"Ploughman" is Published, and My Fiction is in Print for the First Time (Or Second. I'm Not Sure.)

If everything goes well, this will be the first of several new blog posts over the next few days. I’ve got quite a bit of good stuff to impart to you, and it’s taken a couple months of hard, annoying work to do it. I’ll keep the first simple.

I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve had no trouble whatsoever getting my non-fiction work published. That is no surprise, but as most (if not all) of you know, fiction is my real writing love.

Back in 1991 or so, a publisher I believe was from Sacramento ostensibly printed one of my short pieces, “Wasteland,” in the small horror mag New Blood Magazine (circulation either 200 or 2000; I can’t remember). I say ‘ostensibly’ because I never received the copy of the magazine I was supposed to receive, though I did get a $35 check from New Blood. Was it published? I think so, but I’ve never seen proof.

I did cash the check. I am a writer, after all.

So with that questionable possibility of a chance of having a previous fiction publication out of the way, I have had no fiction published since then (maybe). So when San Diego Writers, Ink. (SDWI) announced that they would be publishing my short story, “Ploughman,” in their literary fiction anthology, A Year in Ink, Volume 4, I was suddenly very elated. I had sent two, but one made the grade.

I wrote “Ploughman” with my lightest touch, yet dealt with the thoughts of a man unjustifiably dying. It was unquestionably my most “literary” piece, so I wasn’t shocked when I learned that the piece that SDWI chose to publish was that one.

On February 15, pressured by members of the North County Writers of Speculative Fiction and even more strongly by my girl, Liza, I stood in front of the crowd at the Book Release Party and read the first half of the short story.

I was in print.

(San Diego Writers, Ink.'s "A Year in Ink. Vol. 4 page)

As surprising as it is to admit in today’s world, there are no plans to put A Year in Ink, Volume 4 – or any of the previous volumes – in an electronic form ready for download. So as much as I’d like to give you a link to follow so you purchase the anthology online, I can’t. This book is ink-and-paper, and will remain so for the foreseeable future.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m proud to be really published. I’m happy that someone felt confident enough about the work to pay to print it on paper, bind it, assemble a cover and contents, and put it on a shelf. That makes me happy. But that, however, makes it harder to acquire for some of you.

Who knows, though, that may change very soon…

Until then, if you’d like a copy of A Year in Ink, Volume 4, which features only two stories that could generously be called “genre” – mine, which abuts dark fantasy, and one other near-horror tale – you can acquire it from Amazon.  But if you really want it, may I suggest Powell’s Books?

(Buy from Amazon.com)

Powell’s is a huge independent bookseller in Portland, Oregon. I’ve been there, and it simply is the best bookstore I’ve ever been inside. They are 100 percent indie, carry shelves and shelves of used, out-of-print wonders, and need support just like any other brick-and-mortar store.

(Buy from Powell's Books)

If you want a copy of the anthology, and you’re willing to buy it, and willing to support Powell’s… well, that would be cool.

Can I do anything for you?

Revisiting an Old Friend: "Melbourn's Storm" (the re-edit)

This WIP is down. In September 2012, Lore magazine will publish a much better version of "Melbourn's Storm." As such, any version of the story is unavailable except through them.

Our New Year Awaits (And a Bit of Music Sees the Light)

I hope everyone had a happy Christmas, and a safe and festive New Year's. 2009 will certainly be written into the history books as a year of worldwide tumult and instability. I suspect that many of you had years like mine - full of as many downs as ups. I'm not the type to trot all my confessions out for public viewing, so I won't go into too many details. Suffice it to say, I would venture a guess that we're pretty much all in the same boat.

It's with a mixture of hope and anxiety that I look forward to 2010. Just a few days in, and nothing seems different; but I still look into the future with the same upward gaze that we use to watch the sun rise.

I started this blog just about a year ago, and at the time I was focused on getting my manuscript published. I submitted it, and it was rejected, and I was okay with that. It needed work. It hasn't gotten enough of it. The past several months have been a desert of creativity, as far as the novel went. I fell victim to a crippling bout of selective writer's block, one that seemed only to affect the Heroes... manuscript. After several chapters, which were read and reviewed here - and by my friends in the North County Writers of Speculative Fiction - I came to a screeching halt.

I call that a serious down.

However, during that time I've written several things - some pieces, some openings, a few chapters, and two short stories. I posted both "A Chilling Wind" and "Melbourn's Storm" here, and submitted both to my writer's group. The response for both was quite positive, though both are vastly different (and Melbourn is one of the protagonists from Heroes...). Following advice from some of my writerly friends, I decided to submit both of them to L. Ron Hubbard's "Writers of the Future" contest.

"A Chilling Wind" went in just before the end-of-December deadline for the quarter. I plan to submit "Melbourn's Storm" during the next quarter. Receiving positive feedback for both from the readers and writers who visit here...I call that a serious up.

With that, I have to digress a moment and describe one of the absolute high points of my year. In October, I received a message from one of my Twitter friends. He said he had read "A Chilling Wind" and was motivated to do some work of his own - because of that story. Early in November, I received an email from the same gentleman which contained a piece of music.

The writer - my online friend - is Brian Travers, the monster horn player and one of the founders of reggae giants UB40. Brian and his writing partner, Martin Meredith, composed a major-minor nocturne for my short story - which still hasn't seen publication.

Brian and I have discussed art, writing, and music a few times, and we are both rock-solid believers in "Art for Art's Sake." When he described feeling inspired to write a piece of music for it, I was filled with a surge of ego and a sense of humility at the same time. I've thanked Brian, but I've never known exactly how to demonstrate it.

This is it. According to his email, this is a version that would probably be tweaked and edited sometime down the line. It is a nocturne, and reflects the sounds of the sky and the city after the last line is read.

In a year of both ups and downs, this was one of my strongest ups - and now I feel comfortable sharing it with you. Feel free to listen. Music unheard is as big a loss as words unread.

If you're on Twitter and you like it, you should let Brian know; he is @btub40. I suspect he enjoys feedback almost as much as I do.

Thank you, all. Thank you, Brian. Thank you, Martin. I'll let you know how it all turns out. Oh, one last thing: I'm back to rewriting Heroes... again. Just wanted you to know.

If you haven't, read "A Chilling Wind."

EDIT:

To hear "Major Minor Nocturne (A Chilling Wind) by Brian Travers & Martin Meredith, please use the player at the top left of this page. I have tried, tried, and tried some more, but simply can't get any audio player to embed and play in this post. Sorry for the technical difficulties.

Time Keeps On Slipping, Slipping, Slipping...

Okay, I admit it's more than a bit hackneyed to use a line from a overplayed 70's radio hit as one's blog-post title, but that's about all I could muster up this time.

To quote myself: "Oh. My. God. I'm tired." This particular census operation has proved to be mentally draining and even physically a bit brutal. In the past week, I've fallen asleep on the couch, while in the middle of a conversation with my girl; on my 'perch' on the porch - where I try to write, blog, tweet (or - shameless admission: play vast amounts of online RPGs if the muse - that bitch - hasn't struck me); and, last night, in the living room floor while playing with the dog.

I sound pathetic, I sound weak, and yes, I sound old.

I discovered about half an hour ago that it has been a week since I'd even glanced at this thing. I slept in today, and I'm still tired enough that I still haven't quite seemed to grasp the absence of it. Hm. Bad sentence, that. In other words I wasn't even aware that I'd missed it, because I didn't realize that I hadn't been there.

Still not much better. Oh, well. That's about the speed my cortex is functioning at.

I've missed two meetings of my writers' group because of this operation; I simply don't have the energy to consider driving into the North County right now. Frankly, I'm afraid of passing out while driving. As both the dog and my girl know...it could happen.

As of the end of the past month, I also missed a chance to submit my short story, A Chilling Wind (shamless plug - the link is here) to the "Writers of the Future" contest. I'd decided it was good enough to submit something for the first time, but now I'm going to have to wait several months to try again.

On the other hand, I've decided to step back and do a "reconceptualization" of The Wyrd Magnet - which might start showing up in a month or two. I've also worked out some of the kinks of another previously-mentioned short story, "Shooting Pool." And I've come up with something quite out there - something unlike anything else I've ever written. It's called "Dead Beld," and I'm feeling pretty strong about it. Tonight, I'm going to start working on it.

No, I haven't forgotten about Heroes... It's my pride and joy, but right now, my brain needs an injection of something else. I've decided to give it that.

Yes, my time seems to be slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, but at least it seems to me that it's not going away quietly.

Later, y'all.

Wanted: Writer Seeks SWF (Some Writing Folks)

It is with some sadness that I announce that as of early September, it appears that the writer's group I belong to - North County Writers of Speculative Fiction - comes to an end. It has existed two years, much longer than the six or so months I've hung around with them. But Our Lovely Hostess and Her Mighty Husband are relocating across the country, and it appears that that will be that. (I'd say more, but I'm loathe to do so without an overt "okay" from them.)

We've got two more meetings until then, and everyone is going out on friendly terms. But it's ending, and I feel more than a bit of pain. As the one who travels the furthest, I'll probably not work with these folks again. In fact, I travel more than 50 miles one-way to participate - which I'm happy to do. But with the demise of the group, most of them are considering looking farther north from Vista/San Marcos - as far as Orange County. This is too far for me to go.

So it's with no lack of shamelessness that I post this: anyone in the South Bay or nearby East County area have an open writer's group? Anyone want to start one? I don't mind traveling (duh), but I'd prefer to stick a little closer to home. If anyone in the whole Chula Vista - National City - La Mesa - El Cajon* area has, or knows of a group, let me know. If you're in the area, or nearby and want to start one, let me know.

Thank you!

*Yep, that's me tagging this post for search engines. See those labels down below? That's me doing it there, too.

A Rewrite - With a Little Help From My Friends...

This is the rewrite of Chapter One, following suggestions aplenty from persons here on this blog, from writers and readers from Twitter, and from (as usual) my good friends and compatriots in the North County Writers of Speculative Fiction group. Though it will embarrass her, this time, I'm going to call particular attention to one of those members, Irina, who helped me - not only with good feedback, but also with good advice.

For whatever reason, this chapter was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to write and/or rewrite. I can't tell you why; I simply don't know. All I know is that after a couple of weeks of fruitless rewrites, one very long conversation with her helped immensely.

I count myself genuinely fortunate to have people such as y'all - people who'll read, offer praise and criticism both, and (most unusually) come back again for more.

I'd salute you, as Malcolm does, but that might send a message that I was about to sink your ship, and that's not really what I'm trying to say.

How's this? Thank you!

--------------------------------------------

Chapter One - Malcolm

Dragonfish plowed through the green and white waves of the Sea of Men, launching salt spray into the whipping wind with every crash. She was a bit smaller than most traders, her hull smooth and round-bottomed. She was laden with trade goods from Geshuan and sat low in the water. At eight knots, she was pushing her top laden speed, a fact that could not be lost on the vessel pursuing her.

On the main deck, sailors assembled ballistae along the gunwales and marines issued heavy blades and crossbows to the men. On the poop deck above, half a dozen officers readied for what was to come next. Only one man watched the preparations below. Satisfied with the crew’s speed and demeanor, he nodded and glanced up at the ribbons dangling from the rigging. The telltales pointed toward the bow; they couldn’t ask for a better wind in which to run. He turned to face his fellow officers.

To continue: http://www.writersownwords.com/washroomannex/work/234/