Zachariah Wahrer's Blog, page 7

The Ramp (5.8, 750′) – Beartooth Mountains, MT

Yesterday, Sarah and I kicked off our alpine rock climbing season by doing The Ramp, a 5 pitch (750′) 5.8 trad climb in the East Rosebud Canyon area of the Beartooth mountains here in Montana. It was a great way to work out some of the winter kinks in our multi-pitch climbing and get psyched for season! I’ve included pictures and route beta below for anyone wanting to do the climb.

[image error]Sarah slabbing up P3.

Description:

The Ramp is a fantastic moderate route with great views, solid rock, and consistently fun and engaging climbing. The cruxes are short and well protected, making it a good route for newer trad leaders with the appropriate multi-pitch skills.

[image error]The Ramp Topo. Note: For the final pitch, we did the 5.9 variation, and this is reflected in this topo. For the 5.8, go up the dark, left facing dihedral just right of the final “B”.

P1: Start from the top of the ledge, heading up under the dead tree. Pass a bush, then pull the crux mini-roof (harder for large hands) in a few moves. The angle lessens and the splitter crack continues up to a few small ledges (one with a bush, the other with a small tree). Build a belay here. (5.8, 120′)

P2: Continue up slabby, somewhat vegitated cracks, to a large, flat ledge on the climbers left. Comfy belay. (5.6, 120′)

P3: Seems to be a few options here. I chose to stay on the far left side of the face, following cracks. Once the angle steepened, I traversed right and popped out on the belay ledge with several stunted pine trees (which you can see from the previous belay). It may be possible to traverse sooner. (5.5, 170′)

[image error]Looking down from the top of P3 to the P2 belay.

P4: Continue up from the left side of the belay ledge, following the crack past several small bushes, a pine tree and one dead tree. There are a few small cruxy sections on this, not the least of which are some slab moves getting on to the next belay ledge. Build a belay at the base of the headwall dihedrals. (5.6, 190′)

[image error]Sarah halfway up P4.

P5: Two options: If you want to keep it easier, do the wide dihedral on the right side of the ledge, which is apparently 5.7/8 for just a move or two at the bottom. We chose to go out the mini-roof hand crack just to the left, which provides a really interesting sequence up higher through a slug shaped feature. Continue up through increasingly lichened rock until you reach a comfy belay. (5.9, 140′)

[image error]Topout!

Descent:

From the top, there seem to be two options. The first is rappelling Rosina’s Other Side (SW Face, climbers left from the top of the route) on bolted anchors, which one source says requires 2 ropes. Another says there is a block with slings in the same general area that can be rappelled for 100′ down a dihedral, followed by another, shorter tree rappel down two steps. From there, you hike down the gully.

We chose to walk off, which involves continuing up and right (north) off the Ramp formation, till you can easily cross the upper gully. Continue down on the other side, hiking with some 3rd or low 4th class down climbing thrown in. About half way down, the trail drops into the gully itself (following cairns) and makes a few 4th, then 5th class moves down the cliff face to reach the gully bottom. I would not recommend the walk off descent if you are not comfortable with big exposure and bad fall consequences. The moves aren’t too bad, given a cool head, but there is some loose rock that has to be negotiated. It might be possible to rig a rappel here, but it would require leaving gear as there are no good trees or horns to sling. After reaching the bottom of the gully, continue down, trending right. Eventually you’ll be forced into a trough/chimney, that has a few hard moves to get established in. Once again, this is 4th/low 5th class, with dangerous exposure, and no easy rappelling option. After negotiating the chimney, the rest of the way down is pretty mellow, depending on your path. If you left a pack at the base, you pop out right next to it. At a casual, onsighting pace, it took us around 45 minutes to get back to the start of the climb.

Location:

The Ramp is located just after East Rosebud road becomes dirt (again) and crosses over the creek. (It is the center, clean, ramp like formation in the top photo of this post.) We parked in the first major pullout on the left (45.218568, -109.624596), and hiked up the hill to the west for 45 minutes to reach the base. There is a trail of sorts, although it is hard to find. The best way to locate it, as well as the path of least resistance, involves reaching the granite mounds on the hillside, and then continuing up them, sticking mostly to the right hand (north) side till you find cairns that link bushy sections with strips of scree. The route itself starts where the main crack systems reach a ledge of sorts, near a dead tree, just to the right of a large, dark dihedral (GPS Location: 45°13’16.71″N, 109°37’52.72″W).

[image error]Sarah scrambling on the approach.

Protection:

We brought doubles in C4 #.75-3, with a large selection of smaller cams, including some Metolius offsets, as well as a single set of nuts and many (8-10) single length slings. This seemed adequate, although we definitely ran it out on the easier terrain. If you want to sew it up, triples in the larger sizes would be necessary. There are no bolted anchors on the entire climb.

I would like to give credit to Wood and Iron Works page for good beta (and a nice topo), which we used for this climb. Check out their page for other Beartooth Mountains climbing.

(Disclaimer: If you decide to use this beta, you take all responsibility. I’ve done my best to write this from memory, but I may have made mistakes. It is your job to exercise good judgment and not just follow blindly…

Diesel (Short Story)

Mason felt a hint of fatigue creep into his legs, and he smiled. Eighteen miles, he thought, reading the number off his GPS watch. The flat terrain and low elevation of the Kansas farmlands boosted his endurance. I’m going to set a PB marathon time if I keep this up.

He’d been running for two hours, and dusk was falling. Originally, Mason hadn’t planned on being out this long, but the joy of the back roads and his own speed had made him to create a larger loop. Eight miles to go, and the sun is setting soon, he thought, some of his earlier excitement diminishing. The heat of Kansas summer forced the late evening start, an extended breakfast with his wife and her family consuming the cool morning hours.

But there’s hardly any cars out here, he thought, checking the stretch of dirt road behind him and finding it empty. Two vehicles had passed in the last two hours, one a friendly old man in a blue pickup, and the other an oblivious teenager. The truck had slowed down, and he’d waved with gratitude, but the teenager flew by, sending up a cloud of dust. Probably texting and driving, he speculated, his mind wandering.

A rumble penetrated his thoughts, and Mason turned to see another truck approaching. It had its headlights on, and appeared to be a semi. He moved to the far left edge, hoping the dirt road was wide enough without him having to go into the ditch.

Realizing the daylight was fading faster than he anticipated, Mason pulled out his lightweight reflective vest and slipped it over his head. He wore it at all times when running at night around his home in Colorado Springs. When Mason and his wife had been packing for this trip, he almost didn’t bring it, but now he was grateful. He’d make it back to his in-law’s house before complete darkness, and he wore bright colored running clothes, but the extra safety couldn’t hurt, especially since runners were uncommon out here.

Mason quickly checked over his shoulder once again, wondering if the truck had turned. He didn’t want to slow his pace for a longer glance. Personal best, personal best, he inwardly chanted, feeling stronger than he ever had at this distance. The truck was nearing, but had slowed down considerably. Good, Mason thought, not wanting to inhale another dust cloud, especially not one from eighteen wheels. It seemed odd to Mason a semi truck would be out here. Perhaps a driver returning home?

The low burbling of the diesel engine grew nearer, and Mason put his left foot into the grass, wanting to give the large vehicle plenty of space. Then, it drew up beside him and Mason realized the vehicle wasn’t a semi after all. Instead, it was a giant white pick up truck. Loud country music twanged from rolled down windows. Three teenagers glared at him.

“What are you doing out here?” the driver yelled, dark spittle flying out of his mouth. He wiped his chin with a tanned arm, the truck swerving towards Mason as he did so.

Turning to face the road ahead, Mason felt his anxiety rise. The teen was big, and had two large friends with him. If it had been daytime, in the city, he probably would have profanely told the kid to mind his own business, but out here, Mason felt isolated. He couldn’t see any houses nearby, just row upon row of corn and hedges. Stay quiet, he thought, and they’ll tire of harassing you.

A silver object flew past his head and Mason ducked reflexively. The rumble increased to a roar as the truck sped ahead. Those little shits just threw a full can of beer at me, he thought, stopping as the cloud of dust obscured what little light remained.

He took in a deep breath, tried not to cough, calmed himself, and resumed his pace. Don’t let it throw you off, he counseled. Good athletes overcome adversity, no matter where it comes from.

After a minute, the breeze carried the dust off the road, and Mason felt his anxiety lessen. Just some kids out making bad decisions, like we all did. Mason had never chucked a can of beer at someone, but he supposed some places manifested their teen angst differently.

More time passed, and Mason once again lost himself in the running rhythm. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and despite the gloom, he easily avoided pot holes and ankle twisting hunks of gravel. Just four more miles, he thought, checking his watch. Hopefully Abi won’t worry too much. He’d left his cell phone at home, not wanting the extra bulk in his running shorts. Mason often ran longer than planned, and it was a source of conflict between them. I’m supposed to be getting better at this.

Taking an energy gel out of his pocket, Mason tore open the foil package. As he squeezed the chocolate flavored paste into his mouth, he heard a familiar sound. A diesel engine, he thought, anxiety slamming back into his gut. He looked behind him to see a vehicle turning in from a side road. Its high beams flared, making it impossible to see exactly what was behind them.

What are the odds it’s a different truck? Mason thought, paralyzed with fear. The night, normally his ally, had become an impenetrable foe. Vast, empty Kansas farmland stretched before him, and he didn’t know where to turn for help.

The high beams came closer, making Mason squint. As the truck approached, the idea they might run him down seemed likely. When the truck was less than a hundred feet away, Mason finally snapped out of his hesitation and moved into the ditch.

The truck roared past, and Mason heard laughter mingled with the country music. Same white truck, same kids. He threw up his arm, giving them the finger. They wouldn’t be able to see it, but the outlet made Mason feel better. Just wanted to scare me, he thought, shaking his head. A moment later, brake lights flared, illuminating the newly formed dust cloud.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, wondering what they were doing. Mason thought about turning around, or running off into the corn, but he’d had enough of these kids and maybe confronting them wouldn’t be the worst thing. Besides, if they are drunk, I can easily outrun them if things get out of hand.

Mason strode forward confidently, trying to shut out the remaining bits of dread from his mind. It took a moment to reach the back of the truck, and he half expected them to roar off at any second. Instead, a bright light exploded in his eyes. When they finally adjusted, he realized the truck had a row of high intensity LEDs mounted over the cab, facing backwards.

“What are you doing out here, asshole?” the driver yelled, jumping down from the cab. Some of Mason’s confidence melted when he saw the kid stood over six feet. His two buddies piled out of the passenger side, and were nearly just as tall. They’re just kids, Mason thought, and kids respond to authority.

“What gives you the right to harass me?” Mason shot back, remembering how they had nearly run him over. “I’ve got a picture of your license plate,” he lied, “and I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t get back in your truck and get the hell out of here.”

“Dumbass,” one of the friends said, large frame silhouetted in the bright light. “Ethan’s dad is the sheriff.”

Mason wondered if the kid was bluffing, but had no way to find out. They’re just trying to scare me, he thought, just getting some kicks on a Saturday night. He decided to challenge them.

“Answer my question, asshole,” Ethan snarled before Mason could reply. “Maybe you need to clean out your liberal snowflake ears. Or maybe we need to teach you to respect the heartland.”

“What?” Mason said, feeling like he was in a movie. “I’m running. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I don’t like your tone,” the third member of the group said, sleeveless t-shirt doing little to mask his chubby bulk.

“Neither do I,” Ethan said. “I think it is time someone showed you how to be respectful.” He strode towards Mason, cowboy boots crunching through the gravel. For a moment, Mason considered turning around and running. The kid easily had a hundred pounds on him, and if this turned into a fist fight, he wouldn’t have any advantage. It wasn’t like he was a fighter. I’m not going to let this damned kid back me down, Mason thought. He’s probably never had anyone stand up to him. With his decision made, Mason stood up tall and kept from flinching as Ethan got within inches of his face.

“You’re alone out here, snowflake,” he said, his rancid beer breath almost making Mason gag. “No one will hear you scream, and even if they did, they’d think your liberal, greenie ass deserves it.”

“Get back in your truck,” Mason said, trying to keep from trembling, not from fear, but from anger. He’d had enough, and if this kid wanted to throw down, he’d gladly oblige.

Mason tasted blood in his mouth. He blinked his eyes, wondering what had happened. Gravel pressed into his cheek, still warm from the day’s scorching heat. He had no memory, but the pain in his jaw told him what had happened. That asshole hit me, Mason thought, pushing himself to a sitting position. Looking up, he saw Ethan had his back turned, looking towards his friends.

“Nice hit,” the skinny kid in the cowboy hat said.

“Get the diesel,” Ethan replied. “Let’s see how the snowflake burns.”

For a moment, Mason wondered if he was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. Both the skinny kid and the chubby one hopped into the pickup bed, however, and Mason could hear scraping and clunking. They really are gonna light me on fire, he realized, eyes going wide.

As Mason pushed himself to his feet, he felt a large chunk of rock under his hand, and kept hold of it as he rose to his full height. Anger and fear burned within him, a caustic mixture that made him want to fight and flee simultaneously. The corn. Run! No. Back turned. Strike!

When Mason took a step forward, the crunching gravel gave him away. Ethan began turning, and the fight instinct took over. Swinging the rock with all his might, Mason aimed for his attacker’s head. Ethan caught sight of him just a fraction of a second before the rock struck his skull, not giving him enough time to bring his hands up. The full weight of Mason’s swing landed squarely on the kid’s temple, and he crumpled to the ground instantly.

Elation and triumph surged within Mason until he heard the roars of anger from the two teens in the back of the truck. All his previous desire to fight evaporated and he knew he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against two. Run!

It took four woozy steps for him to get into the corn field, then his head cleared and he accelerated into a run. The corn stalks slapped against his face painfully, but he ignored them. He heard the two kids pursuing for a minute, but he quickly lost them. Mason kept running until he popped out on another dirt road.

***

“Maybe next time, bring a headlamp?” Abi said.

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Mason replied absently, looking down to check his watch. The flight from Wichita to Denver was supposed to leave at 1 PM. All he saw was a lighter patch of skin where his watch normally was.

“We’ll get you a new one soon,” Abi continued, noticing the motion.

Mason smiled at her, grateful she hadn’t berated him when he’d returned to her parents house much later than expected. As he’d ran back through the darkness, Mason struggled with the decision of what to say. If Ethan’s father really was the sheriff, things could go poorly for him. It wouldn’t matter there were three of them and one of him, he was the adult. And even if he hadn’t put Ethan in the hospital, chances were they’d charge him with assault. You’re from out of state, with no witnesses. They can say you did anything, and since they’re kids and local, everyone will believe them.

So Mason had crafted a story. He’d purposely tripped himself, sprawling his forearms across the rough gravel road. The rocks had scratched his watch, but that wasn’t enough. A careful strike with a large stone rendered it believably broken, and Mason had run the rest of the way home.

When he’d arrived, it hadn’t been a hard sell to convince everyone he’d run into a branch in the darkness, which had knocked him down into the road. It explained everything: the scratches and eventual bruising on his face and forearms, as well as the broken watch.

The device would have auto-synced when it was within range of his phone, publishing the GPS data about his run to the web. Even if he deleted it before anyone saw, he worried it might still be accessible to law enforcement somehow. And if that wasn’t the case, Abi and her family would want to see his run data, which he couldn’t allow. Destroying the watch had been necessary, and as time had gone on, Mason grew more pleased with his forethought. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and perhaps the stupid kids would think twice before they hurt somebody else.

A familiar face on one of the gate area TVs snapped Mason out of his reverie. It looked just like Ethan, but older, face creased with lines, and a sheriff’s hat on. Mason’s heart began to beat faster. He tried to keep his expression casual, not wanting to tip Abi off.

“Last night,” the sheriff said via closed captioning, a look of steely determination in his cold eyes, “a man pretending to be a hitch hiker assaulted my son and two of his friends when they stopped to give him a ride. He hit Ethan, my boy, in the head with a rock and fled. EMS took Ethan to Wesley Medical Center, but they were unable to save him.” The sheriff paused, and Mason felt the magnitude of the situation settle heavily on him.

I killed Ethan, he thought, knowing he was screwed.

“Please, if you see this man,” the sheriff continued, call authorities as quickly as possible. A picture of a police sketch came on the screen. Thankfully Abi had her back towards the TV, but Mason was unsure if the channel was on any of the monitors behind him. As he studied the sketch, however, he felt a cautious relief bloom within him. It looked almost nothing like Mason. Apparently the two friends either never got a good look at him in the dark, or didn’t want their hitchhiker story closely examined if Mason was caught.

“We will now begin boarding for United 4573, service from Wichita to Denver,” came over the announcement speakers. Abi began gathering up her things, and the news channel moved on to talking about a candlelight vigil for the slain teen.

Mason followed Abi towards the boarding line, and he wondered if the Sheriff’s Department would find any evidence linking him to Ethan. It seemed unlikely. None of the wounds inflicted by the teen had bled, so DNA evidence seemed unlikely. Can they fingerprint the rock? This too seemed improbable. Besides, my prints aren’t in the system anyway.

Mason quietly took in a deep breath, feeling he might be in the clear. “Ready?” Abi asked, turning to smile at him.

“Back to the grind,” Mason answered, returning her grin. At first, the emotion felt fake, but then he realized he actually did feel good. Why don’t I have any guilt about killing a teenage kid? he wondered as the attendant scanned his boarding pass. Not my fault, self-defense. Still, as he walked down the boarding hall way, he felt have some remorse or something. No, Mason shook his head slowly, the asshole got what he deserved…

___

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Seven (Digital Art)

I was walking home one night this past winter and saw this beautiful neon sign that immediately piqued my interest. Capturing a good image took several tries due to the radial spokes flashing on and off. Had to get the timing just right. The sign gave me a Bates Motel / Psycho vibe I tried to embrace with the final image. Hope you enjoy.

The Process: How I Write A Novel (Part 4)

Alright! Its been two months since my last Process post, and a lot has happened since then. I finished the first draft of the novel, and I meant to write an update about that, but got too excited to start polishing and forgot. So I’ll do a short recap, then explain my recent progress.

Finishing the first draft went well. Sometimes I stall out trying to decide how to wrap up a book, but in this case, everything fell into place. Which was a relief! There were also a few events in the final pages I wasn’t expecting, more “external spontaneous story generation.”

Endings in a book series can be tricky for a number of reasons. You can’t end on too big a cliff hanger or you’ll frustrate the readers. But you also want to make it clear the story isn’t over. I’ve gotten some feedback from a couple people that Breakers ended a bit abruptly, so with Harbingers and this latest book, I’ve tried to make them more “complete.” That’s not to say they standalone, but they aren’t meant to. I think I’ve found a good balance.

I completed the first draft about a month ago and went directly into editing. Some advice says lock your manuscript up for as long as you can before starting on subsequent drafts. This might work well if you don’t have a schedule (I try to release a book a year), or if you aren’t working on a series. I tried this on Breakers, and honestly, it just made it take longer to complete and I created a lot of plot holes (because I forgot the plot) that I had to go back and fix.

Instead, by jumping right in, I can focus on consistency and continuity. Plus I don’t forget large parts of the story. Besides, by the time I’ve spent a month and a half writing the first draft, I’ve forgotten enough of the beginning to have it feel “fresh.”

For second drafting, I use a program called Slickwrite to do a general, paragraph-by-paragraph check, followed by having text-to-speech read it to me. Hearing it helps me find misspellings and other errors my mind tends to gloss over. I then make changes line by line. Usually, these are mundane: I put “he” or “she” too many times in a row, started too many sentences with “the,” or I have duplicate words or statements. Sometimes I add more detail or tweak dialog to make it feel more natural. Finally, I run everything back through Slickwrite again to make sure I haven’t introduced new errors.

The manuscript was 102,000 words at the end of the first draft, and using the above process, I was able to finish the second draft in 4 weeks, which is pretty typical for me. Thankfully, I didn’t run into any heinous plot holes or large sections of rewrites. The second draft ended up at around 98,600 words, meaning I trimmed out 3,400 words. This is normal, and a good sign. First drafts are never perfect, and getting rid of some fat and fluff is always expected.

With the second draft finished, I’m done with the book for a few weeks. It’s now in the hands of my editor (who also happens to by my wife), who will give it a thorough, merciless read-through. When she gets it back to me, I’ll start on the third draft, which is a slightly different process than the second.

In the meanwhile, I’ll be working on the dedication, summary blurbs, and covers (paperback and eBook), as well as a few other projects unrelated to the Dawn Saga. It’s a good time to let my brain relax and get ready for more hard work.

Process Step 4: Go through your manuscript carefully, have a computer mispronounce your character names, and delete huge chunks of something that you spent a lot of time creating.

Dawn Saga (Book 3) Update

Hello Friends! Just wanted to write a quick note to let you know I finished the first draft of the third installment of the Dawn Saga. Obviously I still have quite a ways to go with several revisions and readings (publication is scheduled for January 2018), but I wanted to brag just a little bit.

Bridge (Digital Art)

I took the inspiration for this picture in Paradise Valley, MT, along the Yellowstone River. I loved how the mountains were framed under the bridge, how the water rippled as it flowed past. A very peaceful setting.

The Process: How I Write A Novel (Part 3)

Six weeks have passed since I started the first draft of the third book of the Dawn Saga, and things are progressing quite well. I’m currently at around 70,000 words, nearing the end of the “conflict” phase of writing. (To see how the first 30,000 went, as well as an explanation for how word counts relate to number of pages, check out Part 2.)

When I write a novel, I try to think of the book with the classic beginning, middle and end, but I rename them as: Introduction, Conflict, and Wrap-up. For me, with all the characters I have and the pacing I want to maintain, I typically make the Intro about 20,000 words, or the first 20% of the book. In the case of this novel, I was able to get things started a little quicker, and it is only about 15,000 words. That may increase in the second draft if I don’t feel like I’ve shown enough back story, but we’ll see.

Conflict, where the main theme and meat of the story is revealed, is expanded in this novel, mainly due to the fact so much is happening. Normally, I shoot for 60,000, but in this case, where I have more characters and plots in motion, I think it will take at least 65-70,000 words to resolve them. Right now, I’m a little over 50,000 through this section, and things feel good. I realized one of my big plot points wasn’t going to fit into this novel, so it got bumped to the final book. I’m pretty comfortable with this decision, but I’m hoping it doesn’t make that story too long. We’ll see when we get there.

The Process: How I Write A Novel (Part 2)

So, it’s been a little over two weeks since I finished my outline and I’m 30,000 words into the first draft. (If you missed the first installment, where I detailed the outlining process, you can read it here.) This is when the real fun begins. Oh, wait. Perhaps I should mention I usually struggle on the first 10,000 words or so.

This time was no exception. Opening scenes and chapters are difficult for me. I have to decide how to jump into the character’s mind, how their thoughts and feelings have evolved since the last book. Has time passed in their world and what events occurred? I also have to figure how much back story to recap from the previous novel: Too much, and binge readers just finishing the previous book will get bored. Too little and people who are following over the years it takes to write a series will feel lost. I think I struck a good balance in Harbingers, so I’m going to use the same ratio in the sequel.

After getting through the opening chapters, things smoothed out, as I knew they would. This is when writing a novel really gets fun. The story flows smoothly, and you build a chain of events readers will enjoy. My outline is super handy at this point, helping control pacing and making sure I’m heading towards the key conflicts and events.

That’s not to say it’s always easy or flows perfectly. Sometimes I get bogged down when I have to create the swaths of detail for a new character, faction, or ability. Certain sections of dialog or action come out perfectly, and others take more effort. I’ve learned to embrace these swells, and not be too hard on myself when things take more effort than usual.

Earlier, I mentioned I had written 30,000 words on the first draft. Some of you may be wondering what that means, since we usually think of a book’s length in terms of pages. A typical paperback page averages (depending on who you ask) somewhere around 300 words, so 30,000 / 300 = 100 pages complete.

Most sci-fi novels end up in the 100,000 word range, so that means I’m roughly 30% done with the first draft. I say “roughly” because, as an independent author, I write my story for my readers, and not the publishing industry. If I need more words to tell the story properly, I keep writing. In the same spirit, I don’t add filler just to make the book seem more epic on a store shelf.

There is also a lot of variability on the first draft because when I begin editing, I might end up cutting or adding large portions of story as need be. A 100,000 word first draft is my goal, but that has more to do with pacing rather than a strict indicator of final length.

Since I am a full time writer, I have quite a bit of time available to devote to this manuscript. As an indie author, however, I have a lot of responsibilities outside of just writing novels. I must continue promoting my previous stories and novels. I have a community of patrons I write for on a monthly basis. I work on cover art, sell paperbacks, study marketing, and grow my social media presence.

During this stage of novel writing, I typically spend mornings (my most creative, motivated time) working on the first draft, and then afternoons on promotions, blogging, short stories, and poetry. By the time I quit work for the day, my brain is usually fried, but I’m content. Depending on my other obligations, I find I can write between 10,000-12,000 words a week (meaning this first draft should take about 2-2.5 months start to finish). Writing at least my goal words per week allows me to get through this stage in a timely manner.

Process step 2: Start stringing words together, write solid opening chapters, stick to schedule, enjoy the process.

 

 

 

“Danger” (Digital Art)

I took the picture that was the inspiration for this piece of digital art at The Temple of Tolerance in Wapakonta, Ohio, a couple of years back. It is a fascinating place, with lots of odds and ends that evoke different feelings and imagines in my mind.

This particular sign was probably used on a grain silo or slurry pit, but when I saw it, it transported me to an abandoned space station. The notification is on the surface of the hatch ahead, which is conspicuously locked. It might lead to one of the of the station’s atmospheric test chambers, but it might also be where the Genetic Perfectionists are hiding. Time to go take a look…

The Process: How I Write A Novel (Part 1)

Writing a novel is simultaneously one of the most simple and most complex things I’ve ever done in my life. If you look around on the Internet, you’ll get lots of different opinions on how to go about doing it. Most revolve around the maxim, “Write every day.” Solid advice. The only way to write a 100,000 word book is to write one word, then string an additional 99,999 right after it. Splitting it up and being consistent makes this possible.

Another piece of wisdom from the Internet: “You’ll learn so much by writing your first book.” This I’ve also found true. Some people say your first book will be garbage, but I don’t think that is guaranteed.

I’m not an expert when it comes to writing, nor do I claim to be, but I have learned a lot through my own experiences. So, I’ve decided to start this new series of blog posts to give you an idea of how I write a novel. It will be as real time, from beginning to end, and will document the entire process. As I move through different phases, I’ll give you some insight to what’s going on and where I’m at. It’s not meant to be a how-to, but it may serve that function somewhat.

Let us begin! I just started work on the third book of the Dawn Saga, code named “DotD“. For me, that usually involves several days of outlining, but maybe not in the way you expect.

When I started writing Breakers of the Dawn (the first book of the series), I had no clue what I was doing. It was my first full length manuscript, so I did what the advice says: “Create an outline.” Outlines are plans, and I like plans. Initially, however, I outlined the wrong thing and did it the wrong way. I got too involved in details and scenes and missed what I actually needed: A primary conflict with a climatic resolution. I did a much better job with my character profiles, thankfully, which I attribute to playing a fair amount of Dungeons and Dragons.

Another mistake I made was to not finish my outline, mostly because I got too excited and just wanted to start writing. So, flawed outline in hand, I began typing my first draft. Soon, my characters deviated from the outline and were way off doing their own things and making choices I hadn’t anticipated. Almost all of my planning was now obsolete. Good thing I didn’t spend too much effort finishing it! By the time I finished my manuscript for Breakers, I felt like I had lucked into having a complete plot. This was because I didn’t understand what I was doing, yet still managed to have the elements the story needed. Editing was a lot of work, and it took a ton of time to fix the mistakes brought about by my poor forethought. When I read the rough draft, I could actually see my writing improve as the story progressed. This was great from a personal standpoint, but not so good when it came to how much I had to fix.

So the advice was right:I did learn a lot from writing my first book. Now, before I type a single word into a manuscript, I take my time with the outline, making sure I perform this critical step properly. This means writing down key plot points, conflicts, and character arcs. I don’t write specific scenes or tell the characters what to do ahead of time. I’ve learned from my mistakes.

Ever since I released Harbingers of the Dawn in January, I’ve been trying to decide what the big “thing” will be in the third book. I spent last week developing ideas for the climax, paring them down and deciding what fit best. With that complete, I moved on to adding key details and plot points. Now that I’m done, I have a couple pages of notes that are far more potent and detailed than my Breakers’ outline, but still give me creative flexibility as I write.

Step one of the process: Find the big conflict, then guess what the characters will do with it as well as how they get there.

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