Christopher D. Hanna - Speculative Fiction

BELIEF

2012-01-19T22:26:00.000-08:00

If you read my blog regularly, you know I will at times diverge from the main topic of writing to delve into some of the more esoteric aspects of my personality. I generally try to stay away from controversial topics such as sex, politics and religion. Well, today I will be gently treading on matters of belief and on what the word "belief" entails.

First, a little background on my experience with religion. While I was young Mother made sure that I and my siblings attended Sunday-School at the local Pentecostal church. I do not remember much about the lessons themselves, only that afterward I had to sit through the boring (to a young child) sermons, often using the time to nap. Thankfully, as I got older the trips to church petered out and finally ended. I do remember evening get-togethers with other churchgoers where cookies could be pilfered and a recital where a six-year me got up in front of the congregation and proudly stated the long rehearsed phrase; "Children should be seen and not heard. So I won't say a single word!" This is also the church where my Mother married my Step-Father. The pastor during rehearsal asked, "if someone here objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace." At which point my siblings and myself stood and turning to the guests with huge grins, exclaimed "WE DO!" which led to thunderous laughter.

My child mind was neither inclined nor curious enough to question anything I was told, if a grownup told me such-and-such was truth - it was. Although, headstrong and bold as I was, truth or not, if my inclinations went against what I was told, I went with my gut and did it anyway. I was too involved in my own world of imagination. A world where I was in full control and everything was possible. A world with no rules but my own.

I was still very young when I experienced events which tore my world of imagination, and my family, apart. Suddenly, I realized that I was not in control of my world. Shame, hurt, distrust and fear distorted how I saw people and how I thought they saw me. I stopped believing the truths I was being told. I started questioning, if only internally, everything I once believed. I was an innocent child suddenly turned cynical and hostile toward anyone who could not provide answers or rectify my shattered vision of reality. Anger and retribution became my new driving force.

I had a friend who was a Jehovah's witness. Whenever I would spend a weekend at his house it was expected that either I would go home on Sunday morning or go to their version of services. Not wanting to go home and be bored, I went with them. I was now in my early teens and a building powder-keg waiting to explode. Maybe it was all the talk of eternal life, peace and happiness and never-ending joy, but I actually started to become interested in knowing about this mythical God everyone talked about. I started reading the bible. I started actually getting answers that made some kind of sense. I studied furiously. To this day, I honestly think that if I had not at this time let go, because of what I was learning, of the hurt and anger that was welling-up inside I would have done something terrible and regrettable.

Of course, when I started asking real questions.. the tough questions, when I noticed incongruousness between what I was being told and what I rationally inferred from the lessons I was being taught, I suddenly did not feel as welcome among the witnesses as I once had. By the time I graduated from high-school I had made a firm commitment to myself that if I was to get to know about spirituality it would be on my own terms.

My great fascination with Science-Fiction and Fantasy novels laid a foundation for questing after knowledge. In college I was approached by a fellow who gave me a copy of the Koran. After skimming through the texts I quickly realized there were no answers to be found there. I politely returned the tomb and excused myself from his company.

Christianity, Islam and Judaism were too closely linked and all too strict. I turned to the pagan systems and consumed them all with ferocity. Wicca, Buddhism, the Tao-Te-Ching, Agnosticism, witchcraft and transcendentalism; they all had flavor but no substance. In desperation I looked for even stranger sources of knowledge: Blavatsky, Aleister Crowley, Edgar Cayce, secret societies and myths that predated modern society. Still, nothing but more questions and more than a little disgust. I even read the Satanic Bible, which, once you understand it is actually quite reasonable and nothing at all to do with skinning cats and sacrificing babies in black mass.

It was not until October of 2008 when finally everything I learned from every source crystallized in me and became real. The seed of it was from a novel I had read at least five times. In it a man who was raised by aliens, thus having an alien mind, learned what it meant to be human. He set out to teach man the magnificent truths which were as basic to him as drinking a glass of water; and we killed him for it. With his dying breath he looked upon a grasshopper and said, "Thou art god." It was when I read those words again for the sixth time on October 26th, 2008 that I had my epiphany. I renounced all other faiths and was reborn as an Autotheist.

TO BE CONTINUED ON MONDAY.

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50 WORDS

2012-01-16T21:56:00.000-08:00

HENRY'S FAVORITE

Henry's ball was his favourite toy. Bright colours, bouncy and smelled like bubble gum. Suzy Washbourne borrowed it during recess. She kicked it into the street where it was run over by a pickup. Henry was very sad. Suzy kissed him on the cheek and henry was never sad again.

YOU NEVER GET A SECOND CHANCE...

Sweat dripped from the captain's chin. His ship was confronted with that of an unknown species. New protocol dictated a defence only approach to first contact. Humanity had only encountered one other space-faring race since venturing to the stars. The guilt of genocide was still fresh on his conscience.

FOOLS RUSH IN

Roland was first to explore the cave opened by an earthquake. Ignoring safety procedure, he went in alone. The unsteady structure soon enough had him pinned against a humid, sludge smeared wall. He screamed in pain and terror as the slime-mold enveloped, then digested him from the outside in.

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YOU SHOULD NEVER COMPLAIN

2012-01-12T21:12:00.000-08:00

Each day an estimated sixteen-thousand children die of malnutrition. Four-thousand-five-hundred die each day from drinking unclean water. Eighty-Five percent of all workers bring home less than six dollars a day. Many feed and clothe their families on less than two.

If you live in a developed country and work for minimum wage, or are on welfare, you are still in the top ten percent of the richest people in the world. You waste enough energy, clean water and food each day to sustain two families in a developing country.

Last year, I almost made it the whole month of March with a daily allowance of $3. My rent and bills were not included as they cost me nearly $20 a day. The $3 was for everything else; food, transportation and entertainment.

For one week sometime soon I will shut off the power in my apartment and turn off the water taps. I will live out of a bag with only the following items.

1 Change of clothes
1 Work uniform
1 Clothes hanger
1 Disposable razor
1 Toothbrush
1 Terry-cloth towel
1 Kitchen knife
1 Plastic bowl
1 Coffee mug
1 Empty 2L water bottle
1 Book
1 Notebook
1 Pencil
$7.00

I will eat only what I can buy with $7.00, beg or barter for. I will drink, cook and wash only with the water I bring home in my 2L bottle. Since I can't build a fire or an out-house in my apartment I will be using the microwave oven and toilet. My goal is to be industrious enough to not only live the week on $7.00 and the items in my bag, but to live well. I will not use electricity other than the microwave oven and will not use water that I don't bring home other than flushing the toilet. I will not use any object in the apartment other than what is in my bag. (I have a cat, she is not included in the experiment. She will get good food, clean water and plenty of snuggles each day.) Since I can't use my bed I will be sleeping on an "improvised" one, my love-seat cushion on the floor.

I will walk everywhere I need to go without using taxis or public transportation. I will be keeping a journal that I'll copy over to my blog when the experiment is over because, for that week, I will be completely unplugged and offline.

I have a few goals for the week as well:

1. Make my own entertainment. An improvised musical instrument made from refuse.
2. Buy one luxury item; A box of salt, toilet paper or bar of soap.
3. Let nobody suspect the experiment is happening.
4. To document the extravagant waste I see.
5. To make and sell a piece of folk-art made from refuse.
6. To use everything, producing virtually no waste.
7. To end the experiment with at least a dollar left.

When I began my frugal blog last year I had an idea in my mind. To that end I am continuing to research and experiment. Please be patient with me as this project has been underway for nearly four years now and is ongoing.

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BACK ON TOPIC

2012-01-09T21:37:00.000-08:00

Please excuse my brief foray into off-topic posts in the last few weeks. I became overly concerned with the ups-and-downs of my private life. This is, after all, a blog about writing.

Coming up are two contests I will be participating; The Recorder and Times Short Story Contest and The Writer's Union of Canada Postcard Competition.

My Story for the R&T will be as close to 1,500 words as possible in a style I'm not entirely familiar with, but am excited to try. I can't give any details just in case one of the judges may be reading this.

I'm not particularly fond of entering contests that require a fee, but Melanie Robertson-King passed along information about the WUoC competition and I don't think I can pass up this opportunity. I specialize in flash fiction and 250 words is exactly the length of our monthly writing assignments from Writers Ink, my writing club. Unfortunately, as Melanie pointed out, my last piece titled "Putting Your Best Foot Forward" is ineligible due to being posted on Facebook. I am guilty of quite often posting something I am proud of for the whole world to see, without considering it's potential monetary value.

I do need a topic for the postcard competition. I have not, as yet, come up with a suitable one. Any suggestions?

I have set some writing goals for myself this year:

1. To enter the above mentioned contests.
2. To publish at least three short stories in a literary magazine.
3. Once published, to gain membership in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.
4. To write an anthology of eighteen short stories set in a fictional universe to be titled "Realm 216: Ripples in Time"
5. To finish a secret project I have been toying with for a long while.

I got the ball rolling last year by collecting a few more rejection letters, placing in the Storefront Writing Competition and being accepted for publication by McGraw-Hill Ryerson. I am trying to keep that momentum going. I started this blog back in 2009. It's hard to believe it has been two-and-a-half years since I began to write earnestly. I would really like to thank the ladies and gentlemen of Writers Ink who have accepted me, my eccentricities, and pushed me further along than I ever would have managed on my own. Thank you!

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BEING RESOLUTE

2012-01-01T07:55:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year. It's January 1, 2012. Have you broken your New Year's resolutions yet?

Mine were to focus on eliminating some bad habits, developing new healthy ones, writing more and elevating my station in life. I had fallen off the wagon and smoked a few packs of cigarettes in the last two-and-a-half weeks. I have no desire to return to being a smoker, so as of today I have put a stop to that once again.

I look around my apartment as I sit here. Mismatched furniture, derelict computers, books and odds-and-ends are clutter from my old life. As of today, these things no longer represent who I am and must go. In my last blog posting I mentioned that I am working-class poor. Despite what you may wish for, we live in a class-based society.

When I say class-based, I mean three things; income, wealth and social graces. Income generally determines your tax-bracket. Since what I currently earn could be considered the poverty line, I am lower-class (or working-class). Someone earning Two-Hundred Thousand a year or more, could be considered in the upper-class. However, income is not the only factor. That same person could also be several million dollars in debt (for whatever reason.) In which case, earnings do not define wealth. Someone else making Twenty-Thousand dollars a year, but has no debt, is wealthier.

The last aspect of Social-Class is the social part. Culture, education and CLASS. As someone who is poor, my associates also tend to be lower income. It is unfortunate, and perhaps even a little bigoted, to say that the manners of the young to middle aged in my income-tax bracket tend to be less than exemplary. I too am guilty. I have always been accused of being anti-social, well, that is only because I generally choose not to associate with drug users, liars, thieves, and stupid loud-mouthed porcine mannered clods.

I know I will never be an aristocrat, but I long for the culture of good manners, fine foods, summer vacations and leisure. This year is dedicated to taking the first steps to achieving that longing.

Happy New Year

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WELCOME THE NEW

2011-12-28T13:28:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over again for another year. New Year's Eve is soon upon us. Traditionally it is a celebration of the passing of the old into the new.

There are certain things of old I am more than ready to let pass away and new possibilities to look forward to. Socially and economically I am considered lower class poor. Until now, I have never really considered my station in life or how miserable it has made me. I am ready to say goodbye to that poor wretch and embrace creating a more desirable lifestyle.

The changes I have resolved to make in myself may offend some of those close to me. Unfortunately, I can no longer afford to live under the thumb of what others may think. I have to reach out and take what I want from life. I do not want to be on my deathbed looking back on my years and regretting that did not have the courage to live them the way I wanted.

It is such a tragedy that most live in such a way as to create an appearance of what others expect of them without ever being true to their own desires. Appearances are worth absolutely nothing in the end; nothing at all.

I do not want to be an employee any longer. I cannot stand being subjugated by the rule of employers and working for their benefit. I want to be a professional writer and make a comfortable living at it. I have expensive tastes but have never been able to indulge them. I want to work as little as possible while earning as much as I can so I can really begin to appreciate every single moment of the rest of my life.

Phew, I really unloaded a bit of baggage there. 2012, I wish, will be the year I turn things around and become the person I want to be. I am ready to welcome the new.

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HAPPY HOLIDAYS

2011-12-21T19:20:00.000-08:00

Regardless of the source, the message - Peace on Earth. Good will towards men. - is poignant, not just during this holiday season, but at all times throughout the year.

Many traditions mark the winter solstice as a turning point, marking midwinter, when days start becoming longer and nature begins the process of renewing life. For much of recorded history this has been celebrated by communities gathering together in feasts and festivals creating traditions and lore, the origins of many being lost to time, that are part of the core social rules that allow us to co-habitate this planet.

Despite what culture you were born into, what beliefs you hold sacred, the DNA in your cells or the language you speak; you are of only one race, human. We are a species with few natural defense to protect ourselves. Compared to other animals our bodies are weak. We do not have sharp claws or teeth, protective fur against the elements or the quickness to escape predators. It is our creativity and ability to work together towards common goals that has allowed us to endure, prosper and to dominate all other forms of life.

When we overcame the elements, predators and starvation, we turned our minds from simple survival to enriching ourselves. We have created great masterpieces of art, unlocked secrets of the universe and have reached out into the heavens in search of others like ourselves to answer the question: Are we alone, unique in the vast cosmos? We have done this only through thought and co-operation. However, we have encountered a stumbling block.

We have had duel roles in our distant past, of both predator and prey. Instinct tells us to watch out for hunters and in turn, to kill. We no longer live in fear of being eaten, and don’t have to stalk our food, thanks to grocery stores. These instincts still prevail, so we turn to the only dangerous and weak animals left, each other.

It is our nature to overcome hardship. We thrive and grow as a species through competition. When we no longer had to compete against nature, we turned on ourselves. We created with our minds abstracts of thought that became as real to us as food, fire and water. We argue over these intangible things, hate each other for them and even kill for these things that exist only in our minds. These abstracts have elevated our competition with each other from healthy, to detrimental to the whole human race.

The phrase, written by Shakespear opening Richard III, “Now is the winter of our discontent,” takes on new meaning in this world we live in. It means, the time of unhappiness is past. It is time to let go of old fears, hatreds and rivalries over things that have no real meaning. We are nearing the solstice of our time, as a race. Now is the time to celebrate our renewal.

It begins with you. Consider, during this time of gathering and merriment, how you are going to bring about peace on Earth, good will towards men. If we can let go of the meaningless pain we bring to each other and embrace co-operation, there is no limit to what joys we can share.

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MORE LESSONS LEARNED

2011-12-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

As I writer, my craft is done, for the most part, without the assistance of others. It is only during the review and editing phase by a publisher that feedback and direction is given. However, when writing in collaboration with one or more people, especially when you do not have complete creative control, conflicts can ensue.

I recently VOLUNTEERED my talents as a scriptwriter for a couple of local young men attempting to pitch a show to the community cable company. Although I had promised to write a complete thirty page shooting script PRO-BONO, I still had my career to consider when attaching my name to any project. Success or failure, my involvement would follow me.

A roughed out concept, a list of characters and ideas is all I had to go on. The concept has been done, repeatedly, in the last few years so fresh ideas needed to be injected. The characters were two dimensional. The dialogue, hackneyed and there was no plot whatsoever. In order to resurrect a dead dog, I had to inject bold new concepts into the project, which were immediately dismissed. Oh, not simply dismissed, but rudely insulted. I was given no creative license and told that my contribution didn't matter.

My time writing is worth $30/hour. It would have taken about fifteen hours to complete the script, thus, I was willing to donate $450.00 worth of my services to this project free of charge. Apparently, my contribution was not good enough for these boys.

Lesson learned. I excused myself from the project, wished them well, and went about my way. I was so insulted and infuriated that I bought a pack of cigarettes. I had quite eleven months previous. Smoking those five cigarettes, before flushing the rest, did nothing to calm the slight against me. The only way to soothe my troubles was, of course, to write.

UNTITLED

Leonardo Da Vinci was commissioned to paint a fresco for a well known architect. When shown sketches of the master's work the architect became belligerent and insulting.

"No. NO. NO! This bird must be this way. You can't use the color red! It must be exactly the way I tell you! Who are you to alter what I tell you?" The architect said.

"Good sir. If I cannot paint your fresco exactly to your vision, why do you not paint it yourself?" The master humbly asked.

"Are you stupid? I am a great architect. Not a lowly painter!" The architect raged. "Fine. I will show you. I will paint my magnificent fresco!"

Three weeks later the architect threw a party to unveil his great work. Royalty, wealthy business men and other respected artisans were invited to marvel at his genius.

Thick felt curtains were pulled back, revealing a gross caricature of distorted forms in garish color and texture. The architect beamed proudly while his guests stared in horror.

When news of the architect's humiliation reached Da Vinci, he felt pity for his hubris and immediately sent a letter of consolation.

The next day, outside of the master's studio, the architect was found shouting and cursing Da Vinci. Pride and arrogance drove him to spiteful madness. Because of his public display, the architect was not able to find work. A year later his coffers were empty. The once great architect was forced to sell his properties to pay his debts and to take up a new profession, picking stones from plow-fields.

THE END

Never again will I offer my services without contract or agreement for pay and especially not without creative license.

GUT WRENCHING HORROR

2011-12-07T23:35:00.000-08:00

Since I made the decision to switch the focus of my writing from Sci-Fi to horror, still within the realm of speculative fiction, I find my creativity has come unbound. I have been watching horror films to learn more about the genre. Last night I watched "The Human Centipede" and "The Human Centipede 2".

I get more horror from the evening news than I did from watching these two movies. Sure, HC2 was very graphic and depicted murder, torture and rape, but the film makes fun of itself too much and even these scenes did not induce the slightest twinge of revulsion. I knew it was just a movie, special effects and actors who would enjoy a catered lunch after the scene was finished.

Real life is more horrific.

There has only been one movie that has turned my bowels to ice-water. I did not see the whole film, just one scene. A man has kidnapped a girl and is holding her captive in a shack. He cuts her throat with a knife. You can't really see anything. It was what you hear that will stay with you while your heart continues to beat. It was a rasping, gurgling sound as air is sucked through the open wound in her throat that is filling with blood. It sounded real, as if they went to a slaughterhouse and recorded the sound a cow or swine made as it was being bled-out alive.

Real horror is not seeing or reading about violence and gore, but realizing that there is a very real possibility of it happening to you or to someone you care about.

I want to be able to write stories that will make your breath shallow, your muscles tighten in apprehension and your bowels loosen to the point of shitting yourself. I want to be the creator of your personal boogey-man.

See you in your dreams.

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MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING (IN PARTICULAR)

2011-12-04T20:46:00.000-08:00

Well, let's see. I made an impulse purchase of a Coby Kyros Android tablet. I found it (surprisingly) at the discount chain here in Canada, Giant Tiger. I saw the display but there were no units left. I asked the cashier if they had any information on it. She came back a few minutes later and said they had one reserved, but the customer was supposed to buy it by 2pm and it was 2:30. Did I want it? A 800mhz, 4Gig WiFi tablet with Android 2.3 (Gingerbread) for only $124.00?? Hell YES I wanted it!

So, I am the proud owner of an impulsively purchased tablet PC. I freaking LOVE IT! The first thing I installed was a word processor, then Angry Birds. I also loaded it up with music, YouTube videos (Epic rap battles of history,) and Simpsons Halloween episodes.

I still have not weaned myself off, as Steven King calls it, "the glass tit." That is, television. I am still spending way too much time watching videos and not enough sleeping, working out or even writing. I'll start tomorrow.

I am a little sad that there will be no Writers Ink meeting this month. I have to prepare for the short story contest being sponsored by The Recorder and Times. As it is, I have only a vague concept of the story I want to write. I have learned that the word count is only 1,500. That is a little short but then again, I specialize in writing stories of extreme brevity.

You know it, I know it.. now. My writing has always been tinged with a little black. My stories don't make you feel good. They tend to tear apart the facade of outward life and poke around in the entrails of what lies beneath. For this reason, I have changed the direction of my writing from speculative fiction with a sci-fi slant, to dark SF and horror. There is an online magazine that I will be targeting specifically, and they are local to Ontario. Chizine.

Not much else to report for the week. Tuesday and Wednesday are my writing days coming up. Watch for more twitter fiction, a YouTube video and flash fiction on Facebook as well as a new blog entry for Thursday. (I have missed nearly every Thursday for that last month.)

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Writing As A Job

2011-11-28T07:46:00.000-08:00

In order to move beyond writing as a hobby to writing as a profession it is necessary to treat it as you would a job. You have a set schedule in which you are paid to be productive and achieve certain tasks. If you fail to meet the requirements of that job, you will not get paid.

The only difference is that you will be working for yourself. You will be your own boss. If you have an employee that fails to meet your criteria of a valued and productive worker, will you not do everything in your power to either guide them into being a better worker or replace them?

Being your own boss means getting tough on yourself, not letting the little things slide. If you consistently miss hours, do sloppy work or no work at all then it may be time to face the realization that you are not cut out for that line of work.

How much do you want to earn as a writer?

I currently make less than $20,000 a year at my regular job. If I were to make that amount by selling short stories to magazines that typically pay five to seven cents a word, I would need to sell around eighty, or three every two weeks. In order to be that prolific, I would need to write at least seven hundred and forty-three words per day. That works out to be around an hour of writing and an hour of editing three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Which is the equivalent of working a little over ninety eight-hour shifts at a regular job.

Doing the math, if I work two hundred and forty-seven days a year at a regular job to make $20k and only ninety-one days writing, then I would make $27.50/h writing as opposed to $10.21 working a regular job.

Two hours a day. I think I can make that kind of time. Granted, these numbers are not exact and assume that everything you write is accepted for publication. If you're a decent writer and persevere, then you should have no trouble.

I'm giving myself a promotion.

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ProcrastiNATION – My Country Tis of Thee

2011-11-23T23:19:00.000-08:00

I keep getting behind in my writing. It's so easy to make goals for yourself and then keep putting off the steps necessary to achieve those goals. I had just one goal for the last several months: write a thousand words a day. In the last three months I have written less than would be considered a short story. What? With Facebook, YouTube and on demand streaming TV and movies, writing just has not been that appealing.

My procrastination comes from my addiction to the Internet. Housework goes unfinished, my waistline is expanding, my pocketbook is shrinking and my career is at a standstill. The latest episode of The Simpsons really hit home for me.

Homer gets a team together to quickly write a trendy book that appeals to popular themes in the young adult literature demographic. While Lisa sets out to write a book of her own that is inspired and original. While Homer and his team quickly turn out a cookie-cutter theme novel they hope to get a million dollar advance from, Lisa spends her time doing crosswords, visiting coffee shops and watching kitten videos on the Internet. Not writing.

When it comes time for Homer and his group's book to be published, they discover the publisher has changed significant details of the novel and what turned out to be a get rich quick scheme degrades into a plot to avenge the rape of their creativity by switching the to-be printed manuscript with what they originally wrote.

There were other subplots in the show, but it was Lisa's role as the cliché writing dilettante that really hit home. Will I always sabotage myself and my future career because writing takes effort and it is simply easier to forgo the work and watch documentaries on ancient aliens?

I have tried to create schedules to follow, self-imposed deadlines to keep and even a game to keep me on track with my writing. I pin the schedules up where I can't help but to see them. I mark the deadlines on my calendar. I even keep a journal of my progress in the game. Unfortunately, the best place to hide something from my view is in plain sight. I seem to enjoy the whooshing sounds that deadlines make as they fly by and the game has no immediate rewards. In short, I can't keep me from deciding that I'd rather be doing something else.

It comes down to long-term planning verses short-term rewards. Accomplishing my goals would provide me with a lifetime of pride, but the journey to the finish line is long and mostly boring. Watching George Carlin's Live at Carnagie Hall one more time, makes me happy right now!

If only I did one thing. You see, as I have been writing this blog entry I have been keeping track of my word-count. This blog is roughly five hundred words and has taken me about twenty minutes to write. If I only spent twenty minutes a day writing the same number of words I can write either three novels a year or forty-five short stories. Makes alacrity seem that much more appealing.

New YouTube videos of me reading my work!

The Closet With No Door, The Boy Who Waited

You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter and Google+

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WRITERS BLOCK (CATHARSIS)

2011-11-09T19:14:00.000-08:00

From September 28th, 2011 until November 08 I had managed only to write a few blog entries and a single 50 word flash-fiction story. My productivity after wining third place in a local writing contest dropped to almost nil. The reason? The person I submitted my edited story to for post-contest publication opened my eyes to a singular fact, that is, I have very little grasp of English grammar. It's true. I failed most of my secondary school English classes.

Having my nose rubbed in it was humiliating.

It's easy to blame all of ones less desirable foibles on conditions while growing up. Yes, my parents made mistakes that I do not remember fondly, but I do not blame them for the thoughts and feeling that I have now as an adult. I fight a losing battle against crushing low self-esteem. Any negative reinforcement of this self-critical nature is enough to break down any progress I make towards achieving my goals.

What is my goal as a writer? To make enough money from being published to live comfortably and to be respected for my achievements. I don't want to be rich and famous, just to pay my bills and be liked.

I have received much praise for the work I have done thus far. Due to my own critical nature I question the validity of that praise. I always wonder if it is true, or if people are blowing sunshine up my ass to be kind. The nagging doubt is always there, even when I am being complimented. I do enjoy being told that my writing is good. It makes me feel like I can become a professional writer. Praise is like a drug, once you get a taste you want more. So I keep writing, hoping I will get more of it. When I don't, I start going into withdrawal and crash. The nasty voice inside takes over, telling me what a horror I am.

Even if I never make it as a writer, I would like to think that the attempt has awakened something inside of me. The desire to achieve. To fight back against the nagging voice telling me that I'm not good enough, that I will never be a winner. The only way to do that is to keep trying.

I would like to present you with the flash-fiction story that ended my block. I thought I may try to have it published, but I think instead I will share it with you all.

WARNING – Dark tidings ahead. You have been warned.

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NOVEMBER 8, 2011
THE CLOSET WITH NO DOOR (LIE CAN)

“Do you love me Stephen?” Sandra asked while flicking away a sweaty lock of hair from his eyes. Their lovemaking had been rough but satisfying. She could never tell what he was thinking or feeling by looking into those eyes. Mirrors to his soul they were not. As the seconds ticked by, she knew his silence was the answer. The last two months became meaningless.

Sandra sighed deeply and holding back the hurt, got out of bed and gathered her clothes. She hid in the shadows cast by the full moon to dress. The dark did not protect her from Stephen watching. I AM SUCH A FOOL, she berated herself. She ripped a hole in the light sweater as she pulled it over her head. She didn’t care. She wanted out of his apartment as soon as possible. Before heading for the door she turned to face the man she both wanted and despised.

“Well? Are you going to say anything before I walk out of your life forever?” She demanded.

“How could I love a bitch like you?” Stephen said in a low, even voice. The words stung Sandra more than a hard slap across the face. Time stood still - the heart in her breast froze, mid-explosion.

Shadows swam in unison to the rhythm of a breathless scream. Claws raked at the very air and pierced the veil between realities. Clouds of vitreous smoke belched from fissures zigzagging through the snapshot of the languid tableau. The dark room broke into tiny pieces like a distorted jigsaw puzzle that could never be solved.

A shallow rasping reverberated like thunder in Sandra's awareness. It brought her back from a deep sleep.

Sandra opened her eyes to bright morning sunshine and found herself laying on the bed. Her shredded jeans were soaked, warm and sticky. Looking down she tried to focus on the gurgling cacophony beside her. She was dizzy and nauseated by a terrible smell, the combined pallet of bodily fluids seeping into her clothes and the bedding. They leaked from Stephen, mindlessly clinging to life despite being torn into shreds. His lungs groaned and gurgled with every last breath. A lidless eye, dried out and cloudy, stared at her as if asking 'Why?'

Sandra showered and dressed in a pair of Stephen's boxer shorts and a T-shirt. As she left his apartment she whispered to the mass of flesh she left behind. “Hell hath no fury like a werewolf scorned!”

.

QUILL & QUEST - THE GAME

2011-10-24T09:07:00.000-07:00

I have been in a slump lately. In fact, it's been about two months now. Beyond these blog posts and a few flash-fiction stories I have not been able to write much of anything despite taking the radical move of dropping a shift at work so I can dedicate extra time to my writing. The motivation is waning.

Introducing: "Quill & Quest" the first real world role-playing game for writers. I am writing it as a fun way to quantitatively keep track of your writing progress, keeping you motivated to write and seek publication.

There are two different point systems within the game:

P - Publication points
SP - Style points

The more SP you have, the quicker you earn P. This is still a work in progress though.

Following is an excerpt.

---
Quill & Quest RPG (The role-playing game for writers)

LEVELS TITLE CRITERIA

1. 200P None None
2. 400P Dilettante None
3. 800P Aspirant SP 30
4. 1,600P Novice Win a writing contest
5. 3,200P Ableman Sell 1 short story in a major market
6. 6,400P Writer Sell 1 Novella in a major market
7. 12,800P Wordsmith Sell 1 Novel
8. 25,600P Novelist Make best seller list
9. 52,000P Master Sell 1M+ copies, win literary award
10. ------P Grand Master Multi-Million sales, win several literary awards

P RATE

The base P(ublication) potential per word is (SP/1000). SP are (Style Points).

STYLE POINTS

SP are earned through tasks that improve your writing. The more SP you earn, the quicker
you level. However, SP are lost through time at a rate of 1 SP/Day, Although, you may
never fall below 10 SP. The SP cap/day is 3. The higher your SP, the harder it is to
earn SP. The total SP cap is 100.

For example: Reading 40 pages of a good book is worth (5/Your SP)SP
IF Your SP is 50 then the value of that activity is .1SP
To earn 1 SP doing this activity you must read 400 pages.

LEVEL 1

You have never written anything before, although you find it fascinating. You are an avid
reader and have probably thought to yourself "I can write a better story than this!" Your
book collection is huge and most likely you have read books at least a decade before they
were made into a movie. The book was always better.

You think you know what it takes to be a famous author and are ready to start being rich and
famous.

To start you on your road to fame and fortune, you need to choose a PEN NAME and a GENRE. This
is important because everything you write and publish will be under this name and genre for the
entirety of this game.

Just for reading so much, we are going to give you 10 SP. (Style Points) You will want to start
earning more SP as soon as possible, and to keep finishing your daily quests to increase your
SP, because you lose 1 SP every day. Don't worry. We will never take your initial 10SP from you.
Also, once you advance in levels your minimum will increase to your levelx10. For example; if
you are a Wordsmith with 80SP and you don't do any daily quests for a month, you will still have
70SP when you return.

SP is important because it will help you determine the value of your words. At 10SP, every word
you write is going to be worth (10SP/1000)=$0.01 [One cent]. Don't worry though, you will not
attempt to be published until you reach level 4 (Novice).

TOOLS

To begin all you need is something to write on, a notepad or a computer. Every time you write you
must begin with some basic information:

The Date
Title
Version (First draft, second, edit, polish, published)
Your Pen Name and real name
Your SP
Word count

LEVELLING

In order to level you must accomplish two things:

1. Earn the required P.
2. Meet the required criteria.

If you refer to the chart above, you will see that at level 1, the required P is 200 with no criteria
for levelling.

If you never do any daily quests, your SP will stay at 10. So, in order to earn 200P you must write:

200P/(10SP/1000) = 20,000 words.

However, if you do daily quests for a week and bring your SP up to 25:

200P/(25SP/1000) = 8,000 words.

Whichever way you want to do it, once you have written 200P worth of words you will graduate to
level 2.

LEVEL 1 - Daily quests

Keep a journal of your writing. Whenever you write, or do a quest keep a record.

QUEST REWARD/Your SP

Read 40 pages of a well written book. 5SP (.5 at 10SP)
Edit 1,000 words you have written. 10SP
Complete a game. (Crossword/search) 5SP
Read TEOS (The Elements Of Style) 10SP http://www.bartleby.com/141/
Write 1,000 words 10SP

Remember: You lose 1 SP per day and the maximum SP you can earn per day is 3.

LEVEL 2 - Dilettante

Congratulations on levelling! This is a great achievement. Ninety percent of people who attempt writing
give up before this. Perseverance is key.

The first rule you must learn in order to be a writer is this: You must write!

Now that you are level 2 you meet your first criteria for levelling to 3. Not only must you earn 400P, twice
that of level 1, but you must also raise your SP to 30. Remember, your minimum SP has been raised to 20.
At this level it is also required that you learn the elements of a short story.

ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY - http://hrsbstaff.ednet.ns.ca/engramja/elements.html

SETTING
PLOT
CHARACTER
POINT OF VIEW
THEME

Research each of these equally important elements and learn how to identify them.

LEVEL 2 - Daily Quests

As you level you may continue to do all of the preceding quests. You will notice that writing 1,000 words now
is worth double of level 1. It will always be worth [(Your Level x 10SP)/Your SP].

QUEST REWARD/Your SP

Read a short story and identify all
of the short story elements. 20SP
Write a flash-fiction story <1k Words. 20SP
Write 1,000 words. 20SP

LEVELING

At 20SP you must write 20,000 words. Since you require 30SP to level you will only have to write 13,333 words. A
typical short story is between 2,000 - 5,000 words. By the time you level to 3, you should have written at least
three short stories. Be sure to edit and polish these stories, they may be good enough that by level 4 you may
want to submit them, because by then the only way to earn P is to be published.

---

Well, there is what I have in mind so far. When Q&Q is complete I will publish it as a PDF file.

.

HUMAN - Christopher D. Hanna

2011-10-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone. I have been waiting for my winning story from the Thousand Island Writing Festival Storefront Writing Contest to show up on their website. I got tired of waiting and have decided to publish the story myself for you to read.

Human

By:
Christopher D. Hanna

Sylvia gripped the butt of the small pistol hidden within her purse. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the acrid sterility of the air-conditioned hospital room. Her partner lay prone in bed, lost in a squid-like mass of tubes, wires and probes. Thick layers of pale yellow paint robbed the room of any trace of humanity. Her stomach rumbled, and she resisted the urge to vomit.

An orderly leaned over the bed, adjusted a strap, then left the
room. Sylvia pretended not to notice the guard patrolling the hallway as the door clicked shut. Once alone she expelled the breath burning in her lungs. She shuddered and let go of the gun.

Machines pumped, beeped and ticked away at the side of the bed. Sylvia looked down at her partner, Sean Lawrence. Dark hair, wet with perspiration, lay pasted against his forehead. Florescent track lighting made his skin glow ash-white. Looking at her from under heavy eyelids, Sean attempted to speak, but merely croaked.

“Sean. I'm sorry.” Sylvia said, placing her hand on his. “If I had the faintest idea of the consequences of my actions, I would have written 'Return to sender' across that envelope and dropped it in the nearest mailbox.”

Sean motioned for water. Sylvia took some ice chips from a nearby green pitcher and placed one against his lips. A moment later he swallowed, and tried again to speak.

“No way you could have known.” He said.

“Sean. I lied and cheated. When I got pregnant, I was scared. I had to be sure it was yours. That's why I got the order for the paternity test. It's inexcusable, but I am sorry!” Sylvia said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“It is not your fault. There is no way you could have known my secret, or what would happen to me once it was discovered that I am not one of you. That I am not a human.”

“What does that mean? You're not a freak. Are you from space? I can't believe that. I don't know what to believe or to think.” She said.

Sylvia looked at the man laying on the bed in front of her. They had met and fell in love in high school. She had never intended to betray him. After she had sent in the sample she had secretly taken from him, things happened too quickly for her to understand.

They had been sleeping soundly when a squad of agents broke down their door. Sean jumped out of bed, ready to defend Sylvia and himself from attack. They burst into the bedroom with guns drawn, screaming for them to get on the floor. Sean was handcuffed and immediately taken away. Sylvia was questioned. The agents would not tell her what was happening; what, if any, charges were being brought against them and what was being done with Sean.

“What did they do to you?” She asked.

“Tests. They did everything imaginable and a few things not. I tried explaining to them, but they would not listen.” Sean said.

“Can you explain it to me? Sean, I don't understand. How can you not be human?” She averted her eyes as she spoke trying to hide her tears.

Sean struggled to sit up in the bed, despite being shackled and tangled up in diagnostic equipment.

“Do you know the difference between human and chimpanzee DNA is less than two percent? However, the differences are obvious. Chimps are not human despite being so closely related. Not even all of you are entirely homo-sapien. A long time ago, some of you bred with the neanderthal, although the difference between most humans and human-neanderthal hybrids is negligible and not obvious.”

“Some time ago, it is believed, a super-volcano killed off most of the human population. Those that lived were the smartest, most fit. They were capable of surviving the harsh conditions after the eruption decimated food supplies. That is what human scientists think anyway. The nearest those like me can figure, is that something similar is happening now. Except that instead of a super-volcano creating homo-sapiens, socioeconomic conditions are creating my kind. We look like you and live among you. However, we are no longer human.”

Sylvia stopped listening. She put her hand to her face and broke into heaving sobs. She pulled at her sweater, revealing the slight swell in her stomach, then wrapped her arms around herself, lost in grief.

“They discovered me because of the paternity test. That is one of the differences between our kinds Sylvia. Humans fear the unknown, then destroy it.”

“I.. I'm going to get us out of here.” Sylvia said, reaching into her purse and taking out the gun.

“The things they did to me. I can't leave. You have to get out, get somewhere safe. They let you in here to visit me because of the baby. They want the baby!” Sean said, then he groaned and fell back onto the bed, exhausted.

A knock came from the door and it swung open. Sylvia shoved the weapon back into her purse as a doctor walked into the small room followed by the guard from the hallway.

“Well, hello.” The doctor said, betraying the seriousness of the situation. “We noticed a change in our friend's stats in the last few minutes, and we felt that we should come and check up on him.”

“Please, let him go.” Sylvia pleaded.

“Now, my dear, I'm afraid that is not up to me. If it were, I'd let you both go about your lives. Those above me seem to think your hubby here is not only a threat to national security, but humanity as a whole.” The doctor moved closer to the bed and looked at readings from the monitors.

Sylvia glanced at the guard who stood in the corner looking bored, but deadly.

“So, if you're not going to let him go, what about me and my baby?” Sylvia asked, repressing hysteria.

“Well, I'm afraid we must insist you remain a guest in our facility until the child is born.” The doctor said.

“Then what? You take my child and experiment on it like you have Sean? What about me? Will you keep me locked away, unable to tell anyone what is going on here?” Sylvia fumed.

Sean caught the corner of the doctor's lab coat. The guard immediately rushed to the side of the bed, ready to subdue him. The doctor, though, waved him away.

“You're a doctor, a scientist. You took an oath to protect life. You can't let them hurt her or my child.” Sean reasoned.

The doctor smiled smugly, and with disdain, slapped Sean's hand away.

“The Hippocratic oath applies to humans my friend. You and your bastard are not human. Your woman, however, will be charged with criminal conspiracy and handled accordingly. She won't be harmed.”

With their backs turned, Sylvia slipped between the men and the door while drawing her gun, which she pointed two inches from the middle of the guard's back.

“Drop it.” Sylvia commanded.

The guard sensed the seriousness in her voice. He moved slowly, lowering his semi-automatic rifle to the floor. The doctor's expression changed to fear and horror as he looked at the pistol in her hands. She grabbed a plastic restraint from the guard's belt and handed it to the doctor.

“Take him into the bathroom and cuff him to the sink.” Sylvia waved the gun towards the restroom. The doctor and guard shuffled in with their shoulders slumped. A moment later, the doctor re-emerged. She looked into the bathroom and saw the guard on the floor in a rather uncomfortable position, with his hands around the pipes of the sink.

“Now, help him out of that mess.” She demanded, pointing at the bed. Sean shook his head slightly and whispered 'No'. “Yes, Sean. I can't leave you here to die. This baby needs a father. I can't do this alone!” She shoved the barrel of the gun in the doctor's face. “Get him out of that bed!”

The doctor paled. He began removing probes and needles from Sean's skin. When the last one was removed, the doctor placed his arm under him. With one pull, Sean was upright with his legs over the side of the bed.

Sylvia, grabbing the doctor by the shoulder, stuck the gun in his back and led him into the bathroom to be tied up with the guard.

Sean tried to stand. He was wobbly on his feet but managed to hold himself upright.

After cuffing the doctor, Sylvia rushed to the bed and took one of Sean's arms over her shoulder. They made their way to the door which she opened a crack. There was nobody there.

They slipped out of the room and made their way down the hall.

“They brought me up from the underground garage. The only security was at the entrance of the lot. We can do this!” Sylvia said.

They staggered past unmarked doors with small windows. She dared not look inside, either fearing more doctors or seeing other atrocities they may have performed on more of Sean's kind.

Sylvia slapped the elevator button, breathing heavily under mental and physical exertion. When the elevator bell dinged, she swung her weapon up to cover the opening doors. It was empty. Sean slumped against the hand-rail while she selected the basement floor.

As the doors closed, an alarm sounded. The klaxon rang painfully in their ears.

“They found the doctor.” Sylvia shouted. Sean nodded. Her stomach fluttered as the elevator made its descent.

They rushed into the parking garage as the doors opened.

“My car is in the next lot.” Sylvia said.

A female doctor was just getting out of a tan S.U.V. Sylvia leaned Sean against a parked car and ran towards her, gun drawn.

“Give me your keys. Give me your keys! NOW!” Sylvia shouted, then took the keys the frightened woman offered. Sean hobbled slowly around the vehicle and climbed into the passenger side.

The terrified doctor backed away. Sylvia got in and started the engine. The alarm turned into a deafening warble with flashing amber lights.

Sylvia gunned the engine, and the S.U.V sped off towards the exit just as guards poured out of the elevator.

The exit was only a hundred yards away, but was blocked by a reinforced striped arm. Two guards came out of the security booth with guns drawn. Sylvia was forced to slam on the brakes.

“What are we going to do?” Sylvia cried, pounding the steering wheel. Sean's pained look turned placid. He reached over, cupped her chin, and kissed her hard. Grabbing her gun, he jumped out of the S.U.V and began firing at the guards.

“Go. GO!” He yelled to Sylvia.

“No. Sean. I can't!” Sylvia moaned. One of the guards returned fire. Crimson spurted from Sean's chest. She screamed and kicked the gas pedal to the floor.

The S.U.V lunged forward, ramming the arm and shattering it. The guards jumped out of the way.

Sylvia drove until she ran out of gas, then stole another vehicle and drove it until it died. She got as far away from where she had been as possible. She would have Sean's child. She would find others of his kind and join them; having no more any affinity for the race that called itself, Human.

The End

THURSDAY BLOG

2011-10-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

Creative title, no? To tell the truth, I don't have time today to write a proper entry. Nor did I have one banked. Sorry. My ability to procrastinate and lack of focus have struck again.

Monday's blog will more than compensate, I promise.

.

INSIDE A NON-HUMAN MIND

2011-10-16T22:59:00.000-07:00

I ask that for the duration of this text, that you attempt to suspend your humanity. You shall be an impartial observer without bias, expectation or judgment. Put your mindset into that of an Alien viewing human behaviour for the first time. To help you do this I will require you to follow one simple rule:

You will suspend the notion of a distinction between right and wrong.

You will not play the role of Devil's advocate. You will simply read each account, and decide for yourself (following the rule), which of the options following each example is most true for you.

1. Alex and Robby, both eight years old, are playing in their schoolyard during recess. The boys find a toad and kick it around for a few minutes before stepping on it, squishing its insides out.

a) The boys should be punished and their parents informed of such an act of cruelty to an innocent animal. Such behaviour leads to criminal activity as adults.

b) The children are guilty of an act against God and may hide other more sinful acts.

c) Nothing of any significance happened.

2. Jane has had an attraction to Mark, (her sister Julie's husband), for a number of years. While Julie is gone with friends on a weekend getaway, Jane seduces Mark.

a) Jane and Mark have betrayed Julie's love and trust. They have brought shame and embarrassment to their entire family.

b) Jane and Mark have committed adultery and sinned in the eyes of God. They should be excommunicated and shunned by their family and church.

c) Nothing of any significance happened.

3. The military of another country has invaded your land, killed members of your community, raided your home and subjected you to humiliating conditions on a regular basis. Each soldier has killed several of your people. You hide in your home, unable to access communication, food or medical care. You are the unwitting pawn of politics. Those who have killed your friends and children return home as heroes claiming victory, with god on their side, against an evil foe.

a) You deserve everything you got because you don't have the same values, language and/or skin colour.

b) God is wrath and vengeance and he loves the USA!

c) It may take several decades, centuries or even eons; in the end, those people and events will be forgotten and it will be as if nothing of any significance had ever happened. Nobody will remember you, your conflict or the reasons it occurred.

Almost all Human endeavours are limited in scope of temporal measurement. The greatest majority lives in the here-and-now without ever thinking of what may come tomorrow. Families and communities may think in terms of a few decades while societies may plan in terms of a few generations.

There are a scant few who can look further ahead. They don't look at the longevity of a single person, generations of a family or even the rise and fall of empires; they look to see man leaving this planet behind, harnessing the full power of a star and eventually transcending even the boundaries of physical form.

It is these few who would answer (c) to all of the above scenarios. They know that laws, religions, politics and morality are not immutable constants. They evolve and change to adapt to new social norms. If the concepts of right and wrong change through the passage of time then they must be deemed irrelevant when considering the full breadth of human existence, as well as the here-and-now.

This is the thought process of an alien mind.

We are among you.

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SATELLITE HOAXES, NEUTRINOS AND SUSPOTS. OH MY!

2011-09-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

What does a six tonne dead satellite, a neutrino detector and solar magnetic storms have in common? If you know what these things are, more than you may think.

Sometime during the early hours of September 24th, the The Upper Atmosphere Research Satellite, which had been in orbit since 1991, fell to it's demise. The satellite had been decommissioned in 2005 and was moved into a lower orbit for an eventual burn-up in the atmosphere. Something happened though to cause it to lose orbit and fall prematurely. Because of the satellite's mass, some of it's components would not be burnt up in our atmosphere and posed a possible risk of falling on inhabited areas.

Interestingly, a hoax has been perpetrated that the UARS fell in Okotokes, Alberta. NASA says that whatever was left of UARS likely fell into the pacific ocean, although nobody has been able to confirm this.

Researchers at CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research, have discovered that neutrinos (subatomic particles that are so small they can pass through the whole Earth without bumping into anything), blasted from on lab to another, arrive 60 nanoseconds earlier than a beam of light would have. Essentially, they went faster than the speed of light, which Albert Einstein claimed was impossible. Besides the feat of faster than light velocities, it is also theorized that neutrinos can travel backwards in time. Everything we know about physics may have to be re-written due to this discovery

The sun is now in the active phase of an 11 year sunspot cycle. Which means that there are plenty of surface magnetic anomalies such as sunspots and coronal holes. These solar storms cause radiation and plasma to fly out into space, sometimes in our direction. Sunspots, the most violent of these storms, can cause massive sheets of the sun's surface to be blasted out into space. These are called Coronal Mass Ejections, or CMEs. The more violent the storm, the stronger the possible CME. These flares are classified sort of like a tornado. X-class flares are the strongest of these. Currently sunspot 1302, which has already given off two X-class flares and is still crackling with X-class energy, is moving into position to point directly at the Earth.

So, what does a falling Satellite, neutrinos and sunspots all have in common? You have probably guessed already, it's the Sun.

UARS fell to Earth prematurely because expansion in the upper atmosphere dragged at the satellite degrading it's orbit. You see, it is not empty space between the Sun and the Earth. We actually reside within the Sun's atmosphere. The Sun and the Earth's magnetic field are also linked. More energetic activity on the sun cause the upper atmosphere of the earth to expand, or breathe. Neutrinos come from the sun. They race towards Earth and sometimes are detected with deep underground detectors. Whenever we are in the path of a coronal hole, we get more neutrinos.

All this activity. What does it mean for us on Earth? Not much really. Our atmosphere and geomagnetic field protects us from almost everything the sun throws at us. On rare occasions though, solar storms become so powerful that they effect us on the ground. It is these occasions that we need to be careful of. These storms can induce power in electricity grids causing them to overload. A massive blackout in Quebec back in 1989 was caused by such a storm. The electricity grid of North America is no more advanced than it was back in 1989, it is overtaxed and prone to failure. Remember the Eastern-blackout of 2003? Imagine now, what is sunspot 1302 suddenly blew up an X flare and it hit the Earth square-on.

We would see a spectacular light show in the sky as the aurora borealis would cover much of the northern hemisphere. We would see it very clearly because there would be no lights on the ground to drown it out. No lights, no power.

I lived through the ice-storm of 1998 in comfort. The farm where I grew up had a natural spring, wood furnace, wood stove and a huge generator we could run from a tractors engine. Almost everyone else did not fare as well. With no electricity there was no heat, no running water and no ability to cook food. Most had no power for days, some for weeks. Imagine, no power for Months.

Oh my.

.

HOW LONELY THE WRITER?

2011-09-22T06:42:00.000-07:00

Inherently, the act of creating prose is done in solitude. In very few cases are there writers who perform their craft under the scrutiny of observers and do the job well. If it be in a secluded office in full silence or at a kitchen table with music vibrating the salt and pepper shakers; the writer executes his or her ritualized patterns alone. But is the writer doomed to loneliness in their solitude?

Journalists, by trade, are social bees and are not included in this topic. What we are looking at are the authors, the dyed-in-the-wool writers who either through deadline or simple compulsion, pour their souls into words while forsaking all else.

Should the question be 'Is the writer lonely?' or 'Do the lonely write?' In some cases I would say this is true. On the whole, I do not think that writers are innately lonesome. Most have spouses and children, friends and associates with whom they socialize regularly.

There are a minority of writers who are the exception, not the rule. The truly lonely who turn to the craft in order to find an outlet for their thoughts and fears. The ones who create realities more vibrant and fascinating then their own as a vehicle of escape from their loneliness. I sympathize with this group. I am by nature anti-social.

Is the writer usually then lonely? No. I do not think this is true. I think most writers can balance their work and social lives comfortably. I would however, not suggest interrupting one's rituals lest you draw their ire.

.

THE FUTURE OF PUBLISHING

2011-09-19T07:41:00.000-07:00

Many are bemoaning the perceived demise of the publishing industry. 'People don't read anymore.' 'E-Books are replacing real books.' 'Self publishing is putting retail publishers out of business.' These notions are fictitious. The music industry went through the same problem a few years ago with the advent of mp3s and file-sharing. Although major record companies decry the rampant pirating of music, it has actually helped to fuel the engine of a new business model in the industry, branding.

Record labels used to make their money by selling albums for which they would give the artist a share; just like the publishing industry gives authors a commission on book sales. When mp3 files started being created and proliferated on the internet, sales plummeted because everyone could then get a copy of a favorite song for free without buying an entire album.

Publicly, record labels were gnashing their teeth and suing the pants off of anyone they could prove to have downloaded one of their songs illegally. Meanwhile, I would wager, behind closed doors they were secretly rubbing their hands together and grinning. The public had just eliminated the greatest expense of the record labels, advertising. With social networking sites, YouTube, online radio and the great monster iTunes; artists that would never before have been given recognition are now major celebrities with hundreds of thousands of fans. If it were not for mp3s and YouTube, I would never have discovered most of the music I now listen to (and buy.)

Justin Bieber was discovered on YouTube. More people are fans than have gone out and purchased his albums, yet his label is making a killing off the effeminate little guy. Why?

Shoes, Perfume, Keychains, Clocks, Bracelets, Clothes and hundreds of other products have his face printed on them. On the tag, in fine print, it will say '© Island Def Jam' Justin Bieber is not an artist, he is a brand. The best way to reach a broad audience and fan base is to market across multiple media streams. Justin Bieber can be found on TV, movies, print, radio and the internet.

Few authors can claim to have been branded this way. The ones that have, have risen to super-stardom not only in the publishing world, but everywhere else. Who has not heard of J.K. Rowling of 'Harry Potter' and to a lesser extent Stephanie Meyer of 'Twilight'? These authors are no longer writers, they are brand names. This is the future of the publishing industry.

So how can a working writer who has only been published once or twice make it big in this future and create their own branding? Do not limit yourself to one publishing stream. I publish tons of free content on the internet via twitter, facebook and blogger. I also have a YouTube account. I am writing scripts for short films which I will soon be producing. I have also been blessed with a decent speaking voice so I am making audio recordings of my work which I may podcast or sell online. I know a few artists who I can commission to produce work based on my writing which can be sold, made into t-shirts, mugs, mousepads, et al.

I know of writers who work furiously at self-promotion. I think though that if you make your work available, it will promote itself. Do what you love, if you do it with your heart and soul your work will be repaid.

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IN MY BUSINESS

2011-09-14T07:13:00.000-07:00

I have been writing on this blog, twitter and facebook almost haphazardly for the last three years or so. Soon, this will change. I will be treating my writing as a business from now on and I hope to show a more professional side as an author.

Blog posts will no longer be simple journal entries, but actual editorials and essays that will be posted twice a week on Monday and Thursday.

I will be paying more attention to Twitter with daily updates, #sixwordstories and #twitterfiction

I will soon be creating a page specifically for myself as an author which will be separate from my personal profile.

I am writing and filming short (10min) Youtube films. These will be appearing shortly on my YouTube channel.

Please be patient while I make these changes.

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RETURN FROM CAN-CON 2011

2011-09-11T18:37:00.000-07:00

My little kitten was overjoyed to see me home again after being away since Friday morning. I traveled to Ottawa to be part of "The Conference on Canadian Content in Speculative Arts and Literature" or CAN-CON for short.

I have to admit, there were good points and some that need improvement. There were brilliant stars and some that shone not so brightly. Julie Czerneda, J.M Frey, Liana K & Ed the Sock particularly stood out among the panelists.

I was particularity pleased to meet and interact with Ed and Liana while they recorded a podcast live at CAN-CON. I have to admit that I flubbed-up a bit of science of got schooled on the subject during a live recording. Henceforth I was known as "photon boy". Later I ran into Steven and Liana Kerzner (Ed and Liana K), at the train station where we had a nice chat before boarding our train.

Friday I attended the opening ceremonies and the 'Trends in Speculative Fiction' panel with J.M Frey, Dale Smith and Julie Czerneda. I left soon after to spend the night with friends.

Saturday I arrived early for the writing workshop hosted by Julie Czerneda. 'The Economics Of It All' with Stuart Kenny, Sarah Finn and Michael McKenny. I had hoped the discussion would be of the economics of writing but it turned out to be a discussion of economics IN writing which was just as enlightening. Even more, helpful in considering the economies of future stories. Since I attended that panel I did miss Ed and Liana K's first appearance at CAN-CON, unfortunately. Next was 'Why We Need SF & Fantasy'; why there seems to be an ebb to the popularity of science fiction while there is an increase in Fantasy during hard times.

The next panel was 'Future of the Written Word' where the main topic of conversation was the similarities between the difficulties faced by both the music and publishing industries.

I was tired by then and decided to skip the official book launch of "Tesseracts 15". I instead went for lunch and conversed with Klingon security. After lunch I attended 'Alternate History: What Might Have Been' with Dale Smith, Bruno Lombardi and Marisol. http://www.alternatehistory.com/

Next was my experience gaining my unfortunate moniker of "photon boy" from Ed the Sock. You can listen to the whole hour HERE as Ed and Red's podcast #8 once it becomes available.

After, I attended 'Languages: Real, Constructed, Artificial and imaginary' with Marie Bilodeau, Duncan, and Amanda Sun.

The last panel I attended Saturday was 'Censorship of Scientists and Journalists' with Dale Smith, Dr. David Stephenson (the British chap who schooled me during the taping of Ed and Red's podcast) and Derek Kunsken.

There was one experience I loathe to tell, but I found it odd that an enlightened individual (lets call him SolarDog) who once helped to organize the CON would, in front of more than a dozen or so SciFi and tech lovers, stand and proclaim with absolute authority that "children should not be allowed to use computers because it makes them stupid!" To which I vehemently replied "We should not use fire to cook our meat because then we will lose the ability to digest it raw. Which is essentially the same argument!"

I left CAN-CON Saturday feeling underwhelmed, tired and just a little angry. I spent Sunday with my friend before going to the train station where I was able to have a short personal conversation with Steven and Liana Kerzner. I gave them both samples of my work.

Over-all, I had a great time. This being my first CON, I was not dissuaded from attending future ones, perhaps even being on a panel or two.

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Aborted Darwinian Evolution and the Singularity

2011-07-19T17:52:00.000-07:00

Darwin's theory of evolution is widely recognized as the best possible scientific explanation of how life on this world, as we presently know it, came to be. There is one problem with Darwin's theory however, and that is one factor that he did not account for, that man now resides outside of his theory.

Advancements in medicine, nutrition and the ability to alter our environment to suit us as we see fit, has removed us from one of the main drives of natural selection; survival of the fittest.

Unfortunately, this means that unfavorable genetic traits are beginning to pile up in the human gene pool while our population continues to increase.

Certain animal populations, when introduced into a foreign ecosystem without natural predators behave in the same way. Take for example rabbits in Australia. Without natural predators (except maybe the odd dingo,) rabbit populations exploded. Millions upon millions of the furry little bastards bred like, well, rabbits. Soon there were too many for the environment to support. Without predation, weak and diseased bunnies survived to breed making weaker and sicker baby bunnies. Eventually most of the population collapsed almost simultaneously in a great die-off.

This is happening to humanity. When is the great human die-off coming? Maybe sooner than you think.

Sixty-thousand years ago there were a number of hominid species including homo sapiens. A super volcano erupted sending billions of tons of ash and sulfur into the atmosphere cooling our planet and killing most of the human population that could not adapt.

Fortunately for us, a few hundred rugged humans somewhere in Africa had the intelligence to think abstractly, outside the box so to speak. Brains instead of brawn became the new factor for survivability and Homo Sapien Sapien was born. That volcano turned out to be the singularity of that time period.

When the next great die-off occurs, what factor will determine survivability for successive generations? What will be the next singularity? There was brawn, then brains.. what's next?

Darwin must have his day. Humanity is not outside of nature, no matter how hard we try to be. Eventually we will be held accountable.

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My First E-Book Published On Amazon.com

2011-07-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

Wow, I'm so happy to announce that my E-Book "In A Flash" an anthology of my flash-fiction and poetry is now live on amazon.com for purchase! See it here!

The book is in kindle format for the kindle E-Reader. If you do not own a kindle you can download the kindle application for your pc or mobile device. To purchase my book you will need an amazon.com account and your kindle or other E-Reader software linked to that account. Once you purchase my book it will be sent electronically to your device or application.

I need help spreading the word! Please tell your friends about my work. You could also print the following QR code and put it up in random places for people to scan with their cell phones!

I'm so very excited about this. Even though it is self-published in an obscure way it still feels special to me. I now have to get to task promoting myself and my work. Not an easy premise.

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Sadly So

2011-07-16T19:16:00.000-07:00

Thank you to everyone who was a fan of my frugalguy blog. Unfortunately I just did not have the time to keep it up. I will be condensing all my tips, coupon advice, recipes et al, into an ebook which I will make available on my amazon account. Which brings me to my next bit of news...

My first online E-Book, "In A Flash" should be available for purchase at Amazon.com shortly. I did upload a copy already, however it suffered from formatting problems. Mostly, that I did not know how to use OpenOffice along with Calibre. I do now, but now I have to wait to re-upload my fixed copy.

As soon as the fixed version goes live I will be posting a link here, facebook and on twitter for everyone to purchase their own copy for the measly sum of $2.99. I was going to only put $.99 cents, but then my commission would only be 35% instead of 70%. Still, it's cheap, so go buy! I'm really excited. Although I do know my first volume of "In A Flash" is rough, and does not necessarily contain my best work it is my first time... so please be gentle.

Well, I'm off to edit!

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Expectations

2011-07-14T10:10:00.000-07:00

I've made a few facebook posts lately about the potential earnings from writing and getting published. I don't want anyone to misunderstand where I am coming from. I think it would be awesome to make a living as a writer, but since I have not even been published yet I cannot assume that I can or ever will be able to quit my regular job and concentrate solely on my writing career. I would love to though.

Up to now my writing has been inconsistent. This is mainly due to too many distractions like movies and TV. I am a video junkie, I admit. I am trying to wean myself from the glass tit (as Steven King so eloquently put it.)

I would like to get the point where I can write upwards of 2,000 words per day. If I can maintain this rate then that will mean I can write the first draft of a short story in two days, or a novel in a month. A short story every two days is roughly 182 stories a year. If I can sell 1/4 of them (45) then that is roughly half of what I make working at my regular full time job. On the other hand, if I write 12 novels a year and sell 3 I could expect a return of 15k or 3/4ths of what I make working full time.

But, like I said... I don't expect anything. I may write dozens of novels and hundreds of short stories but never publish anything. There is that very real possibility. I'm never giving up though.

I'm not going to quit writing because I can't sell a story. I write because it is something I love to do. If I can eventually make a living at it, all the better.

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Why I Write

2011-06-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

I had a profound self-realization today. It is not a very nice one however. I challenged myself to write an answer to the question "Why do you write?" in one hundred words. Well, one hundred and forty-six words later it dawned on me the answer is much shorter; I write because I can talk to you without having to actually converse with you. More succinctly, so I can pound the pulpit.

I see many problems with the society, and if I can convince someone to change their minds and entertain them at the same time, then just maybe I will leave an indelible mark upon this world before I leave it.

I have decided that I will never be a father, but the urge to live on is another driving force behind my writing. I can find immortality as long as someone, somewhere, sometime continues to read my words and to remember me.

My work is still in it's infancy, and to extend the analogy I am doing my best to nurture and protect it until it has grown enough to live on of it's own accord. My mother is dissapointed I am not giving her grand-children, but I hope she finds as much love and pride in my words as she would a child.

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Saturday Morning

2011-06-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

Well, about three weeks ago I promised myself I would attempt to write at least one four thousand word short story per week. I started with taking one of my flash 50 stories and expanding it. "Death on Wheels" is still only about 2600 words and incomplete. I continue to work on it but I'm lucky if I get only a few hundred words at a time.

I think I have found the source of my constraint. So far I have not been writing what I am truly passionate about. If I'm not passionate about the subject then it feels like work and I'm just likely to watch a movie and put it off till later. This is supposed to be fun, not a chore. So, from now on I'm only going to write what I am truly passionate about. I'm not too sure many will appreciate it though, since I can delve into some pretty esoteric subjects when I write.

Realm 216 is slowly becoming a reality. My fictional universe where all of my stories will take place is also the working title of my future novel. Which, in fact, will be a collection of short stories tied together by a common plot much like the film "Heavy Metal."

The June Writers Ink meeting is in the morning and this month's prompt was suggested by Bunty. She wrote a limerick for a contest some time ago and was not satisfied with the result. She has tasked us with either rewriting her limerick or creating one of our own. I have never written one before but have enjoyed a few, especially the one about the chap from Nantucket. ;)

I should be out Bass fishing this morning as it is the opening day. I was originally scheduled to work but one of the ladies I work with asked me to switch shifts with her and now I have the day off which I will spend reading and writing. Once I am finished with today's blog I am turning off the computer and not turning it back on again until 9pm tonight. That should give me eleven uninterrupted hours of reading and writing (and napping!)

Happy Saturday!

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Blocked

2011-06-18T21:54:00.000-07:00

My productivity in the last few weeks has been dismal! I took inspiration from Ray Bradbury and set out to write at least one four thousand word short story every week. Unfortunately, I have not even completed my first one yet. I am just a little over two thousand five hundred words. One day I wrote over a thousand, but since, I'm lucky to write up to 200 words per day.

I do my best writing at night because of my screwy circadian rhythm. But I work all afternoon, and when I get home late evening I just want to watch some t.v and vegetate. So, I try to write in the morning and I end up falling asleep in my cup of too strong instant coffee.

I also have been trying to write at my desktop computer which is connected to the internet. This is a bad thing! I am too easily distracted by email, facebook, the drudge report and certain conspiracy websites that I find amusing. So, today I cleaned up my writing area which has sat unused for the last couple of months. It is organized and restocked with paper, pens and a library of reference materials once again.

I have concentrated on this one short story so much that I have not written anything else. No flash fiction, essays or other short story outlines. There is now an egg timer also occupying my workspace. It has a very loud and annoying beep when it goes off. It is there to remind me when it is time to finish working on a project and move on to the next. I am shooting for at least five hundred words a day or two hours.

Hopefully, whatever has been blocking me for the last two weeks will go away and let me get back to what I need to do. This blog is already the longest thing I have written all week! LOL

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Homework

2011-05-29T21:54:00.000-07:00

I feel like I am back in school. However, this is not like school as I remember. This time I actually have a love affair with the subject instead of the cute brunette sitting at the desk next to me. Incidentally, she was the reason I failed grade ten art.

The subject I am sure you know I am writing about, is of course writing. I find I spend more time studying the occupation, learning all of it's many facets, than practicing it's application.

The elements of a short story: Plot, Theme, Character, setting, conflict and point of view. I have never written an outline before. Perhaps that is why I never finish a story longer than a thousand words (of any quality that is.) That is why I will be drilling into my thick-wooden skull all of the essential components of a story and becoming so versed in them that outlining a story will become second nature.

Wonderful writer's ink meeting today. I got to share my news that two of my stories have been chosen by the acquisitions editor for McGraw-Hill Ryerson for a student anthology they will be publishing next year. Although not finalized, I am very confident they will publish them. I am very happy.

My project for Dillon Langlands and Bloodstar 99 is complete as well. It was fun and I do hope Dillon's RPG becomes a big success.

I'm setting aside my flash-fiction story writing for the time being. I will concentrating now on writing a full short story each week of at least four thousand words. As Ray Bradbury said, "If you can write one short story a week -- doesn't matter what the quality is to start, but at least you're practicing. At the end of the year, you have 52 short stories, and I defy you to write 52 bad ones. Can't be done."

I am now going to retire to bed with the exhilaration of a great day behind me.

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Realm 216

2011-05-19T11:45:00.000-07:00

The sun is shining, my stomach is stuffed with a corndog and turkey sub-sandwich and I am feeling a little sleepy. Since it is my day off I will purloin a nap soon enough. Before I do I thought I would make this small update.

Realm 216

Welcome to my reality. Realm 216 is the official name for my fictional universe. Everything I write from now on will take place in this reality which closely resembles our own. It is mine to play with from the Big Bang to however I deem to destroy it. *epic grin*

I think I will go back and re-tool some of my as-yet unpublished stories so they fit into Realm 216.

I'm very excited about this. Now, I have to get busy creating an entire universe and populating it with adventure!

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This Is Becoming Habitual...

2011-05-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

... extended periods of inactivity I mean. Yes, even my frugal blog is now suffering from the dreaded procrastination virus.

I have not stopped writing, mind you. I have been very busy with current projects. Writing ship descriptions for someone's RPG title; finishing up some flash fiction titles for McGraw-Hill Ryerson's student anthology coming out next year, and some pet projects of my own.

This is also the time of year that many publications are accepting submissions. Since I decided to no longer confine myself to just science-fiction I have branched out into general fiction, horror and poetry. Flash fiction though is my love, no matter what genre.

Once I get a couple projects out of the way I may also go back and resurrect poor Howard who I left dangling in twitter-limbo having a conversation with god in his own colon.

I recently picked up the June edition of 'The Writer' which, I noticed, has become about two dollars more expensive at the newsstand. I am now pouring through it and finding inspiration.

So, yes.. look in the Flash 50 tab for two new titles and please wait patiently for my next update.

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Come What May...

2011-03-19T21:14:00.000-07:00

Wow, after shelving "Lucidity" I immediately jumped on another idea I had brewing. I have always been fascinated with the rags-to-riches kinds of stories. I started researching... and experimenting with ideas. BLAM! An explosion of ideas, of real-life experiences occurred! This has bled over into another blog.

I'm determined to learn how they do it. How some people just get from dirt poor to filthy rich! I decided the first step was to simply get out of debt without making any other changes in my life. To do this I had to figure out how to live below my means in order to sock away cash to pay off my debts. I've always been kind of a penny-pincher, but it was not until I did some research on saving money that I became a full fledged tightwad! I am amazed at how easy it is to stretch a dollar and even get things for absolutely nothing!

I am becoming my own rags-to-riches story!

Follow my new blog: The Frugal Guy

This is why I have not posted anything here recently. I am also becoming involved with my digital art over at RedBubble.

Phew! On top of all this, I am writing two soon to be published Ebooks.

"The Frugal Guy" - Will be all the tips and money saving ideas from my blog plus more!

"Flash Nexus" - A collection of flash fiction stories in 25,50,100,250 and 500 word lengths. Each chapter will have a different topic.

These Ebooks will be available in PDF format for direct purchase from PayPal. I will only be charging 99 cents for each.

On another front, a new member of Writers Ink, Dillon Langlands has asked me to contribute to his new project for Avalon Games. I am excited and happy to contribute.

Updates to come more frequently!

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FRUGAL FITNESS

2011-03-01T08:39:00.000-08:00

As part of a story I am working on I am doing real-life research into frugal living. That is, living below your means in order to save money. I have student loans that I have been paying off for over ten years, credit card debts and other bills that have left me living paycheque to paycheque. I recently quit smoking. I figured out that if I put the money I would normally spend on cigarettes each week towards paying down my debts, I can be completely debt free within a single year!

Being debt free means something else, wealth! Most Canadian households have a net value of -$600. That is, on average, household debts exceed income by $600. Simply be not being indebted will essentially mean being wealthier than most Canadians.

I will be compiling this information, and my experiences applying the principles of frugality into an EBook which I will self publish online for some ridiculously low price like $1.99 (Or sending me a lottery ticket, I collect them.)

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A NOVEL IDEA!

2011-01-10T18:40:00.001-08:00

O.K., I've been absent again but hey, it was the holidays!

My writing genre of choice is first and foremost science fiction, but this weekend just past I had such an awesome idea for a story that I just sat down and started writing. My goal now is to have 60,000 words written by May 1st, 2011. The title of the novel came to me at the same time as the premise.

The novel will be called "Lucidity" and is a supernatural/occult drama. This is uncharted waters for me as I have up-to-date only been able to write short sci-fi.

Imagine the landscapes of your dreams to be a reality, imagine living two lives one while awake and another asleep. There are legends that at one time these two worlds coexisted as one but over a thousand years ago were torn apart. Present time, a young man discovers he has an alter ego that lives in the dreamworld and through accident his dream-self is brought into the waking world. Racing against time to save his younger sister kidnapped by cult bent on re-unifying the waking and sleeping world and enslaving both; he must save his sister, stop the cult, and wrestle with his own personal demons that have literally taken form.

Well, it feels a little overwhelming.. but I think I can do it. Wish me luck!

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CANADIAN FLASH FICTION MARKETS

2010-10-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

Google can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Here I present a short list of Canadian Flash Fiction publishers gleamed from Google. Please note, I am not affiliated with, nor endorse any of these sites.

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Ascent Aspirations Magazine Submissions operate as a contest and require a $5 reading fee. Monetary prizes plus a copy of the anthology available. Many typographical errors on the website raise questions.

Every Day Fiction An online daily publication of Flash Fiction. Token payment of $3 per story but offers a variety of ways to promote yourself.

On Spec One of the best known Canadian publishers of short Speculative Fiction.

NEO-OPSIS Canadian Science Fiction magazine.

The Walrus A higher-end publication of Canadian short/flash fiction/poetry.

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Well, as you can see there is not a huge market for Canadian Sci-Fi/Speculative fiction. Other websites of note are:

SF Canada Canada's National Association of Speculative Fiction Professionals.

The Sunburst Award "The Sunburst Award for Canadian Literature of the Fantastic is a juried award based on excellence of writing in two categories: adult and young adult."

The Writers Union of Canada "A national organization of professional writers that works to advance conditions for all writers and to foster writing in Canada."

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AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION WITH HIS BELLY BUTTON

2010-10-12T10:49:00.000-07:00

Viscous clouds flirt sanguin butterflies. First of July sparklers erupt; clenched fists pressed against rodent paper eyes. I am thee, we are me. Klaxxon bells warble their increasing urgency. Ignore it. Yesterday's breath hot and muddy still clings tight to the delicious Jellow tommorow. We are the mold, mouldy and empty.

Cinnamon lips, moist and kissed. Thank you miss. Mission to the moon. Missionary position. Floating down the Mississipi, wallowing in her misery. Missed call. Missing mixed messages. An empty space where Id used to be.

Pin pricks in pedial appendages. Numb tongue with hair of dog. Despite desperate despondant discrepencies deviate despicable desertion devistates. Hello, hollow, how low, halo. Here we are now, entertain us.

Echoes of echoes of gnats in a vacuum speak across the universal void. Straining, straining to comprehend. Freud and Pink Floyd croaking; cigar smoking toads crushed under a brick wall.

From the machine, someone speaks. The tinny voice screaming at us. "Hello Mr. Hanna. Would you like the chance to win a fabulous vacation getaway?"

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THAT OLD ITCH

2010-10-11T09:19:00.000-07:00

A writer writes. A writer must also read. I realized recently that in almost a year my consumption of other writer's works dropped to near zilch. I immediately ran to my bookcase and took down one tome I had been meaning to get to, 'LifeHouse' by Spider Robinson. Like a starved wolf I tore into those words and having finished my meal, found that I am more ravenous than before. Consuming that story, thinking about the characters and the plot and attempting to get inside Spider's head gave me an aweful itch. You know, the itch to write. It had always been there, just placated and soothed with the balm of that terrible thing called reality; paying bills, dredgeing away in the workplace doing all the mundane things one does in the coarse of going from cradle to grave. It's so much more fun to live in the imaginary realm of What If and there is nothing more soothing than to scratch at a terrible itch. There is something cathartic about the process. I feel enlivened again, ready to face the mundane because I have the fantastic as well.

I feel so much regret that I let myself get distracted and downtrodden by the mundane when I realize just how much fun it is to live like a maniac if not in action than in imagination.

I am still here!

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TV AND ROLE MODELS.

2010-05-28T08:13:00.000-07:00

They cancelled Flashforward!! Aaargh! I loved that show, not only for the fact it was based on a novel by a fellow Canadian and one of my favorite authors (Robert J. Sawyer) but also because it was just one of the most frakking awesome Sci-Fi dramas of all time! ABC cancelled the show due to low viewer numbers.. well, it's mostly their own fault for putting the show on a two month mid-winter hiatus! Whenever you do something like that mid-season it inevitably kills the show. Look what happened to the british sci-fi program Paradox. It had a mid-season break and was cancelled before another program was aired. I'm afraid the same fate awaits another sci-fi program I have grown to enjoy; the prequel to Battlestar Galactica, Caprica. This well written program was given a mid-season finale after only nine episodes!

I have been thinking. Perhaps I should investigate the television manuscript format. I feel it is sort of a quick and dirty way of writing a story. I could be wrong, but as far as I know it mainly focuses on dialogue and scene description which then later could be fully fleshed-out into a literary peice. Frakk, I could even try and sell the manuscripts as TV or film pilots!

I like the idea of writing a serial type story. Framiliar settings and characters encountering new problems on a regular basis. Some fictional characters certainly feel more real to me than flesh and blood people I have met. Take for example Lazarus Long, the creation of Robert A. Heinlein. This ancient, cantankerous, sweet yet vile man has become a sort of role model father figure that I always wished I had in real life. Laz was one of Heinleins most enduring figures in his writing and I always knew that he was in almost every story Heinlein ever wrote. He never looked the same or went by the same name, but Mr. Long was indeed a centerpeice in all RAH's novels. You see, old Laz I believe was Heinlein's own doppleganger. Not necessarily a perfect copy, but more of Hyde to Heinlein's Jekyll. Lazarus, I believe, was everything that Heinlein himself wanted to be. I wish sometimes Heinlein had written a complete autobiography, I would certainly like to know more about this complex and brilliant master of words.

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MaShUp

2010-04-14T07:51:00.000-07:00

I hope you had the chance to be listening to CBC radio on April 1st and caught an interview with Seth Graham-Smith who wrote a contemporary re-interpretation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (and zombies.)

This interview not only discussed the literary value of the novel mashup but also the interpretation of copyright infringement and fair use.

I think that being a new writer I am being indoctrinated into the cult of how to write correctly instead of how to write well.

Seth chose to dismiss the current rules of writing and produced something fresh, distinct and amusing!

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STORIES WE'VE SEEN TOO OFTEN

2010-03-07T22:31:00.000-08:00

FROM: Strange Horizons Webzine

The following list is an attempt at classifying the kinds of non-horror plots and themes that we've received too frequently. We have a separate page for horror stories we've seen too often.

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CHANNELING HOMER SIMPSON

2010-03-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

I bellow a resounding D`OH! Yes, for several months I have belittled myself for having the audacity to try becoming a published author. Yes, I admit now that the stories I wrote and submitted last summer were weak. But I know now that they were probably never even considered due to not being properly formatted. Firstly there were not in proper manuscript format and secondly my web-based email service completely destroyed whatever formatting there was. What the publishers received was a completely jumbled mass of unreadable headache. So, my confusing and completely unhelpful little word processor has gone into the trash bin and I am now installing OpenOffice. Hopefully, this will at least let me format my stories correctly; if not write better.

I have not given up!

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Daybreak

2010-03-02T09:08:00.000-08:00

The clouds have finally begun to part and rays of sunshine are peeking through! The last few months have been dark and dreary. I found no solace in placing my thoughts in words. My only comfort was to escape into the fantasy of a virtual online world. This was also contributing to my difficulties. Health problems, financial debt, insomnia and stress had driven me to the breaking point. The escape of gaming only drew my thoughts temporarily away from my problems while contributing to them.

I feel now like a chick half-hatched. I can see the world and taste the fresh air but I still have yet to struggle free of my shell.

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REQUISCAT

2009-12-07T22:03:00.000-08:00

Confidence shaken I returned to a primordial pastime of passing days with contrivances. Like an alcaholic I became drunk daily on the intoxication of artifitial reality. The novel of my life could be written on a grain of rice: I WILL, NOT I AM.

In all the multiverse I have achieved. Any success and failure has, is and will have occured. A subtle comfort.

The Lords of Cosmic Jest stand fitfully drawing lots on my undergarments. The crown of thorns I have woven itches and annoys.

Pandora and Cassandra, Prometheus and Albert Einstein; all equally fools.

But sit I do still. Pondering. Probing. The words 'though art God' resound painfully in my ears. If I am god, and you are god.. we are all god; why hast I forsaken me?

Oh, pardon me. Yes, yes... sorry. No doctor. Yes doctor. I won't forget again. I will call in the morning. I will be alright now, yes, thank you.

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Self Doubt

2009-09-20T20:19:00.000-07:00

The motivation to write seems to be slipping away. There are so many distractions, doubts and fears involved that for the moment I am a little overwhelmed. I was very proud of the two peices of flash fiction I entered into two online contests late in August. I had to wait a few weeks before I found out they had both been rejected. It's a blow to my self-esteem, but I knew I shouldnt have expected to be published on my first try.

In a little over half and hour it will be my thirty-second birthday. I celebrated with a large bowl of vanilla ice cream with smarties and whipped topping. Very naughty. Feeling a little melencholy over my birthday I asked a freind to recomend a good comedy. I wanted something to lighten my mood while I savored my sugary treat. She recommended the movie "Marly and Me" It was about a newspaper writer, his family and his dog. It was fresh and delightful at first, turned uncomfortable with drama in the middle and then ended with a searing knife plunged directly into the heart. I am a grown man who scoffs at 'chick flicks', yet I found by the end of this film I had to wipe my cheeks.

The movie also made me think about my future. In eight years when I look back at my life since turning thirty what will I be looking at? I never really knew what I wanted to do when I grew up.. and I still don't. Unfortunately, I have reached the ceiling on the growing up part. I've stepped past the point of no return in terms of youthfull dreaming. It's usually at this point in one's life that they have started their families and established carreers. Since my divorce I have made a reputation for myself as being habitualy single. I don't want to be writing a blog on my fortieth birthday still making excuses for the grey areas in my life. I want it to reflect the brightness in and around me. They say it's never too late to change.

Perhaps if I continue to write, the changes will come.

.

The Shape of Things to Come

2009-08-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

So much to talk about... I saw the movie "District 9" and was blown away. It was the most origional science fiction film I have seen in a long time. It was inspiring.

There are two Flash Fiction contests I am entering this month. I have already entered one story to Gemini Magazine, entitled "Silverthread," which is a small story about a man named Herbert Wakerobin who alone is immune to a destructive pandemic fungus called Silverthread. The second contest at Whispering Dragons, I have not submitted to yet. I am thinking about entering my story called "Home for an Old Spaceman."

There is a novel writing class in September at St. Lawrence College I am interested in taking, yet I don't know if I can afford it. I've been putting it off for almost three years now and I would really like to participate.

Tommorow is the next meeting of Writers Ink, and I am not sure if I am prepared. I still have not written anything for this month's writing prompt 'Honor.'

.

Per Ardua Ad Alta

2009-08-08T17:58:00.000-07:00

I think I have been pushing myself too hard. I've been setting unrealistic goals and then punishing myself when I do not meet them. For example; I had decided that I would write two thousand words a day. For me, that equates to about four hours of sitting in front of the computer. Since I made that resolution not once have I produced two thousand words in a single day. I have decided to scale back that goal a little. I will now try to write at least five hundred words per day.

I thought too that I would try and have something accepted for publication by September, and here it is now... a week in August and I still have nothing. I have noticed that the writing contests are drying up for the year. It seems most of them have deadlines in early April to June. There are still a few left worth trying though.

It seems my Twitter experiment has so far been an utter failure. I have but a single follower. I have not the slightest inclination of how to get more people to follow my Tweets!

Fall classes at St. Lawrence College are fast approaching and I would like to take a writing class. But with the financial trouble I am going through at the moment I do not know if this will be possible.

If I were not so optimistic I would certainly become quite displeased with myself for all the trouble I am having. Per Ardua Ad Alta (Clan Hanna motto, "Through straits to heights!")

"Tweet tweet," said the 60 foot tentacled parakeet!

2009-08-05T09:21:00.001-07:00

I've heard all about Twitter ad nauseum. I'm not usually one to run right out and jump on the latest Internet fad, but then I realized Twitter (being limited to 140 characters per "tweet",) was ideal for flash fiction. So, I joined up!

I'm serializing my first collection of Tweets under the title "Howard." It's a story about a very humorless man who dies and finds himself in the presence of God, who tells him the universe is a cosmic comedy club and that Humanity is the single guy in the front row with bucked teeth and a pocket protector. God has gotten bored hearing the same variations of jokes over and over and decides to create a new universe. In a final cosmic jest, he makes Howard the new God before popping out of existence. Follow Howard and his exploits as he attempts to manage the universe and finally develop a sense of humour!

.

Diversions

2009-08-02T18:36:00.000-07:00

Oh my, I have grown a little lazy and haven't been writing for almost a week! Something else has held my attention for that time. You see, I'm an addict.... my drug is called 'Warcrack'

It is an insidious addiction that I thought I had been able to control. I went cold turkey more than a month ago, then last week I discovered a new source of Warcrack; a free one. I'm sad to report that I fell off the wagon and have been playing the online role playing game, World of Warcraft. (Warcrack for short, a moniker given by many addicted gamers.) Believe me, I am ashamed of myself.

A year and a half ago I was a svelte 200lbs. I walked 20 minutes to and from work on a daily basis. I was vegan, eating healthily and enjoying an active social life... until a coworker introduced me to a 10 day free trial of the game. Here I am now, pushing a hair over 240lbs. I no longer walk to work and I have caught myself eating too much quick and easily prepared starch-rich pasta. The weight gain and sitting at my computer for hours on end have exasperated my back problems. Because of which my workplace has recently cut my hours from 37.5 hours per week to 25 since I was calling in and leaving work too often due to back pain. I no longer go out, and if it were not for facebook I believe my friends would think I had died.

Before the cut in hours I was living paycheck to paycheck. Now, I am in dire financial trouble.

I continue to play the game.

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Dissatisfaction

2009-07-25T09:14:00.000-07:00

I want to thank my friends and one "Biker Hen" for the wonderful encouragement. It is helping me a great deal to stay motivated to write but I am growing a little impatient with myself. I have not yet developed flow and style. I also need to break away from using narrative exclusively and work on dialogue.

Yesterday I posted a piece of short fiction which I was very apprehensive about considering that it included the rape of a character. I thought it would seem in poor taste. I let two female friends read it and they thought it was the best I had ever written! One even demanded that I turn it into a full short story.

I set a goal for myself when I created this blog that I would try to have a short story published by September of this year. Perhaps Home for Old Spacemen, retitled and flushed out into a full 2,000+ words will be worthy of publication.

Tomorrow is the Writers Ink meeting for July, (I got my dates wrong last week,) and I am looking forward to hearing from a local author and hopefully getting a little critique from the other members of my work.

.

Defiantly Working Out the Stubborn Bugs

2009-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

Peering over my work thus far I have noticed have been using adjectives and adverbs far too much instead of pushing myself to use descriptive narrative. So, today, I will be doing a few exercises to push my imagination and creativity.

I will first write a short narrative using a few adjectives and adverbs as I would normally. I will then rewrite, stripping them away and leaving nothing but the bones of the scene. I will then write it again, utilizing strong nouns and verbs.

Showdown at the Temporal Rift

Zak carefully steadied his trembling arm against a blackened, ruined, foundation. The Felgo'Utan warrior, resembling a six foot praying mantis, poised gracefully, readied to strike. Between them at perhaps a dozen paces an ancient monolith pulsed with tremendous energy.
The radiant waves of temporal power crackled and coalesced into a folded sphere that shuddered and thudded like a racing heartbeat. Zak's unblinking eye was locked on the image of the hominid insect in his steadied weapon's scope. He knew it could cross the distance of burnt sand and cut him down with it's scythe like arms in a fraction of a second. The thundering energy vortex, though, was it's target; at half the distance. His near impossible mission was to capture the deadly being, or bring home it's broken, bloody carapace. If the Utan escaped into the rift it would be thrust randomly through time into a parallel world where Zak would have no chance of pursuing. A breeze lightly began to blow, cooling his sweaty forehead. The statue like Utan barely twitched before he pulled the trigger.

-

Zak aimed his weapon at the Felgo'Utan warrior that stood on the other side of the temporal rift. He had been sent to capture or kill the insect, which now sought to escape through the rift. The stalemate was broken by a breeze and he fired.

-

The hours spent tracking the Felgo'Utan in the heat left Zak tired and sweating. The push to outmaneuver the sprinting man sized insect had just gotten him to the crumbling temple first. He wiped his brow against a sleeve. In the center of the decaying ruins loomed a monolith. Energy crackled and spat on it's gleaming surface while around it the other structures weathered to dust. The pulsing field of temporal energy delivered shock waves Zak could feel through the soles of his boots. Movement. Dropping to one knee he took aim with his weapon over the edge of a disintegrating foundation. A hulking form crept like a praying mantis out of the rubble opposite the monolith. Apex predators on their home planet, the Felgo'Utan's frightening intellect and eviscerating scythe-like forearms meant none one was sent to hunt escaped it's clutches. Zak was sent to retrieve the Utan alive, or in dripping clumps of gore. He knew nobody actually expected him to succeed or to live through the mission. His heart pounded wildly in his heaving chest. The Utan, sensing him, froze. It tasted the air and locked in on him. Imperceptibly positioning it's hind legs, it poised to charge. Zak knew it could cross the distance between them in a fraction of a second and cut him down, but he was betting it would make for the boiling rift instead. If it escaped into the rift it would be gone forever, lost in time and parallel worlds where it could hunt and lay it's eggs with impunity. He stared it down through the scope of his weapon. Two hunters locked in the moment before combat. A breeze cooled his sweating forehead and the Utan's leg twitched. The weapon flashed with violence.

.

Breaking the morbid bubble

2009-07-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

I believe I have an unhealthy fascination with death. I have noticed that it is the underlying theme in all my stories. It is not purposefully. For example. I received a notice of a Mini-story contest from a member of Writers Ink. I decided to try to write a short narrative of only fifty words. This was the result:

The Last Man on Mars

The telemetry satellite relayed the data faithfully. Bower read it carefully before opening the hatch of the lander. The Martian sky was indeed blue! Although being the first, and last time a human would see it with naked eyes; they would stare unblinking until covered with a fine red sand.

Oooh! I just had a wonderfully terrible idea for a short!

Xeno Sutra

The natives reacted badly to the expedition's poorly translated greeting. They explained the only way to rectify the terrible insult was for the expedition leader to Goluk the Great Ogo's daughter. The ceremony was brief. Captain Thrice, though, was uncertain of how to copulate with the two ton carnivorous cephalopod.

Writers Ink - July prompt

2009-07-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

I'll be away this weekend visiting family so I won't be able to attend this month's Writers Ink meeting on Sunday. This is my first attempt at a 250 word peice based on the writing prompt, which for July was "Where is it?"

WHERE IS IT?

Big brandished a knife menacingly. Little sat backwards in a chair smiling. Black tie thugs. I slumped in a chair, bound and bleeding.

"Where is it?" Little questioned. Dazed, but aware, I spat crimson on his cheek. The smile disappeared and Big advanced.

When I regained consciousness Little was gone.

"Tell me or I cut your throat." Big rumbled.

I had developed a pathogen. Funny thing, a conscience. Once I realized how they planned to use it, I ran. My notes, computer files destroyed and the only sample in my pocket. Time was fleeting, but I had to wait.

"You'll kill me anyway," I retorted.

"True, but your better-half will see a birthday next week," Big's eyes narrowed as he spoke then he dropped Sam's photo at my feet. I saw my blood on his knuckles.

I knew they would find me in that motel in Nevada. They dragged me out then drove into the desert.

Shaking, I was growing weaker as my life pooled on the concrete. Eventually, Big shoved his head out the door.

"Hey! What's taking so long?" He bellowed. Little must have been gone quite a while.

Big dropped onto the chair and stared with bleary eyes. An unnoticed drop of rouge fell from his nose.

"Tell me!" Big Shouted hoarsely.

I grinned sleepily. "You tell me. Where is it?"

.

Bones and bass

2009-07-08T10:49:00.000-07:00

The last several years have quite literally been a pain in the back. Hospitalization, three different family doctors, a specialist and so many X-Rays that I now question my fertility; nobody was ever able to tell me what was wrong. It was not until I broke down and finally visited a chiropractor that I was finally given some idea what is wrong with me.

As soon as I was ushered into his office I could see the abnormalities in the X-Ray prints he had on the wall. When my chiropractor came in to talk to me he began to explain the pencil marks he had made on the pictures of my dilapidated spine. I am the proud owner of a 6th lumbar vertebrae. A condition I am told is not so uncommon, although at the time I believed he was pointing out some gross mutation. He then wrote down a list of things I could look up online so I could better understand my condition. Transitional vertebrae; Hyperlordosis; sclerotic changes. He also gave me a pamphlet describing the excersizes I could do to strengthen my back muscles again. Then I was off to the real business of the day.

Finally having the answers to questions I've been asking for years I could relax and enjoy what I had origionally planned for the day; fishing on the creek at my parent's farm. This creek feeds into Lower Beverly Lake and is a prime bass fishing spot.

Oops, my time has run out.... adieu for now.

Stagnation

2009-07-04T07:44:00.000-07:00

It's been five days since I have written. I am discovering that, indeed, the hardest part of striving to become a published author is putting ass to chair and words to paper. There are extenuating circumstances though. I have had back problems for a few years and this week has been particularly painful. I have also discovered a website where I can watch every episode of one of my favorite shows and I have been hungrily devouring it. I am now on season 2 episode 5.

I am beginning to succumb to self doubt. Nagging negative internal dialogue is wearing me down. That little voice inside my head that keeps telling me endlessly that I can't do it, I'll never be successful or my writing is just no good.

Perhaps I am vain, but I have shown a little of my work to friends and colleagues and they have had nothing but good things to say, and that makes me feel good. Is that the underlying motivation for my writing though? Praise and attention? Is it perhaps because there is no INSTANT gratification from writing that I have begun to grow lax? I apologise for becoming so introspective but I have come across a stumbling block the size of Everest and I need to analyze my plan of ascent.

Where to go from here.

2009-06-27T10:33:00.001-07:00

I am excited today. I hardly know where to start. I have two great ideas for short stories and a magnificent premise for my first novel. The only problem is, I don't quite know where to start. I want to try and get a few short stories published as quickly as possible so I can create a platform for my career but I also want to jump right into writing the novel. If you scroll down the page you will see the first few paragraphs from my short story "Converse Sation."

I am also beginning to work on a plot outline for my first novel "Skin Deep." I am finding that I have so many ideas of possible directions to go with the story that I am a little confused as to how to select the best ones and string them together into a workable book. There are so many practical and philosophical situations that can be explored that it would be impossible to include them all; love, religion, civilization's fall, genocide and sex are all there waiting to be revealed.

You will find that as you get to know me as a writer that I tend to dwell on the darker aspects of humanity. My stories will not make you feel good. Reading my work is like looking into a mirror that only shows you the ugliest parts of yourself. My goal though, is that by the time you finish one of my stories you will have learned more about yourself and that without the dark, there is no light. Now, I don't mean to turn my readers away by making them depressed either. The goal of any story teller is to entertain! You will find my work layered with sardonic humour, scintillating eroticism and of course, plot twists that will keep you turning pages. I hope. That is what I envision anyhow.

Now the important part is for me to get to work. Putting the words to paper and producing the story. I have the terrible habit of spending up to an hour to write a single paragraph, sometimes even a single sentence. I will write it and rewrite it a dozen times until it finally feels right and I can move on to the next. This is a slow, painful and tiring process. I am learning the tricks to avoid this kind of situation and just get down to writing... leaving the editing for when the story is complete.

Tomorrow is the first meeting of Writers Ink I will be attending. I am looking forward to discussing topics with other local authors, but I am a little apprehensive as well since the style and genre of writing that I am exploring is diametrically opposite of theirs. I am hoping they are open enough to accept me into their group as it is the only one in the area.

Well, time to actually get to work. I've just used up an hour writing this post!

Conducting constrained creativity

2009-06-25T08:29:00.000-07:00

An aardvark advanced at an ant.
Bong bright bells by banging.
Coy cats caress corduroy cuffs.
Dead dogs don't dig dirt.
Even elephants enjoy entertainment.
Fop Fred forgoes femininity.
Good gags gather giggles.
Heavy hands have hard hurdles.
I introspectively introduce Id.
Johnny just jived Josephine.
Knives killed kings.
Lilly loved licking lollipops.
Meaty Marty mashed Mathew's mudpies.
Never nerf naked nuances.
On open occurrences obfuscate objectively.
Pen ponderous pontifications properly.
Quickly quip quarreling queries.
Revolutions require riotous revelations.
Summer saw serious setbacks surreptitiously subside.
Timmy's thermometer ticked tumultuous temperatures.
Underachievers understand undulating ugliness.
Veracious voles vomit vitamins.
What whale wants weapons?
Xavier's xenophobia.
You yell, "Yoddle yes!"
Zipper Zen.

"Converse Sation"

2009-06-24T01:56:00.000-07:00

    "Hello Gary," the voice said.
It came from behind his right shoulder. Gary turned to find it's source. The place
where he stood was uniform in appearance and he questioned whether had physically
made the effort to turn, or not, for the act seemed to occur on it's own. All around
him was white. White and glowing with a intense aura.

  "Here."

  Puzzled, Gary turned to his left from where the voice, now closer, seemed to come.
  
  "Hello?" Gary said uncertainly.
   He was confused and disoriented. A moment ago he had been walking along a lonely
sidewalk, heading home. It was routine. Wake at dusk; shit, shower and shave; take
the metro downtown; dissect cadavers till five; drink till eleven; metro uptown;
walk the short distance home; pass out. Twenty years as a graveyard shift medical
examiner had left him disillusioned, ulcered, and with a contempt for life that only
vodka could wash away; if only for a few hours.

   "Welcome," said the voice.
   Gary felt a gentle hand rest on his back. He could feel, if not quite see, the
shape of a man beside him. He could be having a drunken nightmare, but at this
moment he felt completely sober and although he knew he should be afraid, the hand
on his back imbued him with a sense of calm.

--- More to come.

Time to regroup

2009-06-23T04:20:00.000-07:00

I pretty much took the weekend off from writing. Needed a few days to let things settle and start fresh. I have been contemplating where ideas for stories propagate. It's all fine and good to plop a dashing balls to bones hero into the middle of an impossible situation and by the end of the story have him dining with a big breasted concubine over the corpse of his nemesis but, that progression is so tired and cliche that I hope to never write one.

Where do great story ideas come from? Does it simply flow from creating a series of interesting characters, developing a plot and adding a moral outcome?

Consider this story written by Ernest Hemingway which contains only six words;

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

These six words leave much to the reader's imagination. There are so many possibilities that you must infer the story behind them. This is an example of extreme micro fiction. A one sentence story. To stimulate fresh ideas I think I will try to write a few examples myself.

"Fat book, flat spider."
"In descent, exposure. Public sex."
"Jammed gun; peanut butter rockets."
"God said goodbye, stayed."

These remind me of newspaper headlines; short, pithy and describe the complete story in only a few words. Here are a few you may find humorous that are floating around the Internet.

"Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers"
"Survivor of Siamese Twins Joins Parents"
"Is There a Ring of Debris around Uranus?"
"Eye Drops off Shelf"

I think I will start a collection of these for when I need a fresh idea to work with. If anyone has a few of their own to share please feel free to comment.

Slow going

2009-06-20T04:46:00.000-07:00

I have been pouring myself into research on writing technique for the last few days. I get up early in the morning and set about reading and taking notes from "The Complete guide to writing fiction and nonfiction" by Pat Kubis and Bob Howland. Curiosity about the didactic effectiveness of the main author I looked up Pat Kubis on google. My search revealed very little about the author except that she has published only three works; two works of communication with the dead and the before mentioned guide to writing. Makes me dubious as to whether I have chosen the most effective guide in my path to a writing career.

Although I would most enjoy writing science fiction, I have noticed while perusing my local bookstore that in the section labeled science fiction and fantasy, the current market is in a majority dedicated to works of fantasy. I believe this is due to pop culture with the predominance of such works as Harry Potter, World Of Warcraft, Lord of the Rings and Eragon. I was also more than a little disappointed that it was to three different stores that had a magazine rack I went to before I found a copy of Asimov's Science Fiction monthly. Perhaps it is in my best interest not to self label myself as a "science fiction" writer, and leave myself open to all possibilities.

I have an insatiable itch to eschew all the grunt work involved in learning the craft of writing and just delve right in and write a 350 page masterpiece! This is the fallacy of new writers I think; that they can just sit down at a computer and produce a work that will make them rich and famous. I don't want to be one of those pathetic individuals who pour their heart and soul into a manuscript without any preparation only to have it shat upon by twenty different editors.

I have spent all of my adult life drifting on an ocean of uncertainty not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. When the whole time I was writing! Bad poetry, philosophic meanderings and many unfinished short stories were my repetior. Now I am actually learning the craft. (Polishing shit, so to speak.) Though the process is taking longer than expected, I am confident of my success.

Stuck on an idea

2009-06-17T08:26:00.001-07:00

Well, here is a problem. I have a great idea for a story. Seems simple enough. Yet the more I think about it the more complex it becomes. I considered it all morning. Then being tired I took a nap hoping my mind would be fresh and clear when I awoke. I had a nightmare instead.

Here then, through a fictional persona is that nightmare...

Dylan eagerly typed the IP address of the private server into the game. He had heard this server had somehow acquired an as yet unreleased expansion to the popular 3D massively multi player online role playing game Dungeons of Time. He had spent two days secretly downloading the software from a file sharing network and had just installed it. Now he would experience brilliant landscapes, beautiful musical scores and unheard of levels of game play. The private server had also been hacked so that it was possible to begin your avatar at any level of experience you wished. Dylan's excitement was like a static charge raising the hairs on his arms and giving him goosebumps. But then his life had been nothing but excitement for a nerdy kid in his teens from Toronto who adored anime and video games to have moved with his family to Japan only three months previous. It was one of the local gamers he had met who had set up this private server for his guild mates. Since Dylan couldn't speak Japanese, those he met who spoke English automatically became his friends though Atsushi he wasn't quite sure of. He was an aloof often insulting kind of gamer that Dylan didn't like, but appreciated because of everyone in his guild, Atsushi was the best. He was the guild master, and in the game what Atsushi said was law.

Double clicking the DoT icon brought up the Tsunami Gaming Corp logo which was followed by an awe inspiring theatrical trailer for the new expansion.

---

Hmm.. looks like this could take longer than expected. A nightmare has turned into a full short story. Wonderful, instead of one incomplete idea I now have two.

Getting all my ducks in a row

2009-06-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I really have been putting it off for as long as humanly possible. Writing, I mean to say. I have had dreams of getting published and being a successful SciFi author for quite a while now. However, being the procrastinator I am.. and also of great timidity; I have always found excuses not to pursue my dream.

I am 31 years old. I work in a coffee shop. I am a single divorcee with no dependants and have no responsibilities other than feeding and clothing myself. I really feel it is time for me to begin this thing called life. I am somewhat of a late bloomer I know, but perhaps the world will not hold this against me.

So, in order for me to become a successful writer I do believe I should begin to actually write something. I have attempted a few short stories before, however, they turned out abysmally. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with them save a few word changes, punctuation corrections and complete and utter plot reconstruction. But who will ever know since they all ended up in the trash bin with a flourish of disgust.

I was once told that the best time to do homework is first thing in the morning when the mind is the freshest. Well, this is a little problem since I am a night owl. I am usually never in bed before the first hint of morning haze permiates the sky. Some major habits must be changed in order to facilitate my budding writing carreer. The early birds gets the worm so they say.

Well, I am off to take a short nap before I trudge off to the job that currently pays the bills.