Category Archives: Editing

Release Date

What with everything going on this May, (two birthdays, prom, two graduations, etc!), I have decided to release my novel in June. So the official release date for my e-book Dragon Venom will be June 29, 2017.

That’s the feast day of my patron saint, incidentally, which is why I picked it. But it also gives me some time to do the umpteen million things that I have to do between now and then and still have time to get the book completely ready for your reading pleasure. So, wish me luck, I will be very very busy for the next several weeks and I will need every bit of energy that I can muster to get everything done.

I’m excited!

Editing, the non-thrilling part of writing

So, I am about a third of the way through the final edit on the manuscript for my dragon novel, Dragon Venom. Oi, it’s a tedious process– going back and fixing all those little typos and dropped commas and whatnot. Also changing some of the names of places, as I wasn’t satisfied with the names as they were. I tried a naming scheme for the places that just didn’t quite work out, so all of those need to be fixed, doublechecked, and then the map needs to be re-drawn. My artist and my Photoshop consultant both need to be consulted regarding the changes, and the changes applied to those things.

But, it’s looking good. If I can keep things on track and get over this nasty cold that the kids brought home, I am looking at a June release date. Which, yeah, is ambitious, considering how crazy things are this month, but I am really looking forwards to getting this novel published and out there where people can read it. You can get all the feedback possible from your first readers, but there’s nothing quite like having actual readers reading your work.

I’m also working as an editor on another project, not for money, just for the love. It’s not a very big project, just a short story collection, but I hope to get it done very quickly. Then, I’m going to be working on the next novel in the dragon series, plus I am outlining a suspense novel. Whew. Lots to be done!

Progress and The Idiot

The thing about chronic illness is that it plays merry hell with your writing production.

I was reminded of this powerfully this month, not only because I have spent the past six weeks suffering through this stupid cancer treatment and a very bad arthritis flare simultaneously, but also because I finally finished reading Dostoyevsky’s novel “The Idiot.”

In my own life, my arthritis flares start with fatigue so all-encompassing that I could easily sleep 20 hours a day if I wasn’t forced out of bed to deal with reality. And when I am out dealing with life, I am functioning about as well as a zombie might. Once the fatigue passes, the pain begins, and typing is just one of the many things that becomes nearly impossible.

Dostoyevsky wrote “The Idiot” during a turbulent period in his life, and it’s possible to watch his own illness come and go in the quality of the plotting and writing. Some sections of the novel crackle with energy and the plot hums along without any hesitation. And then there are the sections where there’s hesitancy, redundancy, and a slight bewilderment in the plotting. Those periods are followed by chapters that suddenly introduce a narrator, who digresses about authorial intent and writing techniques. All in all, “The Idiot” is an at-times bizarre mess of a novel.

But it’s a grand mess, a touching long rumination about the nature of goodness, the difficulties of living in the real world with real sinful humanity all around you, and it also functions as a venue to explore the worries and fears of a man who was afflicted with epilepsy (as was the titular character.) It took me months to read through it, mostly because it required concentration and a lot of patience. The more confused chapters are difficult to get through, and whether or not Dostoyevsky purposefully wrote them that was as a reflection of his character’s mood or if it was an unconscious reflection of his own mental state, they’re very hard to get through. Once the characters leave Petersburg for Pavlovsk, the narrative meanders and doubles back according to whimsy.

I have started working again, although of course I am more than a month behind on my goals and stated ambitions. And I can only say that sometimes Reality steps in and makes its own goals the primary ones. Getting through each day, trying to get the very basic things of life done, it leaves no time for art or craft. If you can’t even remotely figure out how you’re going to cook dinner or make it to the dentist without falling apart, it’s a pretty good bet that you’re not going to be working at any sort of artistic high point.

So, I will continue to work. And I will update when I am done. It shouldn’t be too long, however. My birthday is soon and I want to be out with the old and in with the new, so to speak. Getting these old projects off my to-do list would clear the decks for more new things.

Alright, Alright, Alright! Story Update

L1009540So, I found the copy of that story, the one I had intended to publish as a standalone short story for your reading pleasure, A Dagger In the Rain. I have it converted into Word (which was a royal pain, thank you Adobe for trying to scalp us continually for cash) and it’s ready to be edited, reformatted, and published.

SO, my Valentine’s gift to you all will be a FREE version of this story, available from February 14th until the 1st of March. I will have a link for you to download it from, and you can have it completely without charge until March. Just keep my name attached to the story if you pass it along to someone, and maybe send them to one of my websites if you’re feeling particularly friendly.

I will then be publishing it, along with several other stories, as a short story collection Unfinished Tragedies: Tales of Ghosts, Curses, and Revenge.

So, I expect to be extremely busy for the next month or so, but I will of course be checking my email so if you have any questions, feel free to shoot them over to me. The hardest thing is going to be training my younger kids what it means when Mommy is working– I haven’t worked as a writer in so many years that they can’t understand that “Mommy at the computer” doesn’t necessarily want to answer six hundred questions and have you cling to her knee, whining, when she’s not paying attention to you! But I don’t doubt that they’ll figure it out just like their older siblings did.


truly, madly, deeply

I will be honest with you– in the past, I have been guilty of writing things that weren’t truly reflective of who I really am. I’ve written things just to try to sell them, just to try to break into a particular market, and written things that don’t actually reflect my ideals, thoughts, hopes, and morals.

Which is why I don’t really like to dig back into my past and publish my old stories and poetry. There’s very little in there that I am actually proud of, very little that I would want my grandchildren to read, so to speak. I wrote things that I thought would please my “market” and they are embarrassing to me now. Why did I write that, I ask myself. Was it really that important to sell a short story?

Some writers will tell you that writing “to a market” is just what you do. It’s the accepted practice– if someone wants to publish an anthology about freaky hermaphrodite clowns, then you write a story about freaky hermaphrodite clowns, even if you heartily wish that clowns were all stripped of their red rubber noses and forced to work at the DMV.

In some cases, the ideas spawned by certain markets, like anthologies and magazines, may, possibly, once in a blue moon, actually rouse your best creative force and you can write a heartfelt tale that sears the page in its beauty and passion. But mostly you’re just hurriedly grinding something out in the very slim hope that the editor will like it. Even though the editor is mainly counting on their friends and acquaintances to fill the anthology and is only holding out one or two slots for unknown writers, of course. And then you’re stuck with a story about freaky hermaphrodite clowns, which you now have to try to foist off on another market. (Those other markets know that this will happen, and cringe for months reading freaky clown stories.)

Sometimes, though, you’re just writing in a certain genre and you absorb the mores and cultural assumptions that are common to that market. Cultural appropriation is terribly common in science fiction and fantasy (ask me sometime about alien worlds who all seem to have desert areas with heavily draped peoples who call the area Something-istan. I start to foam at the mouth, I have heard.) So is writing about gay characters even if you yourself are not gay. Being progressive sells, that’s the heart of the idea.

I wrote a story once about a young woman in 1600-1700s Indonesia who was banished from her village, became bonded to a cursed knife, and then had the problem of how to remove the knife. Long story short: she gets her hand cut off, but decides, with the help of her lesbian lover, that the cursed knife must be destroyed for the good of her people. Because of the religious powers that were in that particular region at that time, I ultimately had my character pray to the Islamic god for his help in destroying the knife.

Now, if I was writing the story today, I would have found a way to leave Islam out of it ENTIRELY. Not simply to avoid offending the people of that faith (although that would be part of it) but also because it was just a hasty addition at the end, written under time pressure, and it wasn’t a very satisfying ending to the tale. I would have preferred it if the woman could have found some other ghost of her own people to banish her vile uncle’s spirit.

I guess it was satisfying enough to sell it, anyway– it was published in 2002 in a cd-rom anthology called “Extremes 5: Fantasy and Horror from the ends of the earth.” For, hah, an equal share of the profit. Sadly, after the editor had taken out his expenses, there was no profit, so basically all I got for tacking on this hasty religiously ambivalent ending was a copy of the cd-rom and a cramped hand from signing the sleeve inserts. Oh, and I was out about ten bucks for postage.

I would have made it more clear, I think, that the main character was only “gay” in the sense that she was heartbroken and suicidal and that she was responding to the other woman’s kindness and love. Two broken people clinging to each other in a storm. If it had been a man, she would have probably run in fear after her lifetime of abuse by men. Situationally, the gay character made sense. I don’t regret putting it in, because it was true to the character and the story basically wouldn’t have worked without there being someone else there to help her. She would have just given up and died, otherwise. I wanted people to feel that sorrowful weight upon her, and then to see at the end that she was, in fact, still broken– the love had not fixed the wounds in her heart. It just enabled her to endure the pain.

So I have decided that this week, in celebration of the idea of doing things “right” and true and writing from your passion and not your fear, I am going to republish this story, A Dagger in the Rain, on Kindle. I will be doing some editing to it first, fixing that problematical ending with the unneeded influence of an outside god. As an outsider writing about a distant historical place, and about ghosts in that place, nothing is ever going to be perfect. Even Joseph Conrad had to read several books about the Indonesian peoples before he dared to write about them, because he knew he wouldn’t get everything right without years of experience that he didn’t have.

The first step is going to be to find the disc. I know I just moved it into my closet right before Christmas! Then a quick edit and rewrite, and I will make it available for a nominal price on Amazon’s kindle page. I’d start tonight but I can feel my Ambien kicking in and my typing is starting to fall apart.

I am excited, I think, to try to make a story closer to my true vision for it. There are not many stories that I would bother fixing in this way– mostly my ghost stories, for those have always been the ones closest to my heart. When you’ve lived in a haunted house, ghost stories are always interesting ones.

My novel, thankfully, is only “not me” in one respect: I wrote it with a male protagonist. In hindsight, I still feel that he’s the best character for the job. I definitely wouldn’t want to put a female through all the stuff those guys get up to in their desert journey. But the fact that I wrote this novel to fit in with MY vision of what a fantasy hero should act like and do and feel and dream . ..  that makes it so pleasing to me. I didn’t sell out for this novel. Raban and Valerius are just who they need to be, where they need to be, doing what they need to do. And it was a labor of love to get them there.

I’ll announce the release when it posts. 🙂

Last Post . . . no, I mean the novel

So, I had urgent business that I had to finish before I dusted off my novel and got it ready for publication.

I had to finish reading Ford Madox Ford’s tetralogy “Parade’s End.”

You see, the fourth novel in the book, “Last Post,” is a hard slog at first. You’d think that, after having hacked your way through the thickets of confusing prose in the first three novels, the fourth would be a breeze, but you’d be wrong. Because suddenly Ford throws a curve-ball and abandons his protagonist, Christopher Tietjens, leaving him entirely out of the book until the last two pages. So we’re thrust into the point of view of a bunch of people who have mostly been in the background, and the epic study of one obstinate man becomes more of a gossipy pursuit of truth through the various bits of information these characters reveal.

It’s jarring. But, having resolved to finish the book, I kept at it until I found the groove. Which came, oddly enough, from the one completely incurious character in the novels.

The other characters are always wondering about something, obsessing about something, sifting through memories and possibilities until you’re quite certain that all of them are more than a little bit crazy. None of them are introspective; they’re constantly obsessed with the actions and possible actions of others. When we finally get dropped into the POV of Tietjens’s sister-in-law, it’s refreshing. She’s completely incurious, to the point where it’s ridiculous. After so many hundreds of pages devoted to worrying about people, here is a woman who just wants to bottle some cider. Properly, the French way.

Graham Greene famously hated “Last Post” and tried to strike it from the tetralogy completely. It’s easy to see why– it’s so different in tone and style from the first three novels that it seems like an ugly duckling. But by the end of the third book, the only real “change” that Tietjens is capable of making has been made. We know him, we know how sentimental and hard-headed and absurd he is. What we haven’t seen before is the resolution of the conflict between the women of the novels and the fallout from WWI. Those are both messy topics, and not in the least anything that Tietjens himself would want to even think much about. It’s a much prettier ending to end the series with the third book– it has a classic romantic ending– but it’s much more psychologically satisfying to see the whole darn mess for what it is.

And that’s what “Last Post” gives us: a real conclusion. And I couldn’t move on from Ford’s books, mentally, until I’d moved past them. After the horrible shadow of jealousy and despair was dismissed, well, we can all move on. Until then, the reader knows that there’s no actual happiness in that romantic ending, because the banshee of Sylvia’s desire is going to keep haunting Tietjens and all his affairs.

Now that I’m finished reading the series, however, my lovely excuse for not working is gone so I’d better get busy.

Reading novels like these, however, does set the bar that little bit higher. How can I be happy with my work if I don’t try for “art?” I can’t, of course. But it helps to remember that Ford wrote dozens of novels, of which only this series and “The Good Soldier” are actually given any renown. Not everything we write really hits the mark. And sometimes, like this novel, it may hit it for some people and decidedly NOT hit it for others.



New Year, same old resolution

It’s funny how the end of the year makes you really stop and re-assess your progress. On paper, my year doesn’t look so awful.

1 novel written, 3 picture books written, novel submitted to a contest, one of the picture books submitted to several agents.

Looks fairly productive, doesn’t it?

Only I know that I could have done much better if I had really stuck to my writing goals. I pretty much stopped my daily writing as soon as the novel was finished and I didn’t pick it back up again, no matter how much I told myself that I intended to.

So, my new year’s resolution is pretty stale and old: Write more!

It’s not exciting, it’s not thrilling, and all it promises me is at least an hour a day of generally frustrating time spent working. I have a lot of other things that I need to do this year, but getting back to work as a writer is something that I do mainly for myself. It’s certainly not a Get Rich Quick scheme. It’s not going to make me healthier or make my family happier. It’s something I do just to please myself, something that only really rewards me. And the rewards only come with that sense of accomplishment when something is finished or sold. Sooooo . . . some more goals:

I want to finish one more novel in 2013.

I want to write and publish one nonfiction e-book in 2013.

I want to sell at least 3 short stories in 2013.

I want to edit and polish my first novel again and find an agent for it.

I want to polish and edit my 3 picture books again and find an agent for them, too.

I want to write 3 more picture books.

Pretty ambitious, but not out of reach. I think that I can accomplish all of the writing goals. The goals of selling and getting an agent are less under my control, but definitely possible. I just have to keep working at it.

So, 2013 is going to be a busy year!


The Rhino Hide of a Writer

I’m working on toughening my skin again, the better to deal with rejection. You see, I’ve begun sending one of my picture books out to try to find an agent and the process is rough. You won’t survive it without a skin as tough as a rhinoceros’s hide, or perhaps as tough as some kind of military-grade advanced polymer.

Naturally, after girding up my loins for that first rejection, it came within an hour of sending out that first emailed query letter.


I guess it’s better to know quickly than to have them drag it out for months. I know it’s better to know quickly. It just doesn’t give you much time to build yourself up for it, to tell yourself that it’s all right, that you will, indeed, survive this process and come out on the other end with a successful career.

It’s a bizarre cycle– you have to adore and love your book while you’re writing it. You have to loathe it while you’re editing it. You have to love it again as you build up your nerve to send it to agents or editors. And then you have to have a certain distanced disregard for it while the rejections pour in. “What? My novel? My picture book? You must be mistaken . . . I’m just the guy who handles the mail.”

I’m pretty disillusioned about my first novel, as well. I sent it to 5 beta readers. Of those, only my dad read it. I have to assume that he read it because he is, well, my dad. If I can’t even get my beta readers to finish the thing, then there must be some significant problem with the book. So, it probably needs editing again. But is it a productive use of my time to edit it again? Or should I just write another? What did I do wrong? And how can I avoid that in the next book?

I’m working on that rhinoceros hide, but man, the bullets coming in are coming from high-powered rifles and they zip right through, into my heart.

Why do we put ourselves through this? Is the payoff really worth the pain? How much of one’s ego should be invested in their writing?

All of those are questions for which I have no answers. All I can do is carry on, so I will research another handful of agents to send my manuscript to (and send it), and I will write another 300 words on my Noah book each day, and (sometime this week) I will open up my Dragon Venom manuscript and chop the first three chapters to bits.

And if I’m crying at any point during these proceedings, well . . . no one can tell if there’s tears on your manuscript if it’s electronically submitted.



Back in Edit-land

I’ve delved back into the horror that is editing.

It’s worse than I remembered.

Basically, I sat down this week and decided to edit a picture book that I’ve written, BEAU’S NOSE. I’ve been re-writing, editing, chopping, cutting, re-writing some more, and then repeating the whole bitter process. And I still can’t decide if I need to chop a big element out (I’m leaning towards no) or just simply remove all the “he said” and “she said” that clutters it up. Either way, I’ve removed 100 words from it and given it a rhythmic element and it still isn’t “quite” there yet. And I’m at a loss as to how to get it over that final hump.

So, I’m letting it “sit” for a couple days.

Meanwhile, I am going to go down and read through that stack of children’s books again. Maybe I’ll figure out what I’m doing wrong with a hearty overdose of other people’s work!


Dealing with Doubt

If I had an easy solution for self-doubt, I’d be selling it for an obscene amount of cash.

Since I don’t have an easy solution, I’ll just have to go with my heart: one cannot be nearly as awful as one imagines in their times of worst doubt and fear. Simply put, you’re never going to be “the worst novelist ever” or even “such a bad writer that they should make it illegal for me to write.”

Doubt and fear stalk us, but unlike lions, they don’t just prey upon the weak and old and sickly among us writers. No, these hunters are indiscriminate. Pulitzer Prize-winning writers can suddenly have an attack of self-doubt that makes them wonder if their entire life was a waste. We can all be afraid that our work is somehow grossly flawed, and that we, as artists,  well . . . that we just plain suck.

I’ve had a fairly unenthusiastic response from some beta readers and it’s put the cold stark terror into my heart that my novel does, indeed, suck.

It’s a hard fear to shake. Even if it gets published, even then, there will always be haters and detractors. You have to feel sorry for the big names, too, for they draw some exceptionally negative attention. Ever read George R.R. Martin’s blog and comments? Ever read any of the several websites devoted to mocking him? Yeah . . . gotta kinda wince about that. Even he must have bad days where he wonders if he’s going to just be a flash in the pan of memory and have his books drop out of readers’ consciousnesses as soon as the series is done (or he is dead.)

That maybe, yeah, he sucks, too.

Overcoming this doubt and fear . . . it’s a difficult task. It may be the most difficult part of writing. I try to calm myself by reading books by inept authors and then reminding myself that I can string a sentence together better than that person, anyway. It’s not a big consolation, but when you’re at the bottom of the well, it’s better than being alone in the cold dark.

So, here I am, reading bad prose and then trying to recall all the “good” parts of my own work. After a while, it does help a bit . . . say, I DID write a nice scene there. And, yeah, my character IS particularly cool.

It’s small solace, but it’s what I have. What do you do when the bugbears come to bite?