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

Wandering the Platform

First visit here in a while.
The Blog - 'tis a curious place.
He writes to alert The Others to the fact that he writes.
Just not this.
Some other stuff you cain't look at.
Nuh-uh, not unless someone coughs up a buck for it, so's he can try'n get you to cough up a dime for it.

Y'know, I'd like to give it away.
But I don't because I know I might be able to squeeze a buck outta someone who knows how to squeeze a dime outta you.

But if you wanna be shakin' people down for their lunch money, you gotta have a platform.
I have read one article that said the the platform was unnecessary. That's NOT one of one and one of the other. There seems to be a consensus. While I was napping, everyone else ran down the Woolworth and got one.

A consensus.

And a Platform.

shit.

I'll be honest. I don't wanna platform. But everything I read (except one) says: "THOU SHALT PLATFORM!"

And, oddly, I enjoy my platform, such as it is. This Blog. Instagram. Facebook.
To a lesser extent, Twitter and Tumblr.

I like creating content for them. This questionable post is bringing me some 2am joy. I like the sound of the keys. I like the opportunity to share and interact.

I write because I like to. I don't write because I want to share. I like to read maybe even more than I like to write. I like to write stuff I would like to read. Sometimes, I even like reading something I wrote.

But every minute here, or applying filters and hashtags on Instagram, or likefishing on Facebook is a minute I'm not focused on what I really want to do.

I want to tell stories. And I want to you to read them. I don't necessarily want you to like them but I do want to uncover something to ponder, even if it you just end up wondering how I've managed to remember to breathe all these years. By the way, when it gets tough, I just say to myself: "In. Out. In. Out." Eventually, it becomes habit again.

But as a father and husband working full time, there aren't always hours or minutes where I have the energy to focus on these things. I admit that I am a lazy, procrastinating daydreamer and that as often as not, I simply fritter away the hour or minute I had. When the FDA approves UnLazy and NoProc, I will at least take them for a test drive.

Unless diarrhea is a side effect. If diarrhea is a side effect, I will wait until my children are independent and I'll see if cocaine or speed are as helpful as their promoters say.

I'm not sure how it all helps. Will someone read my story and then visit my blog and say, "Oh look! This one is borderline incoherent on Tuesdays! That really informs this schlocky horror story about a possessed radio!"

Am I proving my commitment here? Will I be overlooked if I appear only to be writing stories that I want to sell? Am I proving my politics? Will I be skipped over (or worse yet, selected) because of my politics?

As I said, I enjoy this.

Platform.

But it makes me anxious. Right now there is a reclusive writer I'm neglecting. He needs a spell-check and a Bowie knife. But I'm over here because I'm afraid no one will ever meet him if I don't have some manner of platform.

It's a bit of a catch-22, wouldn't you say?

Portrait of the artist as a lazy old man.