Creative Adventuring

Coming Home

2011-09-23T01:00:00.000-07:00

This month I'm participating in the Blog Chain over at ChristianWriters.com There's a great group of Christian authors participating in the blog chain and you can read their posts in the little widget to the left there with the cute blue quill pen.

This month the topic is 'Coming Home'. And who can think about that topic without fond memories of family get-togethers, with Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner on a groaning table, staying up until all hours eating, talking and laughing, that cottony-soft feeling of warmth and acceptance, of love and familiarity?

Soldiers no doubt have that feeling when coming home from war or a long deployment away. Just to have that chance to hug and feel a sense of peace and belonging.

It's a great feeling, and I have many homes here on earth that I can come home to. My brothers' houses, my sister's house, my church, or my in-laws have become homes away from home, but nothing compared to the home I have with my wife and kids. The chance to relax and laugh with my family, or lounge and play a game or watch a movie.

Family does tend to make a place a home. It's not so much the physical dwelling, the structure, the yard, that makes a place 'home'. It's the people. I think I understand that concept much better since our house caught fire and we had to live elsewhere for months. Though those days are behind us, even the small apartment we shared while our house was getting 'fixed up' became home, because there were people there that loved me unconditionally, that accepted me, even knowing all my faults.

Still, even my own home here on earth has no comparison to the real home I have in Heaven, waiting for me at the end of time. And whether it's a mansion or apartment, a tent or an RV, doesn't much matter because of who I'll be with. You see, this world is not my real home, and for any Christian this is true. Our home is in heaven. And waht a family reunion we're going to have when at last we come home from this 'battlefield.'

I'll leave you all with a song I wrote for just such a homecoming. The lyrics I'll post below, and if you click on THIS LINK it will launch a player where you can hear the song. It's called

Forever and a Day

Verse 1:
It was such a little thing to you
You've forgotten that it happened
But I never will forget it
Forever and a day!
You spoke a kind word to me
And gave me food to eat
And I wrote it down upon My heart
Forever and a day!

Chorus:
And Now, now that you've come home
I wrote it down for all the world to see
That even though you acted out of Love,
You didn't know the homeless man was Me!
And here, here before My throne
I'll tell the world the truth for all to hear!
That though I was right before your eyes
In a brilliant disguise
You gave selflessly
Forever and a Day!

Verse2:
No one would come near Me.
They had Me locked away.
And yet, you came to see Me
Although you were afraid.
I wondered if you really cared,
But I know I saw you pray.
And I'll cherish that within My heart
Forever and a Day.

Chorus:
And Now, now that you've come home
I wrote it down for all the world to see
That even though you acted out of Love,
You didn't know the prisoner was Me!
And here, here before My throne
I'll tell the world the truth for all to hear!
That though I was right before your eyes
In a brilliant disguise
You gave selflessly
Forever and a Day!

Verse3:
No one could have seen you
When you knocked upon My door.
You left a box of clothes for Me
When you ran away.
You didn't want the credit
But I saw you anyway!
And I never will forget it
Forever and a Day!

Chorus:
And Now, now that you've come home
I wrote it down for all the world to see
That even though you acted out of Love,
You didn't know the needy man was Me!
And here, here before My throne
I'll tell the world the truth for all to hear!
That though I was right before your eyes
In a brilliant disguise
You gave selflessly
Forever and a Day!

Review: Tales of the Dim Knight

2011-02-08T11:41:00.000-08:00

Today's post is a review of a hilarious comic-book style action adventure called Tales of the Dim Knight
by Adam and Andrea Graham.

Here's the author's blurb:
Mild-mannered janitor and superhero fanboy Dave Johnson gets all his wishes at once when a symbiotic alien gives him supernatural powers. But what's he to do with them? Follow his zany adventures as he fights crime and corruption while trying to keep his family together and avoid being sued for copyright infringement.

My Take:
From Captain America to TMNT, almost every superhero I've ever heard of is paid some homage in this adventure.
I sat down to read this book one cold day in December and practically couldn't put it down. My family wondered what I was giggling about. It's just because the superhero lover in me was taking out baddies along with Dave.

Dave Johnson is a likeable dim-witted janitor who never grew up. He still packs his lunch in an X-Men lunchbox and plays with action figures with his two boys.
His marriage is on the rocks but he can't see it, so lost is he in his comicbook world.

But when an alien artifact shows up in the secret FBI warehouse he keeps clean, he accidentally bonds with it and becomes the superhero Powerhouse, a squeaky clean
rocket-propelled image of his boyish fantasies.

As Powerhouse, he fights petty criminals, drug lords, even jay-walkers in his efforts to keep the streets clean. But when the criminals fight dirty, Powerhouse is too clean to handle the mess. So he invents a darker superhero, the Emerald Avenger, to fight back.

Dave plays both parts, Powerhouse, and the Emerald Avenger, well. That is, until the criminals hire the Emerald Avenger to eliminate Powerhouse!
How will the hero(es) get out of this jam? Tune in next week...

Oh, wait, it's a book review, not a comic book series...

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh, yes. I thoroughly enjoyed this romp through the pages of comic book land, where good vanquishes evil and there are also the timeless subjects of redemption and self-sacrifice.

While this reads like a kids book at the outset, there are a few things in it that some parents might consider, like drug use and human trafficking.
For my part, I would let my teens read this in a heartbeat.
However, if you are concerned you might check out what the authors say about the subject.

Speaking of the authors, I think they did a fantastic job of joining comic book action with a solid Christian message. Here's a picture of them.

All in all, I found Tales of the Dim Knight to be a well-written fast-paced action adventure with a timeless message worth reading.

Click HERE to find out where you can buy it!

I received an electronic copy of this book for the purpose of this review.

Book Review - DragonSpell by Donita K. Paul

2010-11-12T08:01:00.001-08:00

DragonSpell by Donita K. Paul

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

DragonSpell is a gripping novel of a slave's journey to liberation and purpose.

Kale Allerion is a slave girl who has just been freed to serve the Kingdom as a Finder of Dragon Eggs. Her talent for finding them leads her into trouble of all sorts, and this talent is critical to foil the plans of an evil wizard.

In DragonSpell you will meet good and evil races and species of many kinds, each fully dimensional. Kale's travelling companions do their best to guide her on her quest, but in the end it is up to Kale and her dependence on Wulder and Paladin to save Amara.

This book is the start of a great fantasy series worthy to be compared with Lord of the Rings and Narnia. Magic, wizards, dragons, fairies, are all interwoven believably in this world of Ms. Paul's imagining. Christian allegories are easily evident but this book would be an interesting and entertaining read for a non-Christian as well.

View all my reviews

Gearing Up for NaNoWriMo

2010-10-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

I'm currently gearing up for NaNoWriMo, while putting the finishing touches on a submission to a small publisher for my first book series.

So I've been very busy, and that may account for the sad lack of posts here over the past month.

But I have a Question for You:

Are you doing NaNoWriMo? Do you even know what it is?

Here's a quick synopsis of the story I'm outlining for this next month's writing frenzy:

The Green Door

Anne's brilliant grandfather Professor Tom Shakleman is building a dimension door to get his family home. But something is wrong with his calculations. This new door leads them, not back to Earth, but to a dimension where humans live in small villages and every outsider is an enemy to kill.

If that weren't enough to chill the blood of a fearful young adult, Toxins released into the atmosphere decades ago killed off everyone not living in the mountainous regions. As the toxins dissipated, however, an unexpected side-effect made descending into the valleys more deadly than the toxins - the plantlife has become sentient. And it's not happy.

Tell me what you think, and if you'll join with me in writing 50,000 words of a novel next month in November!

Chris

ACFW Conference Experience

2010-10-01T10:31:00.001-07:00

For those of you interested, I went to the annual American Christian Fiction Writers' Conference in Indianapolis last week.

It was an experience I will never forget, I assure you, in many ways.

First, let me tell you that hauling 3 of my kids and wife along in a van that was older than dirt was amazingly memorable. That may very well be the last long trip the old Awana Bus makes. It certainly growled its frustration from Memphis to Indianapolis, punishing us at least part of the way with no air-conditioning.

It has a slow leak somewhere in the cooling system, probably where the freon runs through the tires. I charged up the system with cool before we left Memphis, using 7 cans of freon/sealer. I only found out later that it was only supposed to hold maybe 3 cans. I think it managed to cram the other four cans in it's tires or something.

Also found out later that you are supposed to use ONE can of sealer, and TWO cans of freon. Could be that's why the van made noises like a family of Rhesus monkeys whenever I turned the air on. After manually turning the compressor over a few times, though, the glue broke free and we had some cool air.

Once we got to Indianapolis, we drove under this thing called the Arts Garden. During the day, it's a beautiful and tranquil garden with trees growing above the streets, and nests of sparrows flitting around and finding people to bother, filled with classical music and happy artsy people relaxing while cars rush by under them. For some reason this doesn't seem to bother them.

During the night, however, from the underside, this thing is a petrifying Mothership sent to capture Jimmy Neutron's parents and force them to do the chicken dance. I nearly wrecked while driving under this neon vortex of terror. Our tranquil Embassy Suites was positioned just on the other side. Like coming to a peaceful backwater after shooting the Ocoee in a barrel. A big white squealing barrel.

We found a place to park in the garage, nearly scraping the roof off our 6'4" van, and hauled our luggage up to the front desk. It was 10:45pm.

Fifteen minutes later we crashed into our room, exhausted, on the 10th floor. The clock said 12:00 midnight. We thought it wasn't set. No, we'd lost an hour in Timezone transfer somewhere in lower Indiana.

Dragged ourselves out of bed at 7am so I could make it to the 'Early Bird Special' with James Scott Bell. Took this picture of my boys sleeping in their bed. You can see who gets all the room.

At the Early Bird Session, I got James to sign his book, Plot and Structure, which I'd brought along with me to read while driving. Er, I mean, to study when I had some time free. (I didn't get ANY time free).

It's a good book to read, if you are a Writer. Many many good ideas in it. He shared a lot of those in the Early Bird session, along with many other great ideas for making your plots sizzle and hook your readers.

Sat during his class with Linda Yezak, writer and editor for Port Yonder Press. We managed to snatch a few moments of conversation during breaks. At one of them she locked eyes on me and said 'Pitch your novel!' I pitched her my Lynvia novel. Linda is a buddy of mine from ChristianWriters.com and we've both been participating in some blog chains from there with many other talented writers.

She thought my novel was a great idea. She nabbed my lovely onesheet (I'll include a picture of it here for you to enjoy...)

After the session I met with Jill Williamson, new Christian Speculative author and Christy Award winner for her novel By Darkness Hid. She was with a group of authors from Novelteen, and we all went to lunch together with my family. Here's a picture of us eating lunch together. Foreground left is my wife Rebecca, and three of my kids, on the far side of the table left to right is Susan Lyttek, Jill Williamson, Peggy Wirsau, Adam Weisenburger, Diane L. Sharples, and Christopher Miles Kolmorgen. A name to watch.

Back to the Conference for the opening ceremony, Addresses, and some worship. Has a decent P&W band singing some well-known Chris Tomlin and David Crowder Band.

That night, I had dinner with a few of my ChristianWriters buddies - here's a photo of me, Linda Yezak, and Becky Minor, another name to watch.

Then it was back home to the hotel to crash. There was a late nite session I was too pooped to attend. It was already a late nite for me...

So, I read some of Donita K Paul's DragonSpell to the kids, and crashed. About 12am, I was awakened by the sound of my five year-old emptying his dinner all over the bed. I didn't take a picture, I didn't need to. I'll never forget the way it looked, and it's not something you can un-see.

We called the hotel staff, who rolled right up and took the bedding away, remade the bed quietly and quickly, and were gone again inside 5 minutes. Oh yeah we tipped them. It wasn't a job I would have wanted, and I was busy introducing Johnny to his new friend Ralph in the porcelain pagoda.

Johnny cried a bit as he watched the last of his dinner go down the tube. Then he crawled back into bed, just wanting to get some sleep. We turned out the lights, and ten minutes later I heard him getting ready to heave again. I took him back to the restroom and stayed with him for a few minutes, then laid out some towels on the floor for him and told him he'd have to spend the night there. He wasn't happy.

Rebecca spent most of the night watching him while I slept, and we traded off about 4:30am. When norning came, I showered and headed to the Conference again, exhausted and NOT ready for a 15-minute session with Jeff Gerke.

Jeff is the editor of Marcher Lord Press, a small press and the de-facto Christian Speculative publisher. He's very personable and tried to put me at ease, but after I handed him my OneSheet, I choked up on the pitch, and he had to help me finish it.

I was so nervous I nearly threw up on him. I don't think he would have been quite as friendly after that...

I headed to my Continuing Education class with Jim and Tracie Peterson, on Basic Basics, or the intro-level class on how to craft a good novel. We've all got room to improve there, I'm sure. I took copious notes and got a lot of good info out of the class. I also enjoyed the banter between Jim and Tracie.

At lunch I sat with Jim and Tracie and James Scott Bell. I had no idea these folks went so far back, but it was great watching Jim and Jim joke back and forth. Also at the table was a great guy named Darren, who also writes Speculative, and Omar Campos, another Spec-Fic author who hails from Puerto Rico. I expect to see his cyborg novel published in the next few years. It sounds like an interesting read.

After lunch I headed to a class by Jill Williamson on Creating a believable SFF Story World. She led us through the process she took creating the world for her Christy Award-winning book By Darkness Hid.

Jill had put a great deal of thought and detail into her world, doing historical research, crafting unique weapons and armor for her world, coats of arms, maps of towns and country, and the imports/exports, dress, and behaviours of the peoples in her world.

The bottom-line lesson was that detail of the world, when crafted well into a book or series, makes the experience so much more real to the reader. It's one of the things that made Tolkein's Lord of the Rings series so popular.

From there I went to a class on writing Historical Fiction. It was good, but the projector screen didn't display the text correctly so we just listened to the presentation. Later the teachers emailed the powerpoint, which had lots of useful links.

Saturday night, I had dinner at Weber Grill with all my friends from ChristianWriters.com. Here's a picture of us at dinner, sans me.

That night, we finally got some sleep. I skipped out on the second 'Late Night' session because I'd already had all the 'Late Night' sessions I could stomach. Pardon the pun.

Sunday, it was back with Jim and Tracie for more Basics. Jim took the floor and covered a lot about Historical Fiction, and gave some more good resources for finding information. He also stressed Fact-Checking EVERYTHING you read. Finding 3 sources that agree before considering it a reasonable fact. Assuming you can find three separate sources. Many historians just quote other historians, so checking the bibliography is always a good idea.

I had a good interview with Amanda Luedeke, an agent with the Chip MacGregor Agency.
She liked my first book, and suggested some changes that might greatly enhance the book.

At lunch I met several interesting writers, including Jennifer Hudson Taylor, and another author with a seeing-eye dog. The dog really reminded me of Big Red, and he was very well-behaved under the table. Occasionally his tail would thump on my foot.

My next class was with Jeff Gerke and blew the roof off. It was 'The Last Show vs. Tell Class you'll ever need.' Jeff's laptop was missing, it was still in his room. He sent his assistant up to his room to get it, and while she was gone, he began asking the class questions, giving examples of passages and asking us whether it was 'Showing' or 'Telling'. Some of them were tricky. Whenever the text he read didn't cover action, description, or dialogue, it was 'Telling'.

His assistant came back and he plugged in his laptop. It came right up and began nagging him that McAffee wanted to take over his computer and update it with the latest version of bloat code and Anti-spy-ware intrusive intrusion detection software. It was very intrusive, bubbling up from the bottom several times.

The software was MOST insistant. So, Jeff shut the laptop off, and finished the class with a very dynamic ad-lib that showed he really didn't need to lean on the laptop and it's anti-spyware intruder.

The most vivid thing about his class was when he told us 'Rethink what you do - authors should not consider themselves 'Storytellers' but 'Screenwriters'. He then had five members of the class come up and stand across the front, talking and acting out an interesting story about friends meeting. Then Jeff had them turn their backs on us, while he monologued about how the 'reason Jeff is at the store is to pick up tomato paste for his wife Sally, and Joe doesn't like Jeff much but is pretending to for blah blah blah...'

I found it hard NOT to tune Jeff out as he monologued about the story - the ACTION had stopped, and the action was what was holding my attention. He had made his point. 'Telling' is not a good idea. Not because editors want to make all stories cookie cutter, but because it stops the action, bores the reader, and they either skip ahead or put the book down forever.

Though the reader might not catch EVERY bit of detail you as a writer know about the story line, Jeff said the details were caught or inferred through the story. The reader can fill in some of those details themselves, and many are not so important. He said, "What you sacrifice in exactitude, you more than gain in reader engagement."

After a couple additional classes, I headed back to the hotel to pick up Rebecca for the Awards Banquet. I bought take-out for the kids, but they weren't really interested in eating. Hmmm...

The banquet was amazing. Jill took this picture of me and Rebecca there. It was much like the Academy Awards. Very gala and festive. I sat next to an author named JoAnn Durgin. Rebecca talked with an author next to her, an editor who helped edit some of the Carol Award winners.

The next morning we headed for home, but my fifteen-year-old had gotten the bug, and we had to stop every thirty minutes for him to express himself to the highway traffic. He had a miserable ride home.

We stopped at Mammoth Caves on the way home, to gather information for a book, since a scene occurs there and I wanted to be accurate in my description. I was, pretty much. Here's a photo I took from inside the cave...

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 4 - A New Home

2010-08-16T01:01:00.000-07:00

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 4 - A New Home

This is the final installment in a four-part short story I wrote as part of a Blog Chain this month. Hope you enjoy it!

The great white beast ran forward at breakneck speed down the black river. Kor and Xana held tight to the black twigs across the clear face of the beast. It's speed was so great that the wind of its passage threatened to tear them off almost right away. Kor crawled up under the metal arm of the device, and was immediately crushed against the hard clear surface underneath.

Xana followed his example, and was crushed against the glass too. Inside the body of the beast, Kor was amazed to see the human creatures sitting on its many gray tongues, held there by wide straps.

The white monster sang to itself as it careened among the other creatures on the road. Kor stared at the people inside, happily being digested without any cares in the world. In fact, they seemed to be singing along with the monster that was eating them.

The little girl pointed at him. "Look, Daddy!" she squealed. "There's a big bug on the windshield!"

The older man looked at him with interest. "He's a dragonfly, Donna. And there seems to be two of them."

"Are they hurt?"

"Not as long as they stay under there." The male hung on to the round throat of the beast and seemed to give it direction from inside. Whenever he twisted the creature's throat, it squealed in that direction until he untwisted its neck.

"Xana, are you ok?"

Xana tried to lift her head. "I'll be ok. Where is this beast taking us?"

Kor didn't answer. He hoped the beast wasn't going to eat them.

They rode on the face of the beast for a long time. It finally came to a stop at a crossing of two black rivers. Beasts were milling about and making mating calls at one another. The white beast under them just happily sang loudly and cheerfully.

Kor started to get up, shaking his wings and buzzing them to make sure they still worked, when the beast took off again as the man stomped on its belly. It roared angrily as it raced down the road away from the other beasts. The mating-call beasts were chasing it. Kor wondered what they would do when they caught up.

But the other beasts didn't eat the big white monster. they didn't even take a bite out of it. They seemed to wait politely behind it when the white monster slowed down. One of them even began the mating calls again.

Finally, the white beast turned off the black river onto a gray field of stones. The beast stumbled to a stop beside a large body of water. Kor shook his head and crawled out from under the black twig.

"Xana! Look!" Beyond the nose of the great white beast was more water than Kor could ever imagine. Other dragonflies buzzed around in every direction, and Xana crawled out from under the other black twig, buzzing her wings in surprise.

"Who would have thought that the great white monster was bringing us to our new home!" She took off, heading out to explore. And Kor followed after her, though he paused and dipped twice in front of the beast's grinning face.

"Thank you for your help!" Kor didn't wait for an answer. He wheeled and headed after Xana, his new body scintillating in the morning sunlight.

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 3 - The Change

2010-08-15T01:58:00.000-07:00

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 3 - The Change

This is part 3 of a four-part short story (4000 words) that I wrote recently for a Blog Chain at ChristianWriters.com Hope you enjoy!

Kor hung stiffly on the green stem of grass for a very long time. His skin dried and cracked and peeled around him. The air turned cool around him, and the sun sank low beyond the soaring trees.

In the late afternoon hours, his breathing became labored, and he kicked and struggled to crawl out of the hardened shell lying dead around him. He was hungry - starving, really, and needed a meal and some air. He felt trapped in the death that enclosed him.

With a wriggle and a thrash, he felt the shell across his back split and crack open. He clawed and pushed upwards, crawling out of his dead skin in a slow shove.

The shell of his body clung firmly to the stem, and Kor was able to hang on to it as he pulled free and clung to the paper-thin model of the 'older' he had been.

He glanced over at Xana to see if she was watching, but her brown body seemed frozen in place right where it was last time. "Xana!" he called. "Look at me! I am different!"

Several things seemed very different about him this time. For one thing, his rear end, instead of being a bulbous appendage, was a curved question mark, long and thin, in many blue sections. As this new skin dried out, he watched as the curve of the tail instinctively straightened out.

Meanwhile, something new on his back, four gossamer appendages that had been folded and crushed inside his shell, began to straighten and unfold, sticking out at right angles to his body.

The cramped feeling dissipated in the cool evening light. A mosquito droned by, and one of Kor's fresh arms reached out and snatched it, shoving it into his open maw. A second mosquito quickly followed the first, and then the mosquitos seemed to get the message to avoid the proximity of the strange creature on the stem.

The sun set, darkness enveloped the area, and Kor rested and grew on the stem.

* * * * * * * * *

The morning dawned slowly with a thick mist spreading out over the water sluggishly moving in the drying ditch. Kor twisted his head to get the kinks out of it, and the new world spun dizzily around him. Instinct drove him to flex his wings. He was interested to note that they all moved independently of one another.

He flapped them rapidly, and thrilled to the lift they gave him, pulling him up into the air, against the clawed foothold he had on his old shell. Perhaps he could swim through this 'new' water, after all.

"Hey, slowpoke!" called a voice above him. It was Xana. She was flying easily through the air on newfound wings. His pulse quickened as he saw her easily darting back and forth, left and right, hovering above him, even when a gust of wind blew.

He buzzed his wings in reply, giving himself a lift, finally abandoning the old shell that represented his limited life below the surface, in the cramped and shrinking confines of what appeared to be a tiny part of the greater world. The world about him was huge, much more expansive than he could ever have imagined.

He leaped off the stem, shooting across the short expanse of water, across the dry hump that separated the backwater from the greater ditch. Xana followed him.

"Where does this new world end?" he asked her, as she caught up with him.

"It seems to go on forever," she said. "This morning I flew past this ditch onto the field above. There are quite a few of our kind there, but there are also great predators some of them call 'birds' down there." She indicated a great cliff before them. "It is up and over this cliff."

Kor fell back a little, experimenting with the new wings he'd been given. It was exhilerating, being able to stop immediately, turn a flip, and twist from side to side, all in the air. He did several somersaults, spinning almost out of control until he came close to the surface of the ditch. He stopped his fall close to another dragonfly, a light blue variety smaller than him.

"Hello," said Kor. "What's your name?"

"Tarin," the beautiful sky-blue dragonfly said. "I came from an eddy further down towards the street."

"Street?" said Kor. "What's a street?"

Something pink and sticky shot out across the ditch and struck Tarin. An instant later, she was gone. A huge green creature near the shore burped, and turned a pair of golden eyes on Kor.

Immediately, Kor rose above the surface of the ditch, zipping back near Xana. "Did... did you see that?" he asked.

Xana didn't answer directly. She headed over the top of the brown rise ahead of them, moving at a pace Kor had to strain to match. "This new world is full of danger, Kor," she said. "You must keep all your eyes focused and ready to dodge."

They came out into a large open field, with tall grass all over. Dragonflies darted across the field, snapping up flies and gnats that rose like a cloud.

A shadow fell across them, and Kor dodged right while Xana dodged left. A huge black shape dropped between them catching a nearby dragonfly below them that was in the process of catching a fly.

Kor watched in silence as the sharp yellow talons caught the dragonfly. The bird flew rapidly up into the sky, and enjoyed its meal on the wing.

Kor shuddered. "Are you all right?" he asked Xana.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. She led him down to the level of the grass. Another bird flew by. They clung to stems and watched it strike another dragonfly.

"This area is a death trap!" Kor exclaimed, watching the birds dropping repeatedly to catch dragonfly after dragonfly. "Let's get out of here!"

Xana nodded, spinning her head around to face him. "It wasn't this bad earlier." She rose to fly back to the relative safety of the ditch, but a black bird, a little smaller than the others, struck her in its talons.

Kor shot forward, unthinking, and grabbed the bird by its right wing as it rose to dizzying heights far above the field. Kor held on to the wing and listened to Xana's struggles in the talons below the bird.

The bird turned it's head to stare, unblinking, at the dragonfly on its wing. Kor held tight to the wing, opened his maw, and tried to take a bite out of the bird's wing. All he managed was a mouthful of tiny black feathers. But the bird tilted its head, and it's yellow beak opened, emitting a shriek.

Kor watched the bird, and leaped off as it struck at him. The bird managed to bite its own wing, cutting into it. He braked to a standstill as the bird sailed past, screaming defiance.

He buzzed after the bird, hurling insults at it. The bird turned in the air, now coming after him. His heart thudded in his chest as he turned from the attacker to the attacked.

The bird still had not let go of Xana, and was going to quickly have Kor as well; a dragonfly in each talon. He turned and fled in terror from the huge creature. His eyes, twice as big as the rest of his body, watched as the bird came closer. At the last minute, as the bird dropped to snatch at him, he darted to the left, just missing the disappointed bird's wing.

The bird soared forward, approaching the end of the field. Kor looked ahead beyond the tall grass, and saw a huge black river ahead. Yellow stripes split the large black river, and white stripes divided it up even further. Great creatures, much larger than the bird, fled down the black river.

Kor's heart skipped a beat as he considered feeding the bird to one of the great beasts travelling the flat black river. The bird wheeled around in a circle and sailed after him again, still fixed on the task of paying him back for the pain in its wing.

Kor dove rapidly down until he was dodging in and out among the great beasts. The bird followed him. He noticed that the beasts left the white and yellow lines alone, so he flew up to a white line, the bird close behind him. As he crossed the line, he stopped and dodged right and down. The bird flew past him, screaming in rage, until a great white beast struck the black bird, sending a shower of black feathers into the air. The beast squealed in anger, leaving two trails of darker black on top of the black river. As it passed, the wind of its passing yanked Kor forward into a tailspin, tossing him into a corkscrew that he had to fight to combat. he struck the hard black river, gripping the white rocks embedded in it.Further ahead, the big black bird, now devoid of many of its feathers, dropped to the river, exhausted. Xana was not in its grip.
The bird ignored him now, just trying to get off the river without being trampled by another beast, a blue one this time.

A bang sounded ahead of him, coming from the great white beast. "Dad!" exclaimed a giant creature's voice, looming above the bird. "It's not dead!"

An even larger creature, unimaginably hideous, loomed behind the female creature. "Leave it alone," the hideous creature boomed in a deep male voice. "We can't pick up every poor animal that gets in our way, especially when we're going fishing. Or would you rather give up the fishing trip to help this old bird?"

The female shook her head.

The male grabbed her arm as another beast flew by. "Get back in the van before you get struck by a car too!"

The female creature made a whining sound, but disappeared back into the belly of the great white beast. The male stared down at the black bird for a moment, and then helped it get off the road.
He looked back down the river before returning to the great white beast.

"Xana!" Kor leaped into the air, ignoring the defeated bird and the male monster, and looked in the sky all around for her.

"H-here," her voice came to him faintly. He headed in that direction, and soon found her gripping a black twig on the front of the great white beast. He dropped down out of the sky and landed on another twig nearby. His irridescent skin shone in the morning light, and he glanced at her critically.

"Why are we on the beast?" he said. "It may eat us, though it doesn't seem to eat birds."

"I'm worn out," she said. "I need to rest."

"Then we will rest a while," Kor said. And that is when the beast started moving down the river.

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 2 - Beyond the Sky

2010-08-14T01:53:00.000-07:00

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 2 - Beyond the Sky

This is the second installment in a four-part short story (4000 words) I wrote recently. Enjoy!

Kor watched as Xana climbed through the blue cieling and disappeared. He rapidly followed without another comment at Nikko. His face approached the smooth surface of the sky, and he reached forward with his left front leg and touched it tentatively.

Ripples spread out softly from the point where he touched, spreading across the sky like one tiny drop of rain. Kor breathed water once more, propelling himself forward and upward, until his eyes touched the sky.

He was surprised to feel the sky dragging at him as he pushed his face against it. Perhaps the pond wanted to keep him in. But for Kor, life and instinct drew him inexhorably onward and upward. He shoved hard against the surface tension, and dragged his body slowly up the stem.

Movement in the water below him distracted him from his exodus for a moment. He looked back down at two youngers looking to make a meal out of his legs. Nikko struck them from the side, and thrust them away.

Kor turned his attention back to the stem and the push. He thrust through the surface tension, and suddenly a flood of new experiences struck him. First, it was the deeper blue of another sky, lacking the silver sheen, so high above him that he couldn't comprehend it. Next, he felt the extreme dryness of everything around him. The water drained off his body as he climbed higher up the stem, moving out of reach of hungry jaws below.

Movement beside him caught his attention, and without consciously thinking about it, he reached out and snatched at it, dropping his mask and stuffing a mosquito into his ravening maw. So. there were mosquitos of a different sort up here - ones that swam through this new sky on tiny whining wings.

Kor gasped and strained for the last vestige of the oxygenated water draining off his drying body. He cried out in horror as he realized there was no water to breathe beyond the sky. How could any dragonfly live with no water?

The water exploded outward from him, it's oxygen used up. Instinctively, he gasped, drawing in raw air where he had been drawing water before. A burning sensation spread through him, dry and hot as fire, as the richer oxygen in the air dried out his internal harvesters and supplied his body with more oxygen and power than he'd ever felt before.

Energy blasted through him, enough to supply the strength necessary to crawl an additional two inches up the stem. Here, he paused, panting this new air. Simultaneously, he was struck by the feeling of intense heat coming from the sun. In this new world, there was no water to protect and dissipate the sun's blasting heat, and his water-soaked body dried quickly on the stem.

But there was water in the air here, too. He could see it spread across the surface of the water below him, though his many-faceted bulbous eyes saw it as a cloudy movement of thousands of tiny panes of light and dark.

Not far away, Kor saw Xana on a neighboring stem. "Move higher up," he called to her, his voice sounding faint in the air.

Xana didn't move. Faintly, her voice came back. "I can't. Watch out for the flying things."

Kor nodded his stiffening head. "Good eating."

Xana visibly shuddered. "Not the ones I'm talking about. They are bigger than us, as much as we are the mosquito flippers."

Kor growled. "We are the predators."

Xana shook her head. "Not anymore." That was the last thing she would say on the matter. She had become a dried-out statue, frozen in position. Even her skin seemed dried and brittle, turning brown as he watched.

The mist moved across the water in a slight breeze that rocked the stem he was on gently. The swaying motion soothed him. He heard buzzing by him, and saw movement, large flying things that hovered and swooped. They looked very similar to him, but they had long gossamer wings that buzzed and flipped them this way and that.

Higher above them, he saw the edge of large green bushes waving slowly in the hot breeze, and beyond the bushes, things with tall thin gray stems that reached far up into the sky, spreading a green canopy across the sky.

And above and among the green canopy, unimaginably huge dark shapes sailed through the air, soaring from tree to tree, and watching... hunting for prey.

The soft breeze cooled and dried the stem under him, and the skin around him. The heat and dryness enveloped him and dried out the exoskeleton that housed him like a pliable skin. His skin stiffened and cracked painfully, from the tips of his clawed feet to the facets of his eyes.

The world began to turn brown and faded, and he became very sleepy as he froze in place and began to change. And this time, he was sure, the change would be different.

2010-08-13T01:37:00.000-07:00

The Ride to Otherwhere - Part 1 - Time to Go

This is the first installment in a four-part short story (4000 words) I wrote while considering my blogpost for the Blog Chain at ChristianWriters. Hope you enjoy it. I'll be posting one of these sections each day for the next four days.

The world was shrinking. Kor could sense it as he fought past his teeming brothers and sisters. There was little room left in the shallow backwater of the tiny ditch. There didn't seem to be anything left to eat in the brackish water - every mosquito flipper had been speared. It had been days since he had seen any. The passage through the shallows to deeper water was gone now, as the sky slowly descended under the warmth of the summer sun.

Rain was what was needed now, and a fresh batch of mosquitos, to keep his kind from eating each other in their voracious appetites. But rain had not been seen on the sky for many days. And meanwhile, the world was shrinking.

Hunger drove him on as he searched frantically for one more meal before his ascent through the sky. Instinct told him that the time of transformation was upon him, and he refused to eat his siblings, even though they seemed to be the only meat in the world.

He thrust aside a crowd of youngers, thin and wasting away. He was headed to the passage. He would go there, even if he had to pierce the sky to get there. Several tried to bite him in their hunger, but he thrashed one so severely that he broke in pieces, and his siblings turned on him in a sickening feeding frenzy.

"Wait up, Kor." It was Xana. She was the only creature in the pond he would wait for. Her time was upon her, too. She felt the need to get out. He could sense it in the tenseness of her motions as she struggled through the crowd of youngers.

He paused. He didn't have to look back. Without turning his head, he could see everywhere. "What is it?" he asked tersely. "I'm in a hurry."

"Where are you going?" she asked as she swam up.

"Nowhere, in this pond." He sighed, a current of water exuding from his spiracles.

Another younger came after him. he smashed it aside with his tail. "It's time to go." He moved on to the end of the backwater, Xana keeping up beside him.

"We will go together," said Xana. "We must search for a new pond with room for youngers."

Kor grabbed a shaft of green with all six legs, and then waved one of them behind him. "These youngers are dead," he said bitterly. "They cannot migrate to a new pond. They are breathing, but they have no chance. Soon there will be few in the pond, if the pond is still here."

"If the lord of the sky doesn't send rain, there will be no pond in ten cycles of the sun." Xana looked at the sky above them. "No ripples in the sky. No darkness at day. Nothing but heat and mist beyond the sky."

"Come with me, Xana," offered Kor. "All that is left for you here is to eat your own kind in a slow death with them."

Xana grabbed onto a neighboring stem. "Why do you think I was following you?" She climbed upwards. "It is time for both of us to pierce the sky, and you know it."

Kor hastened to keep up with her as she climbed. He saw movement behind him, and swivelled his head around so that his mouth was facing backwards. His mouth mask fell away, exposing a huge gaping maw lined with voracious teeth. "Yes!" he roared at the approaching older. "Come feed me with your flesh!"

Though he was hungry, he didn't really want to eat his brother. Nikko stopped in the water. "I wasn't coming to eat you, Kor," he said, hurt and somewhat apprehensive. "I came to say good-bye."

"Ah." Kor paused, shaking his head once, and running a limb over his huge bulbous eyes. "Well, then, good-bye. Perhaps I shall see you beyond the sky."

Nikko kept his mask closed to hide his mandibles. "One can hope we shall meet again in the beyond. But I have a message from Nitaria, who came back to the pond to lay eggs."

Kor stopped. "Eggs laid here will do no good. What was Nitaria thinking, bringing her eggs here in our already overcrowded puddle?" He closed his mask again, hiding his mandibles as well. "What message might one from beyond have for me?"

"Watch your back," said Nikko. "Climb high above the sky or the youngers will try to get you when you transform."

Kor thought about this. "Good advice," he said finally. "You can't fight when you are transforming." He looked past Nikko to the teeming crowd of youngers eyeing them both from a distance. "And now I have some advice for you."

Nikko swam in a circle. "What advice is that?"

"Grow up fast."

WHERE Do You Get these Ideas?

2010-08-12T01:09:00.000-07:00

Where Do You Get these Ideas?

This month I'm participating in a Blog Chain with many of my fellow Christian Writers from www.ChristianWriters.com If you check the sidebar, I have a panel that will let you check out many of the other wonderful posts on this chain. The subject for the blog chain this month is 'Where do you get your ideas?'

I get this question quite a bit. The answer is pretty obvious - the ideas for my novels come from the world around me. True, the fantastic adventures I write about don't happen every day (or perhaps ANY day) but the characters, locations, interactions, and even some of the situations come from the real life I experience every day.

Just as an example, one evening last September while driving my family somewhere, we passed a house in a neighborhood nearby that had a brilliant blue door on the front. The trim wasn't blue, or the shutters, just the door. Everything else was white. The late afternoon sunlight shining on the high-gloss paint of that brilliant blue door made it seem like the door was glowing.

Not a half-block further, we passed several huge crows sitting on a lawn and muttering to one another in a gutteral tongue only they could understand. They looked like they were having a meeting.

And suddenly, the plot to my next NaNoWriMo novel was plopped into my brain. Oh, certainly, there was a lot more to it - some of the characters in the story I saw while at Six Flags several years previously. And no, it wasn't Bugs Bunny and Marvin the Martian. Or even Yosemite Sam. it was a brilliant-looking older man with a grandson and granddaughter near the fountain by the entrance. He looked a bit like an older Milo from Atlantis. Unkempt silver hair, spectacles, and intense blue eyes that twinkled as he explained something about the way the water danced in the fountain to his family.

The world around us is full of stories to tell. Mix and match what you experience and observe. Keep a notebook with you to write down ideas. Take photographs - carry a camera and take pictures of interesting things - things that give you ideas.

While mulling over what to write about in this post, I was driving to work and saw this monster stuck under my windshield wiper. The poor fellow had simply landed on the front of the van, and the wind as I accelerated swept him up under the windshield wiper.

Don't try this at home, kids, but I took this photo while driving. Yes, I keep a camera with me all the time. Once I got to work, the fellow flipped off and flew away, perfectly fine, although miles and miles from his old home. And this big guy gave me the idea for a story - a story I'll share with you in four installments this month. Hope you enjoy it!

The Discomfort Zone - Is Self-Promotion A Christian Concept?

2010-07-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

I'm participating in a Blog Chain this month, with a topic called 'The Discomfort Zone.'

If you look in the sidebar you'll find many other posts in this blog chain. I think you'll find many challenging and informative posts about this Discomfort Zone writers enter into as they work toward publication.

For me, one of the most difficult things I'm having to do during this new chapter of my life (The pursuit of writing novels, I mean) is self-promotion.

Not that I don't like me. I think I'm pretty good! That is, until I look at Him. Now, He's a mark I'll never hit. While Ephesians 5:1 says that we are to be imitators of Christ, I am too often finding mud on my white robes. I sometimes look a whole lot like the world...

Yet, in the publishing industry, one of the most important things a new author has to learn is that they are expected to market their book, or books, and take a very active role in marketing... ahem... themselves.

This means, putting your face on book flyers, getting to know thousands of people, going to book signings, getting in front of people, blogging, gettings onto Twitter and Facebook, Shoutlife and MySpace, and so many other venues online that scream for your attention as you scream for the attention of others...

...and all the time, in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is what God meant when He wanted you to write?

Did He want us to sell ourselves to the public?

And that's the question I struggle with, the Discomfort I face. You see, just like so many of you, I really want people to like me, and I want people to think that the work I do is fantastic. That it amounts to something. That it's a 'good read', a page turner. Something that spoke to you. I could eat that up like Lasagna.

The truth of the matter is that God called all of us to point the way to Him. If I remember that, as His child, I'm a new creation and the work I do, when it's the absolute best I can do through HIS strength and HIS leading, well, it's not bad stuff.

And if I can be an imitator of Christ, if I can be more Christlike through HIS power and HIS grace, then when people look at me, while it looks like I'm busy promoting myself, instead, I'll do my best to promote... Him.

Who Are you Writing For?

2010-06-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

My wife has a tendency to ask some hard-hitting questions. Recently, her best zinger was to ask, 'Who are you writing for?'

It boils down to this - am I writing for me, or for God? Currently, I consider that I'm writing my stories to entertain and build up my kids. But I have a habit of referring to the novels as 'my' book.

I do feel 'called' to write. Creativity is in my blood and in my genes. It oozes out the pores and cries for release. Not bragging, mind. Just a hard look on why I'm doing it. It's almost like I would have to fight to suppress it now.

I thought this question, however, deep enough to send out to those in range of my voice, and ask YOU: (mainly because I am chicken to answer this one on my own)

Who are you writing for?

New Post on NovelTeen Tomorrow!

2010-06-07T12:26:00.000-07:00

I will be posting my first 'staff blogpost' at an exciting Teen Fiction site called NovelTeen tomorrow, June 8th.

NovelTeen is an exciting 'new' blog for Teens to find YA books that are clean. There will be book reviews, FREE Books, articles from authors and for authors, author interviews, excerpts from upcoming books, and much more.

The material I'll be posting on will be on developing a 'rhino skin' (not sure who coined that term first) when dealing with Critique and Rejection in the Literary World.

It's an honor for me to be able to post along with award winning novelists. Please take a moment to check them out!

Book Review - Buying Time

2010-05-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

Today I'm going to take a break from my usual fodder to give you a review of a book I just finished. It's called Buying Time by author and cartoonist Roland Mann.

Here's the author's back-cover blurb:
If you had a chance to re-do part of your life, would you? Even if it meant dying earlier?

That’s the decision Tom Morgan and Larry Pace must make when they are approached by a time traveling time salesman. Complete opposites, both men are drawn to the idea for the same reason: to save someone’s life. But is that even possible? Can the past be changed? Add to that the problem that it’s very addictive, like a dangerous drug. Each trip back in time shortens life.

Here's a snippet of the plot, and my take on the book:
The lives of two men, Tom and Larry, become entangled through a tragic accident that takes Larry's wife and hospitalizes Tom's best friend, Mike.

Tom, a down-on-his-luck journalist, is in some ways responsible for the accident, and feels an overwhelming burden of guilt and an overpowering feeling of worthlessness. His fascination with Mr. Potter's hateful words spoken to George Bailey in Its a Wonderful Life, "You're worth more dead than alive", borders on mania, and is his mantra.

Larry is a devout Christian professor and newly published author, a father of two daughters who help him to struggle through the grieving process. Surrounded by Christian friends and a loving family, he is coping with his loss.

At the funeral, a stranger comes up to him and asks if he wouldn't like to spend more time with his wife. He offers to send Larry back in time and give him a chance to hold her again, and tell her goodbye. He leaves Larry with a business card and a generous helping of confusion.

This stranger is also the person Tom was headed to interview. Big Ben, as the stranger calls himself, offers to send Tom back in time as well. He warns that the time he takes in the past will be deducted from the end of his life, meaning that he will die sooner.

Tom doesn't particularly care; he is teetering on the edge of suicide anyway. Tom goes back in time, attempting to change the past to keep the dreadful accident from occurring. But his efforts, though they change the past, do not circumvent the tragedy.

Later, Larry takes Big Ben up on his offer, going back to the past in an attempt to save his wife Gracie. But changing the past is like turning a battleship with a rowboat; the tragic day plays out similarly, with only small things altered.

The book picks up pace as Tom and Larry meet, and attempt to go back in time together in a concerted effort to keep the accident from happening and save Larry's wife.

From the time the two men meet right up to the end of the book, it was a page-turner I couldn't put down.

Liberally salted with sincere Christian characters, the book is an honest look at death, the power of prayer, and God's sovereignity over our appointed times.

Disclaimer:No goods or services were exchanged for the review of this book. Seriously, I wasn't paid or anything. I just wanted to tell you what a good read it was.

2009-12-31T13:17:00.000-08:00

This day is all about new years' resolutions. I've written a song where I said I wasn't planning on any more, but they aren't necessarily a bad thing if they are manageable and you stick with them.

So here's one for my stack, and it's bubbling up to the top:

I'm resolving to spend more time on Faith, Home, and Family this coming year, so I'll be taking a sabbatical from Social Networking sites for most of the year. I'm on many and they can suck your time away if you let them.

Inevitably, the family suffers when you spend too much time connecting with the thousands of friends you have online. And so, I bid you adieu, with a song that strikes me as appropriate, one I wrote this month for my book 'The Blue Door', which I am currently reading to my wonderful kids...

http://soundclick.com/share?songid=8549109

What foundation are the homes that we build for our families based on? Is it the shifting sands of this passing world, or the solid rock?

Do we build a home where our kids feel welcome? One they'd want to return to if they were ever in trouble? Build up your home as a warm and welcome place, a place that is a shelter from the storms of life.

The Robin and the Jay

Oh, the robin sung sweetly as she feathered her nest
With the soft down that came from the robin's red breast
And she built her home strong, for the eggs that were coming
As the winter snow thawed and the stream started running.

Twas a home built with care for a love meant to share
As the soft songs of Spring filled the sweet morning air
And the rains, they came down, and the wind whipped around
But the nest in the tree stood there, snug, safe, and sound

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?

Oh, the bluejay came late to the wood in the glen
When the winter storms pased, with the Spring setting in
With a nest thrown together, and nary a feather
Unaware of the wind and the oncoming weather

Twas a home built in haste, and the jay, as she raced
Could not see the dark clouds that would soon lay to waste
All her efforts begun on a home for her young
As the storm cast her home in the dirt and the dung

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?

Pantser or Plodder?

2009-12-10T09:08:00.000-08:00

Question for you Today:

Are you a 'Pantser' - a person who writes their books by the 'seat of their pants', or do you 'Plot' out your story?

If you plot it out, how much detail do you go into on your novel before you write the first actual word of your story?
Do you outline the entire story, or just a start, an end, a conflict, and the basic parts of the story?
Do you ouline each chapter, the contents of it, what each character does?
Do you use the 'Snowflake' Method?

If you are a 'Pantser', how do you guide your story and keep from writing your characters into a situation they cannot get out of?

What arguments can you give in support of whichever method you choose, or do you fall somewhere in the middle?

Rose-Colored Glasses

2009-12-07T10:48:00.000-08:00

If you've read the news recently, you probably are running scared, buying gold, stocking up on ammunition and building a fallout shelter in your garage.

With multiple new countries developing nuclear bombs, our own country (and the world's) finances in a mess, unemployment running into the double-digits, and Lindsey Lohan seeking treatment for alcoholism again, it's no wonder we're depressed, recessed, obsessed, and opppressed.

But God isn't asking us to look at the storm around us, through the eyes of panic and despair. He wants His children to remember that He is in control, and that none of this is taking Him by surprise.

While I'm nearing the final chapters of my new novel, I thought I'd share a song with you that has come out of this story - a song based on the following verse:

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.Phil 4:8

If we actually see the world through those 'rose-colored glasses' that some people ridicule, we'll be much happier, and find the positive side of life, and see the Lord's hand at work all around us...

Click here to listen to the song.

Rose-Colored Glasses
Phil:4:8

This world is a mess, there is pain and despair
And there isn't a glimmer of hope in the air
But you'll be so much happier, freer of care
When looking through rose-colored glasses.

In this world there is trouble, and sorrow, and dying
And much of our time seems all tied up in crying
But life would be better when laughing and sighing
So look through those rose-colored glasses.

These magical glasses of rose-colored hue
Will help heal the heart of the saddest of you
For you'll see all that's right, and lovely and true
With these magical, the magical rose-colored glasses.

So when you feel troubled, and tempted to bawl
Just put on a pair; see the good in us all
And if someone you know just gave up on it all,
Just hand them some rose-colored glasses.

Finished... But Not!?

2009-11-17T10:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, today I passed the 50,000 word mark on the NaNoWriMo meter. The little bar turned green, and I did the happy dance! The many hours of slamming words to the keyboard, the late nights, the early morning writing hours stoked by gallons of coffee... It's all over! ...??

But, the novel isn't finished yet. Not by a long shot. The Ranger, whose pet myna is really a Court Jester (Or is that, the ranger doubles as a court jester and the myna (named Jester) is just part of his act...) has just captured the handsome thief...

...who turns out to be the self-sacrificing hero who is going to save the kingdom from a dastardly plot.

The family is protecting the hero (and not just because one of the characters has a crush on him) and they are developing a complicated plan to rescue Dad and Granddad from the clutches of the evil baron.

The evil ex-colleague, Professor Pilfer, is stuck in the alternate dimension with two thugs and is out to steal their only way home.

I certainly can't leave it there. Who will save the thief from the ranger? Who will rescue the Dad in the dungeon? Who will foil the various nefarious schemes? Who will save them all from the inane songs of the myna bird?

Could it be... King Author? ;-)

And so, the Nano will continue. I already know what the dramatic conclusion is to the story, but the dear reader won't, not unless I sally forth and assault the pages (and perhaps the baron's castle!) with many more mere words of wit and wisdom.

Not to mention at least another wonderful song or two from Jester, the pet myna.

So, onward and upward, but HURRAY and HUZZAH! I have passed the Mystic Milestone with my sanity somewhat... intact...

Oops, got an idea, better go write it down! See ya on the other side!

NaNoWriMo Has begun

2009-11-02T10:01:00.000-08:00

So, it's the start of NaNoWriMo again.

Time for frantically slamming fingers to keyboard in the attempt to get 50,000 words written within a short month.

I've had to put my fourth (and final) novel in my first series aside so I could prepare for Book 1 of my new series.

Many people suggested that Nanowrimo is supposed to be just 'writing without limits'. No real plot or direction to speak of.

But I decided that I needed to start with a plot, an outline, character sketches, even down to what actions will be taken by who in each chapter.

By the outline, I have about 30 chapters to write, with I expect 100,000 words in the book.

So. I'm going to measure myself against 100,000 and see how it goes. Maybe I'll make it to the end of the book, maybe not.

But one thing's clear - I'll be posting very infrequently here for the next month, because most of my literary words will be typed into a Word document about a Blue Metal Door, and the world through it...
:-)

And, for all of you doing NaNoWriMo, Good luck with your new masterpieces!

Dealing With Rejection

2009-10-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Sent out my first Query letter for my first novel, the one I wrote last year for NaNoWriMo. I've edited it 4 times through, and had it critiqued a couple times. I was pretty sure the story had a glow of its own.

I've got to hand it to the Agent. The email submission I sent was after hours and yet, the agent got back to me in less than 30 minutes with a form rejection email.

I've got mixed feelings about that. Disappointed that my submission was rejected, but grateful for the agent's quick reply.

I know that if I sent a request in and it took six months to get a rejection letter, that would be six additional months before I could send my story on to the next agent. (This is assuming I got a rejection letter at all - Some agencies state that if you don't hear from them in 6 weeks, they aren't interested. I guess that means, 'No News is BAD News').

Rejection is definitely a part of life for an aspiring author such as myself, so it's something I'd better develop a thick skin for, because I'll see a lot of it, most probably, before someone picks up my book and runs with it.

A form rejection really doesn't give me much to go on. This is unfortunate, but it's what most authors have to deal with EVERY time they get a reject. As Rachelle Gardner's Blog states in one of her posts, a form reject is almost ALL an agent has time to send out.

According to Rachelle's Blog, the agent's time is mainly spent tending to the needs of writers currently on their client list - sending out queries for their novel, researching publisher fits, matching requests from publishers with novels they currently are marketing, I suspect much like headhunters do in the business community when employers ask for a worker that fits certain requirements.

Many agents must spend their 'after' hours reading over manuscripts to see if they are gripping, compelling, and well-written. Their initial contact with a writer (the Query Letter) is in a stack a mile high, and they sort through the stack looking for a little gem in the pile of rocks.

This isn't to say that your manuscript is one of the 'rocks', but it might not be a gem to them.

After all, according to the 2009 Writers Market, the MAJOR publishers produce only 100-200 books a year. But agents are inundated with thousands of ms a month.

So, if your query letter isn't stellar, you'll probably not get a request for a partial.

But when faced with the inevitable rejection letter, the BEST thing an author can do is realize that this rejection is NOT a rejection of you as a person, or even of you as an author. Or, for that matter, even your ms as a viable sellable book.

So, I'll be re-examining my polished ms for some spots on it, create a cleaner Query letter (no, I didn't even get it critiqued, so I probably had that coming to me anyway) and send my query out to the next agent on my list.

Meanwhile, as NaNoWriMo approaches in just a day or two, I'll be continuing to write. Which is what you should do too, when you face a Rejection Letter - Send your query on to the next agent, and keep writing.

Choosing your words carefully

2009-10-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

As a writer I find often that words flow out of me like a stream of water, rapid and refreshing. When I read back over the prose I pen, however, and consider the readers who will be enjoying my novels, I wonder how many of the words in my vocabulary as a 46 year-old engineer will be grasped by the 12-25 year-olds who will be reading them.

I'm encouraged by many writing blogs, books, and literary sources, to consider the vocabulary of the reader, and filter my words to reach their level (or below).

Counterwighting this is the knowledge that as we 'dumb down' our vocabulary for the reader, we inadvertently do them a disservice. Because we don't consider that these novels we write are the very sources many young people will use to expand their vocabularies.

Allow me to explain.

As a young boy, at the tender age of ten, I was devouring books by authors like Edgar Rice Burroughs, Rudyard Kipling, Robert Louis Stevenson, Andre Norton, Piers Anthony, Larry Niven, Isaac Asimov, and Robert Heinlein.

I was not studying books like The Dictionary. Or the Encyclopedia Brittanica. Call me an escapist, or a Walter Mitty.

But reading a big book of words in order to expand my stockpile of terms was just a waste of precious time, when I could be hidden in an apple barrel listening to Long John Silver planning to take over the ship. Or racing across the ochre moss of Mars with John Carter to save his precious Dejah Thoris. Or discovering new worlds with the half ship's cat, half ??? named Eet, in search of the Zero Stone.

No, my vocabulary came vicariously, through my exposure to these books i enjoyed so much.

Often, a term would roll out I didn't know, and I would consider the context, and learn a new word in the process. Did I look up the word in the Dictionary? Infrequently, but yes. More often, I reasoned out the word on my own. I was usually right, but not always. I didn't let these short hiccups stop me from enjoying a good read. I used it to expand my horizons.

I believe we must balance this desire to expand the reader's vocabulary with a healthy dose of realism - the average reader will quit if they have to check much more than a few words in the dictionary. I know I would have. But, we shouldn't expect the reader to simply check their brains at the door, either.

How do YOU find this balance as a writer? Do you write your novel in your own words, then do a Word check for reading level, and adjust as needed? Do you adjust it for the average reader at all, or risk alienating them?

Fantasy and the Real World

2009-10-10T07:41:00.000-07:00

The writing of fantasy usually involves fantastic realms where dragons, fairies, wizards, and magic exist, and where the usual physical rules of the universe do not necessarily apply.

There is rarely any explanation of how any of this magic works or why. The reader is expected (and usually willing) to suspend his or her disbelief in the joy of a good story.

Often, the writer is encouraged to keep the fantastic of the story separate from the mundane, real world we live in. After all, those things don't happen in the world we live in.

Keeping it real, or Keeping it Imaginary
A writer feels more comfortable writing about things he or she knows about. Because of the risks of jarring a reader out of the story when something in the real world doesn't mesh with the reader's knowledge of that world, the writer takes the safe road of sticking to what they know, or avoiding the real world altogether.

But there is an entire real world out there that we can experience, and as writers, we can expand our horizons by visiting those areas, or researching them in the library or online, before writing about those areas of the world.

Many fantasy stories I've read begin in the real world, then an occurence, an accident, a planned invasion, a wormhole in space, a warp in time and dimension, leads the protagonis into a world where they are desperately needed, incredibly powerful, or perhaps basically ignored until their character blossoms and they begin to guide their own destiny. (At least, to their own perspective).

Other stories I have read bridge the gap between real and imaginary at points within the book (or movie, for that matter, like in Disney's Enchanted)

Question for you:
So, have any of you myriad fantasy writers out there ever had the experience of researching another area of the world, the real world, in a story you've penned?

Dreams and novels

2009-10-05T05:48:00.000-07:00

I wonder how many authors get their best ideas for novels while they sleep. When the brain shuts down into deep mode, is it possible that things slow down enough that the 'back office' portion of the brain has a chance to process the cogitations of the day and complete the threads of the stories we've been agonizing over?

I know that, for me, many of my best songs have been penned upon waking up, in the early morning hours, when the sun is on the rise...

Also, my best ideas for stories so far have come from dreams. Sometimes dreams based on one small event of the day - For example, a story I'll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year is based upon a dream I had, after pondering on a bright blue door on a house a mile south of my home.

I've looked at that door as I drove down the quiet street, and thought that it was the single most bizarre thing on my drive. Brilliant blue, the azure of a rain-swept sky, and the only thing particularly colorful on an otherwise rather mundane home.

A door to adventure. A portal to danger and discovery.

Doors are curious things. They let things out. And they let things in.

More on the door when I get that story written, hopefully by the end of November.

But I digress. The basic thrust of this is that after a night of dreaming about that door and the very large crows congregated on the lawn nearby talking in muttering tones, I had the basis for an entire series of books.

I wonder how many authors get their best ideas in dreams?

MAPS

2009-04-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

When working on a New World, sometimes it's nice to know the lay of the land.

And if you're going there, it's usually nice to have a map.

So here's a sketch of Lynvia, such as Kyne was examining in the throne room just the other day, before heading on a Quest to the Dragon Graveyard.

There are many places on the map that have not been mentioned yet, even in the two novels completed so far.

These are areas for further development later. And there are places NOT on the map that figure heavily in Book Three.

Novel Excerpt - A Prince of Lynvia

2008-12-29T10:53:00.001-08:00

As I said in an earlier blog, I've completed NaNoWriMo, and once the smoke cleared, I had a new novel, for which I thank them profusely.

As such things go, the novel is in revision, as I edit and fix plot-holes and such.

This week and next I will be reading this story to my four kids, to get their input on issues and problems with the text and story line, things that need to be 'fleshed out', etc.)

It is not specifically a Christian novel, and some Christians might have issues with a novel that involves magic and I respect that.

But, the magic, for the most part, is contained withing another dimension, though there is interaction with this dimension, as you will read if you pick up a copy, hopefully available before next NaNoWriMo, when I expect to pen the sequel.

Here is the short synopsis and an excerpt (which may change but only slightly)

Synopsis: A Prince of Lynvia
Shortly before his 13th birthday, young Kyne Goodrum, a boy with no memories before he was 8, moves to a small town with his mom and grandfather. The kids in the town pick on him for his pale complexion, jet black hair, and stuttering.

The home they are renting is reported to be haunted, and no sooner do they move in, than Kyne begins to have vivid and frightening dreams - dreams of a medieval world where magic really works, people speak a completely different language, and for some inexplicable reason, everyone is trying their best to kill him.

Wounds that he receives in his dreams last into his waking world - and he begins to wonder which world is truly real, or are they both...

Excerpt: A Prince of Lynvia
Kyne opened his eyes on a dark and forbidding landscape. He was seated with his back against a cliff face, looking out over a heavy downpour. The rain was not reaching him here in the shelter of a slight overhang, but he was soaking wet, and out of breath. Through the rain he could see a trail leading down a hill into the gray distance. From that direction he could hear excited shouts.

“Sted Kerch!” cried one rough voice.

“Q’rete Kerch?” came from the side. A crashing through the brush came from that direction.

“Kedder Vargen!” came from the other side. It sounded like a curse. Kyne began to panic. The voices did not seem as if they bode him any good will, and he appeared to be surrounded. He looked behind him. The overhang receded back only a few feet. A shallow crack went behind the boulder he was sitting on but it was not deep enough to hide in. And there was no time. Already through the rain he could see the first of his pursuers coming into the clearing not far away.

“Cherr Stedev Kedder!” He shouted in triumph. The burly dark-haired man approached cautiously through the rain, water running down his face from his straggly hair. From each side came another man. The one on the left was tall and wiry, with a lean hungry look in his eyes. The one on the right was short and fat, with at least three chins under his porky face. Wolf, Chubs, and Burly. The three characters were so different they looked like a comedy group, and Kyne could have imagined them wearing clown makeup, except for the threatening looks on their faces.

Kyne felt his clothing and realized he had that knife from the previous dream. As the men approached, he stood up warily and pulled the knife out, holding it threateningly.

The closest one stopped short, pointing. “Kerch ket loll glath!” Chubs took a step backward.

“Ha! Ha ha ha!” laughed Burly. “Cherrae ket glatherae!” he shouted in triumph, pulling out a sword. The other two men pulled out swords as well. Burly glanced at his two cronies. “Vor vorkell! Dev havvel kerch kell!” He looked at Kyne. “Petch glath!” He pointed at the knife, and held the sword up at Kyne.

Kyne got the impression he wanted him to drop the knife, but he wasn’t sure if he should drop his only line of defense. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as if he had much choice. He was still standing in the dry, and the three men were out in the rain, when suddenly large rocks fell from the cliff face and struck Wolf and Chubs on the head, knocking them down. Chubs lay where he fell, but Wolf rolled up holding his bleeding head. Four men dropped from the cliff face on ropes. They were each holding a sword in their hands, and they landed just between Burly and Kyne.

The four new characters were dressed in black broadcloth. They appeared to be battle-hardened warriors. Two of the warriors had silver hair, one of them was powerfully built, and one of them appeared rather young. Graybeard, Grizzles, Muscles, and Pup. There were some shouts from above on the cliff face, and the ropes hanging down the cliff began to move, as if additional men were coming down the cliff.

Graybeard pointed his sword at Burly, and just said one word. “Prai”. At first Kyne thought they were asking Burly to pray for mercy, but Burly retreated rapidly down the hill, Wolf staggering after him. Chubs still lay where he had fallen.

Now the warriors turned and looked at Kyne. “Petch glath!” said Grizzles. Gee, that seemed to be everyone’s favorite song. Well, he wasn’t going to ‘petch glath’ for anybody. Graybeard nodded at Pup, who swung his sword suddenly at Kyne. The sword moved faster than he could follow, and the flat of the blade struck his wrist. The knife flew from his stinging wrist, and straight toward Grizzles. His hand went up and caught the handle.

“Drah Chell!” Grizzles said with a grin, quickly depositing the knife in his belt. Kyne didn’t have to wait long to find out what would happen next. Graybeard gave a nod to his henchmen, and Kyne had his hands tied behind his back before he could say a word. Muscles threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes just as four other men dropped to the wet ground. Kyne looked at them from his vantage point over Muscles’ shoulder. Grizzles attached Kyne to one of the ropes and jerked twice on it. Suddenly, the rope was hauled aloft, with Kyne at the end of it. Grizzles and Muscles came climbing up after, while the rest of the henchmen did something with Chubs. To his surprise, he was not hauled to the top of the cliff, but to a cave halfway up the cliff. Hands reached out, and untied the rope from him, and hauled him into the recesses of the cave. Around a bend in the cave were several black-suited men, carrying torches. They escorted Kyne down passages and into a vast gallery so tall the torchlight could not reveal the top. Across the huge gallery, a small crack led deeper into the mountain. They proceeded into the crack, along a ledge that led past another chasm, and finally, after much travel, to the shore of an underground lake. There were many caves leading into this massive cavern, and there were steps carved into the cave walls leading to many of them. On the shore of the lake was a stack of wooden crates, and a large fire was built near them. Many men and women were gathered around the fire, and the women were cooking something that smelled like fish.

They seated him on a crate, and two men stood near him, eyeing him occasionally, while playing some game of chance with stones.

After a time, they looked back up the way they had come, and Kyne turned his head to see Graybeard and Pup returning with the other men. Grizzles took the knife and cut the ropes binding Kyne’s hands, and Grizzles and Graybeard brought him a bowl of fish stew.

“Thanks,” said Kyne, speaking for the first time.

“Q’noe chell?” said Graybeard, looking closely at Kyne over his own bowl of stew.

“Q’noe chell?” returned Kyne, trying to imitate the words. He had no idea what the old man was asking.

“Cherr Kedrick,” said Graybeard, putting a hand to his chest. “Q’noe chell?” he asked again, pointing now at Kyne’s chest. Duh, he wants to know who I am.

“Kyne,” he said, putting a hand to his chest.

Whatever reaction he would have expected, after revealing his name, was nothing compared to what occurred. Grizzles and Graybeard both leapt up in horror, and Grizzles pulled out his sword and raised it over his head, shouting “Klardel Kyne! Vorkell kerch et kerch vorkell cherrae!” He struck down as fast as he could, to kill Kyne, but Greybeard’s sword was faster, and blocked the blow.

At the first words out of his mouth, everyone in earshot jumped to their feet, pans of stewed fish falling unnoticed to the ground. Kyne cowered beneath the blow, and suddenly Grizzles and Greybeard were swordfighting above him. Grizzles was shouting something about ‘Clarthar’ and ‘Vorkell’.

Several people came running and tackled Kyne while the battle was going on, and they quickly tied and gagged Kyne.

So much for my stew. Was it something I said? thought Kyne.

NaNoWriMo is Over... Time for Reflection

2008-12-12T07:53:00.000-08:00

December 12th, 2008

So November is over, the smoke has settled, the snackfood wrappers have all been eaten by the dog, and the fingers are recovering from the rapid and rabid fury of pounding out thoughts directed at a story of some Significance.

The final chapter written, the Characters all have had some closure to the Great Adventure that they were embroiled in, and the final lines have opened up for the great and glorious Sequel that inexhorably follows the wondrous tale.

If the brakes don't fail, the Sequel will wait in its impatient cubbyhole of the brain, for another November and another wonderful flurry of frenzied NaNoWriMo.

What in the world is NaNoWriMo, you may ask? Click on the links to see. But for those who really don't trust links, (how did you get here, perchance??) it is an insane commitment to write 50,000 words toward a Story, during the 30-day span of November. It is fun! It is exciting! It is crazy! (No, really, you might need a mental exam before and after, but after the smoke clears, you will at least have a Story.)

Christmas is fast approaching. The tree is up, taking over the living room and calling attention to itself with every blinking light. 'Christmas is coming! Are you ready?'

The presents are ordered (online) and our family is almost halfway through the celebration of Advent and the obligatory joy of reading through our Advent Story. (Yes, I have another story, too.)

Our family will enjoy this Christmas break, even if it kills us all. We'll read through the chapters of the Advent Story every night, listen to the accompanying music, and suck on the candy from the Advent Calendar, and perhaps reflect on the story, and the true and wonderful, joyful reason why we celebrate this season at all.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the lightbulb will click on and we'll come out of this season changed. Yes, changed for the better, caring about others, seeing them through God's eyes, giving thanks for the blessings we have, and not panicking about the future and what it might hold.

For, although I cannot say what the future holds, I know Who holds the future.
:-)

Have a Merry Christmas!