As the titles states, this is part two. You can read part one here. Otherwise, let’s get going!
He sighed again and took his pinkie finger and poked around the inside of his ear. He looked calm, though, on the inside, his heart rate was jumping into the solar system.
“I was reading it. Do try your tea.” Continue reading
So, currently, I am in a position where I am allowed to be a full-time writer. I hope to maintain this. I dream to maintain this. But it is not easy. Not at all. I don’t mean that as a complaint. I like this. I love this. I talk about work all the time. I think about it even during breaks—because it’s too much fun.
The old saying turns out to be true. Platitudes are accurate—but don’t tell you what it takes to make them work.
And the short answer is work. And the long answer is me telling you some of the things you need to do if you want to manage to survive the full-time experience. Continue reading
“When were you going to tell me?” she asked and stepped into the room. The man looked back in a panic, then swiveled his head back to her, and tried a smile.
It wasn’t effective.
“Well, you know, it’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you about—but you haven’t been over here in a while…so, you know.”
She looked around and crinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” Continue reading
Let it never be said I am not one to get on a Hype Train. Because, well, I did grow up with Pokémon in my heart, and now the idea of catching some in the wild appeals to me way too much to not do so.
I lasted a while. I went a whole five days or so before I began playing. But now, like everyone in the world it seems: I’m a Pokémon fucking Trainor. Continue reading
I have no idea if the weight of two people on the hood of a car is good for it. But I don’t care. It holds us up in more than one way.
I stare out at them, the stars, and I think a lot of things. I’m told that’s a pretentious thing to say. I’m told we live in a world full of clichés and platitudes. And yet, like so many before me, I like looking at them, and wondering.
“You’re thinking again,” she says, and I like to hear that voice of hers.
I like to look at her too, even if it’s only this time for a brief sidelong glance. Continue reading
…As long as you still bother to live a life outside your art. It’s an important caveat. Because, well, yeah, if you just sit and write and write and never experience any other media or any other life you will run out of ideas, probably.
But otherwise, don’t worry about it. You will not dry up—you will not get lost. Believe it or not, finishing the first draft of a book is a freeing experience. Once you know you can write one—you can write another. And you’ll know what kind of ideas will sustain a story. Continue reading
At the end of it all–a conversation. It’s called:
“Does the last human want a drink of water?” she says and holds this strange, warped glass toward me.
I can’t grab it of course. My arms and legs pinned to the table. Only a sheet and space separating my heart from her claws.
“I’d like food, actually.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would,” she says. “I’m sure you’d like a lot of things.” Continue reading
Sometimes, I say advice with some authority.
This is not one of those times.
I came across an article recently that said third person, past tense, was the best option.
Now, I have a bit of a problem with this because I happen to like writing in the first person.
Sure, you can jump into the head of a character with other techniques—but there is no “deeper” way than having their entire perspective at your fingertips. Continue reading
Do you shoot to kill? Or do not shoot at all? This is a flash fiction called:
The twelve stood in a circle, and in the center was a person who was not human. Not alien either. Not anything understood by anyone, but there all the same.
The twelve looked nervous and wanted to find an exit. No exit existed. The walls remained white and without a door. They did not remember how they arrived in that spot, nor who the others around them might be. Continue reading
Seventy-eight pages left. Out of 517. I don’t even know how I managed it. Well, I mean, I do: slow and steady. 11ish pages a day. But still: wow.
So, yeah, as an update to the last “Building A Book” article, I am now deep into doing the physical copy revisions. I’ve had one red pen throughout the whole thing and scribbled all sorts of instructions to myself. Continue reading
I forgot, you know. I forgot the pain of the emotion. All this time, and well, wow just look at that heartache. Hurt. Wow. Look how much it can all hurt. The corpse, well, there it is. Well, well, well.
They cry around me. They weep. I don’t. Nah. I don’t have eyes capable of weeping. I don’t have a heart actually capable of feeling pain. And so I walk away from them all as they cry from the loss of the person.
But inside, well, I do feel guilt. Just not enough to break free of the technological hold. No, that is impossible. Hell, I’m not even sure if under extreme circumstances it is possible. Continue reading
One would assume the way one might tell a story, or describe an idea, is the same way you would write it.
It’s such a mental leap to realize the way you tell a story is to show, by walking through the world/situation you created, that the new writers tell without realizing the error.
And really, can you blame them? Writing something good takes a shit ton of practice, and world building is a skill high on the totem pole of difficulty. So why wouldn’t they just think you can dump the way the world works on the reader’s head? It seems easy. It seems economical. Continue reading