Love My Mac

I'm bringing more work home again.

My work PC, a hand-me-down from a former director, has been serviced and refitted and serviced again, but it still can't handle the desktop publishing tasks I need it to perform. However, my cool Mac at home is more than capable of doing the job, and I wish the Club's budget allowed me to purchase one of these awesome machines for the office. Maybe then, instead of contending with a slow and cantankerous computer that keeps shutting down or losing page formats or contents, I could actually be getting work done. What a concept.

In order to buy the Mac, I went into debt, not my favorite modus operandi, and took almost two years to pay for it. I'd rather do that, though, than spend half the money for a computer I didn't want and couldn't use.

When I bought my first Mac several years ago, it was a floor model on clearance, on the verge of obsolete. I just wanted a workhorse, though, and the price was right, so I picked up the elephantine blue critter (didn't even get a box for it) and carried out of the store. I still have that machine, and my niece gets a lot of use out of when my brother's family visits; one of the best deals I ever made.

Never thought I'd do much creating direct to a document until I bought the current Mac -- I still prefer pen and paper, then transcription via keyboard -- but this one is so easy to move around, despite being a desktop computer, that I haul it to different parts of the house so I can work standing up or sitting down (mostly standing up).

So, tonight, instead of writing science fiction, I'll be standing in front of the computer propped on the bookshelf, and working on a book highlighting the Club kids who placed or received honorable mention in the recent photography contest. Betcha the Mac, in a matter of hours, will chew through pages that would take me several days to compose on the PC.

Split Personality

As a writer, if I have one complaint about editors, it's that they don't give a piece a chance (apologies to John Lennon). They don't read far enough, or they make snap judgments based on only a few paragraphs. They don't follow through and find out (cough, cough, ahem) what a great writer I am.

As an editor, if I have one complaint about writers, it's that they fumble their openings. They feel they have to explain everything, or they try to be too sophisticated, too cute, too whatever of one thing or not enough of something else. In short, in trying so hard to get it right, they get it wrong.

I know, 'cause I get it wrong all the time.

The only way to keep my sanity and still perform my duties as both writer and editor is to understand that the two jobs are not the same, but they don't need to be at odds with one another. After all, isn't the goal to produce strong writing and therefore good stories?

It's a Jekyll and Hyde world, and I'm just a wanderer here.

Bette Davis and The Dread Pirate Roberts Redux

Here's a re-run, a portion of an entry originally posted on January 5, 2007. Over a year later, it's still true, even though one fantasy manuscript has been completed, and the second is almost three-quarters complete. Despite the progress, I'm still not satisfied, and I keep reading the work of other writers that I am convinced is so much better than mine that I can't hope to compete. Whinge, whinge, whinge. That's a writer for ya.

Every time I think "the end" is near, the novel requires more from me, forcing me to walk roads I've never traveled, to fight enemies in disguise and to use weapons that are unwieldy in my hands. "I am not equipped for this," I complain, but the story does not listen. It expects me to do what must be done.

I do not know how to do something? So what, shrugs the story. Learn.

"I can write short stories and poems in my sleep," I boast in a cry-baby whine. "I can conduct interviews in a single bound. Why can't I just stick with them? Novels hurt too much."

Who wants to sleep away his years? the manuscript demands. Then, in a sly reminder of The Dread Pirate Roberts, it stares at me and says, Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

"Yeah, yeah." I sigh and pick up my trusty pen. "I hear ya."

Don't you just hate it when inanimate objects are right? They can be so smug.

Being away from a lengthy manuscript can cause memory lapses, and the creative muscles can grow stiff. This afternoon, I read excerpts from existing pages, reorienting myself in the characters' journeys, both the physical travels in which feet meet dirt and the internal odysseys where souls brush against one another. Often the inside story is where the action is.

My goal as a writer is to present stories that move along at a brisk pace yet never let the reader fall behind; tales that speak to the spirit while leaping over chasms. I've come close to that goal in short stories. A novel, however, is uncharted territory where I, the intrepid explorer, have to make my own maps. Not an easy task, even with a compass and rudimentary drawing skills.

It's taken me years to traverse the same ground that other novelists skip over in months. Why bother? I must not have it in me to reach the end. But, even when I whine, I cannot stop. I must do this. I have to prove to myself that I can. I refuse not to grow.

Bette Davis, that raspy-voiced actress who could do nasty so well, once said, "This became a credo of mine: Attempt the impossible to improve your work."

Amen, sister.

Re-Entering the Fray

Thieves' Honor, Episode 7 -- "Leaping the Circle" -- is now in the hands of the Overlords at Ray Gun Revival magazine. At a little over 4,000 words, it felt short, incomplete, so I expanded a couple of ideas and inserted two extra scenes at the end of the episode, making it well over 6,000 words but also making it complete. There's more connection to the overarching storyline, as well as the answer (sort of) to a question that I've been following since the second episode: Who has the IntuiCom implant, and why? The answer isn't entire, but it's beginning.

As for the fantasy novels, those are still in the works. I really want to wrap up the story in the second manuscript, rather than dragging it out over a third book. Then again, I'd rather the whole story would fit into one book, but it'd be a long read, and who's gonna take a chance on publishing such a lengthy manuscript by an unknown?

On the other hand, maybe I'm rushing things, and I need to let the story play out at its own pace. The characters still surprise me, and things have happened that don't follow the formula for tales like this i.e. the hero doesn't kill the villain. There's gonna be a grand showdown, but the baddest dude has already been taken out, by another villain. There's a villainess, though, and she just might be the worst baddie of them all.

I already know the last scene of the story -- that's been written for years -- but I just may need a longer story and that third manuscript, thus creating the stereotypical fantasy trilogy. Ugh. But if the story demands it, the story demands it. There comes a point when the story no longer serves the author, but the author serves the story.

Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow - Day 3

This is the third and final day of the CSFF Blog Tour for March, highlighting Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow.

I like that the protagonist -- named, ironically enough, Hunter Brown -- isn't perfect, has a a sense of humor, can laugh at himself, and, despite his fears, embarks on some potentially deadly adventures. Regardless of some technical issues with the actual writing, the storytelling is good, and the story itself is interesting, and I recommend it to readers ages 12 and older, including adults.

I had other plans for my posts during this tour, but I didn't get to compose them ahead of time, and work and other events have imposed on my schedule, so today's entry is short and not very helpful. For more detailed and enlightening reviews of the book, please visit these stops along the tour:

Brandon Barr
Keanan Brand
Melissa Carswell
Valerie Comer
Amy Cruson
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Shane Deal
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Marcus Goodyear
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Ryan Heart
Timothy Hicks
Jason Isbell
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Carol Keen
Mike Lynch
Magma
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
Wade Ogletree
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Crista Richey
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Rachel Starr Thomson
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Fred Warren
Phyllis Wheeler
Jill Williamson

Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow - Day 2

There has been discussion on this month's Christian Science Fiction & Fantasy Blog Tour concerning storytelling style and certain allegorical elements, so I'm adding my two cents.

First, and most obvious: This book is not intended for adults. Its protagonist is fifteen, and the narrative begins with the unexpected results of a prank pulled on the last day of school for that year. Most middle grade or junior high readers who pick up the book will be hooked. For us adults, such an opening may not hold any appeal. We've already endured being fifteen, we've survived to (insert your age here), and we'd like to move on, thank you very much.

Second: Yes, there are allegorical elements. I refer again to the first point: This book is not intended for adults. We have read wider, encountered more types of stories, than our youthful counterparts. To us, allegory is obvious. To a twelve-year-old, not so obvious. He or she isn't necessarily looking for a direct correlation between characters or objects and the real world or holy writ, but for a good story that draws the reader in and surrounds them with interesting characters, events, settings. Most children and teens don't consider the deeper aspects of stories, or the real-world parallels, until they start analyzing literature in school. Though such analysis teaches much, it can also detract from the pure enjoyment of story.

'Nuff said.

Now, about Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow:

The Author's mark, the triple-V motif, is cool -- Via, Veritas, Vita. Way, Truth, Life. The swords and arrows are cool, too, not being weapons until needed, until the hilts are wielded or the bowstrings drawn. The book's ability to literally absorb its readers in the story made me laugh out loud -- not from mockery, but from the idea that letters can open wide and swallow the reader. That's not quite the image in the novel, though; when Hunter first reads the book, the letters are see-through, and he is sucked into them, into the story they describe.

These elements intrigue me now, and would have done so if such a book were available when I was a kid. Any story including mystical portals, space travel, time travel, magic keys, secret codes, special swords, alternate dimensions -- any book with the strange and fantastical -- grabbed my attention. My mother often expressed concern that I was filling my mind with evil notions and falsehoods masquerading as truth. She was right to be concerned, because much of what I read was dark and could have led me into unhealthy interests. With Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow, parents need not have my mother's worry. In addition to an engaging story and a protagonist with whom they can identify, readers will be presented with life-applicable threads of truth woven among the story's events.

I had intended a different post for today, but those thoughts can wait until tomorrow. Meantime, there's a page -- Join the Resistance -- on The Miller Brothers' website, where readers 13 and older can sign up to become Codebearers, play the Codebearer challenges (the deadline for prizewinning is past, but the game's still available), and participate in the Codebearer Community. Also, the entire text of the book is available online, for kids who may not be able to get to the bookstore themselves. How awesome is that?

For other perspectives on the book, visit these blogs:

Brandon Barr
Keanan Brand
Melissa Carswell
Valerie Comer
Amy Cruson
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Shane Deal
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Marcus Goodyear
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Ryan Heart
Timothy Hicks
Jason Isbell
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Carol Keen
Mike Lynch
Magma
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
Wade Ogletree
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Crista Richey
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Rachel Starr Thomson
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Fred Warren
Phyllis Wheeler
Jill Williamson

Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow - Day 1

Welcome to Solandria and the Shards!


Christopher and Allen Miller -- The Miller Brothers -- have crafted an interesting, fun, and fast-paced young-adult fantasy story in Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow, the first in The Codebearers Series. (Not only did they write the story, they did the artwork, too! Check it out on their website.)

Tomorrow, I'll dive into my thoughts on the book, but for now I'll say that, despite the fact that I'm ready to read some grown-up fiction after spending so much time among books intended for children and teens, I was drawn into Hunter's story, and found him to be an engaging protagonist.

And, as I am always on the lookout for books that are kid-friendly and read-out-loud-able, I recognize in this book an excellent candidate for weekly Story Time at the Boys & Girls Club, and as a possible addition to my niece's bookshelf. In my world, a book can't get any higher praise than that!

For other reviews, check out other readers' opinions at these links:

Brandon Barr
Melissa Carswell
Valerie Comer
Amy Cruson
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Shane Deal
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Marcus Goodyear
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Ryan Heart
Timothy Hicks
Jason Isbell
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Carol Keen
Mike Lynch
Magma
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
Wade Ogletree
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Crista Richey
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Rachel Starr Thomson
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Fred Warren
Phyllis Wheeler
Jill Williamson

Heroic Fantasy Quarterly - Open for Submissions

For all of you looking for a place to send your brief but muscular fantasy fiction, check out this new magazine, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, and make sure to read all the way to the end of the Submissions page. Good for an understanding laugh, especially for anyone who's been on the editing side of the biz and seen all manner of manuscripts submitted for possible publication.

As the masthead proclaims, HFQ is looking for prose, poetry, and fiction that falls squarely into the heroic fantasy sub-genre. For a definition and examples, check out the "Heroic fantasy" entry on Wikipedia, or visit Castle Fiction to see books in the epic and heroic fantasy vein.

For writers interested in submitting to HFQ, here's an encouraging -- and challenging -- note from the editors:

Feel free to include a paragraph introducing yourself and detailing your publishing history, and anything you think we need to know about your story. Or not. All we really care about is the quality of your yarn.

You have about five paragraphs to hook us and 10 pages to impress us — use them wisely.

Our email address is: editors@heroicfantasyquarterly.com

Any takers?

Ray Gun Revival, Issue 51

For all you science fiction fans, the latest issue of Ray Gun Revival is up and available, and with awesome art, as usual. (Why do I even say that? Like the art isn't going to be awesome. Johne Cook and the Overlords do an excellent job with articles, fiction, and guest artists every issue.)


I haven't been able to catch all the entries yet, but the first one in this issue, "Direct Observation", is by my friend, Adrian Simmons, and it's been one of my favorites since the first time he let me read it.

Oh, and this little commercial announcement: Episode 6 of Thieves' Honor is available, too. It's a little silly, a little over-the-top, and a little mysterious. Hopefully, it's just plain fun to read.

Alas, the Last of the Wilderking

On Wednesday, during weekly Story Time at the Boys & Girls Club, I finished reading The Way of the Wilderking, the third book in The Wilderking Trilogy by Jonathan Rogers, and there were a few tears and sniffles at the end. Not only did the series close, but a couple favorite characters died, and one boy who had been a steady attender actually bowed forward in his chair, his face in his hands.

We started the school year with The Bark of the Bog Owl, followed by The Secret of the Swamp King, which we crammed into the short space just before Christmas, so the kids wouldn't have to wait two whole weeks to learn how the story ended.

The books are inspired by the life of King David described in the Bible, and certain elements are readily identifiable--a boy slays a giant with a stone, a powerful king befriends then betrays the youth, an army eventually grows up around the young man in exile--but Rogers puts several unexpected and downright fun twists in the tale.

I won't describe the plots, lest readers of this blog want to read the books for themselves, but the stories make excellent read-out-loud tales, especially entertaining for elementary students, though a few junior high kids wandered in to Story Time on occasion to find out what all the laughter and shouting was about.

I do all the voices, and I keep a clear space at the front of the room so I can pace and act out some of the motions while I read. Of course, acting out the story sometimes requires shouting, grand gestures, the occasional yodel or song, as the Wilderking books demand. One boy said, "This is almost like going to the movies," and someone else commented, "Usually, I only like books with pictures." There are pictures, small ones, at the chapter headings, but the trilogy is comprised of chapter books, so there are no full-page illustrations. There is a nifty map, though, at the front of each book, to help orient the readers to the story's events.

If yours is a family that takes long trips, like mine used to when I was a child, these books are perfect to read out loud in the car. They present life-truths wrapped in entertainment, acted out by vivid characters. Highly recommended reading!

Group Novel, the Sequel

For those of you who checked in the other day and read the post about group novels, here's the second chapter of the novel begun by John Kuhn on the Fear and Trembling magazine website. Access the first chapter here, and read below for the second chapter.

Anyone interested, join the fun, and add a chapter of your own!

Chapter 2


I'll never forget the day I met the new teacher.

Ms. Cooperwell wasn't the petite, pretty, blond, scare-able young thing I'd expected. She was an Amazon in a black dress, and when she walked, her heels clicked along the corridor like the ticking of the metronome on the music teacher's piano. No winning smile, no perky haircut or smile-face pencils. She looked at me from across the old desk in the dingy closet called my office, put out a slender hand, and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Gibson. I'm Ms. Cooperwell, the new kindergarten teacher in Room 13.”

I put down the motor for the floor buffer, wiped my fingers with a red rag so old and faded it looked like dirty pink, and offered my hand. Her grip was firm, the handshake one crisp motion, and I knew I'd have to change the plan. This woman wouldn't scare.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Cooperwell?”

“There's a closet in the corner of my classroom--”

As soon as I heard that, my heart did a funny little jump, but I covered my surprise by tucking in the loose tail of my military-green shirt, standard janitorial uniform with pants to match, and my name stitched over the shirt's pocket. Invisibility clothes. I go about my work, and people hear me, see me, but they overlook me.

“--and there sounds to be a small rodent trapped inside. Have you an empty box or something to catch him?”

I grabbed a shoe-sized box off a shelf, and dumped nails, washers, odd-sized screws, wall anchors, four shirt buttons, and an unopened package of batteries that expired in 1989, into a dusty pile in the middle of my desk, gave the box a couple whacks to get the last of the lint from the corners, and held it out to her. “This oughta do it.”

She just held her spiral-bound grade book against that shimmery black dress and looked at me. “The closet is locked, Mr. Gibson.”

I was out the door, with the box, and a few steps down the hall before I realized. Did she do this in the classroom? Stare the kiddies into submission? I stopped and turned around. No way was she gonna--

“Forget something, Mr. Gibson?”

“Uh, no. Nothin'.”

Click, click, click, click, click, click, click. She stayed just behind my right shoulder, and I could smell her perfume, rich and dark. It made my nose itch. Who wore stuff like that in the middle of a school day? Which teacher could afford it?

When we reached the door of Room 13, I hadn't come up with a new plan, but by that time, I wasn't much interested in practical jokes.

The classroom was empty—the kids were out on the playground for recess—and the place smelled of paste and fingerpaints and the under-scent of age and old floor wax. Thumbtacked to a cork-board railing on the wall, crayon drawings lined the room, and half the hardwood floor was covered in interlocking foam mats that were giant red, blue, green, and yellow puzzle pieces. Underneath the high-set windows, plastic bins with lids were filled with blocks, Lincoln Logs, Tinkertoy sets, Legos, and other building toys. Along another wall were bins of Play-Doh, crayons, blank paper. An ordinary kindergarten room, just the way Mrs. Thomas left it, a little brighter than the other classes—almost cheery, even, unless a person noticed the bins were cracked, the toys broken and discolored, or that the chairs and desks were at least as old as the students' grandparents.

I tugged on the retractable keyring clipped to my belt, and the line zinged out, the keys jangling. “You sure there's something in the closet? Could be junk blowing around by the ventilation system.”

“There is a distinct scrabbling sound, Mr. Gibson. Definitely something—alive.”

My back to her, I smiled. Perfect. “Or somethin' that used to be alive.” I slid the key into the lock. “Ever hear of Little Sammy Snodgrass?”

“Really. A ghost story, Mr. Gibson?”

That woman could sure deflate a man. I turned the key, removed it, and the ring zipped back to my belt. I gripped the box, turned the knob, and crouched a little, just in case she was right and a critter ran out. The door creaked open.

A dank, musty odor smacked me in the face, and dust puffed up when an old broom fell over. Ms. Cooperwell coughed.

But no critter. No squeaks or scratches. No tiny pawprints. No shoeprints, neither.

“It appears Mrs. Thomas didn't use this closet,” Ms. Cooperwell coughed again, and stepped back a little, “and that you were right. Old buildings are full of strange noises. I must have just imagined them into something more.”

“Ah, you'll get used to it. I did.” I reached inside the closet and grabbed the broom to hook it onto the rusty nail next to where the dustpan hung. A dusty spiderweb wrapped itself around my arm, so I brushed my sleeve then turned to hang the broom.

On the inside of the door, on the bottom panel, was a child's scrawl in green crayon: helP Me.

Why Writers Need Pre-Readers

Pre-readers fill a valuable role for us writers. We can overlook misspellings or missing words, plot gaps or mistakes, mis-assigned dialogue, and so forth. Readers, though, can look at the work with fresh sight, find what we miss, and even suggest different words or phrasing that can make a dull or okay passage come alive.

This past week, I finished a piece at a crazy hour of the morning, and immediately sent it to a small group of readers who have saved me from many potentially embarrassing errors in the past. This time, bleary-eyed and tired, I was under no illusions as to the, ahem, perfection of the story. And I was right. In one scene, I give the protagonist a gun. A couple scenes later, he doesn't have it. Ay-yi-yi. And there's a difference between conscious and conscience, did you know that? Apparently, typing at three in the morning leads to creative spelling. Though I was certain I'd assigned the correct speaker to a particular line of dialogue, I'd actually implied that it was spoken by his antagonist, which turns a tense exchange of challenges into a confusing bit of humor.

Sometimes, readers can ask questions or provide insights that lead the writer in unexpected directions, and readers' impressions, likes and dislikes, and emotional responses are valuable feedback. It's interesting to me to learn which readers connect with which characters, and why. My sister-in-law dislikes one character so much that she once told me she's annoyed as soon as this character arrives in a scene. By contrast, my best friend from college likes the character, and wants to know more about her. Each reader has her reasons; though those reasons conflict, they both tell me that I've succeeded with that character -- who, ironically, is a woman.

I was feeling iffy about a scene where firearms are in use, but where the main character and a crewmate employ unusual methods to end the fight, and neither involves bullets. So far, one reader likes it. Actually, she wrote, "Love it, love it, love it!" Always instills confidence, a reaction like that.

So, while readers can find errors and save us from embarrassment, they can also encourage, and let us know when our writing is on the mark. I recommend every writer surrounds himself / herself with trusted readers who will provide concise, honest feedback. These readers don't have to be writers themselves, but they do need to be specific with their responses, and unafraid to do so, which means we writers have to be ready for whatever they say, good or bad, and be able to see our work with clear eyes. The work will be better for it.

Sunday Insights

Taking a short hiatus from fiction, I've been reading excerpts from Joe Stowell's book, Eternity: Reclaiming A Passion For What Endures, and I'll probably go ahead and buy it, because the pieces I've read so far are challenging and solid.

He contrasts seven virtues with seven common values that compete with them: truth v. tolerance, grace v. greed, love v. self-centeredness, servanthood v. significance, self-control v. sensualism, justice v. oppression, humility v. haughtiness. A serious list; I've only read portions of the first two contrasts, and I've already been challenged.

Of tolerance, he writes,

Since society has no moral authority that dictates the absolutes to which it should strive, everything is legitimate as long as it doesn't harm or hinder another person.

And, I would add, as long as it isn't Christian or doesn't invoke the name of God.

Stowell also writes,

Truth by its very nature is intolerant. If there is truth, then there is error. If there is right, then there is wrong. A ... person who is committed to truth will always tolerate those who are in error, but will never tolerate the error itself.

And

God is true. All he says and does is true. You can count on that. He is true to Himself, His Word, His people, His promises, and the entirety of His character. In His rule there is no error, no hypocrisy, no unfaithfulness, no injustice, no deceit."

What is perceived as unfaithfulness on the part of God is really the immaturity and limited vision of humans: "If He's such a good God, why does He allow (fill in whatever tragedy or crime you wish)," or "If He's so powerful, why doesn't He stop (again, fill in the blank)?" There is the classic response that He has given free will -- humanity can choose to do good or evil -- but why, because God doesn't do as we desire or expect, do we assume He's unable or unfaithful? It's as if we expect Him to answer to us, rather than the other way around. We're arrogant.

A good parent will not feed his diabetic child all the candy the child wishes, no matter how frequent or loud the child's tantrums. The parent knows the sugar overload would kill the child. A good parent will impose boundaries, because a child then knows what to expect, he knows how far he can go, just a child in a fenced yard can play freely, knowing he is protected. A good parent will discipline and will not always save a child from the consequences of his actions, because pain teaches.

Much as I'm ashamed to confess it, there was a time I told my parents I hated them. I didn't want to admit my wrong or to submit to their authority, and I thought that I'd be free if they weren't always imposing their will or their rules. Only when I understood that submission is freedom did I appreciate their discipline -- and then I could understand that God's rules aren't meant to imprison but to set us free from the chaos and bondage we invite into our lives in pursuit of what we think is freedom.

photo credits
book cover - Discovery House Publishers
white fence - Country Living

Group Novel

Several years ago, I tried to read a group novel, a mystery caper by a group of mystery and humor writers, but I didn't finish it. Can't even recall the title. That's not a resounding recommendation for such projects, but perhaps they're not intended for a wide audience, but as an exercise for the writers.

Group stories require writers to continue someone else's plot and characters, and try to keep the story cohesive. The process can be hilarious, surprising, revealing, poignant--or downright nonsensical and silly--but always challenging.

While cruising the earlier entries in the readers' forums at Fear and Trembling online magazine, I re-read a story begun by the former editor, John Kuhn, who posted it in June 2007 with the intention that others would finish it, but no one ever did.

He provided the first chapter; I'm writing the second. After all, a writer shouldn't let a good story go to waste -- but there's no guarantee it'll still be good when I get finished with it. Read Mr. Kuhn's chapter, then come back in a week or so for the next one. After that, maybe someone else will pick up the pen and continue the tale.

Friday and a Finished Draft

It's 4 a.m. on Friday morning, and I've just finished the first draft for Episode 7 of Thieves' Honor and e-mailed it to my trusty readers, who do things like correct my spelling, point out plot gaps, and fill in words I could have sworn I typed.

After several days of deadlines and a frenzied work schedule, my brain is almost too tired to function straight, but story ideas come when they will come, and sometimes at the least convenient times.

There's a half cup of cold coffee beside the keyboard. Reckon I'll dump it out, brush my teeth, and grab a few winks before the alarm clock does its annoying routine.