An Introvert Artist’s Attempt At Being More Open With His Audience

Here’s my problem: I’m scared to be more personal. But, like any relationship, like any friendship, you must be open with people—or you will not get anywhere. And, being open, means being open to the possibility of pain. You can’t be emotionally hurt by people if you are not exposed enough to be loved.

And, well, blogging is not unlike that. I am, right now, doing what I am comfortable with. Sharing what of me I feel I can. And sending it out there for people to see.

But, with that said, I’m not super comfortable with this social media world we live in right now. I don’t mind sharing in person. I’m an open individual generally—were we to talk face-to-face—but I also know what a danger the internet can be. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: That’ll Be Fifty Cents

Cents went in the machine. Out popped a jar of nutrient-rich slime, and the next customer came up to claim his meals for the next week. The slime tasted…fine, sat in the stomach fine, and would keep you alive.

It was also the only thing to eat—the only thing anyone ate. And thus, ash on John’s mouth. John hated the stuff with a burning passion beyond what a person his age should be capable of feeling. His mother had spoon fed it to him in the usual airplane style as a toddler, and even then, it felt like a kamikaze attack on his soul. Continue reading

Microfiction: Moving In, Moving Out

Wednesday recalls moving in and remembers the moment she wanted to move out. She sees them both as the last of the boxes leave the room. All over the world Wednesday’s gone, seen, and done so much. But, still, each house, no matter how small a time spent there, was a memory, and nothing closes a memory like the last item out of the room.

“I’ll miss it here,” she says and knows she is lying and telling the truth all at the same time. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Was She There?

The ceiling spins, and the fan stays so damn still. My stomach is a churning, burning, mass of something or other that is not bile but tastes a heck of a lot like it. My legs do not go the right way, not the way they should be—the muscles relaxed to the point I’m unsure I can stand. Continue reading

The Newest Fear For People

As a horror writer, I think about what scares people. And, in the new world we live in, the thing people seem most anxious about, if not outright terrified of, is technology.

And I think I have one big clue about why we get so worried, collectively, about machines. It’s the same reason we fear monsters and demons and ghosts.

Loss of control. Continue reading

Microfiction: Bagels And Cream Cheese

“They say the percentage of redheads in this country is really tiny,” Hebert said to the woman as she handed over the cheap bagel, the near-it’s-expiration-date cream cheese tube, and the coffee with a price in the two digits.

“Is that so?” she said, sounding bored. “Well, I guess that’s cool. Enjoy your food.” Continue reading

Good Writer Habits

Okay, so, if you keep up with my newest posts, then you would know I recently covered a bunch of bad habits a lot of wannabe writers seem to have that makes them crash and burn before they really begin. And, in the interest of not only being negative, I thought I would offer some helpful habits that if used will—possibly—increase your comfort toward writing, and your output as a writer. Your mileage may vary of course, and some of these may seem outrageously obvious, but you’d be surprised how many times I’ve told these things to “almost writers,” and they did little to follow them.

Writing is about discipline, after all, and these actions take that same discipline to accomplish. But, though that might sound scary, they are not too hard to do, really. And, from them comes useful fruit.

So, with all that preamble gone and done, here we go. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Unintended Consequences Are For Suckers

In the attic sat a mysterious typewriter. In the attic stood a boy and a girl. All young—except the typewriter. The typewriter was old, as typewriters tend to be.

“So, that’s the one your grandmother talked about?” the boy said, and walked toward it, ducking underneath some webs.

“Yeah—but don’t touch it!” She reached out to stop him but her fingers missed by inches. Continue reading

Write In New Mediums, Author

Never stop learning, never stop reaching forward for new creative skills. This world is full of media, so don’t rest on your laurels. Both because you can get bored, and because your audience can get bored. And boredom is the biggest sin of creating entertainment.

Got it? Good.

Now, with that disclaimer out of the way: I have a relatively different bit of advice to offer regarding how one can keep learning creative skills. Most go for reading more fiction, reading craft books, attending seminars, or workshops, or classes, or (my favorite) just writing a ton. And yeah: do that.

Do that now. Do that sort of thing routinely.

But, as another way to increase skill: may I suggest writing outside your genre and/or medium? Continue reading

Microfiction: Rampant Accusations

I cannot do things to people with my mind. Stop asking. It is not the case. Just ask my mother. Do you think she would have grounded me, ever, even considered doing that if I was capable of such things?

You are being absurd. You are being ridiculous. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Crime Scene (Part 3 of 3)

(And, here it is, the conclusion to the three part story. If you haven’t read them, here’s part 1 and part 2.)

“So… if you’re done faking…?” was all I managed to say, as a cough hit my lungs.

“Yep,” she answered. “Two came in, we picked you. Once you breathed us…ha. Done for good.” Continue reading

Bad Writer Habits

I meet a lot of people, a depressing amount of people, who could be writers. They have the innate understanding of a compelling construction, and possess a creative drive and an imagination beyond normal.

But, as other writers immortalized, “writers are people who write,” and these people I meet often don’t write beyond random ineffective bouts of literary flailing. And it hurts me: this loss of potential. I see the spark unused. I had that same spark, and someone else recognized it and got me going—and I wish I could do that for these people. Be a mentor or a colleague. Get the energy flowing.

But, as they move in the right direction—if they even make it past the fear of beginning—they stumble onto bad habits. Brutally bad habits. And no matter how much advice I give, how much time devoted to helping them, if they do not unlearn these habits, they won’t earn the title of serious writer. Continue reading