Already Seen- First Chapter

My latest book is available here: Already Seen.

Already Seen is English for Deja Vu. Here's the synopsis and first chapter, all for free. If you like it, I hope you'll check it out on amazon.com, and leave a review.

It isn’t every day your wife dies in a car accident, twice. For Nathan Summers, discovering he can reset time, and change the future by focusing on a moment in the past, is easily the best thing to happen to him...this week. Okay, ever. 

He can’t wait to use his ability to get one-up on his perfect, cocky, and successful brother-in-law, Wade, who’s the kind of son his mother always wished she had. Only, Wade knows all about resetting time, and he warns Nathan that they aren’t the only ones who can do it. 

Alice, is a mysterious woman who will do anything to gain power while eliminating the competition. She learns that Nathan shares her talent for twisting time. Now she's kidnapped Nathan's wife, and framed him for a horrendous crime. 

With time for Nathan’s wife running out, Alice offers an exchange. Nathan’s wife for his reset point, and his life.

First Chapter:

The first time I killed my wife, I made a horrid spectacle of myself. I’m glad she couldn’t see me crying.

The only thing worse than watching her die was apologizing afterward. No. I take that back. It was a close second. Watching Cassandra die was absolutely the worst. Here’s how it happened the first time:

“Slow down. We’re not that late.”

“Yeah? Ten minutes to go fifteen miles isn’t late?” I veered into the right lane to pass a semi-truck. “It’s your sister’s barbecue.”

“Please don’t sulk all night about Wade’s promotion.” She reached across the console and squeezed my leg. “Be careful.”

“I promise. No tickets.”

A two car-length space opened up to my left. I accelerated and swerved into the middle lane to avoid another truck as the gap narrowed. The steep mountain slope kept them from driving fast enough for my tastes. I hated this interstate.

“What about wrecking? I don’t want to die, Nathan.”

“Sorry. You know the rules. One promise per customer.”

My cell buzzed with a text message, and no, that’s not where this story is going. Some people are sensible enough not to text and drive. Not me, but something else caused the wreck.

“Don’t read that in this traffic,” Cassandra said.

“Here. You check it.”

A cold chill ran down my spine, and not because I handed Cassandra the phone.  “It’s from your mom,” she said. Ahead, the road curved to the left. A space opened up in the far lane. I signaled and checked my mirrors. See? Safety first.

Unfortunately, the lane turned out to be occupied by a minivan in my blind spot. The van’s bumper collided with our car’s rear wheel. We spun into the concrete medium. The front bumper ricocheted off it, and the car flipped, tossing us around like a dog’s chew toy.

Cassandra screamed. I probably did too. Something crunched. With a flash of light, everything stopped.

The car somehow landed upright, turned against the traffic. The windshield, intact but shattered in a spiderweb pattern, obscured my view. Two other cars lay piled up behind us. Given our orientation, I suppose they lay in front.

Sharp pain throbbed in my temples. It felt like a troll was pounding its way out of my head. Musty smoke from the deployed airbag made me cough. “Cassandra?” I said, my voice barely audible.

She didn’t answer.

I couldn’t turn my neck to the right, so I shifted my torso. Her airbag wasn’t  undeployed. Her head had cracked the passenger window. She slumped against it.

“Cassandra!”  I reached a hand to her cheek. It came back wet. Could have been her blood or mine. “No,” I whispered.

I shook her arm, calling her name, begging her to wake up.

A roar erupted from my throat. My body ached with anguish.

Okay, wait. Hold on. You know what? Wallowing in grief accomplishes nothing. Given what happened next, I’m being melodramatic. She died, that’s all. But like I said, that’s not the interesting bit. This is:

I replayed the events in my head, not accepting the finality of my wife’s death. The moment before the accident stood there like a palpable object. It tasted like white lightning, cold and arctic. The moment wanted out.

I’d have given anything to step back into that instant. And that’s exactly what I did.

The chill from before ran up my spine in reverse. It warmed me from the inside out, like I’d swallowed a sunset or something.

And just like that, I handed Cassandra the phone.

“It’s from your mom,” she said. The road ahead curved to the left as a space opened up in the far left lane.

Everyone—at some point—has wanted a second chance to fix mistakes. The universe took pity on me and allowed another go. It surprised me so much, I jerked the wheel and wrecked the car again.

First day in my life I’d ever killed anyone, and here I’d done it twice. To the same person.

This time, I thought I’d lost my mind. I sputtered and rambled on, stream-of-consciousness style. “You’re alive it’s from Mom you said that again I heard you so you’re alive so say it again tell me anything I’ll listen okay?”

And Cassandra says we don’t communicate enough. She certainly didn’t hold up her side of this particular conversation.

Sirens wailed outside. My mind wrestled with reality, but reality had a huge weight advantage on me. “I’m traveling through time . . .” I said. “I think. That, or I’m having the strongest sense of deja vu ever. Do you remember wrecking, Cassandra?” She still didn’t answer. She just stared at me, blankly. That’s also a familiar sensation.

Memory is kind of like a muscle. I never thought that before, but all of a sudden the recent past was a tangible thing I could focus on. I flexed the point in time just before the crash. The instant sat there frozen, waiting to thaw out. Maybe, if I could just settle my thoughts into the memory—

Heat radiated out of me. Again.

I handed Cassandra the phone.

“It’s from your mom.” The road ahead curved to the left as a space opened up. The steering wheel shook from my trembling hands, but I didn’t attempt to merge. My knuckles turned white, holding the steering wheel so tightly.

“She says ‘you shouldn’t waste time on stupid parties when you have a mother that needs you.’ What is it with your family? Seriously, they all—Nathan? Why are you exiting? Where are you going?”

I shook my head. Violently. It felt good to have the full range of motion in my neck again.

“Nathan, say something. You’re scaring me. Are you okay?”

“Wait,” I managed to say.

At the end of the exit, I steered the car into a gas station. I didn’t trust myself to say anything just yet. After turning off the car, I pulled Cassandra into a hug.

And I sobbed. Not my finest moment, but you know what? I didn’t care. My Cassandra Rose was alive.

~ oOo ~

           

Cassandra didn’t let me drive to Ginger’s house after that. We arrived all the later for it. She told me, “Panic attacks are serious, Nathan.” Despite my protests, that’s all she’d hear on the subject.

The truth was, I didn’t fully trust myself to drive either. Two questions circled my thoughts. Am I crazy? Can I control this?

We pulled into my sister-in-law’s driveway. Ginger met us at the fence and gave us both warm hugs. “We were getting worried about you two.”

Cassandra glanced at me. I gave an almost imperceptible head shake. “We ran into some traffic,” she said. “Hope you didn’t wait for us to eat.”

“Wade’s in the back, still grilling. I’m afraid the neighbors couldn’t make it.”

Cassandra sat her contribution of potato salad on the picnic table. Wade Armstrong, her increasingly perfect brother-in-law, pulled her into a warm embrace.

“Just in time,” he said. “Everyone grab a plate and dig in.” I let my wife go ahead, while I strolled through the backyard, lost in my thoughts. My mind richoteched off them. I kept seeing Cassandra, bleeding in the wreckage. The memory was so vivid, I didn’t notice Ginger until I nearly bumped into her.

“Something happened on the way here, didn’t it?” she asked.

“Oh, hey. Sorry. I didn’t notice you. No, nothing worth mentioning.”

Both hands went to her hips. “Nathan, you never could lie to me.” She’s wrong. I’d been doing it since the two of us dated, and she asked me if I liked her sister. I just never get away with it.

“Tell you later,” I muttered.

Ginger ran her hands through her long red hair, a sure sign of annoyance. She and Cassandra are so much alike it’s no wonder I’m attracted to them both. Was attracted, I mean.

I piled a plate with food—two drumsticks, baked beans, and coleslaw. As much as I hate to admit it, Wade’s barbeque chicken is the world’s best.

The wreck still hovered over my thoughts.

Wade sat across from us. “Cassandra says you had a panic attack on the way over, buddy. Everything okay?”

I grabbed my hair. “She said what?”

“Don’t sweat it. Everyone’s concerned, Nathan.”

“Really?” I mouthed to Cassandra.

Wade said, “Hey, working on commission is stressful. Believe me, I know a thing or three about stress.” Yep. He’s even perfectly patronizing. Anger flared up under my skin.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Wade. I’ll be inside.” I picked up my plate and averted my eyes from the condescending stares.

~ oOo ~

I leaned on Wade’s black marble countertop, the one he bought in Europe. Everything in the dining room—from the Impressionist painting of a fox on the wall, to the crystal salt shakers—it all served as a reminder of his success.

This isn’t hatred speaking. I cared deeply for both Wade and Ginger. Honest. Just once though, I wished I could be the one that came out on top. Failing that, would it have killed Cassandra to keep my so-called panic attack a secret on Wade’s triumphant day?

I cringed. She’d already died once. Make that twice already.

“And I saved her,” I said to nobody.

The sun of success that was Wade shined brighter than anything I managed. It was always two steps forward for him, and one step back for me. But I rewrote time. Maybe that could ensure some success of my own.

I focused on the present. As before, cold shivers shot through my body. My head felt like I’d scarfed down a carton of ice cream, without the fun of actually eating it. In the living room, Ginger’s grandfather clock chimed twice.

The new moment settled into my head. A save point. I reached back again with something akin to muscle memory. The moment before, when I’d killed Cassandra, no longer existed. Good riddance. In its place, a new one tingled in my thoughts. I settled into that save point.

Ginger’s grandfather clock chimed twice. I grinned.

My unfinished food lay on the counter. I hurled it against the painting. The plate clattered against the floor and baked beans hung from the fox’s face.

After counting to three, I jumped back to the save point.

Ginger’s grandfather clock chimed twice. I whooped with delight.

Ginger slid the sliding glass door open and came inside. “I heard you yell?” She made it sound like a question as much as a statement.

“I’m fine.”

“Panic attacks are nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t have to act all macho.”

“Can’t tell you how happy I am Cassandra told you guys that.”

“She’s just trying to help, you know.”

I moved away from the counter, making my way toward the door. Outside, Cassandra laughed at something Wade said.

“That’s why you’re in here and she isn’t?”

“She sent me to check on you, since you’re mad at her.”

“I was.” But not anymore. Well, I was annoyed. But, whatever this gift was now occupied my thoughts instead. The things I could get away with.

Hmm. That gave me a wicked idea. With a small bit of concentration, I locked in a new save point. The already familiar trickle of ice shot up my spine. Funny, how something so cold worked as a security blanket. It made me bold enough to try things I’d never imagine otherwise.

That’s not true. But I would have stopped at imagining them.

Ginger placed her hand on my shoulder. She’d always shown she cared through touch.

Understand, I’m ashamed of what happened next.

I leaned forward and kissed her. She smelled like strawberries.

Ginger shoved me backward. Her eyes, full of warmth a moment ago, dripped venom instead.

“I’m sorry, Ginger,” I said and meant it. “Trust me, this never happened.” I reached back to the save point and let myself fall into the moment.

Nothing happened.

Actually, that’s disingenuous. Time moved forward, like usual. Ginger wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand and stormed out the open sliding glass door.

The cold headache doubled in intensity. My vision blurred, and I stumbled through the door.

Ginger raced to the picnic table. She said something to Cassandra who started gathering her things. Panicked, I thought back through the sequence of events again. Could I still step back and fix this?

Probably, I could have. I know now, that had I waited long enough and tried again, I could have erased the entire incident from Ginger's memory. Unfortunately, I also wondered if I could create another save point, which is exactly what I ended up doing. Oops.

Nothing like a man that keeps his head in a crisis.

My spine tingled just as Cassandra slid open the glass door and announced, “We’re going home.” The sensation could have been from the new save point, or the chill in her words.

See what happens next: http://www.amazon.com/Already-Seen-Scott-Hughey-ebook/dp/B00T82VEO2/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

So This Is Writing (Happy XMas)

Miss Snark's First Victim blog is asking for original holiday lyrics based around writing. Here's mine:

To the tune of Happy XMas (War is Over)

So This Is Writing

So this is writing

What shall I write now?
The next great bestseller
If I only knew how

And so this is writing
I hope it's not trite
I've way too much back story
Guess I'll have to rewrite

A very wary adverb
Suddenly gets marked out
Let's hope it reads better
Could there be any doubt?

And so happy writing
Pound the desk with my fist
I've got no motivation
For my antagonist

A very wary query
I hope it will sell
Masterpiece or disaster
It's the best tale I could tell

Writing's over
If I let it
Never over
Write

Longhand and Terry Pratchett

I've figured this writing thing out again, if only for the moment. It frightens me to think that, perhaps, I will need to relearn what works every few months.

I love my current method, even more than I despise it. Certainly, it's proving more consistent than what came before.

Photo By LeeGillion

Almost a year ago, when I started this blog, I knew what worked. The writing started anywhere from between 10:00 pm to 1:00 am. It stopped after I'd reached 1000 words. Not much of a method really, but it worked, for as long as I could sustain the pace.

A couple of problems arose. First, I would often get 4 hours of sleep. While the ensuing hallucinations made for vivid prose, some of the plots I came up with could only be understood by the reader similarly being deprived of sleep. Well, that, or (I suspect) recreational drugs.

The second issue was, in spite of consistently sitting down to write, I found myself all over the place with the actual methods. This went beyond experimentation, which I still play around with. What I mean is, I employed no real routine. And, I'm finding, routine works well for me. No. Very well.

Even if I don't want it to. Stupid pen and paper. *sigh*

Here is something I've discovered. I can write on the computer, or with pen or paper. Much to my annoyance, the writing is always better if I write it out longhand first. I think differently in longhand. The scenes flow in a way they never seem to on the computer. I'm a computer guy too, so that's hard to admit.

I learned something else. Given the correct amount of time in my schedule, I do well with word counts. Something that Neil wrote seems to have helped me find the right goal.

Yes. Him again. Neil Gaiman, may he write forever, co-wrote Good Omens with Terry Pratchett. I'm ashamed to say I haven't read much of Terry's work to date, but that's something I'm fixing. Specifically, I've read Good Omens multiple times, along with the graphic novel adaptation of Color of Magic, and also Terry's book on writing.

He's good, but I've been busy. I'm 1/4 through the novel Color of Magic now, and plan to read all of Discworld. Terry is a genius too.

I've digressed again. At the end of Good Omens, Neil mentions that when Terry still had a full-time, non-writing job, he wrote 400 words a night. It was the only way he could work and become a novelist. When Terry finished his first novel with only 200 pages written for the night, he started 200 more words on his next novel.

Brilliant.

I average about 400 words in a writing session anyway. 400 is easy. Well, except when it's harder than hammering a nail with a Phillips screwdriver. It's sometimes easy.

It worked for Terry. I'm making it work for me.

Here is my method:

First, I read. Right now, I'm reading Discworld. It might be one page, or several. Enough to enjoy the story, but not enough to keep me from writing.

Partially this is to study the craft. It also jump starts creativity.

After reading, I dive directly into at a writing session. Sometimes it's at lunch. Sometimes it's at night. The time matters less, because with longhand, I can do it pretty much anywhere that's free from distractions.

I come up with 400+ words on pen and paper. I do this consistently each day. Sometimes I'll do more. One of the first nights I tried this, I matched my previous 1000 word goal. But, I make sure the day ends with no less than 400. Two nights ago, I finished with 380, and it was all I could manage. I counted the words, and realized it was short. Even though one more word would have been impossible, I somehow came up with 50 more for the day.

Eventually, usually after 2 or 3 days, I find that I need a reminder of the story's details. That's when I transfer from longhand to the computer. This has the effect of an additional edit, as I can't help but correct as I type the story out.

On the days I transfer, I typically allow it to count as my writing for the day. Some writers, when editing, are "put-iners," while others are "take-outers." My first drafts tend to be minimalist, so I'm a put-inner. I don't count these words, but after three days, I estimate that I add about 400 if I'm typing out 3 days worth anyway. If I go beyond that, great. If not, it's okay. That's built into my new system.

It's working. A few months from now, I may share a new and improved system. Eventually, I'd love to be doing this full time, and be amused at the notion of only producing 400 words a day.

New Blog: Regeneration and Transformations

Hi everyone. It's me again. I haven't posted in a while. I'd love to say that I've been too busy writing, and that's marginally true. While I have continued to write, if you took the word "writing" out of the the previous sentence, it'd be more accurate.

Look for some new writing posts in the near future. In the meantime, please check out my new blog, Regeneration and Transformations. Long time readers of this blog, and you know who you are, will be aware of my love for fitness and all things geeky. Particularly Doctor Who things. Well, and Star Wars. And Star Trek. Um... comic books, scifi novels and the Matrix also come to mind. You know what, the list doesn't have to be exhaustive.

Rather than continue to divide my attention here between regenerating into a better body and the writing, I'm starting the new blog to feed my need to share about fitness. As I mentioned in the new blog, I've been ghost writing at blogmutt.com, and getting paid for it to boot. But I'm a tad egotistical, so I want to be able to share some fitness & health ideas as myself.

If you enjoy workouts, eating healthy, or otherwise improving your body, I hope to see you over there. Tune in next time here for a review on blogmutt. That's the plan anyway. I never really know what I'm going to blog until I actually write it.

Live. Achieve. Repeat.

Write. Finish. Repeat.

It's the most simple writing advice you'll find, and perhaps the most profound. It changed my course as a writer, and it just might change my course in life.

Here's what I mean. A common theme of this blog is momentum. You discover the end of your story by writing continually until it's finished. Work ethic beats inspiration nearly every time. Keep moving forward. I blog about that idea frequently, and to a lesser extent, I practice it in my own writing. Because, "life."

Life gets in the way of everything, including living your life. You name it, the issues are there. Drowning in the massive amounts of hours worked. Fighting a lingering illness, and the illness cheats. Reeling from an unexpected loss. Finally, FINALLY, breaking down and buying that 6th book in the Hitchhiker's Trilogy and discovering you were right- it's nowhere near as good as the stuff written by Douglas Adams.

All that can get in the way. If you're not careful, it can get in the way of far more than just writing.

It occurred to me this weekend that life is as much about momentum as writing.

Write, finish, repeat? Yes. Apply the same principles to life and what do you get?

Live. Achieve. Repeat.

Write/Live
Repeatedly, Neil Gaiman has told aspiring writers, "You must write." Too many get this part wrong. I've even had people argue with me over this point. The truth is, if you never write, you never write.

And if you don't live, well that's even worse, isn't it? Admittedly, "live" has several connotations. Here's what I mean by it.

Live to the max each day. This is not simply about enjoying life. It means making positive steps in your life. What's important to you in your life? Writing, family, friends, Doctor Who, church, health? Make sure you're making a positive step in one of those areas, minimum, each day. Most days you'll be able to make positive steps in multiple areas. And you know what you're doing? Living.

Finish/Achieve
Neil also said, "You must finish what you write." This, more than anything changed the way I looked at my craft. I finished lots of stories, and I got better with each one. Hmm. In retrospect, I've kind of moved away from finishing everything I start to write. Guess what the end result has been? I haven't written nearly as many stories since I stopped focusing on that. That's a good reminder.

In life, focusing on achieving has the same effect. Take health. I've written about fitness a few times here, because it's one of those areas I had to focus on. Doctor's orders. And you know what I couldn't do? I couldn't do it all at once.

So, I focused on daily achievements. Regular workouts. Reducing sugar intake. Blah, blah, blah. Once I finally accepted the need, I had mini achievements each day. So far they've added up to 40 pounds of weight loss, with adding muscle definition.

Repeat
It's so easy to just give up. This can come after a great accomplishment, or a painful setback. Both circumstances can make a person sit back- the former to enjoy and the latter to wallow.

But you know what? If we focus on moving forward in life, becoming better at what we do and who we are, we'll achieve far more.

Writing's worth it. So is living.

Tooth: Hurty

Brace yourselves. There's some dental puns in here. Feel free to extract the bad ones.

About 3 or so years ago, I chipped a tooth. It didn't hurt much, after the initial incident, so I figured it could wait. After all, I didn't have dental insurance at the time. Yeah. Time to wait.

Fast forward about a year and a half. The pain grew, and now I had insurance, only they didn't cover major work until after a year of coverage. Would this constitute major work? Heck if I know. Cause you know what? I didn't ask. Instead, I opted to wait.

Sometime after that I ended up switching jobs, which meant I switched dental insurance again. You'd think I would know the drill by now, wouldn't you?

Fast forward again. After getting a cleaning, the prognosis is a root canal, and a filling in the tooth next to it. Here's the problem. For the root canal, the insurance required 100% of the payment up front. That was more unnerving than the procedure. Now, if I had the means for that, I might have gotten this taken care of years ago. No way was I fast forwarding again though.

I took the antibodies, and held off on filling the pain prescription. Here's how that conversation went.

"Do you need pain pills?"
"I don't know. If it keeps getting worse, then probably."
"I'll go ahead and write you a prescription for them. Just take them if you need them."
"Sure thing. And if I don't need them, I can get $5 a pill on the street, right?"

Okay. I made that last bit up.

Instead of getting the root canal in a week, it ended up being more like three weeks. By the end, I'd run out of the antibodies, and started taking the pain pills. No favors for me there. Haven't had any since somewhere around 3:00 am Tuesday morning. They tore up my stomach. Vomiting, constipation, cramps, and those are just the upsides. Even today, I can barely eat from whatever that did to my insides.

To complicate matters, I started putting heat on the mouth. It felt better. Apparently, that's the worse thing you can do- it builds up the infection. Seems like the dentist's office should have told me the whole tooth about that.

Nevertheless, at 10:30 Tuesday, I had the procedure. Dentists don't believe you when you tell them, "I have one of those jaws that don't numb easily." But guess what? I have one of those jaws that don't numb easily. I'd call them names for that, but dentists have fillings too.

She gave me the gum gel, inserted the needle with the heavy duty stuff into my jaw, and then did it again. The second time, it I thought she was trying to disembowel me through my mouth. Sorry, but the constipation wasn't that bad yet.

They told me to raise my hand if I had any problems. So, at one point when I started feeling sensation again, kind of ike someone is trying to pull a nerve out of your tooth, I held up my hand. The dental assistant shook her head, "no" and lowered my hand. I think they gave me more medicine though, because the pain stopped shortly after.

Since then, I've been out of it. My mouth is swollen even more than before. It still hurts, though not as much. Think I'm going to have to get that other cavity taken care of soon. Food doesn't taste the same, and even though I know I have to eat, trying to eat makes me sick to my stomach.

No, I'm not going to try to tie this into writing, except to say, this is why I haven't written for a few days. It's a shame too, as I'd built up some pretty good momentum. I'll get back to it soon.

In the meantime, thanks for letting me vent. This tooth issue still leaves me unfulfilled.

Write What You Feel (and more)

You know that old saying, "Write what you know?" If you're interested in writing, and the fact that you're reading this blog suggests that you are, then the answer is probably "yes."

You've probably also heard multiple remarks about the saying, some funny and others not so funny. If not, I'll give an example and let you decide if it's funny or not.

"Hey Scott. Why do you write these weird stories?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, like this one about alien cat people who use their advanced technology to invade our timeline, starting the zombie war decades before it originally happened in 2032?"
"Oh. Well like they say, 'write what you know.'"

I know. You saw that coming a mile away. That's the advanced time technology at work.

Here's the thing. "Write what you know," doesn't mean only write what you're familiar with. Otherwise, we'd never have stories about a police box that's bigger on the inside, carrying an alien with two hearts across time and space. And you know what? That'd be a shame.

Write what you know means write what you feel.

Here's some examples. Do you know the elation you feel when you see your child for the first time? Can you recall a time when your heart was torn in two by the loss of a loved one? How about the bone chilling terror of someone sticking a gun in your face and demanding your money?

Write about that. AND HERE'S THE BEST PART! You don't have to write about a newborn child anymore than you have to write about a robbery or anything else from your life. You can, but you don't have to.

Take the joy of the newborn child and use those real emotions to describe the happiness of a long awaited reunion. Take that loss of a loved one, and draw on those feelings when your character looses her job. Take the terror of the mugging and show the fear of dangling over the edge of a cliff.

Write what you feel. Sometimes, even write about what made you feel that way.

I'll add this to it. Write what you feel like writing about. That'll carry you through 90% of your writing duties. Yes, I made that statistic up on the spot, but it feels right, doesn't it? Sometimes, you have to push through as a writer and finish projects (or start them. Or continue them.) However, most of the time, your passions can carry you through the work.

Another example. I wrote a long outline for a story last night. It's a good outline of a story that I've wanted to tell for a few months now, but couldn't figure out what really happened. Now I know. But guess what? It's still not ready. I could have started it, but I didn't want to. Something else was on my mind. That's okay. It'll wait.

Instead, I finished and submitted another story, which I'd also put aside temporarily. And, like my last blog entry, I made progress.

Take those feelings-- the grief, the triumph, the hope and the despair. Which one, or ones do you want to write about? Which idea has you jumping up and down inside? When possible, write about where those passions are. And always, write what you feel.

Slightly New Approach

Life has been, well, it's been too much like life lately. That's almost as great for a writer like me as it is terrible.

Life's woes create powerful emotions to draw from and pour into my craft. At the same time, those woes and emotions war with the will to write. That doesn't even allow for the hectic schedule I maintain.

I hear you thinking out there. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Life stinks. So does mine. So does everyone's at some point. Get over yourself." And you know what? You're correct. If that's all this post was about, then it could be a wasted post. We're making our way to the writing inspiration in just a moment.

And, I'm not saying that life is completely terrible. For instance, as of this morning I've lost 32 pounds from the heaviest I weighed myself. Since, at some point  I stopped weighing myself because it became too depressing, I suspect I've lost even more than those 32.

I'll tell you how I did it, partly because I like talking about it, but mostly because it's a nice transition to the new writing approach.

I made a lifestyle change. I'm not dieting. I'm not doing crazy fad workouts or starvation plans. The doctor said I had to change my lifestyle or take blood pressure medication, and I didn't want to go on medicine for that.

Two changes. That's it. I started eating right, and started exercising right. (It would have been just as accurate to leave off the second "right" in the previous sentence.)

Briefly, the eating changes include increasing my water intake; lowering my dairy intake; removing all wheat and most whole grains; sticking primarily to meats, vegetables, fruits, nuts and seeds. I only drink water, almond milk, green tea and the occasional milk. I've increased my (good) fats and protein by a wide margin.

As far as the exercise go, I alternate days. The on days includes HIIT, heavy weights usually performed in a circuit and laps in the swimming pool. In the off days I only swim.

Beyond all the built in health benefits (which I've ghost-blogged about with some success over at Blogmutt.com) of these choices, there are two reasons they have worked for me.

Persistence and consistency. I don't miss a day exercising. Eventually I will, and that's okay, the body needs rest. But, you'll find me back at it the next day. Same goes for eating. I allow myself treats from time to time, but even then I try to choose healthier alternatives to my previous habits.

My muscle gains and fat loss were dramatically fast. At first. I continue to see the same changes, although it's more gradual.

Gradual is good.

Light-bulb.

I reached the point in writing where I was writing in spurts, or not at all. More often than not, it was "not at all."

But, as I posted earlier, writing is a lot like going to the gym. In this instance, steady progress that is consistent will lead to results. My new approach is simple. Work on writing every day. I used to hold myself to amounts of time, or a certain amount of words. That worked for me, but only when I could maintain the incredibly busy pace of my life.

Now, I'm not going to let a day go by without working at the craft. Sometimes the words are going to flow super quickly, like the first ten pounds or so that I lost. Sometimes they'll trickle, but the progress will be gradual.

If I make progress in a day, then it's a good day. Just before this blog, I nailed down a 500 word outline to a new story. I'm not usually much of an outliner, but this story required it. I have little in the way of actual prose (just a few lines of dialogue) but you know what I do have? Progress.

Oh, and I also have all those fantastically powerful emotions I started this blog with. They'll come in handy as I continue to write.

Just Believe: A 100 Word Story

Photo by Lisa Ruokis
CC license

Just Believe

A 100 word story by Scott Hughey

Belief is reality, or so the Extreminators teach.  I can’t take the risk.  In five minutes, every Extreme member will believe humanity never existed.  My job is to stop them.

No, I’m not joking.  They’ve already used group belief to wipe Monthia off the map.  Never heard of it?  They claim that proves their point.  I don’t know, a continent or something.  Check their website.

I have one team believing humans exist.  Another thinks the Extremes are nuts.  A third believes in objective truth.  Let’s hope its enough.  Me?  No, I don’t think it’ll work.  

It’s time.  Let’s see if

Guest Post by C.C. Dowling: Everyone's a Critic

C.C. Dowling delighted me when she agreed to do another guest post for me. She's a fantastic writer, and she uses the word "amazeballs" a lot. Oh, and I'm probably outing her by saying this, but I've finally managed to turn her into a Doctor Who fan too. Thanks C.C. Sorry, I lost your paypal account. Again.

Everyone’s A Critic
by C.C. Dowling

@CCDowling

Ever realize how finding the right critique partner (A.K.A. CP) is kinda like dating?

No? Well, if you’re a writer, you should try it. Finding a CP, that is. I’ll leave the dating advice to another blog.

Finding a CP that is congruent with your style, personality, and craft level is crucial to being a successful writer. I don’t care who you are. Every single one of us has craft issues that we can’t see in our own writing. Why? Because we’re too close to it.

Sorta like how your partner can’t see that the last argument they had with you was completely their fault.

But I digress.

When you’re in a relationship like a writer is with their work, it’s difficult to take a step back and see it for what it really is. Whatever that “really is” may be. That’s where CPs come in. But where to find one?

When you’re dating, there are a TON of sites available to you, depending on what type of relationship you’re looking for. But where to find a CP is less clear.

Side note: Someone really should develop a website called CPMatch.Com. And hey, if this exists, or anything like it, please leave the website in the comments!

I can tell you what worked for me. That might work for you, and it might not. And, it might lead to an even better idea you come up with. If that happens, again, there’s a comment section for a reason. You can thank me there.

If you read the last guest post I wrote, you probably know what I’m going to say. If you haven’t read it, then you can find it here: Three Lessons To Keep Your Readers Up At Night.

Yeah, you guessed it. Twitter. I found almost all of my CPs through Twitter. The writing community on there is amazeballs. Aside from straight up hashtags like #critiquepartner, there are tons of contests. And when you enter them, and you stalk lurk keep up with the threads, you’ll see that people are offering to read your first 250 or your query, if you read theirs.

Heck, you can even offer it first. It’s your writing career. Grab it where it counts.

By doing it this way, you’ll get to:

A.) See what else is out there.  

B.) Test out someone’s material and critiquing style before making a major commitment.            

C.) Meet other writers.

This is the picture Jerry uses for
The Ubergroup. Don't worry. I
don't know what it is either.

The meeting other writers is important. In doing so, I met fellow author Jerry Quinn (@bewarethejabb) who runs a fantastic group on Scribophile (http://www.scribophile.com/) called Ubergroup, where I met the fabulous, and awesomesauce talent of Scott Hughey.

Side note: Scott, payments can be made via PayPal.

It’s also fair that I point out I met my very first CP, and just an all-around great writer, @ABSevan, through a Writer’s Digest first ten pages bootcamp. WD offers all kinds of online resources and classes where you can meet other writers in your genre, and at your level. Check them out (@WritersDigest  www.writersdigest.com.)

Okay, I think I’m done plugging everyone.

Bottom line is, as writers, we need someone who will tell it like it is, matches our talent, and provides useful feedback. Personally, I like my CPs to be straight up honest. Scratch through my crap with a red sharpie, and pat me on the back when I deserve it.

Everyone’s CP needs are different. Just like in a relationship, you want someone who pushes you to grow, meets you where you need them to, compliments your strengths and weaknesses, and wants to see you succeed.

How do you CP? Leave a comment to let us know.

---

C.C. Dowling lives in America’s finest city, San Diego, with her toddler (who plays in the yard with Faeries), her husband (the financial shaman), her Aussie (with mesmerizing blue eyes), and a pet dragon (who is the real reason the neighbor’s dog barks incessantly at night). 

When she’s not working in the field of neuroscience, she’s writing fantastical short stories and novels about blood-drinkers, shape-shifters, soul reapers, and demons hell-bent on redemption. You can find her on Twitter at @CCDowling.

Writing and the Gym

WARNING: The following post contains generalizations. It is also comprised of an observation that is so obvious, I'm convinced the comparison has been made several times before. If you wade through the stuff about exercise, you'll eventually get to the observation about writing. It's there. You just have to humor me for a bit longer than usual. Viewer discretion is advised.

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I've been going to the gym, and believe me, the facilities have everything. You can take any number of classes, work with a personal trainer, lift free weights, swim laps in the pool, workout on the various machines, and so on.

The complex is massive, and it doesn't matter what time I go there. There's always multiple people there working out. It would be inspiring, if I didn't prefer working out alone. But, I digress.

Here's a typical workout for me. I'll warm up for 5-8 minutes on an elliptical machine, gradually increasing the resistance. For the last 3 minutes or so, I do intervals of high intensity and low intensity (HIIT for those of you in the know.)

From here, I move to weights. I'll create a circuit of different muscle groups and do as much weight as I can on them up to 12 reps. As soon as I finish one of these, I move immediately to the next. It keeps the heart rate up. Also, each station uses different muscle groups so I can continue to work hard. I'll complete this circuit of each station 3-5 times (depending on how many stations I've set up.)

After all this, I change and go to the pool for laps. According to an authority as knowledgeable as Google, swimming is an almost perfect exercise. It uses muscle fibers from the entire body, using continual resistance.  In fact, on days that I can't do the entire workout I've detailed here, I'll just swim.

The point of my workout is to get the maximum benefit from my time.  Not everybody feels this way. Here come the generalizations.

Every visit to the gym, I see people come in and do nothing. Well, that's not fair. They lounge. They talk and
socialize. This is common behavior in most gyms actually, though I've never understood it. I didn't even notice it at this gym, until I went to the pool.

The area boasts a 3 lane lap pool, a jacuzzi, a sauna, and a steam room. They're all used for socializing more than exercising.

At least one of them used it as an opportunity to pick up women. Women love this. Ladies, am I right? That's why the young woman in question left the area so quickly. She was playing hard to get.

It's possible that some of the people in there have completed workouts. Some of them look quite fit. Others... don't. But they play in the pool, soak in the jacuzzi, and hang out in the sauna. In fact, I've never seen the sauna with less than four people in it.

I've seen them do this for over an hour. They do nothing but relax from before I start my workouts until sometime after I'm done. These people are paying top dollar (I'm not, thanks to my nephew who got me a great deal on the membership) to come to a gym and hang out.

What's the point? Does it make them feel like they're getting fit, to simply be around the equipment?

Here's the comparison. Lot's of writers do the same thing. Heck, I've done the same thing.

I've spent plenty of time thinking about writing, talking about it, reading about it, and daydreaming about what life as a full time writer would be.

Writing is like exercise though. It is, in fact, a craft exercise. The more you do, the better you get at it.

Spending time at the gym relaxing is fine. After a workout, I've gone to the steam room and jacuzzi. The sauna is too crowded. But, and this is key, I've done this after the real work is completed. Otherwise, I wouldn't get the exercise needed to become fit.

Spending time socializing with writers, thinking & talking about the writing, and so on is fine. Doing it, and thinking that you're exercising your writing muscles is no better than spending hours at the gym doing nothing.

Writer's of the Future: Honorable Mention

I finally heard back from Writer's of the Future. I'd entered the contest for the 1st quarter of 2014.

My short story, Finding Home won an honorable mention. That's good news, and bad news. Yeah, I wanted to win, but I'm mostly seeing this as a huge positive.  After all, I learned that depending on the number of "good stories," 5-15% of the stories receive Honorable Mention.   So, my writing is moving in the right direction.

This is also incentive to enter a stronger story the next quarter, and to keep working on my craft.

Writing! Yay!

The Write kind of Puns

Sometimes I amuse myself on Twitter so much, I have to share the results here. Today, it was all about writing puns and jokes:

#WritingJokes

• I read about a troll living under an overpass. There was no overpass though. The book was abridged.
  
  
  
• Reading high-fantasy can be hobbit forming.
  
• Thinking of writing a romance novel. The leads will rendezvous privately in an unexpected plot tryst.
  
• I couldn't see my character's motivation in my first draft. That's why I needed to do a revision.
  
• Thought I had a great story idea: a mermaid who lived in a pond. Turns out the plot was a bit shallow.
  
• I read a story about an 8 foot tall man who meets a real giant. Talk about a tall tale!
  
• Her poetry was so horrible, the judge made her read it out loud to herself. After all, the punishment should fit the rhyme.
  
• Did you hear about the two writers on their honeymoon? They spent a lot of time in metaphorplay.
  
• I'm writing my next novel in my friend's basement. He has the best cellar.
  
• The writer was convicted of plagiarism. His sentence was to hand write "War and Peace." Talk about Carpal Punishment!
  
• I'm always freezing at my writing desk. Probably because there's so many drafts.
  
• I bet Charles Dickens had an interesting spice rack in his kitchen. He had the best of thymes and the worst of thymes.
  
• My first short story was about a woman who maintained a small garden. Too bad it didn't have much of a plot.
  
• When I write longhand, I get #writers cramp. It's a bad case of authoritis.
  
• Did you hear about the backwards #poet? She wrote inverse.

Writer's Digest April Fool's Headline Contest

Hope I'm doing this right. Here's my entry for the April Fool's Contest by Brian Klems.

"A Third Person Arrested in the Dangling Modifier Case." #AprilFools4Writers @BrianKlems http://bit.ly/1jUbnq1 

Yep. That's three puns in 140 characters, making up one headline. Enjoy.

The Danger of My Obsession

You know the one thing I love more than writing fiction? Well, truth be told, there's more than one. But do you know the particular thing I'm thinking about right now, that I love more than writing fiction?

No you don't. Otherwise, you'd probably be reading something else about now.

Even more than writing, I love thinking about writing. Like several writers with a day job, I imagine what it will be like to have writing be the only work, but that's not what I mean.

I love thinking about the craft.  You know, imagining the characters I want to create, the feelings I want to bring out, the types of stories I want to tell.

Used to be I'd by every Writer's Digest magazine when it came out, along with the occasional Writer Magazine based on the content. And I'd devour them, learning more and more along the way.

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's trivial geek references.  If there's two things I'm good at, you can add obsessing about interests to the list.  Somewhere on the list, if you add enough things that I'm good at, you get to writing.

I adore it. Which means I obsess about it. And there's the danger.

All the things listed that I enjoy doing, from reading the magazines to daydreaming about the craft, they're all good things. The catch is, when I'm thinking about writing, it feels like I'm actually going through the process.  But if all I'm doing is thinking, reading, or talking about it, then no new words actually make it to the page.

Every single day, I have to remind myself to sit down in the seat and do the real work.  This is true whether it's the day after writing 2000 words, or a week after writing 100.

Obsessing about the craft will ultimately benefit me, but only if I turn it into the right kind of action.  Otherwise it becomes a hindrance and a danger to the writing.

You live and learn. At any rate, you live.

(That last line was one of those geeky references I mentioned. Just so you know that I know that I didn't come up with the line.)