Someone has to figure out my story (and it's not going to be me)

First, yes, I know; I haven't written a blog post in 2 weeks. I'm a terrible person. I told you, I suck at schedule. Maybe I'll just do one blog post a month. Rarity increases value, right?

Anyway, you'll be happy to know that, in my absence, I have been writing. I just finished Catalyst Fate, the prequel novella to The Mallis Tragedy, and I'm getting copies off to beta readers as we speak (so to speak).

I'm also at work, and insanely tired; so I'm really just writing this in an attempt to stay awake. Good luck.

I've been telling people that I had three goals when writing my prequel. First, I wanted it to be a book that could stand on its own. Check.

Second, I wanted new readers to enjoy it, and find it to be a relevant lead-in to Snake Eyes Lie. Check.

Finally, I wanted my current readers (those who have read Snake Eyes Lie) to also enjoy it, and have it add depth and meaning to the story they already know. Also check.

Wow! How did I do all that!?

Okay, the truth is, I actually had no "goals" when writing Catalyst Fate. I wanted to write a short story prequel, and the months leading up to the events in Snake Eyes Lie just happened to be fertile ground for it. Okay... so how'd I do that?

I'm glad you asked... because I was actually wondering the same thing myself, and I think I've figured it out. Either I'm more of a genius than even I think, OR my writing style just lends itself to this kind of offshoot-friendly environments. Let's assume the latter.

Now first, you have to understand the source of my "writing style". I have a whole, great big universe in my brain, and all of these strange tales are woven into it. No, I don't have every detail of this universe figured out, but I have a solid grasp on it.

This broad scope leads to me dropping hints about the larger picture all over my stories without ever knowing when/if I'll get back to them. Hey, it's life; we never have all the answers, right?

The point is, I want my readers to have questions. I want them to think, theorize, and explore for themselves. I'm not going to tell you everything; that would take forever... literally.

I do try to be careful with this tactic, of course. I don't want to leave questions unanswered if they're vital to the plot. However, if you're leading your hero towards the climactic ending anyway, it's almost impossible to leave any of those loose ends still open.

For example *SPOILER ALERT* (but, as I've been saying, it's not detrimental to the story... and it's a short story... and free. Seriously, just go read it.) In Catalyst Fate, a character comes across an "Unheard Message" on an answering machine. However, he never actually gets the chance to listen to it. That's right, I never tell you what the message was.

Do I know what the message was? Of course I do. And, if you do enough digging, and read between the lines, you may figure it out as well. However, it's not vital to the plot. Akara has more than enough information to conclude the story, and he does.

Think of it this way, when you build a house of Lego blocks, there are always more little pegs facing upward, even when you're finished. They're just waiting for that second-floor addition. Many authors like to file these off, and wrap things up in a neat little package. I don't. I want you always wondering what will happen next. I want your mind racing about what's going on behind the scenes and, hopefully, I want a much, MUCH larger picture to start coming into view.

So here's my advice: Don't feel compelled to file off all the corners and package your saga up in a tidy little box with a bow on top. Surely, your universe is massive as well. Don't be afraid to stretch out with that a bit. Let your readers know that there is more to the world than just the black on the page; there's the white as well. A sense of closure is important, but a sense of wonder, more so.

The Moments Before "After"

I had an unusual honor this past week while meeting up with some friends at a little pub just north of nowhere. I had just gotten my beer, when I overheard a short, bearded man talking. "You know what's fucked up?" he said to a stranger, "I just found out today that I have leukemia. I'm dying."

This guy had been hovering by the door since I walked in. He wasn't drinking. He wasn't surrounded by a crew of friends. He wasn't brooding in some corner, like he wanted to be left alone. He stood beside the rivers of passing people, and just grabbed an acquaintance at random to tell them this news. He was alone. He wasn't just dying, he was fading away. I had to talk to him.

Within a few brief sentences, I had the bulk of the story. He was diagnosed with leukemia earlier that day. If you're reading this the day I'm posting it, then he's likely beginning his chemotherapy right now. However, the doctors have told him that there is little they can do. He was given eight months to live.

What would you even do with that? I know, people often have wild fantasies about how they would live if they knew they were about to die. You'd do anything you want. You'd party for months. You'd burn out in a blaze of glory. That's all very cute coming from someone who isn't stamped with an expiration date.

Now imagine that you're still a real human being. You still have your insecurities. You still have your subtle desires and varying levels of ambition. But now, you will be dead in less than a year. You're not living like someone who pretends there's no tomorrow. You're living like someone who knows there isn't.

Will that pint of whiskey be fun? Maybe... probably not. But who cares? What's the point of "living it up" when you're dying? Fast cars and a carefree life are still just embers in a fire pit the morning after, and you'll be gone. People will get in their cars, they'll drive away in every direction, and it will blur to an abstract, empty memory.

I tried to think of things to say to this guy. I wondered what I would want someone to say to me. I have to admit, this guy was tough as nails. I've never seen someone on the brink of tears for so long without falling one way or the other.

But what do I say? Death and I have always had a strange relationship; like an unwanted houseguest, lingering around by my side. Do I tell this guy the things I've learned of death? Do I tell him how the living will handle it? Do I tell him what to expect as the world shrinks, and fades to black?

Unfortunately, common folk don't like my view of the afterlife. I don't weave fanciful tales of utopia, or streets of gold. I offer no reassurance that you will somehow remain "you" once you've left the confines of your body.

Death is the end of this world. It's the final chapter of your individual life. You will no longer exist. That part is plainly obvious.

However, I also don't hold condemning thoughts of existential oblivion. I am not one to say, "You're dead, and that's it." This is because it is also plainly obvious to me that we are more than just dancing molds of meat. Whether or not we know what to call it, there is something more to life than just the bodies that carry it around. When I close my eyes, I know that I extend further than my simple brain. When I speak to someone, I can feel that there is more in them than if I were talking to a cheeseburger.

Energy cannot be destroyed. It can move. It can change form, but it must continue on. What awaits us when we die is far more elegant than ashes. It is more beautiful than a backwater, mundane projection of "perfection" by human standards. It is not a recreation of this world with all the pain taken away.

But he was a simple man, with simple needs. He had never dug too deeply into this life, and any understanding of its meaning would have taken him more than 8 months to explore. In the end, I just told him to think of it as leaving for Disneyworld. It's certainly not true, and I don't know that it gave him comfort.

He said that he'd be back after his funeral, and that we could have a beer together. I told him I'd be waiting.

Imaginary Trolls?

For once, I'm actually writing a post about being a writer! More specifically, I'm addressing this apparent issue of "Bully Reviewers". Strangely enough, I'm going to put forth an opinion that may not be very popular amongst my peers. But that's what writers do, right? We put our necks on the chopping block, we hand the world an axe, then cross our fingers and smile pretty.

For those not entirely aware of the situation, I'll sum it up. Allegedly, there are "careerist reviewers" on Amazon and Goodreads, who downrate books by the dozens, and post terrible, insulting things about the authors (specifically, indie-authors). These authors then lash back, and then get blacklisted by this group; labelled as an "Author Behaving Badly".

Ok, so they have their websites, and teams of reviewers on various forums, etc, etc, etc.

...and who is our Hulk? The absolutely sensational Anne Rice! Defender of the indies! Champion of the literary realm, and my personal idol!

Now for the unpopular part... I actually disagree with Anne Rice.

Granted, I haven't gone through and read EVERY accused "bully reviewer" post, and if the accusations are true, then yes, they're terrible trolls. I've heard that they make personal attacks towards the author rather than the book. I've heard they downvote droves of indie books without even reading them.

All of those things would be cruel if they were true. However, in the examples I've been shown, that wasn't the case. The most recent of which was a reviewer named Nenia Campbell. She has apparently been flagged by a group; "Stop the Goodreads Bullies". They labeled her a "Carpet Bomber", and posted a picture of a slew of 1 Star ratings from this woman. So, out of sadistic curiosity, I went to check out some of her scathing reviews.

Okay, yes, she has written a ridiculous number of reviews (who can read a dozen books in a day? Really.) Yes, most of them are 1-Star reviews. HOWEVER! All of her negative reviews are well-written, they are not personal attacks on an author, and she even backs up her negative remarks with quotes from the book, indicating the areas that grated on her. In fact, the one time I saw her even mention the author directly, it was to apologize for giving a bad review, and ended with "it's not for me".

And here's the real kicker; she's an indie author herself! Really? We're making the assumption that she's a bully who targets indie authors? Come on, people.

These are the bullies and trolls I was warned about? My initial thought was, "maybe she's just very particular and difficult to please". But even that's not the case. She's rated thousands of books with 5 Stars, she just didn't write reviews for them. Apparently, she primarily writes reviews for books she hates (save for a rare few exceptions).

Maybe that's not nice. It certainly doesn't follow the adage of "if you can't say something nice...", but what did you expect? You wrote a book, sent it out to the world and ASKED people to give their opinion. This is hers. It really is that simple.

Now, I may be bias on several levels. First, the very few reviews I've received so far have been very positive. I have yet to be subjected to the strident punch of a lone star. Second, I believe I share Ms. Campbell's cynical sense of humor.

Really. As harsh as her reviews are, they are quite funny and entertaining. This may also be the reason she only reviews books that she dislikes. Perhaps it is fun for her, and that's fine.

Here's the thing, we are authors. We write books, and hope people enjoy them. We do not, however, have the luxury of saying "Tell me what you think, but only if you think I'm awesome".

Seriously, if my book is awesome, tell me it's awesome. Shout it to the world. If my book stinks, you are also free to say so. I am keenly aware of the fact that my story and/or my writing style is not for everyone. There are people that will hate it. Will their reviews damage my fragile indie sales? Absolutely! Without some Five-Star padding, it will most likely crush me as an author. But then, perhaps I should have written a better book.

As a quick footnote, let me repeat that IF the accusations are true, then I wholeheartedly agree and stand by the victims of these bullies. I know that the internet is rampant with consequence-free trolls, and that sucks. All I'm saying, is that I haven't personally seen evidence of bullying in book reviews; certainly not with Nenia Campbell.

Beautiful Tragic

There is beauty in tragedy.

Tragedy is a willow tree dissolving back to the earth. Of course, there are the benefits that it will bring to the soil. Emerald blades of grass will one day grow in its place. They will paint the landscape with flowers of a thousand colors, and feed a forest of life. However, I'm not talking about the "circle of life".

I believe there is something beautiful in the death of the willow itself. Regardless of the radiance of a life, only when it fades, can we see its real value. Only in loss, in those darkened rooms of grief, do we discover where true light exists.

Remembrance pours out from a passing soul. It rekindles our lives. One by one, ribbons of color find their way into our memories. They move us backwards in time, reminding us of all those moments that somehow slid together like drops of rain on a window, drawing out the long line of our years.

This is the final gift given to us by every soul as they slip from our lives. As they fade away into morning light, they give us back the texture of life. They trace those individual moments that we would otherwise have forgotten. As smooth or as jagged as the days to come may be, for a short time, they will be real again. They will be mountainous, they will be blinding, and they will be real.

Death is no less beautiful than life. It is the edge of a diamond. It is the last page of a novel. It is a frame that defines the canvas. It is not a mistake, or a flawed design that ends life. It is a purposeful conclusion that makes us rare and irreplaceable.

The Sum of Parts

While working on a particular bit of writing, a conversation arose between two characters. While, in writing, that conversation has to flow naturally, I wanted to put down the basic premise of it here, without such a restriction.

At its core, the pearl of the concept is this: There is energy all around us. Yes, all you science buffs can make unimpressed assertions that "of course there is. This isn't news." So let me explain a bit more.

We know of all kinds of energy. There's kinetic, light, heat, magnetic even "potential" energy. What I'm saying is that there is something more; something we haven't quite nailed down yet.

So where's my proof? Art (or anything that might be considered art). What makes a song a song? A jackhammer has rhythm. Car engines have tone. So what is it in music that makes us feel something? What about paintings? How can simple colors and shapes on canvas express and evoke emotion?

While I'm at it, what makes a person more than just their cells? You're made up of a genome sequence and piles of organic matter, sure. But what's the extra, unseen spark that creates a human being?

Let me go one step further. What is confidence? Why can we perform amazing feats simply because people believe in us? Or, conversely, why do we feel so terrible when people insult us? What is that sense of "something missing" when we're hurt? And why do we become foul and seek to bring others down when we're in those dark places?

Science has proven that energy cannot be created or destroyed. It can be altered, manipulated and directed, but we cannot create new energy. This is exceptionally interesting when we consider that the whole of the universe is made of nothing more than energy.

So! How is it then, that every day, people are creating things that are somehow more than the sum of their parts? It may be undefinable, but there is undoubtedly something more to a sculpture than just stone. There's certainly more to a person than just cells and chemical memories.

All poetry aside, that unidentified "something" has to come from somewhere.

We can't always see it, but we are radiant beings. A luminous energy radiates from all living things. We can infuse it into our work. We can pour it into another person, or we can sap it away and leave them feeling depressed and drained. It is an endless exchange in which we're all connected.

Once you're aware of this, you can sense it everywhere you go. Watch conversations and try to identify where the energy is going. Whose presence dominates a room? Why? How do they feel when all eyes are on them? How do you feel?

There is something always moving and shifting in the unseen corners of our lives. You are glowing with a universal light. It rises from you like scent from a rose. It is an unmatched essence that has the power to change the universe. Be proud, and use it with care.

Our Songs Inside

My mother once repeated a quote to me that really had a profound impact on me.

"Do not die with your music still in you."
~ Dr. Wayne Dyer

For me, the quote was slightly inspiring, and hugely terrifying. Of course, I was young at the time. I had the mentality that I would live forever. This statement, however, set fire and awakened that small lump of mortality in me.

I have all of these ideas, all these theories, and all these stories locked away in my mind. I've prattled them out to a handful of people, but none I would trust with retelling them. If I were to die tomorrow, I would take those stories to my grave. They would be lost forever, having never been told.

Now I'm not saying something ridiculous like "YOLO!" I do not believe you should live as if there's no tomorrow, because, well, tomorrow has had a fairly solid track record so far. I wouldn't bet against it.

We each came into this world with something beautiful, or powerful or just plain brilliant inside of us. The whole point of being here is to deliver that package; to share it with others. If you die, having never told your story, it will be the greatest tragedy of your life, and a terrible loss to the world.

The world is getting darker, and people have begun to cling to their internal lights. They huddle around them, for fear of being exposed or ridiculed. Possibly they just fear letting go of the only bit of warmth they've ever had. But if you're going to clutch it forever, then bury it in the ground with your remains, then what were you doing here in the first place.

I'll wrap this up by leaving you with another quote, along the same lines.

"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for."
~ John Augustus Shedd

Evidence of Eden

Before I ever finished Snake Eyes Lie, I wore many hats in my life. The most recent was that of a video game designer. Now that is a whole other story unto itself, but I'll try to just clip out the relevant pieces here.

In general, I handled the writing, design and graphic design for our games. However, I did dabble a bit in programming. This little venture actually led to some grand realizations; parallels between programming and real life.

The most significant of these came while exploring the vast world of artificial intelligence. While working to be more efficient and effective, I had an epiphany; evidence that humans were meant for a perfect world. I won't bog this down with the details, but at its core, behavioral programming goes something like this: If this happens, then do this, and if this happens, then do this, ad infinitum.

However, end-users are crazy, wild animals, and you can never predict all of the nutty things they'll do with your little video game. So! In defense of this, to prevent an unexpected action from locking up your code with a digital shrug of the shoulders, you end with a default behavior. So it's something like, "If ANYTHING ELSE happens, then fall back and do this."

So how does this lead to evidence of a mythical utopia? I'm glad you asked.

You may not realize it, but you too have a default behavior, and it's hidden away inside your emotions.

If something is kinda scary, your pulse may increase. If it's scarier than that, your senses may heighten. Adrenaline may be released into your system. Etc. etc. etc. If something exceeds your capacity for fear, you will cry.

If something is kinda happy, you'll smile. If it's happier than that, you may laugh aloud and be flooded with various chemicals. If something is so joyous that it exceeds your capacity for happiness (birth of a child, weddings, etc.), you will cry.

If you get upset, you may become quiet and reserved. If you get more upset, you may get angry. Your hands will shake and your muscles will tense. If your anger exceeds your tolerance, you will cry.

Seeing a pattern here? Whenever an emotion rises beyond normal levels, our body's reaction is to weep. That is your default behavior. It's basically saying "if something happens that has not been anticipated, or goes beyond the expected levels, cry".

So why is it that it takes such a minimal amount of unhappiness, pain or heartbreak to trigger this response? I would suggest that it's because suffering, pain, and misery were never intended for us. We were meant for happiness, and anything that pulls us from that paradise was not anticipated, so we revert back to our default reaction.

Let me wrap this up by saying that, no, I am not religious. I do, however, believe that life is forged with purpose and expectation.

You were never meant to be hurt. That is not the life you were born for. You are so boldly meant for happiness, in fact, that the divinity of the universe itself becomes confused when you cry.

The universe is perfect; it couldn't exist if it were anything less. So whatever it is that you believe in, when the manifestation of perfection wants you to be happy, I don't know how you could be anything else.

In the Spotlight

I had originally began this post by writing a short story. It was a trial at writing a noir style, as well as an exercise in character development. It even had a little pearl of wisdom tucked inside. However, with everything that's currently going on in my life, I think I had bit off more than I could chew for a blog post.

Instead, I'm going to talk a bit about the state of things in my life. It began with this question: "How does it feel to be famous?"

First, no. Of course I'm not famous. Not even a micro-celebrity. Not even a local celebrity. This remark was made in jest because my Facebook wall has been trampled by requests for my book (which is awesome).

As to the surge in popularity, I'm on the fence. I'm an introvert by nature, and I have paralyzing stage fright, so all of the people asking me to sign their copy of the book is a bit unsettling. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do it, but even when it's a close friend, I feel like I'm being put on the spot and judged.

On the other hand, of course it's great. Obviously I hope to make money with my writing. I have my grand dreams of being an author full time, and never having to punch another clock. But it's more than that. I wouldn't say I'm writing for the popularity, so much as I'm writing for the recognition.

No, my life was not plagued by people telling me that I'd never amount to much. Quite the contrary actually. But also understand that, before this, the only thing I've ever seen through to completion was high school. Everything else in my life, I've typically given up on or lost interest in. So while my recognition isn't in the tone of "I'll show them", it does resonate with "I'll show me".

I think that's more important than people realize. Actually, I think that's the primary difference between successful people and the no-name folks who trickle by unnoticed. They finish things. That's it.

The fact that I'm writing this on a Tuesday rather than a Monday, as I was supposed to, speaks volumes to my attention span. Schedules and expectations have always been weird and uncomfortable for me, and since the release of Snake Eyes Lie, I've been trying to break that taboo.

That's why I have a progress bar on my website. I want people to see how I'm doing with Book Two, and I want to know that people can see how I'm doing. My hope is that it will make just uncomfortable enough to stay on task.

I know that other authors are typically frustrated and annoyed by people constantly pestering them about finishing their "next book", and I probably will too. However, that's why I do it. I love that people are already asking me about when Book Two will come out. I also probably need that pestering (but just a little).

The few people who have actually finished my book so far have loved it, and that is the best feeling in the world. I am absolutely humbled and honored by their anxiousness for the second in the series.

ALSO! As a closing note here: I will be at EgoCon this weekend. It's a small-time, local sci-fi & fantasy convention. I'll have a table set up, and I'll be signing books (as well as writing Book Two). It sounds absolutely terrifying to me, so feel free to show up and keep me distracted.

Fire in the Rain

It's raining... Alright, it's not actually raining. The weather outside is still the same ice-slicked, white tundra of Wisconsin, but for the purpose of this metaphor... it's raining. I believe that it should be the goal of every single person to set their life on fire until the radiant light of earth is the envy of the night sky.

But it's raining. It's always been raining, and it's a storm that will never end. While lighting a fire in the rain isn't impossible, for many, it may as well be. It's a shower of doubt, criticism, damp self-loathing.

Now I'm not going to sit here and tell you to cast away your fears. I won't convince you that your uncertainty is an unjustified specter in your head. Heck, for all I know, it may be perfectly justified. Either way, me plucking away and waxing poetic won't change your mind. I can't cure you of your skepticism, so I'm not going to try.

Here's my quandary for the day. Why do people seek the inspiration of motivational quotes from famously successful people. Call me a cynic, but when I hear that Stephen King said "you can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will," all I think is, "Yeah, if you're Stephen Freakin King!"

These people are so hopeful and so convinced that they've gained their success because of this mindset. It might be true, but I doubt it was true for the homeless man who froze to death while maintaining his positive, never-give-up attitude.

The point, of course, is that divine words from these rare diamonds of the world really mean nothing to me. I've worked hard, and even in the most bleak of circumstances, I've never given up. So what happens if I'm hit by a bus tomorrow, having never tasted this success that they promised?

Okay, so now this all seems very dismal and foreboding. I assure you, it's not.

It's raining. Let it rain. Doubt and confusion is natural. If you listen to these people telling you that you need to cast it aside or overcome it, all you'll accomplish is to make yourself feel weak because, despite your efforts, it's always there. Don't. All you need to do is march forward in spite of it.

Bear in mind that this is coming, not from someone who has been blessed by good fortune or a brilliant stroke of luck, but from a guy still in those trenches. I'm still broke. My tiny apartment is still a mess, and with every step forward, I am terrified that it will all have been for nothing. But I march on.

This is a dark and unrelenting storm, and we have all been born to it. Accept it. Pay no attention to those people who over-simplify things and tell you that "with the right attitude, the world is your oyster". Just keep moving. Put one foot forward, and then another. I won't promise you that it will pass, because I don't know. What I will promise, is that we will never stop. Our hands will shake, our feet will bleed, our hearts will break, and we will never stop.

Life is a beautiful swarm of chaos, and we are the titans that tread it. Will we set fire to our lives? I don't know, but I hope so. What I do know, is that you won't do it sitting where you are.

Purpose

I read once that, when writing a blog, you need to know exactly what it's going to be about. Too many people use them as public diaries, and people generally don't want to subscribe to your random thoughts.

I've been thinking about that, and the obvious choice is for me to write about writing and self-publishing. Sure, I can do that. I enjoy the process of writing and storytelling. I enjoy how events and characters click together in an unfolding tale. I like to think I have a knack for the various brushstrokes required to keep detail and pacing.

However, in the end, I have no idea how to be a writer. You write, I suppose, but beyond that I'm no more equipped to tell you than any highschool teacher would be.

So what I've decided on to be the central theme of this blog instead, is essentially an extension of what my books do. I may still offer the occasional post on crafting a scene, but my focus here will be on reaching out to people and hopefully helping them; offering a bit of insight into themselves.

More than I've been a writer, I've been a survivor. I've been a human being in some of the darkest places of the imagination. It is there, in those shadowy bits of your mind, that I feel I have the experience to offer advice.

Of course my books are meant to entertain. I hope that's their primary role, and I hope they fulfill it. However, no good story is merely for entertainment alone. They are meant to teach us, to guide us, and to help us uncover the best pieces of ourselves that may have otherwise been left buried.

Is that writing advice? ...maybe. The point being, that I hope to use this blog as an experiential extension of my stories. I hope that every soul, trapped in the dismal corners of their own hearts; those places you're not even allowed to talk about, have a chance to come here. I hope they read The Mallis Tragedy, and I hope they subscribe to this blog.

Genius and creativity, too often, fall prey to depression and hopelessness. We are losing far too many brilliant lights and radiant souls to despair. It is my hope that these words become a beacon for at least one of those people. I wish to be an unexpected lighthouse that proves there is a shore.

$5 Words

If you've done any significant amount of reading, you'll have come across an author that tends to abuse and overuse their vocabulary. Yes, we are wordsmiths, and yes, we should have (and use) every tool at our disposal to get our message across.

The key part of that message is "to get our message across". Just because you have a weapon doesn't mean you need to fire it. Sure, I have a rather impressive vocabulary myself. I don't however, feel the need to whip it out at every party and twirl it like a baton.

We write for the masses. Most of them don't know what "contretemps" means. If you do, kudos to you, but you're not doing anyone any good by punching your reader in the face with it. All you're doing is making your audience feel dumb and jerking them out of your story so that they can go look up the damn word.

So you can use "impecunious" in a sentence. Good for you. I have a thesaurus too. Now this is not the same as "purple prose". They aren't being overly flowery in some weak attempt to sound Shakespearian. This is more like... mauve-prose. It is still succinct in its own way, it's just bulky and annoying.

Don't get me wrong; there is a time and place for these words... outside of college thesis papers. A true artist has a sense of the flow in their writing. They know how the words "feel" to the reader and they know when they'll be able to understand their meaning even if the words themselves are foreign.

The message here, I suppose, is to just be aware of who you're writing for and why. No one wants to be impressed by you, so don't try; you'll just come off as arrogant and annoying. Try only to impress yourself.

The Ocean

I once had a dream that I was standing in the ocean, just off shore. There was an old man standing next to me, and he told me to cup my hands in the water. I did, and trapped a bit of water in my grip.
He said, "That is what happens when you are born."
I asked, "What happens when we die?"
"Open your hands."
I watched as my fistful of soul disappeared into the endless ocean. "That's kind depressing," I said to him.
He pointed to the horizon and replied, "That's because you're not seeing the whole picture."

What's in a name? ...seriously.

I'm not setting this in stone, but based on my current paradigm of thought, you will never be arbitrarily buying my signature. My autograph? Sure. But not my signature.

It's that subtle difference between the words that makes all the difference. My signature is just that; my name scribbled by me onto a piece of paper. It is just as valuable and significant (oftentimes less so) than the paper it was written on. My autograph, on the other hand, is something entirely different. An autograph is a personalization; a memento of our meeting. It is evidence that we have in some way, even on a quasi-real level, interacted.

Let me explain where this little rant is coming from. First, I do not look down on people who sell their autographs to the masses. I don't personally get it, but maybe some rewiring of logic will one day change my mind. One of my absolute favorite and inspiring authors, Anne Rice, made a post about selling her autographed books. She literally signed 10,000 books and shipped them off to be sold at Target stores across the globe. Why!? What's the point of that?

It used to be that you would get a celebrity's autograph as evidence that you met them. It was a big deal and gave you bragging rights, and yes, it became very valuable. But how valuable is a signed book that I picked up at Target? How sentimental is it? How is it any different from any other book I might purchase there? Quite simply, it's not. It means nothing to me and it means less to the person who signed it.

Don't misunderstand; I'm not opposed to signing books. I would be flattered and humbled if someone were to ask me to sign a copy of my book. I will not, however, be mailing out autographed copies to people who are little more than an address on a PayPal invoice.

I'm not a damn trading card. I'm a person who would very much like to meet you and hear your thoughts on my writing. If you want my autograph, great! Swing on by central Wisconsin and come get one. Heck, while we're chatting, maybe I'll ask for your autograph.

There are, of course, exceptions to this. Thanks to this fancy new thing called the internet, I'm able to connect with people in all kinds of new ways. There are some people who, while I may have never actually met in person, I feel we know each other well enough that it still counts. My editor, Kathy absolutely qualifies. The guys at Ironbelly Studios who created my cover art will certainly get signed copies. These are people that I've actually spoken to (even if it was just text).

Now maybe it's something as simple as supply and demand, and that's fine. People want a product and you provide it for a cost. Yay capitalism. Personally, I'd like it to mean something more. It's just my signature. It was never worth anything before, and that's exactly what it's worth now. Us meeting, however, well that's priceless... or $4.99

My Silent Audience

Alright, this post may not be as uplifting as my others (which is saying a lot), but it is something I wanted to put down in writing. Maybe for you, maybe for me. Who knows.

Oddly, this stems from reading up on book marketing and "finding your target audience". Honestly, it's not something I've really explored in depth... or even considered. I was just writing because this was the story I needed to tell. So tonight, I started thinking about it. Who am I writing for? What kind of people would read my book? What kind of people would enjoy it; possibly even benefit from it?

Science fiction fans are an obvious, throw-away answer. Yes, The Mallis Tragedy is an urban sci-fi series. It's action/adventure. It's philosophical, and (I hope) it's entertaining.

However, over the last few months, as I've talked with my friends, many of whom have been going through troubling times, I've found myself saying "READ MY BOOK". I think that answers my question right there. Of course I want everyone to read my book, but these were the people that I actually thought would benefit from it. My driving thought while touting that bit of promotion was, "If you read this, it may resonate on a level with you that others may not see; that others may not even know exists. It might help you."

When I began writing Snake Eyes Lie (Book One of the series), I was in a pretty dark place in my life. I had just escaped a cult lifestyle that I had somehow built around myself, and was living on the streets of a city that hated me during a fairly nasty winter (even by Wisconsin standards). That solitude gave me plenty of time to reflect on my life and the many mistakes that stitched it all together.

In my youth, I was one of those depressed, emo "self-cutters" (we called them goth in my day). Now, anyone who has ever been through that knows that the whole cutting-yourself-thing isn't about suicide. It's a cry for attention, and we never pretend that it's anything else. It's about feeling wounded and damaged on a level that no one can see, and therefore, no one can understand. We can't point at it and say "that's where it hurts". We can't apply a salve and watch it heal. It's a lesion on our memories that mocks us with every person who passes by without asking "Are you okay?"

So we cut ourselves. We manifest that wound and revel in its pain. We feel better because now it's "real". Now it can heal, even if it's only temporary.

That is where my story came from. It's about a dark world of oppression, bad choices, and unfortunate events. The heroes are those who can shut off their emotions, and when they do, they can physically see all those ethereal truths that others are blind to. They can see the struggle between people, even when those people can't see it themselves.

Some shitty things have happened in my life. Many were by my own hand, and some were just a really... really bad draw of the proverbial cards, and I have never been good at expressing my emotions. (They're gross and sticky.) This inescapable silence has caused its own share of problems, and has, in the past, deteriorated some of the best parts of myself.

Tragedy happens, and when people assume you feel nothing for it, they grow distant. They grow silent themselves. They grow to hate you.

So there you have it. That is my target audience. The introverts, imprisoned within themselves. The people who seem to not feel simply because they're afraid of how deep their emotions truly go. It is my hope that Snake Eyes Lie, and the rest of The Mallis Tragedy gives you something to hold on to. I want you to know that, even though you can't always speak, someone can always hear you. And maybe, if I can write well enough, my heroes will help you find your own strength and draw your amber light to the surface.

MAN! That's bleak. For those of you not depressed, I apologize for that. The book also has some great one-liners, mutant creatures and big, big explosions. :)

Don't Write for Yourself

I know, I know, all of the idealistic advice you've been receiving says, "Write for yourself. Only then will your writing truly be an artful expression... etc, etc." Okay, I'm not here to refute that specifically. You absolutely should write for yourself. You should not compromise your vision to appease the masses. Absolutely.

However, I have also recently read a handful of posts on various forums that had my jaw hanging to my keyboard and my palm pressed firmly against my face. I'm paraphrasing here, but it went a little something like this: "I don't have to spell things correctly. I don't need to use 'proper' sentence structure. I write how it feels because this is art."

That's so profound... and so very, very wrong.

Yes, writing is art. You know what else is art? The pink crayon scribblings of a seven year old girl currently hanging on my refrigerator. You know who cares? Me, her mom, and the little girl (and I'm not even sure about the little girl).

Does the audience make it any less artistic; any less expressive? Certainly not. But that's not why you're writing. If it were, you wouldn't be publishing your work. You wouldn't be sharing it with the world. It would remain locked away in your hard drive, a personal paracosm of emotional release.

Now, perhaps you're not writing for the masses, but you are writing for someone. Whatever your reasons may be, whether it's to stir emotions in your reader, or to express yourself in the hopes of being understood, you are not writing for yourself.

Knowing that, you have to craft your masterpiece accordingly. You want them to read it. You want them to enjoy it, to feel something. You owe it to them and yourself to make that happen.

This is where the rules and guidelines of writing come from. You want your reader to be immersed, not constantly aware of glaring typos and grammatical errors. You want them to feel, not have their brains wash over cliche statements they've heard a hundred times before.

So in the end, maybe you're not writing pop-fiction for the mass market, but you are writing for someone. Just picture that one person, that one reader who will be cradling your book like a treasure box on their sofa in the twilight hours of night. Learn the language of their mind and their heart. Write for them, and only them.