Hello, everyone! Thanks for popping over my blog once more. Can you believe it? I am introducing here the 5th part of my joint writing adventure with D.e.e.L (@Deeliopunk on Twitter; go there and follow him NOW, not later or tomorrow, NOW, you hear me?).
It is amazing to see how our stories have turned into two so different things, taking into account that we started the series with the same characters and the same plot points. However, being two different writers, from two different countries, from two different age range, with two different writing styles, it is not such a big surprise. But you know what? It is real fun and it is very interesting to read these stories.
I am always looking forward to reading a new installment written by Dan. His stories are always great, and you just want more and more. So today we are introducing a new installment of our Groovy Cool Adventures. As usual, you can read his story here and you can find my story in his blog
You can also find more of his awesome and fascinating stories and poems in his Tumblr
blog. Oh! I almost forgot! Stay in tune for GCA6 because we may have an important announcement to make. Now enjoy this wonderful new story by D.e.e.L (remember his name, he will be very famous one day). Unknown Band 5
“No, no you…you got to drive the tiny car…here…take, here, my keys.”
“That’s your car, Slappy! It’s your bucket and I believe in you! Take…take your keys back! I don’t want them in my pocket!”
The bartender; he, rips^our glasses away, not even finished; both of us `still thirsty, I drink some and leave, but none even there.
“Where are we even headed? I thought chicken was on their menu?”
“It was, but it’s been hours, kid. No way in hell, not a chance they’re still there.
We walk, probably even talk, though neither of us can tell the difference between when and who.
“Where have you two been?”
“Yea, we’ve been waiting outside for you guys on that bench. Were you both about to just leave without us?”
“It’s been like sixty hours, we thought you would be gone home or something.”
“It’s been an hour and a half, and you both reek.”
“New cologne the kid and I are giving a try. Like it?”
“You both are disgusting.”
“And you…like…you look like a both! Cus you’re fat!”
“kid, that, that was just bad.”
“You’re not fat, KT.”
She flips her favorite tune, damn those fingers are quick.
“Well, who’s failed their driver’s test with the least mistakes?”
None raise their hands. There is a reason I always walk.
“Are we almost there?”
“Boy, I don’t even know where the hell it is we are headed.”
Mike nudges me. Whispers a reminder about the letter. My drenched mind begins to clear up. The boy, so young, but his past is just filled with so much. Can the letter be trusted though? What do we even know about this Ruff? He’s been jealous of the boy for so long. Would he create lies to gain his sisters trust once more?
“Slappy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it.”
The words from the letter scar my mind as I recite them over and over, endless.
“He’s drunk. Let’s leave them and go somewhere else.”
“William! We can’t just leave them. Slappy has been helping us with our band.”
“What band? We don’t have a band! This drunk has done nothing but kill balloons and turn this other failure into an even bigger failure!”
Not even a second slips the hands of time once the final curl of his tongue completes his idiotic thoughts passes before I find myself looking down upon him on the floor once more.
“Words. I once thought you to have a way with them. Though now, I see they have become your enemy once more. Did I have a drink? No. I had a ton of them. Can I still see the world around me? Sure, but it doesn’t make a damn lick of sense. Everyone sobers up, boy, some quicker than others.”
His second eye patch will teach him to stop believing everything he sees. Some need the lesson.
“Slappy! What’s your problem?!”
“Calm down, he’ll wake up soon enough.”
“Janine, let’s get William and get out of here.”
They prop the boy up with his arms over their shoulders. They walk away.
I begin walking and the kid gets knocked in the head with something, slams face first into the ground. I look behind him to see fast fingers flickering through the air once more; a broken electronic tree saving book reader lying in pieces next to his skull.
I cram him into the tiny car. Head down the road a bit to a new freak show, walk inside.
“What brings you in here?”
“You always this clever or only when you’re in character?”
“Something dark, mix it with half of glass of something clear. No ice.”
I pull the letter from my pocket and glance at it once more.
“So, you got a name?”
“Sure do. Do you?”
“Ha, more jokes, guess I shouldn’t have asked, but since you did, it’s TwoSaw.”
“Yours any better?”
“Once again, guess I shouldn’t have asked.”
“So now that we’re aquainted, and seeing as I’m a bartender, which is slang for ‘psychiatrist for the poor’, you got any skeletons in your closet you feel like sharing?”
“No, but I might have a dead kid in my trunk.”
“I think I saw him twitch, no worries.”
“I’ll take it that you’re joking. Not going to pry too much deeper into your mind though. Need another drink?”
“Not too many shiny coins left in my shoes.”
“This one is one me. What you reading?”
Without me handing it to her unwillingly she just grabs it without my will.
“Where did you get this?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Do you know William?”
“I know a boy, might go by that name.”
“We have to find him! Where is he?!”
“The tracker I had on him broke. Let’s go back to my lab and build another one. Your teleporter working?”
“Listen, Slappy…you bring me to this kid NOW or I spread your ashes over this bar counter and poor cheap rum all over you.”
“You been reading my Will?”
“This isn’t a joke, Clown!”
“Listen…I got rules. But if something else happens to hit you then it isn’t my fault.”
She looks at me, attempting a puzzled look, but her scorn scowl wants to forbid anything from changing her brow.
“One last shot. And you will get all that you need from me.”
She places a cheap bottle in front of me, just like in the movie I played in my head. Half full, the movie had more, but I’ll assume it got changed during the editing.
The bottle releases from my hand, up, the head lights flicker quickly, chains rusty, should have been changed yesterday, thin, tired, up, break, lights flicker once more before bringing her world to darkness.
I check her out once more. Still looks good under the extinguished beam.
I head out to the car. He’s attempting to read the device.
“You kidding me, kid?”
“This thing still works kind of.”
“Keep it, a nice souvenir to remind you of that scar that will remind you of that souvenir.”
I don’t know where the hell my keys are. I grab the kid’s hand and pull him up. We walk. I don’t even know where anymore. My throat feels dry. The kid has next round.
This last month I started my new series "Meet the Author". I had a very good response from all my writer friends and I got overwhelmed with lots of requests to be part of my series. As a consequence, other writer friends asked me to do interviews for their blogs. I was glad to accept the offer and it was fun to ask the questions that the different authors asked me.
The first one who managed to make me answer an interview was Scott Morgan, and he was cunning enough as to make me answer MY OWN interview LOL Check his blog to know a bit more about me while I answer my own questions: Write Hook
The next amazing author and friend who was so kind as to want to host me in her blog was Amber Jerome-Norrgard. She is very dear to me, so I obviously agreed to answer her questions. I had real fun answering her interview. Check it out in her blog Life As Amber Knows It
And last but not least, today I got interviewed by fellow writer Kevin Rau in his blog. Didn't you know that I am freaky enough as to like superhero comics and stuff like that? Read my interview for Kevin and discover more things about me. Check
This is the fourth installment of my blog-swapping adventure with D.e.e.L (although I prefer calling him Dan :D), and I am struggling to know what I can say in this fourth intro. The only thing that comes to my mind is how lucky I am for having met such an extraordinary writer. He is always saying that I support his words and give good feedback and stuff like that, but what about him?
He has helped me to feel more confident about my own writing. He has always told me that I am a good writer, and somehow I started to believe it myself. Besides, when I started writing my Little Nani stories, he was a big supporter from the very beginning (and he is the biggest fan of Thunder, the Turtle, but don't tell him). For me it is important to know that there are people out there who encourage my work and, to top things, enjoy what I write! I consider myself a loner. I have never been able to write with someone else, but Dan is the best writing partner ever, and it is very easy to work with him.
So you are always thanking me, but this time it is my turn. Thank you, Dan, for being a fantastic writer, for correcting my silly English when it is too messy, and for supporting my humble stories. Thank you!
And now enough from me! Enjoy this wonderful story by D.e.e.L, and let's see what happen to this Unknown Band this time. My version of the story is in his Blog
Unknown Band 4
“Slappy, are you… are you okay?”
“Nothing being happy for an hour can’t fix. You four stay here.”
“But, isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“I don’t wear a watch”
I walk until the sounds of circus music no longer hum in my head. The man sitting on the stool at the entrance nods to me, I grunt and keep walking. I don’t ask, only point. The only other person at the bar is a younger man, boy even. He is staring at my make-up.
“Got a problem there son?”
“Not really. What’s with the costume?”
“It’s not a costume.”
“What is it then?”
“Fair enough. So what brings you here?”
“Peace and quiet.”
I stare at the glass in my hand, swirl it around a bit.
“What brings you here?”
“Sounds familiar. Any aspect in particular?”
“The basics, the disappointments.”
I get up and walk over to a stool on the other side of the edge he sits.
“Life isn’t always going to be a Saturday morning, son.”
“It is when you’re unemployed.”
“Every day is a bottle of seltzer when you’re unemployed.”
“So much potential, but unless you do something to shake things up you’re just going to sit there and expire.”
He sits there and sighs, contemplating the world around him, wondering if taking advice from a man dressed as a clown is a good idea.
“Follow me, son. I have to return somewhere and want you to come with.”
For some reason he gets up and follows.
I push the doors open to the shack of my recent days. They all still sit in waiting.
“You two know eachother?”
William gets up from his chair and grips his pen hard in his hand.
“Will, just chill.”
“Not a chance, Ruff.”
“That’s all in the past man, I’m sorry for all of that.”
“Doesn’t change what you did. Sorry is just a word coward’s use!”
I step back and watch the writer make his stand.
“William, what are you doing!?”
“Just let me do this, Janine.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not a clue, but Slappy isn’t doing anything to stop it, just follow his lead.”
“Listen to Mike, KT. Just let me do this.”
The past of William begins to stir up. Ruff? What a terrible name.
“You don’t want to do this, William.”
“Yes I do.”
He drops the pen.
“You had no right treating me the way you did.”
“You know why I did.”
“She only cared about you, you and your stupid poetry.”
The assumed drunk looks over at Janine. The scenario being played in front of me begins to make sense.
“What’s going on, William?”
“Nothing, Janine. Just ending something from a long time ago.”
“This is becoming a soap opera. First point I’d like to make is that you’re not old enough to say ‘a long time ago’, and you’re too old to be saying anything.”
“You’re confused old man, Janine is my sis…”
I knock him out cold before he finishes his sentence.
“What was that for?!”
“Respect, your bro don’t know it well enough.”
“I was going to do that!”
“No you weren’t. He’s twice your size. We can’t have you breaking your hands on someone named after the noise a dog makes.”
“That’s his nickname! My brother’s name is James!”
I glare to make sure he doesn’t whisper the word ‘coward’ under his breath.
“Everyone pack up what they need. We’re heading out.”
“What about my brother?”
“He looks tired. Let’s let him sleep.”
The kid laughs. The faster fingers grab the voice to pull her away. The writer just sits and stares at his enemy.
“The past sits where it belongs. Gather what you need and let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To make a name for ourselves.”
I rush everyone to the door, but turn around to see Mike grabbing something from the quivering hand of the dog whisperer.
“What you got there?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Not in this world.”
“Well read while you walk, kid. We got to get moving. This place doesn’t need us right now, tuck the key away.”
He begins to read and almost walks into the door as it swings away from my hand.
“Slappy…you’re going to want to read this.”
“Is it a love poem about dogs or something? That could be funny.”
“No, this guy dug up a bunch of information about William.”
“Was probably going to show his sister. Let me see that.”
I grab the crinkled paper.
“Bear on a unicycle, this poet has a past…”
“I feel like we should let Janine know.”
“Cut that out.”
“You don’t feel anything. Rip open that door, sit down, order the least expensive thing they got, shoot it down, then order it again.”
“There’s no parrot in the act, kid. Here’s one of those useless dollar coins, see where it gets ya.”
He attempts what he considers to be a rip, I’d call it a tear, maybe even a droplet.
“Slappy! What’s the hold-up?!”
“Just waiting for the kid to get drunk on my dollar.”
“Well how long will that take?”
“Not long. I said I only gave him a dollar.”
“Well we’re all hungry, and William needs to go somewhere to calm down for a bit. When you’re ready we’ll be at the diner across the street.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I feel like finding you.”
A few of the fast fingers flick up into the air as the three of them depart to the nearby foul on the floor with a fryer that probably hasn’t been changed in months.
“I think I’m ready.”
“How many rounds did you have?”
“Enough to fill a pistol.”
“You look like a twelve-gauge man, turn around and let’s sit down for a bit.”
I slap a few worthless coins on the counter as someone I’ve never met before but seen dozens of times waits for my finger to point. I sit, the kid next to me, the band in a known location I’ll forget around sip seven. I pull the paper from my coat and pace my eyes upon its contents…over…and over…this will soon all be over…
While I was tweeting today, I saw that some people were tweeting about a very cool giveaway. A Scavenger Hunt! Wow! That sounded really funny, so I decided to follow the links to see what was all about.
The link I followed (you can find it if you click here
) took me to Rebecca Hamilton's website, where she was having this giveaway, based on her first book of The Forever Girl series: Sophia's Journey. It is a book that is getting close to the top of my TBR list of books, so I decided to join the fun and participate in the Scavenger Hunt. The prizes are:
-1 Forever Girl Candle.
-1 signed paperback copy of The Forever Girl.
-And, if they hit 100 entrants, the winner will also receive a $25 Gift Card: Amazon or Barnes and Noble, their choice!
Really, visit her website, explore a bit, and participate in this cool giveaway. If you leave any comment, please, let her know I sent you there ;)
Hello my friends!
Following with my series of guest authors and bloggers, today I want you all to meet Davee Jones. Davee writes romance and erotic romance stories and books. I read one of her stories and I really liked it. Now her other two books are in my TBR list, waiting for their turn to be read and reviewed. But enough from me. Let's see what Davee Jones has to say about her experiences in becoming a published author and her reflections on writing.
Reflecting on the past year, it is amazing how quickly things changed, but, seemed like it took forever. So many things have happened, and it's been a great ride. I gladly take the good with the bad, because I do not learn anything without every moment.
It was a year ago that I was in the big middle of publisher rejection letters. I painstakingly scoured the internet looking for publishers, studied submission requirements, and prepared countless query letters. I personalized each query letter and every time I hit the send button, I let out a heavy sigh.
No, this is not an easy business.
But, if it was easy, would it serve our purposes?
Writing is an art form and a catharsis where we funnel our stresses and pour our deepest emotions out in the form of the written word. While we know every WIP is not a literary masterpiece, we hope it holds value.
And, it does hold value, even if only for ourselves.
Not everyone else is going to view it as an amazing, life-altering read that forever changed their lives in some phenomenal way.
In order to be successful, authors must swallow that pride and bury the ego and think of their readers and appreciate their reviews and comments--both the good and the bad. Learn from your readers-that's how we improve and provide a meaningful story for our fans. They are investing their time and money to read something we wrote, we must appreciate that.
One other piece of advice is about our "community" of writers. When we view everyone as competition and refuse to support, inspire, and even promote a fellow author, we do ourselves a grave injustice to our hopes of a successful literary career. Get on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, or other social media with the intent to greet someone, promote someone ,and share anecdotes that do not include an ulterior motive or promo. You will make great friends and guess what? They will do the same for you in the future.
Back to my intro, yes, after a heartbreaking number of rejections, I captured the attention of a publisher and got a contract! Matter of fact, I've now had three contracts.
Yes, perseverance pays off, my novice career is proof of that. It began with erotic romance, but, I have other genres in the works- Thriller/Suspense and Young Adult.
Now, marketing and selling, That's a whole other blog....:) lol, but, here is a little of my experience:
I sent out over 250 review queries, requests for publicity, etc. I received less than ten
replies back. Yes, I said less than ten. I sent a letter to each and every newspaper in Oklahoma (my home state in the USA) and got ONE solitary reply back. I personalized every submission query, DO NOT Bcc these things to a mass audience. You will not receive a reply. You must demonstrate you researched who you sent the query to, let them know you took the time. Yes, it will take you hours upon hours, but, the few replies you receive back will be worth it.
Nothing worth having in this life is really easy, so, you gotta roll up those sleeves and get after it.
Meet me!Davee Jones
My books are available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and my publisher, Secret Cravings Publishing http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=products_all&filter_author=100
Latest News/Contest information -Visit the blog hop spot for the 4th of July blog hop http://thebloghopspot.com/event-page/
(or visit my blog)
My genres: Romance, Erotic Romance, and coming soon, Thrillers and YAhttp://finless.blogspot.com/
---Amazon author pagehttp://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/davee-jones
--- Barnes & Noble author pagehttp://twitter.com/finlessbook
-- @finlessbook --- Twitterhttp://en-gb.facebook.com/finless.book
-- Finless daveejones --- Facebook
Finless buy link_- http://www.amazon.com/Finless-ebook/dp/B007SNTKMQ/ref=lp_B0076AYW10_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1335543324&sr=1-1
On Ellicott Street buy link - http://www.amazon.com/On-Ellicott-Street-ebook/dp/B00768TDH0/ref=lp_B0076AYW10_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1335543324&sr=1-2
Ruby's Dance-Thank You Mae West - Release May 2012- http://www.amazon.com/Davee-Jones/e/B0076AYW10/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1Finless Book Blurb:
My second published book, Finless, released in early April by my publisher, Secret Cravings Publishing (SCP). Finless is an erotic romance of 193 pages riddled with BDSM. It is a M/F storyline. Before you groan in angst at yet another "book on the bandwagon", akin to the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomena, please entertain my promise this book is nothing common or trite. I attempt to present graphic imagery to take my readers not only to the scene in the book, but, hope they will develop their own personalization of it in their mind. I also write to appeal to both genders. My novel is a type of Black Swan meets Fifty Shades of Grey. I have a sequel in the works, Finless Too, to further explore the character's lives.
The story connects fish, BDSM play, spirituality, sexuality, and the extreme decisions in the lives of the books’ protagonists to meld one story of tremendous revelations. Finless includes descriptive scenes of rhythmic caning, bondage, almost violent expressive dreams, and other explicit content. The message of the book intends to reach out positively to anyone, regardless of their proclivities, who may feel inept, unworthy, untrusting, or lost in their existence.
Davee Jones began a career in the counseling field with her M.Ed. She then diversified and began work for the federal government. The dryness of the day to day assignments fostered the desire for her to do something more creative. Because writing was always a passion, she used every opportunity to journal and create fictional worlds with her words. She began writing short fiction and books, inspired by the events around her.
Now avidly writing, in the little spare time she has, she has several other books in progress. She has books that draw from eroticism, romance, suspense, drama, and sometimes comedy. A few of her books garner only one flame, but, others will secure all five flames in the heat index.
Pen Name: Davee Jones http://finless.blogspot.com/
author page- http://www.amazon.com/Davee-Jones/e/B0076AYW10/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
Hello!!!It is here! It is finally here! Were you waiting for it? The third part of my blog swap with fantastic writer D.e.e.L (@Deeliopunk in Twitter, for all of you who don't know yet; follow him, now). It is being real fun to write these stories, so I am afraid that you will be reading more from the two of us :DOh, so you are new to my blog? Sorry, I didn't realise... What? You don't know what I am talking about? Oh, shame on you! I have been blog swapping with good friend and amazing writer D.e.e.L and we have written a very funny story, well, two stories actually. Same characters, same plot points, same character traits, but we came up with two completely different stories. Check our previous stories here and here so you can know what we are talking about, and so you can read our 3rd installment and enjoy it. Here in my blog you can read his part of the story, and you will find my stories in his blog.Enough! Now I leave you with this treat that is D.e.e.L's third part of our Groovy Cool Story. Please, show your love in comment form. We love comments!!
Unknown Band 3 Groovierestery Coolierestery Storierestery By: D.e.e.L
This shack of an existence, these walls restraining all the workers within from their dreams. I open the door and let the two girls walk in first.
“Alright, let’s practice!”
“Don’t get so enthused; people are already up on the stage. We will have to wait.”
“Nonsense, nonsense! Off the stage now you three!”
A stranger brushes the stage clean of the wannabes that made it to the stage before us.
“Slappy McDeen, so nice to see you again!”
“Excuse me? I don’t believe we’ve met…”
“Oh, but we have! It is okay, you will remember me over time.”
He winks at me as he flings down a yo-yo only to return it to his hand and repeat. He doesn’t look familiar, but the way he is acting is giving me chills. I pull the collar of my coat up around my neck.
“So, are you going to introduce me to this band of misfits you seem to have here?”
“We’re Killer Tickler and Friends!”
I snarl. That name needs some work. I respond quickly after Janine and rephrase her reply.
“We’re, nothing yet, just a few unknowns trying to make something happen…”
“An unknown band, eh? Very well then. Well let’s see what you unknowns can do up there!”
The boy was carving words into his notebook as we were all talking with the stranger endlessly playing with his yo-yo.
“Here you go Janine. Try singing this up on the stage.”
“Thank you, William. Come on KT! Let’s get on the stage and play! Mike, you too!”
“Slappy, I don’t know about this, that Janine girl seems way too excited.”
“Just get up there, kid.”
The band assembles up on the stage as the boy and I grab a table to sit at and hope the sounds soon to come don’t make our ear drums turn red.
“Boy, get up there.”
“What? You said I can’t play the guitar, I’m not going up there just so you can throw chairs at me.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to play guitar, you’re terrible at it. I want you to try hitting those drums up there. Just do something simple, make a back beat.”
“I don’t even know what…”
“Shut it, do it.”
The worthless hands of the boy pick up the sticks sitting on the chair behind the drum set. He waves to Janine and starts to create a beat. Mike looks over to him and begins bobbing his head, KT’s fingers begin racing up and down the strings of her guitar, and then she begins…
“Moments deluding, my heart protruding, seconds falling to past, my mind now a cast, surrounding my wounds, mortal is my soul, time of the essence, deep into my meaning, becomes this time bleeding…”
Boy actually wrote something worth a damn. I nod my head as they continue. The strange man with the yo-yo takes a seat beside me and begins doing something that causes my mind to dig deep into my past. His left hand still letting the yo-yo fall to the floor and return to his hand, while he shoves his right hand into a jar of mayonnaise and begins eating it.
“Would you like some, Slappy?”
“You used to always love doing this with me, you sure?”
I get up from my seat and look at him with questioned eyes. I leave the room and head into the bathroom to splash water into my face, redo my make-up. What is going on?
“What’s your name!!”
“Falcon. Take a seat, is something wrong?”
The name isn’t of a familiar taste.
“Your friend playing the bass doesn’t seem content with your leaving during their show.”
“I don’t care about him! What are you doing? Why have you come here?!”
My voice raises above the vocals of Janine singing the boy’s poetic tongue. My breathing becomes hard, harder, my eyes straining, who, how, how….how…
He grabs my right shoulder.
“Get off of me, kid!!”
I shove the kid to the floor as my mind is traveling my entire existence in thought.
“McDeen, you are acting quite odd. Why don’t you take a seat?”
The yo-yo still falling to the ground, back up, down, up, down, up…my mind stares as it keep repeating itself. Then…the lights go out.
What? Where am I?
“Slappy, we have something for you…”
“Is it a new toy, Daddy?”
“Not quite, but you will love it even more.”
“Oh, Mommy I can’t wait! What is it?”
“Your Father’s machine has finally worked, and we want the first friend to be yours.”
“Hi, Slappy! My name is Mr. Poodles!”
“Oh, I love it! Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!”
“Hug me, Slappy!”
“Oh, of course I will! And he’s red! My favorite color!”
“Our son is so adorable isn’t he.”
“He gets it from you…”
“Slappy, wake up, you alright? I kind of…my bad…”
“What the whoopee cushion happened to me?”
“Mike got revenge for me.”
“You pushed me, so…I grabbed a chair…”
“Son of a ring master…my arm hurts like hell…”
“Yea, looks broken.”
“Thanks Tickler, I kind of figured that one…you’re going to get then hand-buzzer for this one, kid.”
“I won’t be expecting it at all.”
“I know you won’t. Now get me up.”
He walks over to us.
“Well, that was quite the show you two put on. Now are you all going to get back up on stage and play us some more music?”
“It’s you isn’t it…”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest clue as you what you are talking about.”
“Stop playing games with my mind! And stop playing with that damn yo-yo!”
I rip the toy from his left hand.
Just as the toy leaves his hand his skin begins to fall away to the floor, as if he is deflating. The mortal looking flesh lay upon the ground as a frail looking, dwindling, gasping for helium creature looks up into my eyes.
“Well done, Slappy. You always were good at solving mysteries *cough*, you remember when we used to solve them together?”
“You’re….you’re dead…I…I killed you!!!”
“No…no you didn’t…you killed the balloon animal I made to look like me. Mr.Pickles…I hated him anyway.”
“You…you lead the revolt against my father, my mother even! You pathetic piece of latex!”
“Such harsh words for your dear old friend, Slappy.”
“You’re no friend of mine…”
“*cough* *cough* Very well then…perhaps I should take my leave then…”
“Like hell you will. Before I kill you, tell me…how you managed to live this long.”
“Seems I face an inevitable fate. Due to our past friendship, and what I have caused you to become, I will answer to your request. After I killed your parents, and destroyed the remainders of my own, I didn’t quite feel like facing a fate as so many of the other balloon animals had. A pin prick, a day in the sun, the slow decrease of air, it all didn’t quite fit my fancy. So I searched for methods to keep me inflated, alive, thriving. I found myself groveling at the feet of an old gypsy woman, about to pass into the next world herself. She *cough* she gave me that yo-yo, and *cough* as long as it falls and returns to my hand I appear as you, human, full of life, without any of my previous limitations. But I guess that yo-yo can’t save me now, can it?”
“Not a chance.”
I pull the pin out from the flower on my lapel, the flower falls to the floor just as I see him making a last chance dive at his yo-yo. I flick the pin from between my fingers.
Deflated lies my best friend. Worst enemy. The reason this world tastes so bitter upon my tongue, the reason I spend each day looking for the sweet taste of life once more.
I have to say that the Twitter is a wonderful place to meet amazing people. I have been lucky enough to meet fantastic and great fellow writers, people who have encouraged me a lot to write, and people who even like what I write! O_O I am joking. Thanks to lots of those amazing writers in the Twitterverse, now I feel confident about my writing and I think it is not that bad :D
Some time ago I heard in the Twitterverse that there were two brothers (Sean and Daniel) writing a novel in just 90 days. My first thought was "they must be crazy", but very soon my natural curiosity drew me to follow them and know more about that strange challenge they had decided to give a try to. They hooked me with their progress, and I have to admit that I am truly impressed at the determination they have to fulfill the challenge. Today it is day 45 of their challenge, so they are halfway there. I invited them (via Sean) to guest post in my blog, so more people could know about their progress so far and about their challenge in general.
Now I leave you with the words Sean wrote so kindly for my blog. Enjoy!
Hello! I'm Sean, half of the writing duo behind 90daysnovel.com
Before I start blathering on about us, I'd like to say a huge thank you to Cinta for hosting us. We've never done a guest post on a blog before, so this is all new to us.
Cinta asked us to talk about the challenge we've set ourselves. It all started on St Patrick's Day, when we were debating a new challenge to approach, and somehow we thought it would be a great idea to try writing a book.
Neither of us has ever written fiction before. Period. Never so much as a short story.
So our challenge was to take two complete novices, and, in 90 days, plan a novel, write it, edit it multiple times, proof it, and publish it in as a professional manner as we could.
We chose to write a crime novel because that's our favourite genre to read. I am a Barrister by training so I'm very familiar with the law, and how the police investigate (Dan is an aspirant chef for anyone interested!). We wanted to come up with a novel storyline - something new, which is never easy.
Synopsis - In 'Dead on Demand', our main character Edwin Murphy is a self made man who is experiencing some major difficulties. His wife Eleanor is leaving him and is planning on taking their only child abroad, leaving Edwin penniless and alone in London. In a desperate bid to regain his former lifestyle, he decides that she must die. With her out of the picture, he would regain his home, his daughter, and not have to worry about his finances.
The problem is, Edwin isn't a macho man. He's never killed anyone before, and probably couldn't if he tried. So he devises a plan to swap murders with someone else. He'll agree to kill their victim if they agree to kill his. The story follows Edwin as he tries to go through with his plan, and the events that unfold as a result. There may not be a perfect crime, but reasonable doubt isn't out of his reach.
We also commissioned a very talented young artist to create a cover for us, which I hope you all enjoy.
I've probably rambled on a bit, and I know you guys will want to get back to the lovely Cinta, so I'll leave you with a 7 line extract to try and pique your interest."With suspicion clouding her judgement, it was often hard to be sufficiently empathetic.The news clearly came as a shock. Mrs Sugden just that there, silent. A tear rolled down her cheek.It was her sister who broke the silence."How did Peter die?"Hayley paused. It was an odd situation. She had dealt with murder victims, accidental deaths and even cot deaths in the past. Death by self defence was not in her repertoire of expertise."He drowned in the river Thames. I'm ever so sorry." It was the truth. The widow didn't need to know the specifics of how he ended up in the river."If you'd like to find out more, feel free to drop by our blog or tweet us @90daysnovel - the book will be on Amazon as soon as it's up to par.Sean
Thank you, Sean, for accepting being my guest in my little blog. I hope you have enjoyed this post. Follow them and stay in tune to know more about their progress and the end of their amazing challenge. I have been lucky enough to get an early version of the book, so I will read it as soon as possible since I really think it is the kind of book I will love reading. Amazing for a debut novel, isn't it?
Hello!! I am here this time with another treat for all of you. Do you remember when I swapped blogs with D.e.e.L, who goes with the Twitter handle @Deeliopunk? Yes? Good!! But in case you don't remember quite well, you can check our first Groovy Cool Writing Adventure here
. It seems that people enjoyed reading our stories, and we were suggested to go on with them. We decided to go on writing these "Groovy Cool" stories, not only because people like them, but also because it is real fun to write them. I am very happy of having found such an amazing writing partner, so talented, and such a good friend, so funny :D
Before I leave you alone to enjoy D.e.e.L.'s amazing second part of our Groovy Cool Writing Adventure, I want to announce something. People who follow me in Twitter most probably will know by now, but I want to say it here once again, so everybody knows about it. I am proud to say that my amazingly talented writing partner has his first book out!!! Yes, you heard me (or read me). He got his first collection of short stories published under the title "Blissfire". What would you do to find happiness? What's the price of finding bliss? The answers are in the collection of short stories created by my good friend's left hand :D You can have a look and get the book in Lulu.com
(just click on the link and you will be redirected there).
So now I invite you all to enjoy a new story in our joint Groovy Cool Writing Adventure. The one you can enjoy here in my blog is D.e.e.L.'s story, while you can read mine in his blog http://deeliopunk.wordpress.com
Thanks for reading and, please, remember that we love getting comments!!! Unknown Band 2- The Groovier Coolier Adventurier By: D.e.e.L
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t know yet, kid.”
“How exactly does this P.I thing work? How do we know when someone needs help?”
“You listen for it. Now put this on.”
“Make-up? What for?”
“If you’re with me, you’re doing the same dance I am.”
“I…I don’t even know how. I’ll look ridicul…”
“Blue lips or red?”
“You look like a blue. Red is my thing.”
Walking the streets, this time with another soul by my side, a partner of sorts, a partner with no knowledge of the world in which I bask every day. He smears the blue around his mouth, without style, without any sense.
“I should have asked the wannabe poet to come with me; at least he was trying to make use of his fingers like a human being. What do you call that on your face?”
“You act like I know how to do this. I don’t put make-up on my face every day like you do.”
“Oh, you only do it sometimes then?”
Strangers pass by and assume one clown is prepping another for some sort of street show. A family starts to walk by, then stops and waits for the dazzling performance. I juggle several hand gestures into their faces, they walk away.
“There, now you look normal.”
“I don’t know if your definition of normal really fits with the rest of society. What now?”
“We keep walking, maybe sit at my desk, maybe have a couple shots.”
“You call that working?”
“I don’t call it anything.”
We keep walking, he begins to start walking in the way an idiot would assume a clown should walk; his shoes aren’t big enough to be lifting the souls from the asphalt as such. I spray water at him from the flower on my lapel. He realizes his mistake, good boy; at least he has the basic knowledge of a cat. I stop to stare into a window. The boy with the worthless hands stands with the girl that possesses the tongue of vomit. We both walk in to meet the young hopeful rockstars once again.
“It’s…it’s you! Get away from me!”
“Don’t you hurt him again!”
“No furniture around, he’s fine.”
The boy turns his gaze away from me and looks up into the colorful selections that exist before him. Red, blue, or pink, he doesn’t deserve to wear any of the colors of my face, not with those hands, not with that attitude.
“What? No way! You can’t tell me what to do, shut up and get out of here; I don’t want you here anyway.”
“Don’t care what you want, not concerned with what you think you need. You’re standing in front of colorful eye patches at a cheap store in the middle of some run-down street, and why? Because you made a mistake, because you think your throat can just insult anyone it wishes, spit words into the faces of people you don’t even know. You want to cover up that shiner you earned? Then do it with the color I am telling you, do it or it’s going to hurt every time you walk into a wall because both eyes are covered up to hide the learning curve that has been so easily earned by your lack of articulated thoughts.”
He doesn’t let another rebuttal spill from his lips; he just grabs the pink eye-patch and walks to the register. The beginning of the learning process is less than two-dollars, the money comes from her purse, his pockets assumed empty from his mindless thoughts.
“It looks nice on you, William.”
“You don’t have to lie, Janine. I know I look pathetic. Could just buy another once this guy stops following us.”
“We didn’t follow you, we are looking for some crime. Slappy just saw you through the window.”
“Looking for some crime? Shut it, kid. I’m leaving you two, knowing that you won’t trade in that patch, or try to sing me a lullaby, I’m leaving and knowing that both of you unknown wannabes are going to actually chase something worth your time.”
“Hey! Janine is an amazing singer!”
“Hey, I worked at that place since before she started coming in to make everyone go deaf. Not a single time has her voice been any good.”
“A bit too harsh, kid. Tone it down a bit.”
“What? You can get all up in people’s dreams and I can’t?”
“Who’s the one wearing red?”
“Ugh, I don’t even know what that means, Slappy.”
The girl nudges the boy with the pink eye patch, they point to across the street, I turn around to join them in their discovery.
A stranger from across the street turns her gaze. In her hands she holds a plastic piece of saving paper and going green. She wears glasses, and gloves that have the finger tips missing.
“It’s so amazing to see you! Where have you been?”
“I’ve been, places. William, what happened to your eye?”
The boy points to me during the apparent reunion of young friends. The new girl scowls at me, I juggle one hand gesture from left to right, making it look as if shooting into the air and falling onto the other hand.
“These guys are following us, KT. They don’t have lives or something. The old one hit me with a chair.”
“Should I make him suffer? I can do it you know.”
“She’s not bluffing Mr. Clown, she can really do it. KT isn’t just a name, it means something scary. She could have you groveling at William’s feet!”
“KT, hmmm…and what’s it mean? Killer Tickler? Is that what I’m in for?”
“How did you know my name? Can you read minds too?”
“Did I slip on a banana and hurt my head this morning? Do you honestly think that you can read minds, little girl?”
“I knew you would ask that.”
She runs up to me and attempts to tickle my sides, a quick step to the right and she trips over my shoe and falls face first into a pie.
“Was that really necessary, Slappy?”
“Don’t question my methods, kid. I don’t get tickled, just doesn’t happen.”
She gets up and rallies to her friends, the three of them stare down the kid and I, stare us down as if they are some type of make-shift mob. There’s the boy who writes words with only one eye, the girl that vomits when she sings, and the mind-reader who didn’t think to read my mind and figure out my pie plan.
“I don’t know what you are all planning to do, she’s the mind-reader, not me, but without such amazing powers I can still tell that it’s going to be a dumb idea. I however, have a good idea. I see a boy who says he knows how to write, a girl who claims she knows how to sing, and another girl who apparently has fast fingers. You want to become rockstars? Well, you got your band right here. You write, you sing, you play guitar.”
“I can play the bass, if, you guys need a bass player.”
“We’re not trying to join the band, kid.”
The mind reader looks at me as if trying to scan my thoughts for pure intentions.
“What makes you think you can just tell us what to do? Why can’t you just leave us alone and go blow some balloons?”
“William! I know he was wrong to hit you, but he does have a point. We can be a real band! KT, are you in?”
“Only if we’re called ‘Killer Tickler and Friends’.”
“That name is fine with me! William, please?”
“Fine, I’m in. You playing bass for us blue lips?”
“The name is Mike, and, can I?”
“Go ahead. Band manager wasn’t something I thought I’d walk into today, figured it’d be a liquor store or a jungle gym.”
“A jungle gym? Aren’t you a bit old for that, Slappy?”
“Sarcasm isn’t your thing, is it,kid?”
“I…I guess not.”
“Let’s head back to the cheap grub, I want to hear the mind-reading crazy fingered, save the earth, push my glasses up into my skull and cut the tips off my gloves to look like a bum and tickle strangers guitarist wannabe pick up the strings that the sound butcher tried to strum music with earlier.”
I walk and they follow, my partner and the unknown band.
I have enjoyed swapping blogs with some fellow writers, and hosting some others in my blog. But I really wanted to share posts with the writer known as D.e.e.L, who goes with the Twitter handle @Deeliopunk, and who has become a dear friend to me. We mainly chat about our stories and characters, but they are always funny chats that really make me laugh out loud. If you haven't visited his blogs yet, you are missing some of the best stories I have ever read. They are absurdist and funny, and at the same time they have a deep message that makes you think about things. I really admire him as a writer, so young and so talented, so he has a very long career before him. Hats off to you, my friend!!
He writes in two different blogs. http://deeliopunk.wordpress.com
Both of them are worth of reading, and I won't ever get tired of recommending them to everybody.
When I asked him if he wanted to guest post in my blog, he asked me to write for his blog as well, and then a crazy idea came across our minds. We thought that we could make something different for our swapping blogs. We decided to think of 2 characters each and 3 plot points each, and then combine them, so we got 4 characters and 6 plot points. We agreed in writing a short story using those characters and plot points, and see how different our stories could be by using the same prompts.
So today we are introducing to you our resulting stories. Same characters, same plot points, completely different stories. You can find my story in his WordPress blog. And now I leave you to enjoy this treat, a brand new short story by D.e.e.L. Enjoy and show some love for him in comment form!!!
A Groovy Cool Adventure - Unknown Band
“How much? Alright, receipt in the bag please.”
This again, walking these streets alone. There exists nothing in my life but a few memories and a small car of broken dreams. My name is McDeen, Slappy McDeen.
“Nice make-up loser!”
Ha, poor kid, he doesn’t even know me, he doesn’t even know why I still wear my clown make-up on my face, still wear it…even though it haunts me. This place looks decent enough.
“Hello…welcome to Fredd’s Den, where your dreams come true and all drinks get free re-fills. I’ll be your server tonight, my name is Mike. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“How often you rehearse that, kid? I feel like I just watched a middle-school play of ‘The Depressed Waiter’.”
“Ha, good one, Sir. Now what may I start you off with?”
“I’ll take a smile and a glass of your lemonade, no concentrate; if you don’t have real lemonade then I want you to squeeze the lemons yourself.”
“Sounds great, Sir. I’ll be right back with that.”
“AND I’LL HAVE THE GRILLED CHICKEN SALAD! THANK YOU FOR ASKING!”
This place gives me a bad vibe, like something is going to happen that is going to lead me to head out without even taking a sip of that lemon squeeze. At least I have this with me; I’ll take a quick swig before pouring a few shots in my lemonade.
“And I will alwaaaaays be theeeeeere fooor yoooou, beeeecaaaause weeee belooooong togeeeether..”
“That’s Janine, she’s here all the time, singing, it just adds to the headache I get from this place. Here’s your lemonade, Sir. I’ll be back with your salad. What kind of dressing?”
“Just olive oil, please. Can I throw something at her?”
“Do it after your salad, they make them pretty good here.”
“Hm, I’ll take your word for it.”
Nice kid, sucks he has to be trapped here, working the meticulous, while others are out there living dreams, pushing people over, trampling on the desires of others to get what they want. This kid, spends his time giving faint desires over to people in exchange for below minimum wage per hour and a worthless tip from each of the poor saps that walk through these doors. I can see why his rehearsed lines lacked enthusiasm, he doesn’t care for this place, he wants something bigger, he has a dream he’s hiding from.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaand my dreeeeeeeaaaaams ooooonly consiiiiiiiist of yoooooour looooooooooove!!!”
I hate this place now.
“Here’s your salad, Sir. Sorry about the wait.”
“Take a seat, kid.”
“I have other customers, I can’t really do that.”
“The tip will be good; I just want to hear some of your vocals about life. Just take a seat, please.”
“Alright, but if a manager comes over…”
“I’ll tell them to back off or I’ll spray them in the face with seltzer water.”
“Nice. So, what’s this about?”
“Why do you work here?”
“I need a job.”
“Why this job?”
“The pay is decent and the schedule works for me.”
“I said shut up, you’re pathetic. What is it you really want to do with yourself?”
“Well, this is going to sound silly…”
“You’re looking at a private investigator wearing clown make-up, trust me…I won’t laugh.”
“You’re a P.I?”
“What’s it to you?”
“That’s what I truly want to be; to help people in need, to be there when they call for help.”
“Trust me, nobody calls, and everyone needs help.”
“Well said, I guess. So what’s your story? Why the make-up?”
“Used to be a clown, gave it up.”
“I don’t like to talk about it, lost my parents; it was terrible, absolutely mind numbing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”
“Stop calling me that, my name is Slappy.”
“Don’t question me, kid.”
“My name is Mike.”
“You’re name is Kid.”
“I’m thirty years old…”
“My point exactly, thirty years old and working the job of a teenager.”
“Hey! A job is a job, man!”
“Then is a dream just a dream? Thanks for the food. Keep the change.”
He stares down at the fifty dollar bill as I walk towards the door, he stares down and contemplates his reality, or at least I hope that is what he is doing.
“AAAAAAAND THE WOOOOOOOOOORLD NEEEEEEEEDS OOOOOOUUUR LOOOOOOOOVE!!”
“What?! Is…is it really you?”
“Janine, why are you singing like that?”
“You’re better than this, Janine. At least…you were.”
“William, I haven’t seen you since you ran away! Oh my goodness, William!”
I turn around to see the lousy singer go up and hug some teenager that looks the same age as her, both look as if old enough to fail a driver’s test.
“Janine, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Hollywood?”
“I saw on the news that you had run away, I came back here to find you…that was two years ago…I’ve lost all my hopes, William, I come here to sing, but I don’t give it my all anymore, I just, I’ve been missing you, okay?!”
“I’m here, I’ve been…finding myself, been working on my poetry, practicing my guitar…”
“You play guitar now? That’s wonderful! We can finally chase my dream together!”
“You want to jam out here? See what it’s like to play together?”
“That sounds delightful!”
I grab a seat. I want to see how this plays out.
“This won’t end well.”
“I agree with you, kid. Curiosity has taken over though.”
The two walk up onto the meager stage of the cheap restaurant. The boy plugs his guitar into the amp, the girl keeps smiling at him, she is about to vomit out loud words again.
“I HAAAAAAVE FOOOOOOOOUUUND MY LOOOOOOOVE FROOOM MY PAAAAAAA AAAAAA AA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAST, AAAAAND I HAAAAAAVE BEEEEEN TRAAAAANSFOOOOOORMED IIINTOOOOO AAAANN INSPIIIRAAAATIOOOON TOOOOO YOOOOOU AAAAALLL!”
“Who is all? Sure aint me.”
“I’m with you on that, Slappy.”
“And is that boy playing the guitar or does he have some animal trapped inside that he is torturing somehow every time he plucks a string?”
“Musicians, they all think they’re talented.”
“Same applies for writers.”
“Yea, and painters.”
“Hey, why’d they stop?”
“I don’t know, he’s whispering something to her.”
“Hey! Hey clown!”
“I think he’s talking to you…”
“I heard. What do you want?!”
“I hate clowns! I think they’re stupid!”
“Well I hate terrible musicians and tone deaf singers, but here I sit, listening to it all with a smile painted on my face.”
“Rinse off that make-up or I’ll rinse it off for you!”
“You want to wash my face? Come over here and do it then, you can use this rag I have here.”
I pull a rag from my coat pocket, I continue pulling it for what seems about ten minutes, everyone is staring at the huge pile of tied together rags accumulating on the floor beside me.
“You always carry that with you?”
“I have to, kid. It’s a part of me.”
“Get out or make a balloon animal for Janine!”
“I…I can’t do that…”
“You’re a horrible clown! What kind of clown doesn’t know how to make balloon animals?!”
“I know how…I just can’t.”
“William, stop. You’re making him cry.”
“He insults our talents and can’t even respond to a simple request for a balloon animal when he’s dressed like a clown!”
“Maybe he never learned…”
“I learned! I know how! I just can’t okay? Now both of you get off stage so the house can play its own music that doesn’t sound of dying rats!”
“She wants a giraffe…make her one…”
“If I make anything it’s going to be a check made out for the cost of the chair I used to break across your smug face.”
“Hmmf…you can’t make balloon animals, just admit it, admit it and we’ll get off stage!”
“I can! I just can’t! My parents were killed by balloon animals! My dad, he created a machine, a machine to bring balloon animals to life, he said it would make them more enjoyable for kids, create the animal they wanted, bring it to life, sounded like such a wonderful idea…at first. He spent countless months in the basement trying to perfect his idea, make the animal, bring it to life, they were such joyful creatures…until…they began to deflate, they hated deflating, made them miserable, the ones he kept unpopped he left in the basement, tried to think of a way to make them happy again. While he spent days away from his work, the work spent days thinking of ways to get back at him, they made their own machine…turned both my parents into balloons…now they’re deflated. I became a clown to honor my Dad’s passion for creating happiness in the eyes of all, though it is not my dream…so I chased my own, but keep the make-up on as a reminder of my past, that I am not truly happy, that dreams can just simply deflate.”
“She wants a giraffe!”
“Here’s the check…”
“Slappy, I wouldn’t do that if…”
“There are a lot of bad people in this world boy, don’t piss off the good ones.”
“Here’s some money young lady, get some singing lessons. Tell this kid to jump on the internet and watch someone play guitar before he even thinks about touching one again.”
“Slappy, where are you going?”
“Where the action is, grab your coat, you’re coming with me, kid.”
“But, I’m on the clock.”
“You just quit.”
He smiles and runs over to grab his coat. We both exit the restaurant after having just helped two people that didn’t even call.
About one month ago I was honoured by a request to swap blogs. I say honoured because the request or invitation came from Scott Bury, no less. I met Scott Bury in Twitter, following the recommendation of some good fellow writers, and I discovered that Scott is a person that can be very helpful for all those people who, just like me, want to become good writers. He offers tips and advice about the better way to become a good writer. His blog Written Words
is one of my favourite ones, and I visit at least once a week to read good stuff about writing. His book The Bones of the Earth is in my Kindle, waiting for its turn to be read, and I have to say that I am impatient for its turn to come. The book has many good reviews, so I am quite looking forward to read it.
I wrote for him a post in which I talk about the good and bad things that I do as a writer. You can read it in his blog, mentioned above. In exchange, he sent me a wonderful post about a very important question, a question that not many people know how to answer, or a question that not many people has even considered. Thank you, Scott, for becoming part of my blog experience. Without more preambles, enjoy this excellent post by great author Scott Bury.
What is a writer?
I began enjoying Cinta García
’s blog about a month ago, after I was alerted to it by her Twitter feed and some praise from other writers. Eventually, I invited her to swap guest blog posts with me. I asked her “what are the best thing and the worst thing you’ve done as a writer?” And in response to her question, I’m describing what I think it means to be a writer.
It’s simple. A writer is someone who writes. Cinta, I think, realized that as she was writing her guest post for my blog. She says she never thought of herself as a writer, even though she writes a blog and some very funny absurdist stories, suitable for children or other people with a sense of humour. Now, however, she understands: if you want to call yourself a writer, you have to write.
She’s not the only one to say so: Chuck Wendig of the Terrible Minds blog quite brutally states there’s no such thing as an “aspiring writer.” Writers write. If you don’t write, you’re not a writer.
To me, it doesn’t matter whether someone else publishes your words. It doesn’t matter if you write fiction or journalism or history or self-help. And it doesn’t matter whether you get paid for it or not. If you write down words and somehow, someone else can read them, you are a writer.
There are many writers who are not recognized by the traditional, legacy publishers—not just the “Big 6,” but also hundreds of smaller and mid-sized businesses who are chasing that vanishing profit margin in print books. But I recognize the talent of writers like RS Guthrie, Alan McDermott, Kathy Lynn Hall, Bert Carson, Jo VonBargen, James Wallace Birch, David Mark Brown, Russell Blake, David Mark Brown, Andy Holloman, Will Granger ... and Cinta Garcí
a. There are far too many to list.
While some betray varying degrees of skill and command of English grammar and rules, they all have the talent to tell stories and keep an audience’s attention. They’ve all imposed the self-discipline to craft a story, essay, report, poem or novel. What’s more, they’ve all taken the brave step of bringing it out to the world, and are willing to take the criticism, invective, lunacy and occasionally praise that will come their way as a result. In fact, they ask for it.
All writers do. It’s just part of the job.
Somehow, I have fallen within the attention circle (if I can coin a term) of this group. I can’t tell you how proud and inspired I feel when I find my name or my blog mentioned by one of these people. Why?
To answer Cinta’s question: why do I write? Like her, I need to.
I have been a professional writer for close to 30 years now. I recently published my first novel, The Bones of the Earth, but it’s far from being the first fiction I ever wrote. And I’ve been blogging at Written Words
for years (although I admit that I’ve only gotten around to blogging regularly in the past 10 or 12 months).
Why do I write fiction? Because I want to tell stories that have not been written before. Sure, the themes are universal: boy meets girl, kill the king, fish out of water revenge, you know the rest. But I like to think that my fiction tells these stories in new combinations and new ways that have not been written before.
Do I succeed? I’ve succeeded in putting a novel together. I’ve succeeded in the mechanical part of publishing it in e-book form, and my proof should be arriving from CreateSpace soon.
I’ve also published some shorter material, and succeeded in the mechanics of e-publishing, too.
And I’ve succeeded to the extent that that few people who have read these works so far tell me they like them. I have not heard or read any negative reviews, yet. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough.
The thing that makes me most feel successful about my writing happens when a reader shows me that they really get the story, so when a reader mentions my main character’s social awkwardness or the historical aspects of the story, I feel great.
I doubt that I’ll ever get rich from my stories, but the stories, themselves, are the real reason I write.