The Sky is Falling

I've heard troubling rumblings about the publishing industry.  It seems the publishers are trying to cater to an increasingly narrowing audience.  The sales of E-Books has really taken off yet publishers haven't utilized this market.  The scary thing about E-Books is that ANYONE can publish them.  Publishers are probably scared because E-Books "appear" to threaten their existence.  This doesnt' have to be true.  If publishers ignore E-Books it has a better chance of coming true, but it doesn't have to be that way.

What scares me is that if publishers go away we loose the "gate keepers" of the writing industry.

But most of all it is the general turmoil that scares me.  Gone, it seems, are the days when all I had to worry about was getting a publisher to print my book.  Now I may have the run the show myself.

...Although maybe I should finish something before I worry about publishing.

A quick update

My apologies.

I really need to get back into posting and such.  And writing and all that.  I've got plenty of excuses, some of them are even good ones, but I need to make writing a priority.  So here's to redoubling my efforts

As if you were reading

There is a song I heard somewhere that has a line, "he prays like someone hears him."  I feel a correlation between that line and with this blog.  I write like someone reads it.  Now I know I have a few followers.  And that's grand, really it is.  I love you.  All three of you.  I'm mean I write like there are dozens, hundreds even.  Who knows maybe there are.  People who read but don't follow or comment.  They call them lurkers.  I hear there's some sort of a "come out of the closet day" for lurkers.  I'm not sure when that is or whether it is conscionable to call people out of the closet like that.

I lurk.

I'm happy lurking.

That's how God made me.

And wow, I'm getting off topic here.  Alright lets straighten out this sub text. (I know I'm getting kind of bad with all the gay wordplay but I just couldn't help myself.)

Ahem.

Anyway.  So any of you out there.  Not that I'm calling you out.  I feel awkward calling out lurkers.  I once saw this really weird teddy bear stop motion animation thing on TV when I was a kid.  But it was like a stop motion animation thing made for adults, not naughty adult, just mature humor adult.  I could tell it was meant for grown ups because the show was making jokes but I wasn't laughing.  It was like watching MASH.  So... anyway this teddy bear was lonely and before he went to sleep he lit a candle and looking under his bed he called out "Any ladies under there."

I had to ask my Mom what the heck he was talking about.  Why on earth would he be looking for women under his bed.  She could only guess that is was a play on an old notion that women sometimes checked under their beds at night for men.  Where this crazy and creepy social tradition sprang from I have no idea.  In the times before I was alive was it common for women to be assaulted by men who were hiding under their beds?  Well I suppose it serves them right for not checking.

 Latter I saw a cartoon (The still drawn kind) of a young girl with a candle looking under her bed only to find a sign that read "Back in five minuets"  Now that was funny.  Creepy, but funny.  The bear, not so much.  With him it was just pathetic really.  This was a really crummy show I was watching.  It was like a grown up melancholy situational comedy without the humor and marketed for kids.  They were really missing every mark you could miss.  Both the lame attempt at the joke and how pathetic the bear himself was.  All in all it was really sad and pathetic.  The bear was so lonely for females he grasped at the false hope that there might be some hiding under his bed.

And so asking if there's anyone out there lurking feels just as bad.  By doing so it's like asking for more readers.  Now why do I think that asking for more readers on a blog with only three followers will help get more?  Beats me.  Might as will holler under the bed for attention.  I have tried to refrain from doing so mostly because I don't want to whine nor do I want to be pathetic like the bear.  Yet by writing all this I sort of am the bear now... nuts.  Well at least I'm self aware unlike the bear.  Well as long as I don't make a habit out of it.  (Although maybe whining works.  I watched Julie & Julia, the Julie chick whined on her blog and they made it into a movie with Merl Streep and Amy Adams.  So maybe if I whine they'll turn my blog into a movie with Harrison Ford and Shia Lebuff.)

Instead of whining I have written as though someone reads this.  (Again the dozens or hundreds of someones, I don't want to belittle the wonderful three I have now.  Your like my Trinity, (nothing but love)).  I explain this in case there are lurkers out there wondering why this guy writes as though he had a vast audience.  Near as I can tell it's just me, a lurker myself, and three others (three brave others with the guts to follow).  So to lurkers I explain.  I explain as though you cared, just as some pray as though someone listens, or write as though someone read.

In the movie Matilda there is a powerful line about what authors do.  "So Matilda's strong young mind continued to grow nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships onto the sea.  These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message "You Are Not Alone.""  That is how I feel about what I write.  Its like a ship.  I know not where it goes or if it ever arrives at it's destination.  I only know it carries a message, my message.  A message that I think will hearten those who hear it.

Ted from "How I Met Your Mother" says that Karaoke is Japanese for empty orchestra.  He thinks that is hauntingly beautiful.  I feel like that sometimes, like a performer lit up on a stage.   I peer out into the darkness, to the audience, but I can't see if anyone is watching.  I preform not knowing if there will be applause of silence when the curtain falls.

The Story Rises Again to Enthrall the World.

A few months ago I posted a post about how I was writing a online group story thing-a-ma-jig.  For those of you who may have been following it you may be asking yourselves "Where is the next installment by that daring and brash young writer we've come to know and love?"  Well it's not on the Story Blog (Feel free to take a look at Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.)  I'm not sure what has happened to my writing cohort.  He's probably just busy.  But the fact that it's my turn to write the next part has me fearing that you, dear readers, might be fearing that I wasn't writing it.  Well let me assuage your fears gentle readers and sate my insecurities.  Here is part four complete with scrounged pictures.  Please enjoy and discuss.

...

Part Four by me.

“A good question,” Redcloak said looking at Harlan who winced to himself before turning around.

“Now is not good time for this,” he said.

“We have a good half an hour or more before the Rune Kin can get through,” Redcloak said.

“And we should use that time to get as far away from it as possible.”

“I'd prefer to know just why we're dealing with a Rune Kin in the first place,” Redcloak insisted.

“But it's wounded now. Won't it stop, doesn't it need to heal or something?” Sally asked

Harlan started to shake his head “no” when Redcloak spoke.

“That depends on its runes. The Kin were created with powerful magic’s. Each one is different; this one may be “healed” already. It's hard to say because their strength is linked to their weakness. There is a correlation between the two. For example one might be invincible so long as it touches the ground. To kill it one would need to take it off the ground. The greater the strength the greater the weakness. That's why they hide knowledge of their existence; it’s a form of self preservation. It's why they kill all who know of them, or try to kill them at least.”

“You knew about them and you’re still alive,” Alric said.

“It hasn't killed me yet,” Redcloak corrected. “Whether or not I stay alive remains to be seen. It won’t stop until we're dead or it is.”

“How many of them are there?” said Sir Callahan.

“No one knows for sure. Not a lot. More than you'd want to exist. A dozen maybe less. One is more than enough.

“Will it bring others?” Sir Callahan asked.

“Doubtful. They're very individualistic. Asking the others for help would mean admitting failure. They would likely kill it and then come after us. But make no mistake, it would sacrafice it's self to the others rather than let us escape.”

“Has anyone ever killed one of them?” Kain asked. Redcloak didn't answer for a long time. The dark of the tunnel seemed to grow more oppressive. Everything quieting except for the constant muffled digging noises.

“There are legends,” Readcloak said at length, “but nothing verifiable.”

“Need to solve a puzzle just to kill the thing,” Kain muttered. “Won't stop. Won't rest.”

“Well depends on the Kin. It may need rest as part of its strength-weakness rune magic. The ones with less pronounced strengths have less pronounced weakness. Depending on how you look at it the less powerful ones are more dangerous. The relation is intricate and linked,”

“So what is its weakness, Inkeep?” Sir Callahan asked Harlan

“How should I know,” he answered looking back surprised

“That pouch you threw at it... what was that by the way?”

“Alchemists call it, dragon's grain. Pull the neutralizing cord and it burns like a dwarven smelting core.”

“Not something you'd expect to see in the hands of an innkeeper,” said Redcloak. “Not just because of the price either. No simple business man needs the destructive power of something so dangerous, yet so short lived,”

“Not unless one was running from a Run Kin,” said Harlan.

“Glad you had it too,” said Kain. “Although it does make one wonder why a Rune Kin would be chasing you.”

It kept coming back to that. No matter how Harlan tried to avoid it. The day he had feared had come. Even so it was not quite what he had expected. He was alive for one thing, and he gotten tangled up with a bunch the likes of Callahan, Kain, and Redcloak. He wouldn't tell them the truth, he couldn't. Not after everything he'd sacrificed. Not with someone like Sir Callahan waiting to pass judgment. Harlan could see the scales in the man's eyes ready to weigh in. He wouldn't tell them the truth but they wouldn't accept silence either. Redcloak knew about the Kin so no simple lie would suffice. He'd never believe a mundane reason for them to be pursuing Sally. So he latched onto an idea. It was straight out of a bard's song but it was grandiose enough to merit a Kin. Even if they suspected the falsehood the Kin was real and that might be enough to give credence to the untruth.

“Sally is the heir of Ielliane,” Harlan said.

“Ielliane?” Kain said, he sounded incredulous. “As in the mythic city of the mages?”

“The tales are true,” Harlan said. “Sally is the last mage of the air bound city. She is destined to unseal its people from their sleep and allow them to rain down wonders on the land.” Harlan tried not to overdo it, but the tale he had chosen was a particularly lavish one. “But only if she makes it to her twenty birthday. We just need another year and half.” The very last part was true at least. Eighteen more months. If he could just stay out of the Rune Kin's grasp for that long...

A violent explosion rocked the tunnel around them and roared through their ears. Dirt shook from the ceiling and walls while old wooden trusses groaned and creaked. Harlan thought he heard a couple snap. He feared the tunnel would collapse on them but aside from a few minor cave ins the beams held the earth back.

“That,” Harlan said coughing up dirt, “would be the rest of my dragon grain.”

“I'm a princess?” Sally asked. Harlan rolled his eyes.

“More than that,” he said and again he didn't have to lie, “much, much more than that.”

“I never knew... you never told me.”

“I've had you under an enchantment for years now. Think back girl do you remember your mother or father? Your childhood even? This whole life of yours has been a disguise to hide you from those who want to harm or use you and your gifts.”

“I think we may be able to help you,” Sir Callahan said looking very thoughtful. “Perhaps it is fate that has thrown us together. You see my friends and I have the Scroll of Valorian if you recall.”

“Valorian, wasn't he the god that taught the dwarves smithing?” Sally asked.

“He wasn't a god,” Harlan said before he could stop himself. Redcloak narrowed his cold eyes on Harlan which made him shiver. Sir Callahan harrumphed disdainfully.

“Well his godhood is, I suppose, a matter of opinion. Regardless, is he was a crafter of unimaginable skill. The scroll we have leads to one of his creations.” He turned to Redcloak and asked, “What we're after, the Blade of Tarsin. It could kill the Rune Kin couldn't it?”

“Well.. possibly,” said Redcloak, “It depends on the Kin's enchantments, it would at least give us a chance of surviving a confrontation with it until we can discern its weakness.”

“Then that's what we'll do, it's a lucky day for you innkeep, A Rune Kin comes calling on your door and some men who happen to have the means of defeating it are there with you.”

“Lucky day my missing arm!” Harlan swore. “I don't care what you do or where you go but me and Sally are going to run. We'll get on a ship and sail away so that the Rune Kin will have a harder time tracking us. Now come girl,” Harlan said motioning with the torch, “it's time to be gone.”

“I can't let you do that,” Sir Callahan said stepping between Harlan and Sally meaningfully.

“And why is that?” Harlan asked his patience draining.

“This girl needs to survive to her twentieth birthday, you said it yourself. Her best chance of doing that is by coming with us.”

“Survive. By going on an insane quest?”

“How long do you think you'll last without us?” Redcloak asked. “Especially now that you out of dragon grain pouches. Not to mention money, how much do you have on you now that your inn is gone.”

“I'll manage without you. I've done so for eighteen years, I can do so again. Besides wasn't your best idea about dealing with the Kin back in Speckled Dragon to run. No, I'm taking Sally once we’re out of this tunnel and sailing away. I don't care what happens to you. If you stay on land with any luck the Kin will hunt you first and it'll buy us some time.”

In Sally's mind she was weighing her options while Harlan and the others argued and weighed them out loud for her. Her world had just collapsed around her. Her entire life had been a lie, an enchantment concocted by Harlan. She was a princess, no, something more than a princess. Now that she thought about it she wondered why she hadn't seen it before. Her whole childhood was a blank. She couldn't even remember thinking about it before now. No parents, no siblings, no friends, nothing. Just serving at the Speckled Dragon.

Now a being that frightened some of the hardest of men she had ever met was hunting her. Harlan said he was taking her away from it on a ship. But he didn't sound too hopeful about escaping it. Redcloak and Sir Callahan did. And Kain was incredibly muscled and looked like he could take on a battalion of men. Then there was Harlan. Old, one handed, Harlan. The man that had lied to her all her life.

“I'm not going with you Harlan,” she said abruptly and loudly.

Harlan stared at her for a long minute.

“You what?”

“I'm not going with you,” she said “You've lied to me every day of my life. And now, if what you’re telling me is true, my life is in danger and I don't trust you with it.”

“What makes you think you have any say in the matter.”

“You don't own me.”

“This is not a decision you get to make, you have no idea the importance, the... crucial.... no idea what it's taken to get here nor what's at stake.”

“With all due respect innkeep,” Sir Callahan said with a decided lack of respect in his tone, “The girl has a point. I will not see her harmed. Not by that thing, not by you, not anything. Not while I live.”

“Who do you think you are? In my day-” but then Harlan stopped, he bit back his sudden anger, but just barely. It was no longer his day. He clenched his fist around the torch, which only angered him because it reminded him once more of what he'd lost and of what he no longer was. He looked at them all. Sir Callahan who stared back at him resolutely. Kain who looked bored but his posture was ready to fight. Redcloak stared with icy eyes intently as if he was looking through everything. Alric who had remained oddly quiet. And Sally who looked like she was about to cry. The tunnel was silent save for the digging noises still growing nearer.

“The Rune Kin is after us,” Redcloak said, “and if the circumstances were any different I'd say yes, run. But we have a chance here. If we can find the blade of Tarsin before-”

Redcloak was cut off mid sentence by Harlan's bitter, mocking, laughter.

“The puzzle sword?! The blade hasn't been seen since the war with the forbidden religion. And you’re going to find it before the Rune Kin finds you?”

There was deadly silence among the three, and by its quality it was clear that they were not accustomed to be being laughed at. Harlan's disdainful mirth drained away. He had only laughed because of the absurdity and the direness of the situation. Had he not laughed he would have broken into tears or madness. But now he was growing afraid. These men who surrounded him were dangerous and not just in the physical sense. Harlan knew of men likes these. Men who spoke and did great things so often they forgot their limits.

Not having limits is one thing. God's didn't have limits... usually. Which was why Harlan had done what he had...

But to be unaware of limits. That was an insanity common to both the hero and the fool. Only time could determine which was which. The difference was indicated by death. It was almost a type of magic. People had done the impossible because no one had told them it was impossible. The most wondrous things of all creation existed because of beings that defied their bounds. But there were also the most terrible nightmares made real by the same “magic.” That was what he saw in those three men's eyes. He remembered when he had seen it in himself.

“You’re all mad,” he said in a whisper that was as terrible as it was quiet.

The gravity of the situation had shifted into darker realms. Harlan wished he had the strength to strike them all down and take Sally, by force if need be. But he didn't. There was a time when he did, but it was long gone.

“You’re decided in this foolishness then?” he asked Sally. It took her a moment but she nodded. “Then you've decided for me as well. Let’s go find the blade of Tarsin.”

...

Do you know how tricky it is to find art on the internet that matches the tone, setting, and characters you've created in a story?  Considering the fact that none of the pictures I found were drawn for this story nor were they drawn by the same artist I think I did pretty well.  Of all of them Kain's picture matches the closest to what is in my head.  And good luck trying to find a proper image of a one armed innkeeper.

Snap that band

The world is full of characters dealing with sexual or romantic tension.  It seems to be more prevalent in TV; and TV like a taint, like the best taints, touches everything.  It influences the young minds who become writers.  There are too many bad habits that one can pick up from TV to list here.  So I will focus on this one for now.  The extending of sexual tension to impossible lengths.  It stems from a inherent flaw in TV series. 

A series in order to be a series need to keep the story going indefinitely.  They do this by treading water, the same water, over and over.  Once they stumble on a combination that works, one that strikes a cord with the viewing audience, they keep recycling the same formula.

 One such formula is the pair that just can't make it into relationship status.  One or the other is already dating, married, mourning, or there's some other more elaborate reason why the two can't be together.  And this sexual tension builds and builds between them.  If the show lasts long enough the tension is maintained so long that I no longer care if the two get the hook up or not.  Or if they do it feels like they are betraying the characters somehow.

Now it is not the use of sexual or romantic tension that I dislike, it's the misuse of it.  As mentioned it seems to show up the most in television, or maybe it's just that much more noticeable in that medium.  But I've seen it in books too.

Sexual, or romantic tension is like an elastic band.  The longer it stays taut the more strength it loses.  But including it in a story is a way to keep people interested in your characters and keep vibrancy in your plot.  The trick is to keep the right balance, it is a delicate tight rope dance.  Too much and a reader will be strained waiting for the charters to get the hook up but never getting that release which they (and we the readers) oh so desperately want and need.

Come on, snap it.  You know you want to.

The Distinction

I prefer to write Fantasy but I enjoy Sci Fi as well.  Now Sci Fi is not the same thing as Fantasy.  The distinction is small, and in some stories it's blurred but it's there.

The best and most succinct explanation of the difference that I've ever heard is this:

"Sci Fi is what could be but isn't.  
Fantasy is what can't be but is."

I believe it was Orson Scott Card who said this but I can't prove it.  If anyone knows if it was indeed Mr. Card, or if you know who did say it, please let me know.  If I happen to be lucky enough to have made it up without realizing it then I claim it as mine, but I doubt I did.

The difference is Sci Fi uses science to explain its impossibilities and Fantasy uses magic. The two genres have more in common then not.  And yet I've heard of infighting amongst the geeks and nerd ranks.  Contention rages about the validity of Sci Fi over Fantasy or vice versa.  Arguments that one is better than the other abound.

Brothers and sisters (assuming there are any girl geeks out there, I've yet to find any) please put this bad blood which runs between our two great genres aside.  They are both capable of greatness and culpable of ... ungreatness.  But there are those who would deride us all of our place in the world.  Those who view both genres as dross.  The enemy is out there, let us not do their work for them.  Besides if Sci Fi and Fantasy really were to clash one with the other I think we all know who would win.

Huh... I didn't expect that.  Although it may look bad now, this knight is totally gonna kick this space ranger's butt.  Trust me,  because in Fantasy we got the magic.

Look what I'm writing!

I am taking part in a shared story.

You can check it out here.  I am currently responsible for part two.

Time Vampires

There are lots of little things that eat the day away. On their own they don't seem like that much, but put them all together and a picture forms of a ravenous creature intent on sapping every second of every day. They are Time Vampires and here are some of mine:


Work: Now yes work is necessary to pay the bills, and as far as jobs go I don't have the worst. But a full time job is nice chunk of time out of one's day. I just think about all that time I'm being productive for someone else when I could be writing. It's frustrating.



TV: Because I just can't miss... well actually there is no good reason or excuse for this vampire. Most of the so called "must watch TV" I consider "must avoid TV." There are scant few shows I actually go out of my way to watch, and even those I normally watch on Hulu. Ah, blessed Hulu. The great thing about it is the liberation to watch just about any show at any time with with a grand total of four or six commercials. That's commercials total, not six commercial breaks with thirty commercials each. Do the math. Ah cursed math.

(And this is how math makes me feel.(Warning animated cartoon stick man violence, very graphic. I am not kidding. Click at your own risk.))

Friends: They'll be there for me. Even when I might be better off without them, working on my story. I know this sounds ungrateful, rude, and a bit anti-social, but friends do distract me from what I should be doing. I can't count the number of times my friends have pulled me into a fountain and forced me to dance the night away (like I'm was always stuck in second gear.)


Laziness: I was gonna write something here, but....



I so tired.



Gaming: I start up a game and I'm having a good time when suddenly... I look up at the clock and it's midnight. The game just Rip Van Winkled me. I hate to say anything bad about gaming on account of it giving so much good to me. But it does take time and money, and time is money, so it takes money squared. And dang it I've started talking math again. You can never be too careful with math.







You can never be too careful with math.

Getting back on track

The Holidays have gotten me a little off track. But fear not I am slowing making my way back to where I want to be.

This means writing, and a lot of it. Hopefully some of that so called writing will splash over onto this blog. Boy it sure is easier to break habits than make them. But this year is gonna be my year. I can feel it.

...Although I have felt that way before. In particular I felt really good about 2007. That turned out to be a train wreck. But onward and upward.

And whew. I was really running out of things to say. you see I had to keep writing because I included this neat picture of a train. As I did I thought to myself: "Self, you ought put that picture in the left hand corner instead of front and center." So I did but if I didn't have words to wrap around the bottom it would just look silly. So here we are.

Merry Christmas

Looks like Santa's reindeer have been upgraded this year.

No updates this week due to Christmas spirit.

An Unfulfilled Promise

I am way behind schedule. Back when I was a kid I thought that by the time I was as old as I am now I'd be a published author. Oh how I've let the little guy down.

This trip down memory lane makes me ponder the reason of why I actually write.

The year was 1993 and I was in elementary school. To say that I did not enjoy school would be an understatement. I wanted out, and I was desperate to find some way, any way, to quit school. Little me hatched what he thought was an ingenious scheme. For whenever he balked about going to school and asked the grown ups why they almost inevitably responded that I would need school to get a job.
"Why do I need a job?" I would ask.
"To make money."
Money, I found out at an early age, was the be all and end all of life. If I had it I could do anything, without it I had to play by the world's rules.

My dad had told me about this kid who collected stamps. He got so good at buying and selling them that left school. He was rich and got driven around by a chauffeur all day, he never even got his licence.

So my brilliant plan was to find something that I could do that would make me money. Just like the stamp kid. Little did I know (oh how ominous those words are) the path that this plan would set me upon.

How was I a mere grade school kid supposed to make money. I wasn't even old enough for a paper route. The answer came to me rather quickly. I would write. It was something that I already liked to do so I figured I could use it to get out of school. It all seemed so simple. But I had to make sure that my parents would let me quit school once I made my millions. Parents can be obnoxious about things like this. "Sorry son we don't care if you can afford to buy yourself a small island your still going to attend school."

And so I made them sign this:

They signed it. A sort of promissory note. Oh I had them now.

Or so I thought.

It was my promise that never got fulfilled. A promise I made to myself to get out of school.

Sometimes I wonder if I write because I really want to or if I have just hardwired it into myself because of my desperate need to escape school. Even now that I'm out of school that need to write is still there. I can't help but wonder if it's genuine.

But then I remember that I did indeed write a book. Way back before the promissory note. Back before I knew how to write. It was an illustrated story about a presidential election between Fire and Water. I still have it somewhere, I'll have to dig it up one day. Remembering it makes me think that maybe I really am a born storyteller. I mean if I was telling stories before I knew words that should count for something right?

At any rate both these events get to the heart of the question of why I write. They aren't the whole answer. I don't know if I can put the whole answer into words. It is something that is felt and thought and spoken. But this is part of it.

Progress Report

So to explain about my Progress report

Pages Transcribed is the amount of pages I've transferred from my hand written text onto the Computer.

Pages On Word refers to the grand total page number on my Word file. I have from time to time made some effort to get my story onto the computer. I took all these files and dumped them into one document. Also on this document are the pages that I've transcribed.

And just to give you a visual of the work cut out for me.

The stack on the left is what I've transferred into the computer. The Stack on the right is what I have left. And making it's second appearance on this blog, the the lovely flower print couch.

An Update

So first off shame on me for not posting something sooner.

Second off I think I'm going to start posting over on the side there, a notice on how many pages I have gotten onto the computer. I'm trying to get my story which is spread over heaps of handwritten pages onto a word program. I got about twenty pages so far using my handy Dragon software.

So that's about all for now. I plan to update my page count every Monday. Hopefully this deadline will help me stay on track. If I don't make any progress then feel free to virtually kick me.

Writing is hard

A while back Lynners had a post on her blog which had some advice for bloggers (blogers?) It was very good advice. One point was about posting on schedule. This is a feat I've never been able to accomplish.
Oh I dream and wish, and I even told myself, "Self, when you write this blog make sure you post at least once a week."
Well once a week turns into once a month, if I'm lucky.

Writing is just so darn hard. People who don't do it think it's easy. I have from time to time shared my desire to write a book with people and they have flippantly responded,
"Oh I think I'll write a book too someday."
Now if they really mean to write a book I got nothing against that. It's just the vibe I get from them is that they seem to be saying that once they have some free time, like a weekend or something, they'll just sit down and write whatever they've got in their heads. Bam, instant book.

IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY!

Or at least not for me, and near as I can tell not for anyone else. Writing, if done well, is not something done on a whim. It takes skill and work.

It's so hard it scares me. Scares me to the point of avoidance. Yeah that's right. This writing thing that I am supposed to be so passionate about terrifies me. And the mountain of work set ahead of me is so daunting I find excuses not to attempt the climb.

So I need to do better. I'm telling myself to forget about the worry and the weight of the work. Just enjoy it and make an effort. It will still be hard but nothing worth doing is ever easy. (I hate it when platitudes are right. They just sit there and are so smug about it too. Grumble grumble grumble.)

Writing Excuses

To say that this is my favorite podcast would not be fair. It is the only podcast I listen to. I've tried others but they all miss the mark. What mark is that you ask, well I'll tell you.

When perusing the vast expanse of itunes I sought out writing podcasts. Specifically a pod cast with a emphasis on fantasy writing. It was pretty slim pickins I'll tell you that much. I tried listening to Grammar Girl. Which isn't to bad except her show is really short, and it deals with the actual nuts and bolts of English, you know the mechanical stuff. All that is very important but it wasn't really what I was looking for.

A bunch of other podcasts that had a fantasy orientation seemed to focus on the casters story. I didn't really feel like listening to someone talk about their story and why it worked or didn't work.

Then I found Writing Excuses. It was nearly everything I could have hoped for. It consists of three hosts, all of which are established professionals. Brandon Sanderson is a fantasy writer, Howard Tayler is a web cartoonist, and Dan Wells is a horror writer. They get together once a week and produce a fifteen minute program about writing. They specifically target genre fiction. That includes fantasy, science fiction, horror, and the like. It's a really great show, though sometimes I wish it was longer than just fifteen minutes. I happily recommend their podcast to anyone interested in genre writing and even fiction writing in general. It can be downloaded from itunes for free.

Hope Fulfilled

So a while ago I bought the Dragon Naturally Speaking program. I must say that I am rather happy with it. In fact I am using it right now to write this post. It has made transferring my handwriting into the computer much quicker.

It does seem to have problems with proper names. Also it messes up when you mean to say "two" instead it comes out "to." But all those problems are not insurmountable. Working with the Naturally Speaking program and a keyboard I am able to write several paragraphs in a matter of minutes.

Where before it would take me hours to get a single page of a handwritten story on to the computer it now only takes me an hour to get three pages. So all in all was a good buy for me.

Here's Hoping

In my effort to discover hand writing recognition software I learned that no such thing exists. Or at least there is no software available that does the job I'm looking for. Most OCR (Optical Character Recognition) software works wonders provided that what you are scanning in is already printed text. Meaning if I printed something out of my computer I could scan it back in and the software could read it and then process it in a word document. Then I could edit it. This of course is completely useless. If I already have it in text form it would stand to reason that it is already on my computer, or could easily be transferred to it. Now granted if your dealing with people that are handing you a ton a printed material that you need to edit this software would be ideal for you.

I was told that OCR programs might, just might, be able to read handwriting. As long as it was nearly identical to print. Also if the document I was scanning in was arranged as a form chances for the OCR program to successfully read it would increase. The IRS uses software like this to process taxes, but it wouldn't be very helpful to me. I tried to find out if the powerful "Programmers That Be" were anywhere close to a program that could do what I wanted. The vague "don't hold us to it" answer that I got was ten years. Ten years away from hand writing recognition. My heart sank.

But then I stumbled upon this.

Speech recognition software. If it works all I would have to do is read my stories into the computer.

I have been writing stories since before I knew my alphabet. (First story I ever wrote was about a presidential election between Fire and Water.) So I have literal heaps (I call them heaps even though they are trying to be stacks, but lets face it, they're heaps.) of paper scattered throughout my domicile. I have accumulated them over several decades. The prospect of waiting yet another decade before I could get them onto a computer was not an appealing one. Sure I could type them out. But that might take anther decade, or more, in and of itself. It takes me about twice as long to transcribe my hand written work onto the computer as it does to write them.

So this Dragon program (and as I fantasy writer I can't help but love the name regardless of how little sense it makes) promises to cut my work in half, maybe more. The promo claims that the average person types at 40 words per minute. I'm probably slower. I know other people have said to me that while them may like writing by hand they just can't do it that way because it's too slow. I marvel at that as I have a hard time typing because I can write by hand faster than I can type. The Dragon promo says that people on average talk at about 120 words a minute. That's three times faster than typing, and in my case it might be four times faster. I'm really a lousy typist. I utilize a odd alchemical mesh of home key position and the good old hunt and peck technique.

I am really excited about this and have already ordered myself the program. I am a bit worried as the product has gotten mixed reviews. Yet it does seem to be the best speech recognition software out there. I'll let you know how it goes. here is a link to the promo

http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m11VSCXBRQ1ZJR

and a link to the amazon product page

http://www.amazon.com/Nuance-Communications-Inc-A109A-G01-10-0-NaturallySpeaking/dp/B001B5J7LQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=software&qid=1252647368&sr=8-2

I think it can be inferred from my admittedly bad typing skills I am not terribly tec savvy so please forgive the messiness of the links.

Better than Socks!

So it has been a little while since my last post. I have a good reason for this. Literally every free moment that I have had has been devoted to writing a story for my sister’s birthday. I was giving up sleep to get it done. I am pleased to report that the story was finished in time. It wasn’t quite publishing quality but it was presentable. I used my mad Macgyver skills and whipped up a rather nice looking book if I do say so my self. It consisted of a three ring binder, pager protectors, stolen art from the internet, my printed text, and a hand drawn cover illustration. Throw in a paper clip and a pocket knife and it will not only ninja kick smugglers but also do your taxes.

All in all this is what the finished product looked like.


Pretty snazzy if you ask me. The nifty blue thing in the back was the wrapping paper. It was in truth a faux leather document case. It came with the coolest lock I've ever seen. So cool I can't describe it. At the bottom was a hand made treasure map which would lead her to the first clue in a set of hidden clues. That's right I wrote a story about Space Pirates (titled originally enough as Space Pirates) and gave it to my sister as a gift, but before she could find it she had to go on a treasure hunt. Get it? Pirates and treasure. I'm sure you got it. Your smart people. I write this over explanatory explanation simply to rub my genius in your face. (Now please note that I am just being silly here. I'm not a genius, I was just trying to joke around. But there I go over explaining again.)

And... in case you wanted a better look at my stellar artwork here it is

Now before you start flooding me with requests for drawings of your own, I feel I should point out that most of what you see above was traced. The only things I drew myself were the octopus, the ball of light, and the big rock dude. But much of the other figures I had to ad lib their poses , and that took no small effort and I don't mind telling you. I also did all the coloring myself. The very astute may notice that I directly ripped off Wobbuffet from Pokemon. I have no apologies and no regrets for this. Now to be honest I had something different in mind when I set out to make a cover. But I don't think that this is that shabby either.

What I am pleased with the most about this whole endeavor was my sister's reaction. I was hoping for her to either cry tears of joy or jump up and down screaming with excitement. She did both. That right there is part of the reason why I write.

I learned a lot of things from all this. There are many things I need to work on. Getting this story done helped me realize what they are. But lessons learned are the subject of another post on another day. For now I wish to simply bask in the warm glow of accomplishment.

Keep Writing.

The Woes of Paper and Pen.

I'm a pen and paper guy. I think everyone who writes has their own favorite medium to work with. Some prefer the old school typewriters, others like these newfangled computers. Some are like me and choose the pen/pencil and paper combination. It’s important to be comfortable with your tools and for me I never feel better than with paper and pen. It’s like a first love. Sure computers may be faster and easier, but there is something that just feels right about my preferred method.

This of course causes me untold grief. Because I like paper and pen it means anything I write must be rewritten on the computer. I have to get it onto the computer because lets face it that’s the way the world is. Word processing programs make it so much easier to edit. The Internet makes transferring documents fast. And when I print something out from my computer I know it’s legible. Many people would be hard pressed to read my hand writing. Shoot I can’t even read some of what I’ve written if it’s been a while since I originally wrote it. I can’t tell you how many great ideas I’ve lost due to this. At least I think they were great ideas. There’s no way to know for sure now. But they must have been great, why else would I have written them down?

I wish that there was some technology that could help me get my hand written material into the computer. Now maybe it already exists and I’ve just not heard about it. If it does and if anyone reading this knows about it please let me know. What I’d like is to be able to scan my hand written text into a word program. Now hopefully the software could read and identify most of what I’ve written. But even if I have to go through it once its on the screen and correct things here and there it would be worth it. It’d be a ton better than what I do now.

I don’t have a scanner yet but if this technology exists Id’ gladly pay for both. It would save me an enormous amount of time and energy.

Space Pirates anyone? Bettered only by Space Ninjas.

So I am currently working on a story for my sister. She has a birthday coming up and I thought a story would make a great gift. It will be great because she helped come up with the idea for it.

We were texting each other a couple months ago and somehow we started making up characters. We were influenced by Disney’s Treasure Planet.

So basically it's a story about space pirates. She has no idea I'm working on it. I'm having a blast getting it ready. I've been more productive with this idea than any other idea I've ever done. I think that this is due largely because I am operating under a deadline. I’ve never had a deadline for my creative stories before. I mean I’ve set deadlines for myself but they’ve always fallen through. That’s because there’s no real penalty if I fail, and no reward if I succeed. But now I have one. The penalty will be giving a mediocre store bought gift instead of a awesome homemade adventure. The reward will be her shout of joy (and there will be shouting), and her bright smile.

So that’s what I’m working on. I still have a ways to go and it’s beginning to get into crunch time. I still want to get some people to proof read it and get feedback and then adjust it. That and I wanted to illustrate it. So I have a lot on my plate. If worse comes to worst I can save this project for Christmas. But I really want to make it for her birthday.

Now onto some side notes. I can whole heartedly recommend Treasure Planet. It’s a great adaptation of Treasure Island. I tried to read the book when I was a kid but I was too young and the book was out of my depth. Since then I have seen several versions of this story. There was a Disney live action movie, a Chipmunk tv episode, the Pagemaster version, and a Muppet Treasure Island.

Now *SPOILER ALERT* (although this book, and the movies have been around for forever so if you don’t know the plot then where have you been hiding?) In the end Jim Hawkins lets Long John Silver escape. Long John was a pirate who betrays Jim and I never understood why Jim lets him go. It never made any sense to me. Not until I saw Treasure Planet. If you want to know why I understand it now then you’ll have to watch the movie.

Nextly, although the inspiration for this story was drawn from Treasure Planet it is an original tale. It would be more accurate to say that it just shares the same flavor as Treasure Planet. And because it is meant as a gift I don’t know if anything more than that will come of it than that. Will I be able to get it published? I don’t know, I’m not sure if I’m even going to try.

Yet it just goes to show that inspiration can come from anywhere. In this case a movie and a text conversation. Maybe it wont be a story that I can get published but I’ve learned things from it. I’ve learned that deadlines help me. I’ve also learned that I can be funny with my writing. This is a skill that I once thought was completely beyond me. Now I know that if I work on it I can make people laugh. I may not be Terry Pratchett (he’s a funny writer, hilarious actually) but I can get a chuckle here and there. I think... well I hope anyway. The point is, if your reading this, that it’s important to make use of your inspiration. You never know what you might learn or what you might accomplish, all you have to do is try.