with, but not exactly what I had in mind, right now.

Still, if I am to do justice to these characters and the tales they have been imparting to me over the last ten years or so, the problem must be addressed. Sure, I could just put it aside and start something new, but that would be taking the easy way out. This particular challenge will take far longer than originally intended, mainly because I have a full-time job and don’t have more than a handful of hours each day to devote to it. What I do have, however, is the drive to see it through to the end, no matter how long it takes. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, now, and really, there is no better time than the present to make it happen.

So, I appear to have made up my mind. I’ll forge ahead. The how of it has yet to be decided. I’ve got a lot of reading to do and notes to take. Who knows, I may even discover something new and completely unforeseen along the way. In any event, this book will get written and, in the process, I will try to document its creation here. It may not always be remarkable, but I hope it will, at least, be illuminating.

Okay then… (sound of cracking knuckles) better get to it…

the activity of creation

The process has begun. As the old year dwindled down and the new year sprang into being, I was given the gift of time away from work, away from phones ringing and impromptu meetings. I had an entire week off and I used it to my best advantage. Besides starting this new blog, I spent a great deal of time pouring through old files and revisiting the world of Otherwhen in earnest. What I found was not just another anthology waiting to be compiled, but an opus waiting to be realized. Those files are, in essence, the elements of a puzzle waiting to be constructed.

They had existed as a series of vignettes, character sketches, short stories and novella-length offerings up until recently. Though I had entertained the notion of one day compiling them all into book form, I’d never really given any thought to the logistics of the idea. In a sense, all I’d been doing over the past decade was compiling information and putting my characters through a few paces to see how they would react in certain situations. Sometimes those situations culminated in a conclusion, sometimes they didn’t. I wasn’t writing for anybody else. It was, admittedly, an exercise in self-indulgence.

All that has changed, now. Sitting down and going through the old files--putting them in a freeform attempt at chronological order, spreading them out and taking stock of the ragged edges--I have discovered that what I have created is a framework of sorts: A skeleton, with enough sections of flesh, muscle and tendon to identify it as a comprehensible whole. It must be similar to the feeling Dr. Victor von Frankenstein first felt when he took in the shattered pieces of fresh flesh lying on his laboratory table and recognized the possibilities his future actions could assert.

To take otherwise inert materials and sew them together, build them up and fill in the gaps, layer upon layer, until soon it is recognizable not for its individual parts, but for the wholeness of its being. What a rush! Suddenly ideas I had either never considered, or had dismissed due to lack of time or inability to follow the concept through to its logical end, are making themselves known. I can see the over-reaching arc of the story and recognize areas in need of obvious fleshing out or, even better, infusions of subtle subtext.

It appears that I have not one book here, but several. At least two. A little massage and manipulation, some necessary rewriting here and there, the creation of new scenes to tie others together; who knows, I might have more than two. I’m not going to concern myself with that, right now. Instead, I’m just going to do what my instincts tell me to do: Tackle the first book. Strip these written pieces of all artifice and find the kernal of storytelling truth in each one. Write the story that has always wanted to be written.

Just short of two thousand words written this morning and I find myself six thousand words into a new novel. The rest are like pages fluttering in a breeze, waiting to be addressed. Some will change, others will merge with new words and ideas, but ultimately a whole will be produced. I’m not giving myself a deadline. No expectations. Just the thrill of writing and the discoveries that are inevitable in the process. It’s a whole new year and I’m off to a rollicking start. Somewhere, a certain gorgon demon slayer is smiling.

on starting fresh

I’ve never been one for “resolutions.” Especially the New Year variety; because, seriously, like anything I vow to “work on” in the new year is actually going to be decided in a drunken moment, surrounded by equally marinated friends and acquaintances, during the final hours of the previous year? I don’t think so. Peer pressure is never the key to personal advancement. In fact, I can arguably say that it is the antithesis.

“You’ve already given up on your New Year resolution?!?”

“Yeah, there was just too much pressure.”

“It’s only the 3^rd of January!”

“So, I only made that resolution because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

Who hasn’t been there?

No, I believe that resolutions as a parlor game have become standard issue in the big book of dysfunctional social enabling. As such, they have become suspect. Besides, if I decide to lose 100 pounds, or stop smoking faerie dust or terrorizing felines with loud noises and sudden movement, it won’t be something I tie to the symbolic turning of a new calendar year. It’ll be because a Valkyrie has whispered in my ear and instilled the fear of ruined reputations and dark confined spaces in me. You know, a prophetic vision of the future, Ebenezer Scrooge-style.

All that said, I actually have one resolution to enact for this new year, if only because it happens to coincide with all that symbolic trollop-flop. I can PUT it in the form of a resolution, without applying all the stigma that most “resolutions” automatically bring with them, simply by virtue of knowing that this was not a snap decision, but rather an informed one rooted in the irrefutable existence of the all-knowing Book of Destiny. After all, to make such a proclamation, then willfully refuse to call it a resolution, would be hipster arrogance and NObody can accuse me of being one of those… But I digress.

My resolution is this: I will dedicate as much spare time to REAL writing as is feasibly possible and regain the discipline I once had to make every available minute count. Whew. It may not sound like much to most, but it’s a tall order for the out-of-shape banana slug I have become over the past three or four years. Yes, I do write every single day, but most of the time it doesn’t go beyond an extended journal rant. Hey, writing is writing and I DO tend to get VERY colorful in my EJRs, but I still believe it’s time to up the ante a bit. Take advantage of the situations that have arisen and the opportunities that are being offered.

Unlike most resolutions, this one is far from impossible. I HAVE done it before--quite successfully, thank you—and there is absolutely no reason why I can’t do it again. Well… aside from the fact that I don’t have the kind of money coming in that I did back then. Or the luxury of working from home… But, hell, it’s a whole new year! A time for making changes, by all the feral gods! A time for making resolutions! After all, what do I have to lose but my personal dignity and the respect of my peers? Considering I don’t have much of either, this should be a walk in the park. At midnight. Naked.

Right?

bradbury on writing

The man is a genius and his insight is invaluable, no matter what kind of writing one favors.

how inspiration strikes

Yesterday I found myself sucked into a fascinating documentary on the author J.R.R. Tolkien. In it, a mention was made of a word coined by the author to describe his vision of the world he was, at the time, creating: Mythopoeia. Now, I am a notorious dictionary verifier. Give me a fascinating new word and I’m all over it like saran wrap on chicken salad. So, as soon as the documentary had run its course, I ran to my laptop and immediately typed in the mysterious new word. Not surprisingly, the best information was found on Wikipedia, which gives the following definition:

“Mythopoeia is a narrative genre in modern literature and film where a fictional mythology is created by the writer of prose or other fiction. This meaning of the word mythopoeia follows its use by J. R. R. Tolkien in the 1930s. The authors in this genre integrate traditional mythological themes and archetypes into fiction.

Mythopoeia is also the act of making (creating) mythologies. Notable mythopoeic authors include Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, William Blake, H. P. Lovecraft, Lord Dunsany, Mervyn Peake and George MacDonald. While many literary works carry mythic themes, only a few approach the dense self-referentiality and purpose of mythopoeia. It is invented mythology that, rather than arising out of centuries of oral tradition, are penned over a short period of time by a single author or small group of collaborators.

As distinguished from fantasy worlds or fictional universes aimed at the evocation of detailed worlds with well-ordered histories, geographies, and laws of nature, mythopoeia aims at imitating and including real-world mythology, specifically created to bring mythology to modern readers, and/or to add credibility and literary depth to fictional worlds in fantasy or science fiction books and movies.

Mythopoeia are almost invariably created entirely by an individual, like the world of Middle-earth.”

Suddenly, I’m more than fascinated. I’m intrigued. Why? Because this definition of a word which, apparently, has been around for decades sums up my own writing process clearly and succinctly. I’ve been working on a series of stories set in a “mythical” place known as Otherwhen, for about ten years now. What started out as an idea to create a round-robin platform for myself and other writers on my now defunct adult literary website, Blue Food, slowly became my own private opus.

The main character, Tristan Desmond, is introduced as a macho and somewhat arrogant male demon slayer in a modern world turned nightmarish reality, in which gods, demons and mythological creatures come crashing into our contemporary world through an event known only as “the Shift.” Desmond’s own life is turned inside out when he is cruelly dispatched by one of his demonic nemesis and fused into the body of his gorgon girlfriend, Scylla.

That story--the first installment of what has become, to me, the Otherwhen saga--recently found itself placed within my very first published anthology, Dimensions of Desire. My editor at Renaissance Books, the acclaimed author M. Christian, has expressed an interest in seeing more. No problem. I’ve got more.

The adventures of Tristan Desmond, as she adjusts to her new life as a mythic creature who gives meaning to the term “stony glare,” have become my favorite form of escape. When I feel like writing, but don’t have any deadline demons drooling into my lap, I return to Otherwhen. Over time, other characters have entered the picture, some briefly, some with more longevity. Her “boyfriend” Ulric is, I am not ashamed to admit, a dyed-in-the-wool Tolkien elf. His “godfather” is the prankish Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, from Shakespearean lore. Her main nemesis is the demonic Lord of Lies himself, Belial.

Among the many other characters she comes into contact with, either as friend or foe, are the Greek god Ares, the Native American folklore figure Coyote, the Arthurian figure Morgan LeFey and many others. Then there are the divergences. The stories that don’t center around Tristan. These just seem to pop up out of nowhere when I find myself fascinated by a particular character or phenomenon, but don’t really have any way to include Tristan in the mix. During these times, she bows out and the story is allowed to run its course, within the framework already created for Otherwhen. It’s proved to be an invaluable exercise in creative writing, because it is something that I can fall into naturally and at a moment’s notice. With the kind of schedule I tend to keep, that can be a god send.

When asked by the very few people who have been given access to this world what I would call it, I’ve always referred to it as “speculative fiction,” because the term “fantasy” just didn’t feel right. These characters, after all, don’t exist in a purely fantasy world. There are no swords, or messianic wizards. No sweeping battlefields between armies of light and darkness. These characters exist in a divergent version of our own world, in which something cataclysmic and unknown has occurred to twist the fabric of reality and refocus it. The general rules of physics still apply, for the most part. Hardships and addictions still infect the fabric of society and the people who live there still have to muddle through as best they can. Magic, where it does exist, has changed to fit the new environment and can be completely unpredictable.

I never really knew that there was a word to describe this sort of writing. I knew that there were other authors who wrote this way, including my favorite living author, Neil Gaiman. There are examples abounding. I just didn’t know there was a name for it. And now that I know, I find myself following links to mysterious websites devoted to the concept of Mythopoeia and its many incarnations. I’ve even discovered something called the Mythopoeic Society, which has its meetings all over the world, but NEXT year, will be meeting in Albuquerque, New Mexico, just 3 ½ hours away from where I new reside. Hmmm…

It seems I have a LOT more research ahead of me. I’m not sure how far down the rabbit hole I’ll go, but I’ve got my spelunking gear on and am letting curiosity be my guide. Who knows what I’ll find or even if it will amount to anything of interest. I’ve never been one to embrace regimented “societies” or cultish organizations of any kind, so I doubt I’ll delve too deeply in that direction, but the concept still intrigues me and I’d like to know more. That could take a while.

In the meantime, I now have a name for the type of writing I have always enjoyed most. And, it looks like my Mythopoeic scribblings may soon find a place in the published world, as I have decided to take M up on his suggestion. I have made it my New Year’s Resolution to gather together the various threads within the Otherwhen saga and weave them together into a coherent whole. My plan, at the moment, is to document that journey here. We’ll see how that goes. Right now, I’m high on the adrenaline of an exciting new project. As any writer will tell you, however, the reality of the process can be anything but constantly rewarding. I’ve started tell-all projects like this before and not gotten very far.

Ah, but that’s what resolutions are for. Even mythopoeic ones…