By Way of Reintroduction

 SOo ...

Its been what? Three years since I dropped by here? 

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Why, you may ask, has it been so long?

Simple: I grew disenchanted and depressed by my work as a writer. I joined a writer's workshop in hopes that I would be able to hone my novel, Darkle, into something that might catch an agent's eye and thus find a place that would print it on paper for all to read. The workshop was populated with know-it-all do-nothings. A dozen people would arrive every Saturday morning, with no writing of their own, ready to give everything they laid eyes on the Simon Cowell treatment. 

The organizer/de facto leader of the group seemed to have founded it specifically to acquire captive readers for his pedophilic, rapey, misogynistic techno-porno, pseudo-enlightened opus. He claimed it existed in multiple, multi-thousand page volumes that have been in continual revision for twenty years. 

His inability to write, coupled with a strong desire to crush other writer's dreams caused the group to violently dissolve before a year passed. 

Nobody in the group was a reader of horror, thus nobody in the group really had a coherent perspective on my book. I received personal criticism of my character's choices, which only illuminated the fact that these people were not qualified commenters. I was even asked to take over the group after the drawing and quartering of the 5000 page wet dream. 

I said no and promptly quit writing, despairing of the process and the future of the craft itself as the more I read the more I felt like my entertainment had taken a back seat to intellectual posing and making cute references to pop bullshit.

**I've read two award-winning books this year and both bored the crap out of me. Whatever was happening is only getting worse. 

I could go on. 

I won't.

If you've made it this far, you know a little about why I walked away. Now, why'm I back? 

I was happy not writing for a long time. Not trying to squeeze a page or a paragraph in between all of life's obligations took some stress off, added some time for sleep, exercise, reading, meditation.

Then I wanted to write again - so I did. In months, I nearly doubled my lifetime output. I began submitting again and promptly sold Island Retreat to Dream of Shadows Issue 3. That was January. I have received dozens of personal rejections from dozens of very kind editors since then, but I remain frustrated in my attempt to really break into the world of paid publishing. The more I read, the more I realize I need to find the right people. I suspect the group is small. I'm certain they're you're out there. 

Find me.

Also, recently, I've made some efforts to revive my voiceover career. Part of that has been the fulfillment of a longstanding dream: Narrating fiction. You can check out some of my work at the very cool Horror Oasis. I hooked up with the oasis because I like their mission to ensure all voices are heard and because I thought I could add value with my voice skills. I'm stoked about it and hopeful this project keeps growing. 

I'm still writing. I've accepted that I'll never sell much, but I keep trying. As of this writing, I have 10 weirdos out, trying to make their way in the world. knock wood and cross fingers for me, willya?

Til next time,

@nicktionary19

I hate technology

Sometimes I just want to bitch about things.
Right now, I want to bitch about writing.
Not in general.
In particular.
There's this one story I've been plugging away at. It's good.
I mean, I'm pretty sure it's good.
Two people have read it. Neither of them unfriended me.
Sometime during the third draft, I came to the conclusion that it might be an even better gooder story if I were to convert it into a first person tale.

Still not a fan of editing.

But!!!

I am a fan of making things good and better, so I went about making some of the changes my editor recommended as well as some basic pronoun swapping and language tweaking to provide a slightly more personal touch than the original narrator. I was about two thirds of the way through 10,000 words when I opened up Ye Olde MacBook to sit down and complete the first step in the process.

Did I mention I hate the process?

I'm no M. Night Shyamalan. I'm not trying to surprise you here.

I know you know where this is going.

The changes weren't saved.

Don't even ask. I absolutely DID click the image of the antique data storage device.

Twice.

Aways twice, just in case.

I was doing so well. Ignoring the platform, reading, writing, editing . . . .

All going well.

Three stories cooked al dente, two more simmering.

I even read a novel.

But now this shit with the editing. I have been avoiding that story - so near completion - for several days. I'm here now because it keeps me from having to redo lost work.

You don't suppose it's some kind of message from the great old ones that perhaps I should just leave it be? Maybe. It sure makes me want to give up. I was so jazzed too. The Tall Man will be published very soon, which leaves a vague hint of accomplishment floating around in my failure stew.

It might help if i learned to type. 35WPM is no place for a writer to hang out.

Yet, here I sit slouch.

The lost file is crippling. Everything I want to do, I won't do because I have promised myself to first sit down and finish that pretty good story. But I can't. It infuriates and depresses me every time I open the file. That ain't no editing headspace.

So I eat.

But now we're officially out of food (unless you count onions or corn starch). Thus I have come to this time-sucking cave of barely remembered dreams of ordinary days. Just to avoid being pissed at the goddam unsaved story.

Guess it's not working.

No, wait -  this has been cathartic. Like screaming in the woods or feeding the last jiggly bit of your your nemesis to a pen of hungry pigs.

I know I'll be shoveling teeth out of here later, but I feel ready to move on.