Progress

A most happy Friday to you, my friend!

I'm nearing the end of my self-enforced hiatus from the book, and I'm looking forward to jumping back in. I'm picking it up on Monday, July 5th after giving myself a complete month off from the project. At first I thought a month wouldn't be enough - hahaha, I was SICK of it after I finished - but now I'm really looking forward to diving back in to the manuscript.

This'll be my first revision of my first manuscript, so it's all new to me. Another adventure, another step in the process to getting published. I'm still writing in the time off, although I'm not pressuring myself to produce very much. I've finished the short story I was working on, and have started a new piece. This one is a flash fiction for the convention in August.

Yep, there's a horror erotica flash fiction contest at KillerCon this year and I've already started working on my piece. You have to read your piece aloud in three minutes or less, so I want to get some practice in before I head out that way. It's a fun little challenge... erotic gore... but I'm definitely up to the task.

The short story came out well, I'm letting it sit for a few days (and taking it to my writing partner) before I come back to it. Now I want to finish this flash and move on to polishing some older stuff I have. It's time to start submitting short pieces again. I still have two out in circulation but they've been out there forever. It's time to beef up my portfolio and send out some more pages.

Hope you all have amazing, if not productive, weekends.

The Movie Dirty Dozen!

I'm participating in Alex J. Cavanaugh's Movie Dirty Dozen Blogfest today! Alex asks, "What movies have changed your life? What movies have changed you as a person? What movies are your ultimate enjoyment from start to finish? If you could only round up twelve, what movies would be your Dirty Dozen?" Here are mine, in no particular order:

Star Wars, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
Now here we go, right out of the gate, with one of the best movies in my list. Did you know I was a Star Wars nut? Oh yeah. I literally quote Han Solo's lines in my sleep (or so I've been told). This is my favorite of all the Star Wars movies. It's so important to the rest of the story - this is where Han and Leia fall in love, this is where Luke learns the real importance of the Force and how to manipulate it, this is where we meet Yoda, this is where we learn Ben can contact Luke from beyond the grave, this is where we find out so much backstory... and, of course, this is where Luke gets the end-all-be-all ultimate who's-yo-daddy mind f*ck. Amazing.

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
This is an epic climax to one of the best movie trilogies ever made. It's my favorite of the three and it doesn't disappoint. There's more than one breathtaking battle between the forces of good and evil, and the results are always satisfying. My favorite character of the LotR trilogy, Samwise, has some of the best lines in this movie - although I do love his monologue at the end of The Two Towers on perseverance and faith. This film completely immerses you in the fantastic universe of Tolkien's imagination.

Little Miss Sunshine
This is one of the best road trip movies ever made. A completely dysfunctional family comes together to take the youngest member (Olive) cross-country to California so she can participate in the Little Miss Sunshine beauty contest. In the course of their journey, they experience death, defeat, disappointment, self-doubt, anger, shame, betrayal... but at the end they realize that their love for each other is what keeps their family strong. Touching, funny, sad, and beautiful. It's a wonderful film with a great ending that will leave you smiling. If you haven't seen it yet, you should really check it out.

Where the Wild Things Are
A lot, I mean A LOT of people didn't like this movie, but I loved it. I enjoyed Spike Jonze's take on the classic tale, and I am a Wild Thing purist. (I mean, seriously. Max is probably the only thing I would ever tattoo on myself. I AM the King of the Wild Things, baby! LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!!) Yes, there are parts that are sad and scary and confusing... but isn't that what childhood is? When I went to see the movie in the theater, it changed my perception of the outside world. Walking back out into the fall sunshine, everything looked wondrous and crazy and awe-inspiring... just like I was a kid again. Now that's a good movie.

The Princess Bride
This movie, along with greats like The Goonies, TRON, and Explorers! shaped my childhood. I can still quote most of the lines of this movie (but probably not in my sleep, ha!). As Grandpa says, "...it has everything: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles..." Westley and his beautiful Buttercup love each other more than anyone in the history of the world, and their love is put to the test time and again throughout this tale. This is a story of true love and how it never dies. Pirates, swashbucklers, beautiful girls and torturous fiends are all part of this high fantasy masterpiece.

Young Frankenstein
I'm a huge fan of Mel Brooks, and this is my favorite of all his movies. It stars Gene Wilder, Teri Garr, Peter Boyle, Marty Feldman, and the amazing Cloris Leachman. There's also a cameo from Gene Hackman! The movie is filmed in black and white in a spoofy nod to all the classic black and white horror movies out there. In this movie, young Frederick Frankenstein learns he's been willed all the properties and research of his grandfather, Baron Von Frankenstein. He gets more than he bargained for when he moves to the castle in Transylvania and picks up the loose ends of his grandfather's work. This movie is a fantastic comedy!

The Breakfast Club
A brain. An athlete. A princess. A basket case. A criminal. Grouped together one cold Saturday morning at Shermer High School in Shermer, Illinois, on March 24, 1984. By the end of the day, they find out that they are each in their own way a brain, an athlete, a princess, a basket case, and a criminal. And they like it that way. I was a little young for this to have shaped my high school experience (it was released a full ten years before I graduated), but it's a movie anyone can identify with - who doesn't know what it's like to be alienated? It's a great thing when people can put their differences aside, even for a day, and recognize that we're all human.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Much like the Star Wars movies, the Indiana Jones trilogy was a huge part of my childhood. Last Crusade is my favorite of the original trilogy (let's not mention the recent fourth movie, shall we?) and the presence of Sean Connery as Henry Jones - Indy's father - is inspired. There's so much chemistry and dynamic action onscreen during this movie, it's impossible to be bored by it, even if you've watched it a dozen times. The ending is satisfying, and we learn a lot about Indiana Jones as a character in this movie - where he comes from and what really motivates him as an archaeologist, and more importantly as a person.

American Beauty
"It's a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself. Makes you wonder what else you can do that you've forgotten about." So says Lester Burnham, played by Kevin Spacey, in this beautiful tale of the last months of a man's life. Lester realizes - not a moment too late - that he's been sleeping through his life for the last two decades, and he decides to change things up so he can figure out who he is again. By the end of the movie, he's found himself... but the rest of his family is having problems dealing with who he's found. This movie won a crapload of Oscars for a reason; if you haven't seen it, please do yourself a favor and give it a try.

Donnie Darko
I am a huge fan of movies that make you go "WHAAAAAAATTT?!?!?!" and this one is perhaps the king of those films. Donnie is a troubled teen who is in counseling for his "problems" - mainly, the onset of schizophrenia. He begins having visions of someone in a strangely deformed rabbit suit - visions that tell him the world will end in less than a month. As the month progresses Donnie learns about time travel and how it can be achieved on Earth. The two concepts collide with so much force at the end of the movie, you may need an aspirin before it's all over with. Regardless, it's beautifully shot and will really make you feel something at the end. What, I can't say. I just know that it's something.


Fight Club
Mischief. Mayhem. Soap.
This movie, based on Chuck Palahniuk's book of the same title, is violent, gritty, thought-provoking, and has another one of those "WHAAAAATT?!?!" moments at the end. There's an undeniable theme of empowerment here, and it's impossible to ignore. By the end of this movie, you're asking yourself why YOU know what the hell a duvet cover is. Edward Norton and Brad Pitt star with Helena Bonham-Carter in one of the most influential movies of my generation. I really love this one.

Big Fish
This is a movie about a storyteller and the incredible life he's lived. We learn about him through his stories - all of which in one way or another are tall tales - but through everything we are able to see the good heart of the man in the center of all this amazing fantasy. It's also a story about fathers and sons, and trying to reconcile the hurts of the past and make them into something which strengthens us before time runs out. Funny and heartbreaking, magical and dreamlike, I promise this movie won't disappoint - especially to all you writers out there.


Well, there you go, guys. Hope you liked the list... if you'd like to know more about any of those movies, click on the links provided and you'll go right to their entries on the Internet Movie Database. Thanks so much to Alex for hosting this blogfest! This was a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to reading everyone's take on the challenge!

Last Mile

You know that feeling you get when you've been in the car for hours and hours, and you're about half an hour from your destination?

When you've studied your brains out, and you wake up with butterflies on exam day?

Painted a whole bedroom and have come down to just the trim?

Climbed the sand dune between you and the ocean, ignoring your protesting muscles and joints, and have nearly reached the summit - so close you can taste salt on your lips and the sound of the surf is thundering in your ears?

Dirt (the WIP) has reached its 395th page, and nearly 115,000 words...

...the monster has been revealed, evil momentarily has the upper hand, murder's been committed, kisses have been stolen, the storm has come and gone and left a wet, ominous silence punctuated only by the occasional rumble of distant thunder out past the horizon...

...the hero has gone off to slay the proverbial dragon, and we don't know yet whether he'll live or die...

...we're nearly there now, kids. Hang on now; this last part might get bumpy.

Reset Button

Hello, friends!

I've been absent from the internet for the past few days because I've been out of town. I went to the coast to celebrate a friend's upcoming marriage and we had a fantastic time. It was something I didn't know how much I needed until I was back home and thinking about how much better I felt after unplugging from everything for four days.

I've been living in my own little thundercloud for the past six weeks or so, and I didn't even realize how much the storm had consumed me until I was suddenly away from it with no way to get to a phone or the internet. Instead of the panic I was expecting, all I felt was a blessed form of relief. On the way home (a four hour drive by myself), I did a lot of thinking about my current situation - with the book, the Clark Kent job, everything. Being away from the whole scene helped me see how much I've been stressing out about everything, from word count to work duties, and how much of a toll it's taken on me. At least half of stress is perception based - you may not be able to change your stressors, but you can choose how you react to them - and I'm so grateful that I was given a chance to see that I need to change my perceptions about my daily life.

Instead of beating myself over the head with the goal of finishing the book by the end of May, I'm being a lot more kind to myself and rejoicing in how much work's been done. I know I'll finish, and probably within the time frame I've given myself - but I no longer feel as if I've failed or am in danger of failing an important task I've given to myself. The Clark Kent job does not feel like a prison sentence; it seems like a gift again. I'm refreshed and ready to finish this novel and get on to the next step in my life.

And when I got home, I saw so many lovely people have passed on my Pay it Forward giveaway on their blogs, twitter and Facebook! How incredible! You guys are an inspiration! It was amazing to see how things had progressed in the four days I was gone. Not only did more than ten people blog about the giveaway, but I also now have 121 followers! Only four more 'til the MYSTERY PRIZE is included in the booty list! (Booty list... now that was just fun to type, heh).

Are you stressing about something right now? Is it weighing down on you, or racing through your mind, keeping you from being calm? I know you might not be able to physically get away like I did this weekend, but try to mentally take a step back from that stress and see if you can take a different approach to the problem. Breathe - in through the nose for a four-count, hold it for a seven-count, let it out slowly through your mouth for an eight-count. Feel better? Need to vent? The comments section is always open.

Wake Up

I realized while I was getting ready for the Clark Kent job this morning that I forgot all about music Monday!!

Geesh! What kinda blogger am I? An off-the-cuff, disorganized, but still lovable one... well, mostly anyway. So to make up for it, I want to talk a little about one of my favorite songs by the Arcade Fire. It's called "Wake Up" and it's off their 2004 debut album Funeral. I first heard this song a few years ago, and I fell in love with it immediately - it's everything I want in a song: epic lyrics, a shifting, moving melody, and an overall uplifting sound. If you get a chance today, you should really give it a listen (click on the link above!). It's worth it. And it's only about five minutes of your life. You've spent more time in drive-thru lines. ;)

I love this piece of lyrics:

And children don't grow up
our bodies get bigger, but our
hearts get torn up
We're just a million little gods causin' rainstorms,
turnin' every good thing to rust
I guess we'll just have to adjust...

I really identify with this. Do you ever feel like you're still a kid inside your grownup body? I know I do. Stumbling around, wondering if what I'm doing is the right thing, wishing for some kind of direction... more often than not doing more damage than good. It's at times like this that I remind myself to breathe. And breathe. And breathe some more. I think terms like "adult" and "grownup" don't necessarily apply to artists. We are awake, fully awake, so much more so than most people - we don't really care so much about which celebrity is dating who, or what the stock market trade value of a certain company is, or whether or not the clothes in our closets are "in", or which reality show is currently kicking butt and taking names.

We're more concerned with the bright pinprick of light that's the evening star, set like a startling jewel in the velvety cobalt of the twilight-filled sky. We observe people while in public places, marveling at their secret lives on display for us to see, even though they don't realize it - listening to their conversations on airplanes, watching them play with their kids in the park. We are awake to the real world, a universe of color and sound and drama. It's our job, our calling as artists to capture that world to the best of our abilities.

Last night I was dragging from a ten hour day at work so I went to my local coffee shop for a delicious caffeinated beverage. On the way back to my house, I saw a little carnival set up in a parking lot, a study of flashing lights against the deep blue evening sky. Instead of passing on and heading back to the house, I pulled over and took a couple of pictures - and bought myself a bag of fresh cotton candy!

On the way out of the tiny cluster of lights and bells and barkers, I saw a Greenville County deputy parked beside the lot, leaning on his car and observing the few cars and people who'd gathered. I smiled and introduced myself, told him I was writing a book and that one of my main characters was a police officer, and then had a great little Q & A session with him about police work. I found out he's an English minor who's also working on a novel, and we had a really cool conversation about writing. We also traded info and he agreed to read my first draft after it was done and offer pointers on what will make Jack a more realistic police officer! YEAH!

See? I was AWAKE to the possibility of magic in my life, and the universe delivered! I could've passed on by, left the carnival and its enchanting little pool of twinkling lights and whirling rides behind, but I listened to that voice inside me, the one that said, hey man, maybe we should take a closer look at that, whaddaya think? and was rewarded for my efforts.

This can and WILL happen to you. You just have to keep your eyes open. You just have to be awake.

With my
lightning bolts a-glowin'
I can see where I am
go, goin'!

You better look out below!

Indeed.

Short Stories vs. Novels

My apologies, friends, for my absence yesterday. And for my lack of an "R" entry - but if it counts for anything, I was on a Road trip to Atlanta, so at least I was doing something R-oriented, right?

I'm nearing the end of the first draft of my novel, and I've been thinking about what I'm going to do during the month or so it's sitting in a drawer, breathing and resting and aging accordingly. I do have a few short story ideas rolling around in my head; one particular brainstorm involves a rental van and a haunted DVD player, which made me laugh maniacally for about fifteen minutes when I thought of it.

I'm looking forward to trying my hand at some new short stories; it'll be a nice change from the looooooooong project of the novel. But I'm wondering if I'll be able to get back into composing short pieces as easily as I once did. I've mentioned before on my blog how once I began writing the novel I realized I've been a long-distance writer all this time. Writing a book gives me the chance to tell the reader everything, I mean everything I want to about back story, character histories, quirks and tiny details. I can meditate upon anything I want, take as long as I need to explain it, and not have to worry that I'm getting too wordy.

Short stories are hard already because they're a single vital punch to the artistic senses. In 7,500 words or less I have to make my reader wholly believe something and experience it vividly - so much so that they'll want to read it again. Everything is stripped down and left with its bare bones gleaming. Nuances are placed to the side in favor of slick prose and snappy dialogue. Concepts must be introduced and expounded upon in paragraphs, not pages.

But on the other hand, short stories meet my need for (nearly) instant gratification. Dependent on how long the project is, I can finish the first draft in a matter of hours or days - not months or years, like a novel. Revision is so much less of a hassle. Continuity issues are much easier to spot and fix. And if you get to the end of twelve pages and decide the story is a real stinker, it's not a heartbreak - it's a minor setback.

It'll be interesting to return to the world of short story composition next month. I'm looking forward to comparing and contrasting novel writing and short writing when the time comes. What about you? Which medium do you prefer to write in?

Quintessential B

Each of us has our own signature style, something that sets us apart from others. You might have a flair for the dramatic, or have a passionate love for blue hats. Someone else could insist on only eating off green plates. Another person might harbor a secret passion for museums on Tuesday afternoons.

What makes the quintessential B? There are many things which I consider part of my signature style, and every one of them has shaped the person I am - and the writer I want to be. Movies, music, books which I've discovered and saved over the years. Here's a rare look inside B. Miller and what could be considered my inner workings - without these things, I may just not be me.

Y'all know I have a passion for Murder By Death and Stephen King. But did you also know I'm a Star Wars nut? It was my first movie - I was two years old and I saw it from the back of a Subaru hatchback, at a drive-in. My parents got the first movie (A New Hope) on Betamax when I was five. By the time I was six, I could quote every line of dialogue without the movie going. (I can still do this with most of the lines.) I've been told by more than one friend that I also specifically quote Han Solo's lines in my sleep. Obsessed. Yeah.

Star Wars gave me a passion for sci-fi as well. I love Star Wars, Star Trek, Babylon 5 (yeah, I admit it), Heroes, Dune, Stargate, all that geeky stuff. I'm a HUGE nerd. I can't help it; I've been that way since I was a toddler. Always on the outside looking in, that's been me my whole life. It's ok though - I think it's something that helps my writing. I've been observing how other people work for most of my life, taking in all the details I can. Now I'm dumping it back into prose.

I love villains. Often the villain is my favorite character in a movie. Some of my favorite villains from TV, movies, and books are: Darth Vader (aka Anakin Skywalker), Khan Noonien Singh, the Shadows, Randall Flagg, Sylar, and Rene Belloq.

I have a deep love for the South, specifically my home state of South Carolina. I'm proud to've been born here. This was the state, after all, who had the cajones to stand up and say, "hey, US government, we don't appreciate you taxing the crap out of us and trying to take away our states' rights without our say-so. So we're making our own damn country!" I appreciate the courage it must've taken for so many people to do that. The South has made me who I am and the writer I've become. This is a great region to live in and you'll find some of the nicest people in America living in the Southern states.

As for quintessential pieces of my writing style - I love to focus on tiny, mundane details to offset the weird crap I put in my stories. I bring in every sense of the character in my writing, focusing particularly on hearing and smell. I use a lot of Southern dialect in my prose, dropping so many g's at the ends of words that it sometimes makes my writing partner Gail Gray (a damn yankee herself, but we won't hold it against her) clutch her head and moan in pain. I like to put things together you wouldn't normally expect, then bring everything crashing down on my characters before allowing the sun to shine through the dark clouds again. I love horror and have a flair for gore - ha! It comes in handy.

What about you? What are a few things that make up the quintessential person that YOU are? Please share - I'd love to get to know you better.

Plotting a Murder

J.W. Patterson, you are not long for this world.

It's nothing personal. Nothing you've done to me. Nothing you've done to anyone else either. You're still going to die, though. You just saw your last sunset about an hour and a half ago, in your world - the world I've created out of words and pages. Your last beer was a Pabst Blue Ribbon, sipped while standing next to your brother on your mama's back porch, talking about his broken Camaro.

I kind of feel sorry for you, J.W. - your death is going to be horrifying. I already know all the details. And I won't hesitate to write a single one of them down. No, I already know what the last thing you're going to see is. I know what the last taste in your mouth is going to be - and it's not that beer I just mentioned. I know the sounds you'll hear as you struggle in vain to stay alive. And I know the only scent in your nostrils as you pass from this world to the next will be the smoky, earthy smell of thick red clay.

I know all these things. And by the end of my book, my readers will too.

You'll be mourned by your huge family and the good people of your town. The bowling alley will probably put up a picture of you on their wall of fame - after all, didn't you come within one spare of a 300 last year while bowling on the Jokers Wild league? You'll be missed even more by your creditors and the bank which lent you the money for that beautiful new truck you've been driving around.

But your death will serve a purpose, J.W. - more than one, actually. You'll baffle investigating officers because of the mysterious circumstances of your death. You'll prove to Jack Taylor that his brother-in-law, Dan, is involved with more sinister things than he'd ever imagined. And (this is purely selfish) you'll further the plot of this novel, drive it that much closer to completion. And I thank you for that.

So die well, J.W. Patterson. Godspeed. And when you get to whatever's next, I hope there's beautiful women, a never-ending supply of beer, and perfectly oiled lanes waiting for you.

Music Monday enthusiasts, I haven't forgotten you. Here's my song for this entry. Ha!

Lycanthropy Awareness

Midnight on the mountain is dark and breezy. Fluttering hems of clouds wisp across the moon like rotting lace. From the west, a lone howl lifts up into the sky, echoing across the hills. Your skin is cold, a sharp contrast to the warm evening. An itch spreads under your flesh. Your belly cramps and you fall to your knees, the howl reverberating against your eardrums even though it's faded from the air. Your eyes bulge in their sockets as you feel your body seize.

Your nostrils flare as their diameter suddenly expands. You feel your scalp prickle and begin to bleed as chunks of hair shove through your skin. You raise your hands, hold them in front of your contorted face. They're twisted and locked into grotesque shapes. White knuckles, straining digits, fingernails rippling and popping as they thicken and extend into points. Your ears elongate, every sound intensifying until even the wind in the grass is a thunderous chorus, washing over your senses in an unrelenting flood.

Minute ripping noises reach your ears, sliding in under the dissipating howl's echo. Your shirt stretches and tears into long strips as your torso elongates and widens. You feel ribs rearrange, crackling under the blunt shelves of your expanding muscles. Your bones pull and lengthen, groaning like weathered planks of wood.

You rear your head back, eyes streaming as they dilate and darken. Moonlight washes over your retinas and just for a second you see veins in your eyes, backlit by the hateful blue kiss of Luna. A gathering roar fills your throat. Your larynx expands, straining with the force of your answering howl. The sound pushes past your quivering, thickening lips just as the merciful curtain of animalistic thought drops over your rational mind.

The last thing you clearly process is the sensation of cool dew on your forelegs as you lope easily down the mountain, tatters of clothing hanging like streamers from your haunches and shoulders.

There's a werewolf in each of us - the stranger with the face we don't recognize. We pull it out for examination every once in a while, and some people don't like what they see, don't appreciate what's revealed. Your inner beast only cares for its own needs and desires. Its selfishness appalls us and fascinates us at the same time. We keep it at arm's length, wondering if we should give in to its alluring song... Come with me, it says, Come with me, and I'll show you what life really is.

Are you listening?

I'd Rather Be...

Instead of going to the Clark Kent job at 3 and staying there until closing tonight, therefore effectively killing my Saturday, I'd much rather be...

Flying a kite. Listening to the new Murder By Death album, which I just got yesterday. Grocery shopping. Doing laundry. At the beach, starting a campfire. Walking through the woods. Visiting a waterfall. Reading a Stephen King novel. Organizing my sock drawer. Cooking steak sandwiches. Having a beer (or three). Watching a movie. Playing with my cats. Talking about the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek ships, and debating which ones are more awesome. Painting. Building a bookshelf. Swimming in my parents' pool. Exploring an abandoned house. Going on a Zorb. Memorizing all fifty state fish in alphabetical order. Doing important research on leftover Easter candy. Rocketing into space to visit the space station. Cleaning out Jeff. Learning sleight of hand. Finding incredible new movie trailers to watch. Talking about which Hobbit was coolest (Samwise has my vote). Picking strawberries. Taking a nap. Climbing trees.

But most of all, I'd rather be...


WRITING.

What about you? Got something you'd rather be doing? Is your RESPONSIBILITY getting in the way of your CREATIVITY? I know how you feel, friend.

Happily Ever After

Being a horror writer, I specialize in situations that are less than ideal for my characters. Scary, creepy, spooky, downright terrifying? Great. I can do any of those, no problem. But I also have scenes that are drawbacks; I talked a couple of weeks ago about romance and how it's a stumbling block for me, something that I hesitate to write because I don't want to seem too cheesy or corny. It is a part of life, so it needs to go in the book, just like everything else.

I've worked through the romance block and am handling it pretty well, I think. Of course that's something I'll have to review when the first draft is completed and has had a chance to breathe. But there's something else I've been thinking about, something that's been on my mind a lot recently as I've been edging towards the ending of my horrific little tale. I've hinted at some of the elements of the story: ghosts, peach orchards, telepathy, an old woman who may or may not be a witch. But I don't think I've stressed enough that this story is basically a tale of good vs. evil.

Up until this point, I haven't allowed myself to think about who will be the victor of this battle. I've been concerned with getting the story to this point. I'll be hashing out the details in the next few weeks of what actually happens, and now I'm wondering what each of my readers will (hopefully) be pondering when they get to this point in the book: Who's gonna win this one?

I don't know yet. I'll find out as it's written, I guess... but I'm wondering. And it makes me think of the horror novels I've read, and the way I feel about the way the stories end. I've mentioned that Stephen King is my writing hero. I've read almost everything that man has written, two or three times at least. And more often than not, the good guys win. Terrible things happen, but evil is vanquished. It. Desperation. The Dark Half. Needful Things. Misery. There are endings which aren't so great for the characters, but still, evil is defeated. Firestarter. The Dead Zone. Duma Key. Cujo. Christine. The Shining. Salem's Lot. And then there are the ambiguous endings... where you're not sure what happens to the characters, but you've got a feeling they'll be all right, like in The Tommyknockers, Delores Claiborne, and The Stand. Evil does triumph sometimes, but it's rare - the only one I can think of right now is Pet Sematary. I guess Thinner technically counts in that category, but that's a Bachman book, and Stephen King has said that Bachman is much darker than he usually is.

I don't know who's going to win, but it's going to be an epic battle. I can tell just by the lead-up I've created. I think I know who it's going to be... but we'll just have to see. And I'm wondering, which would my audience prefer? Would they rather have all the loose strings tied up in a neat little package for them, with a traditional Happily Ever After-type ending? Or would they rather it be dark and gritty, but a little more realistic? Or somewhere in between?

Which do you prefer?

Eating the Elephant

My entries lately have been of the go-go-go-cheer-yay-write variety. I hope I'm not becoming repetitive. I don't plan many blogs; even the A to Z challenge is mostly off the cuff. So my entries naturally gravitate towards what I need/want to hear as a writer. And right now I need all the encouragement I can get. I feel like that person who's been hiking for 87 miles on a hundred-mile trail. Sore. Tired. Starting to wonder why I'm doing this in the first place. Good things too... grateful. Inspired. Proud of the work I've done so far. But it's close to being done, and I guess we all go through this in one form or another at different points in our individual writing processes.

Which brings me to the old adage: How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I have to keep reminding myself of this metaphor lately. I want it to be DONE. I'm ready to get it into its proverbial bottom drawer and let it breathe. I love the universe and characters I've created, but my brain is yelling for a rest, and then something new. I'm committed to getting this finished, and I don't want to set it aside now - the story's hot, and I'm afraid if I stop now and come back in a few weeks I won't be able to finish. But working on the book plus all the rest of the stress in my life is really starting to wear me down.

It's times like this I remind myself of Lester Burnham's words in American Beauty:

"Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

Right?

I've gotten here one chapter at a time. One page at a time. One paragraph at a time. One sentence, one word, one letter at a time. It's not going to materialize on the page by itself. I need to make it happen. But it's going to happen in its own time. This elephant has been vanishing bite by bite. Now I've got a little bit left... it's daunting, but I'm determined to finish the whole damn thing.

What do you do to remind yourself of how far you've come? How do you sustain your enthusiasm for a long-term project? What kinds of things do you do for yourself to encourage completion of a long WIP?

Writing Playlists

I draw a huge amount of inspiration from the music I listen to in every stage of my writing process. I have thousands of songs loaded on my iPod, and I love to put the thing on shuffle and just let Jeff take to the wind. My mind will often drop into the zone of brainstorming without me even planning it, setting a scene to a particular song. The creative juices start flowing, and for the four-to-six minutes the song's playing, I'm locked deep in my imagination, the music playing as a soundtrack to the movie in my mind.

I also listen to music as I'm actually working on the novel. I don't do this all the time; sometimes listening to music as I write screws with my ADD, distracting me, and I end up looking for the "right song" to listen to as I compose a particular scene, wasting several valuable minutes in the process. But other times it's exactly what I need to transport me to my fictional town of Bulton, SC. I've composed a playlist over the last seven months as I've been writing the novel. The playlist has evolved, growing and changing as the novel does, but the core music remains the same.

I've populated my playlist with some good old rock n' roll, of course - the Eagles are a large part of the lineup. I've mentioned before how the song "Heartache Tonight" was a huge influence in a pivotal scene in the novel... and I swear, if this damn thing ever gets made into a movie, I'm pitching the song to the director... it's that concrete in my head. Other grit-yer-teeth rockers include Creedence Clearwater Revival and the newcomers Deer Tick. (I'd love to call all these bands Southern rock, and I know a good many people think of them as such. I just can't in good conscience do that, though, because CCR and the Eagles are from out West and Deer Tick is from RI.)

I've also got a good bit of Murder By Death on the playlist. Their epic rock-meets-country-meets-orchestra sound, coupled with beautiful dark lyrics and an underlying current of desperation, fit my little Southern ghost story very well. I chose some tracks from the Fleet Foxes, because their mellow, folk-y sound makes me think of the South in general and Appalachia in particular, most likely because of their song, "Blue Ridge Mountains".

Then there are a few single tracks from different artists and movie soundtracks, which feed my brain beautiful images and keep it running at high speed. I've had a lot of fun building this playlist, and I love to see the influence it's had over the tale I'm spinning. I'm continually finding songs and adding them to the mix, so by the end of this I'll have hours and hours of music that I can choose a really solid soundtrack out of, to burn to a CD for myself... sort of a behind-the-scenes extra, if you'll allow me that indulgence. You'd better, 'cause it'll just be for me anyway.

I love hearing what other writers were listening to as they composed their particular masterpieces, especially if they showcase lyrics from a song as a foreword, or mention it in their notes. One of my favorite horror authors, Joe Hill, recently published (on his blog) highlights from the playlist he listened to as he wrote his new novel Horns. You can check out that blog entry here - it's a really interesting read.

How about the rest of you guys? What have you been listening to lately, as you compose your masterpieces? Do you need a playlist to work, or would you rather have silence as company? I'm interested in how our creative processes differ.

Traveling Adventure

I'm heading out of town today. In a little while I'll be packed and in Jeff, heading down 85 to Atlanta. I'll pick up a couple friends and from there drive on to Bloomington, IN for a weekend road trip. We're going to see one of our favorite bands, Murder By Death. (You know they're a favorite if we're driving 800 miles one-way to see 'em).

I love road trips, I always have. Seeing new places excites me. Plus, I feel like a sponge right now, soaking up everything in sight to put back into my book. I love driving down the highway to the music blasting out of Jeff's speakers, pushing the gas pedal just a little too much. I love letting someone else drive, too, so I can sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window for a while at the passing scenery. Any passing scenery will do - everything interests me. I like to think about the people who might be living in the houses I'm passing. What the farm I see from a mile away on the highway might be harvesting this summer. I love watching woods and creeks and fenced-off land roll along just beyond my window, all the time using my imagination to put myself along the trails I see, kicking through the blanket of fallen leaves and listening to the hum of the highway just over my left shoulder.

Road trip adventures are a nice little reset on real life, as well. There's nothing like getting out of town for a couple of days to help you get perspective on your life. The Clark Kent job fades and becomes a whisper in the back of my mind (unless, of course, we pass a bowling alley). I focus on what's before me, the road, the adventure, and forget about the stress and frustration of everyday life. It's refreshing.

I lived in Indiana for four years, and though it's a helluva drive to deal with in just one weekend, visiting is also always fun. It's a different environment from the South entirely - Hoosiers are so strange to my South Carolina born-and-bred brain. I mean... I mean, these are people who work when it snows. Can you really trust someone who drives to work when it snows? It's a foreign concept to me (which had to be put on hold for those four years, but that's a different blog entry). Bloomington is a college town - it's where IU is - and it's a fun little burg, about an hour from Indianapolis.

I'm taking the laptop with me and hope to continue banging out words on the novel, at least for a little while, during the weekend. I'm thinking I'll use it to get me to sleep tonight and tomorrow instead of a book. That's the plan, anyway. I don't want to be away from it for three days; the story's too hot in my head. I need to get it down, and fast. I may even find out if I can spread out in Jeff's back seat while a friend drives, that's how urgent the need to write has become. Besides, I need to learn to write on the road, right? Sooner or later I might have to do a book tour. ;)

This particular trip to Indiana seems like a pilgrimage. I don't know if nearing the end of a long creative work elevates everything to a surreal significance in everyone else's mind, but it seems to be doing that in mine. Everything has a strange confluence at the moment that lurks just below the surface of reality. It's like the whole world has been covered with a thin skin of solidity and I can see through to the odd (but beautiful) workings beneath. I can almost hear the clockwork of reality ticking right now. It makes everything important to me. I'm counting dates, adding up numbers, attaching special significance to every synchronicity I run across. It makes me feel like a lunatic sometimes, but I don't worry about that. Artists are crazy; we've known that since time immemorial.

Speaking of time... as Alice's white-furred friend says, I'm late! I must go pack for my mini-adventure. I'll report back on Monday how the trip went for all of your records (I know you're keeping them). Have a great weekend, friends!

Using Real Life

Since this is my first novel, I'm discovering the process of how my book is being created as I go. Every day it feels like I find a new corner of this creative process and I'm always amazed at how much of my everyday life goes into the production of this book.

I guess it never occurred to me before how much fiction is based on actual real life events, but presented in such a way so that it reads as make-believe. A story has to come from somewhere, and while my imagination may supply the plot, the characters, the conflicts, and the resolution, my brain uses all sorts of things I observe and dumps them back into the story. I notice the setting-related items most often. At the moment I'm in the middle of a scene where Jack heads to the local bowling alley to see if he can find his missing brother-in-law. I'm having a blast creating this little out-of-the-way bowling center, and I'm using everything I can from the Clark Kent job to make the scene more realistic.

I've seen so many things from my own life spun into the web of this novel - things I didn't even plan, my brain just plucked them out of my subconscious and used them automatically for window dressing. Riverbanks. Flags on the fruit stand. The hot South Carolina summer and all its accoutrements, from the continuously singing insects to the flat heat laying on top of your skin like a blanket you can never pull off.

Now that I know and understand this part of the writing process, I find myself hoarding ideas and images in my mind for later use. Terrible yellow light spilling out onto the land just before sunset, bathing everything in a surreal coating of sinister gold? Check. Old man at a liquor store, smacking teeth against dentures, plucking at the front pocket of his overalls? Check. Cool and calm screened-in back porch on a summer evening, enjoyed with a fresh bowl of cut peaches? Check.

It makes me wonder, now as I go back and read books by favorite authors, how many images and scenes were taken directly from that writer's life. Now when I read Stephen King - especially the last two books in the Dark Tower series - I get a real sense of who he is, and how Maine influences him and his writing.

The windows of the buildings in my mind came from somewhere outside myself - it's amazing to watch those buildings grow and change as my environment shapes the tale I'm spinning.

Inspiration Strikes

Story ideas come to me in some of the most inopportune places, as I've mentioned before in a blog entry or two. I'm learning my way around those obstacles, and now when inspiration hits me like a lightning bolt from a cool blue sky, I'm more prepared to take note and listen to what the universe has to say. I've developed a connection with my car that tiptoes along the border between quirky and obsessive... to me, it has its own personality, even its own name: Jeff. Yeah, Jeff. Jeff has his windows tinted, so I joke about how he wears his sunglasses at night. On long, rambling expeditions around the city of Greenville which stimulate the right side of my brain into giving up invaluable nuggets of inspiration, he's a good friend, and his own strange species of noble metal-and-fiberglass steed.

I often use the time I have in the car to allow my mind to wander wherever it wants to. On my way home from work or a friend's house, I'll take alternate, longer routes without even thinking about which way I'm going, just grooving along with the music pouring out of my speakers and digging the vibration of my rolling wheels. Sometimes my subconscious makes interesting connections about the characters and story I'm writing. More often, I'm able to get into the mindset of a character and get a feeling for how they think or speak or what their feelings or opinions are on situations in the story they live in. It's a time where I'm unplugged but still switched on, almost hypnotized by the dotted white line in the middle of the road and its predictable Morse code disappearing under my wheels.

Driving like this (almost exclusively at night) gives me a chance to mentally gnaw on whatever I'm working on, which these past few months has been the novel. I'm constantly thinking of Bulton, or my main characters (Dan, Jack, and Miss Mary are the most common thought-thieves), or how the different ribbons of storyline are slowly braiding together to make one long, strange, beautiful tale. There are no distractions, no books, cats, roommates, movies, games, websites to steal my focus and clutter up my artist's mind. Just me, my music, and the whispering pavement under my tires.

And then every so often, when I least expect it, the Universe sends me a big old special delivery package via the channels of my awake-yet-dreaming brain, and I'm so overcome with excitement I can barely contain myself. This is when the new toy of the voice recorder in my phone comes in handy. I used it just last night, to record an idea which made me so happy, I was dancing in the driver's seat (as much as it would allow, anyway). I was just driving along, not really thinking about anything in particular on the surface of my brain, just letting the boys in the basement of my subconscious fart around and mutter about whatever they wanted, and then there it was. An idea of such loveliness and artistic proportions I had to record it right away, before I forgot any of its nuances. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and babbled away for three minutes into its voice recorder. Once I got it all out onto the recording, I had that happy-yet-drained feeling I get after a brainstorming session... as if my mind is a muscle I've been exercising heavily and is now spent but rewarded with the feeling of a job well done.

What was the idea, you ask? Heh... that has to wait for another entry. ;)

Sleepwriting

My best ideas always come at the most inconvenient times - I think I may have mentioned this in my entry about the voice recorder on my phone. I know part of this is because these times are when my brain is the most relaxed, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating to have a good idea and forget it before I can write the details of it down.

My best ideas come in either the shower, the car, or in that hazy place between waking and sleeping, after I've turned off the light for the evening (as the Arcade Fire says, "between the click of the light, and the start of the dream"). The shower's not such a bad place, because I can get to my computer or paper and pen fairly quickly, so I won't lose much of the idea. Same goes for being in the car, especially now that I've realized I have a nifty voice recorder on my cell phone. As I'm falling asleep, however...

That dreamy, half-awake-half-asleep span (I read somewhere it takes the human brain about seven minutes to shut down and unplug all its connections to the "real" world) is always the time I get the absolute best ideas. I think a large part of it comes from my brain being so relaxed and allowing everything to flow through it at once, instead of struggling to sort thoughts and impulses into their proper pigeonholes (one of the hallmarks of ADD is learning to compartmentalize every idea as it comes). My thoughts hover between imagination and dreaming. I think it's interesting how the two states are so similar, yet the former is conscious-driven and voluntary while the latter is powered by our lower brains and we have no choice of what we dream about. At the point of sleep taking over, my imagination sometimes melds with my dreaming brain and I start dreaming about my story.

Often in years past I'd have a good idea and, just before falling asleep, convince myself I'd be able to remember it in the morning. I'd spend the last few seconds of waking concentrating as hard as I could on the idea, so it (in theory) would be the first thing I thought of when I woke up in the morning. This tactic rarely worked. More often than not I would remember I'd thought of something... but I'd have no idea what the details were. Such a frustrating feeling.

Sometimes I'm able to fend off sleep long enough to sit up and jot down a few notes, which is why I keep a pen and pad of paper near the bed. And then sometimes what happened last night happens... I turn over, reach down, pull open my laptop, and engage in a bit of sleepwriting.

Last night as I was passing out, I was hit with a vision of perfect clarity: my antagonist, standing in the grocery store with her hand on a can of beans, listening to a voice in her head. It was so perfect I could even see the label on the beans and hear the stupid muzak pouring out of the overheard speakers. I couldn't shake the vision, so I shrugged off sleep for a moment and took advantage of the clarity in my mind.

I carved out about 400 words, which isn't much, but I don't remember writing a bit of it. I went back and read it this morning am pleased with the result. Not only did I get down the idea which had popped into my almost-sleeping mind, I'd managed to fluidly work it into the current scene. It was fun to read back over, too. Kind of like a letter from my subconscious. I guess it's little scenes like that which help me know I'm still on the right track with this story, over all the months, words, and pages spent on its creation.

The Zone

The other night I had an interesting thing happen while I was writing.

Not much of the writing I do is planned. I have a general idea of what needs to happen in the scene, and I jump in and write it. Sometimes this starts with a focus on a central image, more often it just plays out much like a setup for a movie scene: the players, the setting, the dialogue. I have an idea and I start writing and the scene just grows from there.

So the other night I was writing a scene where the main protagonist is trying to figure out WTF is up with his brother-in-law, because the guy's done some weirdo scary stuff. The protag gets up early, takes a shower, gets dressed, etc. The whole time we're in his head, listening to him think about all the hinky things that've been going on and adding them up. I knew I wanted him to move through the scene and eventually end up at the orchard to bump into a love interest, but the space between waking up and late afternoon was as yet un-imagined.

So I jumped in and started writing and Jack (my protag) just kind of took over. This is when the writing's best; when the characters do it for you. In writers' group we call it The Zone. When you're in The Zone, it's like tapping into this current of creativity and production that whites out all other thought. You're part of the story, you're in it, and it's more real than the "real world". It's like dreaming awake, but you can remember these dreams... well, most of them anyway. Sometimes after writing sessions when I've been deep in the story, I only have hazy memories of what I've actually written. Maybe it's more like being hypnotized than dreaming...

Anyway, so I'm writing and Jack leaves his house and goes to his brother-in-law's, to talk to him. And of course, he's not there, so Jack decides to go to breakfast and make some notes about the things he's realized, and how he wants to handle the situation. He decided to go to the Venus, a little short-order cafe on Main Street in his town.

Here comes the weird part... Jack's thinking hard and making deductions and trying to figure out what's going on and how he's going to handle it, and I'm pouring myself into the story, hardly aware of what I'm doing, when a woman walks up to his table and starts talking to him. Now I'm just writing this, with no planning or thought, just plucking it out of the ether. When she started talking, I assumed she was the love interest that Jack was going to run into later at the orchard. I just thought it was her, because I hadn't introduced another woman to the story yet. But something about it wasn't right. I pushed on for a few more lines, but the current of Zone had suddenly shut down. I stepped away from the scene for a little while. Later I realized it wasn't the love interest, but the ex-girlfriend who had surprised Jack. I jumped back in and started writing again and the scene took back over. I suddenly had over 3000 words written in just under two hours (smokin, for me).

This is the nature of how I write: I have a feeling, and I follow it. In a way it's like fumbling around in a pitch-black room, trying to find a light switch. You can feel your way through the furniture and (sometimes) people in the room; you can get up close and run your hands over the contours of their faces and their minds. I started writing that scene and heard a woman's voice in my mind, interrupting Jack's deductive train of thought. I didn't know who the woman was yet, because the light hadn't been switched on. So I automatically made her the love interest at first, because I thought that's who she was... but I guessed wrong! When I stepped back and thought about it, the things defining her very shape were a sharp contrast to the love interest in my mind... this new woman had a hectoring, jeering demeanor, completely unlike the nicer character's candid but kind personality.

This was like finding a chair in that pitch-black room, thinking it's an overstuffed easy chair, then stepping back, feeling along the sides, finding the lever on the left, and realizing it's a recliner, instead. Yes, it's a chair - a comfy one. But the actual details of the chair were hidden from me at first. I had to turn on the light - the light of inspiration or creation or whatever that incredible power is - to really identify what it was.

I guess it goes back to my belief that stories are more found than created; I'd found where Jack was, what he was thinking and doing, and even that a woman was talking to him, but I hadn't yet quite uncovered who she was with my careful applications of brushes, shovels and picks. After a little more careful digging, she revealed herself to me.

Neat, huh? Told you it was interesting.