Make it Personal

I made a post over on my gaming blog that I thought was also applicable to post here. It's not going to be an exact copy, but I'm going to use large chunks and frame them slightly better for this blog. The basic musing came from my thoughts about "tortured" protagonists in fiction.

The class I used to play when I was heavily into World of Warcraft was a Warlock. These fellows consort with demons and are generally shady characters. I wrote some in-character RP back in the day, and it was always fun trying to make an evil, selfish character sympathetic. I like to think it made for some very interesting reading.

Last weekend, I went to see Iron Man 3 and really enjoyed the movie. I had the crazy notion just this morning that, you know, Tony Stark might be similar to my Warlock character. He's not evil, nor does he consort with demons, but he definitely has that selfish thing down. Let's just say: He's no Captain America.

The cool part about that movie, to me, was the cleverness with which the story was pulled off. In the Avengers movie, the very fabric of the world was in jeopardy what with the alien invasion and Norse gods and all. It was the epitome of a "save the world" plot. How, then, do you create a movie in the same universe, with the same character, and have it retain a high stakes feel? It's like... well, we just saved the world, now what? Sequels in general struggle often with this problem. The stakes were so high in a previous movie and any subsequent plot will fall a bit flat.

There is a neat little trick that I think IM3 nailed. Instead of putting the whole wide world in jeopardy, you need only put the main character's world in jeopardy. If you do your job and make a sympathetic character, then threatening things that are important to them can really raise the stakes without needing to resort to threats of a more global variety.

As a former Warlock, I appreciate this. Saving the world doesn't always appeal to me. Sometimes, well... let 'em burn, right? Yet, threaten what I love and... it's on! A game like World of Warcraft has a hard time using this trick, since everyone is a protagonist. Global threats are the only ones that seem to work , which perhaps is why I feel it gets a bit overdone there. They have some good story threads, but my favorite by far was the Lich King. Fitting, then, that it may be perhaps the most personal of the story-lines in that universe.

With Damian's story, I'm trying to use what I learned from my time as a Warlock. Tortured, somewhat ambiguous characters are loads of fun to write (and hopefully read). Just... don't forget to make it personal!

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Not ROWing Right Now

Sadly, I do not plan to join round 4 of the ROW80 challenge. As obliquely referenced before, my world sort of got Blown the Eff Up (to put it mildly). Such things happen. I am neither the first, nor the last to have run this particular gauntlet. I will rise and write again... just not right now. I have to get through today first. And then tomorrow. And then the next day.

I can't make goals and promises, because all the old ones are still sitting around me in shambles, twisted and blackened from the explosion. And me? I'm like that grizzled war vet in the movies when a bomb goes off next to his head (I'm even sporting the typical unkempt stubble). I've got blood streaming from the ears and I'm wandering around aimlessly with a high pitched ringing in my ears. Occasionally, another soldier sidles into my view, visibly yelling, but not making any sound that I can discern. Also, where is the bunker? There's way too much shit flying around for me to be out in the open like this.

Love is a battlefield. Better go and get my armor.

So while I'm off looking for it, I don't quite feel that I can invest myself in anything productive. The goal, this round, is just to Get By. Haven't we all had a round like that? Doesn't exactly make for interesting blogging, does it? Oh, what did you do this week? I woke up, did some stuff, and then went back to sleep. And I did it seven times! Can you believe it? No, I don't really recall exactly what I did. Strange? I guess I didn't notice.

Sometimes life's just like that, though. When you're going through hell, the best thing to do is keep going.

I wish all you ROWers luck. I'll be lurking a little less than usual, but still lurking. Maybe come New Years, I'll be ready to hop back in. I know I still have stories to tell, I just need to get off this damn beachhead first.

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Olympic-Sized Passion

It wouldn't be the first time I've been sitting in front of a TV and said: "They should do this for books." Watching the Olympics, I find myself intrigued by the athlete's rise to the top. There are some great stories out there.

One common thread that many of us can related to is passion. Olympians develop a passion for a sport, and then chase after it with reckless abandon. I can't help but feel I bit jealous.

I know, I know. I could totally pursue writing in the same manner. Or could I? Would there be any social support for someone who drops out of school to go train for years... in writing? Who goes on sabbatical to focus solely on writing? Who attempts to raise a whole bunch of money to pay for writing?

The side of the Olympics that I think is given short shrift is the money side. How much money do you suppose goes into each Olympian? Just from my own experiences as an amateur athlete, I can make a guess. And it isn't a small number.

I've always had a bit of a problem with the whole "starving artist" image. I do not believe that one need starve in order to pursue a passion. The Olympians certainly don't starve. They do, however, rely on a whole bunch of help from people that believe in them.

In older times, there was a patronage system for supporting the arts. Artists were developed on a patron's dime, and then flaunted. There were a whole bunch of flaws so the system as well, but when I hear some of these Olympic stories, I think that they basically had sport patrons. A lot of successful authors also had this kind of support along the way. It helps to be able to shut out the distractions of everyday life, and really focus on honing a set of skills.

I guess the point is this: Passion is expensive. Especially an Olympic-sized passion. And the network needed to support such a passion only serves to make the achievement more amazing in my eyes.

So cheers to all the patrons out there. You may go by a different name -- Coach. Trainer. Parent. Mentor. Friend -- but you help turn passion into reality, and that's pretty cool.

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Less Than A Point of Deductions for Irrelevancy

Here's a quick bit of mildly interesting rambling. I'm not sure how I'll tie it to writing or reading, but I figure this is something most folks can appreciate. Apparently, there's this whole thing called the "Olympics" going on. Right, I know, crazy.

There's just enough time between Olympics that I've almost always found myself in a completely different stage of life when each is occurs. In a way, they sort of mark the passage of time.

Also, it's the only time where I turn on my TV and say, "Yeah, sure, I'll watch women's field hockey. I mean, the US is playing." Then, by the end of the match, I'm yelling at the TV: "That should be a free shot! Totally dangerous sticking! Bah!" Like I know what I'm talking about.

Gymnastics is the worst. By the time we've gotten through the team competitions to individual all-around, everyone is a judge. I'm sitting there thinking, "Well, she'll lose 2 tenths for that balance check, but the difficulty is high so it should factor out, right?" And, "1.58572343 deductions! Rough crowd." And finally, "If she doesn't get less than a point taken off, then there is no justice in the world."

Maybe the connection here is that, as humans, we love to judge. It's pervasive in every culture. Sure, our particular opinions may vary widely, but we're united in the sense that we form those opinions. The Olympics are not only a great reminder of the global diversity that exists, but also that there are a lot of basic things that we share as humans.

As writers and readers, we already know this. Look at reviews on Amazon or Goodreads. We're handing out gold, silver, and bronze for a spectacular performance. And, at the end of the day, it may be the books that "win" are ones that capture best our shared humanity.

Just a bit of thought food I'm munching on this Friday.

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Writing is Like Football

On my gaming blog, I've often drawn parallels between pixels and pigskin. Considering one activity is populated by "jocks" and the other by "nerds," you'd think wouldn't have much in common. Yet, when you participate in multiplayer gaming, a lot of the team principles I've learned over the years through sports come in handy. On the flip side, sports could probably learn a lot about preparation by analyzing gamers. When was the last time you heard of a footballer pulling a 36 hour workout session, straight, with only hot pockets and mountain dew?

The Indiana High School football season started yesterday. Teams across the state are holding their first practices this week. For the team I volunteer for (Go Shamrocks!), we've begun a tradition of the first day obstacle course. It's basically a torturous romp through the woods with activities dreamed up by psychotic coaches. Probably sounds awful, but I swear we make it as fun as it is grueling. By the end, we're just as tired as the kids, and everybody feels like they deserve one of those "I survived" T-shirts.

It's great for team building.

Apart from that, we try to address the mental component of football along with the physical. In between activities, we have classroom sessions, not where we go over the x's and o's (plenty of time for that as the season goes on), but where we talk about leadership, perseverance, and goal setting.

It was during the goal setting session that I wanted to stand up and talk about writing. The head coach was talking about how important goal setting is, and how studies have show that successful people set goals. More importantly, the goals they set are logical and obtainable, but not easy. They are adaptive to reality, yet still absolute. They are fundamental to how winners operate.

For instance, perhaps a kid wants to be an all-state player by the time he graduates. That kid will have a whole lot better shot at succeeding if he also has a stable of smaller goals, stepping stones to help him get there. As a sophomore he should set goals for improvement in the weight room, and compete for a varsity spot anywhere he can. He probably won't be a starter on offense or defense, but there are a whole lot of spots on Special Teams that often get overlooked. He would commit to excelling in the classroom. The very best players are both athletic and smart (I know sometimes it doesn't seem like it with football... but there's really a lot to process on any given play.)

The point is that the player needs to set smaller goals to help him achieve the larger ones. That's the best way to succeed. Plenty of schools have spent oodles of money (at the collegiate and professional level) figuring this out. There are whole programs devoted to sports science.

I sort of wanted to stand up and say, "That's what authors do with writing."

A lot of people, when you tell them you've written a novel, look at you with awe. Putting down 50k+ coherent words is as unthinkable to them as running 40 meters in under 5 seconds. It's something they hear about others doing, but don't chase after themselves.

One of my goals was to publish a novel. I didn't do it by just saying "I'm going to publish a novel." I did by setting smaller, stepping-stone goals. Writing a page a day. Editing a chapter a day. Researching self-publication for a few hours. Learning formatting and cover design. Those were all little goals.

This sort of approach came naturally to me, and I think have my long history with sports to thank. I've learned how to accomplish things that, at the beginning you think, "Yeah right." I'm no stranger to grueling obstacle courses. And, really, isn't "obstacle course" just another way to say "writing?"

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The Curtain

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. It's a favorite saying of mine, originating in the classic movie The Wizard of Oz. I think it can be applied to so many different situations. There are plenty of things in life that, I'll admit, I really don't want to think too hard about where it came from. Perhaps that makes me a bad person.

For instance, when I'm having a nice steak at a local restaurant, I don't want to think about the cow that was killed to create the meal. I know it's a controversial issue, and I don't really want to get into all that. Let's just say there's a certain amount of guilt that goes with being human. You either come to terms with it, alter your behavior, or it eats you.

I'm Catholic. Guilt is nothing new for me. That, and everyone experiences guilt differently. What works for me probably won't work for everyone else. But I digress.

What I wanted to do was relate this idea to stories. The more I learn about the craft of writing, the more I recognize certain techniques in my reading. I'm starting to wonder if chefs have the same phenomenon at restaurants. Do they sit down, look at a plate, and immediately dissect the ingredients? Do they take a bite and say, "Ah yes, nutmeg. I should use that more in my own dishes?"

There's a certain amount of innocence that one can never regain. The more you learn, the more the magic of the world fades. Generally, we call this "maturing." Maturing as a writer, chef, or human being. It's all just a nice way of saying "loss of wonder."

Maybe this sort of musing explains why I gravitate toward fantasy novels. I want to believe there is something more. College trained me as a scientist, that doesn't mean I stopped wishing for magic. It just gets harder and harder to find in the real world. There's nothing better, then, than losing yourself in a novel where magic really happens.

Still, I have to be careful. The more I learn, the thinner that curtain gets. I see shadows of the man behind. His loafers peek out from underneath the obstruction. I know I'm catching glimpses, and part of me wants to know. If I want to reproduce the magic, it is probably a good idea to consult and learn from the magician. But knowing a trick ruins its mystique.

UNLESS -- and this is the cool thing about writing -- you consult the magician and learn that there is no trick. It's real magic.

The fact that there are basically no hard guidelines to succeeding with writing fiction is something that can be infinitely frustrating. It can be infinitely comforting at the same time. Crazy, huh?

Whaddya mean I had a brain this whole time?! Can someone check this guy's Wizarding License? Bah!

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Adventure is a State of Mind

Posting may be a bit sporadic this week. You see, I'm on my first real business trip for the Day Job. I say "real" because they've sent me an hour to the west and several hours to the north before (once crossing state lines to exotic Michigan... which looks oh-so-different from Indiana, geographically and culturally, but I don't really count those as trips. I did get a meal reimbursed on one, so maybe it counts, but the expense report for each had like two items. Hardly anything to write home about. I mean, it practically was home, so I'd just be writing to the same place I'm writing in. Wait... my head hurts.

Anyway, today finds me in exotic Juarez, Mexico. Okay, so maybe it's not super-exotic, but it's a lot different than Michigan from Indiana. They actually speak a whole 'nother language here. Can you believe there's anything outside of English? I know!

Okay, I'm being a bit facetious. I just honestly don't get out much. Plus, my knowledge of Spanish consists of random nonsensical words, learned either from random cab drivers while on vacation or Dora the Explorer. I assure you, backpack was not coming to the rescue when I'm tried to order my Subway sandwich at lunch. This is, coincidentally, evidence of my lack of adventurous spirit, I suppose. I go to Mexico and have Subway. I thought it was safe because I could point at the toppings. "Yeah, that. No, not that. No mas! Gracias." At least the chips were a slam dunk. Doritos is the same in Spanish. Who knew?

When Day Job informed me that I was being sent (at last second and probably great expense), I found myself equal parts reluctant and excited. Reluctant, because, let's face it, travelling sucks. Especially air travel these days. At 6'2", 220lbs... planes were not made for me. Honestly, if you killed me, boiled all the meat off my bones, and retrieved the femur from the pot... it would not fit if laid horizontally in an airplane chair. Perhaps a grotesque way of making a point, but there you have it. Planes and large people do not get along.

The writer in me was very excited, however. Any chance to visit a place heretofore un-visited is a golden opportunity. For instance, coming from Indiana, I don't get to see much geography. I'm guaranteed that pretty much any other locale is going to have more scenery than the amber waves of grain that I'm used to. In fact, some of you may have seen my tweet upon landing. Yes, I even found the rental lot majestic. (In my defense, the sun was silhouetting a large hill, and the coloring was that particular red, orange, purple color, that makes one stop and sigh. Only in the desert, it's, like, intense, yo. Like chose-the-wrong-grail-in-Indiana-Jones-and-the-Last-Crusade intense.) El Paso (just across the border, where I'm staying) is pretty much a city in the middle of a desert. I've not done a whole lot of desert travel in my lifetime, and the view from the plane alone netted me a whole bunch of imagery I'm banking for later.

Which brings me to the point of this article. I may be a terrible traveler, but as a writer, I cannot afford to be a hermit. An adventurous spirit seems to be a necessary part of writing, especially fiction. Fortunately, it doesn't mean you have to book a trip backpacking through outer Mongolia. Adventure is in the eye of the beholder. Every day is an adventure. Scenery is only what you make of it. A hill that excites me is probably completely boring to the El Paso native. The early morning border crossing is a complete chore for the average El Paso commuter, but for me it is fodder for a story about bank robbers (or something). A writer makes his own adventure, even on a stupid work trip when he's stuck in an office that's not all that dissimilar from the one he left miles away.

Here, at least, they call it El office, which makes it waaaaay more exotic.

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Writing Freckles

I'm face deep in the editing gauntlet right now. My goal is to knock out two chapters a day, and thus make it through the entire novel in two weeks. (Actually 15 days, but who's counting?) I started in earnest on Friday, so it probably won't be until the second week of May before we get Fates' Motif released. That's all right, though. Gives The Only Sparkle some time to air.

I wanted to write about a phenomenon I've noticed as recurrent on this, my third trip through the "official-I'm-really-going-to-share-this-with-the-world" gauntlet. As with most authors, I alternate between loving and hating my writing. There are days when I'm all "this rocks" and other days where my face needs to be scraped off the keyboard.

In general, though, I'd like to think that I'm fairly confident of my writing ability. I need only read a book by (insert celebrity here) to be reminded that, often, writing ability has very little to do with what sells. Sure, being a phenom with a pen (or keyboard) helps, but it is not the be-all, end-all of selling books. Most readers (myself included) will tolerate sub-deity writing if the story is solid and we feel properly entertained. I'm not trying to solve world hunger with my prose, just get you to maybe smile a bit. Keeping it in that perspective can help shut the old inner-critic up. When faced with bouts of doubt, I try to ask myself: "will someone, somewhere enjoy this?" Will it make someone smile (or sniffle, whatever the case may be)? That seems to me to be a more realistic expectation, though I still want to shoot for the moon (that would be guffaws or wracking sobs, if we're using the International Reader Emotional Response Scale).

Anyway, the recurrent issue here is what I'll call a "writing freckle." You see, we writers can be a vain bunch. Sometimes, when we're checking ourselves out in the metaphorical mirror like we think we're supermodels (you know you do it), we're pleased with all that tanned skin we've worked hard to keep tight and smooth. Expensive lotions and our personal cookie-swatter hover nearby, pleased with their contributions to our perfect literary beach bod.

And then, we see it. IT. The freckle. The tiny blemish in an otherwise flawless countenance. Tiny to the cameras maybe, but to us it's HUGE. Omigod, get it off. Getitoff!

Yeah, I have writing freckles. Maybe "mole" is a better term. Freckles can be cute. Has anyone ever accused a mole of being cute? I don't know, but I digress.

There are certain scenes that I'm just not fond of... but I can't, for the life of me, think of a better way to do them. Perhaps a lot of it is relative inexperience. I mean, I'm still new to this whole professional writing thing. Maybe the Steven Kings of the world really do have flawless skin. To the contrary, though, I suspect that I just don't possess a camera with enough magnification to spot their freckles. I'm sure if I sat down with any master storyteller, they'd be able to point out their own blemishes in a New York minute.

Maybe I'm wrong, though, hence the reason for writing this. Am I the only one with these writing freckles? Generally, my alphas, betas, and editors don't point out these discolored parts, so they can't be glaring. They're just bothersome to me, and maybe only to me. It's hard to say. I mean, what if they're just studiously avoiding staring at my butt for propriety's sake (and what a butt, or that fat thing... depending on the day, right?). It'll be covered by my swimsuit anyway.

At the end of the day, I've decided that I should accept my writerly complexion and move on. Perhaps the freckles give me a unique visage; maybe they're not all bad. What is glaring to me may be endearing to a reader.  Also, when it comes to the point of either sharing with freckles, or not sharing at all (since I can't seem to eradicate all of the little guys), I'd rather share. What good is a beautiful hermit?

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Writing Is Like Skiing

I did a Google search on the title, and the first hit was this article. A good analogy, and exactly what I was after. This week my posting will be a bit erratic (if existent at all, though I'm going to try to check in on Wednesday as usual), as I'll be travelling. We have a little ski trip planned.

I'm going to take the laptop and hopefully finish off my novelette during the car rides or warming up in front of the fire after a day on the slopes. We're not going anywhere crazy, just Boyne Mountain in Michigan with a bunch of friends. Half of the crew aren't even skiers, instead preferring the tubing areas, shopping, and the spa. Thus, Boyne is a great getaway for us. Plus it doesn't involve a plane ride.

I agree with the points in the article that I linked. Then, I read the comments and the first person points how how much easier it was for a younger child to pick up skiing than your average adult. The claim was that this breaks the analogy, but I'm not so sure. Children tend to learn things much quicker than adults in general, and I think if more children were writing stories, that they could be pretty darned good in a shorter amount of time as well. There just aren't any classes really on story telling. You make get a dash of creative writing through English courses, but really, how many courses are offered to kids when it comes to story-telling?

I'm not trying to go controversial here, because really, if you're not shooting to be a writer, I suppose you don't need story-telling. It's probably not as important to teach as math, science, or geography. Yet, I can't help but think the world could use a little more emphasis on written communication skills. In any case, we can at least say that writing is "sort of" like skiing. And I'll be keeping that firmly in mind while bombing the black diamonds, I assure you.

This... *bounce bounce* ...is so much... *bounce skid* ... like... *swish bounce* ...writing! *swoosh stop* 

That's pretty much what it's like when I'm typing, too.

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My Favorite Compliment

Even as a learning author, I get a lot of compliments on my writing. Generally from family and friends - so nothing that's going to make me an overnight sensation - but appreciated nonetheless. Part of my love affair with writing is couched firmly in the realm of "daddy issues." My father, before he passed away, was a typical man when it came to feelings. Men of his generation generally didn't sit you down and ask what was going on, even if you were teary-eyed. Especially if you were teary-eyed. (They'd be more likely to scream for their wife, amirite fellas?)

Yet, for all of his seeming emotional stonewalling, my father was a deeply caring man. I learned this not through the sometimes awkward coming of age tales, or the shoulder pats and head-rubs (of which there were enough, if not "many.") No, what my father did, when there was something particularly emotional to share, was write me notes.

Typically, I think he did these in the wee hours of the morning, when everyone else was still asleep and he was consuming his traditional bowl of cereal. (Cereal, every morning, for years.) Neither my father nor I are very good "morning people." Our mannerisms are best compared to a bear whose winter slumber has just been cut short by an unwary traveler. We respond to any and all overtures in unintelligible growls, and our visage was plainly taken from the Will Maw Your Face aisle of the Expression Store.

Morning was like a sanctuary for my father, I believe. There was a short span of my life where I also had a job that required early waking and lived at home. In those days, we both snagged food (cereal for him, a pop tart and glass of OJ for me), and sat across from each other at the table. There were few - if any - words. We prepared ourselves mentally for the day to come, and that was that.

I suspect now that it was during these AM reflection periods (the ones without me, that is) that he wrote me. He only wrote on special occasions. My birthday. The day I took my driver's test. Before exams or the Big Game. The day I graduated from high school. Or just when he knew I'd been having a particularly rough week.

The paper was yellow, likely from a run-of-the-mill legal pad (though my father was not a lawyer). The writing rarely filled more than half of the page. It was always in ink, most often black, though occasionally blue or red. Never green. Or pink. The note would turn up hidden in my lunch, or taped to the computer monitor (I was obsessive about checking my email even then), or near the pop tarts. A place I would be sure to find the words before school. And with those words, I heard his voice. It was as clear as if he were standing next to me, passing along his support or wisdom, whatever the case required. It was a helluva lot more effective and comfortable, too. For both of us.

As I've studied the craft of writing, Voice is something that keeps popping up. I read another good article about it just a few minutes ago. It seems to be one of the most difficult things to describe or learn, yet one of the most important tools in a writer's toolbox. My favorite compliment from the readers that know me, then, is one I actually get often: "I have to admit, it's a little freaky because I could hear your voice the whole time I was reading." Sometimes I'm not sure if its meant entirely as a compliment. From a relative, it may be more like: "Well the romance scenes were sort of awkward because I kept hearing you.... but good." Which, let me say, is likely the right response. It would probably be weird if it wasn't awkward.

As far as I know, my father never trained or studied writing. Perhaps the clarity of the voice in his notes was because of that, rather than in spite of it. Traditionally trained writers can sometimes get mired in the mechanics of the craft, and forget about the art. In any case, I seem to have inherited the ability, and it is perhaps one of the qualities I'm most protective and proud of in my writing. I may not be the most polished in other areas, but I want you, the reader, to be able to hear my voice in everything I write. My father wrote to his son; I'm writing to readers. (I suspect if/when I eventually have a son of my own, I'll find the former more difficult.)

Voice is very important to me, and the more I learn, the more I believe that importance to be well-founded, but it would be a lie to claim that I'd recognized that from the start. Really, I just wanted to relate to people in the same way my father had related to me. It is one of the reasons I dedicated my first book to him. What you read in my books is pretty much how I tell stories in real life - as many of my friends and relatives can attest - and I plan to keep it that way. I guess not all "daddy issues" are bad.

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On The Heels Of Failure

Inspiration often comes right on the heels of failure. Or so I've found.  It was good to get that business off my chest yesterday, and I got some great comments from some very supportive folks.  I think the potential for support and commiseration definitely outweighed the whining.  Plus, I hope it was at least a little funny.

Even so, I didn't want to let that stand for long as my latest post.  Wallowing in failure never did anyone any good.  It's what you do in the face of adversity that makes you who you are.  (I know, I sound like I went to the inspiration poster store last night or something, right?)

Side Note: I'm a believer in God.  It's okay if you're not.  Judging is not up to me, and I wouldn't want that job in any case.  As one of my favorite Priests once told me: "Matt, there are many ways to get from here to Chicago, I65 to 90/94 is just the most well known.  That doesn't always make it the best, and it's not always about who arrives first in any case.  Who are we to say that the scenic route isn't just as good of a choice?"

He was talking, of course, about getting into heaven.  That's sort of the ultimate goal.  I mean, even if you don't believe, it'd be nice to go to this magical utopia where there's no pain and everyone's happy, right?  I know it can sound nutty, but the concept is a nice one at the very least.  And the point is that there a likely a whole bunch of ways to get in.  More than we even realize.

Sorry, that's a bit of an aside.  What I wanted to get at is that I believe God provides answers and support all of the time.  He puts people and opportunities in your life to pick you up when you're down and hopefully lead you in the right direction.  What you may like to call coincidence, I prefer to look at as providence.  It makes life more fun for me.

To that end, one of my muses came through.  Nathan Bransford keeps a solid blog going.  Right on the heels of my little rant, a guest post went up over there talking about success and motivation.  In particular, I love this quotation:

Presently, I am reminded that one of my own personal motivations for writing is, on one level, a desire to uniquely do for others what has been done for me by other authors. And on an even more fundamental level, it is to connect—not only with my readers, but also with that mysterious source within where the stories themselves seem to come from. To experience the magic firsthand!

Great timing, Mr. Shawn Thomas!  This is exactly what I needed to hear.  The dream is to be able to make a living doing what we do.  The motivation, though, is something else entirely.  Motivation by money is an empty highway to the town of discontent, I think.  It's great that, now more than another time in history, there's a window for writers to make a real living, but that's not why we do this.

Shawn's motivations very closely mirror my own.  I want to share the magic.  That's really the best part about this whole gig.

Low sales can deal a blow to your confidence, surely.  But I've already shared just a little bit of magic with a very small number of readers.  I've already accomplished far more in my writing career than I dared dream five years ago.  It's good not to lose sight of the underlying motivation.  I think this is what they call re-centering yourself.

So thanks again to the commenters and Nathan's guest poster, Shawn... you guys helped me return to me, which is the road I've always wanted to take anyway.

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Short Random Monday Bullet-points

I'm struggling with coherent thought today, so here's an un-clever bullet-point list of things on my mind that I'd like to share:

• Finally got a hold of B&N.  It seems that our Fed EIN number (tax stuff) didn't updated to some list right away.  Thus, when they ran it through their system right away, it rejected us.  Apparently, we'd simply submitted too quick (we did do it immediately before moving on to Amazon).  They're re-running the number today and we expect the book to go up tomorrow or Wednesday.
• Print proof should arrive today or tomorrow.  If good to go, we should activate the print edition tomorrow or Wednesday as well.  Yaaay!
• I mentioned it in a post the other day, but I'm including the e-book free with purchase of a print copy.  Details to follow on a page.  Basically though, I'm going to either send it to you in email, gift it via Amazon, or provide a Smashwords coupon.  We'll see how that goes. 
• Missed the ROW80 check-in yesterday because I was out of town.  That's okay because I'm just going to do a full week update on Wednesday.  I'm pretty sure I nailed my goals this past week though.  Good stuff.
• If you are currently reading my book... Thank You!  We're in double digits for sales now and it's only been a week!  I know I'm not shattering any records here, but I've seen some successful indie authors grow out of a far sparser first month (and I'm only at a week!).  Hit me up with a review on any of the sites, or email me if you prefer.  Got a favorite passage?  I'd love to share it on here.  Where did I shine?  Where did I suck?  I want to learn!

That's all I got for today.  I've been announcement-heavy lately, and for that I apologize.  I did squeeze in a fiction post which was fun.  I'm enjoying that little story, though I have no idea where it's going.  Feel free to offer suggestions of things you'd like to see.  I have some ideas, but there is no outline there.

Otherwise... thank God this Monday is over with :-).

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When the Power Goes Out

A line of storms rolled through my central Indiana locale last night, knocking out power for a while.  My wife and I are pretty "wired" people.  We have an entire room devoted to our computers.  You might call it an office.  It doubles as a game room, hang out area, and, yes, sometimes a dining room.  It is adjacet to the kitchen.

As you might expect, then, it is a major event when our power goes out.  There is a moment where we each have a mini-panic attack, flipping switches and trying to turn on some lights.  Then, of course, we realize that, dur, the lights depend on electricity too.  Are we the only ones that fail to make that initial intuitive leap?  It only lasts for a minute or two, but it's a harsh wake up call, forcing us to realize just how much we depend upon electricity.  It's not just the computers and TV.  It's lights.  Clocks.  The AC.  Fans.  That one lamp we've never used but tried because - hey, it's dark in here.

After we dig out a flashlight, then curse a bit feeling around for the appropriate battery.  Then switch it on.  Then curse a bit because the batteries are dead and we should have just gone to the "battery drawer."  Then finally get some light only to have it slowly start dieing in your hands as the "new" batteries that haven't been used in three years (everything is rechargeable these days, right?) start to lose charge.  Then your wife comes in using her cell phone as a flashlight and you think "oh yeah, we still have those." 

After all that, maybe you find a few candles.  And a lighter.  If you're not a smoker, finding a lighter can be a sort of mini-adventure in its own right.  The wife points out that "see, aren't you glad I'm sort of psychotic about having candles?"  Ecstatic, dear. 

The house begins to smell like Christmas cookie.  In July.  There's a hint of Ocean, and maybe some Smooth Peach Lavender Rose-petal Tulip Surprise.  And Cinnamon.  Always Cinnamon. 

If the lights haven't come back on yet (sometimes they just like to screw with you), then you're probably sitting there like we were thinking: Now what.  You've just been dealt an unexpected break from life.  This is where my wife and I somewhat differ.  She played with our rabbit, played some games on her phone, and texted some friends.  I went straight for the bookshelf - or, in this case, the Nook... thankfully charged. 

The irony of reading an electronic book by candlelight was not lost on me.  Even as I wedged my butt in the recliner so that the flickering flame struck it just so, I marveled at the oddity of the situation.  The warm glow cocooned me, isolating me from the bunny oinks and girly giggles, and I pressed the button to open the pages.

If you've never read by candlelight, I suggest you try it.  There is something very primal about it.  It reminds me of when I went hunting for the first time.  In my mind, I was transported back to another time, a different place.  I felt closer to my ancestors.  The worries of modern life floated away.  What would it have been like in a time where your job was simply staying alive?  Finding food?  Where the only entertainment at the end of your grueling day was a book?  Or maybe just stories around a fire...

The lights snap back on.  I blink.  The house hums back to life doing its usual house things.  The bunny freezes near my feat, a guilty ball of fluff.  I look over at my wife.

You know, they didn't have very good medical care back then.  Or ice cream cake.  That's a lot to give up.  Still, I can't help but look forward to the next time the power goes out.  I wouldn't want it to happen all of the time, but in small doses, it seems good medicine for my soul.  I'll take my breaks where I can get 'em.

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