I’ve talked about how there is a set of statements people will say that piss off writers (and it to some extent applies to all creative people). But, there exists another set. The ones that do not make someone upset, but just kind of baffle. Like, you think to yourself: “how could someone ask such a question?”
And perhaps the main one of these is “where do you get your ideas?” Continue reading
The book opened and laid on his knee. The paper was faded, old, and crinkled. A coffee stain on its binding from back when there was coffee.
“It says many things about what you described,” the man said.
“A ‘book’ does?” asked the boy sitting at the man’s feet. Off in the corner of the room a machine puttered along, producing heat.
“Yes. There was once a time when books told everyone all knowledge. We had one great book we used to read.” Continue reading
Sometimes we all need a kick in the pants. Pure motivational yelling. This article is for that time. Use when needed.
The joy and the fury of creation is one you are not prepared for, but you are born for it. Let me tell you this, it is more than you know, and it pays not enough, and there is never enough time.
And you will find the more you do, the more there is to do. And you will find you can give your life to it. And you will find it will sweep you out and make your eyes tired and the world finds you odd and too far out to understand.
And it is glorious. And let me help you get there. Continue reading
The note said,
It talked about a girl I could not know. Continue reading
When I last talked about this, I had added in red marks through my entire printed manuscript, finding every error I could.
So, yeah. Done with that part.
But what I didn’t tell you about though: is afterward I shared the finished chapters with my Alphas—along with surveys.
And while doing this, I found a nice secure drawer and funneled the finished pages into its recesses.
And now, in nearly the present moment, after around three months or so, among many other projects, a loss of a person, work, and just life—the drawer is full, and the book storage suitcase is empty. Continue reading
Would you believe the insane trip that is the Cold Saga started with me just muttering while staring at a blank screen “my fingers are cold”?
Because, yeah, that’s how this all got going. Here’s the fifth one. You kind of need to read the others first, so follow the links.
1st: My Fingers Are Cold
2nd: My Feet Are Cold
3rd: Our Hearts Are Cold
4th: My Past Is Cold
Our World Is Cold
Our world is cold when we come out of the dirt. When we raise our heads above the ground. The warmth is still not upon it, the freshness still not taking hold of the last vestiges. Continue reading
Alright, here it goes.
Yep. I just said that.
My secret is out there. Continue reading
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