I am thinking that I want to be a part of a new wave of writers. Underground, new media-minded, fighting the system, sticking it to the man. You know the drill. Why? Because I am sick and tired of reading about how freakin' hard it is to write and be published.

"Oh, you can't just write a book. Noooo. You have to plan it out for months and work on your first draft for a year. You have to scrap that draft and then do two more to get anything half-readable. Then you have to polish that baby up for months on end.

Then comes the impossible mountain of publishers. You think you'll get published? No way, buster! Agents get thousands of submissions, reject the very best, and then only accept a few. Your job is to fill that mountain high and deep so that only a few lucky authors will rise to the top, standing upon your heap of crap manuscripts.

And maybe, just maybe, some day after going through this whole process ten or twenty times, you'll have a single book worth publishing."

Yikes! Talk about scaring away new talent! How dare you try to be an author? How dare you.

What's my thought on New Wave / New Media writers? It's about not just writing and polishing one book after years of struggle (if you're lucky), but instead writing two or three books. Will the books I write be worthy of college Lit classes? Probably not. Will they be as good as they possibly could be? Not likely. But they'll be fun to read...and they will have many brothers and sisters on the shelf next to them.

Yes, you'll have to self publish and self promote. Of course, you are not going to get a fat royalty check, a movie deal, and millions of copies sold. But the way I see it, most writers aren't going to get that anyway! While I write and self publish, I'm honing my craft, creating fun stories, and working up to even better books in the future. The rest is nothing but a shiny lure on a very elusive hook. For me, the best thing that could happen isn't that big royalty check, but a grass roots fan base.

When I wrote my first book, Empyre Robotika, my objective was just to finish a half decent book. And I succeeded! Instead of rewriting it twenty times and begging for an agent, I wrote another book. That's what it's all about isn't it? And if you aren't an author, then BUY some of these fun-to-read indi books! I promise to keep working at it, writing exciting, clean-cut fiction, and making my books available at reasonable prices. I'm not getting rich here, but I hope my readers are enriched and entertained.

This question alone is a great reason NOT to tell people you're writing a book. They will drive you up a tree. Of course, in my case, I kind of need the nagging to keep me honest...so. Hey! Guess what? I'm writing a book.

Jimmy Ramirez sat on the edge of the community pool, stubbornly refusing to get in. He knew it would come to this. He knew it when he had begged his mother, "Please don't make me go! I can't swim with the other kids and I'll be embarrassed in front of all my friends."

But she didn't listen. So here he sat. His mother, Lucia, had made him put on his trunks, slapped that white sun block on his nose, and sat him down at the by the pool. It didn't matter to Jimmy that he wasn't allowed to have cake until he at least tried to swim. It wasn't happening and his mom was just going to have to deal.

Suddenly, a hand slapped him on the back and shoved! Before he knew it, Jimmy was chest deep, shocked by the coldness of the water after the hot sun. He tried to hold his arms up out of the water, to at least keep part of his body dry, but it was no use. Before he could so much as duck under the water, his flesh rippled with that itchy, tingly feeling, starting at his toes and running up his legs. He turned around as fast as he could to get out of the water, only to see his mother's smiling face staring down at him. She had done it! She was the one who had pushed him!

"See, Jaime'? I told you it wasn't so bad."

But Jimmy wasn't listening. It was too late and the look of horror that crept across his mom's face told the story. He looked at his still-dry arms and then down at his belly. His brown skin went goose-bumpy, prickling out, then turned green, sprouting scales that crept up out of the water and ran down his arms.

"I told you I would be embarrassed," he said just before the prickly feeling ran up his neck and his eyes and mouth went puffy. The hardest part was when the gills split open in his neck, but he never really noticed it when the skin grew between his fingers. His mother screamed.

Even though the other kids shrieked and and flew from the pool at the sight of him, the day was not a complete loss. At least he got the pool all to himself.

I'm thinking about what's missing in my latest book, something that really makes it "click" and takes it to a different level.

Also, I've been considering why some writers have such a smooth style that you just flow into the story. My writing feels lumpy next to that.

And...I'm procrastinating.

OK, so THIS is bound to be a nuisance! I pulled an old floppy drive from a computer and got it hooked up to a newer computer, but the blasted thing won't pick it up. Even if it did, there's still the hurdle of trying to get it to read the disk.

So...I face the looming specter of printing and then scanning all these pages, hoping than OCR will pick it up. This may take awhile.

I am planning to brush up an old story of mine and get it ready for Kindle so I can release it as a free e-book. The trouble here is that I wrote it years ago on an old Brother word processor and I have to get a floppy disk reader hooked up to a computer, then get software to read the story. Preferably without accidentally deleting the whole disk, ya know? 

This is the prologue/exploratory writing for a story that's been rattling around in my head for a while. I kind of creeped myself out with it, so I didn't continue it, but the plot and characters keep on "marinating" as I talked about in my previous post and won't leave me alone.

Maggie Rhodes lay in Doc Jenkins' side room, feeling more awful than she could ever remember. Her momma said it was just a bad cold, not the flu, and Doc Jenkins agreed since there was a summer cold going around all over town. Maggie figured she got it from Denny Cooper who she'd kissed right on the mouth a few days ago when her folks were out trading for seed with the Coopers and she and Denny slipped off behind the Coopers' house after her little sister had run off with Denny's brother to play.

If she caught a cold from him, then all she could hope was he was feeling awful too. It wasn't fair she should be laid up with a fever and he wasn't. She gave a moan as another wave of aches came over her. She was on fire, sweating like a pig and dry as a bone all at once. Her tongue was feeling swole up and dry and getting worse all the time. She was gonna call for Doc Jenkins for some water, but her throat hurt too bad to make a sound.

Just when she thought she couldn't feel more awful, her head took a turn for the worse. Sunlight was streaming in through the open window of the side room and trying to burn holes clean through her eyes and there were kids yelling outside after school. Them and the schoolbell sounded like they were inside her skull, pounding like a hammer. Doc Jenkin’s office was right by the street, so every wagon that came by and everybody who yelled too loud outside just made it worse. She could hardly stand the pain and the awful-tasting medicine that Doc made her swallow earlier didn’t help a bit.

She laid there for maybe another hour with her head hurting so bad she just knew it would split wide open. Doc Jenkins finally took notice of her moaning and came over to look in on her, but all he did was put another cold towel on her head and she was shaking so bad with cold shivers she couldn't even feel it. She took a deep breath and gave a shudder before she fell asleep.

There was no telling how long she slept, but when she woke up again she felt tingly and numb all over. Her head was burning hot, like it was on fire inside, but at least it didn't hurt so bad. Her eyes felt sticky and red when she opened them, but she couldn't see anything. Somebody had pulled the sheet up over her face so she pulled it down and tried to take a breath, but no air would come. She gasped and tried to stretch her lungs, but she couldn't breathe! She was choking for air, but she couldn't get any!

Maggie sat up in the bed and swung her legs over, still gasping, starting to panic. She lifted her trembling hands to her face and pulled like she was going to claw it off, but there wasn't anything there stopping up her mouth and there wasn't any way for her to clear her throat. She got up to her feet and staggered against the wood timber of the door frame, knocking a dish to the floor when she banged into the side table. It crashed to the ground, so she hoped someone would at least hear that, even if she couldn’t scream.

She was stiff and sore in the joints and her head was burning so bad! But she had to get help! Somebody had to help her breathe! She was gonna choke to death and nobody was going to help!

The whole place was dark already. Nobody was around. She stumbled against a stuffed sofa chair in the main room and thought she was gonna fall over and die, but she managed to keep moving. She had to find somebody! Off through one closed door she could see a flicker of light. That was the doc's office and he must still be there if there was a lamp burning. The whole room seemed to go sideways when she made for it and she ended up leaning on the rocks of the side wall the whole way. She was so numb all over she couldn't even feel the cold of the stone wall and knew this is what it must be like to choke to death. The burning in her head, her shaking hands and cold skin: she was dying. She was just as like to keel over right there and die. And wouldn't that be a sight? He'd have himself a sixteen-year-old choke to death right in front of him, a doctor!

She pushed the door open against the creaking hinges and saw the chubby old man with his head back, snoring in his chair. Right then, as soon as she laid eyes on him, something broke inside. Something came loose. Something in her head, underneath that burning pain. All at once, she stopped trying to breathe and stopped trying to figure out what was happening and stopped trying so hard to stand up straight. All of a sudden, she didn't see anything else or feel any more pain. All she could see was Doc Jenkins in his chair. He was warm. And she was cold.

And there he was in front of her. So close she could smell him. He stunk so bad and so good. Like sweat and bad breath. And there was all his tools. So big and so sharp. And her shaking hand on them.

She didn't hurt any more. Her vision was going red all around and getting more narrow like a tunnel so all she could see was a hole in the middle. And there was Doc Jenkins sleeping in his chair. And there was her hand on something big and heavy and sharp, raising up over the old man. And he stunk so good!

What's better? A frozen steak that you toss on the grill, or one that you let marinate the day before you fire it up? Oh darn...now I'm hungry.

Before embarking on a new book, I think it's important to let the idea stew and "marinate" in your mind for a while. One of my favorite writing books is Orson Scott Card's "How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy" (I'll provide a link for you...I don't profit if you buy it, so buy one of my books while you're over on Amazon.)

Card suggests, in an upbeat, positive way, that you don't have to wait a year before writing that new novel, but you just might be ready to dive into the one you were thinking about LAST year. Writers always have lots of books bouncing around in their brains, so it's great to let them simmer for a while before letting their savory juices spill out onto the page. (Boy, I gotta get a sandwich!)

For me, I find that my ideas kind of fizzle out if I don't fully embrace the concept. That means spending time doing some research, drawing pictures, sketching out ideas, outlining a plot, writing up character concepts, and generally playing make-believe with the ideas. Staring off into space, thinking about what fun things could happen with my characters is part of the excitement of the writing process and is an important step toward getting the book completed.

If you spend time "being" your characters, and you spend time wandering around your imaginary world, the book often writes itself from that point on! A tip from me: be sure you don't let the planning and marinating phase become permanent! Lots of great ideas happen while you're writing. I've had characters' dialogue and changes in the plot happen just while I'm writing. It's the most exciting feeling and it comes from really understanding your world and the people you've placed in it.

Marinate on that.

I find I really need to spend time in my make-believe world before I can write it. If I can zone out and let my mind wander, I can come up with ideas for different plot points or characters, maybe new parts of the world itself.

So, what does that look like? I'm either staring at a blank wall with a distant or (I've been told) angry look on my face, or I'm standing in the shower. Sometimes, I might be walking around having a conversation with myself. Yes, I both talk TO myself as well as ANSWER myself.

It's kinda hard to just let go and enter my imaginary world, especially if I'm tired after working all day, but caffeine and loud music seem to help.

And another thing - that's why it sucks when the music changes! If I can feel my story out when a certain song is blasting through my head, the whole mood is shot if the music changes!

I've been thinking about this idea of the voice of the narrator as a character. That is to say, the way I describe things in a story adding character and style to the story, changing it in a fundamental way.

When I wrote the first "Dorothy" book, I made a very conscious choice to make everything as Dorothy's point of view. So, everything you see, hear, think, smell in the story is what she can see or think or feel or hear. This was interesting because she's sometimes wrong or acting out on foolish motives. I love the idea of character flaws, and this put that idea front and center.

However, in another story, I'll need to think about changing my perspective away from the direct environment of the characters themselves and writing something that's descriptive of an event, or even something that's more conceptual.

I once read an entire book (the last of the "Ender's Game" series) where the author was just waxing philosophical through the entire thing. There was hardly any action you could follow. Things like reading about a super computer stretching its consciousness across the galaxy, growing so thin it could nearly snap. Oh! It drove me nuts! I'm much happier writing about real things. I like action and adventure. If characters behave on emotions, they actually BEHAVE on emotions! They don't just talk about them!

Sorry. Side rant. I'm back.

So, I'll be thinking about switching my viewpoint and taking the reader on a broader journey in my next book, "The Winders". When I get to work on another book, it will be an epic war story and might be more sweeping. I think I'll write the next Dorothy book first though. Stay tuned to see how I find my own writer's voice in the process!