Writer's Update 2015

     I quit blogging, but I didn’t quit writing. For a couple of years I wrote and posted every week. I would ponder what to write about and every Monday I would compose and post a blog here. Usually the topic was just something I was thinking about. It was rarely poignant enough to share and sometimes quite dull. But I kept at it because it was part of my writing regimen. But around the middle of last year, I just stopped.

     I had to be truthful. I told myself I was blogging to stay in the habit of writing, but there was plenty I could do to maintain the habit other than the blog. I was really blogging for the attention. And once in a great while I would post a winning blog that people might read and comment on and that just fueled me. And I realized that if I was writing for attention, then I needed to change what I did.

     I kept writing. I spent a few months revising the hardcopy of Sidewinder. Then in October I participated in a challenge to write 500 words a day and post them on my blog, which I did. In November I wrote a first draft of a new novel for National Novel Writing Month. When that was done, I started into a 4^th draft of Sidewinder.

I wanted to finish it by the end of February, but it went a lot slower than I thought it would. But then finally I hit a pace and started writing every day. I only missed a couple of days and in the end had a 51 day writing streak. I finished the 4^th draft of my novel yesterday.

Now what? My biggest fear is that I will fall out of the habit of writing. This could be especially easy to do this week when I’m getting less sleep due to my busy work week, the week before Easter. So I managed to get up this morning with the thought that I would write a blog post. I thought it would recap everything so far about Sidewinder, instead it’s been a recap of my writing life of Sidewinder? I want to share about it. Maybe tomorrow. I have a lot to consider for it. I’m in uncharted waters. A 4^th draft of a novel, not ready for publication. So again, now what?

500 Words- Day 15 (NaNoWriMo)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day.

     People ask writers where they get their ideas, as if there’s some secret. Ideas are easy, it’s developing them that can be hard work. But even that hard work is nothing compared to the work required to create a first draft from that idea.

I’m planning on participating in National Novel Writing Month this year. I’ve done it the past three years, the first time I attempted it, my laptop crashed in the first week. I don’t know if I would have completed it that year anyway, I didn’t have a plan. The next year I was ready. I had another laptop and the determination to write every morning and get my word count in before breakfast. That year’s novel ended up being 77 thousand words. The next year’s novel was 60 something, and much better.

     For the two years I won, I took the time to plan the novel. Doing any actual writing of the story is a sin, but NaNoWriMo participants are encouraged to outline, which I did. I wrote up character biographies, backstories, and even draw some diagrams and maps. I wrote outlines of the stories so I listed each event that had to happen to advance the plot to its conclusion. That skeletal structure helped me over the month to write my novel. Having a good outline combined with getting up every morning at 5ish allowed me to win the last two years.

     My ideas for novels lurk in the hidden corners of my mind. I eventually completed the story I failed to win for NaNoWriMo my first year. I have always loved the Christmas song, Do You Hear What I Hear? I imagined there was a story behind it and I managed to write it. My next novel was based on a short story I had read years back. I was reluctant at first, afraid I was copying the idea. But I only used the short story as a prompt. I had my own notions of what I thought would happen. The next year, however, my story was completely original.

     I had wanted to write a space-western, that much I knew. One day, out in the city of Desert Hot Springs, I stopped at a restaurant called Sidewinder. The ideas in my head began to suddenly join up. What if there had been a war in space, and some traitor, like America’s Benedict Arnold, betrayed his side and caused the war to be a truce, rather than a win? Where would this traitor go? And what if he had turned over a state-of-the-art spaceship that was called a Sidewinder?

     Before that November I drove out to the desert and camped alone, two hours from even a finished road, miles away from any other living soul. I wrote up outlines of the story that day, and on the long drive back, brainstormed more. I stopped at Sidewinder in Desert Hot Springs on the way home.

     I had success last year, finishing Sidewinder a day before the month’s end. Months later, I wrote a second draft, then I spent another few months editing the hardcopy. The spiral bound manuscript is next to my now. My plan is to start the next draft in December and be done with it before March.

     But for now, Sidewinder sits on the back burner. November is just over two weeks away and I have a new novel to write. Tomorrow I will talk about how the idea for that came about. It started on afternoon while I was lying on my back with my daughter and we looked at the clouds.

  

500 Words- Day 12 (Roy's Story)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day. Today I’m beginning the backstory of a minor character in my novel, Sidewinder.

     “Roy’s a good boy,” said Roy’s parents, and just about everyone agreed. Roy didn’t mind it too much either. The youngest of the family, his older siblings had gone their own way and done their own thing. One had joined the Space Marines and was an officer on a medical ship, another worked in an orbiting station. After graduating high school, Roy stayed home and took care of things.

In the year 2257, Morristown, New Jersey was considered part of the East Coast City. The furthest Roy got was New York City, and that was only for work. He was in his early 20’s by then, a minor purchaser for a medium sized company. The boss thought a face to face meeting was in order and booked Roy to travel the short trip. During the ride, Roy looked out his window and saw farmlands tucked around the city dwellings. He saw animals, including horses.

During his meeting, Roy thought about horses and open land. During small talk with his boss, he mentioned it, and his boss talked about the ranch her family owned in Texas. If Roy wanted to, he could come out for his vacation and experience it all. Roy said he’d love to.

But back at home, his parents needed care. Their home needed upkeep, and it was actually hard to get away from work. And in a few more years, Roy married Delilah.

They lived in the same house with his parents. Delilah was a designer, and Roy loved her artistic sense. When his parents passed away a year from each other, Roy asked his wife if they wanted to move to Texas or some other place where there might be open country and perhaps even horses. She said she would love to. But they never did.

Work happened. Delilah was never in the best of health. They stayed married and never had children, only dogs. Roy retired at 50, but went back into work once in a while to train. They had a good sized savings by then, and they both wanted to move.

They thought New Mexico would be nice. Working with agents, they found a homestead to live on where Delilah would be able experience Native American artwork firsthand. It was all set. Then Delilah’s health grew worse. When it was clear that she would not live much longer, they talked. She urged Roy to go to New Mexico still, start a new life, get some horses. He told her he would.

Delilah passed away when Roy was 52. Roy knew more than anything, he wanted to leave the East Coast of North America. But New Mexico seemed too close, so did Australia and even Mars. He wanted to get as far away as he could.

Roy did a little research. There was a war happening at the time with several planets involved. But there were quiet places too. Indus IV was a planet far away. To get there, spaceships had to make two jumps, which made this world less traveled. Its year lasted 20 Earth years, with a hostile seven-year winter. But Indus IV was a frontier planet. There were sprawling, wide open spaces and horses.

Roy sold everything he owned including almost every stitch of clothing. He bought more rugged clothes and a tan cowboy hat. Days before his 52nd birthday, Roy Calhoon left Earth forever. He arrived on Indus IV just as its winter was ending. Despite the war moving into this part of the galaxy, people on the planet were optimistic. No-one knew him. For all they knew, Roy was an old seasoned cowboy.

Roy bought a tract of land out in The Dunes, halfway between the spaceport and Wonder Valley, the planet’s biggest town. He built a homestead with a small farm, beehives and horses.

Roy lived there for an Indus year. He made new friends, and before the long winter hit, he took a second wife. The marriage lasted about as long as the winter, and when spring came, she was gone. But something else happened in the spring. Roy had a new neighbor.

Burl Appleton had managed to get a spaceship, a flying saucer in fact, embedded into the side of a dune. He had turned it into a genuine western saloon. Roy and Burl got along just fine. The saloon got its name from the class of ship, the ship that would have won the war, had not the traitor Jarlath Ivanpah given one to the enemy. The name of the ship had become synonymous with the word traitor. Still Burl gave that name to his Saloon. Sidewinder.

  

500 Words- Day 11 (Mundy's Story Part VI)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day. All week we’ve been learning the backstory of Mundy Gilbert, a main character in my novel, Sidewinder.

     Mundy sat in the chair, or was he lying in it? He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but he thought that he was becoming more aware of his surroundings. He hadn’t tried to move, even opening his eyes seemed too great an effort. Not that he was tired, he was just blissfully relaxed. He continued talking, telling his life story to the voices in the dark.

     Mundy had accidently led the authorities to the headquarters of his boss, crime lord, Dean Handler. Dean had pointed a gun at Mundy, but when the building shook with the a flash bomb, Dean dropped it and Mundy ran.

     Mundy ducked into the panic room and tried to shut the door. But the building had been skewed from the force of the flash bomb. So he dove to the floor in search of the escape hatch.

     “He’s not in here?” a voice said. Mundy whipped around to look and saw the last person he expected, Reverend Todd. This was the celebrity preacher that Dean had told Mundy to plant drugs on. The preacher raised a handgun and pointed around the room. He looked at Mundy and smiled.

     “Dean and I go way back,” he said. “And I went one way, he went another. But we both have, say, grudges against each other. I’m here to settle a score.”

     Mundy blinked. He hadn’t led the police here after all. Here was a famous preacher instead, and he had a gun. The preacher looked up and down the walls and seemed to shrug.

     “Right here,” said the voice of Dean. Reverend Todd turned and leveled the gun. Mundy saw Dean standing with his arms out like he was trying to explain.

“You found me,” Dean said. “Now what?”

The reverend paused, then fired the handgun. Mundy watched as Dean winced, and at the same time there was a white flash surrounding him. Reverend Todd fired again, and with each shot, a flash surrounded Dean, while he stood with a growing smile.

“Deflector Pack,” Dean said, tapping his belt. “It’s just a miniature of what spacecraft use for navigational deflectors, just personal size. Better than any body armor.”

With a quick movement, Dean’s hand moved and there was a gun. He smiled, pulled the trigger, and reverend Todd went down.

Mundy didn’t wait to see what happened next. He turned back into the panic room and found the hatch. Slipping in and slamming the door shut, he groped for what he knew was there, thousands of untraceable Alliance Credits. He stuffed as many as he could into a bag and ran down the corridor to the street exit.

Outside the building, more vehicles were arriving. But now it wasn’t the reverend and his helpers. Alliance Security helicopters were swooping in. Running out the door, Mundy was almost blinded when night turned to day. They hit the building with a stunner. Mundy imagined everyone, even Dean Handler with his deflector, hitting the floor, unconscious.

There would be no going to a hideout. Mundy got to the nearest launch port and took a commuter shuttle to a major orbiting station. Feeling safer there, he found an intergalactic cruise ship and booked passage. His ID was valid and he had no record. The ship left orbit at dawn.

Sitting in the chair, Mundy let his eyes open. The room was dark, but he could see three people, a dark-skinned man in a medical coat with a husky man next to him. With them was a tall, slender woman in a prairie dress. When their eyes met, Mundy recognized her. He knew he was long gone from Channel, Dean Handler and his past. He was safe from all of that. But now he was in the same room with a woman from the church he had robbed. And the last thing he remembered before being in this room was that she had punched his lights out.

  

500 words- Day 10 (Mundy's Story Part V)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day. All this week I’ve been giving a detailed backstory from one of the main characters of my novel, Sidewinder. Mundy Gilbert is sitting in a dark room, relaxed as he’s ever been in his life. Voices in the dark have been talking to him and he’s told his life story.

     Mundy had been born on Channel, a hub of space transport referred to as a core world. Raised in a shelter, he took to the streets and feel in with a gang where he learned what a good thief he was. Picking pockets was his specialty and Mundy eventually ended up working for the planet’s biggest crime lord, Dean Handler.

     Mundy sat in the dark room. He was sure his eyes were still closed as no light came through his lids. The voices were like what he might overhear in a quiet café at the next table, but they were talking to him. The bliss he felt, like waking up from a long nap was beginning to ebb away, and he tried to relax more to bring it back.

     Dean Handler had given Mundy an assignment, plant some illegal drugs on a prominent celebrity preacher. This evangelist, Reverend Todd, had spoken against Dean Handler to the point where Handler thought it best to show what happened to people who did that.

     In a pressing crowd, Mundy managed to slip the drugs into Reverend Todd’s coat pocket and move away. But before he could disappear, he was stopped. The Reverend had felt the package. He told his bodyguards to bring Mundy to a private room where they could meet.

     Mundy sat in a small office in the transport authority building. It looked like a place where newcomers to the world may have been questioned. A tall man stood behind his chair and a woman sat by the door. Mundy held a water bottle they had given him, trying to be nice, but he didn’t open it. It took a few minutes, but finally Reverend Todd came into the room and sat at the desk.

     “They’re holding our flight indefinitely,” he said, then he turned to Mundy.

     “Well, son,” he said like he had known Mundy all his life. “I can guess who you’re working for. The authorities have the Zee. I doubt they’re going to be able to trace it, but we know where you got it, don’t we?”

     Mundy shrugged and opened his water bottle. Reverend Todd leaned back in the chair, looking relaxed and ready for a long palaver. 

     Sitting in the dark room, Mundy remembered taking a drink of the water, trying to appear as cavalier as possible. How long ago was that? A year ago? Thinking of that water made him realize how thirsty he was now.

     What followed with the pastor was a long talk. They had asked him his story, and at first he’d been tight-lipped. But Reverend Todd had opened up. Mundy let things slip and eventually they knew some things about him. Reverend Todd never used the name Dean Handler, but kept saying “your boss”.

     Mundy got the feeling Reverend Todd thought he was hooked on Zee. He told them that his boss forbade it, didn’t want his skilled workers hopping out. And they talked more.

     Reverend Todd talked about Jesus. Yes, Mundy had heard about him. He talked about love and charity and forgiveness. Mundy had been ready to go to jail for years, but the reverend said he would let him go. Mundy said he would take jail over anything, but they told him that he was a good kid. Christ forgave, and jail would teach him nothing but how to be more of a criminal.

     At the end of the day, Mundy was back on the streets. He made his way back to his personal hideout. Days later, when he was sure he hadn’t been followed, he went to where Dean was.

     It was late evening. Dean Hander was in his office. When he saw Mundy, he looked surprised, then cold. Mundy started to tell them that they had just let him go, he hadn’t turned him in.

     Dean pulled a gun and pressed it to Mundy’s forehead.

     “Did they give you anything?” he said. “Anything that would stick to you like a trace?”

     Mundy’s heart pounded. He knew he hadn’t been followed. But could they have traced him?

     “Did you eat anything?” Dean asked, holding the gun perfectly still.

     “I just had some water,” Mundy’s voice broke.

     One of Dean’s men Mundy didn’t know spoke up. “They can put an isotope in the water. Stays with the person for several weeks.”

     Dean’s head jerked back to look at Mundy, and at that moment, the building shook. Every window blew inward and light poured in. Everyone was knocked to the floor and the gun landed in front of Mundy. He grabbed it and ran.