The last couple of weeks I talked about writing 86,000 words, and how I overcame narration issues.
What I haven’t talked about is my journey to get where I am.
I used to talk about depression.
How I fight with it, how I get through it every day, and how my life has changed because of the TM technique.
I want to move away from TM, not because I stopped, I never will, but because writing about TM isn’t my focus.
I write stories because its one of the couple of things I’m decent at, making cocktails, and baking the others.
I feel better after writing than at any time during my day. When I edit, sometimes I feel that way, though it is editing so its not always sunshine and rainbows.
I have goals for this year.
I’ll be working on them one at a time. I have books to publish this year. Last year I didn’t understand a couple of things. It took me longer to figure out how to fix certain areas of my writing. Narration was one I spent a few months adjusting.
Today, as the years moves forward, I know better about how to write and I’ll keep going.
The process it different than it used to be. Writing a lot of words wasn’t something I’d ever done. But things change.
As humans we can either change things or left hoping the world changes for us. Here’s a hint, it never will. We have to change, we have to do the work.
What are you doing to change, either in your life, writing, or other things? Tell me about it.
There are moments in life when we’re taking our time, creating things, and something from our past rears its ugly head.
This happened the other day.
I’ve written since middle school. It’s only been in the last five years I decided to take my writing seriously. The main reason I decided to pursue my writing full-time is that of my wife’s encouragement.
Before that time I’d only done it on the side and never considered my writing worthy of publication.
Then, something happened. Someone told me I’d never be a writer. That I’d never do what I love doing. It was a hard blow. Afterward, I contemplated a lot of things, suicide one of them.
Then, I realized something. That person didn’t know who I was and had no interest in discovering the person I was.
It wasn’t that they said those words, it was more that I took it to heart. I believed them. I felt like they were right about me.
Today, life is different. I understand that person didn’t know me and never cared to.
Without my wife’s encouragement, I’m not sure I would have continued to write.
I’m at a crossroads with my writing. Do I keep going, take a chance, and struggle a little more or do I quit?
After all, I’ve done in my life I only have a couple of things I’m proud of: My wife, my kids, and my writing.
I’ve written seven novels, over a hundred short stories but I haven’t published any of them. Maybe that person’s words influenced my thinking for a few years afterward. Now, I don’t feel that way.
The road used to be cluttered with doubt and fear. Today, I that same road is full of possibilities.
I’ve found the way through. I found it on my own and now it’s time to crush it.
When you feel life slipping and your goals trying, you have to understand that the world is difficult.
The difficulty of this life is that we have to get through it in any way possible.
Our any way possible can be whatever but our decisions along the road to our goals determines longevity.
I don’t usually think about these decisions but something changed. I’m not sure of the content of the change, but I do know it’s effects.
I’m aware of where my writing is going but there are times I’m unsure. I believe it’s impossible to be completely sure of our course. It’s not something we plan; only what we create.
I’ve written stories which were difficult to write and others I had no idea whether I’d come out the other side intact.
We get to where we need to be by working. There is nothing else.
I’ve been away from the blog for a while, but I have been writing.
I’ve been submitting stories, getting rejections and contemplating life outside of writing. That doesn’t mean I intend to quit.
I’ve been think about whether I’m working hard enough to achieve my goals. The conclusion is, I haven’t. I don’t edit after I’ve finished something. I let it gather on my hard drive, sometimes never to see the light of day.
There is a problem, as you’ve all guessed, in this. It makes it look like I’m not producing when I am. I wrote 25 short stories over the summer, finished a novel and started querying another.
I hate editing more than almost anything except spiders. I’m working to break myself of this.
I started the read-through for the novel I finished this summer and started editing short stories as well. The writing group I joined is helping immensely.
My goal was to be published this year, it’s still my goal but publication may look different from what I thought it would be.
Anyway, happy writing. I’m still here just busy with writing and bartending.
Today, I read an article on Tor.com and it got my wife and me talking.
We started with which books were our gateway to reading regularly.
For her, the books she read were the Little House books, Anne of Green Gables, and The Secret Garden.
For myself, reading was different. There were books I felt I had to read to satisfy my father. Then there were other books.
The latter books were ones I wanted to read, and I did, though not in the living room where my father could see the covers.
This second group came from the school library or on my weekends with my mom. She never judged me for what I read. I believe one of the reasons I write horror and fantasy is because of the books she read.
I remember seeing my mom with horror books. Today, along with my wife, she’s the person I feel my books are written for.
When it came to the books my father had me read, it was always techno-thrillers like Tom Clancy, Dale Brown, and others. I was reading those books in sixth grade. I may not have understood all of the text, but I read them because it felt required of me.
The first time I read a book that I loved was The Indian in the Cupboard. It was one my mom bought for me. I read that book a few times. I didn’t enjoy the second book as much and by the time the third came out I was bored with the series.
After we discussed our early beginnings with reading, my wife and I talked about books by authors we don’t read anymore.
For me, it’s Anne Rice, for her it’s the Lisbeth Salander books.
The first time I remember seeing Anne Rice’s books was with my father. I showed him Interview with the Vampire, I was fourteen. He said, “No, you’re not getting that.” Then he handed me a techno-thriller. I read the techno-thriller but remembered the cover for Interview.
It was years later when the movie came out that I read that book. If I had read Interview at fourteen I may have turned out differently. I loved that book, though The Vampire Lestat is still my favorite. I can still quote sections of the book.
I fell out of love with Anne Rice when she started the new Lestat series a few years ago. I’m not sure why I did, but it no longer holds power with me as it once did.
I believe we outgrow books sometimes.
Sometimes it’s the authors themselves.
My wife and I agree on that point.
With my own kids, I used to push books on them. Now, I let them read what they enjoy. I know what feels like to have a certain genre thrust down your throat until you gag on it, it’s unpleasant.
Today, I read a lot in the horror genre, but in order to improve my writing, I’m reading more regular fiction.
If you follow me on GoodReads you’ll see what I’ve read this year. It’s diverse but not as much as it needs to be. I can’t help it, I like to be scared or unnerved by what I read.
I like the challenge of getting through books that terrify people.
When I write, I try to have my wife and mom in mind. I think what would terrify them. Then I do that.
When my son was little my wife and I played World of Warcraft after he was in bed.
Then it grew to be too much to handle with kids. But there was one thing that was always fun: Taking a new character and running it through dungeons.
My wife would use her high-level or I’d use mine and we’d run one of each other’s characters through the low-level dungeons.
It was a chance to say in Guild Chat, ding ___ hit level ___. It was fun.
Now that I don’t play, mostly because of lack of time, sometimes I mark advances in my writing by chokingly telling my wife, ding, I hit another level.
I don’t do it often, because the little thing achievements aren’t a big deal.
It’s when I achieve something big that I say it.
This week I dinged.
I bartend for events for a bartending service. I work weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, corporate parties and similar events.
Our company works with a particular caterer constantly and one of their leads is a writer.
A few weeks ago, he asked me to join his writing group.
Yesterday, through a conference call, we went through each other’s work.
It will be a regular thing, every two weeks, and I get someone else to read my work.
I’ve been wanting to find a writing group where people take it seriously. This is the first time I’ve found one.
I leveled up in my writing this week, Ding!