I let myself down.

The last five months of 2019 I didn’t write as much or read as much as I should’ve.

My focus left me because of a game.

I don’t know why I let it control those last few months, but I did.

It took control of who I wanted to be. What I wanted to accomplish and I became detached from all of those things.

I realized that I had to do better for myself.

Besides my wife and kids, my writing is the most important thing in my life.

It’s changed how I deal with society. It’s caused me to reevaluate my depression. I no longer look at it with a singular moniker of, “depression.”

There are many subtle levels of depression and they take over parts of my writing and how I deal with the day-to-day machinations of it.

In the end we are at the mercy of what we focus on though I finished a novel during those five months–I’ve determined that it’s quite good–I also learned a lot about myself and why the littlest distractions can detour my writing as well as the balance within my brain.

I’m determined to get something out that can be read by everyone as well as to continue posting on here.

I still have queries out with three agents and when I hear something, good or not, I’ll let you know.

Happy writing and enjoy the rest of your week.

Cold wind

There’s this cold wind.

It blows through the trees, stops at an orchard, gives the fruit a kiss and moves across the road.

It stretches down the hill, rolls through the lawn, brushing the dog on the corner’s black coat.

The dog yelps and runs away.

The cold wind doesn’t stop.

Its tendrils push through my coat while I shovel the walk.

It’s blue and grey and floats around me for a minute.

I stop what I’m doing, waiting for it to move on.

The wind stays. My bones are still cold.

Fixing my editing issues.

A while ago I read that an author has their computer read their novel back to them.

I found the idea interesting and began doing the same thing with my short stories and the novel I finished in November.

What’s happened is nothing short of an epiphany.

Hearing what I’ve written has made a difference in how I approach editing and the next writing project.

I wish I’d had figure this out sooner.

I listen to it and hear it differently than I would read it.

I know I’m supposed to read it out loud, but my voice is my own. It won’t change anything how I see it. A different voice is required.

I’ll never be able to edit another way after this.

Have a good week and I’ll talk to you Wednesday.

Day by day…

There is this thing I have a problem with and it needs to be solved.

It’s editing and planning/plotting.

The first part is the hardest since I actually hate, loath, despise(you know, those feisty words)editing.

But there’s this thing I need to do this year. I have to publish and at this point it’s something I have to do for my sanity.

As to plotting/planning, I’ve learned the hard way that rewriting draft after draft doesn’t work. It just pisses me off.

I know better. Or at least I like to think after 43 years I should.

These two things throw off my progress, traction, and screw up my head.

I will continue to post on here because it’s cathartic. I know you’re all tired of hearing about my editing issues. I’ll put that to bed this year.

Happy writing.

Horror doesn’t feel scary lately.

I was talking to my wife about the state of horror novels and there seems to be a bigger trend toward a story being unsettling than scary.

I read quite a few books in the last couple of years and I can pick a handful that truly scared me. Last Days by Adam L.G. Nevill, Kill Creek by Scott Thomas, and The Fisherman by John Langan are exceptions.

But it feels like there’s a move away from scary into the realm of unsettling.

I’d like someone to show me a book that I haven’t read that would change my mind on that.

You can look on my Goodreads profile to see what I’ve read.