Books, short stories, and…publication?

You reach a certain point as a writer when you know that you must put your work out for others to read, view, and absorb.

For me, this realization came after finishing the last book I wrote in December.

I realized after the last line was written that every book I’d written had moved me towards that point–I’ve written four–but living in fear of being judged for my writing kept me from publishing.

I’ve sent short stories out, but all of them have been sent back with a form letter.

This year, I have goals that need to be achieved. I will send off two books and wait to see if they’re picked up,

I will send off two books and wait to see if they’re picked up, I will write three books, write a bunch of short stories, which is what I do in between novels, and I will keep moving forward with my writing.

Writing keeps my brain working, it keeps my mind functioning on all cylinders and the thought of quitting now when I know that I’m better than I was only a year ago, is the driving force in my life.

I once wrote only for me and now that I’m writing full-time I need to put it out there.

In the next few months I’ll share details, but for now. I’m writing, working on getting published traditionally and making more art.

 

 

Achieving Goals in 2016.

I had a couple of goals for the past year. A few of them were sidetracked but I kept to them as much as I could.

I wanted to get in better shape, which I did through half the year, but faltered in the latter half. This was my fault and I take full responsibility for it.

I wanted to finish a book. I finished two.

I wanted to spend more time with my family, especially my wife.

I’ve done this. I was able to attend multiple field trips with my daughter and watch my son perform at his Christmas guitar concert.

I wanted to read a lot more. The only way to improve you writing is by reading.

I read 15 fiction book and 11 non-fiction, which I’ll list below.

Fiction: The Darkness that Comes Before – R. Scott Bakker, The Fireman – Joe Hill, The Exorcist – William Peter Blatty, Head Full of Ghosts – Paul Tremblay, Haunting of Hill House – Shirly Jackson, Assassin’s Apprentice – Robin Hobb, The Dragon Reborn – Robert Jordan, The Shadow Rising – Robert Jordan, The Magic of Recluse – L.E. Modesitt Jr., Prince of Thorns – Mark Lawrence, Magician: Apprentice – Raymond Feist, The Man in the High Castle – Phillip K. Dick, Mistborn – Brandon Sanderson.

I’m also reading The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin and should have it done by the end of the year.

Non-Fiction: Ask Gary V – Crush It – Jab, Jab, Right Hook all by Gary Vaynerchuck. The Compound Effect – Darren Hardy, The Entrepreneur Roller Coaster – Darren Hardy, Go For No – Richard Fenton and Andrea Waltz,  Go Pro – Eric Worre, Grit – Angela Duckworth, Scrum – JJ Sutherland, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck – Mark Manson, No God but God – Reza Aslan.

There are a couple of books from each of these lists that have either changed the way I write or the way I think.

From fiction: Head Full of Ghosts and Prince of Thorns. Both of these books gave me a new way to look at my writing and others writing, I would put Left Hand of Darkness on this list as well but I haven’t finished it and am only judging for the first two-thirds of the book.

From Non-Fiction: No God but God, Crush It and Grit. These three changed my brain about a few things.

No God but God gave me insight into Islam, a topic that is reported improperly in MSM. Islam is something I’ve wanted to learn more about and this was a good place to start. Crush It was the book that changed my mind about my writing and how hard I wasn’t working to achieve my goals. Grit helped me identify where I’m lacking in preparation for my writing.

I accomplished my goals for the most part, but I still have a couple things to improve.

Next year I’ll be publishing.

 

Monotony

We reach the world, cross the oceans and still there is nothing but gulls, laughter and the monotony of the world around us.

It suffocates, smothers and eliminates the breath.

Monotony is the greatest killer of creativity. It takes the best of us, covers it in petrol and lights it.

In the world we have, monotony makes us docile. It makes us easy to kill and in the end, we will be killed, we will die and the monotony will take us deeper into the cavern of loss.

Christmas Hope

Today, we went to Brio at Fashion Place Mall. It was something to remind us of Vegas and it’s a place our kids always enjoy.

We went in expecting a good meal and came out with something else, hope.

We’ve struggled financially since our move and we’ve been trying to make ends meet have a good Christmas .

My wife works full-time and I’m trying to get a book published and bartend on the side to make ends meet.

Today, after we ordered our appetizer and drinks, the waitress came over and told us someone was paying for our meal and that we should order whatever we want.

I tried not to cry.

While we’ve struggled to make ends meet, I’ve gone hungry and I’m sure my wife has as well so our kids could eat.

I haven’t been able to help as much financially as I had hoped when we first moved and money has been tight.

To the person who paid for our meal today, thank you so much.

Your gift has meant so much to my wife and I.

Merry Christmas,
Brian and Anita

The Fight…

I’ve been circling the pit lately.

I hear the voices from within its muddy walls and the world stops.

I get those panicked breaths and I wonder what’s brought it on.

Staring down from my cliff, waiting for the tendrils to pull me in I wait on the rim.

I wait for something worse to happen, I wait for a lost job, a tragedy to befall my loved ones where the tendrils pull me back.

I feel the pillow over my face suffocating that smothers the life I want and takes away the life I have.

I stand at the rim looking in, hoping for something to bring me back.

But as the tendrils reach I put words on the page, for that’s my only solace.

The words count at the end of the day and the fight back the monsters.

The words push me away from the rim, away from the tendrils as their claws rip at the muddy precipice of the pit.