As the weeks have gone by, I’ve delved deeper into my rewrites for Final Hope. And I was making good progress, too. That is, until I crossed paths with the dreaded Chapter Eight.
It didn’t start out bad. In fact, Chapter Eight was looking good at first. I was halfway through the chapter and I was rocking the word count at an alarming rate. Then, just as I was beginning to think I had the whole thing in the bag, things got weird.
2017 is coming to a close and as we reflect on the year behind us, we look forward to the days and adventures 2018 will bring. My writing plans this year aren’t new years resolutions, but a continuation of the hard work I’ve been putting in to chase down my dreams.
Greg Thompson stood alone in the rift bay of Final Hope, the last mining vessel built on a dying world. He looked around the control room and couldn’t help but feel like Jonah inside the whale, praying for some semblance of redemption.
Sometimes you have to kill a few words to uncover the true essence of your story. In my case, it’s taken well over 100,000.
When I had the first idea for Chlorophyllium 9 as a short story in 2008, it was a flash of inspiration, but just a tiny snippet of the story as a whole. Like a glimpse at a scene, I knew there were several more layers to uncover before the rest of the idea revealed itself. But that one image has remained the heart of the story, even as it’s grown to almost novel length.
Not focusing on platform means my Facebook likes and Twitter follows aren’t going to skyrocket. It means my first few book releases are probably going to be slow burns. I have to be okay with that, and it really isn’t an awful expectation to have.
We aren’t the only ones left confused by this chaotic weather. The newly planted trees in my yard are having a hard time adjusting. First losing their leaves and now attempting to grow new ones. They must think it’s already spring…
This post is all about telling the darkness that it can go shove it. My draft folder might be filled with discarded words, but it was all worth it. Final Hope is finally starting to take shape.
It was early 1995 and I was fourteen years old. I can almost remember the way the crisp spring air smelled. The snow on the mountains was beginning to creep back toward the white-capped peaks, revealing new patches of green on the mountainside. Life was fresh and new and filled with possibilities.
Internalizing this today, I think about those moments spent treading water and I can’t help but compare them to my writing journey. I feel like I’m treading water, struggling just to stay above the surface. Yet, unlike those days in my youth, I have a lot more baggage now. Staying afloat also means fighting my demons.
Should writers use their platform to wield their politics? It’s a touchy subject, but author R. Brady Frost discusses some of the pros and cons.
A lot of people support the new female version of The Doctor. As a father of two girls, I don’t, and here’s why.