Tag Archives: writing

Embracing the Dark Side

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(A kinda funny, but mostly serious post…because they can’t all be doggos.)

doge-borken-inside

Ok, one doggo.

It’s very hard to admit this. I try to deny it, to rise above it or work around it, but I’m done lying to myself. I’m done lying to you.

I have succumbed to the Dark Side.

I am only productive when I am angry at something. I need something to focus my loathing, or some other negative trait, on something in order to get anything done. I wrote my first novel because I was pissed at the crap that was getting published by the major companies. I lost 140 pounds because someone said that I couldn’t. I succeed to prove others wrong.

I can’t write out of joy. I have to write out of hate. Only when my heart is full of grit and worms and hot garbage that smells like Manhattan in the middle of a mid-80’s summer can I create anything worthwhile. Otherwise I sit around and do nothing, or worse, have writer’s block.

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And I hate it.

And ironically (or fortunately) that hate of my process, or just regular self-loathing, is what keeps me going. I am never be calm, because writing makes me calm, but I have to be pissed to write. It’s a cycle or hate, satisfaction, and more hate.

But maybe if I embrace it instead of fighting it, maybe that will give me the control to turn it on and off. Instead of falling into the Dark Side, I can control it (oh, and if that isn’t a recipe for disaster cake). Maybe it’s like a football player putting on their game face. I can focus all of my rage into a hat, or maybe a jaunty scarf, and put it on when I need to.

Craig at MNF

(Yes, that is actually me. I’m a Jets fan. No wonder I’m so full of rage.)

A jaunty scarf would be nice.

So I find things and people to be mad at and about. I harp on my own weaknesses and frailties (of which I have many, though I’m apparently very good at hiding them because no one believes me when I say that I’m awful) to fire myself up. I bleed all over the keyboard.

writing-hemingway-bleed

And I’m sure that I’m not the only one. No wonder so many artists are miserable.

There’s a quote that’s often attributed to Hemingway, Dylan Thomas, Mark Twain, or whoever made the meme feels like giving it to. It goes “write drunk, edit sober.”

I don’t write drunk, I write angry. As for editing, I’m usually calm when I start editing and ready to shoot myself afterwards. Or Force Choke myself.

Ah, the power of the Dark Side.

Wanna see the results of my self-loathing and rage? Check out The Watchmage of Old New York or Song of Simon, not to mention one of the many short stories anthologies or journals you’ll find me in (or old articles from back when I used to write non-fiction). But mostly, the books. Read the damn books. Or don’t, it’s okay. I know that you’re busy, and there’s a lot of great stuff on Netflix.

Look! I even made cute little ads:

The Watchmage Is Coming

SoS Practice Ad 1

 

Humble Brag

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So the good news is that my blog broke 17,000 views the other day. I don’t know if that’s good or not, but it’s a few thousand more than last year. The bad news is that I was hoping to break 20,000, and it doesn’t look like I’m going to do that. Still, I’m happy.

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Less bragging:

I got my review for The Watchmage of Old New York back from the Writer’s Digest 24th Annual Self Published Book Awards. No, I didn’t win. I did score an average of 4 out of 5 though, but I feel that I could’ve done better. The full review pointed out some weaknesses, some i was aware of, some I was not. I’m considering posting the review. It’s brutally honest. My mood has been pretty shitty for some time now, and the review didn’t make me feel any better. I know that it’s a big contest and a 4/5 is pretty good considering that thousands enter. It just feeds into my insecurities that I’m not good enough. But hell, what good writer thinks they are? If you don’t think that your work is shit, you’ll never try to get better.

The constant rejection from agents has been hurting me too. I’ve pretty much given up.

Man, all of my stuff goes to dark places these days. I’m having trouble writing the 3rd Watchmage book. The second one is still in edit phase. My super secret romance project under a different name (shhhhh!) is almost ready, and the website going along with it is becoming something bigger than I expected. I don’t talk about sexuality here for good reason, but I’m human and it’s a big part of who I am. Like everyone else, I need to be loved…preferably as often and in as many different positions as possible. 😉

Ok, that’s why I don’t talk about it here.  Bad Craig! Naughty, evil Craig!

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Ok, I’m punching out. I’m freaking starvin.

doge-in-space-card-redux

 

My Twitter Acct Was Hijacked (by me)

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I tweet…a lot. I tweet to promote my books. I tweet to promote other people’s books. I belong to a group called Rave Reviews Book Club, where we retweet each others novels and blogs, etc. It’s a pretty cool group, and though it has a small membership fee, the increase in book sales is worth it.

But I’m not here to promote Rave Reviews. I’m here to talk about the evolution of my Twitter account.

Continue reading →

New Articles in “Writing Class”

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As some of you know, I did a presentation this week on The Hero’s Journey and how it’s for all genres because it’s about character transformation, not plot. This morning I took the notes from that presentation and put them on my website for all to enjoy. Here’s the lecture, and  Here’s the character worksheet that went with it. I hope that it helps some of you out there.

Enjoy, and happy writing.

CAS

doge-in-space-card-redux

Pardons

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Pardon my absence. I recently started writing the third novel in the Watchmage Chronicles, not to mention my daily excursions hunting the elusive pokemon (my calves are killing me). Every time I want to blog, I end up working on the novel.

So where’s the second book? I decided that I acted in a rash manner when I eschewed an agent and self-published. I was angry at the way my publisher was treating my first novel, and the “agents” that came forward to represent me were obvious scams. Not to mention the pervasive fear that keeps coming back: I will die before I finish my stories. I know that has to do with Valerie’s death, but it’s a part of me now. You never know when the end is coming, so spend every day as if it’s your last. If it’s my last, I’ll keep writing.

Not that I regret self-publishing–I like the personal control–but I live too close to the buck, and I don’t write fast enough to make a solid living with it. A novel a year is about all that I can manage.

Instead of releasing the next book right away, I am querying agents, hoping that they will overlook the fact that it’s already out there. I dug myself into a hole, but I want to climb out.

Even if no one bites on Watchmage, I have ideas for new stories. Worst case scenario is that I keep Watchmage self published and go for an agent with that one.

Anyway, I’ll try to blog here more often. I have an idea for a new article on writing, that I think will go over well.

Have a super awesome happy fun time day.

Craig

cosmic-cat tripping balls redux

 

Wired

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I went for an echocardiogram yesterday for my heart issues. They also hooked me up with an 24 hour take home ekg machine. I hate this thing, the wires keep snagging, and I can’t shower 😦

But there’s a bright side. I looked in the mirror this morning and saw all the wires and electrodes attached to me. The first thing I thought was “this looks awful.” The second thing:

This look would make a great story character.

Boom.

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BTW: In honor of summer and summertime reading, I have lowered the price of The Watchmage of Old New York to 99 cents. This is only until July first, so hop on the watchtrain (there is no actual watchtrain, but it’s still a purdy damn book. Awards and shit.

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Happy Friday. Get your wiggle on.

gif cat shaq wiggle

cosmic-cat tripping balls redux

The Search Begins Again

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I’ve decided that it’s time to look for an agent again.

When I first looked for one back in 2012 (for Song of Simon) I got a few bites and requests for more. Mostly what I got was disappointment. Of course, SoS eventually got picked up by a publisher, so I thought that I didn’t need an agent anyway.

SoS Practice Ad 2

I was wrong. After immersion into the publishing industry, I realized that I had no idea what I’m doing. I rewrote and self published The Watchmage of Old New York after its long, popular stint at JukepopSerials. I’m proud of it. It’s a great story, and I plan on spending many years writing sequels (The second is in beta mode, and I’m plotting the 3rd right now).

the-watchmage-is-coming1

The thing is: I can’t make a career out of self publishing. I’m not so prolific that I can write a book every three months (my planning, writing, and editing routine is purposefully long and arduous. A good book takes time). If I want to make this a real career, I need someone that knows what they’re doing, someone that knows the business. I was arrogant to believe that I can do this alone.

dog no idea large

I have confidence that I can attract an agent for Watchmage, but I know that everyone says that. More to the point, I have confidence that this is what I need.

The downside is that I will probably have to take Watchmage off of the market if I get an agent, but it’s worth it in the long run.

doge in space card redux

 

So We Come to the End

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Don’t worry, this isn’t a health post. Although I’m still worried about the heart issues, I don’t think i’m gonna croak any time soon.

Ever since college, I’ve been keeping a journal. That’s pretty common, a lot of people do. Not many people keep it in the bathroom.

Yes, I have a bathroom journal. No, I do not log my shit in there. I just find that the bathroom is a good place to write. I was originally inspired by my friends in college, who kept one. It was a communal book, and they all wrote in it. Sometimes they had conversations through it, other times just random entries about their lives. I did the same with my roommates, and anyone that graced the porcelain god in my apartment was encouraged to do the same. What i ended up with was a record of mine and my friends lives from college on.

We finished the first book my last year in college (it’s in my bookcase), and I started a second, thicker book. Since I lived alone for most of my adult life, it was mostly me that wrote in it. These days it can be weeks or months between entries. But i love it. Sometimes I’ll look back and see snapshots of my life, remembering all that happened, and where I came from.

And so we come to the end.

I am on my last pages of the journal. By the end of the month, it will be filled. Of course I’ll start another one, but I’ve been using this one for 15 years. 15 years of my life, my loves, my failures, the roller coaster of my crazy life, now archived in my bookcase. Maybe some day I’ll take it out to read again, but I don’t do that with the first book. Maybe when I die, someone will find the books and think “why is this guy writing while he shits?” I’ll have no answer (cause I’ll be dead).

The journal is dead. Long live the journal.

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