Advice to "Indie" writers

A questioner on an Amazon.Com message board asked the question recently: as an independent, self-published author, how does he promote himself?

Having some time on my hands, I composed what I think was a thoughtful response.

This is really one of the things folks need to think about before moving ahead with publishing anything. I think experts would answer that you've got to "brand" yourself by using the tools of blogging, social networking, and the like.

Ideally, long before you've published, you have a well-established blog, writing regularly about things that interest you. It can be anything: politics, current events, sports, knitting. Anything. It's also important that you participate regularly in other peoples blogs, commenting on their posts and networking that way.

And maybe, you build on that by using twitter, and Facebook, and Goodreads, and the other social networking tools that are out there.

For one example, there's a guy who recently published a book (who also posts to this forum) that ran a fan fiction site for some time, posting his own and other people's fiction, building up a network of friends and social acquaintances that way. Last I checked, his book was still sitting at #2 or #3 in the Space Opera science fiction category.

What he had built for himself (not that he was even necessarily trying) was what folks in traditional publishing call a "platform," a network of folks who might already be interested in purchasing something he's written, and upon which he can build.

So in a nutshell, make sure you think about these things before publishing. Attempts to do such things afterward usually (in my opinion, anyway) come off as looking insincere and desperate. It takes time, often months and years, to build up relationships such that people are interested enough in you to buy your book.

And maybe, you already have a "platform" in place and just need to think creatively about it -- are you active in town politics or in your community or in your schools? Perhaps you already post regularly to other forums, are well known there, and can let people know about your book that way. At any rate, you need to think about how can you parlay those sorts of relationships into something more.

Something else you may want to try is contacting your local community paper. I often read articles and blurbs in them about "local citizen writes book." Can't hurt, right?

Anyhow, I'm not saying you can't do these things afterward. Just saying it will be a slow slog. My two cents. Best of luck!

I'll confess right here and now, the longer I do this, the less I believe any of it. I think more appropriate advice might have been: write a series of private detective novels, keep churning them out. Or maybe vampire romance. That's what people want to read.

Throw some dragons in there for good measure.

People love dragons.

Overtaken by events

"The world made plans to gather around their television sets for what promised to be quite a spectacle. In advance of it, there had been much condemnation and even some saber rattling. But given America's recent track record in wars of their own choosing, the consensus was that they too could only watch impotently. Even the feckless United Nations could not agree on the substance of one of their patented strongly worded letters.

It wasn't unprecedented. The world had done nothing when the Taliban-ruled Afghanistan began blowing up ancient statues of the Buddha. The Khmer Rouge had used the ancient temples of Angkor as a munitions dump. Napoleon himself had used the Sphinx for target practice. So when the Islamic Republic of Egypt decreed the Pyramids idolatrous and un-Islamic, the world held its breath."

I know it’s rough, but I wrote the above passage a few years back while writing down some early thoughts / sketches for a book I still hope to write, what in my own imagination is an expansive apocalyptic novel in the tradition of “Swan Song” or “The Stand.”

Of course mine won’t be nearly as good as those were. But apocalyptic fiction, like coming-of-age tales, Florida Fiction, and Vampire Fiction, have long been among my favorite genres. And, for better or worse, I’ve tackled coming-of-age, and Florida, and Vampire fiction. I guess you could also say I’ve touched on apocalyptic fiction with “Adamson’s Rock.” But those who have read it might wonder what comes . . . afterward. That’s what I want to write.

Anyway, in terms of the above passage, I got the idea not long before 9/11, while watching the Taliban blow up and destroy thousand-year-old statues of the Buddha, evidence of a long gone Buddhist culture that once thrived in Afghanistan but whose relics the Taliban viewed as “un-Islamic.” I remember thinking at the time, do they really have the right to destroy historic icons and vestiges of the past that truthfully belong to all humanity?

Then, while brainstorming political and world events that might lead to my fictional apocalypse, I wondered what would happen if a similar regime took over in Egypt and declared it an Islamic Republic. Would the world stand by and watch as their government blew up and destroyed the Sphinx or the Great Pyramid at Giza as un-Islamic?

I still do wonder about that, but it seems pretty clear now that the recent revolution in Egypt is fairly secular in nature, and that the right’s new boogeyman, the Islamic Brotherhood, does not really have the power or constituency to play anything other than (at least right now) a supporting role in any future Egyptian government.

Now, I may still use the above in my (I probably won’t even write it but really really want to) apocalyptic opus. Maybe it’s the next Egyptian government that falls prey to their worst instincts. But it got me thinking that it’s not the first time events have overtaken my writing.

For example, I wrote my Red Sox novella “A Truck Story” in 2005, coming off their first world championship in 86 years. Among the players I used in the story were Doug Mirabelli and Manny Ramirez. Of course, by the time the anthology it was slated for fell through, years had gone by, Mirabelli and Ramirez were no longer with the team, and the Sox had won yet another world championship. And so, prior to self-publishing the thing, I needed to make a few changes.

Same thing happened while writing “Swash,” my novel in which eighteenth-century pirates come back to reclaim their ship from the sands of Cape Cod. In that one, I had already written a section that referenced the wreck of the Somerset, a British ship that foundered off the Cape and hadn’t been seen since 1980. So what happened while I was finishing the novel? The Somerset reappeared on the beach one day for the first time in thirty years.

Get me rewrite!

Anyhow, not sure the point of this. But it is funny how events can overtake both novels you’re only thinking about, and novels and short stories you’ve already written.

Happy Writing!

The thin line between self-promotion and self-parody

Read a terrific post over on Inkspot titled “Blatant Self-Poisoning?” (h/t @Vrydolak) regarding authors who self-promote too much and how that can backfire.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I know next-to-nothing about social networking, and present as proof that I’ve only been on twitter a few months and am not even on Facebook.

But I do know what I’ve read about using social networking to promote yourself (and recall Neil Gaiman wrote wonderfully on this) and that is you should use social networking tools to sell yourself, not your product. Because if you can sell yourself successfully, then the rest should follow, right?

But what does it mean, selling yourself, especially in the context of an aspiring writer? To me, it means truly being who you are on these networks, warts and all, not a carefully created façade of who someday you’d like to be, or worse yet, who you want people to think you already are. I’m telling you, the genuine people are obvious, and the not-so-genuine people are just as obvious.

In fact, many twitter accounts of aspiring writers could actually be, without changing a thing, a parody account called @aspiring_writer:

“Wrote 10,000 words today. Boy, I’m tired!”

“Got an acceptance! Yipee!”

“Was it Proust who said that the only thing worse than writing was not writing?”

Okay, I made that last one up. And again, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m guilty of all of the above. But hopefully, in moderation.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that me, personally, I’d rather hear your thoughts on what’s happening in Egypt than your word count.

I’d rather know what you had for lunch than you got a rejection or an acceptance.

I’d rather know what you’re watching on TV than how many “WIPs” you have ongoing.

Can you use social networking to sell books, or to try to sell yourself as an author who writes books and stories worth reading? Probably. But it ain’t gonna happen being a one-note-Johnny, who tweets or blogs about nothing but writing and the writing life. I’m pretty sure about that.

Now, like I said, I know nothing about the proper use of social networking, especially with regard to using it to sell books or anthologies. But I know what annoys me.

And I know self-parody when I see it.

January Update

Funny how time passes, and the next thing you know you haven’t updated your blog for a while. Don’t want January to pass without at least a second post.

Not much going on writing-wise. Recently completed two shorts, one a post-apocalyptic tale that was rejected from Necrotic Tissue that I’ve sent it along to Triangulation, whose latest anthology uses as its theme “Last Contact.”

Triangulation creates themes for their anthologies and then says, “You tell US what it means!” You may recall I had a story rejected from them once that they said didn’t quite fit their theme. Heh. Can’t have it both ways, my friends.

At least I can smile about it.

Completed a second short that I don’t know quite what to make of, indeed haven’t even titled yet. Had an idea rolling around in my skull for a while, yet even I didn’t know until I wrote it that the main character would end up having . . . relations . . . with a somewhat alien plant. So keep your eyes open for an erotic plant anthology, okay?

What brought me back to the blog was to update the “What I’m Reading” corner. Just finished Richard Laymon’s “Flesh” (a gory serial-killer tale that uses a supernatural device as an excuse to write a gory serial-killer tale) and started reading “Black Sunshine,” one in a series of S.V. Date’s humorous Florida tales.

If you’ve devoured Carl Hiaasen, completed Laurence Shames, and run out of Tim Dorsey’s, you may want to give Date (Dah-tay) a try.

Sales of my Amazon offerings have been slow but steady, with even a couple of recent downloads of “Hopetown,” my first attempt at a thriller.

Yes, I know it’s flawed and no doubt cliché filled. Still, I had fun writing it and am told by some it was entertaining. And that, after all, is my goal.

Anyhoo, hope all is well with my friends and readers. Going to begin work on a couple of things, including the third installment of my “Applewood” saga. Whether the world wants it or not!

Obligatory Update and Weather Report

Not much to report. Finishing up a short (1,500 words or so) post-apocalyptic thing that's been rolling around in my skull a few years. Got the idea from one of those "Top Ten Ways the World Could Really End!" lists that come around every now and then. Probably been done before, but then, what hasn't?

Received something called a "galley" (hey, what do I know? I'm self-published for Christ's sake!) for "Applewood," which on first glance looks pretty good. Will spend the weekend going through it.

It's funny, but after having gone through a few rounds of edits with the publisher, when I'm reading "Applewood" now, it's almost as if it was written by someone else. Not that it has changed that much, though a few scenes were excised and other bad habits I'd fallen into were flattened.

Maybe it's just because it was written three or four years ago, but like I said, by now it's as if someone else wrote it. And I'm pleased to say, someone better than me too.

Not sure exactly how it's going to go, but don't be surprised should I ask some of my writer friends for a blurb or two. Be ready!

Been cold here in St. Pete, with nights down in the thirties and daytime highs not getting out of the fifties. It began warming yesterday afternoon, and temperatures will be in the more normal seventy range before another cold front comes through on Sunday.

Finishing up a re-read of Robert R. McCammon's "Mystery Walk" that I picked up in the local used bookstore. I've mentioned before how long I've been a fan of his. In a recent post on his blog, he noted (to much complaint from his fanbase) that he has no intention of allowing most of his earlier works -- e.g "Baal", "Bethany's Sin", "The Night Boat" -- ever coming back into print.

Of course he's moved on to historical fiction, with his excellent Mathew Corbett series. Seems I recall he noted too (or maybe just gave the impression) that he was a little embarrassed by those earlier books. Having gone back and re-read most of them (and "They Thirst" comes to mind) I know exactly what he's talking about.

Still, for writers who aspire to get better, it's interesting to note just how he improves from one book to the next (though he was pretty damn good to start) before exploding with the wonder that is "Swan Song" and "Boy's Life" and "Gone South" and "Mine."

So, if you should happen to see any early Robert R. McCammon floating around your own used bookstores, pick them up.

They're not making them like that anymore.

Nearly Dead

Apologies for not updating, and being derelict in commenting on my writer friends' blogs (which I am indeed reading, though). In addition to my previously announced melancholy over the Liberace museum closing, I’ve been busy.

I am pleased to announce I've released a free short, a St. Pete-centric, tongue-in-cheek Zombie tale titled "Nearly Dead" on Smashwords. You can download it in the format of your choice (or read it online) by clicking here.

Plot summary goes something like this:

"When a New York crime boss sends a hitman to St. Pete in the middle of a zombie infestation, the hitman finds that though infested with the undead, his beloved St. Pete hasn't really changed that much. But even in the middle of an infestation, he has a job to do."

The story is perhaps too St. Pete-centric for some, with unexplained inside jokes you'd maybe have to live here to know about. Or maybe, it doesn't work at all. Who the hell knows anymore? But hey, it's free, right?

In other news, I’ve completed reviewing the first-round edits of Applewood, my New England vampire novel, and will be sending them back in the next day or so. I’m certain the edits truly make it stronger. We’ve also had preliminary discussions about potential covers. Hard to believe it’s really happening.

One reason I opted to not self-publish this one (after making the rounds of agents and publishers, of course, and sitting at Dorchester for more than three years before they said no) was for just that, to have someone else read and edit and help with production, someone to tell me which parts suck (and not be afraid to use those exact words) and point out bad habits I’d fallen into.

Another curiosity about “Applewood” is there is a completed full-length sequel, picking up where the cliff-hanging end of "Applewood" leaves off. I started writing it as an exercise to more fully flesh out “Applewood” and it took on a life of its own.

I remember thinking at the time, “Is there any greater act of faith or stupidity than writing the sequel to an unpublished novel?”

Don’t know for sure, however I suspect J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer were sane enough to wait and see if anybody cared about the first to write the next.

But between you and me, I think the second in the series is even stronger than the first, and project it would take another four books or so to truly complete the “saga.” I’ll keep you posted.

Course with my luck, vampires will be passé right about then . . .

As always, thanks for reading!

A New One

A few weeks ago, I blogged excitedly about a submission for a specialty anthology. Note to self: Do NOT blog about pending submissions. It never works out.

Like every submission, I carefully read the guidelines on Duotrope and on their website (2,500 – 4,000 words, due August 30th). There was an interview with the editor on Duotrope (cool new feature) providing further detail on what they were looking for.

So I wrote the story and came in just shy of the 4,000 word limit. I submitted it and felt pretty good about it.

It was just over a week later I received a fairly positive response, saying they liked my story – up to a point. I opened up their edited version and saw yellow highlights and comments everywhere (most of the “cut – cut – cut” variety). First time for me that a story has come back like a graded paper.

Anyhoo, my effort was a (supposedly) humorous zombie tale, so some of the comments were interesting. In one scene, a zombie panhandler carries a sign reading “GWARRKK!” or some such thing. The comment was: “Alphabet still in use among zombies?” My answer, of course, is “yes.”

Another instance where my character references his gun (a .45 pistol) was met with, “Name your gun.” This being Florida, I wondered: do they mean the brand? Or do people in Florida actually, you know, name their guns?

Millie? Betsy? Fred?

Still not sure about that one.

My point is that the story was read carefully (I got the impression by more than a few people) and some of the comments were really good (“Your character was well-established but starts to lose focus here”). I’m not sure they read it as it was meant, a humorous tale, and I’m certain they stopped short of suspending their disbelief.

But what really got me was this comment in their cover letter: “We’d like to get your story down to the 2,500 word limit for this anthology before considering it.”

Of course, the stated limit was 4,000 words, on both Duotrope and on their website. I’d have written something different if the limit was 2,500 words. But just for fun, I began editing the story with their criticisms in mind, criticisms that stopped about a third of the way through, suggesting they hadn’t read the story to the end.

But there was no way this particular story could be edited down to 2,500 words. So I thanked them for their (granted, tepid) interest and wished them the best of luck.

Now, I suspect what happened is they already accepted a number of higher word limit stories, perhaps from folks they know or folks who have been in their previous anthology or maybe even themselves, and they’re looking for a few lower word limit stories to round out the collection.

And I do sincerely wish them well, but won’t be submitting to them again.

Which brings up something else that’s been going through my mind lately (quite literally), the beginning of “How to succeed in business without really trying.”

At the beginning of the movie (and the play) young J. Pierpont Finch finds a book titled “How to succeed in business without really trying” and starts on Chapter One, which contains the advice “start in the mailroom” on the lowest rung of the ladder.

So Finch follows their advice and gets a job in the mailroom, then opens to Chapter Two which contains the advice “get the hell out of the mailroom.”

I sometimes feel that everything I’ve ever done to advance (heh!) my writing career is keeping me in the mailroom.

In conclusion (and for what it’s worth) my humorous St. Pete zombie tale titled “Nearly Dead” will be expanded and made available for free on Smashwords, alongside “Telegraph Hill.”

Work continues on my full-length Dick Londergan P.I. tale.

“Applewood” is coming!

Meanwhile, I’ll be down here in the mailroom if you need me.

The Query Phase

Spent the weekend editing the recently completed novel, and earlier this week sent out the first queries. Sent only a few to start with as I get back up on the query horse.

Though it probably needs some work (I tweak it further after each one I send) the following is essentially what I'm using:

When a late winter storm unearths an ancient shipwreck, the sleepy town of Sully's Rump is turned upside-down, first by the media, then by the pirates who come back to reclaim their ship.

Local historian Arthur Cobb wants the legendary ship for himself, but so does his nemesis, gazillionaire businessman Barney Zimmerman. Caught between the two is Chris Duggan, the boy who found the wreck, who just wants to help the pirates get home.

He realizes the only way to do that is to rebuild the ship and fulfill the pirate curse, but soon discovers that dislodging the pirates from the Rump may prove even more difficult a task than deciphering the curse that brought them there.

Spanning a magical summer in the life of an isolated community filled with indelible characters, SWASH! is approximately 88,000 words and has never before been published. In terms of where it fits on the literary spectrum, I'd call it Christopher Moore meets Willy Wonka.

I used AgentQuery to narrow the search to those who don't mind "quirky," because I think at heart, that's what it is.

Also Tweeted the other day (only half-jokingly) that I'm not querying agents looking for "great storytelling" or "something I'll long remember" (both found in agent profiles) because frankly, I'm simply not that confident in myself and don't want to waste their time.

Confess too it was hard sending out the first query, but got easier with the next few. I suppose having been rejected a few hundred times already on previous efforts, I'm just not looking forward to the certain rejections to come. But it's all part of the game, I guess.

Printed out two reading copies and sent them along to beta readers. Two copies burned a single thirty-dollar black Inkjet cartridge. Hilarious.

That's how they getcha . . .

Will start on the next opus soon and keep you posted!

Finis

Pleased to report I've completed the first draft of "Swash!", my comic novel about a boy who stumbles upon an ancient pirate shipwreck, only to find he has to also deal with the returned pirates. Now comes the hard part . . . editing the damned thing.

Clocking in at 87,822 words, it is the longest piece I've ever written, which I find it heartening in a way. I'd like to think each of my "novels" has gotten longer and longer because it reflects my improved ability to thread in other subplots and description, which perhaps I wasn't doing enough of before.

It's also mostly true that ten-percent of a first draft is crap that needs to be excised, but I'll be just as pleased if it ends up at 80,000 or so.

I confess I'm delighted with the way the thing turned out. I THINK all the various subplots tie together nicely, and the ending actually has a kind of Willy Wonka meets Christopher Moore vibe that I hope works.

Not that I planned to, but I've done some things differently on this one than the ones previous. For one thing, I didn't print out a single "draft" copy of the work in progress until I finished it. I suspect this has more to do with the sticker shock I get when buying inkjet cartridges ($66.00 for the cartridges I need!) than anything else, but I'm glad I did my in-progress editing on screen.

And because most of the activity takes place on a small slice of land jutting into Cape Cod Bay, early on I also hand drew a map detailing where things were, just so I wouldn't confuse myself. No, I can't draw for crap, but I can imagine (dream, more like it) that a hardcopy edition might contain a similar map (drawn by one with more talent than me!) to lure folks into what's inside.

Editing the thing will take some time, but in the next week or two, I'll send reading copies for comment out to all the usual suspects (yes, that means YOU friends and family members who I KNOW read this thing but don't comment!) Keep an eye out for it.

Plan to pull out all the stops on this one in terms of trying to get representation. But it seems I'm always about to query when the publishing industry takes their (perhaps mythical?) summer off. Though one wonders with e-books and Ipads and Kindles nipping at their heels, whether that's still true or not.

I'm also excited to know exactly what I'll be working on next, a novel containing the private detective character featured in my free Smashwords story Telegraph Hill.

I've mentioned before that I started something a while ago with him and abandoned it. But after finishing something whimsical and somewhat comic, I'm looking forward to continuing in that vein.

And if you haven't already downloaded and read Telegraph Hill then what's stopping you? One-hundred and sixteen people already have! For me anyway, I suspect that's the closest to viral I'll ever get.

And after trying my hand at horror, thriller, and sentimental coming-of-age, perhaps my true calling is something akin to serio-comic with a touch of paranormal. Only time will tell.

Down the stretch they come . . .

Put in 2,500 plus today on the work-in-progress, which now stands at 64,968 words. About halfway through today's session, I reached a point where I felt compelled to boldly open a blank page and type "Book IV" indicating I truly am rounding third and heading for home.

It's a truism (and one I subscribe to) that the more you write, the better you get. But I don't think necessarily that means you automatically write better. I think maybe a larger aspect of it is that you know yourself better as a writer, and are therefore more aware of your own strengths and weaknesses.

For example, one thing I've learned about myself is that I'm not good at going back once a work has been finished and "filling in the blanks." Sure, I'll edit for grammar and spelling, and occasionally choose better words. But once the thing is written, that's pretty much what it is.

And so I look back at some of the longer pieces I've written and imagine what might have been, if only I'd known myself better, known that I shouldn't merely write a "fill-in" scene just to move things along, because more than likely, that stinker is going to remain. Sure, I'll make it better where I can, but I know myself well enough now to know it is what it is.

Therefore, with this one, I've tried to be careful as I go along, to uncover every rock to see what's underneath, to make sure I write THEN AND THERE what it smelled like, what it looked like, because knowing myself as I do, if I don't do it then, it won't get done.

That sort of thing has certainly slowed things down some, but I think (and hope) the finished work will be better for it. Sure, there are details I need to go back and add (for example, I have yet to mention my pirates wear earrings, and dammit, my pirates wear earrings). But I'm pretty confident because the house has been built properly, and the underlying structure is sound, that I can with confidence go back and fill in those blanks.

Another curious thing about this one is I feel that only now, almost 200 pages and 65,000 words into the thing, am I really getting to know the characters. I mean truly getting to know the way they think and feel. For example, I wrote a scene today I thought would be merely a throwaway, simply to pass some of the summertime as we build toward the Labor Day climax. And I surprised myself to learn a great deal about my characters.

Whether it will stay in or not, or is any good, I have no idea at this point. But I do know after today, I'm gonna miss these guys when they're gone.

There are other things I'm learning about myself, one of them being I am much better suited to the long form. I know, I know, a story should only be as long as it needs to be. But even though I am far more drained after writing longer works, and also feel that I've left important little pieces of myself along the way (far less true when I've finished short stories) that I'm probably more a novelist than anything. And that's . . . okay.

Anyway, for your reading pleasure, here's a little unedited something from today's session that I hope illustrates a little of what I'm talking about:

"Now, that last thing. I guess that's the hardest. It's only been three years now, and you know what? Sometimes, I forget what he looks like. Really. Just forget what he looks like. And when that happens, I go into a kind of panic, you know? Because I forgot what my father looked like. So to remedy that, I keep a picture of him and me in my wallet, and I keep other pictures of him hidden around here and there too so he's always within reach. But that's one of my biggest fears, that I'll forget what my father looked like. Funny thing though, I'll never forget his voice. I can hear it in my head right now, matter of fact. Not that there was anything special about it. Not really. But he was always making jokes, or pulling pranks on my mother, and his laugh, oh boy. That's another thing I'll never forget. His laugh. My mother tells me I have his laugh, so maybe that's it. And that's what makes it so weird, that I'd forget what he looked like, but not his voice. Know what I mean? And I know it's silly, but sometimes, when I'm feeling bad, I tell myself he just went away for a while, like on a business trip or something, and all I have to do is wait just a little bit before I'll see him again. Is that weird? And I remember he used to call me buddy. Sometimes, I think he's going to walk down the stairs, knock on my door, and say 'Buddy! Get the hell out of bed." Silly, I know. But it helps."

He went quite a while before going on.

"So anyway . . ." he said, turning to Sarah and smiling. He turned away quickly when he saw her eyes were damp.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean for that to happen. But you did ask, and I answered."

He gave her a moment before looking at her again. She was smiling now, and had wiped away any hint of dampness that might have been there.

"Thanks," she said. "I really appreciate it."

He smiled too. "Ah, hell. It's nothing. Like I said, there aren't any secrets on the Rump. Speaking of . . . hey, look!"

He pointed down at the beach. When she looked where he was pointing, he went on.

"Your boyfriend got some sand in an uncomfortable place."

She groaned and turned quickly from the scene, which was exactly what Chris had described. After she less than gently swatted his arm, he began to laugh, and he kept laughing until the tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Naming Conventions

I remember back in high school, like probably every high school student, we read "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson. No need for spoilers, as I'm sure we've all read it.

And I remember that afterward, the teacher foisted all kinds of symbolism on us. I don't remember most of it. Perhaps the lottery itself was symbolic of humankind repeating empty rituals long after their purpose was even remembered, and maybe the end result of the lottery was man at his most primitive, and probably, most real. A bunch of crap like that.

But what I remember most about it was the teacher insisting that the name of the main character, the women who won the lottery, was purposefully selected by Ms. Jackson for its symbolism. Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face! Her name was, after all, De La Croix, which means "of the cross," which of course made her a Christ-like figure.

Again, I thought it was all a bunch of crap. Wasn't it at least possible that she simply sat down to write a cool story, and any symbolism inside was merely a cool coincidence? Who knows, maybe she couldn't come up with a name, grabbed the white pages, and landed on the D's.

The mere thought of someone putting such work into weaving "symbolism" into a short story struck me as a bit much, and maybe a bit pretentious. I guess I'm willing to concede that she might have, but she was so talented about it, and it was so subtle, that it appeared she didn't "work" at it at all.

And I suspect if even a slightly less talented writer tried to do the same thing—purposefully weaving "symbolism" into their work—it would all stand out like a sore thumb, and you wouldn't be reading it in a high school class.

I suppose what got me thinking about this is that I suck at coming up with character names. Oh, I suppose it's not so much I suck, really, as I simply don't give it very much thought or put too much time into it.

Sometimes, I'll pull up a news site and scroll through articles looking for an interesting name, or one I haven't used before. Or, I'll go back in my mind to elementary school classmates and try to remember their names. And yes, I've also used the phone book.

Once or twice, I've used the names of old friends or colleagues I haven't seen in years but think of often. For example, in the sequel to my vampire novel "Applewood," one of the major characters is a longtime vampire who becomes a mentor to my newly minted young vampire.

Not sure quite why I did it, but I remembered back to someone who mentored me early in my career, who became a good friend, but one I haven't seen in years. British guy too, pale and pasty, with slicked back black hair. He fit ALL the requirements. And so, with a smile, I used his name without even thinking about it.

But in the unrealistic expectation that some future high school generation is forced to read that book, I'd like to go on record and say that is the reason the last name of this character is "Mallett" and not because of any "symbolism" that he is named after the thing he most fears!

At any rate, the main character's name in my current pirate wip was easy to come up with. Buddy of my (then) thirteen-year-old nephew thought it would be cool if I used his name in a book. No problem, young Chris Duggan. No problem at all.

Speaking of the current wip, I'm in the middle of Book III and at about 54,000 words. They're coming easier now, which is nice. We've still got the whole summer to go (things will climax on Labor Day) so I suspect we're looking at around 80,000 words. I'm doing 1,500 plus a day, so we're still on target.

Here's another sampling, and as always, thanks for stopping by!

"Captain wishes to pervide evidence, then evidence shall be heard," he said, in a voice that brooked no discontent.

The murmurs settled down some. Chris saw that even Sykes knew he'd missed his moment, at least for now. His leg slowly descended to the floor. He put his head down and skulked off, choosing a seat off to the side.

Chris closed his eyes and let out a long breath. His legs were shaking. He thought for a moment he might faint from the tension. With his eyes still closed, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Turning, he opened his eyes and saw Sarah smiling at him. She motioned her head to the right, where Chris saw two empty chairs against the wall. Taking his hand in hers, she walked them over and the two sat down.

The shaking in Chris's legs subsided, but his heart still raced. He refused to believe it had anything to do with the soft hand in his. It seemed too as if they held hands far longer than necessary, but after another moment, Sarah took her hand away.

Chris leaned forward and put his head between his legs to let the nausea pass. While bent over, he felt a gentle tapping on his back, like the wings of an angel beating softly. Feeling better, he sat up slowly and then sat back to await whatever was to come. Moments later, he felt soft breath near his ear. Sarah.

"I've heard of these, but never done one," she whispered.

Chris turned, and when their eyes met, she went on.

"It's community theater, right? Improv of some sort? One of those audience participation murder mystery things."

Chris had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded anyway. Sarah went on.

"These guys are supposed to be pirates, right?" she asked.

Chris smiled, and after a moment, he answered.

"They prefer to be called . . . privateers," he said.

Falling in love with your own prose

Having just tweeted about my automotive troubles, and having just almost shorted out the Good Samaritan's electrical system after he agreed to give me a jump (crossed the wires . . . hundreds of jumps in my life . . . first time ever), I'm not yet in the mood to write. Hope posting something here gets the juices flowing . . . no pun intended.

Things are going remarkably well on the current WIP. So well, in fact, that yesterday, I concluded one climactic chapter and then boldly typed BOOK III on a blank page, beginning yet another climb up a mountain. Still looks good for a late May finish, which is heartening.

Before writing Book II, though I hadn't worked it all out yet, I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. But I purposefully began the book with what I thought was a bold call to arms, to both myself and to the characters:

When Chris thought back on all the strange goings on of the past few weeks, when he reflected upon all the things he had both done and failed to do, it became clear to him that both his actions and his inactions had only made inevitable what was about to happen. He had only himself to blame for the chain of circumstances that brought him to this place, for he had paved this particular trail brick by brick, stone by stone, and decision by decision.

In fact, now that he thought of it, he realized had he done any single thing differently, had he made one alternate decision at any point in the chain, he would not be where he was now: cold, wet, and trying to keep his supper down from the amusement park ride that was going on beneath his feet.

And though nobody within two feet of him could possibly have seen it, through the tomblike darkness and torrential downpour and the pounding of ten-foot waves, he smiled. He smiled because he understood that a single different decision would have altered what was about to happen, and because he had just finished asking himself if he regretted any one of those decisions, asked himself if he could, would he go back in time and take any one of them back? And the answer he arrived at in that moment of quiet introspection was unambiguous.

Hell, no.

It ain't Shakespeare, and still needs a lot of work. And after typing it, I had no idea what the hell I was going to do to live up to those words. I had only a vague idea of where he was and what he was doing when he thought those things, but I found it a remarkable "line in the sand" to see if I could live up to what I wrote.

So no, I'm not "in love" with it at all. It may not even make the final cut. But I like the idea of drawing a bold line early, just to see if you can live up to it. And though I've never done such a thing before, I'm happy to say I think I did . . . but only time will tell.

And as always, thanks for reading!

My Week (and welcome to it)

Fun and interesting week. Went to my first game at Tropicana Field on Tuesday night and saw the best-in-baseball Tampa Bay Rays beat the best-in-the-west Oakland Athletics 8-6 in a terrifically exciting and back and forth game. The win made the Rays 15-5 overall, the best start in baseball since the 2003 Yankees.

Of course, problem is, I was one of only 10,800 or so who saw the game in the mostly empty Trop. The newspapers had a field day with the low attendance, ammunition to move the team from St. Pete to Tampa or frankly, anywhere else.

So, I decided on the spur of the moment to go to the next night's game (it's in walking distance and tickets are cheap) and saw the best-in-baseball Rays defeat the Athletics again to go 16-5, the most wins of any Rays team in their history and . . . there were even fewer people at this game, a mere 10,691, the lowest attendance of the season.

Didn't go last night, but the Rays beat the Royals 11-1 to go 17-5, and the paper reported a slight uptick in attendance, to around 12,500 or so. But still, I just don't get it.

Something truly special is happening here, they've got the cheapest seats in baseball, and though folks from Tampa whine about coming to St. Pete ("I have to go over a bridge!") the Trop is not that bad a stadium, nor is it hard to get in and out of.

Beginning to think that St. Pete (if not Tampa Bay) just can't support a major league baseball team.

In other news, St. Pete was the focus of the political world last night, as Governor Charlie Crist announced here in St. Pete that he would switch from Republican to Independent and continue his senate run (he was getting trounced in the Republican primary by tea party hero Marco Rubio). He made his announcement in a park about two blocks away (he's a native of St. Pete) so I walked down and took it all in.

In writing news, work continues on the pirate thing, though I hit some troublesome plot snags which slowed things down a bit. Thing is (and it's easy to say, harder to do) that you've got to just keep writing, even when you know its crap, or the coincidence you just inserted makes no sense, or whatever. It's too easy to give up and leave something half-finished, as I've already done once with this thing.

At any rate, just shy of the 40,000 word barrier which leaves me probably at about the halfway point. All downhill from here, right?

I figure the first draft of this will be done by the end of May, and after that I'll let it percolate a bit before sending out a few copies to friends and family to hear what they have to say. Not looking forward to the query process at all, but I'm gonna exhaust every traditional route I can with this. Think it may be unique or offbeat enough to garner somebody's interest. Time will tell.

Interesting to see seventy-four people have downloaded my free short story "Telegraph Hill" from SmashWords. If you have any interest, you can grab a copy here.

I've mentioned before it was simply gathering dust on my hard drive (not to mention, the pop culture it references is probably already a little stale). But I love the main character, a clueless gumshoe named Dick Londergan.

Like him so much, in fact, that a few years ago I got 6,000 words or so into a novel about him before concluding that I suck and abandoning it. But that's what I'm gonna move onto after I've finished this one. Maybe parlay the free story into folks shelling out, you know, actual cash for the new one.

Nah. Never happen. (:>)

In conclusion, here's today's totally draft and probably senseless excerpt of what I'm working on:

Chris was surprised to see there were so many of them. Seventeen or eighteen, at least. Maybe twenty. He'd personally only shepherded a dozen or so out of the sand, or water, or wherever the hell it was they had all come from, so a few must have had to fend for themselves. Or maybe, the others had helped them make the transition.

However it happened, most looked as if they still wore clothes from the donation bin, but it also appeared as though some of them had gone back and chosen something more . . . appropriate. To Chris, their outfits now looked less ridiculous somehow. More threatening.

Of course, they could all be wearing clown noses and floppy shoes and what was going on in this room would still look threatening.

The Captain was standing on a wooden chair in the center of the room, surrounded by his formerly loyal crew. His hands were bound behind his back. Sykes was the only other man standing. He had turned around when Chris entered the room, and his leg was still lifted off the ground, frozen in that moment of time just before he was about to kick the chair out from beneath the Captain's legs.

One end of the noose was tied securely around a beam about ten feet off the ground. Its other end was tied around the Captain's neck.

End-of-week wrap

Finally finished "Mister Slaughter," the third in Robert McCammon's Mathew Corbett series. Not as fast a reader as I used to be.

If you didn't catch McCammon's recent post regarding his own travails within the publishing industry, including his difficulty finding a publisher for what he describes as "the best thing I've ever written" (this from the guy who wrote "Swan Song" and "Boy's Life") and his concluding that "niche" is where it's at these days in the publishing world, check it out here. Probably something every aspiring writer should read.

Because, if Robert McCammon can't find a publisher for his books . . . then what hope do any of us have?

And if you haven't read, or more importantly, aren't still reading Robert McCammon, then you are missing something wonderful.

The Mathew Corbett series begins with "Speaks the Nightbird."

You know what to do.

Things are going well on the "Swash!" front. Cracked the 30,000 word barrier yesterday with no end in sight. Strange too to be breaking one of the cardinal rules of new (and old) writers: Never write in dialect. Rumor has it hardly anyone ever pulls it off.

But there's no way to write "pirate" without dialect, is there?

Of course, I have no idea if any of it works, or indeed, short of James Joyce or Mark Twain or people far more brilliant than me, if it ever does. And I do know at times that I lay it on a bit thick, but I figure I can always cut it down to size later.

I'm also avoiding anything pirate or pirate-related (short of reading about the exploits of real pirates and real shipwrecks) so I don't end up re-writing "Pirates of the Caribbean" or "Captain Blood" or something. I think that when I'm finished, I'll dig around for those scripts or find "Treasure Island" online and see how thick they laid it on. I suspect I'll be cutting it back some.

But writing this has had some delights too, scenes or tidbits I included for no apparent reason at the time that (hopefully) later add some humor or something interesting to the tale.

For example, my fourteen-year-old protagonist goes to the mainland one day, to the dentist, where the reader learns for the first time he has braces. No biggie, lots of fourteen-year-olds have braces. And today, he's getting his off.

So, the next time he runs into one of the . . . newcomers, it results in (again, hopefully!) this humorous exchange:

Seeing Chris smile, Hornblossom smiled too, and said, "An' if it not be too forward, lemme say yer new teeth be lookin' fine, laddie. Didn' wanna say anythin' at the time, but that last set a yers lef' a whole lot to be desired. Scary lookin' things they were."

It took Chris a moment, but when he understood he just smiled again and said, "Thank you."

Yeah, I know. It needs work.

While on the mainland, Chris also takes a strange coin he's been given from one of the newcomers into a coin shop, where he learns it could pay for his first year of college.

While he finds that interesting and all, more importantly, it puts him closer to piecing together the strange happenings in his corner of the world. What he finds most intriguing is that the coin itself has another name, a name he's heard before. It's an 8-reale coin, once more commonly known as a "piece of eight."

Happy writing!

The Great Word Count Race

I remember reading somewhere that scholars were examining Mark Twain's original manuscripts for "Tom Sawyer" or "Huckleberry Finn" or one of his other classics when they came across a strange sort of code at the bottom of each page. There was what appeared to be a random number written and circled on each one.

Before they had a chance to go all "Da Vinci Code" on the subject, one of the level-headed researchers realized that what those numbers reflected were the number of words on each page. Yes, even Mark Twain kept track of his word count.

I bring this up only because it is a subject near and dear to a writer's heart. It is the sole objective measurement of our output, our productivity. So it's no surprise that many of the tweets from writers that I follow have to do with their own word count, either great pride at the 3,000 word marathon they've just finished, or frustration at their measly 500 word output.

I've noticed too that one of the celebrities I follow on twitter, the wonderful and inventive creative force behind the films "Shawn of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz" @simonpegg is apparently also working on a novel, and yes, he too has been tweeting his word counts.

I guess there's just no getting around it.

Speaking of word counts, things are going well on the pirate novel front. I was just shy of 24,000 words a few days ago when a series of events climaxed at the same time, leading me to stop right there, open a blank page, and smack dab in the middle of it type: BOOK II.

Not sure if that will be the structure when finished (though I absolutely can see it having four "Books," each about 25,000 words) but it was nice anyway to have "finished" one part of it. And if it only provides the psychological boost I need to continue on up the hill, then that's okay too.

Speaking of shipwrecks being unearthed by the shifting sands of Cape Cod, did you catch this this last weekend? From The Boston Globe:


Photo by Harry R. Feldman Inc.

"The wreck of the British warship that Paul Revere slipped by on his legendary journey to Lexington in 1775 has resurfaced in the shifting sands of Cape Cod, and federal park officials are seizing the moment by having the wreck "digitally preserved," using three-dimensional imaging technology.

"We know the wreck is going to disappear again under the sand, and it may not resurface again in our lifetimes," said William P. Burke, the historian at the Cape Cod National Seashore, noting that the last time any part of the HMS Somerset III had been sighted was 37 years ago."

It was actually a similar event a few years ago, when an old schooner resurfaced at a place called Newcombe Hollow in Wellfleet, that inspired me to write my current wip. Here's the (very draft) scene where my protagonist comes across his wreck:

As their game progressed along the beach, Chris reared back and threw it over a tall dune. After watching it fly, the dog bounded up and over to retrieve it. Chris followed. Halfway up, he began to hear excited barks and yelps from the other side. Curious, he moved faster, and when he reached the top and looked down, it took a few moments for him to understand exactly what it was he was looking at.

On the beach below the dune, like the exposed ribs of an excavated dinosaur, thick black beams protruded from the sand. Though mostly buried, the part that was visible was about fifty feet long from end-to-end. Dismissing what he at first thought might be the skeletal remains of a whale, Chris crept down to get a closer look at what he now understood was the remains of the ancient shipwreck.

Of course by now, no doubt, there's lots of other writers out there maybe inspired similarly. Who doesn't think it's cool when a shipwreck resurfaces, and what writer of fiction with any interest in such things wouldn't have his appetite whetted to explore it? Can't help but wonder if maybe now, I'm in a race with a dozen other writers to get this thing out there first.

Or maybe I'm just re-writing "The Goonies."

Could go either way.

On that subject, I finally renamed the working document "Pirate Novel" to its new working title, "Swash." I like it, though it remains to be seen just how much swashbuckling there will be. I may just have to throw some in there to justify the title! And come to think of it, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

In other news, if you get a minute, a hilarious and telling clip from a recent "Colbert Report" makes clear in no uncertain terms on which side he comes down in the copyright debate. Check it out here.

There's an interesting article in today's Globe that's either heartening or depressing (I'm not sure yet) of the trail the book "Tinkers" blazed before this week winning the Pulitzer Prize in fiction. You can check that out here.

Finally, I made a short story that had otherwise been gathering dust available for free on Smashwords. It's a (hopefully) humorous tale of an old school private investigator who stumbles into perhaps his strangest case yet. You can grab it here.

Enjoy! Or not. Your choice.

And happy writing!

Of Pirates and Time Travel and Other Unlikely Things

Contemplating something for Permuted's recently announced time travel anthology, but every idea in my head ends up being a re-write of either "The Terminator" or "A Sound of Thunder."

A future where machines take over? Been done. Going back to kill someone who has an effect on the future? Been done. Something changes in the past, with a "butterfly's wings" effect on the present? Done and done.

I did start something a while back, about a distant future where Earth has been destroyed, but the alien conquerors kept a few humans around because their natural curiosity made them good galactic private detectives. They do a lot of whiz-bang travel using futuristic gizmos, and have found that they can travel through time using ancient recordings of these things once called "movies" (or so the legend goes). Placing the recording into a machine, they can travel back in time to where the "movie" was set.

But it occurs to me I've never successfully written a story specifically for an anthology. I wrote a Poe thing for a Poe anthology, a futuristic thing for the "Footsteps" anthology, and "Fortunato's Ghost" for Permuted's "The World is Dead" anthology.

Now, I like every one of those stories and think they're pretty good. But not a one was accepted for the specific anthology I wrote it for. If anything, anthology submissions make good "idea fodder," and if you write a good story and it doesn't get accepted, you can always send it somewhere else.

And I still resent Permuted's last editor updating his submissions under the heading "slush pile." I sweated over the story, submitted it, and now you're calling it slush? I always thought "slush" was the term for unsolicited manuscripts and stories, and last I checked, you had an open submissions call . . .

Not bitter.

Progress continues on the pirate thing. Been averaging upward of 1,000 words a day, which is nice. Funny to find, though, as you go back and re-read and edit, that half of those words are crap. So you cut out the crap, and end up with four or five hundred of (what you hope) are the right words.

Also discovering more with this one than with anything previous that I often go back and "paint" in some more relevant facts, or what I hope are interesting or humorous happenings. For example, it was a Saturday evening when my protagonist successfully thwarted the raiders' attempt to steal the shipwreck (which is an old pirate ship, but nobody knows that yet.)

And it was just after midnight on Sunday morning when young Chris first meets the crazy man who shows up and talks funny. Of course, the "crazy man" is the captain of the pirate ship, who, with the unearthing of the wreck, has also come back.

Now, the guy needs more help than Chris can provide, and he's also really tired and wants to go home because his mother will be waking him up for church in just a few hours. Long story short, Chris does what he can for the guy and finally gets home, and the next scene takes place in church the next morning. And here's where the "painting" comes in:

I'd already written the above when it occurred to me that it shouldn't be just *any* Sunday morning, but it needed to be Easter Sunday morning. No doubt part of the reason was because Easter just passed, but more to the point, it allowed everyone in town to dress up in their finery, put beautiful flowery hats on all of the women, ensured there would be coffee and danish in the back of the church after the services, and mostly, it meant that Chris would not be able to find ANY excuse not to make it to church! I needed him there.

I also kind of like the idea that the celebration of a resurrection should coincide with . . . a resurrection.

Anyhow, I've rambled enough. But for those still reading, here's another snippet from the WIP:

In his seat at the end of the bench, Chris stifled another yawn, knowing the service would soon be over and he would be free. Like the rest of the congregants, his eyes were closed, and his head was bowed for a moment of silent contemplation. He was embarrassed to hear his stomach growl while thinking of the coffee and pastries coming up after the service. He'd had no time to spare for even an apple before his mother hustled him out of bed and out of the house.

His head was still bowed when he began to hear hushed whispers come from the rear of the church. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and saw what all the fuss was about. Upon seeing it, he turned again quickly and began sliding down in his seat, though he knew it was too late. He had already been seen.

But what Chris had glimpsed in that brief moment were the people sitting in the rear aisle sliding themselves all the way over to the other end, while folks in other benches stared wide-eyed at the new visitor. Some quickly turned around again, hushing their whispering children or pointing husbands and reminding them that staring was un-Christian.

When the newly arrived man had caught sight of Chris, he smiled broadly and removed his hat before again executing that fancy bow. But Chris had turned before the man stood up. He imagined the man was now sitting himself down in one of the recently vacated, though no doubt still warm, empty seats in the rear. And as Chris slumped down in his own seat, trying hard to make himself part of the bench, the man in back spoke, his voice echoing around the church.

"Now, now. Don' be lettin' me disrupt yer foin services on such a beautiful day. I apologize fer me tardiness, Parson, an' I'll see that it not happen agin."

Unconsciously, Chris clenched his eyes shut as the man spoke, fearing he'd say something about their encounter last evening. Only when the echo of the man's voice faded away, did Chris dare open one eye and look up to the altar where the minister stood, smiling peacefully with his arms open in welcome . . .

The Stage Is Set

This may not be true for everyone, but at least the way I write, it's been my experience that there comes a point in writing a novel where things get . . . easier.

Now, now. I know what you're thinking. But hear me out.

What I mean is, you've plodded through the first ten-thousand words or so, maybe hesitatingly, maybe with abandon. You've established the main characters, a few supporting ones, and their relationships.

You've described the primary setting, where most of the action takes place, and some secondary ones. You've laid the groundwork for action, or for humor, or for conflict, or for all of the above.

The stage is set.

And that's exactly where I'm at with my current novel.

Of course, I'm writing this no doubt only to spur myself on, to give myself the confidence to proceed. And as of this writing, I'm only about 12,000 words into the thing.

But there have already been a few instances where a situation came up wherein a character was in need of something to move the plot along and . . . bingo! I had already established a vague something or other earlier on in the plot where I could go to find what I needed.

Case in point:

If you read the brief excerpt I included above my last blog post, you'll find that my protagonist, young Chris Duggan, has learned that the remains of the shipwreck he discovered is about to be poached by nefarious types looking to sell pieces of it (or the whole thing) to people with more money than they know what to do with.

The excerpt ends with something like: "And the more he thought about it, the more he knew he wasn't going to let that happen."

Now, when I wrote that, I had no idea how Chris was going to stop the men from going through with their plan. But that's one of the challenges (and the delights) of writing. Because there comes a point in your writing where the characters even surprise you.

In this instance, Chris lives on a slice of land that juts into Cape Cod Bay, where he helps his mother run a bed and breakfast. Chris is home-schooled, but fortunately, the small village is filled with retired professors, artists, and other eclectic types who are more than happy to tutor Chris in his schooling.

One of these is famed New York artist Dale Deusenberg, from whom Chris is learning that just about anything can be called "art," from the discarded tires that Dale once painted and hung on the wall in a New York gallery (and were the hit of the season), to bits of seaglass and discarded trash along the beach that Dale encourages Chris to collect and make art with.

Dale himself has recently become enamored with the packaging from the fireworks he sees in his stops on his frequent drives to Florida. He comes home with boxes and boxes of the things, discarding the fireworks, but painting or making collages from the packaging. So when Chris needs to come up with a ruse to "dissuade" the thieves from taking the ship, he comes up with an idea:

Chris watched from above as eight hunched shadows approached the hole where the wreck lay, then watched them one by one descend the ladder into the earth. He heard their hushed whispers carried on the wind, followed by the muffled pounding of hammers. They were breaking down the formwork supporting the wreck, Chris knew.

He heard the tearing, crunching sounds of nailed boards being torn one from another, followed by dull thuds as the discarded wood was tossed in a pile. After two minutes or so, he began to hear the unmistakable sound of handsaws cutting wood and knew it was time.

Turning to the dog, he asked, "You ready?" The dog wagged its tail, cocked its head, and licked his hand. Smiling, Chris scratched behind its ear and got to work.

He turned on the flashlight, pointing its fading yellow beam where needed before sticking it in the sand. Severely weakened from hours of use, he'd been forced to make most of his final preparations in the dark.

After taking a deep breath and asking himself one last time if he wanted to do this thing, he flicked on the lighter. Using his other hand to shield the flame, he brought it in contact with the master fuse. After a nervous moment, it caught with a smoky hiss. He watched the fiery trail run slowly up the dune.

Is it brilliant? No. Is it art? Absolutely not. Is it entertaining?

It had better be . . .

Because I'm never gonna get by on my looks alone.

The Best Laid Plans

"Anger burned inside Chris. These weren't scientists taking bits and pieces for testing, but souvenir hunters selling pieces of a "real live shipwreck!" He remembered the feeling he got each time he saw some of it gone, then remembered the wonder he'd felt when he first came across it. It had always saddened him to think that one day, there'd be nothing left. But to think that day might be today angered him beyond measure. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he wasn't going to let that happen."

Not sure if you do this, but when I'm working on something, I keep a supplemental "scratch" document associated with whatever I'm working on.

Because I usually write in a linear fashion, without plans or outline, I use it to jot down random notes, thoughts on future scenes, bits of dialogue that come to mind that I'm not quite ready to use, potential character names and the like.

I've mentioned ad nauseum I'm working on a novel I began more than a year ago and abandoned, having to do with eighteenth-century pirates returning to modern-day Cape Cod.

I suspect there will be some wacky adventures, elements of danger, and pirate raids on Home Depot to acquire wood to rebuild their ship. I think their goal will be to go "home," wherever that might be. I'm not quite sure yet.

Anyway, I opened the scratch document the other day and saw this notation:

70,000+ by 12/31/08 and done.

Ah, the best laid plans . . .

In other news, I'm delighted to report my story "The Intersection" has been selected to appear in the upcoming Night Terrors anthology from Blood Bound Books. A few familiar names in there, as well as some new ones. It's an honor to be included among you.

And I'm not sure if that's the Table of Contents, but if it is, it will be the third time one of my stories has "taken up the rear," i.e. been the last story in an anthology. I don't give myself credit for much, but if I do say so myself, I'm pretty good at endings.

I've also shared before that this story too was once abandoned, so maybe there's hope for me and my "pirate novel" yet!

Random thoughts for a rainy Friday

Work continues on the novel, picking up steam as time goes on. Funny, I began this one about a year ago and abandoned it (like so much else) while in the midst of self-doubt. But things are moving fairly well now, which is nice.

I remember the columnist Dave Barry commenting on writing his first novel (“Big Trouble”) saying something like, “Okay. So, you put a bunch of characters together and then . . . you have to get them to DO something.”

And that's one of the daunting challenges, I suppose, just finding the right characters. Will the girl I've placed at the front desk even figure into the story? How about the guy who does light maintenance at the inn, or the two fisherman at the bar?

These are just folks I put there to do something for a moment, or are there to be someone a character I'm more certain of can talk to.

But the thing is (and you've GOT to keep telling yourself this in order to have any hope of finishing) it doesn't really matter this early in the plot whether these characters will come alive or not. And they can always be excised later if necessary.

I think it's important early on (for me, anyway) to populate the novel with lots of characters, because you never know! They might be needed later on, or become critical to the story in some way. You've just gotta keep the faith . . .

On another subject, to get some sense of how much competition there is, I've often wondered just how many people use Duotrope.

According to Duotrope, one anthology I've submitted to has about fifty submissions, but the anthology website reports that they've received over 400, which would make the percentage something less than one in ten reported to Duotrope (assuming they've had more submissions since the 400 number).

Makes sense to me!

And happy writing.

How's the Weather?

"For three days, winds from the howling nor'easter whipped the seas of Cape Cod Bay into a frothy brew, pummeling the shore with ten-foot waves and pounding seawalls along the coast. Wind gusts of sixty-miles an hour created whirlpools and eddies that rode atop and swirled beneath the unusually high tides, churning the current above and scouring the seafloor below."

Thus begins the first draft of my current WIP, an as yet untitled tale of Cape Cod and pirates that may end up being either "young adult for all ages!" or something more akin to Christopher Moore.

Of course, I'm only 5,000 words into the thing, so I really have no idea where it will go, or frankly, if it will ever be finished.

But having chided someone else recently on a site I frequent for beginning their work with something of a cliché (in that instance, it was all a dream!) I got to wondering about another writing axiom I heard recently (I forget exactly where) that goes: Never begin with the weather!

It's already too late for "Sumner Gardens" ("It was a crisp New England afternoon in late October, with a cool breeze that blew the dry, dead leaves back and forth . . ."), but when I saw how I opened my new work, I remembered the axiom, and something of a chill crawled up my spine. I began to wonder if I'd made a habit of it.

A quick check of a few other stories relieved me of my discomfort:

"Parker dragged deeply on his cigarette and kept the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling." – Hope Town

"Higgins turned his cruiser into the lot and pulled into an empty space to the right." – Ohrwurm

"Paul Ellerbee glanced up when he heard it announced the train was entering South Station." – Adamson's Rock

But that research only revealed perhaps another habit, a penchant for beginning things with my protagonist doing something: dragging, turning, glancing. But a peek at "Applewood" revealed that too may not be a problem:

"It was ten-twenty five on a Friday morning in late March when the highway worker happened upon the body, halfway down a small incline and off in a shallow wooded area by the side of the road."

What does any of this mean? I don't know. In fact, I don't even know that what I excerpted above will even be the opening of the pirate novel.

But I do know that, in this instance, the weather is important. The howling waves, the swirling currents, the churning eddies and --most importantly -- the scouring of the sea floor are integral to what happens next.

So maybe opening with the weather isn't the worst sin imaginable.

I mean, it's not as if it's all a dream.