When Did The Dream Begin?

After talking with one of my Twitter friends about when we knew that writing was something we had to do, I decided it would be a fun topic to bring up here as a question for all of you.

So...

When did you know/decide you were going to write books? It's probably unnecessary for me to say this, us all being writers at heart and all, but be descriptive! Tell us about the how and the why, as well as the when. Usually those three questions are all intertwined, but I figure that it bears mentioning just in case.

For me it was fifth grade. We had a Geography teacher that subbed in to teach English in my middle school. If I remember right he actually taught in that capacity all that year. Anyway, it was nearing Christmas vacation when he asked us to write a short story; just some little piece of creative writing. Can't remember if there was an overall point beyond that, but I chose to write my story from the point of view of a pine tree watching a family walking about a hillside in search of the perfect Christmas tree. Of course the fact that it was told from the tree's point of view wasn't apparent until the ax started swinging. It was a melancholy story--bittersweet, but not exactly dark. At any rate, I felt... not quite in the classroom when I wrote it; almost as if I was there on the hillside. Not the tree, not the family--just another observer. That was my first experience with "the zone" we all get in at times.

I was excited about the feeling I had experienced, and I was proud of the piece, and I was dying to hear what the teacher would say. When I handed it in I didn't say a word, I just waited. The next day he came in and pulled me aside when the class ended and told me that he thought it was incredible. I'll never forget the look on his face. He really did look amazed that a child in fifth grade had produced that story. I nearly cried and laughed out loud at the same time. I had never felt good at anything before then. He told me that he would speak with my mother, and true to his word, he called her in to the school and told her right there in front of me, "You're son has a gift. He needs to be a writer."

So from that day on I've wanted to write fiction. I wanted to tell stories that would bring people to "the zone" with me.

That's my story. What's yours?

Second Excerpt From My First Book (Brother's Wyrd)

Been having a bit of trouble focusing on writing over the past several days but I did manage to put in some good revision time tonight and I thought I'd drop another excerpt for you guys. This is a first draft, so there will be some grammatical and spelling errors throughout.

Enjoy!

And P.S... Feedback is more than welcome! Comments please!

****

White rays of the morning sun popped in and out of view with the swaying of the branches overhead, but Morin was not paying attention to the beauty of the day. Grumbling under his breath he set the packsaddle on the mule Kalima somehow managed to keep hidden in the forest along the lip of the ravine. He stooped over to cinch the girth, then stood and dusted off his hands while he eyed the crude enclosure she’d fashioned for the animal. Crude it may have been, but the three sided rectangular structure seemed sturdy and functional enough. It had a bucket for feed and a small trough for water. He was finding the old woman nothing if not resourceful.

The witch herself scratched lovingly at the underside of the beast’s chin, cooing unintelligibly to it before leading the mule to a fallen tree. Stepping cautiously atop the dead trunk, she climbed onto the mule’s back to sit awkwardly among the packs. He couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter that escaped lips.

“You find somewhat funny, hmm?” she asked, swaying precariously atop the animal as she urged it into motion.

He only looked at her, self-satisfaction blatant upon his face, but he did not dare reply.

“You know, deary, I could always use another mule,” she said as she passed where he stood.

That gave him pause. Caught off guard, he could only stare at her for several moments before he finally jogged after her sputtering.

“You don’t mean to say that…. That is, the beast you have there…. That wasn’t a…?” he trailed off as she turned her blind gaze to him. Her expression dared him to finish the question.

“A what, dear? Go on.”

He swallowed hard and shut his mouth, but just then heard something moving through the underbrush several paces behind them. More than one ‘something’ actually—a great many of them judging by the subtle rustling of the low lying foliage.

“They’ll not go much further,” she said, but there was a hint of concern in her words.

“More fae?” he asked, but she didn’t reply.

Now and again, a clawed hand, a wing, or some other bit could be seen jutting up from the brushwood for a moment before plunging back down, but at the times when he could make out a head it was always turned away from them, always looking back as if the fae themselves were being followed.

Still moving forward, Morin kept an eye behind them, watching the small forms darting in and out of cover. The forest floor rippled with their motion, and it was growing faster.

Just then, back along the northern ledge of the ravine, beyond the trailing fae, Morin caught sight of a larger black shape moving through the brush. Much larger, and it didn’t just move. It was stalking.

“Kalima.” Morin said in a voice very near to a whisper while pointing back toward whatever was out there. She reined in the mule and looked in his direction.

“I told you they’d stop before—”

She cut off when she saw that the fae did not stop. Instead the small horde split around them, loping and leaping almost frantically through the thick undergrowth at their feet. The larger shape sped up, as if in chase of the faelings.

“Something is dreadfully wrong,” she said in a voice that sounded unnerved for the first time since. “They should have stopped at the cliff top, and I have never seen them afraid of anything.”

Her eyes followed his still-pointing finger, though he began stumbling backward until his heel caught on a root that sat him down hard on his backside.

Fifty paces back the direction they had come the underbrush seemed to erupt as an enormous three headed mastiff burst from the growth, its long fur whipping around it as it leapt a good twenty paces through the air to land upon one of the trailing fae. Its victim let out a strangled screech that was quickly cut short as the beasts heads took turns bearing down upon it, savagely tearing at the body. Bloody bits of flesh and bone were thrown about as the monster tossed chunks into the air only to catch and swallow them an instant later.

“The caerbaras!” Kalima breathed out the word in terrified awe. “Oh sweet Ladies of Fate!”

Morin quickly regained his feet and began tugging on the mule’s straps as he hoarsely whispered, “I don’t give a bloody rats ass what it’s called! Run!”

“We can’t outrun all three of them, lad,” she said in grim resignation.

“All three? It has three heads but only four legs, witch! Run now while it’s distracted!” He drew his shortsword and continued unsuccessfully to try and pull the mule around while the three-headed dog ate the last of its meal and rose to its full height. “Blood of the Norns!” Morin swore. The thing was fully the size of the witch’s mule!

He stopped trying to get the stubborn ass to budge and let the strap slip from his hand as he looked the caerbaras over. The beast’s long, glossy, black fur was still moving—no, not moving…. Writhing. What he had taken for fur were actually thousands of small black vipers covering the thing.

It lifted its three enormous heads then, jaws dripping saliva and viscera as the red eyed gaze of each one settled on he and Kalima. To its rear, rising from where a tail should have been, was a long, sinuous, three-headed albino snake, hissing menacingly as it hung above the creature’s back.

“Stand aside and be ready,” the old woman commanded as she lithely jumped down from the mule with a grace and effortlessness that should have been impossible for her age. Instead of using her stick for support she held it up in a two-handed grip, slowly spinning it in a wide circle above her head. The motion grew faster and faster as she began to chant rhythmically in Aldish.

“Selafaigere sa’hudanna,” she sang in a voice that sounded years younger than it had moments before, and as she sang all three heads began to snarl and snap threateningly. The knobby tip at the end of her short staff began to flicker with flame as she spun it ever faster.

The two flanking heads each began to pull away from the others, the entire creature seeming to melt then as the one larger creature became three slightly smaller beasts that fanned out before them. Any one of them was still the size of a normal mastiff, though each now had the head of only one dog on its shoulders, and only one snake at the end of the slender white tail. The body of each, however, still swarmed with small black serpents.

“Selafaigere sa’vodeire,” Kalima sang repeatedly, still spinning the walking stick in quickening circles above her, the tip now flaring into a perfectly round, fist sized orb of fire.

Morin watched, transfixed by what was happening around him, stunned by the uncertainty of what he could do against such things.

“Selafaigere ah’thine o’feire!” Finishing her incantation, she brought the staff down and held it before her in both hands, a cudgel with a tip of fire.

The twisted dogs formed a line just about a dozen paces away now, the two on the ends spreading out wide and advancing to either side. The mule bolted in the direction the fae had gone, but the things paid it no mind. Morin edged closer to Kalima, intending to fight side by side with her, but the woman appeared to have other plans it.

With the speed and agility of a far younger woman, the seer ran straight for the middle beast, screeching out in an incoherent battle cry as she closed the gap, but Morin never got to see what happened. The other two creatures both launched themselves directly at him from opposite sides.

He threw himself forward onto the ground and rolled to his back in time to see the animals collide with one another. Both fell to the ground in a sprawling tangle of legs, wriggling snakes, and gnashing teeth.

“O’feire!” he heard Kalima cry out behind him. The words were immediately followed by the sizzle of intense heat and the loud yelping of a dog in pain.

Meanwhile, the snake-tipped tail of the nearest prone beast lashed out at him as the creatures got to their feet. Bringing his shortsword around in a wide arc, he cut cleanly through the body of the snake, sending the disembodied head flying harmlessly by him while the beast it had been attached to howled in pain and turned to lunge for his neck. Acting on instinct, he smashed the pommel of his sword into the side of the animals head, but as he did his hand and forearm were suddenly awash with sharp stabbing pains as several of the small black vipers bit deep.

The dazed beast landed beside him and he rolled away from it and struggled to his feet, but his vision was already blurring from the venom. His breath began to come in shallow rapid gulps and he pitched forward onto his knees, sword slipping from his slackened grasp. In front of him, the second of the two dogs that had attacked him slowly stepped over its still reeling companion to come face to face with him. He could do nothing more than waver before it, staring helplessly into its blood red eyes.

The sound of footsteps came from his left and the dog turned to look in that direction.

“O’feire!” Morin heard Kalima cry out in Aldish again.

The woman’s cudgel flashed into view, striking the animal squarely between the eyes with enough force that Morin heard the skull cave. The orb of fire atop the weapon seared the animal harshly as she leaned her weight forward, driving the thing to the ground as the smell of charred meat filled the air.

Deep shadows began to creep in at the edge of his vision, threatening to steal the light of day. He blinked in a vain effort to shake away the growing darkness and fell over backward to land among the scrub.

Heavy…. He felt so very heavy. As if he would sink into the forest floor at any moment.

The thickening darkness hurried to pull consciousness away while from somewhere nearby he heard the very distant sound of Kalima’s yell. The cry was followed by the same sharp crack of splintering bone and hissing of fire he had heard twice before.

Then there was nothing.

Staying Focused: Progressing Our Projects

As some of you already know, I've been working on my current (first) novel since July, and although I've been told that my progress has been remarkable, I don't always feel that way. I'm also quite sure that many of the other writers out there, fledgling and veteran alike, probably feel the same way at times. Sometimes it is just a matter of us being harder on ourselves than others might be, but sometimes it's a matter of focus, and we find ourselves not writing as much as we'd like. I know this happens for more reasons than we could cover here, but in my eyes all of our "reasons" can be traced back to one of a few culprits.

The first thing I noticed as a new writer was a fear of failure. Part of us believes that we can't fail if we don't begin, and the best way to overcome this is to alter our perceptions, realizing that by note starting we are failing. Honestly, what is more sad--not even having the courage to follow our dreams in the first place, or failing to achieve them before we die? We never really fail at obtaining our dreams as long as we're still heading toward them. There are no time limits that say, "If you don't achieve goal X by date Y then you lose!" So, as far as writing is concerned, if it is your dream, just write. Failure is impossible. It also bears mentioning that keeping this perspective can be challenging. Fear will likely always rear its ugly head, but Roosevelt's quote holds true: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

Another big problem that I see us running into as writers is a lack of support for our endeavor. People have trouble taking someone seriously when they say, "Hey! I'm writing a novel!" And given the fact that we all occasionally let fear interrupt our attempts to write, I can understand why people have trouble giving our efforts credibility. Now don't think I'm blaming it all on us here! A support system is a highly valuable thing in any facet of human life, and with creative outlets I think it is all but essential. The frame of mind needed to write the way we'd like can be a pretty fragile thing, and my advice here is two-fold: First, as with all things in your life, surround yourself with positivity as much as possible. Those who do not support you should be put on the periphery of your life, while those who stand by you and cheer you on from the heart should be kept close. Secondly, do not use a lack of support as an excuse to let the fear win out. As I said before, just write.

Lastly, staying focused truly depends upon our priorities; how we choose to fill our waking hours. When I started writing the Brother's Wyrd books I was playing EverQuest II on my PC, Madden on the PS3, and watching anywhere from 1-3 shows a night on TV. How did I manage to write? I wrote a lot on weekends and only small amounts during weeknights. I wanted to write so badly though. This dream had waited so long. Too long. I started feeling more shame than fear, and that prompted me start making some decisions. I quit EQII about a month and a half into my book, and then Madden not long after. After that I got a lot more writing done, but I wasn't satisfied. I knew I wanted this to turn into a career one day; this isn't just something I wanted to do as a hobby. Once that fact sunk in I started doing all my writing first and watching TV to unwind at the end of each night. Then I found myself watching less and less TV and eventually (recently) just decided to cancel my cable TV service all together. Now I was saving some cash and I could focus my evenings on my craft. Now, I know some of you out there have more of a family life than I do, but that's exactly my point; if you're spending time with the family--as you should--and you devote all sorts of time to other daily recreational activities, then you're not going to have much time for writing. So do yourself a favor and prioritize. Decide if you want this, and how badly, and don't let fear of trying trick you into downplaying your passion.

Aside from actual obligations like day jobs and the people we love, everything else is merely an excuse for us not to follow our dream.

Just write.

When you're feeling writer's block, just write. When you don't feel up to writing new material, edit existing material--you'll still be writing! If you only have a little time in an evening, just write what you can.

It all comes down to making writing into a habit, making it a lifestyle, making it a part of who you are.

So...

No fear. No excuses. Just write.

Chapter 7 Nears Completion

Brother's Wyrd just topped 45,000 words as I near the end of chapter 7. This 1/k a day thing is keeping me happily on pace, and gives me a constant source of gratification at the progress I'm making!

At the point I'm at right now there are a pair of characters that I'm really enjoying building the interaction between. Individual characters are obviously important to any story, but the intermingling of the various sub-plots and personalities is what drives the feeling behind this particular story for me. I know I have an outcome in mind, but I still can't wait to see how this tale comes to fruition when all is said and done.

Along that same vein, I think the primary plot of any book ever written is a living thing that grows as the author writes it, and I'm finding the entire experience very sureal. The underlying end goal for Brother's has not changed since I began it in July, but it has evolved, and I find the story starting to tell itself as it finds its own way through the world I've created as a backdrop for it.

Storytelling is an amazing thing to be a part of.

Anyway, I'm going to be looking to post between 3 and 4 more excerpts as BW continues to takes shape, and I hope you guys continue to check in and become some of the first fans I have the privilege to reveal my work to.

Peace, my friends!

The New Motto: "1k a Day".

So today's started at about 8am since the neighbor woke me at approximately 7:20am when her company made a big production about heading out. I suppose I should thank her for the early start, right?

So I had over 1k words by 10am.

Unfortunately, with the water heater being busticated, the landlord had to come by to fix it and so progress was halted for a bit, but that allowed me to grab lunch, and eventually I went back out to grab Bailey's coffee flavored liqour, which ended up acting as liquid courage of a sort. All in all a very productive and good day.

What followed my mid-day excursions was a 2k word binge f additional writing which ended at about 10:30pm. The resulting scene, which I had been rather worried about, turned out great! Drama, tension, battle, magic, death--it just has a bit of everything but romance!

So on the 1k a day thing.  This is my theory, which I'm sure you other writers out there can appreciate: We need to focus on our craft, and in addition to this we need time off from our craft. Am I right? And between these two is the fine line of balance. My concept is that if I pledge to average a positive word count of 1k per day then I could theoretically complete my remaining projected 95k words in 95 days. We're talking first draft here, not a finished product, but still, if you think about it, that's pretty frigging amazing.

What do you guys think?

Brother's Excerpt and a Project Update

Short blog post first and then an excerpted scene from Brother's Wyrd, as promised.

So the primary project, as many of you know, is called Brother's Wyrd. For those of you who don't know, 'wyrd' means 'fate' or 'destiny'. From those facts you can surmise that the story is about the fate of brothers--two actually. Rowen (junior) and Larus (elder). Not sure how much of the actual plot I want to reveal just yet, but suffice it for me to say that it is a dark tale of medieval fantasy with a tragic but positive ending. Don't ask how that's possible. I'm sure you can all think of some way or another a story could manage it. ;-) And, what was going to be a stand-alone novel has been liberated into a duology thanks to the wonders of e-publishing!

At this point volume one is 1/4 done and moving along smoothly, with a potential goal date for publication of December of next year. Yup, one year from now. In the meantime I have a team of five pre-readers and an editor (close friend of mine) and I'm planning my marketing strategy.

And now, so everyone can get an idea of my writing style, here is the first publicly (well, friends only) posted excerpt from volume one of Brother's Wyrd. I'd like to hear all of your comments on this, guys and gals. Read on, but forgive me any screw-ups that seem like formatting problems. There were some issues with exporting this from my project files!

***

Rowen stood with his eyes closed and could the feel wind and rain coursing over his body—over every inch of his naked body, but his nudity did not shame him. He could feel pain in his feet and legs, as if they were being stung by dozens of hedge wasps, but the pain did not matter here either. All was as it should be.

Where was here, came a distant thought, but like the ripples of rock skipped off the surface of a pond, it was there one moment and gone the next, leaving only the memory of its passing in its wake. Was the thought his own? No matter. He belonged here, he knew that much.

He opened his eyes and saw that he stood calf deep in the brier-filled underbrush beneath three massive ancient looking trees at the base of a steep rocky incline. The slope ended suddenly about a hundred paces up in a jagged rocky precipice. He could not see what lay below the ledge, being at the bottom of the slope as he was, but judging by the clouds that gathered beyond it, he thought that perhaps he was among the peaks of the Guardian Mountains.

He took a step forward. Thorns tore at his legs, but the pain still seemed distant somehow. Blood seeped lazily from the scratches but they were only that—scratches. The wind picked up, gusting, driving the rain against him with the faint sensation of a thousand stones pelting his skin. I should be howling in pain right now, came another skittering thought, there and gone. All was as it should be.

From somewhere above his head he heard the screech of a hawk and looked up. Not seeing the bird in flight, he sought its perch in the boughs of the three enormous trees, but he was unable to discern which the bird might be in.

Suddenly he noticed something before him; not movement, but rather something that was not there, and then just... was.

The thing before him—for surely there were few better words to describe it—was naked and nearly three hands shorter than himself, and though it had arms and legs it was not human. It's skin was the pallid gray of a week old corpse and covered in warts, pustules and dark blotches. The thing's hands had five fingers, but its feet had only four toes, each ending in a long black talon and it's mouth was split in a wicked grin, the teeth as jagged and uneven as broken glass. There were no ears, only shallow scaled dimples where they should have been. Long, thick, iron gray hair covered its head and genitals, making it impossible to tell if the beast was male or female. Of all it’s features it was the creature’s eyes that held his own. They were entirely yellow with large black pupils that shown with intelligence…and a hunger. He could not tear his gaze from the creature's own. A strange emotion wormed up inside of him and slithered across the calm he had been feeling. What was that?
 
For a long moment they stared at one another, and there was no sound save the wailing of the wind and the pounding of the rain. Then a short pointed tongue flicked across the thing's teeth, the thin lips came together, and its gaze lifted slightly, looking past his head, somewhere behind and above him.

With a voice screeching voice, each word slow and drawn out, the thing spoke "Another comes!" An air of anticipation evident in its tone.

As if in response to its words the leaves in the trees above shuddered in a cacophony of what sounded like applause, and perhaps laughter, as the wind howled once more through their branches. The serenity he had felt upon arriving began to waver. All was not as it should be any longer. Something was most definitely wrong here. He desperately clung to the failing remnant of the peace that had filled him.

A dream, that's all this is, he thought to himself, trying to let the words steel his nerves.

A long fingered hand pointed a claw in his direction as the thing screeched again, this time in a tone bordering on hysteria, "He comes!" It's gaze glanced around among the branches in the trees, as if their were an audience there. The claw lowered, though still pointing in his direction, gesturing towards his feet as it spoke again, this time with a touch of awe, "Taken the first step, has the man-child. He has been once marked for his choice!"

With the last word spoken the creature stepped toward him, its clawed feet awkwardly ripping at the earth. The strange emotion rose from somewhere deep inside of him. In complete contradiction to the utter calm he had first felt, he recognized it for what it was—stone cold fear.

Only a dream… Only a dream and nothing more! The fear pounded at his will now, hammering along side his own quickening heartbeat.

In another step the abomination was standing close enough to touch, yet Rowen found himself unable to move, his eyes locked to the creature's as a long sinewy arm darted out. With an iron grip that belied its spindly arms the creature's hand grabbed his face just beneath his jaw and slowly dragged it down until he could do nothing but fall helplessly to his knees. Thorns dug into the bare skin of his legs as he knelt hard in the thorny undergrowth, but the pain was no longer distant. Long nails felt sharp against his skin as the monster leaned closer, its breath rank with the stench of death.

Its voice came out as a grating whisper, "But once have you been marked, and that was but for your arrival, human boy." It spat out the last two words contemptuously, small droplets of spittle spattered Rowen's face and dripped from the beasts narrow, pale, cracked lips. It cocked its head sideways and gave a sinister sneer, yellow eyes gleaming with joy as it said, "You wish to seek the mysteries, child of man?" It asked as it slid the tips of its claws up Rowen's back, sending shivers down his spine before the clawed fingers grasped the back of his head, holding it tightly in place with both hands. Its eyes stared into his own, "You will learn, youngling. I will teach you," it said with a dark sneer, "but first you must give something to us, yes?"

Rowen did not understand what it meant. Naked as he was, what could he possibly have to give? He did not want to think about the possibilities. The hand that was holding Rowen's face released its grip as the creature ran a single nail painfully down along his left cheek. Then, suddenly, the nail cut deep into his flesh.

Pain and fear flared up together, completely shattering any grip he had on his self control. His eyes rolled back in his head, though he could not move otherwise, and as the beast continued to tear at the side of his face a sound began somewhere deep in his chest. A groan swelled from his barely parted lips. The groan turned to a howl of anguish and drool forced out by the rush of air was left to haphazardly dribble down his chin. Tears burst from Rowen's tightly shut eyes as blood flowed freely down his neck and chest, dripping down between his thighs and puddling in the thorns beneath him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the searing pain and stark terror, he was aware that he could smell the scent of burning flesh.

The Journey Has Begun

Well, I truly wasn't sure what I'd use this blog for when I set it up, but I think it's found its purpose--a writing jounral.

I'll be recording my progress on my writing projects here in a bit more detail than I had on facebook, maybe even drop an excerpt from time to time. I've really needed another form of expression and this is something I'd eventually need to do as a writer anyway.

If any of you have friends who are into medieval fantasy fiction, please direct them to my blog and/or facebook page. When the time comes for my first book to hit Amazon I'd really like to have built up a small following of folks who can help me spread the word via word of mouth. Of course, that is if you guys like what you read upon release... Or the potential excerpts I may be dropping.

Tomorrow I'll outline some of "Brother's Wyrd", my first novel, which as you all already know, is well under way at 1/4 completion.

Peace and happiness, friends.