John Huber's Blog
September 29, 2015
Faceless
In the wake of what happened with me and my wife, I've been seeing a therapist. I've been working through a lot of issues, things that I tried to bury alive, things that weren't quite dead. Normally, being passionate about fitness and self-motivation, it wouldn't even be worth mentioning. Usually, I say whatever you have to do to stay healthy and continue working forward is necessary and wonderful as part of your journey.
But . . .
A lot of the things I've been processing in therapy have led me to writer's block; the first time I've dealt with it in years. Then again, it's not really writer's block . . . it's just a general lack of motivation. My fingers don't want to tap the keys, I don't to write. I feel like I'm out of words, out of ideas. Even if I do find an idea, it's hard to get revved enough to do anything about it. At least, that's how I've felt. Through the summer, through my personal struggles, I didn't think it mattered. I always assumed the writing would come back to me whenever it wanted. When it didn't come back on command, I started to panic. Writing isn't only a passion, what I've always wanted to do. It's ALSO therapy for me. It's also motivation, personal worth and how I work on myself.
If I can't do that, then I've lost a very very large piece of myself. And, for about two months, I did think I lost it. That's like the realization of drowning. You always crawl toward the water's surface, expecting to spring out, breathe air and live. You EXPECT to be able to follow your own commands. When you realize that the situation is much more grave, that you're dying, that a very LARGE piece of you is suffocating under the water, the wave of crushing oblivion rolls over you. It makes you everything you strive to hate as a creative mind--uselessness, similarity, familiarity, non-unique . . . faceless and forgotten.
I once read about an issue Stephen King had with awful writer's block in the wake of his accident. When I first heard that story, I couldn't entirely relate. Now, I can. Just like I had the tremendous respect for how he worked through it, I've gained that respect for myself. Today . . . I'm starting a new project. Whether it will be any good, I don't know. I just know it needs to be written. It needs to get my fingers moving. It needs to help get me well. It needs to help me get the fuck up and get the fuck over. Even if I'm out of practice, even if the material is sub-par, it'll be the most important creative work I've ever written. It'll help me learn how to be whole again.
It'll help me learn how to be well.
I'm going to light a cigar and get to work. You'll know where to find me.
Hope all is well!
Best,
John
But . . .
A lot of the things I've been processing in therapy have led me to writer's block; the first time I've dealt with it in years. Then again, it's not really writer's block . . . it's just a general lack of motivation. My fingers don't want to tap the keys, I don't to write. I feel like I'm out of words, out of ideas. Even if I do find an idea, it's hard to get revved enough to do anything about it. At least, that's how I've felt. Through the summer, through my personal struggles, I didn't think it mattered. I always assumed the writing would come back to me whenever it wanted. When it didn't come back on command, I started to panic. Writing isn't only a passion, what I've always wanted to do. It's ALSO therapy for me. It's also motivation, personal worth and how I work on myself.
If I can't do that, then I've lost a very very large piece of myself. And, for about two months, I did think I lost it. That's like the realization of drowning. You always crawl toward the water's surface, expecting to spring out, breathe air and live. You EXPECT to be able to follow your own commands. When you realize that the situation is much more grave, that you're dying, that a very LARGE piece of you is suffocating under the water, the wave of crushing oblivion rolls over you. It makes you everything you strive to hate as a creative mind--uselessness, similarity, familiarity, non-unique . . . faceless and forgotten.
I once read about an issue Stephen King had with awful writer's block in the wake of his accident. When I first heard that story, I couldn't entirely relate. Now, I can. Just like I had the tremendous respect for how he worked through it, I've gained that respect for myself. Today . . . I'm starting a new project. Whether it will be any good, I don't know. I just know it needs to be written. It needs to get my fingers moving. It needs to help get me well. It needs to help me get the fuck up and get the fuck over. Even if I'm out of practice, even if the material is sub-par, it'll be the most important creative work I've ever written. It'll help me learn how to be whole again.
It'll help me learn how to be well.
I'm going to light a cigar and get to work. You'll know where to find me.
Hope all is well!
Best,
John
July 12, 2015
When It's Still Bleeding . . .
So, I completely disappeared for a while. I know, I know. It came from nowhere. Trust me when I say my life hit a sudden tailspin. I didn’t plan on it and it capsized me as quickly as I vanished from view. It happened for two reasons.
First and foremost, I lost myself in a new project. I wrote a second book and it is done, whole and completed. So, I spent a lot of my time doing that so I could have a shot at selling a book to a publisher by the end of the year. My typing, emotions, shadows and imagination got lost there first and foremost. I did it at a crazy pace, something like 4500-5500 words a day. When the night came, I didn’t have the energy to muster any sort of blog or appearance. On top of the pace, the book took me to some challenging places personally. Emotionally, psychologically, cognitively and even spiritually . . . the project tested me. It made me face a lot of things, what I thought I saw in the sky, what I thought I saw in myself. I also felt closer to these character than any others I’ve created and that’s saying something. I usually find myself pretty broken over what happens to the people and worlds I create. I was painfully close to Gabby in “The Big Red Devil.” So, for me to say that I was broken over what happened to Reese, Jack and Paige Pradly in the new book is a pretty big nod to the power of the story–I think, anyway.
It made me answer a lot of questions about what I think of God, his presence, absence or existence . . . all that was pretty heavy subject matter and at the end of the day, my brain was mush. The book was a challenge, a grueling sprawl . . . it was a war, a brutal battle. I came out the other side as, what I feel is, a better man. I’m sending it to publishers this week. So, stay tuned for updates on that!
Secondly, and probably even worse, my wife and I have separated. I don’t know what the cliches are about speaking on it publicly, but it is what it is. I won’t hide from it and it feels good to own with my own words. The sprawling internal challenge of the book coupled with the end of my marriage was a lot to bear. So, the time passed . . . my fingers stayed still. I didn’t type. I didn’t write. I didn’t do much but drink, hug my daughter, plan and work through things. In it all, my wife and I have stayed friends, family. I think that’s the best part. I have a greater friend than I ever thought possible. It’s difficult to understand at times, but her and I have it sorted out. It makes sense to us and that’s all that matters. We’ll have some difficult questions to answer when my daughter gets a little older, but that’s a responsibility we have agreed to meet. We’d rather accept that burden than continue the way we were going, the place we were heading.
Journeys end, they begin . . . the rocks along their roads are always more narrow at the end, afraid to fall and make mistakes, places to break, doomed in finality and consequences. At the beginning of those journeys, the roads are always open and endless. The goal now is make sure that the beginning of my new trek is as open and wonderful as my last one started. Somewhere along the line, we lost that wonder. We lost it to the struggle within ourselves, lost it to what we were. We did things that killed it, all the joy, doomed and bleeding where we left it.
Life happens and some times you fuck it up. When the wound is still bleeding, you make sure that you never let that wound happen again. I won’t, I can promise you that.
In closing, I think that’s what I’ve earned in these winds of change. I’ve earned the knowledge that consequences must be shouldered. Stories can’t continue to blow up and balloon like the comic books. When you do things, you have to account for them. Just like a character that has to die in a book, you have to live with what you write, what you do.
I’m doing that and for the first time in a LONG time . . . I’m okay with that. I’m okay with consequences because it means that somewhere I can start over. I can start over in a place where I can keep all the wonder and joy away from the consequences I bore, the scabs that I’ll never let heal so I can remember the road and all its scars like a map to a place I’ll never return to–the black at the edges of the map that I’ll never sail into again.
Cheers. See you around the bend.
First and foremost, I lost myself in a new project. I wrote a second book and it is done, whole and completed. So, I spent a lot of my time doing that so I could have a shot at selling a book to a publisher by the end of the year. My typing, emotions, shadows and imagination got lost there first and foremost. I did it at a crazy pace, something like 4500-5500 words a day. When the night came, I didn’t have the energy to muster any sort of blog or appearance. On top of the pace, the book took me to some challenging places personally. Emotionally, psychologically, cognitively and even spiritually . . . the project tested me. It made me face a lot of things, what I thought I saw in the sky, what I thought I saw in myself. I also felt closer to these character than any others I’ve created and that’s saying something. I usually find myself pretty broken over what happens to the people and worlds I create. I was painfully close to Gabby in “The Big Red Devil.” So, for me to say that I was broken over what happened to Reese, Jack and Paige Pradly in the new book is a pretty big nod to the power of the story–I think, anyway.
It made me answer a lot of questions about what I think of God, his presence, absence or existence . . . all that was pretty heavy subject matter and at the end of the day, my brain was mush. The book was a challenge, a grueling sprawl . . . it was a war, a brutal battle. I came out the other side as, what I feel is, a better man. I’m sending it to publishers this week. So, stay tuned for updates on that!
Secondly, and probably even worse, my wife and I have separated. I don’t know what the cliches are about speaking on it publicly, but it is what it is. I won’t hide from it and it feels good to own with my own words. The sprawling internal challenge of the book coupled with the end of my marriage was a lot to bear. So, the time passed . . . my fingers stayed still. I didn’t type. I didn’t write. I didn’t do much but drink, hug my daughter, plan and work through things. In it all, my wife and I have stayed friends, family. I think that’s the best part. I have a greater friend than I ever thought possible. It’s difficult to understand at times, but her and I have it sorted out. It makes sense to us and that’s all that matters. We’ll have some difficult questions to answer when my daughter gets a little older, but that’s a responsibility we have agreed to meet. We’d rather accept that burden than continue the way we were going, the place we were heading.
Journeys end, they begin . . . the rocks along their roads are always more narrow at the end, afraid to fall and make mistakes, places to break, doomed in finality and consequences. At the beginning of those journeys, the roads are always open and endless. The goal now is make sure that the beginning of my new trek is as open and wonderful as my last one started. Somewhere along the line, we lost that wonder. We lost it to the struggle within ourselves, lost it to what we were. We did things that killed it, all the joy, doomed and bleeding where we left it.
Life happens and some times you fuck it up. When the wound is still bleeding, you make sure that you never let that wound happen again. I won’t, I can promise you that.
In closing, I think that’s what I’ve earned in these winds of change. I’ve earned the knowledge that consequences must be shouldered. Stories can’t continue to blow up and balloon like the comic books. When you do things, you have to account for them. Just like a character that has to die in a book, you have to live with what you write, what you do.
I’m doing that and for the first time in a LONG time . . . I’m okay with that. I’m okay with consequences because it means that somewhere I can start over. I can start over in a place where I can keep all the wonder and joy away from the consequences I bore, the scabs that I’ll never let heal so I can remember the road and all its scars like a map to a place I’ll never return to–the black at the edges of the map that I’ll never sail into again.
Cheers. See you around the bend.
May 21, 2015
The Grind
I'm drinking some coffee this morning, looking into the morning sun and trying to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes. Tired eyes are the best eyes, though. When you're eyes are tired, it means one of a couple things. It usually means your anxious, excited, nervous or a combination. When my eyes are tired, it usually means I'm driven. This time, it's the truth. I've started another book. :)
With "The Big Red Devil" selling and proving, to myself I guess, that I actually do have a talent for this, I want a book to start pitching to publishers. Since I published "The Big Red Devil" myself, that's out of the question. Most publishers are going to require exclusive first publishing right and I can no longer provide that with "The Big Red Devil." What's the worst that can happen? They say 'no' and I print it myself anyway. It's a kickass story, so it's win in either of those scenarios.
I'm really flying. It's writing itself, it's got that kind of magic--at least inside me, anyway. I'm going about double my normal speed. It also got me thinking, thinking about the drive, the urge and the rush. My wife told me to take it easy and make sure I didn't spread myself too thin between writing, promoting "The Big Red Devil" and my full-time job. I'm doing my best, but when I get sucked up in an idea like this, I'm consumed by it. It's better for me to finish than slow down. I'll get anxious, nervous, REALLY not be able to sleep.
On the other side, "The Big Red Devil" is doing decent and I got my first review not that long ago from someone I don't know. 5 stars! It made my life. From here until the dirt, I can know that I created a work that was worthy of that rating, at least to that person. That's incredible to me because writing has always felt so natural and good, fun and wonderful. When you feel that way about something, it's an incredible accomplishment to know people have enjoyed it. It's a joy beyond words. It's beyond money. It made all those nights, all lost hours of sleep, all that coffee and jitters, makes it all worth it. It gives all those things purpose. It was one review, but I'll always remember it. No matter how many books I write, how many reviews I get, I'll always remember that first one. It told me what kind of writer I am, and maybe in that, what sort of man I am. It's probably unwise to connect self-worth with creativity that closely, but, it's all I know.
I did cut off about a month of my mental downtime to start this new book. So, when I finished sometime in the next month, I'll be taking a good long mental vacation. Just some time to really appreciate what I've accomplished--two books in one year.
That all said, I've got a smoke with my name on it and some more coffee. The mug is empty. Just felt like I should drop by and say hello today.
Hope all is well!
Best,
John Huber
With "The Big Red Devil" selling and proving, to myself I guess, that I actually do have a talent for this, I want a book to start pitching to publishers. Since I published "The Big Red Devil" myself, that's out of the question. Most publishers are going to require exclusive first publishing right and I can no longer provide that with "The Big Red Devil." What's the worst that can happen? They say 'no' and I print it myself anyway. It's a kickass story, so it's win in either of those scenarios.
I'm really flying. It's writing itself, it's got that kind of magic--at least inside me, anyway. I'm going about double my normal speed. It also got me thinking, thinking about the drive, the urge and the rush. My wife told me to take it easy and make sure I didn't spread myself too thin between writing, promoting "The Big Red Devil" and my full-time job. I'm doing my best, but when I get sucked up in an idea like this, I'm consumed by it. It's better for me to finish than slow down. I'll get anxious, nervous, REALLY not be able to sleep.
On the other side, "The Big Red Devil" is doing decent and I got my first review not that long ago from someone I don't know. 5 stars! It made my life. From here until the dirt, I can know that I created a work that was worthy of that rating, at least to that person. That's incredible to me because writing has always felt so natural and good, fun and wonderful. When you feel that way about something, it's an incredible accomplishment to know people have enjoyed it. It's a joy beyond words. It's beyond money. It made all those nights, all lost hours of sleep, all that coffee and jitters, makes it all worth it. It gives all those things purpose. It was one review, but I'll always remember it. No matter how many books I write, how many reviews I get, I'll always remember that first one. It told me what kind of writer I am, and maybe in that, what sort of man I am. It's probably unwise to connect self-worth with creativity that closely, but, it's all I know.
I did cut off about a month of my mental downtime to start this new book. So, when I finished sometime in the next month, I'll be taking a good long mental vacation. Just some time to really appreciate what I've accomplished--two books in one year.
That all said, I've got a smoke with my name on it and some more coffee. The mug is empty. Just felt like I should drop by and say hello today.
Hope all is well!
Best,
John Huber
April 29, 2015
Abyss and Back
This morning, I secured a ninety-day trial with Ferguson Books. They’re going to carry “The Big Red Devil” for ninety days. If it sells out . . .
The official online launch of “The Big Red Devil” started today, too. I have nearly 100 downloads on the first day.
My nerves are so frazzled, frayed, worked numb. I know what I’m supposed to feel. I just don’t know if I can manage it. Living in a time when you’re constantly holding your breath is trying. It wears. You hold your breath because the thing you’ve always thought made you special is on trial. All those things, those words and ideas–John Harker–that have always been inside are now on the out. They’re outside and able to be judged by thousands. That’s a heavy burden, finding the weight of your existence through the work of your hands.
I know what I’m supposed to feel. Inside, I do feel that way. Outward, I’m content to smile. I’m content to smile, have a smoke, and enjoy the first baby step . . . hopefully the first of many. I may not look it, but take my word for it.
I am happy. I’m loaded with it, heaped with thousands of pounds of it. It’s incredible. It’s a small accomplishment, but it’s one I’ll cherish.
Thank you for sharing it with me–no matter who you are.
Best,
John Huber
The official online launch of “The Big Red Devil” started today, too. I have nearly 100 downloads on the first day.
My nerves are so frazzled, frayed, worked numb. I know what I’m supposed to feel. I just don’t know if I can manage it. Living in a time when you’re constantly holding your breath is trying. It wears. You hold your breath because the thing you’ve always thought made you special is on trial. All those things, those words and ideas–John Harker–that have always been inside are now on the out. They’re outside and able to be judged by thousands. That’s a heavy burden, finding the weight of your existence through the work of your hands.
I know what I’m supposed to feel. Inside, I do feel that way. Outward, I’m content to smile. I’m content to smile, have a smoke, and enjoy the first baby step . . . hopefully the first of many. I may not look it, but take my word for it.
I am happy. I’m loaded with it, heaped with thousands of pounds of it. It’s incredible. It’s a small accomplishment, but it’s one I’ll cherish.
Thank you for sharing it with me–no matter who you are.
Best,
John Huber
April 28, 2015
Short and Sweet
I have a meeting with Ferguson Books tomorrow in Grand Forks. I'm speaking with a few of the guys there about "The Big Red Devil" and whether they'd like to feature the paperback in their store.
I have no clue what to do with myself. I wanna scream in joy, but I haven't made the sale yet. I feel closer to the dreams we all have, the ones I always had. I feel closer, like I'm hitting all the right avenues . . . but further away.
Every creative person struggles with hating their work. You always believe that all the magic, all the talent, is somewhere else. All those good things belong to other talented people out in the world. At least, that's how I always felt--feel, struggle. When that creeps in, you can go from confident underdog to embarrassed dreamer. It's an awful transition. It isn't pleasant. I hate it.
I'm just trying to breathe and be the person I've always been--confident and sure. I'm just trying to remember back three weeks ago when I believed in the book. Now, I'm not so sure. In an instant, now that real people are seeing it, I want to deflate. I have no reason for doing so. The book is no different. It still is what it is, but for no reason, all of a sudden, it feels lacking. I feel that and the hollow swell of shame rolls over my skin. I feel embarrassed for thinking I could ever do this seriously. I feel stupid, ashamed and naive.
I'm just trying to remember--remember back to when I couldn't hate this story no matter how hard I tried. I tried to hate this book 100 different ways to make sure it was a good one. I feel, felt, like I did that. I'm just trying to remember back to that.
I'm sure the drive to Forks tomorrow will give me enough time to remember if I can.
Best,
John
I have no clue what to do with myself. I wanna scream in joy, but I haven't made the sale yet. I feel closer to the dreams we all have, the ones I always had. I feel closer, like I'm hitting all the right avenues . . . but further away.
Every creative person struggles with hating their work. You always believe that all the magic, all the talent, is somewhere else. All those good things belong to other talented people out in the world. At least, that's how I always felt--feel, struggle. When that creeps in, you can go from confident underdog to embarrassed dreamer. It's an awful transition. It isn't pleasant. I hate it.
I'm just trying to breathe and be the person I've always been--confident and sure. I'm just trying to remember back three weeks ago when I believed in the book. Now, I'm not so sure. In an instant, now that real people are seeing it, I want to deflate. I have no reason for doing so. The book is no different. It still is what it is, but for no reason, all of a sudden, it feels lacking. I feel that and the hollow swell of shame rolls over my skin. I feel embarrassed for thinking I could ever do this seriously. I feel stupid, ashamed and naive.
I'm just trying to remember--remember back to when I couldn't hate this story no matter how hard I tried. I tried to hate this book 100 different ways to make sure it was a good one. I feel, felt, like I did that. I'm just trying to remember back to that.
I'm sure the drive to Forks tomorrow will give me enough time to remember if I can.
Best,
John
April 25, 2015
Cup of Coffee on a Saturday Morning
It's been five days of being a full-time author. I still work full-time at night, but I've taken on the responsibilities of being an author--the writing, marketing, editing, publishing and sales. It really is another job.
I released my first book last Monday. It's called "The Big Red Devil."
I ran a promotional giveaway on Amazon to celebrate the paperback version. I had a few books to giveaway, but without much of an audience, I expected to sit on those books for about a week. The giveaway was over in twenty minutes. My downloads shot up and I’ve even met my sales goal for the first month already.
I couldn't believe it. It’s really a dream come true. I know it’s not much money, but that shit doesn’t matter to me. I just want to share an experience with you. The more people involved, the better.
So, I decided to extend the giveaway. The rules are a bit different. If you give my Facebook page a like and an email address, I’ll email a FREE .PDF of the paperback. I love doing things like this. I’m kind of like Santa Clause that way. Find me here for more details: http://www.facebook.com/johnhuberjh
I’m just trying to enjoy every minute of it. I’ve heard it many ways, the old say-so of “how do you know you’re in the good ol’ days?” Well . . . I don’t know. I don’t have any huge answer for you, either. I just know that I feel something. I feel the same things I felt when I was writing John Harker’s story. There’s just something about it. I was sad when I finally finished it, I really was. I’ve been writing John’s story in one version or another for the last eight years–that’s longer than I’ve known my wife. Only the last six months of that have been the novel.
John Harker's been very close to me over that time. His story came out as great as I could have hoped to give him. I can only hope you guys, all you that are getting copies of it now, enjoy it half as much as I loved writing it. It has a pull, at least, I thought so when I wrote it. I still get that feeling when I read passages and excerpts. I almost wanted to hate it all along the way. John Harker deserved the best I could give him. I was really, REALLY critical of it. I tried to hate it in vain to make it the best I could. With the way it sits right now, I can’t hate it. I feel like John Harker finally got his moment.
If you read it, I can’t thank you enough. I can’t thank you enough for sharing your soul with me like I did you. It’s a special connection, what we do with books. We read and write, lock and pull, love and lose, live and die. We do all that with words that are somehow heavier and more dangerous than any actions we could rise against each other.
Thank ALL of you, any that read this or the book, for sharing that special bond with me. It isn’t easy, I know that. Especially in today’s age, there are THOUSANDS of books you could read. The fact that you’ve chosen mine, even though the number is small, means the stars to me.
All the best,
John Huber
My Facebook: www.facebook.com/johnhuberjh
Twitter: @themeattornado
My Website: www.johnhuberjh.com
"The Big Red Devil" on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback: www.amazon.com/Big-Red-Devil-John-Hub...
I released my first book last Monday. It's called "The Big Red Devil."
I ran a promotional giveaway on Amazon to celebrate the paperback version. I had a few books to giveaway, but without much of an audience, I expected to sit on those books for about a week. The giveaway was over in twenty minutes. My downloads shot up and I’ve even met my sales goal for the first month already.
I couldn't believe it. It’s really a dream come true. I know it’s not much money, but that shit doesn’t matter to me. I just want to share an experience with you. The more people involved, the better.
So, I decided to extend the giveaway. The rules are a bit different. If you give my Facebook page a like and an email address, I’ll email a FREE .PDF of the paperback. I love doing things like this. I’m kind of like Santa Clause that way. Find me here for more details: http://www.facebook.com/johnhuberjh
I’m just trying to enjoy every minute of it. I’ve heard it many ways, the old say-so of “how do you know you’re in the good ol’ days?” Well . . . I don’t know. I don’t have any huge answer for you, either. I just know that I feel something. I feel the same things I felt when I was writing John Harker’s story. There’s just something about it. I was sad when I finally finished it, I really was. I’ve been writing John’s story in one version or another for the last eight years–that’s longer than I’ve known my wife. Only the last six months of that have been the novel.
John Harker's been very close to me over that time. His story came out as great as I could have hoped to give him. I can only hope you guys, all you that are getting copies of it now, enjoy it half as much as I loved writing it. It has a pull, at least, I thought so when I wrote it. I still get that feeling when I read passages and excerpts. I almost wanted to hate it all along the way. John Harker deserved the best I could give him. I was really, REALLY critical of it. I tried to hate it in vain to make it the best I could. With the way it sits right now, I can’t hate it. I feel like John Harker finally got his moment.
If you read it, I can’t thank you enough. I can’t thank you enough for sharing your soul with me like I did you. It’s a special connection, what we do with books. We read and write, lock and pull, love and lose, live and die. We do all that with words that are somehow heavier and more dangerous than any actions we could rise against each other.
Thank ALL of you, any that read this or the book, for sharing that special bond with me. It isn’t easy, I know that. Especially in today’s age, there are THOUSANDS of books you could read. The fact that you’ve chosen mine, even though the number is small, means the stars to me.
All the best,
John Huber
My Facebook: www.facebook.com/johnhuberjh
Twitter: @themeattornado
My Website: www.johnhuberjh.com
"The Big Red Devil" on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback: www.amazon.com/Big-Red-Devil-John-Hub...
