Japanned

Hello again!

It was supposed to be my turn to post something here at the Scribblerati blog on Friday, but it completely slipped my mind. Super disappointing, I know. My apologies. The good news is, the only reason it slipped my mind is because of my currently very full writing schedule.

For example:

1. Our next meeting is on Tuesday, so I need to finish my critique of Shawn's current WIP.

2. I'm continuing to work on my own WIP. It's an on-going process, but I'm pretty happy with it. In fact, it's coming pretty easy at the moment, at least for the next few chapters... there's a hazy part ahead, but... well, whatever, like I said: I'm continuing to work on it. I'm hoping to have a finished draft by...Mmmm... September-ish? Maybe October is a safer guess. Either way, it continues.

3. However, I've been most distracted recently by my own blog. My wife and I went to Japan last month, and I took notes. Now I'm chronicling those adventures day by day. Swing over and take a look, it's all gathered under the tag: "Japanned" to make it easy to find.

So that's where I'm at right now. Busy, busy, busy. I hope you're all still writing out there.

Later, kids,

Jon

Getting back to it

Recently I broke my computer.

This is not to be confused with the time my computer died. That time was the laptop's fault. It was old and slow and not meant for this world anymore. But this time? This time it was my fault. I went to open the cover and instead of doing that, I just kind of pushed it off the table. Luckily, I had paid for Tech Support previously and the various replacement doo-dads and what-nots were not too expensive. Plus, it turns out I really am blessed with wisdom of the very Gods, because I had thought to put my Microsoft Office download code in an obvious place, the first place I looked even. I barely had to tear up the attic. I hardly swore up a blue streak at all. In the end, it wasn't too much hassle. I took the whole experience as a Teaching Moment: Don't push your computer onto the floor. You might want to write that down.

Or, maybe that's obvious to you.

Anyway, the crisis has been averted, we got greens across the board, people. We're in the pipe, 5 by 5. The laptop is fixed. But you know how it goes, right? You think you've handled one problem, only to find yourself facing another...

I was working on a story when my computer took the Big Leap. A novel, maybe. A book, possibly. A story. My Work in Progress. I was in the middle of it, trucking along and then... boom... break time. It's hard to get back into things when that happens, as they sometimes do. So what do you do?

What am I doing?

Jon's Handy-Dandy Suggestions for getting back into your shit, yo

I've talked about stuff like this before...

1. Start from the beginning

Every time I sit down to do some work on whatever story I'm working on, I usually start off by re-reading/editing the last part I worked on. It's kind of like warming up the engines and taxing down the runway. Doing this helps me get back into the rhythm of the piece. It helps me to re-ground myself in the work. Where am I? What am I doing? What's the next step? I find that it's all much easier once you get the juices flowing. this is a good habit to get into, I think. It not only helps to maintain a consistent direction, but it can also alert you to the fact that you might need to adjust that direct. Story-awareness, my friends. Story awareness.

2. Work on a side project

Sometimes it helps to step away for awhile. Some people suggest doing chores or something like that, but... yeah, fuck that. Chores... pphhbbtt. Whatever. Anyway, I suggest working on other projects. You have other projects, right? Things on the back-burner, maybe some other stories in various states of readiness, yeah? During my forced break I was not only pondering my current WIP, but two others I have in limbo. The one upside to my unplanned writing hiatus was the hatching of a couple of ideas. I thought I would jot those down quick before getting back to the heavy-lifting that is the current WIP. Think of it like stretching before a workout. Of course, this can be a tricky thing. You want to be careful you don't get sucked so far into a new project that you end up abandoning your old one. You'll never get anything done that way, so stay vigilant, friends.

3. Blog

Okay, maybe the temptation of those shiny new and unblemished story ideas is too much, especially when compared to your more worn and lived-in WIP. Maybe you don't think you're strong enough. That is understandable. If this is you, then I suggest other types of writing to warm-up with. Blogging is the amuse-bouche of the creative process after all, so indulge. Talk about your Writing Process. Write some flash fiction or a book review, gush about your favorite TV show, fill out a survey, or maybe recommend some comics... sometimes several comics. Be a smart ass. Whatever. It doesn't matter. In the end, the only thing that does is that you shut up and write.

And that's the most important take-away from this bit of nonsense, kids: Shut up and write.

At least, that's what I plan on doing...

Until next time,

Jon

Scribblerati Flash Fiction

This week I thought we'd try something new.

Writing a novel on your own isn't easy during the best of times. The real world can often work against you, making each page an uphill slog, facing down giants and monsters. I recently started a new job. This new time requirement has severely interrupted my writing schedule, my current WIP's fight for the high ground has slowed to a crawl. As writers, I'm sure this sounds familiar to you, it's an issue we all face, we fellow part-time writers still shackled to our day jobs. It's definitely something I've had to deal with before, and I've found the best thing to do, at least at first, is to just focus on the new job. Don't worry about the work. Go. Settle in. Establish your new schedule. Learn the ropes. After a week or two, you can come back, sit down, pick up your work, and start slaying those giants again.

Granted, sometimes this can be a whole new issue...

You must be worthy...

To combat this, I've decided on a new schedule, a somewhat flexible two hour block of writing each day, some dedicated time to sit down and work on something. Y'know... to ease back into it. It's a new thing. It's only been in place for a week or so, and to be honest it's only been mildly successful so far, hence the inclusion of the word "flexible", but I'm working on being better about it. An important facet is there's no pressure, just continual effort. Butts in seats, people. Butts. In. Seats. Focus on that. That's important. The rest will come.

Working on some side-writing is one thing that can help get you back into the fight. Blogging, for instance. Short stories, maybe. Or maybe, if you don't want to veer too far from your WIP, how about Flash Fiction? Flash Fiction is a style of extreme brevity, 300 to 1000 words. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Let's try it out, shall we?

I posted a picture below. I found it on-line, I'm not sure where it came from, so if it's yours, let me know. Otherwise, for the rest of you... Click on it. What do you see? Write it down, and if you're so inclined, post it in the comment section. It'll be fun. Just keep in mind: 300 to 1000 words only. Also, I recommend that you write your own story first, before you read mine, just to see how close--or how far apart--our worlds turn out to be...

Ready?

Womb World

by Jonathan Hansen

Harrison Holliday leaned on the chromed railing, listening to the soft clink of ice in his drink and the distant groaning dirge of nascent worlds ripening on the vine.

The great marshland steppes of the World Garden stretched to the horizon. From high atop the lustrous ivory needle of the Sales Tower, cool breeze tickling at his face, Harrison could see dozens of young planets. They rose above the clouds, slowly coalescing, swaying on thick green stalks as wide as a city. He watched oceans of water sluice from them, land masses heaving, cracking and rumbling, crashing together, thundering, booming echoes.

A sound from long ago, from the days of his bone thin youth, days of panting in the stagnant heat, the damp-cotton-thick humidity, knee-deep in squelching muck. Whenever the Overseers and their spark-sticks and the choking diesel smoke of the Weeders were across the fields, in those moments he would pause and look up into the azure sky. The other Sprayers would trudge on, bent under their sloshing canisters of Pesticide, eyes down and hunting for the small green shoots poking from the mud, but he would look up, the huge sphere of a growing nu-world looming overhead, and watch the brilliant white flights of marsh birds wheeling out of the sun’s glare, swooping among the vines, soaring on slow wings.

He would watch them fly away, a molten brand of longing twisting in his guts.

His eyes fell on the Work Camps, the sprawl of muddy hovels clinging like a rotten fungal shelf to the Garden’s edge, to a land of upheaval, shattered by giant arcs of twisted roots. He tossed back his drink, amber fire burning down his throat, and looked up into that same azure sky, seeing a far off gleam floating in low orbit high above.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

He turned. A smiling young woman waited. He recognized her model. Beautiful in a pre-packaged way, precision styled, bred in the Customer Service Vats to be preternaturally personable. Sales. Lens embedded in the center of her pale blue eyes whirred and focused.

 “Words can’t describe,” he said.

“Mr. Holliday,” she extended a slim fingered hand. He shook, feeling warm skin that must have cost a fortune. “How can we be of service today?”

Harrison glanced past her, eyes skipping over the man standing on the other side of the Observation Deck. Big and built, powerful, an aggressive, military grade model, with a neck like a bull and a face like it was cut from granite. There was probably a titanium chassis under his skin and a wolf’s lust for blood programmed into his brain. His black suit hung on him like a Butcher’s Apron. The man didn’t move. He just stared.

Harrison turned back, a friendly smile. “I need to buy a planet.”

“Well, you have come to the right place, Mr. Holliday.” She linked his arm in hers and turned him back toward the slow creaking sway of the World Garden. “Voluspa Origins Industries is the leading producer of Nu-worlds,” she said. “With our patented Hephaestus Forge Engine, we now have over 6 dozen spinning in four different star systems. Building Universes for future Worlds,” she chirped proudly. “Now, if you’ll let me know what you’re looking for, I can help choose a world best suited to your needs.”

A quick wafting puff of perfume.

Subtle tendrils of lilacs, lilting, soft as kisses.

He inhaled, felt it drag down into his lungs, felt it wrap his brain. Intoxicating, stupefying. She smiled, dazzling white. Harrison bit down hard, splitting the capsule hidden under his tongue. A wash of icy cold clarity poured over him.

He blinked and grunted, suddenly wide awake. “Colonization,” he clarified.

Her perfectly arched brows drew together, confused, examining him, lens re-focusing. “Artificial?” she asked, probing.

“Human. Nu-worlds. New possibilities. Right?” He said, “Just like the commercial.”

“Human colonization?” An indulgent look, “The paperwork for an M-class is no small matter, Mr. Holliday, approvals, regulations, controls, corporate licensing,” she said, “not to mention the price...”

“We’re solvent,” He held out an open palm, lines of data hanging in mid-air, sparking like chain lightning between his fingers, “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”

Doubtful, but compliant and Sale-hungry, she reached out; a single fingertip touched his own.

It was like a spark of static electricity, a harpoon spike of data thrown across a vast gulf in that instant of contact. She froze, mouth half-open. He gripped her hand, held her steady, one eye on the Security Bull across the Deck. She twitched as her programming was flayed. The virus was like a squirt of crimson into clear water, staining, infecting, and then leaping across her uplink. She jerked and snapped, eyes rolling white, falling in a heap to the teakwood deck. The Security Drone took a single step, hand inside his black coat, and then he crumpled too.

For a moment, Harrsion Holliday let the cool wind ruffle his hair, listening to the distant creak and boom. The Program pinged as it ravaged the security net, once, twice, all clear. Far below in the bowels of the tower’s command center, he imagined chaos, while out on the vast marshland steppes, he knew the Gardeners were just now noticing, turning in the swampy, fly-swarmed dank as the Overseers dropped and the big chugging bulk of the Weeders rolled to a stop.

He opened his commlink.

“Packaged delivered. Door’s open.”

High above, he saw the distant low orbit gleam respond to his signal, blooming little bursts of orange fire. Tiny shapes darted away, the silver glints of fast attack ships turning toward the surface in a wide arc, engines screaming as they burned through the atmosphere.

Out in the Garden, the Harvest Charges thundered and flashed, the virus igniting them. The stalks splintered and groaned and the nu-worlds broke free.

All the way out to the horizon, he saw Nu-worlds start to rise, half-crumpled balloons, too young, too soon. They cracked and crumbled and broke apart in the freezing vacuum of space.

“Nu-worlds. New beginnings,” he said to the sound of far off cheers.

The End

All right, that's mine. How about you?

Back in the Saddle

My laptop died recently...

It was a real tragedy.

The loss of my old laptop decimated my work output. Yes, I could hook it up to my big, honkin' TV, but the angle was all weird and cricked my neck, the desk was too low and the chair was too high. It was uncomfortable and hard to really sink into the work. Sure, sure, I occasionally managed to pull off the odd brain-melting 3600 word day, but that was usually more akin to a non-drinker suddenly going out on a raging bender, rather than someone who's spending a regular evening having drinks with friends--I paid for it the next day.

I've never considered myself one of those types of "writers", the type that can't get anything done unless they have the absolute perfect writing area set-up with the perfect music and the perfect temperature in the perfect spot with the perfect level of noise. I've always considered that kind of stuff nonsense, nothing but ready made excuses for the non-writing writer set. I believe this because I hold to the idea that if you really want to be a writer, then you will write. I realize it can be tough to make the time sometimes, but... that's the rub, right? If you want to write, you will find the time to right. Granted, I have always been lucky enough to be able to work just about anywhere, at least, as long as I had reasonable access to my WIP, and I guess I can still say I can work just about anywhere really, but sitting on that too-soft ottomon with my head tilted too far back? It was a mile too far for me. I couldn't do it. My writing time suffered.

But then my new laptop finally arrived...

Yeah... We happy...

Except for Windows 8. What a crapfest, amirite? 

Other than that, it's good to be back and--after a bit of wrangling and wrestling with Windows 8--all set up. But here now, I am faced with a new question: How do I get started up again? Interrupting your schedule and/or routine or having your schedule and/or routine interrupted is a tough thing for a writer. Too much time away from The Work makes it harder and harder to sit down again and get back to things. It's hard to re-capture that rhythm and really dig in again in a really productive way.

So what do you do? What will Ido?

1. Schedule
You have to make time. Make time to settle in. Make time to stare at the screen. You need to force yourself to get back in front of the keyboard, so schedule some time to do it. Plan on it and stick to it. Make sure it happens. Sounds simple, right? Well, in that case, stop making excuses, sit down, shut up, and get back to work.

2. Backtrack
I find it easier to get to work on a normal day, if I spend a little time when I first sit back down going back over the latest stuff from the last writing session. It's kind of like warming up the engines, y'know? Like ramping the power levels back up into the green. It's hard to dive in cold, so instead, take some time, read through a bit of your most recent stuff and maybe fix what will most likely be a plethora of somehow now appallingly apparent mistakes. But it all looked so good the night before...

3. Take off the brakes
The flipside to taking some time each day to backtrack over your most recently completed stuff is that you can't spend too much time there. You don't want to get stuck in that mud, spinning your wheels, covering and recovering the same ground over and over again. Do that and suddenly you're that kid in the Critique Class bringing the same 100 pages to be reviewed that you brought ten years ago. Push, Sisyphus, push! At a certain point, you have to stop looking back and start looking ahead. You have to dive back in and just get started writing. Once you push your giant boulder to the top of that hill, take off the breaks and just go for it. You can always come back later. Keep that in mind: Just start writing. You can always come back later.

4. Consider
But before you do all that other stuff, take a moment or two, or a day, maybe just a little time while washing the dishes, whatever... Take some time and think about your story. Where's it going? Where do you want it to go? Where did it start? Is that the right place? And... if you were going to change something, what would it be? A scene? A character? A chapter? The beginning? The middle? The end? The whole thing? Could you delete it all and start over? Do you dare?

We'll see...

Get to writing,

Jon

What is best in life?

So true, so very, very true. But he forgot a part y'know. It's true. Do you know what's really best in life, or maybe more accurately, do you know what is ALSO best in life?

A day of writing.

That's what I'm doing this weekend. I have to mow tomorrow and I may have to do some grocery shopping at some point too. Plus, I am definitely going to see the Avengers again tonight. (Wait, what? You haven't seen the Avengers yet? What the HELL is wrong with you, man? Go. Go on... Go! Ugh!... some people...) Anyways, that's my plans for this particular weekend, a couple of errands, nothing else, nothing....

Except for writing.

You see, a couple of weeks ago, I took up a new six month position at the Salt Mines. They were having a lot of turn-over lately due to a recent (and quite frankly somewhat excessive--I'm looking at you, Head Overseer Mungo) rate of slave deaths, coupled with the openings of several new mines, so now my days have been starting early and running long once again.

These days, I get up with the sun, pack in with all the mewling, stinking dregs of humanity all jammed in tight into their cattle car, and I spend my days writing down the general process of drudgery and shame that makes up daily life here at the Salt Mines, and all in order to ensure that the other business casual day-slaves are clear on what exactly is expected of them and how exactly they are to go about doing it.

It's really not that bad, to be honest, at least as far as Salt Mine slave positions go. It's a lot of: Mine the salt. Load the Salt. Lug the salt out of the mine for your masters. Be quick about it, or we'll whip the crap out of you. Repeat until you die.

For this I get nearly $0.15 an hour and a hole to piss in, too! Ha! I swear, it is just like Christmas. The downside, of course, is that my writing schedule has been thrown off.

Maybe "thrown off" isn't quite the right term. Derailed. That's a good way to put it. In fact, in the past two weeks, I haven't written at all. It is frustrating, to say the least.

(sad face...)

This weekend though, oh, this weekend! This weekend, I get back on track. This weekend, I remember what is good in life and I make myself a little time to get some writing done. In fact, I'm gonna get started right now!

You should try it. Make some time to work on your writing. I feel better already.

Thank you, Conan!

Jon

Cutting Characters

A poem by Austin Kleon, author of Newspaper Blackout. (The text reads: so/they look/as they did when I was 10/the Old King/and his queen/ my parents/ The size of/Egyptian/ sculptures, all/ Secrets/ that/ I didn't know)

And a nice image for my past month of editing.

I've just finished cutting five characters out of Once We Were Bears in an attempt to fix a problem that had been worrying at me and that my beta-reader confirmed: many people die after the middle section, making that one and the third feel disconnected. I'm pretty sure the character-cutting hasn't solved this; any future reader may very well still feel as though characters they spent time with are just dropped. It's just that now there are are fewer named characters for whom that will be the case.

So the problem's not solved. BUT, making these cuts did shorten the middle section considerably. I'm now at about 92,000 words (down from the all-time high of about 130,000). That feels good, as I'm now closer to the upper range for a middle-grade novel.

What was interesting to me in the process of making these cuts were first, it was actually very easy to excise these characters. It always takes a long time for me to get through the whole (because I read it aloud as I edit), but I didn't have to substantially change that much. Which says to me that these characters may not have been all that central to the story in the first place. And second, I was never really in love with these folks. Mostly because I felt like I'd never really nailed down their names. There's something that happens when I've got the right name for a character. Only then do I have the character. And I just didn't have these five. So, tho' I may not have fixed the big, bad, I think the novel is more trim and fit in its present state.

RIP, Lexie, Alex, Zander. Sleep well, Mikey and Rebekah. If I find your true names in dream, I'll write you anew.

Living a Writing Life

“I'm either going to be a writer or a bum.” ~ Carl Sandburg

(Image: me trying to decide to write or not to write)

I recall reading an anecdote about a mill worker who dies and his family discovers a hidden book of poetry under his mattress. They wonder: Was he a millworker who wrote poetry? Or was he a poet who worked at a mill?

I feel like that sometimes. No. Not like a millworker or poet, but like a person who is leading a double or triple or maybe quadruple life.

I’m an IT manager, a father/brother/son/husband/friend and writer. Many times the thing I’d like to be emphasizing and focusing on is being THE WRITER, but often he has to take a backseat to all the other stuff going on that makes up plain old life.

In thinking back on this year I couldn’t help but wonder—have I been doing a good job of keeping up on the writing side of my life?

In 2011 some of the ways I expressed my writer-side:

§ Wrote, edited and revised a lot. Results: 3 completed short stories, two novel draft revisions (Blackheart) and more scenes and material for use with my current projects and other projects down the road.

§ Entered two writing contests (one of which was a bust, the other I won’t know until February if I did well or not)

§ Took a “Book in a Month” class (April) at the Loft where I made more progress on my 2^nd novel, Sunlight. (And no, I didn’t complete a book in a month… but I wrote many more pages than I might have otherwise.)

§ Went to two writing conferences, one at UW Madison in April and another at the Loft in November (I enjoyed the Madison workshops more, but the networking was better at the Loft). One highlight at the Loft conference was past instructors making a point to seek me out and ask: “How’s Blackheart?”

§ Did an in-person “pitch” of my book Blackheart to two different agents. One asked to see more (which I sent out but have never heard a word back on) and the other gave me a reference to an agent friend who I will be looking up next year.

§ Went to two book events/readings where I got to listen to some authors I enjoy read their work and talk a little about how they live their writing lives (Neil Gaiman and Chuck Palahniuk). I even got to sing with Neil Gaiman at the Fitz (well, it was an audience sing along.)

§ Attended my first Sci Fi convention in St. Paul (Diversicon in July) and sat in as part of a panel with the rest of the Scribbleratti. To say the least we were strange bedfellows—but there were more people in our “audience” than in our panel—so I was happy.

§ Did some research for my next novel, including

o A police ride along including my very own encounter with a “vampire”

o A trip to Duluth, MN on a very sunny fall weekend (both the location and the time of year where one of the scenes in my book Sunlight takes place)

§ Took part monthly in critiquing and being critiqued as a member of the “Scribblerati” writing group and blogged monthly (hey, you’re reading our blog now)

§ Wrote 202 times out of 365 days in 2011. I’d always like this number to be higher. Some days that writing might have been a quality paragraph that made it to the page. Other days it was anywhere from 2 to 11 hours at the writing desk with lots of completed and revised chapters. Most Monday days and Saturday mornings were dedicated to my writing craft.

So what about your writing in 2011? Anything that made you feel like more of a writer than the alternatives? I’d like to hear about it.

Goals for the year ahead

2012 is my favorite year, the Year of the Dragon, and I hope to keep on writing like a mad man. My writing group is currently giving me feedback on the latest version of Blackheart. Once all the feedback is in I’ll let it sit for a month or so and then clean my manuscript up and then start looking for an agent. I plan to finish the last half of Sunlight in the spring. I know I’ve got another short story or two in me. My work schedule is changing a bit, so my best writing times will be Monday, Friday and Saturday mornings. Mostly I’m going to keep on writing in the spare moments, as I am able.

Wishing you lots of great writing in the year ahead.

Mark