Writing The Hard Way

South Korean Crime Noir

2012-01-06T11:03:00.001-05:00

I don't watch much television. But on Friday nights, I like a good movie. I'd ran the gamut of American crime and noir. Even some French. No, this ol' boy ain't very cultured, but I'll try most anything.

We have streaming Netflix. I kept noticing all these South Korean movies and by reading the summaries, it looked as though the South Korean's love their crime. I held off. The Asian language has always been difficult for me to follow (I know, subtitles). Still, I noticed they were getting pretty high ratings. I gave one a chance. Then two and I'm still going.

I started with a film called I Saw the Devil. Talk about blowing me out of my tighty whities. Great production quality. Good story. Great acting. Brutal and beautiful.

From there I went to The Chaser. Not quite on par with I Saw the Devil, in my opinion, but still very good. My wife was even interested and this type of movie is not her thing. She's not much for subtitles, either.

I don't do reviews, so I don't expect you to glean much information from this post. Still, check 'em out if your bored off your ass this weekend and are willing to try something different. Yeah, I know, the playoffs are on. But, we all know the Packers are going to take it all again this year anyhow.

Stay chill.

Working Man Blues

2012-01-05T15:46:00.001-05:00

I hate the 9-5 grind with an unmeasureable intensity. I've never even discussed the workplace here, because I like to separate work (job) and writing (passion). And I will continue to do so. But every now and then, I get one of those phone calls from one of those customers/idiots/a-holes...well, I think the illustration above says it all.

Man, I feel better.

Stay chill.

For My Friends...

2011-12-31T19:33:00.001-05:00

I hope you know who you are and what you mean to me.

From sunny Florida—Happy New Year!

But before I go, here's a little story my mother in law told me. If you're an old movie buff, you'll get it. If not, well...

My wife's grandmother fried chicken at the famous Brookville hotel, back when it was actually in Brookville (a few years ago, they relocated it to Abilene due to sewer issues). People came from all around Kansas to eat Brookville chicken and corn and coleslaw and my mother in law said her mom always came home smelling like fried chicken.

Back in the mid 50's, they filmed a movie in Salina, KS called Picnic. Maybe you've heard of it. Starred William Holden and Kim (sigh) Novak. One day William Holden came in for dinner. My mother in law can still remember that day when she was probably about 12. I'm paraphrasing, but it went something like this:

"They were shooting Picnic over by Salina and Bill Holden came in one evening. He'd heard so much about the fried chicken that he just had to try it. He came in the kitchen and I was back there with my mom. It was so hot. And Bill Holden came in and put his hand on the back of my head. My God! I said I'd never was my hair again. He was so handsome."

My in-laws and my own parents—none of them had much growing up. Sometimes, all it took was a touch on the head to make life a little more bearable. How simple. How real.

And below is a sunflower from the Sunflower State, out by Kanopolis Lake in Kanopolis, KS, where my wife grew up. If it's cold and a little dreary where you are, then this brief pictorial is my simple little gift to you.

Stay chill.

A Warmer Climate

2011-12-27T12:31:00.000-05:00

Unseasonably warm here in this part of the country. Note the sweat on my back and the shorts and t-shirt. But we do have a cold front coming through and tomorrow it may only get up to 70. The crap I have to put up with.

Had a great Christmas. Hung with a few friends. Spent a lot of time with the missus and the dog and pounding the keys. Right now, life is pretty damn good.

Stay chill.

Down The Street

2011-10-06T19:48:00.000-04:00

Looks like I may be losing another muse. Tina's Angel's, a few blocks away down on 34th street, is for sale. An old hotel turned strip club, flophouse. This is one of those deals where you struggle with cleaning up a city, versus the city maintaining it's identity. And I'd be stone lying if I said seeing this murky beacon didn't make my day, every damn time I set eyes on it.

Stay chill.

Hard Years. Hard People.

2011-06-13T17:21:00.000-04:00

My Grandpa Wilkerson was, by all accounts, a hard man. Had to be. An oilfield man in Kansas during the 20's, 30's, 40's and beyond had little other choice. The genes were passed down.

Grandpa Wilkerson passed away some twenty-five years ago. Grandma Wilkerson, a stout woman of Austrian and Russian descent, would tack on around 15 years more before she left us at 92 years of age. While I was just getting to know my grandpa when he passed, the following years would put me closer to my grandma.

My favorite story of hers involved life in the dust bowl era. Grandpa worked for Standard Oil and from time to time he did some roustabout work. Grandma told me how they had to wrap wet towels and rags around their faces to keep from smothering in dirt, then drive from around the Hays area to the Zurich area- some 35-45 miles depending on your route. When they arrived at the well in Zurich, the dirt would be a foot high on the running boards of their vehicle.

Hard times

I hadn't thought about that story in years until I saw the above picture of Zurich, back in the dirty thirties, while buzzing the web one day. Grandma Wilkerson's words came flooding back to me. And with those words came something much harder to deal with: I miss my Grandparents- on both sides. I just miss them so damn much. The things I want to ask them now as a man...I just didn't know to ask them then as a child situated far below the learning curve of life.

The photo proceeded to punch holes through a membrane enclosing my brain's diminished filing cabinet, where other fragments of information are pieced together and stored away.

About his father, Grandpa Wilkerson would only say he was an Englishman, preacher and a horse trader (horse trader, I've recently discovered, was a loose term when employed by the Wilkerson clan, if you catch my drift). About her father, Grandma Wilkerson would tell me stories of her father hitching up the team, bells on the horses and rigging shined to a high luster, then proceeding to march the rig through the burgeoning town of Hays, my grandma in tow. He was a hard working man proud of his accomplishments. Grandma was simply embarrassed.

The above is partial recall of what I have left of them. Pictures, of course, exist. But for a family who's done very little in written preservation of live's lived, those oral histories are all I've left. And I hang on to them. Desperately.

Endless Days

2011-06-04T20:21:00.000-04:00

I guess I was fourteen or so when it started. Insomnia. I didn't know the word for what I was going through. I only knew I couldn't sleep. Hours lying in bed, masturbating and waiting for the world to shut down. It never did. The mornings were the worst, though. Waking up after just dozing off and then trying to make it through school and football and the after-school job. Rinse, repeat.

Then you get used to it, can't live life without it. The grogginess. Alternatives- suck down that Dimetapp. The world is so much easier in grape flavored slow motion.

I look back on those years and see the decline.

Over the past twenty-five years I've played a hard game of tag with insomnia and all which goes with it. Your mind plays tricks on you. Paranoia bumps you. Anxiety kicks you in the nuts.

The frustration shifts into overdrive.

For years I've done everything they tell you to do: eat right, become an exercise freak, cut down on the booze and coffee. Nothing helps. Melatonin is a joke. Dropping Ambien works one night and screws you the next.

Fast forward. The cycle continues. This morning I woke up from zero sleep- three nights in a row. Scratchy eyed. Sloppy food tastes soooo gooood. I don't want to do anything, but go to work early. Making it through the day...take two slugs of Nyquil and try to be productive- that's how it feels.

Adrenaline spikes. Every day I run a mile to the fitness course, scream through hairy obstacles twice and then hump it back- sweat out the bad juice. Pumped. Hard muscle- earned. The heat and humidity down here right now is suffocating and I look like I've been through a water boarding session. I get the high for a few hours and then the bottom falls out. I'm swimming in quick sand.

So what's it all about? Taking what one can get from the hell one is in. Along the way a sort of dreamy existence takes over. Little fucked up head trips. You glide through the daily grind because you just don't care. One goes from a drone to a fountain of pure, crystalline creativity. You fly.

Will night number four catch me in a naked choke?

I sit here banging the keyboard. Words assimilate. Phrases into sentences. Print that thing out, mark it with ink: Wrong. Wrong. Right! Life falls back into place, better than before.

And I understand.

Stay chill.

REMEMBER

2011-05-30T14:54:00.000-04:00

Sweet Suzy. Pressure. My Way.

2011-05-29T15:56:00.002-04:00

Take a spin over to The Flash Fiction Offensive and see what happens when that big cat editor, David Barber, asks this ol' boy to write something quick and hard. Look to the picture above as the initial inspiration for Sweet Suzy. No, sadly, the SS isn't mine.

And a quick holler to my friend, Christopher Grant. Christopher, I was thinking about what you've been going through, and why, when I wrote that last line- hell, most of the piece. I wish you well, Christopher, and hope you are back with us soon and under the best of circumstances.

To my new amigos out there, thanks, and keep the pedal to the metal with your own writing.

Stay Chill.

Interesting People

2011-05-25T19:25:00.000-04:00

Reading a JD Salinger biography over the weekend- an author I've never read, but find somewhat fascinating as a person- I came upon an interesting individual. His name was William Shawn, and he was a longtime editor for New Yorker magazine.

Shawn was a close friend of Salinger's and, by all accounts, an extravagant and eccentric personality. Idiosyncrasies such as he wouldn't live above the second floor, or wouldn't go through tunnels, firmly entrenched Shawn in New Yorker lore. But the most curious (and, dare I say in my most heterosexual tone, fabulous) rumor was this little slice below.

"There was always the rumor, totally unverified, that he was supposed to have been the child who was going to be kidnapped in a famous kidnapping in Chicago but another child was taken instead."

Granted, I'm likely the only person reading the above who thinks this is the balls. Still, when people are saying something akin to the above about you after sucking down a bottle of Old Grandad 114 with buddies around the campfire, then friend, you've got personality.

And if you're interested, the name of the book is: Salinger- A Biography By Paul Alexander. Ranked pretty low on my biography scale, but was an easy to read introduction into the life of one of our most heralded (I guess) authors. Might have to actually read A Catcher in the Rye, now.

Stay Chill.

The Sandman

2011-05-19T15:49:00.000-04:00

The other day my wife and I were rolling by one of my favorite remnants of old time St. Pete, The Sandman, when she pointed and said: "Huh. Looks like they're finally shutting that place down or something." The windows were boarded up and the place looked gone. Even the usual bums, junkies, prostitutes, wayward families and transients weren't hanging around. Kind of a drag.

The Sandman is an old motor court, one of probably a hundred in the Tampa Bay area. And to be honest, a few of these joints still look pretty damn good, enough so as to give you a glimpse of a bygone era, a blip in time when Florida had a kind of a romantic style. Only now, due to the dernier cri of cookie cutter chain motels, many of these places are nothing more than run down shit holes. Flop houses. Squalid efficiency apartments- where you go when you've been driving your life in a south bound lane heading north, gas pedal nailed to the floorboard. Lost it all to booze or drugs? Hey, refuge is right down the street- a bed and a head for only $25-$35 a night. Probably less if you're slick and know how to work a deal.

And brotha, every town with a pulse has a Sandman. Most have dozens.

I stone dig 'em. Especially the neon signs which are retro cool, even if most of them haven't pushed a watt for the last fifteen years. Those signs are a reminder of more innocent times, even though such a time never existed.

But for me, as a burgeoning writer, the money shot is that my imagination is able to glimpse a frame of the freaky deaky shit that goes on behind the closed doors of these sagging landmarks. These mental images are just so goddamn real to me. I even used The Sandman as a sub-character in my story, Five Kilos, because of the in-the-gutter feeling I get when only driving by the place. Hell, just look at that sign. A picture is worth a thousand words and the individual stories developing behind the scenes are worth millions more.

The lonely side of paradise. Here's hoping we never lose it.

Stay chill.

For The Hell Of It

2011-05-16T14:50:00.001-04:00

Busy, stressful day at work last Friday. Yet, all I could think about as I worked up in the warehouse or spoke to people on the phone, is how funny it would be to stick a couple of tennis balls down my shorts and take a stroll through the Tyrone Square mall. You know, just for the hell of it.

Stay chill.

Update: I did end up at the mall. No tennis balls, though. Ended up with Daniel Woodrell's Bayou Trilogy instead. Balls? Woodrell's got 'em. Guess I came out on the square.

Words to Live By

2011-05-09T19:20:00.000-04:00

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.- Sterling Hayden

Why? Because money in the bank is safe. You learn to play life safe. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. You can no longer play it safe and so you take your chances.

Is there an equilibrium? Having it all, yet still being able to break free?

I believe there is.

Stay chill.

THE VIEW FROM OUT THERE

2011-05-05T11:04:00.000-04:00

As we reach into summer, I often go back to days spent living in rural America. And, while I live in St. Pete now, whenever my wife and I refer to home, we always refer to Kansas.

It's a hard thing explaining what makes a man. For many, especially people like my dad, life is simple. You get up, go to work, watch a little television at night and go to bed. There's very little sitting around. Very little feeling sorry for one's self. You start working when you were young and you quit working when your body gives up on you.

Entertainment was trivial as a boy growing up in, and then south of, Zurich. We didn't go to movies- the closest theater was almost 40 miles away- and dinner out meant the Pizza Hut in Plainville, some seven miles away. We rode our bicycles on the sand streets of Zurich, played in the mud and made tunnels in the milo field across the street from our house. When we moved out into the country, we traded riding bicycles for running in the pastures and following creeks choked with sandplum bushes as far as they would take us.

As we grew older, sports came into our lives. I went to school in Damar and Palco, the two towns which made up school district 269, one of the rural school districts for Rooks County. Our choices for sports boiled down to three: Football, basketball and track. In Junior High I competed in all three. I was very good in football, ok in track and terrible at basketball. We had very few kids attending school and football was 6-man...great fun, because as a running back, when I hit the hole I was gone.

High school brought me only football and we were able to field a team big enough to play 8-man with two more on the bench. We had 60 people in our entire high school and either 12 or 15 in my graduating class. I don't rightly remember which number is correct. During this time I also began working after school for a rancher who raised pure-blood Herefords. Best job ever and at times, leaves me wondering if I missed my calling. During the summers I worked for my dad on a pulling unit in the oilfield. Hell. To me, at least. During this period of my life I learned a good night out could be had while drinking a 12-pack of beer with a buddy while driving the country roads made of shale. The little things.

Throughout these years, from my pre-teens and well into my teens, I felt changes coming on, changes which will affect me for the rest of my life. There can be an immense amount of sadness growing up out there. Still, through it all, I could always go run in the pastures, drive the country roads like a maniac or go outside without hearing sirens and cars and my next door neighbor. You could listen to the constant wind and just BE.

My wife and I go back every year. Often, we consider moving back for good. I don't know. You get used to good restaurants, ease of anything you want within a short driving distance. But you can't build up a coyote wagon here and run it in the neighbor's pasture without a worry. Can't drink water from the tap and still have it taste spring-fresh. And nothing's lonelier than a city full of people. Two sides to every coin, as they say.

Yet for all it wasn't back then, and all it still isn't now, Kansas will always be my point of retreat, my home.

A FIRST PARAGRAPH...OR TWO

2011-04-13T16:52:00.000-04:00

Christ, I'm actually posting something on my blog. Hell, I even caught Rose up there off guard. Mmmm, Rose.

I've been working hard. Short pieces completed and short pieces at 95% or better. I'm also pedal to the metal on a longer piece, book length, which is heading toward being the best thing I've written to date. The latter is being built with everything I've learned over the past two years shoved into it. We'll see what happens.

Now to double-back on that learning thing. I've been putting a shit ton of effort into opening paragraphs, and I thought why not give a little taste and see what people think? We've all learned, at this point, how deadly important those first lines are. So read on and let me know.

First off is the opening paragraph from a short story currently making the rounds. As it's a little murky on genre, I've decided the best place would be a good literary mag. You know, those folks who take eight weeks to a year, or a fucking eternity to say yay or nay. I don't mind, because this piece will find a home although maybe with a little tweaking.

Shoveling dirt was damn good training. His old man said it. Validation came through hard earned muscle and the wind of a quarter horse. Miles of ditches labored over right in his own back yard. He’d dig them deep, fighting through roots and rocks, fill them in again and continue the cycle. Damn good training.

And here's the one at 95%. It's dark and long, 6800 words. Also got a love element ticking in there as well, so the literary mag route again. And sure, I've tried chopping some length off, but this was meant to have some guts and when something is meant to be, then man, you just let it be.

I was with ol’ John Brown at Harper’s Ferry. Ain’t got much bearin’ on what I’m a fixin’ to tell ya, but I was there just the same. Lost the use of three fingers on my left hand in that damn skirmish. Tore out the joints on ‘em. Don’t matter much. Still got good use of my thumb and the finger next to it and they’re stronger than the average man’s entire hand. Overcompensation, the doc calls it. ‘Sides, right hand’s fine and it’s the one I use most the time. I get along all right.

The first sentences in each are exactly what gushed into my head and everything else followed. I like writing this way and is how most of my short stuff gets off the ground. But still, like most of my work, the meat of the story is usually vibrating on a completely different wavelength. Such is the same with these two. And the book...I already know the ending, so now I'm in the process of putting the jelly in the doughnut, so to speak.

That's all I got, for probably another three months or however fricken long it's been. Comments welcome.

See ya on the flip.

Sunshine City Terror. A Bad Day Today in St. Pete

2011-01-24T10:07:00.009-05:00

South St. Pete- area of 37th street and 28th Ave S. Right now. What is being reported that we hope to God is not true: Federal Marshal in surgery. Two St. Pete cops and K9 dog down. Senseless. Terrible beyond words.

One take on the story so far: St. Pete Shooting

Nobody is proud to report this.

Took part in a citizens police course this past year and met some of these outstanding people and right now I am stunned. My prayers will never be enough for these hero's and their families.

And the filthy animal at the root of all this, Hydra Lacy Jr...let's just hope they bring him down without any other good people getting hurt.

If you got prayers to spare, then please send them up.

A Good Post Over At BIB

2011-01-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

I read a damn good blog article this morning. This one sort of puts into words where I was at not so long ago and illustrates a few issues I still struggle with from time to time. Yeah, you've been in that boat too. Check it out over at Black Irish Blarney and read between the lines a little. A couple of solid, interesting thoughts in the comments section as well.

Speaking of chumps, who's that brotha to the right? A few buds have been bustin' my hump for awhile now, wanting a photo so they know who they're talking to. I even wore my best smile for the occasion.

See ya on the flip, amigos.

Two in the Bush

2010-12-10T11:49:00.004-05:00

Two in progress. One I've put aside to let simmer (from post below). No punches pulled on this one. Takes place in 1981 and utilizes two points of view. Gonna be a long one, but worth it.

The other has a lead in quote by one of my personal heroes, The Manassa Mauler. Call this piece a character study regarding a man who is decidedly not Mr. Dempsey. I'm diggin' it so much- can't stop working on it...organic. I'm inside this guy's head. Or maybe he's inside mine.

As a side note, I've got something living in my attic and walls. Freaking my wife out- I tell her to imagine it's a tiny unicorn sprinkling rainbow powder up there; takes the sting off the fact that it's probably an ugly ass fruit rat. I've got a trap set though, and I'll get the little shit.

And a big cheers to all my friends out there who I do not spend near enough time communicating with (too damn busy with the voices in my own head).

Stay chill.

In The Rearview

2010-11-18T09:31:00.004-05:00

Working on this one, 'bout three weeks into it. Probably come in at about 5500 words. Maybe more. Maybe less. And you see that bad boy, '69 Firebird 400 up there? A main character of ITR in it's own right. Guys and cars, right?

I come from a long line of car nuts, me being the lesser nut of the cluster. Still, I jones. I got a '69 'bird up in Kansas which needs complete restoration. If I can get it down here, I'll get to work on it. If not, I'll probably have to let it go. No, it's not a 400, but the potential is still there and I love the lines.

My dad and brothers all go deep in the well for cars. My dad has a '64 Buick Riviera with a 465 Wildcat engine in it. Probably doesn't mean much unless you're a gearhead, but that's some serious beef under the hood. He also has a pristine '72 Chevy Custom Cab pickup and a '54 Chevy pickup we lowered down and dropped a V8 in years ago. My little bro' had a '72 Corvette and my older brother had a '72 El Camino he dropped down, put a blower on...the whole shebang. I had a '69 El Camino through high school. Ahh, the memories.

It's been years since I've gotten under the hood. I mean really gotten under the hood. Yeah, I change the occasional alternator and that biz on my commuter car. Not the same thing. So, I'll cross my fingers, see if I can't get that '69 down here. We shall see.

See ya on the flip.

Eclectic Freak Show: The Reading Edition

2010-11-10T16:29:00.004-05:00

I gotta slow down. Books are stacked all over the joint. That 8'x8' gorgeous bookcase I built a couple of years ago- jam packed. Who knows how many reads I've gotten started. And I read them all, little by little. Some I get a little more hooked on than others, but it's all about mood. Where am I at this minute? Where am I at this second?

If your game, below is a small sampling of what I'm tearing through.

The Razor's Edge- W. Somerset Maugham. A beautiful piece of writing.

The Blue Hammer- Ross MacDonald. What can I say...I'm a MacDonald nut.

Revolutionary Road- Richard Yates. Too realistic sometimes. Look in the mirror; those people are you.

The Blackboard Jungle- Evan Hunter. You've probably seen the movie. Read the book and dig a little deeper. Warning: It's a little talky, but not bad.

The Score- Richard Stark. Parker has no regrets. A runaway train who's always, always in control.

The Frontiersmen- Allan W. Eckert. Hard men living in hard, hard world. But free.

Anatomy of a Murder- Robert Traver. Just picked this up and remember the old movie well. Here's hoping the book delves deeper into the violence and sex- that's what this boy's talkin' 'bout!

Not what you'd call your "who's who" of crime fiction, but fuck that. I like writing that provokes something in me, helps me see things in a new light. Don't be a chump. Don't tie yourself down. Read outside the box and then go write your best work ever. You only spin around this globe once.

See ya on the flip.

One creepy ass fricken movie

2010-10-27T16:50:00.003-04:00

Not a horror fan per se. I watched this one again the other night though: Vampyr- Der Traum des Allan Grey. Highly, highly, highly recommended. Just keep in mind it was filmed in 1932 and it is a foreign film. Still, the itentional use of darkness and shadows is simply amazing and the subsequent effect is flat out freaky.

Watch it with the lights out.

Bangin' Away

2010-10-16T17:17:00.003-04:00

Still here. Blogging for this ol' boy is straight up Squaresville so I'll be keeping it to a minimum. Been working hard, if only in my noggin most the time, and I've got some doooozies percolating- keep your eyes peeled.

To my pards out there who've be gracious enough to check in from time to time...well, you know how I feel about all that.

See you on the flip side, amigos.

That Time of the Year

2010-09-10T09:29:00.004-04:00

Working out this morning sounded like a drag- ixnay. I rolled into work early, juiced up my computer and strolled through some of my favo' blogs. Can definitely tell it's the crazy season. Summer is on the way out. Cat's are fried, nervous systems sayin' "it's you or me, pal". Time off for some muchachos I know- well deserved and we'll be here, waitin' for ya.

Then you got David Barber and his big ol' brass one's holding a big ol' tarantula. You are a better man than I, DB.

Me? Had some mind flashes last night and this morning- much needed.

See ya on the flip.

Valhalla Rising- The Movie

2010-09-08T09:44:00.007-04:00

A few weeks ago, bored out my ass, I was flipping through movies on demand. Crap and more crap. I wanted- needed something different. I saw this Indie flick. Looked dark, matched the mood. Couldn't possibly be worse than another romantic comedy or yet one more cop movie based in, and sorry for this New Yorker's, New fucking York.

I was skeptical. The preview talked about Vikings. When I think of Vikings, I think of twenty-first century nerds wanting to be Vikings. Don't ask me why...it's one of those people with webbed feet things; nothing wrong with 'em, just keep 'em to yourself.

Valhalla Rising. I watched it with a freind of mine- Ezra Brooks- and tripped. Those first thirty minutes- as brutal and vicious as anything I've seen on film in a long time.

The film stars Mads Mikkelsen as One Eye, an imprisoned Norse warrior who lives a horrendous life, a marginal existence consisting of fighting to the death. Eventually he escapes his captors and travelling with a boy called Are, hooks up with some Christian Vikings and heads to the Holy Land. Only they never make it to the Holy Land.

Along the way there are some dry spots to endure due to lack of dialogue and action, but if you can allow yourself inside the head of One Eye there is a payoff.

And that's my review. Yeah, it's a lame critique because I think movie summaries are best left to the end viewer. And, although it's cliche, I'll add that Valhalla Rising will be one of those movies you either love or hate. Film junkies will dig the cinemetograpy if nothing else. As for all you psuedo tough guys saying "Vikings are for pansies"...to you I stick my tongue out in condescension and make a fart sound.

On that note, I'll sum up as thus: if you don't mind a journey into the strange, and you're ready to step outside your comfort zone then Valhalla Rising just might be the beverage you're thirsting for.

Ezra Brooks is optional. Recommended

Release

2010-09-03T11:42:00.002-04:00

Sometimes a man just wants to disappear. Right now, on the brink of another season, nothing sounds better than taking my Marlin 336 and walking for hours, days, through a lonesome pasture or hill country. Live alone. Eat simple. Write and read on my own clock. Unload the working class monkey.

Exist for the day and the moment with only myself to rely on.

But life takes over, reminds me. Commitments. Loved ones.

As a remedy I’ve delved into the past. Digging into my family history which is murky, shady and rarely mentioned by others in the clan. Reading books about a bygone time when people lived by the heels of their boots and the strength of their backs. And writing about the same. I do not mind straying from a path, not always knowing where I’m headed.

Sooner or later, we always get to where we are supposed to be.

Five Kilos at Thuglit

2010-08-02T16:47:00.004-04:00

Bittersweet success: THUGLIT ISSUE 38 is out. In it, you'll find my very own Five Kilos. A lot of work went into this bad boy. Having Big Daddy Thug say he dug it was like a cold beer on a hot day. Yeah, it was that good.

Why bittersweet? This may be Thuglit's last issue. They're on hiatus per a message from the big man himself (pictured above). Hey, it happens. All I can do is wish them luck and hope they'll be back.

So check out Five Kilos, mi amigos, and let me know what you think. If you like it, tell a friend. If you don't like it, tell a friend anyhow; they might have better taste than you.

Stay chill.

Our Rock Star

2010-07-27T13:05:00.009-04:00

So yesterday I'm dickin' around at work and I get this email from my wife. I open it up and there's these pictures of our dog, Rocky. Just look at that face. Yeah, I'm a certified sucker for cutie pie animal pic's.

I've probably mentioned this story before; Rocky's an old dog nobody wanted anymore. We weren't even in the market for a fricken dog, but what could I do?

Add one dog to the Wilkerson litter.

It's month or so after we took in Rocky when one of our cats, Buddy J, passed. He was another animal nobody wanted but I couldn't see him go to a pound.

Now we're down to one cat- Kitty.

Kitty is a bitch. But, she's been with us since we were living in a thirty year old, fifth hand single-wide trailer, located in the middle of a pasture in Kansas. An old farmer stopped by, asked us if we wanted this little black kitty. I didn't want a cat. Growing up out in the country, I always had dogs and maybe some feral cats to keep mice and rats away. The farmer already had too many cats in his barn and he was gonna take this black cat down to the pond and drown her (just the way things are done back home). Again, what could I do?

Back to Rocky. The ladies man. The little guy follows my wife everywhere. Everywhere! When Tasha leaves the house, he stares at the door. When she walks out of the room, all you hear is the clicking of his paws on our terrazzo floor. He's so obsessive, I'm sure the little shit has dreams of them running through fields of wildflowers together, sans ol' Mike here. So what if he eats some cat poop from time to time? Any animal that loves my wife this much is coolie cool. And while I don't have a picture of the elusive Kitty, I thought I'd give you a picture of our Rock star.

Stay chill.

Shine to Five Kilos

2010-07-12T11:14:00.005-04:00

Let's go back a few weeks. I mentioned a short story I was working on called SHINE. I finished up said story a couple of weeks later and changed the name to FIVE KILOS- a more fitting title. I'm happy to say that it was picked up by one fierce online publication. I'll let you know when it hits.

Then there's the book. The motherfuckin' book. I say this will all the love in the world. Honest. And anybody who's ever taken on the task of writing a novel completely understands where I'm coming from. It's frustrating when it doesn't come along as fast as it should. It's euphoric when everything gels into a perfect flow of words. Comedy and tragedy. Sanity and insanity. Love and hate.

What I'm understanding, ultimately, is the fundamental importance of PATIENCE. I learned it with my short stories and the payoffs have been, for me, huge. I'm learning this all over again with the book and I dig the results.

On a side note, my wife and I just spent our ten year anniversary in Savannah, Georgia. We've been there a few times and it's always a trip for us. We dig on the old architecture. We eat too much. I drink too much. We had a blast. Fourteen years together and ten years of marriage to an angel. My flesh and blood savior. My everything. My Tasha Rae.

And with that, I'm done.

Stay chill, my friends.

To Hell And Back

2010-07-02T09:32:00.005-04:00

Totalled up, I've probably spent days and most likely weeks, thinking about Audie Murphy. It started with a viewing of the movie about his days in WWII- To Hell And Back- some twenty years ago while still in my teens. Of course they said the little guy in the movie playing Audie Murphy was in fact Murphy himself. Seemed so hard to believe.

Murphy was small man- 5'5" and of a slight build. He grew up a poor, Texas farmboy one of twelve children. He became a crack shot because he had to in order to feed his family: One of his favorite hunting companions was neighbor Dial Henley. When he commented that Murphy never missed when he shot at squirrels, rabbits, and birds, Murphy replied, "Well, Dial, if I don't hit what I shoot at, my family won't eat today."

He was rejected by damn near every branch of the military, including the Marines and Navy, because of his size. The Army decided he was big enough for them. Still, he had to fight in order to get overseas and into the action.

His bravery in war is legend. His list of medals is too long to list. This we know. What I wonder about Murphy, is how he lived after the war. I do not mean the movie star aspect. Or his gambling and adultery. Rather, I'm talking about the war inside his own mind.

Murphy suffered from shell shock- PTSD as it's known today. With it came the nightmares and depression which would plague him for the rest of his life. At one time, he held his first wife at gunpoint. He became addicted to sleeping pills and realizing his addictions, locked himself in a motel room and fought through withdrawal. One tough amigo.

Audie Murphy was killed in a plane crash in the year of 1971 over Memorial Day weekend. He died nearly broke, squandering millions on gambling, bad investments and women. He was human. He was also one of this country's great, tragic heroes and a person who I will never know enough about.

His grave site in Arlington, is the second most visited after that of JFK.

For more information on Audie Murphy, check out the Audie Murphy Memorial Website

Book Review: Junky

2010-06-18T11:36:00.003-04:00

Of course I'd heard of William S. Burroughs on many occasions. I heard he liked to get high- heroin his drug of choice. I heard he was light in the loafers. I heard that he was a nut job. I heard that some of his writing was bad ass. I heard that some of his writing was straaange. I still never read him.

Friday, June 11th. I got a 40% off Border's coupon. I'm walking down the isles of books, head cocked sideways to read the titles. I see this one: Junky: The Definitive Text of Junk by William S. Burroughs. What the hell, I'll give it a shot.

I read it in one sitting.

It's not a flowery, literary garble of the downtrodden life of a heroin addict. Rather, it's a straightforward account of the life of a junky, without the sentiment. An autobiographical novel, Junky illustrates what an addict will do for a fix: roll drunks, become a pusher themselves, etc. And the numerous failed attempts to get clean. Somehow, it manages to explain in detail the junky lifestyle, without preaching. And it does so in cool, hepcat fashion. Oh yeah, it was also written during the early 50's- further proof that life back then was not always the little pink houses and cookouts as portrayed in the movies.

At some point, crime writers tend to write about drugs. If you want to get a great account of the drug culture, give Junky a read.

WIP: SHINE

2010-05-26T16:16:00.004-04:00

I'm into my fourth week working on this one. I've found I need about six weeks to turn out a quality short story, and SHINE should come in around that period of time. From a stylistic standpoint, look for something a bit different than my previous work.

Other than this, there's not much to report. I've been digging in with my writing, while also trying to gain back some lost years (a long, long, long story). I'll let you know when SHINE finds a home.

And that picture? You're looking at my hometown of Zurich, Kansas. Not much has changed over the years. Look for an appearance of Zurich, in SHINE.

Stay chill, my friends.

Hellhound on His Trail

2010-05-06T10:24:00.006-04:00

Got a lot going on these days: About four short stories in progress, still working on the book and preparing for my wife's graduation, which means half the state of Kansas is coming to Florida...does the fun ever stop? I've also been doing a little reading and right now I'm about halfway through one damn good book.

Hellhound on His Trail: The Stalking of Martin Luther King Jr. and the International Hunt for His Assassin, by Hampton Sides. I was first turned on to Hampton Sides a few years ago, when I read his book Ghost Soldiers, which may have been both the most heartbreaking and triumphant book I've ever read. Since Ghost Soldiers, I've become a dedicated Sides fan and he never disappoints.

Like Ghost Soldiers, Hellhound is a work of nonfiction which reads like the best of any fiction I've ever read. To be forthright, I've never given that much thought to the King assassination, possibly because it's never been quite as publicized as say, the JFK assasination. But the picture Sides paints of both Eric Galt (aka James Earl Ray) and Martin Luther King Jr. are just sooooo good: Ray as the prison escapee who wanted to be a porn director and lived in flea bag motels and boarding houses, yet dressed in a cleaned and pressed suit at all times. King Jr. as a man who's tireless schedule had him ready to snap both physically and mentally, was absolutely dedicated to non-violence, but still human with various sexual liaisons. Good stuff.

I know what you're thinking; a lot of non-fiction accounts are chock full of information like I've listed above and read like a dictionary, ie, boring. The problem being said chumps who write those books, don't know how to tell a story! Sides does. And you want to talk about pacing? On that point, I'll just say Hampton Sides writes like the devil in short shorts!

So if you want a little switcharoo from that pile of fiction you've been hacking your way through, check out Hellhound on His Trail. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Style

2010-03-27T16:52:00.004-04:00

I’m big on biographies and non-fiction accounts in general. I like people who don’t quite have it all together, yet seem to make out on some higher level or at the very least, have a profound impact on others.

Several months ago, I read a biography on John Steinbeck. It brought me back to required reading in High School with books like The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men. Do I like everything he wrote? Hell no. My point is the man put some thought into his writing and refused to rest on his laurels. To illustrate, below is a letter he wrote in reference to style:

"When a writer starts in very young, his problems apart from story are those of technique, of words, of rhythms, of story methods, of transition, of characterization, of ways of creating effects. But after years of trial and error most of these things are solved and one gets what is called a style. It is then that a story conceived falls into place neatly and is written down having the indelible personal hallmark of the writer. This is thought to be an ideal situation. And the writer who is able to achieve this is thought to be very fortunate.

I have only just arrived at a sense of horror about this technique. If I think of a story, it is bound automatically to fall into my own personal long struggle for technique. But the penalty is terrible. The tail of the kite is designed to hold and in many cases drags it to earth. Having a technique, is it not possible that the technique not only dictates how a story is to be written but also what story is to be written? In other words, style or technique may be a straitjacket which is the destroyer of the writer. It does seem to be true that when it becomes easy to write the writing is not likely to be any good. Facility can be the greatest danger in the world. But is there any alternative? Suppose I want to change my themes and my approach. Will not my technique, which has become almost unconscious, warp and drag me around to the old attitudes and subtly force the new work to be the old?

I want to dump my technique, to tear it right down to the ground and start all over."

I read and re-read this passage. I put into context the MAJOR player Steinbeck was at the time. It didn't matter. He was ready to take a mutinous stance in regards to his previous execution of the craft. He knew he was liable for the words he put on paper. He knew he was shortchanging himself, and his readers, if he didn’t take new chances. If not prepared, he was at least willing to do something about it.

What it says to me is when something you’re writing doesn’t sound good, look good or feel good, try another way. Yeah, you could continue to mope around your house like a pansy with their diapers full of crap. Instead, how about re-thinking what you’ve been doing...or not doing. Lengthen a sentence. Shorten a sentence. Build your vocabulary. Buy a bad ass thesauruses like The Synonym Finder. Re-read your favorite authors. Put one of their books in front of you, type out a paragraph or two.

Do all of it.

Now.

The Big Adios

2010-03-26T13:55:00.003-04:00

Okay knuckleheads, you should be doing more writing and less web surfing the way it is. But if you're a crime fiction and movie nut, you might want to head on over and check out The Big Adios. You can shoot the shit about books and movies. You can fraternize with well known authors like Tom Piccirilli and Max Allan Collins, just to name a few.

You can get further behind on your novel or short story.

So do yourself a favor and grace them with your presence. It's one of those forums where everyone is mondo cool, egos checked at the door. And if you're one of those types who signed up in the past but haven't been there in awhile, they just added an "off topic" section as well.

And while you guys and gals are there, I'll be here, working and not writing.

Yeah, just go on believing that.

See ya on the flip side.

Stranger Than Fiction Part 3: Police Capture Man Dressed As Woman After Wild Chase

2010-03-18T10:09:00.006-04:00

This guy has pizzazz...

From the St. Pete Times/Tampabay.com

By Robbyn Mitchell, Times Staff Writer
In Print: Thursday, March 18, 2010

TAMPA — Jermonte Jerome Thornton had been out of prison only nine months after serving more than a year for a cocaine conviction.

When Tampa police moved in Wednesday afternoon to arrest him on a warrant that could return him to prison, Thornton fought back, officers said.

Police said Thornton led officers on a dramatic two-hour chase in which he rammed three police vehicles, nearly knocked down a tree, was shot by police, invaded a woman's apartment, donned her clothes and wig to disguise himself, then vaulted off a second-floor balcony.

Police sicced a dog on Thornton, 27, and finally arrested him.

The chain of events began about 2 p.m. when police surrounded Thornton's car at a Sulphur Springs address. He rammed three vehicles, then a tree, almost knocking it over and putting officers in danger of getting run over, police said.

Cpl. Bryon Hoskins and Officer Tim Bergman shot into Thornton's car, hitting him once. But Thornton rammed his way out of the blockade, police said.

Officers pursued Thornton to Scruggs Manor Apartments at 11201 N 22nd St., where he ditched the car, they said.

Then he ran into the nearby Lenox Place Apartments, trailing blood the whole way.

"He lost a considerable amount of blood in his car," police Chief Jane Castor said.

Police say he knocked on unit B207 and said: "It's me." Thinking it was her boyfriend, Tydarreia Watkins, 20, opened the door. Thornton, who police said does not known Watkins, forced her back into the apartment.

Following the blood trail, police narrowed Thornton's location to four possible apartments. When officers burst in the fourth door, a blur of pink went airborne over the balcony, Castor said.

It was Thornton, police said, wearing a pink dress, pink shoes and a woman's wig belonging to Watkins.

Thornton bolted north across the parking lot, which was teeming with officers. He scaled a fence and dashed across railroad tracks toward a wooded area, where he was caught by a police dog and officers.

Thornton was charged with aggravated battery on a law enforcement officer, home invasion robbery and false imprisonment. Police had been looking for him because he was wanted on charges of armed burglary, battery and aggravated assault. Police say they found a gun in his car, so more charges may be forthcoming.

Five Big Ones

2010-03-05T11:52:00.009-05:00

I was thinking last night (hold the sarcasm) about books which have influenced me over the years, in terms of my writing style. While there are several which I've liked and have gone on to read again a time or two, there are a few which I've read at least five or six times. Their voice, consequently, has had a profound effect on the manner in which I approach my writing. The list below is my top five- for now.

1. The Black Dahlia- Big book for me. Huge. So many times before Dahlia, I'd picked up a James Ellroy book in the bookstore, looked at his picture with those geeky spectacles and said "what the fuck could this guy possibly know about crime writing?" Then a few years ago my wife and I were getting ready to drive back to Kansas for Christmas. I saw the audiobook for Dahlia and thought what the hell, I'd give it a shot. We ended up listening to it on the way back and I was stunned. I still can't put my finger on what "it" is, but for me The Black Dahlia, and most Ellroy writing, has "it" in spades.

Since The Black Dahlia I've become an unabashed lover of Ellroy's writing and have gone on to read and re-read most of his work several times. Dahlia started it off for me and at any given time I would probably rate The Black Dahlia, LA Confidential or American Tabloid as my all time favorite read.

2. Double Indemnity- A stalwart book from a man I consider the definitive noir stylist. While many mention The Postman Always Rings Twice when referencing Cain, for me it's always been Double Indemnity. What is it about Cain? I think it's relateability. Often times in Cain's work, it's just some average chump who happens to fall for some lusty broad, who in turn brings said chump to their knees- a scenario any hot blooded male with lead in his pencil can relate to.

Ultimately, though, what I see in Cain's work is balls: Read what he wrote and then compare the sheer boldness of his themes, not only to his own time period, but also to our own times. The guy took mondo chances with his subject matter and his narrative voice was never forgiving. He pointed his pen in one direction and said, "stop me if you fucking can." Balls.

3. Horseman Pass By- Larry McMurtry is as far from being a hardboiled crime writer as you can get. But, he does have a knack for creating characters you can't help but love, whether you want to or not. One of the main characters, Hud, is a man who would fit into any crime story from any time period: A manipulative, self-serving asshole who's good with the ladies, bad with his family and through it all you find yourself admiring him for his charisma and charm- he's simply the man you'll never be. And I'll admit, having come from the desolate plains of Kansas, I can relate to the depressing, rural strides of life in this book.

4. To The White Sea- James Dickey was a major poet and one of the biggest liars who ever lived. He could also write some extremely surreal stuff, with his best known work being Deliverance- no slouch in its own right. To The White Sea is a viscerally poetic and dark story which takes place during WWII and though you may not get it the first time around, due to some heavy symbolism, I would ask you to give it another chance. For me it's one of those books I read and then shrugged my shoulders at- a little too flowery for my taste. Then I found myself thinking about it for days afterward. So I read it again. And again.

If you take a chance on this book, I think you'll agree its main character, Muldrow, is someone you'll never forget. The trek he embarks on is harrowing, and his persona is that of a man whose perserverance and hate never once falter. The ending is extraordinary.

5. The Day Of The Jackal- Forsythe tends to run hot and cold with his writing. Jackal almost starts out cold, but once you get past the first fifty pages or so of backstory, Jackal is a bored out, eight cylinder turbo charged beast which moves at a blistering pace. And because of the detail Forsythe applies, which surprisingly does not drag the story down, a burgeoning writer can learn a lot about character development (not to mention fake ID's, disguises, firearms and seduction of both the female and male variety).

Trade-Off

2010-02-22T11:13:00.010-05:00

Still here, still working it. Been busy doing a hell lot of writing, just not here at the Hard Way. Sorry 'bout that. Well, not really- more important things afoot here in the 'burg. I'll lay it out below.

Here's the breakdown for a typical weekday: Go to work, rush through business stuff and start writing (my job is flexible at this slow time of the year). Write/work/write work all day long. Work day ends at five, stay and write till seven- seven thirty. Go home, walk Rocky the geezer mutt, get a workout in and maybe do a little reading before off to bed.

Weekends are a little different. My wife works full time and is completing her Masters program. We've always split household chores, but now it's shifted to my hands about 99% of the time. No big deal- she'll get to support me when I'm an old fart with leaky plumbing. I take care of domestic duties weekday evenings and half a day on Saturday, give or take. When I'm through with that humdrum business, I try to get in about six hours writing on Saturday and a couple on Sunday. Suffice to say, my yard resembles your yard and that just ain't good.

I did manage to sneak in a movie(s) this weekend. I watched all three of the Red Riding trilogy: 74, 80, 83. Good stuff- check 'em out.

There you go. In a nutshell it's what I've been up to for the last month or so. If I got time to write, I'm working on my book or fiddling with a short story or two. My only regret, is missing out on some of the work by the new friends I've made over the past year. But they're cool. They get what I'm working toward.

Till next time...

Win a Signed, First Edition Copy of Matt Hilton's Slash and Burn!

2010-01-29T17:09:00.006-05:00

I know this mug. Cat writes insane thrillers. How insane? You better have nitroglycerin pills and a defibrillator laying around when reading one of his books. You guessed it, I'm speaking of Matt Hilton, the creator of Dead Men's Dust and soon to be released, Judgement and Wrath.

Matt's double cool. So cool, he's running a little competition which gives you the chance to win a signed, first edition copy of his new book, SLASH AND BURN. Matt's giving you this opportunity and all you need to do, is something you should be doing anyhow: Writing! Want more details? I thought you would. Take a little trip over to Matt's blog and check it out: Matt Hilton's Short Story Competition

Good luck!

The Setup

2010-01-28T15:53:00.003-05:00

Weaving in and out of a writing euphoria: I knew I was losing it, when I looked over at my fat, black cat, Kitty, and she said "What the fuck's your problem?"

I only asked for her help in solving a few, minor plot issues. I stared her down. She returned the stare. I back down then she backs down. Back and forth this went, until I heard a rustlin/banging noise from the back room. She smiled and I swear to God she nodded- cocky bitch.

I move to the back room and there's our old dog, Rocky, turning her litter box into a smorgasbord. How do you make a puking sound in a blog post? He's chewing...something and smacking his lips, which are now dotted with kitty litter. We do the stare thing. He flashes puppy dog eyes. I chase him out of there and coming back up front, I see what they were up to: Kitty's puked up a hairball on my manuscript.

It was the perfect plan- a well executed setup performed by a ten year old cat and a thirteen year old dog.

And no, there is not a drop of booze flowing through my system.

CRIMEFACTORY IS UP!

2010-01-25T09:59:00.002-05:00

I see you there: You're at work. You check your personal email- you're not supposed to. You get the word: Crimefactory is up and running. You check out the site, see those craaazy mug shots and an insane list of authors.

I guess those reports can wait.

Truth is Stranger than Fiction- Part 2

2010-01-15T18:52:00.002-05:00

Ever sit down to write something and your mind goes blank? No inspiration? You read the papers, or cruise the internet and it's the same old, same old. Sometimes, it's just outside your backdoor, right in your home town. As is the case with the story linked in this post.

This seemed pretty mild at the beginning. There were a few strange things in the middle- that whole "Babyland" bit. When you get to the end of though, you realize what she went through and what she's now going through. Those last six sentences will break your heart: St. Petersburg Woman Sues Cemetary

The cemetary owner(s)...as my Father in Law would say: "Somebody should bust that fucker in the head."

Indeed.

The Query Blues

2010-01-12T13:18:00.004-05:00

As many of you now know, writing a book is only a small part of the battle. When you've decided that the novel is complete and you're ready to put yourself out there to potential agents, you also know that you must have a query to send out first. It's pretty straightforward: Hook an agent with the first sentence and pull them in with 4-5 more. Less is more. Easy.

Or not. Writing a query is like riding through hell on a porcupine. It's a long, uncomfortable process that's a pain in the ass. I'm new to the query letter and trying to get the gist of your book down in a few sentences can be tough. Or really fucking hard. Especially, if your plot is not a "paint by the numbers" plot.

I've probably seen every sample query on the net. They are all different. One site says to do this. Another says to do that. Then I found Query Shark, a blog ran by agent Janet Reid. She gives you specific instructions on the format of a query. You send in your query and maybe she selects and critiques it on her blog. She cuts down to the fucking bone. There's no mollycoddling involved. Nope, she's dead honest and that's why I like her blog. You get to see the queries which made the cut and those which didn't make the cut. Go see for yourself which is the larger of those two categories.

I sent in a query to the shark a few months ago. I think at the time, she mentioned having around 1,700 on the docket, so chances of her ever getting to mine are slim. I'm actually grateful for that. I think I've learned quite a bit about writing a query since then, even if I did read her instructions and followed them. Or rather, thought I followed them- I'm not so sure anymore, after re-visiting her blog. I'm in limbo until she reads it, or it falls into the hand of an agent. It's at that point where I will get the ultimate feedback, in the form of an ass-whipping critque, acceptance or rejection.

I'll finish up with this one point: All agents are different. Research the agent you will be sending your query letter and pages to. Educate yourself on what that particular agent wants and do not be an ignoramus. Even though you may still very well get a rejection slip, at least do yourself the honor of going in with both barrels loaded. After you've done all of that, be patient with the query writing process and do not send it out until it's ready. Your writing career just might depend on it.

A Saturday at Haslam's

2010-01-09T13:30:00.011-05:00

On a good Saturday when chores are not in the pipeline, I'll head off to the largest new and used book store in Florida, Haslams. It's a five minute drive, right on Central. I browse for an hour or two, sometimes coming away with one or two books. Today, I picked up four- eight if you consider one is a collection.

It's cold and raw down here in the Burg today. They claimed a brief snow flurry in Tampa. Freezing in Florida means your orange juice is now an expensive commodity. Haslam's is my oasis: cats running around, nice people working the store and sometimes, huge bargains on books you rarely even see at Borders or B&N. I'll state my case for Haslam's below, while you're drinking that five dollar glass of juice.

Ross Macdonald- Sleeping Beauty- $9 hardback. I've become a bit obsessed with Macdonald. His books are hard to find around here and only ocassionaly will Haslam's have one. Beyond his storytelling chops, it's also really his sentence structure that keeps you turning the pages. If you haven't read Ross Macdonald, you need to.

James M. Cain- Serenade- $3 paperback. In my opinion, James M. Cain was at his best in Double Indemnity and a close follow up with Postman. This one looks a little different, but Cain is a master I'm always willing to read.

Ace Atkins- Crossroad Blues- $5 paperback. I've only tried to read one other Ace Atkins book. It was White Shadow. I've picked it up and put it down, a half dozen times. For some reason, I want to like his writing. We'll see if this book can lead me down a better path.

Crime Novels: American Noir of the 1950's- $17 hardback. Five novels: The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson. The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith. Pick-Up by Charles Willeford. Down There by David Goodis and The Real Cool Killers by Chester Himes. I was fucking giddy when I found this one. I'll leave it at that.

Total spent- $34

After I bought the books, I went over to a street corner, seafood take-out stand I frequent. It's a funky little establishment. Twelve boiled shrimp and a potato, in spicy garlic butter- $5. Then I went and read some kick ass work by Lee Hughes, David Barber and Michael J. Solender. Now, I'm back home to work on my novel. I've commited to work on it, at least three hours a day. But, I think about it all day.

There you go, a good day in my life. So my friends and enemies, what's a good day in yours?

Bloat

2010-01-06T15:35:00.003-05:00

I've been doing a lot of writing these last few days, just not of the blogging variety. Instead, it's been all about the book, including having chapters reviewed (read as shredded) by some pretty tough hombres. Even as they're being picked over, I'm making changes to them because sometimes you don't know if your writing can be better, until you provide an alternative example. I was struggling with this in relation to the opening chapters for about two months, until just this Monday. Something about them, just never felt...right. Dig what I'm saying?

It's not that I thought the opening chapter and chapters were bad, it's just that they always seemed like they could be better. So as I was reading over the beginning, I really tried to answer the question, of what it was that was actually bugging me about the opening. I can now answer that question with one word "bloat".

In this case, bloat refers to information that may not be progressing the actual plot of the story. As an experiment, I'm replacing this information with a tighter, more concise picture of the main characters who make up the book. This means taking this story apart for the first 6-9 chapters, which is where the setup for the plot is. When I make those changes to character background, it will also affect the plot. I feel it will be a positive outcome. I'll try it, send it off to my reviewers and see what they think.

Ligature Marks' January Issue is Up and Running!

2010-01-01T11:02:00.002-05:00

So go check it out here: Ligature Marks. It's a cool site and has some really great writing, along with interviews, book and also film reviews. And of course, LM is rockin' my own work as well, in Gulf Coast Swimmer.

And now, for my "Did you know?" session about this story. Why? Because I read a lot of stories, and often wonder where they come from. Are they random thoughts? Did they start out one way, only to end up completely different? Well, below is some insight into GCS.

This story, originally began from the memoir of an up and coming criminal type. He was young and enthusiastic and willing to do anything it took, to get to the top. I bore a couple of brain blips over the next couple of days and it morphed into a detective story.
I was researching information for another piece of work, when I came upon the term "suburbanism" and its relationship to St. Petersburg during the late, 1970's. It was interesting and was a trigger point for changing the direction of the story.
The store with the name "Bargain Phones and Shoes", really exists. Yet, I have no idea if it existed back then. Regardless, I imagined having the same thoughts that Mark Hertlein did, everytime he drove by it.
Vic's house and my own, are one in the same.
The letter to Vic's daughter, came only as an afterthought. The time frame and the letter, completely shook up the story and changed it from my previous work, as I imagined the type of bond that Vic and his daughter must have for him to make his confession. The positive way in which it added to the story, was gravy.
It may seem like I gave up the money shot to this story, but I didn't. There is much more to this and with a bit of luck, you will all get to see it.

There you have it, six points of insight into GCS. Now go check out Ligature Marks and enjoy the New Year!

Merry Christmas

2009-12-21T17:04:00.002-05:00

Just a quick post, to say Merry Christmas to all of my new friends out there. For me, 2009 was a special and important year for the Wilkster: I met some absolutely incredible people via the virtual world, and I advanced tremendously as a writer. Through painful setbacks or those days when the words came out right, 2009 became a very important period of time in this man's life.

So to all of you who have commented on this blog and to all of you who have privately helped me along (I'll not go into names, but I believe you know who you are), I wish nothing but the best this Holiday season and hope you know that your friendship and mentorship, has not been taken lightly.

All the best,
Mike

This Ramblin' Man Wakes Up

2009-12-18T09:51:00.004-05:00

Just like Waylon Jennings. I'm doing a lot of running around right now: road trips, head trips- you name it. My mind has been on autopilot for some time now and yesterday, while browsing in the book store in my usual mental nothingness, something hit me in the back of the head. Hard. It was my ego. It was telling me to get off my ass and get to work. You've let that pile of paper and that flash drive, eat at you and fester long enough.

Part of this revelation, was the result of the query letter. That's right, the query letter. I was taking another look at it and I realized that it just never looked quite right. But why? It's because my book has a main plot and several sub-plots and they are all critical to the story. I could never get this across in a brief query. In fact, I learned something important and that is maybe you, the aspiring writer, should write the query for your novel at the beginning of the process. It's a quick way to find out if what you'll be writing makes sense. If you're at a sticking point, it might be worth a shot.

My rejection slip said something to the effect of: "The plot is not all that believable and at least two of the three characters, need better descriptions." Like I said, to the effect of, but not exactly. Ive been stewing over those words and now I see what they mean. I need to fully cement which plot is the main plot and then back it up to the hilt. It needs the same attention, that I've been giving towards the emotional makeup of the characters. That equals just short of a ton and is a critical point I've been missing.

In terms of characters, I know I can do better after letting the work sit and now re-evaluating the first few chapters. One of the three main characters, and the main character at that, is ambiguous. We're not supposed to know that much about him, not supposed to know how we feel about him. But do I put that out there in the opening pages, for people to get that picture of him from the word go? I mentioned their mental makeup, but what about these characters as living, breathing people? Answer: I dropped the ball in that department, but can easily fix it.

I've just printed out the first six chapters. Over the break, instead of trying to interject small pieces to the original, I'm going to write a new alternative beginning. I'm going to re-think and then re-work the plot(s). I'm going to write as many word as it takes (I'm at nearly 83k right now), to get it all across and then I'll begin stripping out anything that is not useful. Along the way, I'll interject the feedback I get from a few trusted and unbiased souls.

Stay tuned.

ROSE COLORED GLASSES- IT'S TIME TO TOSS 'EM

2009-12-14T12:23:00.008-05:00

In less than a week's time, I'll be off to Kansas to visit the folks, which means a lot of driving to get there and even more in the way of eating and drinking once I'm there. I accomplish little else during these vacations and this year will most likely prove to be no different. Not a big deal. What I will be doing a lot of though, is considering where to send my writing in 2010. Of course when I say "send", I'm talking about venues for exposure, publication, etc. for both short stories and the novel I'm working on.

A consideration in all of this, is will these venues help gain me the exposure and critical experience I need, as I work towards becoming a publishable writer. When you start looking at the outlets for writers of the short story, in terms of magazines, ezines and so on, the number of them available for submission is staggering. It's easier to get your feet wet on the internet, because many of the zines get back to you in a fairly timely manner. Most of them also get tons of hits, are run by top notch people and populated with some really good talent. I wouldn't be here today without them.

So we all know about the great blogs, and sites that are out there, and what I wrote above, was no revelation. Didn't you know, that I would have an ulterior motive? Here goes: I would like to ask a favor, of those who are so kind to frequent this blog. If you happen to read some of my work online, please feel free to comment, er, freely. Here's where I'm going with this. You've just read one of my stories. It was just so-so in your opinion. That's cool. Only, and I'm dead serious with this, rather than not comment at all, feel free to add something like the following: "I like how you did this, but you might want to work on these things with your writing..." If you don't feel comfortable saying this in the comments section, by all means send me an email.

I realize asking the above is huge and can make people uncomfortable. But I'm to the point at which I like to hear what's right with my work- trust me, those comments kept me going when I was ready to give up- but I now also desperately need to hear what's wrong with it also. I'm not saying I need to hear an asshole say "you suck" just because he can- hell, I can hear that anywhere (and do). No, I want constructive criticism that will improve my writing and prepare me for the world of query rejection that comes with this craft. Then I want to take that rejection and improve. I'm finding that a writer who desires to be published, has no use for rose colored glasses.

So what's the plan for 2010? In reality, chances are that I'll write no more than 5-6 short stories for 2010. While I love the format and wish publishers would once again open the door to the short story, I've found that I prefer the novel format. Not only that, but my last short and arguably my best, took me upwards of six weeks to really nail down. If that's the amount of time it takes for a good story to gestate, then why mess with a good thing? You don't. But you have to pick your battles and for now, working on the novel wins out. I must give this novel, my absolute best.

On that note, said novel is on the first leg of a hardcore critique tour. I hope to have enough feedback, that I'm able to make changes and start sending out serious queries by Summer of '10. If it takes longer, then so be it. In the meantime, I've another novel started and I'm enjoying the time off from the previous. Honestly, I'd been over that first novel so many fucking times, I just couldn't stand to look at it anymore. Having time off from it, can only prove beneficial and working on this new piece, is like taking a bare-assed trip into a new world.

As with all of my ramblings, I look forward to your input.

Tagged For A Story Virus...Finally, The Non Dripping Kind

2009-12-11T10:00:00.005-05:00

My buddy David Barber, tagged me for this virus. I've never done something like this before, but it's fun as hell. Rather then go through it all, I'll give you the gist, off of David's blog:

"I was tagged today by MRMacrum, who had been tagged by Cormac Brown, who had been tagged by I, Splotchy, who started this thing off.
Click on Splotchy first to get the gist of things, then read Cormac's and then MRMacrum's." From there, you'll get to where David went with his.

Here's my addition:

Amid the chaos, this guy was cool. He owned pinache. As the crowded mall was swimming in hysterics, Blanco strolled nonplussed.

The lady pointed. Jenkins turned. He closed his eyes, breathed and opened them again.

He saw the man coming towards them. He was maybe 5'10" tall, black suit, angular build. But it wasn't that he was so nonplussed that startled Jenkins, it was his complexion. He was the first albino, that Jenkins had ever seen in his life.

Blanco was now in front of the security guard and the woman. He always stunned people, especially those who had never seen an albino before. He smiled. She screamed. He touched a point, just below her ear and she fainted. He managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

Jenkins had a string of saliva, stretching from his bottom lip to the floor. The albino offered him his handkerchief. Jenkins accepted. He didn't know what else to do.

"Jenkins!" his radio was screaming. "Goddamnit, are you..." Jenkins threw his radio down. The albino adjusted his Tag Hauer watch.

"My brother is at it again, I see?"

Jenkins looked at the lady, then back at the albino. "She acted like she knew you."

"I suspect she just noted my extreme confidence- happens all the time. Now, about my brother..."

"But, who are you?" Jenkins asked.

"So sorry- busy day. Blanco's the name."

"Which one is your brother?"

"Both, I'm afraid. However, I only claim, well, I call him Super for short...public perception and all. The other one does nothing for the family name."

Blanco then noticed something on the ground. "Ah," he said and walked to it. And casually leaning down, he stuck his finger in the green blood, put it to his tongue. He nodded, made a pistol with his forefinger and thumb, pointing it at Jenkins.

Jenkins eyes rolled. He hit the ground like a side of beef. An eyeball dis-lodged from it's socket.

Blanco winced- the eyeball was an accident. He then looked at his watch, wiped the blood off his finger.

"Well, I'd better take care of those two. Again," he said, only to himself while shaking his head. "Every damn Christmas, it's the same thing."

He produced a bored fart noise from his mouth, which echoed his mood. He then cracked his neck and disappeared. If he hurried, he could still make his pedicure.

###

That's it for me. Now I tag:

Michael J. Solender

Pixie J. King

Christopher Grant

Over At Ligature Marks...

2009-12-08T12:15:00.007-05:00

Gulf Coast Swimmer, story of mine that you may remember from a few weeks ago, will find it's way there in January. Dave over at Ligature Marks is doing some exciting things within his site: author interviews, film, fiction, etc. He is also currently taking submissions for his January premiere issue. So if you're looking to find another outlet for your work and would like to expand your readership, head over and check it out.

By the way, I found out about Ligature Marks, over at Sandra Seamans site- My Little Corner. Besides here obvious chops as a writer, Sandra does and absolute top-shelf job of searching out and posting all kinds of resources for lazy people like us. I'm sure most of you have been to Sandra's site and gained from it. If you haven't, I would recommend checking it out. Either way, make sure and tell her thanks.

Over at A Twist of Noir and Thrillers Killers and Chillers, they are looking for Holiday infused prose. Yet because they are the big dogs out there and if like me, you are at their sites several times a day, you probably already knew that.

And before I forget, Paul "Mr. Prolific" Brazill is adding columnist to his list of achievements with I didn't say that, did I?. Check him out over at the new site, Pulp Metal. If Paul is involved, you know it will be good.

A Story in Transition

2009-12-04T15:42:00.003-05:00

I'm getting a lot of writing done today. In particular, I've gone back to work on a story previously sent out to a couple of different places in the past, with no reply. I've been letting it simmer for a couple of months and now, looking at it objectively, I can see why it was ill recieved, but cannot really explain it. It's just...lacking. Not in lenght or the idea of the story, but rather how it functions.

I'm trying a couple of different tactics to improve the flow, using different narrative viewpoints. This may also offer a new twist to the story, allowing the reader to be more involved in seeing the characters and feeling the atmosphere. We'll see if it works and if it doesn't, I can alway revert back to the original narrative and start from scratch.

I will say that this piece is a little more risque, in parts, than some of my other stuff- you should have seen the rough draft! How bad was it? When Hustler rejects your work as "too explicit", well, you know you've got some work to do. But the final draft will not be an out and out porn fest and the deviant behaviour involved, will absolutely be a critical key in progressing the story and defining it's characters. In other words, it concerns a moral delima we may all face at some point in our life, but would rather not admit we could be actually be tempted by. When the reader is finished and puts themselves in the shoes of the main characters, I want them to be uncomfortable. I want them to say, "that could never happen to me," with the afterthought that maybe it could.

(Note: I did not actually send it to Hustler, even though at one point, it would have easily qualified. I will however keep a copy of the rough draft for um, casual reading on those lonely winter nights...)

Making a Connection

2009-12-03T17:22:00.003-05:00

God, I've been doing a lot of reading, listening to a lot of old country music, tons of thinking and very little writing. This isn't unusual for me. As I've alluded to in the past, I'll go through this process for weeks, maybe even months and then I'll write upwards of 2k words a day, for days on end.

What I have been working on, is solidfying the style of writing I not only like, but also suits me as a person. It's very hard for me to write something, that involves little or no human passion. Now that's just me. Some people are brilliant at building a story that is very good, but the characters are neither here nor there. I don't know how in the hell they do it, but they do and I admire them. On the other hand, if I do not feel a direct emotional connection with my characters, I have to let what I'm working on sit until I do feel that connection.

I've got a couple of what I feel are good pieces, that I've written over this past year. A little polishing and they could probably be ready in a few weeks. However, they do not represent me as a writer and how I feel...maybe. I'll have to make a decision to leave them as is, or build on the characters some more. A couple of them are actually pretty hilarious- a real departure, if you've read any of my work to the right, but maybe a little too formulaic. We shall see.

Just Thinking

2009-11-23T12:15:00.002-05:00

I've got about ten thousand thoughts in my head right now.

I've got about five different writing projects started, but haven't really advanced them.

Now comes the hard part: getting those thoughts, down on paper. I don't know about you, but often times I'll spend days or weeks, thinking about a story. I'll try to put it down several times, but a few paragraph's into it, the damn thing falters. I go back to thinking. Then I'll have that day, when the words finally come and they gush onto the paper. Those are good days.

It's the days in between that cause me problems. My brain is in overdrive. I'm thinking about anything and everything- I just can't shut the fucking mechanism down. I don't sleep right. I don't speak right. I don't want to talk to people. Words are pushed around but will not find a reasonable pattern. I settle on the edge of the cliff, hoping no one pushes me off.

I feel that miracle day coming on.

Gulf Coast Swimmer- Up at A Twist of Noir

2009-11-16T15:46:00.002-05:00

By now, many of you have figured out that I pretty much suck at blogging. I've never been much of a witty conversationist and, quite frankly, find myself to be quite boring. To be honest however, I don't worry about it much. What I really enjoy, is writing fiction, because I have a wild ass imagination. To that end, I've got a new short up over at A Twist of Noir, titled Gulf Coast Swimmer.

Originally, this story was my entry into a recent contest over at The Drowning Machine. At 2,500 words, it did okay- such is life. I went back to work on it (I probably put about 6 weeks into this one story) and came up with what you now see at AToN. If I could describe it in one word, I guess that word would be "Epic".

I hope everyone enjoys it and as always, I'd appreciate any feedback- good or bad. I'm willing to take a couple of gut shots, if it means improving my writing.

200 Miles and Bad Ass Song Lyrics

2009-11-09T18:17:00.004-05:00

I'm back from a little trip down Key Largo/Key West way. Actually, we rode bikes 100 miles to Key West, stayed a day, then rode back to Key Largo. But if you're ever in Key West, check out Irish Kevin's bar- it's a hell of a place to throw a few back and listen to some music laced with, well, let's just call it entertainment. This brings me to the second half of this post's title.

While at Irish Kevin's, a two man group performed Golden Earring's "Twilight Zone" and I remembered just how much I loved this song, back in the day. And if you think about it, how many songs talk about hitmen and the like? Very few. This song, is the ultimate in flash fiction when you get right down to it. If you've heard it before, enjoy. If you haven't, then today's your lucky day. (Note: I've posted the lyrics below, but here is a youtube video, w/lyrics: Twilight Zone Video with Lyrics)

(somewhere in a lonely hotel room,
There's a guy starting to realize
That eternal fate has turned its back on him,
It's two a.m...........)

It's two a.m., the fear has gone
I'm sittin' here waitin', the gun still warm
Maybe my connection is tired of takin' chances
Yeah there's a storm on the loose, sirens in my head
I'm wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead
I cannot decode, my whole life spins into a frenzy

Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far
Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far
Soon you will come to know,
When the bullet hits the bone
Soon you will come to know, when the bullet hits the bone

I'm falling down a spiral, destination unknown
A double-crossed messenger, all alone
I can't get no connection, can't get through, where are you
Well the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind
This far from the borderline
And when the hit man comes
He knows damn well he has been cheated

Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far
Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far
Soon you will come to know, when the bullet hits the bone
Soon you will come to know, when the bullet hits the bone

Mary Lang

2009-10-31T10:48:00.007-04:00

I want to bring up the subject of influence. Not necessarily author influence, but rather an event that compels you as a writer.

An event that was significant to me, occured in 1983 in Hays, Kansas. It involved a missing person's case, with undertones of murder. The missing person's name, was Mary Lang. She was about 31 years old, smart and very attractive.

Let me put this in perspective. I grew up in, and then south of, a small town called Zurich, Kansas. Zurich has a population of about 100 people. Hays, is approximately 30 miles northwest of Zurich. Hays has a population of about 20,000. When I was a kid, Hays was the "big city" we could go to, for grocery shopping or to stroll the mall. People just didn't go missing. That kind of thing, just didn't happen.

I was around 11 years old at the time. What I remember most from the incident, was the picture in the paper. All that was shown, was Mary's car door, slightly ajar. That was it. The scene left you with numerous possibilities. Maybe, she ran away. Maybe, she was abducted. Nobody knew then and nobody knows now. Conspiracies and rumors, already a big part of life in rural Kansas, flourished. They remain to this day.

I'm building up to write more in regards to my thoughts on Mary. But I ask you: was there an event like this, or similar in your life, that affects your writing?

I'm NOT What Willis Was Talkin' 'Bout!

2009-10-29T10:44:00.005-04:00

At least that's how I felt merely one day ago. Yesterday morning I got the email regarding the partial I sent out. Not the call, the email. And as you struggling writers know, that ain't what you want my brotha's and sista's. As my father-in-law would say, "Wowzers!"

Let me start this off by saying that I had and still have, a tremendous amount of respect for this agent. From the moment they contacted me, they were up front, firm and corteous. Having said that, I'll try to outline their response, my response (to myself) and lessons learned.

Their response. In short, they did not find the plot all that beleivable. Also, they felt that it is the rare crime novel, which can succeed with a Private Investigator as a central character. Of course, my novel has a PI as a central character. They also went on to express concern about lack of setting, etc. All in all, it was a short and concise response, if not a bit vague. I say vague, because they finished with: "try me again." If someone can tell me what "try me again" really means, I would appreciate it (seriously, what does that mean?).

My response was simple and honest: "Thanks for your reply and feedback. I will put it to good use." I meant every word of it. Of course, this was written while icing my gonads, which felt as though they'd been kicked about twenty times by a large Russian woman, wearing steel toed boots.

I was actually ready to start writing this post yesterday, right after I received the news. Then I stopped and took a step back, letting reality set in. The reality, is that this was one agent and only the first one at that. I then fell apart, slowly but steadily, throughout the day. I finished work, went home, did a lot of thinking while having a few drinks and called it a night.

I woke up late this morning. I remembered my thoughts from the previous night. They rang with Steinbeck, Yates, Matt Hilton and so forth. Why? These guys all had more than their fair share of stumbling blocks in the beginning. And, as far as I can tell, things worked out (well Yates...) or are working out for them. It's called the learning process and it's about what you take away from the experience. I'll list those lessons learned, below.

1. If you have a manuscript to send out, let others read it first. Now, I did this; I let aquantances and a friend read it. Big mistake, at least in my opinion. I would recommend letting someone read your work, who has absolutely no emotional interest in you as a person, whatsoever. It's called putting yourself out there.

2. Think very hard about the query and synopsis you include with your work. Then, go back to step one and include these items in that process as well. Allow people you've never had so much as a conversation with, absolutely shred them to pieces.

3. Have a backup plan for the aftermath. Be confident, but also be realistic. If you get bad news, take a breath, and realize that the world is still turning and will go on turning. If possible, find a place to go and just chill. Are you going to stop the pain? No. But you can at least take steps, not to prolong it. Feeling sorry for yourself, will get you nowhere.

4. Remember that a ton of people are in your shoes. Some have been in those shoes for years and they're still writing.

5. Start writing again, immediately, but do so with a new sense of what you're actually writing. Even if you don't agree with the agents comments, take them to heart and use them. Regardless of how you feel, these guys are the pro's and they do this for a living. You and I, are still just a couple of chuckleheads.

I'm an extreme person who's emotions range from the highest of highs, to the lowest of lows. Yesterday was low point: I'd obviously blown my big chance. Today, things look different. Don't get me wrong, I'm still reeling, but I now have something to work with. Before, I was writing off of love for the craft and sheer ambition. I've still got the ambition, and now, I'm also armed with knowledge.

Now it's up to me, to take the next step.

PS. If any of you have questions, want more insight or just have something to add, please feel free to contact me. I've been lucky enough to have several people in the writing community, help and support me. I'd like to pay it forward.

The Burning Car

2009-10-27T09:59:00.009-04:00

This is a couple of weeks old, so for Floridians, it's old news: Burning Car on Skyway Bridge

I remember seeing the report on television when it happened: they actually displayed the car with "something" burning in the opened trunk. Then they said it was a body. Then, they showed a photograph of her. Sheryl Lynn Laird looked so happy in that picture. The victim's killer/ex-husband meanwhile, was on the railing of the bridge getting ready to jump- it was all caught by a passerby. The picture here, does absolutely no justice to the horrific scene I viewed that morning.

When I write, I give a lot of thought to human feelings and emotions. For me, it's these fragments of joy, anger, jealousy and fear, that truly make the story relatable. Even so, it's difficult to imagine what this poor woman went through before and during her experience. Also, we'll never truly know and can never honestly relate to Sheryl on that desperate level, in that desperate moment. I've tried to do just that and failed. Miserably. To an extent, this would also carry over to the afflicted man who committed the crime; somewhere along his life's journey, Robert Laird's wires got crossed. Brainwaves shorted and sparked. The results, of course, were beyond terrible and affected many lives in the process.

Sadly, this is yet further proof, that real life is in fact stranger and more disturbing, than the fiction we write.

I can always go back and look at that picture of Sheryl. I can see her smile. I can wish the best, for her young daughter now growing up without a mother. Unfortunately, it's the burning car on the Skyway bridge that will stick in my memory. I'll never need to see another picture, to remember that.

Brain Sizzle

2009-10-25T16:35:00.005-04:00

It's late Sunday afternoon and I've got this little bit of anxiety brewing. Nerves are floating. I'm thought-processing ideas for my next book when BAM! I get this idea for a short story. I'm hesitant. Do I want to spend time on another short or move on?

I think I'll spend some time. I got this character who's head I want to get into. He's got some issues. We've all got some issues. I'll pit mine against his. We're going to party. We're going to play games with each other and see who comes out the other side. It's gonna be a total gas.

Possible problem: this will turn into another idea for a novel and I'll shelve the short story version of it- it's happened before. But I need to write the short. I need to feel that high. I'll also give one last go over my manuscript and start outlining the new book (which started out as a short story).

My brain is sizzling with ideas right now and I flat ass love it. I sincerely hope all my friends are feeling the same way- it's too good a feeling, to keep to one's self.

Best Foot Forward

2009-10-23T11:15:00.004-04:00

No word yet on the partial I sent out. Those of you who have been in this situation, know what it feels like. This is my first time. I'd be as cool as the other side of the pillow, if I could say there was no anxiety. There is- a ton of it. I also know that I put my best foot forward. I went over those first 50 pages with a fine tooth comb, a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers. Once it was in the mail, I went to work on the rest of the manuscript; if they ask for a full, I vowed to be prepared.

I finished up the manuscript on Tuesday and put it away. I'm letting it percolate. I'll pick it up again today or tomorrow and give it a last going over, which is something I do with all of my work. When I put it away at the end of the day, I'll move on to the next project.

It will be hard letting this book go. I've spent almost 8 months living and breathing with it. However, I think that dwelling on this one book and this one partial, is not the way towards progress. I need to re-charge. I'll do that with my next novel, which comes from a short story I wrote for the Drowning Machine's Watery Grave contest. It didn't win, but I see the potential.

If the partial succeeds and they ask for a full, I'll be a happy man. If it doesn't, I'll get serious sending out queries to other agents. Success or failure- either way, I cannot stop the writing process. Either way, I have to get better. And I do. Every time I write, I get better. Thinking about it, this is the fun part of being a writer; being new to it. You see progress, each time you put something on paper.

Who I am...Part One

2009-10-22T10:47:00.002-04:00

That's the question you're asking. Then you'll ask "and why should I care?"

Right now, I'm a little known writer residing in St. Petersburg, FL. I started writing about 1 1/2 years ago. I've written a few short stories that have been pusblished online- crime for the most part. I just finished writing my first book. I sent out my first partial, just a few days ago. I'll let you know what happens, good or bad. I'll also feed you bits and pieces of me and my work as we go along.

And that's what this blog is about: trials and tribulations. It's about how you feel, when you've written something great. It's about how you feel, when you get that rejection slip in the mail.

It's about writing the hard way.

Many of you are like me. No, not handsome and smart and funny. You're writers. One day, you decided to pick up a pen and pad or opened up that word document on your computer. You said, "Today is the day," and from there, you began. You wrote that first page. Then a second. It was two more pages than anyone, including yourself, thought you could write.

You did it the hard way.