15 posts tagged “writing”

So much for the haunting season.  It was generally fun, though not without some drawbacks.  Haunted Nashville was by and large a great experience, and really gave me a feel for a different kind of live performance.  Sure, I had done some haunts before, in the 'way back when,' but Nathan Hamilton's Turbidite Manor was a very different creature.  Both the show and the leadership provided a feeling much closer to a theme park show than anything I've done before.

There were a lot of your basic horror fan haunting hobbyists in the show, and in Riddles of Horror and House of Distortion, but there was also a lot of crossover into the film and theatre communities.  I made a metric tonne of great contacts there, including meeting some people I had heard were great but hadn't gotten around to shaking hands with.  Some of these folks include actors Rodrikus Springfield and Shilo Turri, writer/actress Nicole Nelson-Hicks, makeup artist Jenn Smith, and talent manager/director/producer Lynda Drewry, to name just a few. 

The patrons, though often belligerent, disrespectful and, for some reason highly disinterested in getting their money's worth, were also appreciative and responsive.  Halloween night itself saw the worst of them, mainly annoyed that they didn't get invited to any cool parties, I think.  I have to say, though, that giving them a real scare (enough to knock many of them on their asses) was a good thrill, especially those who thought they were hardcore or something.

Also of note, in my weird little world, November 1st is New Year's Day.  That's how my ancient forebears did it and that's how  do it.  So here's hoping for a terrific year, one that really builds on the momentum I've created so far.  I have a new gig writing for Demand Studios, voiceover work on a great project, some big spotlit stage dreams and a novel manuscript in the works.  It only gets bigger better busier from here!

As fall's really kicking in here in Nashville, I find myself all kinds of busy.  The work progresses, though slowly.The novel currently stands at 49k+ words, out of 90k, so I'm really getting there.  I have had some writers' block lately, and the bit I'm on is touchy, and must be executed with some subtlety.

There have been a lot of side projects soaking up my attention as well, including a great gig at Haunted Nashville.  Having more or less finished the scenic painting, I'm enjoying the role of Turbidite Manor's Sheriff John, scaring people with frontier panache.

I've also gotten involved in some "how to" work.  In addition to some Halloween decoration videos, shot by Dimitri LaBarge, I've put up some articles over at eHow, expanding my article writing chops.

The movie review business has been good, too, as I have been working for Fantasy Magazine lately rather than posting my reviews here.  I have also just started a new column over there, covering the art and science of worldbuilding as applied to gaming and speculative fiction.  The first article is here.

I'm recording the audiobook for Christine and Ethan Rose's excellent middle-grade modern fantasy novel, Rowan of the Wood, too, which has been a sometimes technically frustrating but otherwise great process.

Further, I'm doing a modern silent film fantasy for Kyle Cassidy's 2xCreative project, which has kind of turned into a 3xCreative as it turns out neither my abilities nor my computer were up to the video editing.  Because my dear friend Angie Bianchi (Nashville Indie Music Examiner) is experiencing the busiest part of her year, that one will likely take a minute.

Speaking of Examiners, my Nashville Theatre Examiner column is still going strong.  I've mainly been posting announcements and whatnot there lately, but after the haunting season, I hope to sit down and do some more profiles and interviews.

Upcoming projects include contributing to a possible Tennessee horror short story anthology and hopefully moving to a (much) nicer home in the spring.

So there's the status update for my loyal readers.  I apologize for the dearth of blogging lately, but I'm going to try to make up for it! 

There are about a million things I need to do. My studio is a mess of boxes, computer bits, miniatures, comics and cobwebs.  As messes go, it's a good one, but still, I should be attending it.

Instead, I'm hammering at the ol' keyboard (with a new one 2 feet away) because that's my priority.  Whether blogging or working on the novel, or even microblogging, I am totally into the words. 

To be fair, it's always been this that way.  These days, though, I'm taking the words seriously.  It's not just about loving the language anymore.  It's about being a writer, getting published and paid, and hanging my shingle for real this time. 

The years of exploration and experience have come together.  I'm immersed in the work. As America's favorite jailbird home maker might say, "It's a good thing." 

Now if you'll excuse me, there are some 3,000 words in need of revision and 2,000 more waiting to be written.

Here's a detailed map of Archania, island kingdom of merchants and mages.  This ancient land is they keystone of Ordrass, facilitating commerce and communication across the settled lands.

Map of Archania

So, yesterday was kind of a drag.  I went through all this effort to get a new job, a little tiny bit closer to the work, and it fell through at literally the last minute.  It would have paid better, been more professional, provided a better environment with cooler folks and generally been a massive improvement over my current situation.  That really bummed me out.  A lot.  Right to the verge of depression.

The verge, I say, because it turns out I'm not depressed.  I was sad and angry and maybe a bit morose, but I went on about my day, more or less. 

I left downtown, where said position was to have been (a huge perk:  I love the pulse of the city), came home and slept.  This actually served a useful purpose, since I do work nights.  But when the time came, I awoke.  I went to rehearsal and did some directing.  I left there and went to my current job, which drags me down.  That last burden I had been hoping to lighten by giving a three day notice at the end of the night.  But, as the new job fell through, I have to stick it out, patrolling some dangerous areas for a mere pittance.

I was indeed moody.  I snapped, I sulked, I did all that stuff for which I'm known. 

Then a shocking thing happened.  As I drove home, I automatically reminded myself I had to write.  If nothing else, I needed to post a new article (World Theatre Day) at my Examiner Theatre Column. 

My spirits rose.  I came in the house, kissed a girl, let a dog into the back yard, did some dishes and got the article written.

Sounds easy to most, I'm sure, but for me, recovering from a major blow (yes- major: I was really looking forward to it) of that sort in a mere seventeen hours is patently unheard-of.

I was not depressed, of course, because depression is a lasting state.  My reaction was reasonable, fair, and temperate rather than utterly irrational and disabling.  And now, having resisted the urge to succumb, I'm even a fraction better off than I was before the new job fell through. 

So, in short, the writing life FTW!

Sorry for the geek moment.

As I say, briefly:

Writing progresses well.  Less of the novel, more of the line editing for friends, examining Nashville theatre, and writing treatments.  Have one particularly good idea that's been sketched out and hopes to be born as a short story before transmogrifying into a screenplay.  Others percolating.

Rehearsals for Harvey have started.  Great cast + great play = great show.  Spent time today getting headshots and bodyshots together.

Considering project with NCT.  Certain prolific author begs for adaptation.

Garden on hold, thanks to cold snap.  Should be hardening off next week before getting lovely green babies in the ground.

Keep eyes open for cafepress shop featuring hawt loots based on my utter geekdom. 

Time to enjoy some JMS in the form of Rising Stars.

Life is good.  The work is going well: I have recently obtained a semi-payed writing position, which I assure you will be posted here ASAP.  I've also managed to upgrade the day job mildly.  Sort of.  It's a night job now, which offers the chance to hurl resumes out the window of my truck all day until a "real job" appears.  Thankfully, it also means I have escaped the soul-numbing call center.

My garden is almost ready for planting, and in a few weeks the last frost will be behind us.  Shortly thereafter, a mint patch will appear, and the lasagna bed will be planted with peppers, tomatoes, carrots, green beans and a variety of other goodness!  Flowers will poke their lovely heads from the grass, and Batou the ferret will be posted in his "summer house" to keep the rabbits off my veg.

More immediately, I'm off to Borders with my girl to pick up The Graveyard Book and an armload of writing magazines.

Yes, life is good.

Born in southern Missouri, and traveling the American southwest throughout my early life, I became rooted in ideas rather than places.  To me, home is literally where the heart is.  Having developed an early fascination for words, the writing process is not second nature, but first. 

There is nothing so vital, so alive, so beautiful in my eyes as the transformation a blank page into an informative article or imaginative fiction, and thence into a thought completely new to the reader.  Poetry, lyrics, fantasies and imageries are my stock-in-trade.  My tools are intuition, observation, vocabulary and rhythm.  Well, those and a good word processor. 

If the product of my fancies should become meaningful to an eight-year-old or an octogenarian, my work is validated and my purpose fulfilled.  Enlightenment is worth striving for, but smiles and tears are no mean feat.

In short, I like to think of myself as a poet, writer, actor, storyteller, artist, photographer, & new world man.

An exercise in hope and determination (#self-indulgent)

I wake between 8:00 and 9:Something, sleepily remembering my Dearheart kissing me goodbye on her way out to the signing of the Second Avenue deal.  Freshly brewed coffee and birdsong greet my morning.  I dress and shuffle to complete bathroom necessaries before attacking the coffee.  Sitting on the couch, I turn on the TV and thumb insincerely through the paper: there is nothing in the news to shake my faith in mankind.

Taking my cup, laptop, and the paper, I meander downstairs and out to the back garden.  The paper hits the compost bin and my ass the wrought-iron chair. I flip open the computer to exchange e-mails with four artists, one editor-in-chief and my agent before I log into the network intranet to check the dailies on “Factor of X”, a live-action X-Men series I cooked up with Chris Claremont.  Satisfied, the real work begins, as I dig in to my manuscript for three hours.  The fourth novel of “the Canticle” is coming along nicely.  I type furiously, with vigor and purpose, stopping only to pet my dogs.

Stretching and closing the laptop, I stop by the basement studio to finish a tavern model and lay down another half hour’s worth of audio for the audiobook version of “Canticle Book One” before heading out to the market.

Upon my return, I laugh at the dieseling of the thousand-dollar car I can’t seem to get rid of.  Some things never change.

In the kitchen, I throw together a quick lunch.  Coarsely chopped celery and tomato go in a bowl with cottage cheese, salt, pepper, and a generous dash of the missus.  Stir vigorously: tweetworthy.

A couple of hours in the garden follow.  Bushes are trimmed.  Vegetables are picked.  Cobbled paths are swept.  Test For Echo is on the MP3 player.  I’m putting out the trash when a black Scion xB pulls in the drive.  I greet the wife and Moira. 

Inside, we do homework and chuckle at cartoons.  Afterwards, the sweet aroma of pipe tobacco soothes the nerves before fresh salmon and asparagus feeds the family.

Settling in front of the TV, Moira picks the show and I hammer out the final touches on Factor of X episode 23.  Later, Moira plays the flute for us, showing off her new trilling technique.

Putting the wee lass to bed, I read another few pages of Coraline and kiss a freckled cheek before retiring to the studio with fine brandy and cigar.  Dearheart sits opposite.  We read for an hour before retiring.  The bed is cool and comforting, the arms warm and welcome.

Sleep comes easily.  I no longer worry about money or failure or loss.  I know that I have found my place, my work, and that all is well.

This has been a fantasy.  Had this been the description of an actual “day in the life”, cigarettes, panic attacks and derision may have resulted.