11. future labor

Now that I’ve finished the piece that consumed the majority of the last two and a half months, I’m already shifting my attention to the next on the laundry-list…

Book of Mirrors – currently 26,000 out of projected 75,000

Until the End of the World – currently 22,000 out of projected 65,000

The Lash – currently 13,000 out of projected 140,000

Blurb and Blather – currently 5,000 out of projected 80,000

The Subtle Wound – currently 2,500 out of projected 225,000

… And that’s about the order I plan on addressing it in. It’s curious; I experienced the usual glee and relief today after completing The Circle, even though I’ve a couple serious editing sessions ahead this next month with a potential 2-3,000 to include — shaping and sharpening the rants, and including a handful of scenes forgotten or neglected in the course of the work. When I finished Songs of Iron back in September, I felt nothing but fatigue… and that puppy had lingered for nearly 8 years. I should have felt some joy at completing the 265,000 word current draft. I attribute the lack to two factors: one, general exhaustion at writing fiction, and two, the fact that it was a compilation of short fiction/novellas, so that it didn’t carry quite the weight of a unified project reaching consensus/climax/completion, irregardless of the inner relationship of the various stories. I was actually worried that I’d lost something, feeling merely the relief and not the manic pleasure (that did come later, though…) — happily, such was not the case today. In fact, this work sings, it stings, and boy did I dish the dirt. Just thinking about it makes me want to prowl about outside and howl and the cloud-hidden moon.

ANYWAY … I’ve lots of labor ahead. I’m looking forward to knocking off the first three by May/June.

(oh, and I broke 300k for this year yesterday… )

10. the circle, complete

Today I completed my 12th book, The Circle, a non-fiction account of the good/bad old days of the mid-1990’s. It’s still in rough form; I’m probably going to sweat it a bit this coming month; but it’s done. The process has been cathartic, to say the least. I cannot believe the amount of forgotten memories that bubbled to the surface merely in the process of typing on the keyboard. Events and conversations I haven’t considered in well over a decade… I laughed, I shook my head, I sighed and experienced empathy, anger, regret. This was by far the easiest of my various books to write, as well — 2 1/2 months, 66,000 words — because it was mostly straight regurgitation sprinkled hither and yon with punch-drunk rants and slipshod punk-prose, to elucidate the mindset and/or just to give a string of words a clever ring.

I think it may be my best book, as well … ironic, considering I can never publish it (unless under anon.) or really even distribute it among my close friends.

9. finals finished

Another semester down and out. Calculating it, this is the 9th in a row, between my undergraduate and my masters. There is always this vague but certain lifting from the shoulders, when the last final is tucked away and you know you’ve completed another so-called milestone.

School was put on two-hour delay, then cancelled outright, due to the half-foot of snow dropped in the last night. I celebrated by finishing my grading and then writing 5,000 words on The Circle. That’s the most words I’ve coherently typed out on a single project in a long time… possibly as far back as early spring, when I was engaged in the climax of Immortal Coil. (I’d have to go and check my tallies and am not inclined to do so at the moment). I suppose it is not too terribly surprising, though… hours to fill, and more specifically, the near-finale of a book to write. I always tend to pick up steam near the end, bang it out hard and dirty and fast. There are a number of reasons why. I’ve been planning the end-run for months, or for years. I’m in the flow, the galloping momentum of thousands and thousands of previous words. I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m enjoying it…

This particular book is unpublishable for numerous reasons, the very least of which being the incriminatory nature of it, all the bad shit me and my shallow pals used to get up to out of high school and on the verge of the big bad world. I’m pretty self-critical in the book, but that’s a good thing… better than swathing those days in sentimental bullshit and ignoring the real damage done, to myself and to others.

It is telling that I’m far more excited about the conclusion of this project (and that it will mean the continuation on three other projects) than anything related to my masters. Well, the finals and the classes weren’t hard (except for Statistics), just tedious. And given the last four years of busywork and blah-blah vomited on the page and awarded an A, I’ve definitely gotten anxious beneath the tedium millstone.

Ha! Ha! Just wait until I’m teaching full time… 🙂 then I’ll have cause to bitch.

 

8. anyway…

…enough about the craft blah blah, this was supposed to be a rant page. fun-lovin’ bitching about the blurb and blather of our o-so-shallow consumer-culture, to be extracted and edited later on for a book of said rants. seriously fumbling at the ball, here. but no matter. I certainly have enough material to start with…

I’ve conceived this blog lasting 99 posts, ranging from primal scream to pseudo-philosophical pomposity to the usual ponderings. Then I will save the words to a document, print it out, and delete the internet evidence. then start yet another blog.

Apparently I’ve gotten a couple of hits. I imagine it is from the 3 people I gave the address to. I hope so. There’s something nice about complete anon. postings. I suppose that should be the subject for the next post: “Would anyone tell me if I was getting… stupider?” [cue Faith No More]

 

7. all things change

As I sit here and listen to my 555 class — bored out of my skull and already past the 2k mark on today’s word tally on The Circle — I decided to return to my new shiny blog and contemplate its fate. Should I continue, with all the demands on my current plate? Yet again I recall my old blog, and think about the old me, that phase of thinking/being from five-six years ago… and I suppose this is a valuable, if continually infrequent, exercise.

If nothing else, I consider these changes:

In 2005, I watched over 250 films, thanks to my Netflix account.

 In 2011, I’ve watched half a dozen, and none in the theater. During my student teaching last spring, I mentioned to my class that the last movie I’d seen on the big screen was Watchmen. One of the students, a senior, exclaimed with surprise. “Dude, I was like a sophomore!” I merely smiled. Time seems so much more significant to the young.

(Incidently, I nabbed a copy of Watchmen recently for curiousity, but deleted it after a brief survey of the film’s length. I no longer have much desire to re-watch films, beyond perhaps a handful of personal favorites. This is another big change. As for Watchmen, I feel now that Snyder ultimately dropped the ball. Rushing the Mars climx, eliminating the psychologist’s decent into R’s personal hell — replaced with cheesy grinding to Leonard Cohen and some weak staged martial arts fights? feh.)

In 2005, I read over eighty books, across a variety of styles and genres.

 In 2011, I’ve read less than a dozen outside my schoolwork. I still ‘steal time’ to read, but often the choice comes down to either reading or writing, and I tend to choose the latter.

On that note, in 2005 I wrote maybe 100,000 words, virtually all of it in my blog. Actually, quite a bit of it was valuable: I managed to work through some personal issues and depicted a lot of my old travels in a series of journals which will prove valuable later on. that said…

in 2011 I’m on my way to finishing with 320,000 words, most of it fiction.

(more later…)

… (returning, 12/11/11)–

All things change. The physical as well as the mental. What astonishes me is how much of that former life no longer appeals, to a greater extent. I cannot fathom watchign 250 movies a year, these days. Naturally, a great part of this stems from the transition to fatherhood; what is surprising is the totality of that shift. In part I feel that I’ve put in the necessary hours, the necessary research, to shore up (somewhat) my own artistic inadequacies (mile wide/inch deep; mile deep, inch wide… not sure which applies). In part I am staggered by the vast cacophany of available media: there is simply no time to continue to construct a media-savant surface, artificial as it may be to begin with (hence my reluctance to write any more amazon.com reviews).

In part, I find my incessant anxiety of the artistic process beginning to erode. Still I dream of future projects, those 20 – 30 novels already planned but so, so far off, distant stars in the cobalt night; still I fume and tremble to the desire to start them now, rather than tool away at the ongoing agonies of this or that… those impulses exist, but they’ve also been mediated in part by a certain satisfaction. I’m liking the work, now. Whenever I read my material from the last 2-3 years, I’m satisfied with it. Sure, there are always always places in need of edit, but it is usually small, superficial, surface corrections… or even when the damage done must be substantial; even when the red pen wounds the white page over and over… the foundation feels strong.

It only took 20 years and a couple million words.

Five-six years ago I seethed with inner turmoil and exterior desires; now, I have my wife and daughter and my craft. Those seem enough, now. All else appears as smoke and mirrors, a passing dream… 

 

6. 36

Yet another birthday. As I grow older they seem to possess less and less gravity, apart from occasional blips of self-reflection. Where did 25 go? Oh yes, I remember, and I’d rather not be there. (or 30, for that matter).

This has been a good year. Productive. I completed my undergraduate with outstanding marks and awards. I watched my little girl turn one, watched as she struggled with language, learned to walk, began the baby-steps of manipulation like the cute little apple she is. I’m a week away from completing the first half of my masters degree, and my first half-year as an employeed teacher. I also completed two novels — one of which was bubbling on the stove from around 2004 — and by the end of December I’ll have completed a third semi-nonfiction book, this one roughly 16 years in the making…  and taking a mere three months to write.

It’s been a good year, and next year I hope will be better. Completing my graduate studies, returning to teach history (fingers crossed), living in a more dynamic environment (although this school has already given me enough material for a novella at least), helping my little one in engaging with the larger world… watching her eyes light up to the wonders and the terrors. And another 4 novels to complete by august (three are short, tho, and already begun…)

I suppose my major goal is to cut down the caffene intake. I suspect that I suffer from ardrenal fatigue after a good decade and more of daily consumption (mostly strong green tea, but coffee and energy drinks to boot), a habit which grew particularly-intense during my undergraduate years. I recall slurping energy drinks daily during the summer of 2010 when I was hammering out 5,000-6,000 words at my no-work job. I no longer guzzle those awful beverages… I no longer smoke tobacco or the other stuff… I suppose I should be grateful. But the body hurts more than it used to, requiring I stretch daily; and two cups of strong green tea followed by school coffee turns me into a yawning, lumbering lump by mid-afternoon.

Balance. That shall be my ’36’ goal….

5. thankful

It feels like I’m living in a dream, sometimes. Anyone who had the (mis)fortune to follow my old blog is probably well aware of my occasional breakdown of blurb-blubber-bleet about the shitty phases of my childhood (virtually all of it in the school environment, how about that?). Naturally, I am both mortified and fascinated by all that old angst dutifully recorded, wrung dry of catharsis and croccodile tears alike. Those memories are shitty, sure, but compared to a kid in the Congo? It all seems pretty facile in comparison.

I mention the above because life has gotten sweet in a way I’ve never quite experienced. While student teaching, I was offered the opportunity to earn a free masters degree and recieve a full “first year” teacher salary in the process. I jumped on it, and so merely leapt from the conclusion of my undergraduate to the masters program with about a month and a half of downtime. I thought it might prove difficult, and in some ways it has–I’m frankly burnt out of academic tedium and assessment to “prove” my retention. But difficulty is relative, is it not? Given that I finished about 4.5 years of schoolwork in three, the masters has actually been pretty easy. And the other half of the contract stipulation–working part time at a high needs school to gain tactile experience–has been managable and occasionally illuminating, usually in a bad-but-educational way.

But the big thing–the enormous thing–is that I receive a living wage AND get to spend the entire afternoon with my daughter, every weekday, as she makes the transition from one year to two. From 12:30 to 7, everyday. This can get exhausting, at times, but I have to slap the fatigue down and remind myself that this is fleeting, so fleeting, and that I must squeeze the moment of all its juice, rather than drift across and merely maintain. So when she pulls on my finger and says “toy” and presents me with legos or with a book I’ve already read to her five times that day, I do not protest. I cannot. Most fathers are not given this chance; it is to be savored.

Sometimes I wonder if all the raw cards I was dealt with at an early age have cashed in, and I’m riding the wave of suffering and subsequent matriculation. Like a caterpillar long-dormant in its coccoon. I have a beautiful wife, and beautiful daughter, my health (such as it is, some days…), a job, plenty of free time to spend with the two most important people above … and my writing has never been better. From the birth of my daughter, I’ve completed four manuscripts and have another 3-4 likely to be completed by next May. Overall–some flubs and and fretting and brainfarts aside–the result is good. Writing is sometimes a skin-crawling experience of doubt and self-castigation, but the results reveal that I’m better than I was even two years ago, much less five or ten or fifteen.

I’m happy. After decades of gloom n’ doom misanthropic musings, I’m genuinely happy. It really struck me yesterday how lucky I am now.

So… I give thanks, to all I can see the margins of and all I cannot explain, for this season of fortune.

“it’s just me ADD…”

I hate this phrase.

How often have you heard someone claim a mistake or mishap was due to “my ADD kicking in?” I can’t say I’m guilty of it because I’ve never once said it. I don’t have ADD. My attention span has fractured somewhat in the last 12 years of incessant internet browsing, but I can still sit down and read for three hours at a stretch without breaking stride. But often I hear people–intelligent, articulate, organized people–blame “ADD” as a catch-phrase. This includes friends, students, professors. Oh, I understand, I do. Our 21st century culture is composed of ADD trappings. Celebrities that appear out of nowhere and we’re supposed to care. Rapid-fire editing siezing Hollywood’s swiss-cheese brain, a cacophany of clustering and confusion designed to overwhelm and stun one into submission, to mask the gaping holes of logic, plot, humor, competence. Our diet, processed and sugar-laced, slapping the physical and mental spheres with twitches and twinges and herky-jerk pirouetting, as if the puppeteer got drunk and still decided to go on with the show…

I’m babbling (and that’s what this blog is all about, after all) but you get the point, my non-existent readership. It’s pervasive, and it’s getting worse. I consider the writing style, for one. “Short Declaritive Sentances” the experts boom! “Don’t Bore the Reader!” “Likeable Characters!” “Give ’em a Hook in the First Line!” “Short Splice Paragraphs!” “Don’t use semi-colons, colons, dashes… don’t Confuse the Reader!” Don’t be Long- Complex- Cynical!” “Easy Digestion!”

and on and on. I understand, I really do. Most books are bought for entertainment value. Few troubled souls pick up deliberately-challenging material for the beach-read. And yet… and yet… I frown and clench my fists when the experts pompously pontificate about what audiences want and what you need to provide. Aren’t there enough Dan Browns in the world? Enough Stephanie Meyers? Must sewage be the end-all of all creative endevours?

I don’t know… just ranting. But having worked with tried-n-true ADD / ADHD kids, most of those making the claim are just repeating the meme.

3. memory

As I mentioned in post 1, in the last few weeks I’ve been privately obsessed with memory–how we twist and contort fact to fiction; how so much slips away through the yawing cracks of age and the world’s grind; how powerful events are polished until they become mere pantomimes of what perhaps was.

Part of this is due to the perusing of the past: skimming my old blog and re-discovering partitions of a self long-ago disregarded before the staggering blips of the new. The other aspect is my current work on a semi-nonfiction piece, The Circle. It is ‘semi’ because the events in question occured 16 years ago, and I no longer remember the exact sequence of certain sections, how one thing led to another. Fragments exist, gleaming and garish, but much of it is a blur. I possess movie-reels of specific days and situations, though some of the frames are burnt-out, and sometimes the reel seems to have been assembled incorrectly by the projectionist. I gather the loose strands and the single-frame captures, attempt to assemble them into narritive cohension. For the most part it works…

…then something ‘old’ will arise from the deep gray meat, throwing certain events into context, recalibrating the totality of my impression (this happened twice last week). Or, as occured this weekend, I encounter previously-written material that shines a glaring light on how things went down. To wit: I found the screenplay I began and abandoned in 1999 on Sunday, while roaming around my old writing folders. I obviously remembered far more in 1999 than I do in 2011, for a host of small but illuminating details could be discerned from the text. I wish now, no matter my former spasm-spate of depression and inadequacy ever-hardwired to creative mania and aching drive, that I’d went ahead and written it all down. For I wonder now: what have I lost, that can never be reclaimed?

I suppose, again, that is the purpose of this blog. To recall. To have a format to depict memories of old, alongside reactions anew, so that in 10 or twenty years, when these days are but mushy fuzzy sludge in the backpan of the brain, I can read and suddenly relive, as if yesterday, a life fragmented, a life in full glittering through.

or, as I put it in my recent work-in-progress…

“There is an interesting division concerning experience and the memory thereof, in regards to the act of hardcore traveling. While one is engaged in the journey, the days feel absolutely packed: event building on event, the unexpected issues and humorous encounters dovetailing into a surreal synthesis, the stresses coupled with situational adaptation lending a sense of titanic accomplishment interwoven with world-weary fatigue, each moment resplendent with potential adventure, each moment in the flow—hustling amid the hordes, speeding across miles and timezones and cultures, or perhaps taking it slow… The days are packed, each seemingly unique in the totality of new sights, new faces, new experiences; each humming or howling into the grey meat incased in the skull, and it seems in immediate reflection that you will never forget this
life-changing trip, this cohesive-if-chaotic spill of images, sounds, smells,
tastes, tactile encounters…

But time is the grindstone, and it wears at the edges, erodes the unimportant, polishes the truly momentous into glinting if sometimes ill-defined recollection; the days are packed, but they can pack too tight, so that the lesser immediacy is devoured by the ongoing onslaught; and they can be unpacked, thrown into the unvisited vaults, grow dusty and deserted as the years flicker by faster and faster on the downward spiral.”

(from The Circle, pg 7)

2: my personal library

So to start, I might as well talk about that which consumes the majority of my time not devoted to family or work: the craft of writing. Indeed, my hope for this blog is to eventually utilize the rants and reflections to come into a proposed, started-and-abandoned novel called … blurb and blather.

After completing my student teaching this spring, I had a “month free” before traveling to visit family in Korea. I used that month to edit two of my previous books into somewhat-acceptable drafts, and to embark again on a vexing task: completing a book of interrelated short-fiction pieces that had sat around unfinished from 2004 (!). Somewhere during this time I decided on finally doing what I’d desired-but-procrastinated on for years… print out ‘master drafts’ of all my writings and compile a systematic, organized library.

As of writing this blog, November 14th 2011, most of that library is now on the shelf.

1) Neophyte Nostrums — (word count 60,000)

A compilation of creative fiction from my teenage years and a little beyond, spanning 1991-1996. Short stories, poems, an essay or two, the multitude of attempted-and-abandoned creative pieces. This project is technically unfinished, as it is not yet in the library. I initially typed it up in one big draft back in 1997, then lost the 3.5 disk the file was on (it fell out of my backpack in a coffee-shop). I still have the printed, edited draft, however, and in the last couple weeks I’ve begun retyping all of it. Annoying, but one way to wake the brain up during my 15 minutes of free time before classes.

The title is intentional, as per the dictionary definition: “a medicine sold with false or exaggerated claims and with no demonstrable value; quack medicine.” The stories and especially the poems are all pretty much shit, detailing “shocking” stuff I’d had virtually no tactile experience of. Still, this is where I’d cut my teeth, and I’d be remiss to shuttle it aside.

2) Storm’s Whisper – (word count 167,000)

My first novel, written in the summer and fall of 1997. By this point I’d concieved of and even written a couple of long-form synopsis for a fantasy epic, but I felt unprepared/inexperienced and so decided to write a “prequel” detailing one of the significant events of the world’s history.

This book, more than perhaps any other, has existed as a writing template. The original handwritten draft was perhaps 25k; the first typed draft was 75k; my ‘fleshing out’ draft composed in 99/’00 balooned it to 187k. Then it sat onthe shelf for 8 years, until I pulled it down in 2008 (right before going back to school) and spent about a month weeping tears of frustration and clenching my fists in despair and rage as I read the bloated, meandering prose, slashing liberally with the red pen until the draft seemed to positively bleed. Eventually I transferred the changes from draft to computer file, edited the fucking thing again, slashed more… and ended up with a draft at 167k. This is without deleting any of the scenes or significantly changing the novel at all. Now–now I can pick up the book, read through it at random, and actually enjoy the prose. There are flaws within the novel that still remain and frankly aren’t worth the time and energy to fix, given that I have so many other projects demanding my attention. At least it is now readable without every glance electing a cringe–that was my goal.

3) As the Earth Sleeps (word count: 255,000)

The continuation from Storm’s Whisper. I began this in January 1998 and wrote 2/3rds of it that year, then left it to moulder and haunt through ’99 and most of ’00 as I restructured SW and worked on a few other projects. Eventually I completed the last climatic sections while ‘vacationing’ in Russia in 2001. I read-through/edited it in 2009, which was a painful experience that grew gradually less and less painful as it went on — I could visibly see how my writing improved over the course of nearly 3 1/2 years. Still, another volume that will never see the light of publication, beyond my personal library.

And I eventually abandoned that particular world / future book concepts, as well… these were to be the first two of five books, followed by another five. I cannot even contemplate continuing on now (or really from 2001!), with so many other visions burning bright in the mind’s eye.

4) The Kraken File (word count 67,000)

A sci-fi pulp novel concieved as a writing experiment in the spring of 2000. I wrote around 40% of it from 2000 – 2002, then put it aside, as I didn’t feel my skills were adequate to do justice to the concept (which was actually a pretty damn good concept).

I flew to Hong Kong in the fall of 2002 with the explicit purpose of getting a feel of the city, as this is where the second half of the book would take place. For a solid week I hoofed the streets, until my feet felt as if they’d been crushed by hammers… but I did get a sensory immersion, a totality of experience, which lended itself when I eventually returned to the draft.

I took a screenwriting class for my winter semester 2009 to cover required credits for my writing minor. As I was taking 23 credits that semester, I decided to craft a screenplay from the unfinished novel and complete it in the process, so as to get my ‘major project’ out of the way as early as possible before being crushed by the compounded stress of other classes. I finished the 20k, 130 page screenplay in three weeks and turned it in; the teacher assumed I had written it previously and didn’t even read it. I turned in a second screenplay and recieved an A- for the class.. (!) Absolutely fucking typical, the only A- in college and it was for a creative writing class.

(I blogged about this already, so anyway…)

With the core dialogue and sequence of events already outlined in the screenplay draft, I returned to the book in the summer of 2010. I was working behind the counter of the tech center at Fort Lewis, with around 20-40 minutes of work required per 8 hour shift. I thus worked like a slave on my myriad projects, taking advantage of the opportunity to the fullest. So–July 2010–by this point I had already completed a monster fucker of a book and written the first 20k of a new novel (Immortal Coil below). I decided to “take a break” and tie up old loose ends. I’d already seriously hack’d-n-slash’d  and rewritten The Kraken File’s original draft during my screenwriting process; I took that version and slammed out the second half in about three weeks. 10 years of procrastination, dithering, dreaming… hammered out in six weeks altogether.

The birth of my daughter probably has had some effect on my work ethic.

5) Souls in Winter (word count 230,000)

A bunch of short stories, novellas, poems, my two screenplays from that class mentioned above, a graphic-novel script… essentially, a compilation of fiction from 1999-2011. I finished two of the stories in summer 2011 just to get ’em done and this baby to the printers. Most of it was written in 2001-2002, though, as fallout exercises from (temporarily) abandoning the spec fiction.

6) Songs of Iron (word count 267,000)

I started this in 2004, so I suppose it will be slotted here, even though I completed the second half of it in the summer/fall of 2011.

I have this habit of starting a book, getting bored or intimidated or both by it, and starting a minor project to keep busy. And so did this book begin, with a novella titled “Blood of Sakoya” (later retitled). I wrote about half of it in 2004, let it gather dust for a long while, then returned to it in the second half of 2006, after returning from Asia and on-fire to get some words down. I finished that story and went ahead and wrote another… then another… while planning and writing the first few chapters of the novel Sacred Cycles (below).

The fourth story, The Serpentspire of Cazhandaga, ended up being 69,000, the size of a small novel in and of itself. I wrote about half of that tale, then put the book down to focus on Sacred Cycles. In the autumn of 2007 I completed Serpentspire and SC concurrertly, then dabbled about with the first 1/3rd of what would become the final story of the comp and the title of the overall project, Songs of Iron.

For the next few years I wrote the beginning of three more stories, perhaps a total of 5k. Finally, after completing the novel Immortal Coil in the spring of 2011, I took those fragments and fleshed them out, along with writing two more novellas and completing the title story (around 85k altogether from April 2011 – September 2011). Finally, finally this fucker was done! And I was burned out from fiction writing in general, so I started on a non-fiction piece (see below).

In the end, I view Songs of Iron as another writing template. I’ve edited the first four stories many many times, trying to develop my voice to the desired flow. Even now those stories aren’t quite what I’d like them to be… but whatever.

7) Against Entropy (word count roughly 350,000)

This is the most ‘recent’ project printed out, though chronologically it fits here (sort of). Essentially, this is my myspace blog (sans travel reflections / travel journals); my amazon.com reviews (1998-2008) and my academic papers from 2008-2010. I chose the title as the blog and amazon reviews were primarly composed to fight against entropy–to get something down, no matter depression, laziness, procrastination, despair.

8.) Walking on Fire (word count currently 140,000, will be around 170,000 at the end)

A collection of travel writings, consisting of the ‘travel reflection’ pieces from my myspace blog along with the totality of my journal writing from SE Asia, 2006. I’m currently typing out my handwritten journals from SE Asia 2002 and Russia 2001 as well. I plan on writing (in 2013 or 2014) a ‘definitive’ book of travel stories titled Strange World, which is why I’ve separated these sections from the main blog.

Perusing this reminds me again that my non-fiction is generally superior to my fiction.

9) Abandoned Agonies (word count roughly 120,000)

–contains my abandoned and incomplete works from 1999-2008, including a graphic novel drawn/written in 2008 (sort of finished, I didn’t have another place to put it) and an unfinished novel from 2000-2003 that ran around 75k in itself. The title refers to the agony of having a project envisioned, begun, but never completed…

10) Sacred Cycles (word count 225,000)

The first of a five-book ‘mega-epic,’ written in 2007. I still harbor hopes of publishing this, though I’ve hedged my bets in the last couple years by writing stand-alones with more immediate commercial value.

After editing and editing and editing some  more, I eventually changed course in 2008 and began looking forward, rather than back–in other words, I attempt to spend the majority  of my time writing new books, rather than editing old books. My output has subsequently increased by a large margin.

11) Sorrow’s Heart (word count 302,000)

My largest novel so far, and hopefully ever… this book was a fucking beast to write for various reasons, and it took 2 1/2 years to get it done (Jan 2008 – June 2010). I actually haven’t read it cover-to-cover, so I don’t know if I was entirely successful… but it does contain some of my finest individual moments in fiction, without a doubt.

Part of the struggle came from the fact that I split one book (originally titled Farewell to Farcia) to three books (The Conquest Song) and then, after realizing that there was no way in hell to get everything down, split the second volume into 3 (thus, five books altogther). Resolving this conflict and properly outlining the details took damn near a year in and of itself.

12) Immortal Coil (word count 171,000)

I started this the same day I completed Sorrow’s Heart. Buzzing from the relief of putting that beast to bed, I began the prologue and went on to write out the beginning 20k in about two weeks. I then paused and finished The Kraken File and a short story, allowing my brain the time to germinate the central conflict and sequence of events.

The fall of 2010 was extremely busy–three jobs, my undergrad thesis, the baby–so I wrote a mere 25k over those four months. The next semester I underwent student teaching and had far more free time; from Jan to April I banged out the remaining 120k.

This, a stand-alone related to the The Conquest Song, is my attempt to write something commercial, perhaps attract an agent… but I need to run it through the editing mill about two or twenty times beforehand.

In-progress works:

13) The Circle

After completing the remaining 5 stories of Songs of Iron this year, I found myself burned out on writing fiction, even if the results were still emerging to satisfaction. To keep busy, I started this non-fiction novel about the “bad ol’ days” from 1995-1996. I’ve wanted to write this for a long time–16 years–and have attempted it four times before, never progressing very far (the screenplay attempt in 1999 was the most promising, in reflection).

And it worked: this project has rejuvinated my creative process, big time… I no longer feel burned out at all. It’s also been quite strange and illuminating to view my days as a bumbling outlaw. Old memories continue to surface, and I find myself nostalgic…

Current draft – around 28,000. Expected wc: 70-80k

14) The Book of Mirrors

A YA fantasy novel intended for my daughter when she reaches her tweens. I started this in 2010, wrote around 15k, and have had it on the backburner since. Returned to it recently, gave it a pretty sound thrashing of an edit, and wrote a few more thousand. I plan on completing this next spring.

Current wc – 18,000. Expected wc: 60-70k

15) Until the End of the World

It was interesting to read all my old research on cults and scientology in the myspace blog last week, given that the eventual result still festers at the margins of my creative process. This book is so dark that I don’t want to work on it in the vicinity of my daughter, however, so after writing the first 1/3rd in early 2010, I haven’t touched it. I plan on completing it at my work environment in the spring of next year.

Current wc: 22,000. Expected wc: 70-80,000

16) The Lash

Another stand-alone fantasy book, developed in part to increase my selling pitch when I seek an agent, and in part to work on thematic aspects lacking from my main mega-epic (such as romance). Work has been very slow on this; I’ve spent most of my time honing the prologue’s language. Will probably pick up steam on this next year, after the above two projects are done.

Current wc: 7,000. Expected wc: 120,000

17) The Subtle Wound

The third book of The Conquest Song mega-epic. Book 2 was so exhausting and frustrating that I put this series aside “For a year” and worked on other stuff. It looks like I’ll be putting it aside for at least another year, given the material above. Part of me wants to work on it, which is good–I sure as hell didn’t feel that way after completing Sorrow’s Heart.

Current wc: around 3,000. Expected wc: 240,000

18) Blurb and Blather

A book of rants and reflection on the creative process – a semi-autobiography of a ‘failed writer’. Originally this was to be a short story about a starving-artist returning home and catching up on the activities, successes and failures of his old writing circle. Lots of opportunity for misanthropic bitching and the like. I wrote the beginning and then it shuffled on down the line. But there’s potential for a novel here, so I’m (eventually) going to go with it…

Current wc: 3,000. Expected wc: 70-90,000

—–I also have around 20 more books planned out, but the above 6 (along with a couple others) will take 2012 / 2013 to complete.