Just Thinking

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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.