Flickr Story 5: Vacation

It's the 15th and time for another Flickr Story. This month, the picture which inspired this story didn't come from Flickr. It's from the Twitter account @ThatsEarth. The stairs reminded me of going to the Caribbean and the clear blue waters there.  I actually enjoy going on vacation and the Caribbean is a wonderful place to go.  Read on for one couple and their experience in this beautiful paradise.

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Vacation

Jim stood at the top of the wooden stairs looking out over the clear blue sea below.  The sight was magnificent.  The stairs led down a rocky incline and ended on the white beach below.  He stood maybe fifty feet above the sea.  Breathing deeply, Jim inhaled the warm salty air.  He closed his eyes and let the sun warm him.

***

Recently his wife Meagan insisted they go to the sea. Insisted may have been too kind a word for Jim. She practically threw a tantrum demanding she be taken to an island resort…or else. They had a huge fight over it. Jim had no desire to go on vacation and he wanted no part of a beach. This was the busiest time of year for him at work, the last thing he needed was to be gone on vacation. But, after Meagan badgered him for weeks, he finally gave in and asked off. He grumbled about it to her yet she didn’t listen to a word he said. Her mind was on the beach, the sun, and drinks.


Before he knew it, Jim was paying for a trip to the Bahamas at a four star all-inclusive resort. He hated to fly. He’d rather drive across the country for days instead of fly. Meagan knew it, but her heart was set on the Caribbean and the Bahamas called her like a long lost love.


“Jim,” she said as they booked their trip, “this is wonderful! I’m so glad we decided to take this vacation. I love the beach! I love the ocean. I can’t wait to get there.” Jim grunted. He thought about the sales he’d miss, about the commission he’d lose all because Meagan wanted to sun herself. She only smiled at him and let her mind wander to the sun and sand she’d soon be enjoying. Her smile annoyed Jim.




***




Jim stood at the stairs smiling. Meagan was right, this was a great idea. He let the stress of his job float away on the warm ocean breeze.


Reaching down, Jim lifted his heavy suitcase and cautiously walked down the weathered stairs, careful to balance himself against its weight. He reached the first landing and rested. Jim leaned against the wooden hand rail and watched a sailboat in the distance. The crystal blue waters spread out before him like a welcoming blanket, ready to comfort and warm him. He looked down in the water and noticed a large dark grey manta ray swim by. The water was so clear he could see every detail on the back of the creature. He laughed to himself thinking how wrong he was for doubting Meagan.


Just then an employee of the resort walked up the stairs and approached Jim.


“Can I help you with the bag sir?” he asked. He was dark skinned and wearing a white linen shirt and matching shorts. He was cheerful and his name badge said “Tim.” Jim smiled warmly.


“No thanks, I’ve got this. Just admiring the view. It’s wonderful out here.” Tim looked to the ocean and nodded.


“Yeah, it is heaven on Earth. Well, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” He shook Jim’s hand and walked back down the steps towards the resort.


Jim watched Tim walk back to the resort and sighed. He should’ve done this a long time ago. The sales would still be there. He had an assistant that took care of things while he was out and he did a great job of handling customers. The commission would still be there as well. So…what took you so long? he thought to himself. Shaking his head, he picked up the heavy suitcase and walked gingerly down the last flight of steps, each board creaking under his weight.


When he reached the bottom, glorious white sand greeted him. He removed his shoes, stuffed them in a side pocket of the suitcase, and let the warm sensation of the sand envelop his toes. He wiggled them in the sand, covering his feet. He smiled at himself, more for not doing this sooner than anything else.


The resort was to his left but the beach extended far to his right where it curved to a point. It looked inviting and relaxing, so he picked up his heavy suitcase and trudged off down the beach. Check-in could wait.


Walking down the beach, the rhythmic sounds of the waves gently crashing soothed him. He found a quiet spot near the tip of the beach where he sat down on the sand, breathing a little heavy from carrying the suitcase. The closest person to him was just going up the stairs from the beach.


“I love it here!” he said to the waves. They answered by crashing down on the sand in front of him.


Looking to his suitcase, Jim unzipped the main compartment. He smiled lovingly as he reached in the black bag. With a soft, delicate touch, he lifted out Meagan’s head. He sat it down on the sand, leaning it against the suitcase, facing the ocean.


“We did it Meagan,” he said, “we’re on vacation!”

Steal From Work (It's OK)

Most writers work a “real” job that pays the bills while they continue to write and perfect their craft.  It’s common.  I do the same, and that’s just fine.  I’ll continue to do so unless I’m able to support my family from writing or somehow get lucky with a wealthy relative (yeah right!)

But instead of punching the clock just to get a paycheck, I say use your situation to your benefit.

For the last fourteen years, I’ve worked in sales at a screen-printing/embroidery/promotional products company (need some t-shirts?)  When I started, I had no real sales experience.  I’d worked at a fast food restaurant for eight years before my current job and had a Master’s Degree in Medieval History.  To be honest, I felt the same way towards sales people as you might; they were rude, pushy, obnoxious, and worthless scum of the Earth.  I had to push past that and make sure I was none of those things to be successful and feel good about myself.  

Over time, I embraced my job and what I am.  It’s not an easy transition going from dreams of teaching to selling material things, but once I discovered I was offering solutions for problems, it made a difference in how I went about my work.  

I’ve learned a couple things over my time selling which apply to writing.  

The first thing I learned was patience.  Every day I went to work expecting the big sale.  I’d anticipate large orders so I’d hit my sales goals.  That didn’t happen.  I knew the sales were there, but my customers weren’t ready to pull the trigger.  Often they would, but not on my timing.  I learned that the sale would come when it was time.  I moved on to the next project or customer while I continued to wait on my customers.  

For writing, aren’t we all doing the same thing?  We write, we submit, and we wait.  And wait.  And…wait some more.  Acceptance does not come easy.  I know one day I will break through, but in the meantime I have to move on to more projects and continue to fine tune my writing.  If we as writers continue like this, we’ll have an abundance of material to draw from when we finally get that glorious email or letter of phone call that we are accepted.

Persistence is another trait I learned from sales.  If I wanted to succeed, I had to keep at it.  Every day, all day long.  I’m not a pest to my customers, but I have to be available to them and stay proactivee to make sure their needs are met.  That persistence has paid off over time as my sales increased and my customers keep coming back.

Writing follows the same pattern.  I have to be relentless when it comes to putting words on paper or on a screen.  I have to work hard at it and write a lot.  Every day if I can, but if not, just keep at it.  Eventually all that time spent writing will pay off.  The quality of my work will improve and my dreams of succeeding will get closer with every word written.

No matter what your job is, try to find the qualities that help you succeed and use those for your writing.  Once you tap into that behavior of success and accomplishment in your job and break apart what makes it work, it’s easy to translate that to your passion for writing.  

So go ahead and steal from work, it’s ok.

Writing the Race (or Running for the Writer)

Writing the Race (or Running for the Writer)

Running has been an activity I kinda fell into.  Several years ago, I’d been working out at the gym trying to stay in shape.  Every April there’s a local race called the River to River Relay Race that I’d been wanting to try but never had the courage to do.  My assistant at the time knew I’d thought about it and she convinced me that with a little extra work running (especially hills) then I’d be in perfect shape to give it a try.  I worked hard and by the time the race came, I was excited and ready.  It was a fun time and I was hooked.

Before then, I’d never run.  Ever.  I was a skateboarder growing up, but I’d never gone for a jog or any other running.  The River to River Relay is like doing three 5K races in one day.  On hills.  Ask anyone who’s done it and they will always talk about hills.  It’s not for the feint of heart.  And that was my first race ever. 

After conquering that race, I ran regularly and entered several 5K races.  The best I placed was second in my age group, but that was more by default than anything else.  There were only four or five in my age group at that race.  But it was a win.  I felt like I belonged.  

I’ve been running part-time since then and it’s a great way for me to stay in shape.  I enjoy the mental clarity I gain while running.  My mind will clear itself of all extraneous thoughts and creativity flourishes.  Some of my best ideas came while running.  It gives me a chance to sort through my thoughts and form them into something coherent.  I’ve been able to figure out plot points and story twists all while climbing up hills and running along roads.

I didn’t start with the hills and I didn’t one day wake up and claim to be a runner.  “Hello day!  It is I, runner Jason!”  No, instead it took a lot of practice.  I couldn’t run a 5K without training shorter distances.  I had to get my breathing under control and recognize the limits of my body while training.  

I’m sure I’m not the first one to make the connection, but the steps it takes to be successful as a runner are the same as writing.

It’s not like all of a sudden I claimed the title of “Writer” either.  I had to work up to it.  I wrote.  I failed.  I had to see what training steps I needed to succeed.  I worked on my craft.  I couldn’t just start writing a novel without some concepts and artistry to fall back on.  

I tried NaNoWriMo four years ago and failed.  I didn’t know what I was getting into.  I had no idea what it took to write a 50,000 word creative piece.  I’d written a 75 page thesis for my Master’s degree, but that was a different kind of writing.  

After failing that year, I read more.  I searched for sources to help me collect my thoughts and write a long piece of fiction that had plot, theme, and characters well thought out and researched.  That year, I was able to come back and win NaNo and the confidence it gave me has sustained me to this day.

I’m not published anywhere other than this blog.  I’ve written over twenty flash fiction/short stories and have three NaNo novels under my belt.  

Just like my first real race and the momentum I gained, winning that year in NaNo was crucial to building my confidence.

I still read, I still seek ways to improve in both running and writing, and one day I hope to be better than what I am now at both things.  

Running and writing both take a tremendous amount of patience, dedication, and practice.  You can never have enough of any of those three if you are going to succeed.  Sometimes I want to give it all up, the running and writing, but then I realize I enjoy both too much to stop.  I gain so much from both that it would do me no good to give up.  I have to push on.  I have to endure.  I have to work harder to be better.  One day it will all pay off.

Flickr Story 4: The Spine of the Gods

It's time for another Flickr story and this one was a fun one to write.  If you've read the Flickr story from December, you'll see a familiar character in this one (actually both are the same.  The hero was originally named Lailoken in "Aimee's Quest" but I changed it just before posting it).   It wasn't intentionally created as a sequel or alternate story, but it does come across that way.  Maybe one day I'll write the adventures of Lailoken and Brida, but for now we have another fantasy piece featuring two of my favorite characters.

The picture was found on Flickr, though I'm not sure where the actual place is.  I loved the colors and the massive mountain in the distance.  As I stared at the image, the story started unfolding.  What you have below is what I came up with.  Please share the story with others and feel free to leave a comment below.  I appreciate any and all feedback.  Thanks!


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The Spine of the Gods

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” Lailoken asked.  He and his snowcat Brida sat along a high ridge overlooking a verdant valley dotted with brown and red.  The late autumn air swirled around them.  Brida looked up, nudged her head against Lailoken’s thigh and laid her head back down.  

“The Spine of the Gods.  Don’t you know what this means?” he asked.  Brida didn’t move.  “Well, if you were any kind of snowcat Brida, you’d know.  We’re almost at the edge.  Once we cross over, who knows what awaits us.”  

Lailoken gazed across the valley to where it ended abruptly in sheer grey cliffs that rose high in the sky.  They looked like a giant beast lay down and died, leaving an enormous skeleton.  The cliffs rose like vertebrae in the sky from which it earned its name Spine of the Gods.  From this vantage point, they looked impassable.  What lay beyond…that was stuff of legends and that was where Lailoken and Brida were headed.

Lailoken rubbed Brida’s snowy white head.  The giant cat purred loudly.  “Come on, we need to get down there before nightfall,” Lailoken said to Brida.  The cat purred louder.  “Brida, come on now,” Lailoken said as he stood up, brushing the dirt and grass from his woolen pants.  Slowly, Brida rose and stretched her long frame, letting her sharp nails poke from her paws as she did.

It took them close to four hours to make their way down to the valley floor.  They walked along a stream that bubbled and gurgled until they came to a small village nestled in the middle of the valley.  There were only four roads, more like two that intersected in the center of the village.

“Brida, stay out here until I can find us a place to stay.  They might not be too welcoming to a large snowcat like you,” he said as he scratched her under her chin.  She rubbed on his thigh almost knocking him over.  “Brida, you’ll be safe out here.  I’ll be back soon.”  With that, Lailoken walked on towards the inn.

“Welcome to the Dark Dog Inn,” the innkeeper said as Lailoken walked inside.  The room was dusty but comfortable.  Once inside, Lailoken froze.  The innkeeper had the face and head of a giant dog, like a retriever of some kind.  He’d never seen a real caninian and the sight of one startled him.

“Some kind of stranger, eh?” the dog faced innkeeper asked.  His face was a deep brown with large brown eyes and a full set of teeth.  His long ears hung down to his shoulders.

Lailoken struggled for words.  

“Yeah, you aren’t from around here.  Not too many visitors from out of the valley.”  The innkeeper raised his snout and sniffed the air.  “You brought a snowcat here?”  

Lailoken looked at the innkeeper carefully.  “Yeah…yeah I did.  She’s harmless though.  She won’t bother anyone.  I was looking for a place we could stay.  But…”

“But what?  You think we can’t handle a snowcat around here?  We’re caninian, but we are civilized.  My name’s Gorthe.  Welcome,” he said and flashed a smile that was at once warm and threatening.  He reached out a hand that was all human.  Lailoken cautiously shook it.  

“Come, let’s get you settled in.  So what brings you here?” Gorthe asked.  He motioned for Lailoken to follow him down a hall to a small room at the end.  

“Just passing through,” Lailoken said.  Gorthe eyed him and nodded.

“Here you are,” he said waving a hand to the empty room.  “You can stay here, but your snowcat will have to stay outside in the stables.  No animals are allowed in the inn,” Gorthe said.  Lailoken wanted to protest, to say how could half-dogs say any such thing, but thought better of it.

“Thank you Gorthe.  I’ll need to show Brida where she can stay.”  Lailoken left the inn and walked back to where he left Brida.  He found her laying in the tall grass away from the road watching for people passing by.

“You won’t believe it Brida.  They’re caninians!”  Brida didn’t flinch.  “Did you hear me girl?  They are half-dogs!  I thought those were just myths.”  Brida licked her paws.  “Well come on, I found us a place to stay.”  Brida rose and trotted to Lailoken’s side.  She followed him down the road to the inn where he led her to the stables.

“I know it’s not the best, but it’ll do.  I’ll bring some food later.  Rest up, tomorrow we go to the Spine.”

The night passed without incident.  Gorthe gave them a few small loaves of dense bread for the trip and wished them well.  Lailoken and Brida were gone before the little village woke from the cool night.    

It took most of the day before they were at the base of the Spine.  The sheer grey cliffs rose high into the clouds where they couldn’t see the top.  Brida growled as they stood marveling at the sight.  “What is it girl?  You knew we were going here.  We are going through Brida.  We’re crossing to the other side.”  The snowcat licked her paws unconcerned.  

Lailoken pulled a map from out of his sack, unrolled it and thought.  He scoured over the ancient markings.  “Ahh, yes…there it is,” he said out loud, rolled it up and put the map away.  “Brida, we go this way,” he said pointing to a barely noticeable crack in the solid wall.  They walked closer and Brida’s ears perked up at the sound of a low humming noise.

They walked closer and stopped just outside the crack.  Inside Lailoken watched in wonder as a glowing portal in hues of blue and purple shimmered before him.  The hair on Brida’s back stood up and she growled a deep menacing growl.  “Brida,” he said softly, stroking her massive head, “it’s ok.  This is the way through the Spine.  We step in there and it takes us to the other side.”  She hesitated as Lailoken stepped forward.  “Come on, let’s go,” he called to her.  With a hesitation not normally shown, Brida carefully walked towards him.

Lailoken stepped in the shimmering portal first, his leg breaking the vertical plane.  Brida followed.  Just as her head broke through the portal, Lailoken heard a shout behind him.

“No!  Stop!  Don’t go in there!”  It was Gorthe running towards them, his large ears flapping with each step.  Lailoken looked back at him, confused.  “Stop!  The caninians…don’t go in there!”

It was too late.  Lailoken’s momentum carried him forward.  On the other side of the portal, a new race of beings emerged.  They came to be known as the felinians.  

Flickr Story 3: Aimee's Quest

This month's Flickr story is a fantasy piece with a familiar twist at the end.  As I wrote it, I wasn't sure how it was going to end, but after some thought, the ending came to me.  I'm sure many of you will pick up on the inspiration.  (If not...we need to talk!)  I have no idea where the picture is from but it caught my attention when I found it on Flickr.

I hope you enjoy it.  Please share and leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you.

______________________________

 Aimee's Quest

I stood on the cliff’s edge with my long brown hair blowing in the wind, shielding my eyes against the sun as I stared at the dark forbidding castle below.  It was my destination.  I’ve travelled many days in search of Castle Morrigan, and there it stood in all its gory beauty.  I knew all along going there might mean I never return.  It was the price I intended to pay.  I had no choice.

Borma the dark wizard kidnapped my beloved Aimee and brought her to this decrepit castle.  I followed the trail, alone but for my unfailing partner Brida.  Brida is a snowcat, immense in size with a temper just as large.  She protects me fiercely.  I’ve had her since she was a cub and now in her full grown state, she inspires fear in others and safety in me.  Without Brida, I might never have made it thus far.

And there we stood, the wind blowing her white fur this way and that while I looked at that castle of misery.  

“Brida, we’ve made it,” I said.  She turned her head upwards at me and back towards the castle, growling as though she knew what lay ahead.

We followed a well worn path that ran down the cliff, zig-zagging and crossing back and forth until we reached the bottom.  I knew we would be spotted by any guards at the castle, but at this point I didn’t care anymore.  My mind was singularly focused on Aimee.

In my head I envisioned her chained in a dungeon, dark and afraid.  It fueled my anger.  More than once I used that anger to push myself harder and farther in search of her.  Now that I could see the means of her captivity, it blinded me with rage.  Nothing would stop me now.  Not even a heard of snowcats or a kith of giants.  My anger burned ever brighter.

I unsheathed my sword and approached the castle, its dark gloomy walls rising higher in the air.  It was settled in such a way as to force visitors to climb down into a shallow valley making the castle rise higher giving the illusion of power and magnificence.  I felt its weight hovering over me but I couldn’t let it overcome my singular focus on recovering Aimee.  The castle itself was partly in ruins, hardly ever used anymore.  It was so far away from anything that its significance long ago faded.  

It was perfect for Borma, the dark wizard of the mountain.  Once forced from his refuge deep in the snow capped Middle Mountains, he retreated to this desolate dwelling, knowing none would stop him.  I believed he’d have some guards serving him and approached as though he did, wary of a crossbow bolt yet still carried forward by my anger and rage.

Its gate was open and I heard no sound from inside.  Brida growled a low menacing sound, the kind that often forced her prey to flee in terror.  We walked inside and found ourselves in a large courtyard.  It was grey and dirty, the walls rising up all around us.  I noticed many of the crenellations were crumbling or missing altogether.  

It was so quiet leading me to think maybe the occupants were gone.  I hoped at least Aimee still resided within those drab decaying walls.  The only place we could go was up a flight of stone steps off to our right, so we did.

At the top of the steps, there was a small landing with a large wooden door.  We approached wary of the impending ambush.  Brida moved slowly and stealthily at my side.  As we neared the door, I jumped and held my sword in front of me as a raven that must have roosted in a broken section of the wall near the door suddenly burst out, flapping its black wings and cawing at us madly.  My heart beat faster and faster until I calmed myself when I realized what happened.  Brida’s eyes were wild.  “It’s fine Brida, just a filthy raven,” I said calming her.  

I stepped to the door fearing the worst.  I knelt closer listening for sounds on the other side, but it was quiet.  Wary of any hidden surprises inside the door, I crashed into it, hoping to catch the guard inside unexpectedly.  I tumbled forward into darkness, falling to the floor.  Brida followed me inside, growling and scanning the room.  

It was empty and silent, no sign of anyone.

I stood up confused, dusting myself off.  Surely I was in the right place.  “Brida girl, where are they?” I asked.  She sniffed around and suddenly broke off down a dark hallway.  “Brida, wait!” I called out.  

I noticed a torch on the wall.  I sheathed my sword and reaching into the bag around my waist, I took out the flint and steel I carried and struck it, igniting the tar soaked torch.  I pulled out my sword and carried the torch in one hand while my sword I held in the other as I followed down the dark corridor in search of Brida.

I tracked her paw prints in the thick layer of dust on the stone floors until I came to a large room that had a small cot and a desk with a chair.  Brida stood in front of the desk sniffing and growling.  “What is it girl, do you smell something?”  She didn’t turn her head.  I saw a small piece of parchment on the desk and approached it.  I lay my sword on the desk and picked up the parchment, reading it by the torchlight.  

You are persistent Myrddyd.  However I am much too clever to let you catch me here.  Your darling Aimee is alive but no longer here.  By the time you read this, she will be with me in another castle.  Her blood is important to me.  I need her pure crimson blood for my greatest spells.  Fear not, I will not let her die.  I wish you could understand, but alas I know you do not.  

-B

“No!” I cried out loud, my arms raised high.  “Aimee…where are you?” I bemoaned.  Brida howled a hideous, terrifying sound.  

My beloved was gone, taken to another castle.  

Red filled my vision.  I vowed to never stop searching until I found her and killed that wretched Borma.  

My search continues to this day.

Useful and Interesting Podcasts

As I've continued to write more, I've also been on the look-out for resources to help me improve my craft.  One of the more useful ways I've found are podcasts specifically for published and unpublished writers.  It's been helpful to me to listen to the advice of authors and professionals in the industry.  The convenience of listening to a podcast while doing other things such as yard work, the dishes, or working out at the gym has helped me to maximize my time and grow in my knowledge of the craft.  I wanted to share a few of those with you today.  Hopefully you'll find them as useful as I have.


                                          ________________________________

The first podcast I have to mention is the "Writing Excuses" podcast which bills itself as being "Fifteen minutes long, because you're in a hurry, and we're not that smart."  I highly recommend this podcast for any writer, regardless of genre.  The team behind the podcast are authors Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Mary Robinette Kowal, and Howard Tayler.  Though the four authors are more sci-fi and fantasy in nature, they offer helpful tips in a condensed format.  They are fairly regular in posting and since I've been listening, they have only continued to grow in popularity.  Check them out!

The "Writer 2.0" podcast by A.C. Fuller is a great resource for writers.  A.C. Fuller interviews authors and other professionals in the publishing world to give writers an inside look at the industry.  The podcasts are full of tips for the writer and I can't wait to see how it progresses.  It's only been out for a couple months, but so far has been informative in my process of growing as a writer.  New episodes come out every week so you will have plenty of content to tide you over.

Much like the "Writer 2.0" podcast, "The Writing Coach" podcast by Kevin T. Johns is another excellent podcast that I hope grows in popularity.  Kevin brings together authors, editors, and others in the publishing community to open up and share with writers about all kinds of things from blogs to agents to marketing.  The podcast started off with seven or so episodes in the first week and will be going to once a week.

The "Odyssey Writing Workshop" podcast comes from the six week long workshop for science fiction, fantasy, and horror held at St. Anselm College in New Hampshire.  The episodes are recordings of lectures and talks held by industry pros and authors.  Though they aren't released regulary (kinda makes sense since it's a podcast from a six week long event) it is helpful to hear what the professionals have to say about the process of writing.

"The Narrative Breakdown" podcast by James Monohan and Cheryl Klein is an excellent podcast for writers.  They cover not only novels, but television and movies as well.  They seek to explore the narrative in all forms of entertainment.  A few recent episodes even dealt with the narrative in video games.  It's a well produced podcast with tips for writers of all kinds.  Though the episodes are longer than most of the others on this list, it's definitely worth your time.

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These are the podcasts I've found most useful.  There were others that I've tried but I didn't get much out of them or they weren't interesting enough to keep my attention.  If you are looking for more advice or just want to listen to something different to keep you motivated as a writer, I suggest trying these out.  You never know what will work for you.  And if you have any suggestions of podcasts that you enjoy and help you with your writing, please add them in the comments below.  We all have room to grow.

NaNo FTW!

NaNoWriMo, which I've written about before, is almost over.  By the time this is posted, there will be 5 days left for the challenge.  As I type, I'm sitting at just over 43,000 words and poised for my third straight victory (yeah!)  The other day I thought about how writing for this challenge is one of those things I look forward to every year since I started four years ago.  So here are some of my thoughts as I head towards the finish line.

I believe my job in sales has prepared me for this type of challenge.  I never thought sales equated to success in writing, but there are some lessons I've learned along the way.  For example, every year we are faced with a sales goal that drives all our efforts.  Then that goal is divided among the twelve months and then those months are divided among the sales team.  We are each responsible for a certain amount of sales in order to reach our annual goal.

In sales, some days are better than others.  My assistant is fond of telling me how much we need to average per day to meet our goal.  It can seem daunting, but breaking a month up into the individual days can be helpful.  Some times we have spectacular days where we go way above what we need for the day and other days we are well under.  Knowing how much I need per day and exceeding it boosts my confidence while the days when we are low, I know we've built in enough cushion from the good days to compensate for the shortage.  At the end of the month when the tally is done, it doesn't matter how much you did certain days, just as long as you hit the mark set for you.

Writing, especially for NaNoWriMo, mimics the ebb and flow of sales.  At least in my case it does.  There are days when I can crank out 5,000 words (or more) and then there are days when all I can eek out are a few hundred.  Of course some days I'm not able to write at all.  But the thing is, like sales, it's a numbers game.  As long as I continue to add, no matter how much or little, in the end I will get to 50,000.

I've seen it work in my sales profession and that gives me the ability to keep calm over the thirty days of NaNoWriMo.  I apply the same principles in both sales and writing and that has made a huge difference for me.

One other point I'd like to bring up is preparing for the win.  My first NaNo attempt took me to about 15,000 words or so before I lost track and lost focus.  I didn't care about my story anymore and gave up.  The following year I did something different.  I researched a little on some key topics relevant to the story I had in mind.  Having that foundation helped get me to my first win.  For my third attempt (and second win) I not only researched, but completed some character sketches and outlined a good portion of the book.  By the time November 1st came around, I was ready to roll.  I ended up with over 75,000 words for the win that year.

This year I did something similar as last time, though I didn't get too deep with the character sketches and the outlining wasn't as thorough.  What it did do for me though was give me a guide, a rough idea of what I planned on doing.  It helped get me started and gave me a loose framework within which to write.  This year more than any other I've veered off course from my original plan but I think it might be the most complex, interesting, and exciting thing I've done yet.  Of course, I am a little biased.

I hope that one day any of you interested in writing will give it a chance.  It's always been a learning experience that pays off in the end - a written novel!  How many people do you personally know that can say that?  Think back to the successes you've had in other areas of your life and the steps to get there.  Then take those concepts and apply them to how you write.  You might be surprised at the results.  I sure was.

Clouds

It's time for another Flickr story.  This is one I wrote in the spring of 2014 after seeing this picture from the Twitter account @ThatsEarth.  If I remember correctly, I think it's Abu Dhabi, but I can't swear to it.  All I could think of was what's under the clouds?  Read on and you will find out what my answer was.  

________________________

Clouds

Jonah flew in his personal flight vehicle, or PFV as they called it, dodging the buildings and traffic around him.  The protective sun shade was drawn down to protect him from harmful flare-ups and reflections off the buildings.  It was another flight home after a long day and week of work.  He needed this week-end badly.

He engaged the auto pilot as soon as he started in hopes of relaxing on the three-hundred mile flight back to his home when he drifted off to a fitful nap.  It technically wasn’t outlawed to nap while flying, but it was certainly frowned upon.  Jonah figured it wouldn’t be long before some do-gooder with an axe to grind would get the law passed.  But for now, he drifted off while the PFV flew a familiar course on its way back to his home.

No sooner had Jonah fallen asleep when his PFV made a sudden course correction that jolted him sideways.  His head hit the glass windshield.  “Ouch!  What are you doing you stupid thing?” he said out loud.  The glass was reinforced to eliminate breakage, or at least reduce it to almost non-existent, and when his head hit it didn’t budge or crack, which was bad for his head.  He reached up and rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a nice knot starting.

Of course his PFV didn’t reply, only continued on its path.  Jonah looked out at all the buildings protruding through the clouds and felt confused.  He wasn’t sure if the hit on the head caused it or if it was because he was somewhere he’d never seen before.  The buildings looked…different.  

He was used to seeing flat roof tops with green plants and trees and gardens and swimming pools.  What he looked on now were sharp tips of sleek buildings that extended much higher than he remembered.

Frantic, he checked out both sides of the PFV and there were several spire topped buildings, glass and metal reflecting the evening sun.  “Where am I?” he said out loud.  He clicked the onboard nav system and spoke out loud.  “Computer, where are we?”  

“Cordero sector, section 19-563” the female computer voice explained.  Jonah frowned.  Cordero he thought.  Why are we here…and where is Cordero?  “Computer, return to home course immediately,” he said.  

Nothing.

“Computer, return to home course now!” he said louder.  

“Course set.  Continuing,” the nav system replied.  The PFV didn’t change direction but continued towards the tallest of the spired buildings Jonah spotted far ahead. 

He didn’t notice it at first, but as he looked around, he saw that the traffic had dropped off considerably, almost to the point where it ceased completely.  

Jonah switched the nav system to manual.  He grabbed the steering wheel and tried turning but the PFV didn’t change course.  It was as if the switch didn’t work.  “What the…” Jonah said.  He tried rebooting the system, a tricky maneuver while flying, but not out of the ordinary when a system wide crash like this happened.  Nothing turned off.  The entire PFV defied his attempts and continued on its course for the spired building now growing larger and larger in view as they approached.  

Frustrated, Jonah stopped trying to reboot the PFV and decided to wait until it reached whatever destination it had in mind before he’d either have it repaired or grab public transport to take him home.  

All day he dreamed of going home to relax and do nothing all week-end.  This delay aggravated him.  He didn’t need this after the terrible week he had.

Suddenly, the PFV dove down and banked to the left, circling the large spire topped building until it set down on a landing pad on the backside of the building just above the clouds.

The PFV powered down and opened its hatch, the ladder extending down to the platform.  Jonah looked around and saw no one.  He thought a moment then climbed out of the defective PFV.  “Why not, it’s better to be out of that stupid machine than in it I guess,” he said as he climbed down.  He wanted to be home now sipping a cold beer and watching mindless television but instead he was off in “Cordero Sector” and he was lost.  He walked over to the door at the end of the landing pad that he assumed led to someone who might be able to help him.

When he stepped inside, he saw sleek black walls with fluorescent blue lights illuminating the halls in either direction, but no desk and no sign of help.  Anger growing inside, Jonah spotted an elevator to his right.  He walked over and pushed the button.  Within moments, he heard a whoosh as the hyper speed elevator flew to his floor.  The doors opened with a chime and he stepped inside.  There were only four buttons on the control panel.

“What the hell?” he said out loud.  From the looks of the building on the outside, there must have been at least a hundred floors, yet there were only four buttons.  And they were labeled.  The top button said “Food.”  The next button down said “Restroom.”  The third button down was labelled “Sleep,” while the bottom button was labeled “Home.”  Jonah hesitated, unsure what button to press.  “Well,” he said, then pressed the bottom button.

Immediately the elevator rushed downwards.  Jonah steadied himself on the wall as the g-forces pulled on him.  The trip lasted well over a minute, and even in a hyper speed elevator, that was a long time.  And that worried him.

No one had been down to “street level” in his lifetime, at least not that he knew.  Ever since the Winter Wars raged across the planet, the surface of Earth had been nothing but a boiling, heaving mass of pollution and worse.  That’s where all the clouds came from.  Above them, the world looked beautiful and inviting, but from the pictures he saw in history books and the news, the surface was uninhabitable.  Nothing lived there.  It was utter waste and destruction.  The surface was boiling from the nuclear waste and the evaporation rose up to create the manmade clouds that blocked the sun from ever reaching down to it.  

Jonah thought of all these things as the elevator slowed and finally stopped, opening with a chime.  He looked out of the elevator to a sleek black hallway very much like the one he left moments earlier.  He hesitated but stepped out hoping to find anyone to help him.  The elevator doors closed behind him and he heard the whoosh sound as it ascended upwards.  Panic started to creep into his thoughts and he fought to push it down, hoping to be out of here as soon as possible.

He turned right and walked along the hallway until he came to a door on his left.  He looked around before he grabbed the handle and pushed down.  To his surprise, it opened up.

Stepping through the door was like entering a different world.  He stood in a large hallway that was like nothing he’d ever seen.  Glass walls rose high in the air, curving above him.  Outside he could see lush vegetation.  He spotted snow covered mountains off in the distance and birds in the air.  It looked light outside as though the sun shone down here, but that was impossible.  Everyone knew it couldn’t penetrate the dense smog.  He looked on the verdant world before him with wonder and astonishment.  He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.  The problems of his week felt so petty and worthless compared to the awesome beauty he gazed on.  

He walked slowly along the glass lined corridor admiring the trees and brightly colored flowers on all sides of him.  At the end of the corridor was another door, a glass one.  Above it in bright green letters it said “HOME.”  He smiled and tried the handle.  It opened.

A rush of warm tropical air flooded over Jonah as he opened the door.  The scents were mesmerizing.  The sound of rushing water and birds chirping filled his ears.  “Home,” he said in bewilderment.  

Stepping into the warm air, Jonah was overwhelmed by the lush beauty.  He hadn’t seen anything like this in his life.  All he knew were clouds and skies, nothing like the wonderous landscape in front of him.  

Home he thought over and over again.  He was home.  

Suddenly, his thoughts turned to his real home, to his PFV, to the towers above the skies.  He started worrying he might be intruding on something malevolent.  But the green expanse in front of him and the water rushing and the animals making sounds…all of it felt comforting.

“Where am I?” he said out loud.

“Why…you’re home Mr. Pelinski.”

Jonah jumped to the side, his heart racing fast.  He hadn’t seen anyone when he stepped into the tropical garden.

“Who…who are you?” he said through shallow breaths.  His heart threatened to burst through his chest.

“Please do not worry Mr. Pelinski.  You are safe, you are home,” said a small robot, about the size of a cat.  Jonah hadn’t noticed it sitting still, like a large rock, when he stepped through the door.  His gaze was too fixed on the wondrous colors to notice anything else.

Jonah looked at the small robot with trepidation.  It looked like a mini-human with two legs, two arms, and a face with eyes, nose, and a mouth though Jonah couldn’t understand why.  

“You are home Mr. Pelinksi.  It was your time.  We have brought you here because you belong.  This is for you Mr. Pelinksi.  You have free roam,” the tiny robot said with a theatric wave of its arm.  The robot was entirely grey except for its yellow glowing eyes.  

“But, I don’t understand,” Jonah replied, his confusion showing on his face.  He rubbed his head trying to take it all in and process it.

“Understanding is not required Mr. Pelinksi.  Just accept.  It is yours.  There are others, but you are all welcome.  You are home,” the robot repeated again.  

Jonah stared off in the distance, looking over the small robot.  

Others?  It was my time?

Jonah’s eyes went large as a thought grew within his mind.  

“Where am I?” he said to the robot.  It looked up at Jonah and a smile formed on its metallic face.

“You are in Heaven Mr. Pelinksi.  You…are home.”

Cleveland to the Core

No matter how hard I try to remove or turn away from it, I am Cleveland to the core. It's funny, I've lived in Illinois longer than I ever did in Cleveland, but I was born and raised there and I still feel a connection. It's been maybe ten years since I've been there and I'm sure a lot has changed.

The one thing that keeps bringing me back are the sports teams. I have always been a huge Browns fan. My earliest sports memories involve Bernie Kosar and those teams of the eighties, powerhouses of the NFL. And the heartbreak...man I still don't like Elway. But I will always remember the town painted orange and the songs on the radio. My favorite was "Bernie, Bernie," which was sung along to the tune of "Louie, Louie." 

I loved those times. Cleveland was something. It was a hard nosed, tough town and other teams wanted no part of them.

Then there were the Cavs. I loved those teams led by Brad Daugherty. I vividly remember Michael Jordan hitting his famous fade away over Ehlo, the shot you see in commercials or highlights about Jordan. He too was another iconic figure I didn't like. I respected his talent but he had a tendency to bring out the flashy stuff against my team!

The Indians were always terrible when I was a kid, but they were my hometown team and I followed them anyway. It wasn't till I moved to Illinois that they made it to the World Series. I tuned in to every game, just waiting and hoping they'd do Cleveland proud. Even though they lost, they did bring some excitement and hope to the city.

I loved my time there. Other than following all the Cleveland teams, I was a fun loving skater. I'd grab my board and be off for the day, skating anywhere I wanted. I had great friends that tought me how to be a better skater, how to appreciate music, and be a conscientious person.

My taste in music was clearly influenced by my city and my friends. I sided more with the gritty, do-it-yourself music of New York over the flashy Los Angeles scene. It fit more with what Cleveland was. And that music was political and social in nature, decrying social injustice and promoting lifting yourself up and standing up for what's right. My friends and I steered clear of music from bands that wanted nothing more than to get in the pants of any girl that would let them. We respected music that spoke of things with more substance.

All of these things, and much much more influenced who I am today. I take those memories everywhere. At the core, my city was and is...Cleveland.

Flickr Story 1: The Barn

Over the past year I've tried to keep up with writing after the euphoria of NaNaWriMo ended. Searching for ways to create short, flash fiction stories, I turned to browsing Flickr for random pictures from which to build a story.  I've referred to these as my "Flickr Stories" though not all were from there (I also used pictures from the Twitter account @ThatsEarth) Most of these were meant for writing practice but after a little touch-up, I thought I'd start sharing them here on my blog.  My intent is to post on the 15th of every month a new story inspired by pictures I found interesting. They are fairly short, around 1,000 words per story and won't take too long to read. When possible, I've included the image I used for inspiration. Some of them were deleted as I purged my phone seeking precious memory when updating my phone, but of those that remained, I'll include them.

Most of the stories are sci-fi/fantasy/horror in nature.

I hope you enjoy the break from serious essays (which I still intend on posting) and I welcome all comments.

_____


For my first offering, I present to you a story from February called "The Barn."  It's a short story with a nice twist.


The Barn

The waning light of day held the barn in a wonderful silhouette against the orange and pink and purple sky.  The sun barely peeked above the roofline of the grey weathered barn.  It sat in the midst of a sea of grain, golden and brown on a late winter day.  Off in the distance were tractors and grain silos, quiet now.

Mark approached the barn.  He needed to gather seeds stored there for his garden.  He’d gotten to starting the plants indoors so when spring finally decided to push its way through winter’s cold grasp, he’d be ready to transplant the seedlings outside and have his vegetables to the local market faster than most others in the county.  Some had picked up on his techniques and were doing the same, but he started years ago and had the whole process down to an exacting science.

   

He marveled at the beautiful colors splashed across the sky.  He admired the perfect blends of color in the air as though he stood face to face with a great masterwork of art.  He smiled.  

Approaching the barn door, he heard a soft rustle inside and hesitated.  No one should be inside and the sound gave him pause.  He waited, listening.  He could hear the wind blowing through the tall dry grass.  But nothing from inside the barn.  He laughed at his paranoia and pulled the door open.  He regretted it immediately.  

Staring back at him were yellow and green bright eyes.  He couldn’t tell how many creatures there were.  Eyes were everywhere.  He thought there were more than two per head, maybe three or four but he couldn’t be sure.  All of those eyes, some bright yellow and some an eery green stared at him as though he were the interloper and they the resident of the dwelling.  

“He,” one of the creatures said.  “He the one for seed,” it continued in a broken english, sort of like a child learning to speak.  

“He,” they all said in unison.  The chorus of voices overwhelmed Mark.  He noticed grey bodies moving and writhing, arms flailing as they moved closer to the door…and to him.

“He,” they said again in one voice.

Mark’s eyes bulged out of his head.  He lost the ability to scream.  His focus remained on the mass of thin grey bodies with their luminescent eyes peering back at him.

“He,” they said, louder than before.

Mark tried to turn away but some unseen force held him there like a statue.  Panic built inside of him threatening to overtake control of his mind.  

Suddenly one of the creatures stepped from the mass of grey and approached Mark.  It was just a bit shorter than Mark and had three eyes, two in the usual location and another on its forehead.  Its eyes were a bright glowing green color.  It stopped just a few feet in front of Mark and held out one of its hands pointing a long skinny finger with a black fingernail at him.  

“He…he makes seed.  We need seed.  We need get ready.”  

Mark felt his crotch go warm and damp.  His scream still not voicing itself as though something held it in check.  The grey creature took another step closer and placed his hand on Mark’s forehead.  The touch felt cold and painful to Mark, but he couldn’t shout or scream.  The intense pain burrowing deep in his skull.  

“He!” the mass behind the creature shouted loudly.  The creature closed its eyes and pulled back his hand, bringing Mark’s brain with it.  Mark’s body fell to the ground, a massive hole in his forehead where his brain was extruded.

“He!” shouted the creatures.  “He! He! He!”

The creature turned back to the mass of grey bodies, holding Mark’s bloody brain in his hands like an offering.  They pushed themselves back opening a pathway for the creature to walk through.  It stepped forward until it reached the center of the barn.  Two of the strange creatures dug a hole with their black nailed hands in the hard dirt.  The creature sniffed the brain, salivating, before placing it gently down in the soil.  The other two creatures that dug the hole carefully covered Mark’s brain with the soil.

“He!” those around them shouted.  “He!  Seed!”  

They stood watching the ground, waiting for the seedling to grow.

***

The weathered grey barn stood in fields of grain, unimportant and unassuming.  The winds blew on it like any other day.  Shades of blue with white wispy clouds colored the sky above. 

The seedling finally sprouted.

“He!” they shouted in unison.  “Food,” they said together.