Struggling to write and getting my focus back.

Over the weekend my writing hit a snag.

I did good last week. I hit goals, even after I had to rewrite the opening to chapters.

Those rewrites were needed as the POV changed.

I was early in the drafting process and it felt stilted. I felt like the story wasn’t coming across the way I wanted it too. The MC(Main Character) wasn’t coming through in the ways I wanted him too.

I’d written a few thousand words at that point and decided the story was worth it. So I changed the POV. But that’s not why I hit snag.

The story went off script. I have a good outline but the story decided to go down another path.

There are parts of the story I’d forgotten to put in when I made the outline. Things that happen in the certain situation I’ve put these characters in. I had to go back and put them in the situation. It was a needed thing. I didn’t plan for this in the outline and now I feel like it’s taken on a life of its own.

I’m trying not to get frustrated but I’ve taken the last two days off from writing to think about the story. I have to consider the options in the story.

Do I go down one road, maybe it leads to something good, maybe not? Do I let the story go the direction it wants or do I rein it in?

It is a first draft and there will be a few other drafts afterwards and I think I’ll let the story run for a while. See where it goes. I can always eliminate the direction in a later draft if it takes me to dead end.

I’m tired of dead ends. It’s the reason I wrote a damn outline.

My focus has been on other things and I’m working to get it back on track. I haven’t been reading as much as usual and that leads me to dead ends.

Reading keeps me focused and I’m getting back to that.

Today, I’ll be getting back to those things and working on figuring this thing out.

I’ve also begun to do research reading for one of the topics for the project. It’s taking me in directions I’ve never thought of. It’s also heartbreaking to read some of it.

But I’ll leave that out.

Happy writing

Writing for you, skipping out, and gathering in a storm.

After writing Monday’s post I thought more about the person I write for.

The kid whose parents don’t let them read what they want, the twenty-something writer that only wants to get their foot in the door, the writer and reader I am today.

The kid is the easiest to write for because without restrictions they can read anything.

The twenty-something is a bit more difficult because they want they’re writing to mean something, but they also want to have fun while writing.

The writer and reader I am today is the most difficult.

They’re the person in the mirror and I feel unsure about how to help that person.

Do I write something truly terrifying that maybe an agent may enjoy, or do I write something just to say I have something published?

I think this conundrum bears further exploration and may lead my writing to better places.

It’s difficult for me to write things where it’s truly terrifying because I still worry about judgment. I know I shouldn’t because in the end it’s my name on the book and not the judgmental person but I still worry.

There’s this thing running through my head where I see everyone judging me based upon what I write. It’s the main reason it took me so long to stick with horror.

I’m a dark soul, I always have been. And in that darkness I find solace, peace, and freedom.

It’s why I struggle with depression. It’s why I’ve struggled with alcohol(1 month 4 days sober today)and it’s why I need to just say fuck it and write the darkest and most disturbing story I can.

In that story I feel I’ll find the person who should be writing these stories instead of the person pretending to write.

When I write I feel the world stops. When I write it’s like a dream and I’m within the construct of the world.

Without that edging of my dreams I’d be lost and without the writing and darkness I’d never find my way out.

I keep writing and this time I’ll go the darkest I can and see what slithers out of the nether. It’s in the darkest recesses the writer I know I’m meant to be is hiding.

He’s only afraid to make and entrance.

It’s in the bleakest of moments and darkest of storms we find ourselves.

The storm is still there, it hasn’t passed. I believe it’s only waiting for my decision.

When we know what works and what doesn’t.

For the last three weeks I’ve been trying to outline.

I’ve read through the books I have on the subject and the ones I have about beat sheets.

This week I reached a point where reality smacked me in the face. I stared at what I had and tried to write from the outline, then it started to go in another direction.

This is what always happened when I was writing into the dark. But I know this story.

I wrote it as a short story last year. I always wanted to turn it into a novel. My writing group didn’t like the story. It was too dark, too disturbing.

I think that’s why I wrote the fantasy novel.

They write fantasy and sci-fi, I’ve said how much I struggle to write in those genres.

But they didn’t get the story, they don’t read horror.

I was trying to placate them, but in doing that I stopped doing what I enjoyed, horror.

But back on track to the point of this.

I’ve tried really hard over the last three weeks to pull this off and the writing is terrible.

It feels stilted and boring. And the biggest thing of all, I haven’t been having fun.

I usually enjoy my time in the chair. The last three weeks felt like torture.

Yesterday, I wanted to try something out.

An experiment if you will.

I started writing, putting the outline away, and I busted out a bunch of words and it was fun.

I understand I write this way for a reason. It feels comfortable and I don’t worry about sticking to an outline.

I know this story, so maybe that’s why I’m having an easier time. I know what happens and when. I know the ending, understand the characters and love the scary parts.

When I get a new idea maybe I’ll outline that, but for now, with this story, I’ll write it like this.

I also realized that it hasn’t been the drafting part I’m horrible at, it’s the editing.

I even asked questions on Reddit about it.

Understanding where my writing fails is important. It gives me something to work towards. It allows me to improve.

I write into the dark, discovery write, or pantsing because that feels most comfortable when I’m drafting a story. But when it comes to editing, I suck.

Now I know the problem and I’ll be working on fixing it.

These last three weeks also took me back into the pit of depression. That’s a place I’ve fought to stay out of.

I’ve been stressed over this outline business more than anything in a long time. Now I’m moving forward, my way, because I have to.q

Have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday.

Fear and what it does to us.

I was talking to my wife the other night as we lay in bed.

We want to go to London and Edinburgh with our kids next summer and I said, “well if we go there at least we won’t get shot at.”

This is what we’ve come to.

My kids go back to school in two weeks and then it’s stress time.

Any time the sound of siren passes down the street we wonder. Is that going to their school?

It’s a horrible place to be in as a human and a parent to think this way, but it’s the only way I can think.

We’ve reached a point where we cower in fear at the sound of siren, a car backfiring, and fireworks going off.

It’s not normal to act this but unfortunately it’s the point we’ve reached.

I’ve talked to other parents who react the same way and it’s terrifying.

I don’t look at this as a political issue, it’s a human rights issue.

My kids and everyone else’s kids deserve to attend school without having lockdown drills.

Myself and other parents deserve to not worry about a shooting but whether their kid is enjoying school.

I’ve reached the point where I’d rather travel overseas with my family than in the country of my birth.

My family has roots going to the 1600’s in this country. It’s about what’s right and decent not about what’s politically popular.

It’s better when you write what you enjoy.

For the longest time I’ve been trying to write a fantasy novel, but I never thought about why I’m writing it.

Yesterday I did.

I write fantasy because I felt it was expected of me, not because I enjoyed it.

I had a friend turn me on to Fantasy books when I worked in Vegas. It was a genre I never understood and one I never thought about reading.

It always seemed too complicated, too busy and of the 3 novels I’ve written in the genre none of them gave me pleasure in their writing.

I wrote them because it felt expected of me. For the same reason the first novel I wrote was a vampire story. It was expected of me.

I’ve gone back to that vampire story a few times. It’s awful, as first novels usually are, but the story idea is good and I may do something with it later.

The only stories that give me pleasure are horror stories.

There is something about scaring people.

I love the act of creating a story that not only scares the reader but is unsettling to myself as well.

Short fantasy stories are fine, little ones where the reader is following one person. Not the arching novels of Brandon Sanderson. I love to read those books, thanks to a friend, but writing them brings nothing but stress and frustration.

I’ll stick with horror. It’s what I always liked as a kid.

I’d find myself staying up when I’d go to my grandparents. Watching the late night scary movies that aired on HBO, or Tales From The Crypt. Those were some of my favorites.

I remember picking up a copy of Fangoria in the book store and staring at it.

People would stare at me, my own father wouldn’t buy them for me, but I’d sit and read them any chance I got.

The dark, the macabre, and the creepy runs deep in my blood and I enjoy writing those tales the most.

It’s better to write what you enjoy, rather than what someone expects of you.

I had a conversation about this with my mom a while ago. She told me, “I wondered why you wrote anything other than horror.”

Listen to your mom. She knows you best.

It’s what I’ll stick to from now on.

Happy Friday. Have a good weekend.

When writing things click.

A while ago, like ten years or something my cousins who is published traditionally, and who publishes independently gave me a book.

It’s John Truby’s Anatomy of Story.

At that point I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how to use the book, didn’t think I needed the book, and was determined to do it on my own.

Here’s a tip, when someone gets you something and they’re trying to help you, use it. Do whatever it takes to understand it .

If you don’t get it, ask for help. It’s really okay to ask for help.

Go to Reddit and ask. The people on R/writing are awesome.

But use whatever is at your disposal.

I never asked. I was stubborn and borderline asshole.

The belief that we can do something ourselves and ignore what people tell us is stupid.

You need help, ask.

Now that I’m trying to figure this out(ten years later)I’m struggling to do so.

I should’ve listened to her. Paid attention and not just read the book and not understood it. I should have done a lot of things differently.

Now that I am doing things different, I understand she was trying to help me.

She was trying to get me to understand writing on a different level.

It’s taken me a while but I’m getting there.

What we become when we’re not paying attention.

Life moves pretty fast, right?

It moves faster when we’re not paying attention.

It comes at us like a demon. Striking with fast claws, snarling teeth, and the energy of a bunch of toddlers.

We sit in our comfy chair. Wait for the world to do something for us. The works owes us, isn’t that right?

Bullshit.

The world owes us nothing.

We owe the world a debt we can never repay just for being on this blue mudball, spinning through cosmos.

It took me a while to realize this. I know others who don’t understand what I wrote above.

They’ll never understand that this world is ours. This life is ours and we can do with it what we want. But we should do something that either improves the lives of those around us or the world.

I never used to think of my writing that way. Not until this week.

When I put my story on my Kindle, seeing it the way a reader would, it made pause. I’ve never thought about the reader. I’ve always thought about what I get out of writing.

I’m 50% in on the book and I have to say, it’s really good. I’ve barely touched it since December.

I read a lot of various genres and this one is grimdark fantasy. I love fantasy and this novel is a lot of fun to read. Of course it needs polishing, but for a first draft it’s my best work.

We become the person we feared when we’re not looking. I became the writer that doesn’t care about anything but getting the next story written for myself, when I should think about the endgame, the reader.