Michael C. Sahd's Blog, page 11
October 16, 2017
It's That Day Again....
I hear that today is supposed to be Motivation Monday. Bleh! Mondays are rarely motivational. However, my Monday has D&D evenings, so I am psyched about that.
Promoting my book is going exceptionally well. I have gained, from the day of publishing, 650+ Twitter followers.
My wonderful wife, aside from squeezing my stuff into her piles of things to be edited, has also been acting as an agent for me -- advertising, signing me up for interviews, and getting my book highlighted on big name blogs.
This week looks to be another busy one.
I had two coworkers read my book this past weekend, and they really want me to write more. One of them sent me a text with a string of links connecting to some books she thought I would like based on my writing. I hope to look into them at some point.
I have also won a huge number of books to read and review on LibraryThing. I'm currently reading one called The Everett Exorcism. So far, it is turning out to be a promising read. I'll let you know how it goes.
What is your Monday motivation? Read any good books lately?
Promoting my book is going exceptionally well. I have gained, from the day of publishing, 650+ Twitter followers.
My wonderful wife, aside from squeezing my stuff into her piles of things to be edited, has also been acting as an agent for me -- advertising, signing me up for interviews, and getting my book highlighted on big name blogs.
This week looks to be another busy one.
I had two coworkers read my book this past weekend, and they really want me to write more. One of them sent me a text with a string of links connecting to some books she thought I would like based on my writing. I hope to look into them at some point.
I have also won a huge number of books to read and review on LibraryThing. I'm currently reading one called The Everett Exorcism. So far, it is turning out to be a promising read. I'll let you know how it goes.
What is your Monday motivation? Read any good books lately?
October 15, 2017
Library Part Two
So I returned to the library, and I found the second book to the Septimus Heap series. Evidently, it was only available on OverDrive. This is an app one can download and then check out ebooks from your local library. Outstanding!
However, the true intent of going to the library was to talk to someone there about doing a book signing. They were excited about doing one. However, to be perfectly honest, I feel silly doing one at the library . . . but I will. I do intend to do one at my brother-in-law's comic shop Jomio and Rueliete's Cards and Comics.
Assassin Marked#SaturdaySwag
Don't forget to share the story with your friends.
Don't forget to follow this blog.
Don't forget to breathe.
I had meant to get this post out earlier, but I hadn't made it home all day. Now I am here and I'm still going to do my SaturdaySwag post even though it's technically Sunday.
However, the true intent of going to the library was to talk to someone there about doing a book signing. They were excited about doing one. However, to be perfectly honest, I feel silly doing one at the library . . . but I will. I do intend to do one at my brother-in-law's comic shop Jomio and Rueliete's Cards and Comics.
Assassin Marked#SaturdaySwagDon't forget to share the story with your friends.
Don't forget to follow this blog.
Don't forget to breathe.
I had meant to get this post out earlier, but I hadn't made it home all day. Now I am here and I'm still going to do my SaturdaySwag post even though it's technically Sunday.
October 13, 2017
TGIF And A Story Teaser
My wife suggested I write about my post-publishing nervousness. Between Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, LibraryThing, and this bloody blog (heh, I like the way that sounds), I've been working very hard to get the word out about "Assassin Marked."
To be honest, I have no idea how to explain my nervousness. It could be the persistent itch to get more of my stories out there. Then again, it could be the fear of not doing well; the nagging question, "Will people like it?" One of my biggest fears at the moment is receiving a terrible review on Amazon.
But enough about that. I really don't want to write about my nervousness. Rather, I would like to write about my progress. I spent a bit of time today revising some of the fiction piece I'm working on. It's requiring that I studying the effects of post traumatic stress disorder in children, and the psychological effects of a parent losing his family. A little teaser there.
I've also been hard at work composing a more thorough historical time line for Damian's world in "Assassin Marked." Not for publication really, just notes for myself to help me remain consistent in my story. But I have many little stories springing up revolving around Damian, or the world Damian lives in.
My six-year-old daughter, on the other hand, decided that her pony needed a haircut for the weekend.
TGIF
To be honest, I have no idea how to explain my nervousness. It could be the persistent itch to get more of my stories out there. Then again, it could be the fear of not doing well; the nagging question, "Will people like it?" One of my biggest fears at the moment is receiving a terrible review on Amazon.
But enough about that. I really don't want to write about my nervousness. Rather, I would like to write about my progress. I spent a bit of time today revising some of the fiction piece I'm working on. It's requiring that I studying the effects of post traumatic stress disorder in children, and the psychological effects of a parent losing his family. A little teaser there.
I've also been hard at work composing a more thorough historical time line for Damian's world in "Assassin Marked." Not for publication really, just notes for myself to help me remain consistent in my story. But I have many little stories springing up revolving around Damian, or the world Damian lives in.
My six-year-old daughter, on the other hand, decided that her pony needed a haircut for the weekend.
TGIF
October 12, 2017
Inspiration From Beyond
When I was a child, my father spent many hours at our kitchen table, writing a book. I watched him. He had boxes of notebooks piling up, and more than that, he filled every empty crevice in those boxes with napkins that he wrote notes on. It was quite a hectic mess, but he never stopped writing except to play solitaire occasionally.
He had the goal of becoming published, but never submitted any of it. I picked up on this passion. I wrote small things, mostly inspired by the fantasy games that I played.
Then, at the age of 19, I came home from work. We were living in the country near Tyler, Texas, which was a heavily wooded area where we owned around 20 acres. I went straight to bed that night, only saying goodnight to my step-mother. I wanted to say goodnight to my father as well, but he was already in bed.
Not more than an hour later, my step-mother came bursting into my room to tell me that my father had passed away. He suffered from congestive heart failure, and though this news was not unexpected, it was a very painful time. I’m having a hard time writing this, even now.
That same night, I found his journal sitting on the coffee table right in front of my father's chair. Curious to see his last entry, I flipped it to the last page. Scrawled on the first line and on a page of its own, there was the message...
“Please write more...”
I feel, more than anything, that my father knew his end was coming, and that his last message was for me.
He had the goal of becoming published, but never submitted any of it. I picked up on this passion. I wrote small things, mostly inspired by the fantasy games that I played.
Then, at the age of 19, I came home from work. We were living in the country near Tyler, Texas, which was a heavily wooded area where we owned around 20 acres. I went straight to bed that night, only saying goodnight to my step-mother. I wanted to say goodnight to my father as well, but he was already in bed.
Not more than an hour later, my step-mother came bursting into my room to tell me that my father had passed away. He suffered from congestive heart failure, and though this news was not unexpected, it was a very painful time. I’m having a hard time writing this, even now.
That same night, I found his journal sitting on the coffee table right in front of my father's chair. Curious to see his last entry, I flipped it to the last page. Scrawled on the first line and on a page of its own, there was the message...
“Please write more...”
I feel, more than anything, that my father knew his end was coming, and that his last message was for me.
October 11, 2017
Wordless Wednesday?
I've been told today is Wordless Wednesday. Seems kinda silly for a writer, but...
Brooding skyby realityDream on DeviantArt
Brooding skyby realityDream on DeviantArt
October 10, 2017
Old Memories
Yesterday afternoon, I sat down to write something on this blog. I admit I'm terrible at keeping it up.
This morning, I complained as such to a coworker. He responded, "When I can't think of anything to write, I like to think up some old memories." He then proceeded to tell me a story from when he was a teenager, and after which, I shared my own story:
One cold November night my family was driving through Texas, somewhere in the flat expanses on the west side of the state.
I sat in the front seat next to my father, and my brother and sister were in the back seat. We had just left New Mexico and were on our way back home to Brownwood, Texas.
My father and I were "discussing" religion. Being a staunch Catholic, my father was of the belief that only humans have souls. I, on the other hand, had a taste for something different. The tiring dogma of organized religion left a nasty film in the back of my throat.
The argument centered around the belief of what had souls and what didn't. I argued that animals indeed had souls and he adamantly denied such a thing. At the time, I believed that in order to exist in a physical realm a spiritual counterpart must also exist, and I stubbornly insisted this was correct.
Off in the distance on this icy night, a bridge quickly loomed into sight, but we were too engrossed in our argument to notice the watch for ice sign.
"Actually," I said, obstinately, just like any know-it-all teen might, "Even rocks must have souls."
At this point, my father was furious. Such things were sacrilege, and could lead one straight to Hell. "Rocks..." he said angrily, punctuating each word, "Do... Not... Have... Souls!"
Immediately after "Souls!", our vehicle passed over the bridge and directly onto a patch of ice. The car started sliding sideways. My father over corrected, and we skidded sideways in the other direction. We fishtailed several times before finally crashing gently into the side rails of the bridge.
We were all wide eyed and breathing heavy. My father asked if everyone was alright, checking on each of us individually. When the shock of the crash faded away and my father backed up and continued down the road, I turned to him and said, "See? Sacrilege. You pissed off the spirits."
My father just ignored me after that, but the memory of that incident will stick with me for the rest of my life.
This morning, I complained as such to a coworker. He responded, "When I can't think of anything to write, I like to think up some old memories." He then proceeded to tell me a story from when he was a teenager, and after which, I shared my own story:
One cold November night my family was driving through Texas, somewhere in the flat expanses on the west side of the state.
I sat in the front seat next to my father, and my brother and sister were in the back seat. We had just left New Mexico and were on our way back home to Brownwood, Texas.
My father and I were "discussing" religion. Being a staunch Catholic, my father was of the belief that only humans have souls. I, on the other hand, had a taste for something different. The tiring dogma of organized religion left a nasty film in the back of my throat.
The argument centered around the belief of what had souls and what didn't. I argued that animals indeed had souls and he adamantly denied such a thing. At the time, I believed that in order to exist in a physical realm a spiritual counterpart must also exist, and I stubbornly insisted this was correct.
Off in the distance on this icy night, a bridge quickly loomed into sight, but we were too engrossed in our argument to notice the watch for ice sign.
"Actually," I said, obstinately, just like any know-it-all teen might, "Even rocks must have souls."
At this point, my father was furious. Such things were sacrilege, and could lead one straight to Hell. "Rocks..." he said angrily, punctuating each word, "Do... Not... Have... Souls!"
Immediately after "Souls!", our vehicle passed over the bridge and directly onto a patch of ice. The car started sliding sideways. My father over corrected, and we skidded sideways in the other direction. We fishtailed several times before finally crashing gently into the side rails of the bridge.
We were all wide eyed and breathing heavy. My father asked if everyone was alright, checking on each of us individually. When the shock of the crash faded away and my father backed up and continued down the road, I turned to him and said, "See? Sacrilege. You pissed off the spirits."
My father just ignored me after that, but the memory of that incident will stick with me for the rest of my life.
October 8, 2017
Inspiration in the Most Unlikely Places
Many writers will share that real life experiences inspire the tales they tell. Many, myself included, scoff (or have scoffed) at such a statement; telling themselves, "My life isn't nearly so interesting." What I have learned, however, is that this is rarely the case. Experiences take place daily, and though they may be mundane to you, they won't be after "enhancing" them.
Just the other day, I took a trip to the local library to find the second book to the Septimus Heap series. I, of course, found Angie Sage's books fairly quickly, and although they had many of her books, the one I wanted was not on the shelf. Naturally, I asked the librarians to see if it was checked out. It wasn't.
I informed the lady at the counter that I had looked and it wasn't there; she responded by telling me to look around, because people don't always put them back in the right place. A little disheartened, I went back to look again (I had already looked around the nearby shelves, duh). After not finding it, I went back to the librarians for help. Instead of helping, they shrugged and said it could be anywhere. I left, rather annoyed by their lack of help.
However, the librarians, were interesting characters, and a version of this scene has already made it into my next story with Damian. I have changed many of the details and spiced it up a bit, but the entire scene is inspired by this short interaction.
Your experience doesn't need to be Hollywood material. Just the smallest interaction, large enough to catch your attention, but not much more than that, can turn into a scene in your book. Take notes, make a voice memo, or just tell someone about it, and you will be able to get it down on paper. Embellishing the experience into an interesting scene is what makes you a writer.
And no ... I still have not found the second book to the Septimus Heap series.
Just the other day, I took a trip to the local library to find the second book to the Septimus Heap series. I, of course, found Angie Sage's books fairly quickly, and although they had many of her books, the one I wanted was not on the shelf. Naturally, I asked the librarians to see if it was checked out. It wasn't.
I informed the lady at the counter that I had looked and it wasn't there; she responded by telling me to look around, because people don't always put them back in the right place. A little disheartened, I went back to look again (I had already looked around the nearby shelves, duh). After not finding it, I went back to the librarians for help. Instead of helping, they shrugged and said it could be anywhere. I left, rather annoyed by their lack of help.
However, the librarians, were interesting characters, and a version of this scene has already made it into my next story with Damian. I have changed many of the details and spiced it up a bit, but the entire scene is inspired by this short interaction.
Your experience doesn't need to be Hollywood material. Just the smallest interaction, large enough to catch your attention, but not much more than that, can turn into a scene in your book. Take notes, make a voice memo, or just tell someone about it, and you will be able to get it down on paper. Embellishing the experience into an interesting scene is what makes you a writer.
And no ... I still have not found the second book to the Septimus Heap series.
October 7, 2017
Assassin Marked Completed
After a late night of last minute editing and fussing with Amazon Direct Publishing, my first short story is published.Assassin Marked
by Michael C. Sahd et al.
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Assassin Marked tells a story of a man and his lover who work for the mafia in a futuristic setting. I believe it is an interesting read.
Although I have overcome a great hurdle, my nerves are twisting into a ghastly knot, much like a pile of unraveled yarn. The pressure to provide more stories to the public weighs heavy on my mind. The last thing I want to do is provide this one story and then not release anything again till years later.
Assassin Marked, written almost ten years ago, sat edited and for almost a year now (maybe more). I'm really hoping that future stories will come more quickly.
Yet I'm not done with Damian. Already, work has begun on a larger story involving the assassin, and the addition of some new individuals.
Balanced Tipped faces a serious revision, but I'm confident that I will turn it in to my editor, Laura Pruett, very soon. Incidentally, if any of you reading this article are in need of an editor, click on the link I provided. I know of no better editor than she.
Keep checking back here for more information on published works.
October 3, 2017
Perfectionism and the Fear of Rejection.
I've heard the first step to recovery is admitting that there is a problem.
For many years, I've aspired to join the ranks of the multitude of writers sitting on the shelves of local book stores and libraries. Unfortunately, I am one of those who has difficulties writing continuously, I constantly find myself fixing spelling and grammatical errors as I write. Worse than that, I sometimes revise what I write while I'm still in the process of creation.
"Assassin Marked," sadly, took me over a year to get to the stage it's in now, and all I needed was a cover.
Still, I find myself nervous. What if it doesn't do well? What if nobody is interested?
Well, this week I am going to take the plunge and publish on Amazon. If it doesn't do well, then at least I'll have my name out there.
For many years, I've aspired to join the ranks of the multitude of writers sitting on the shelves of local book stores and libraries. Unfortunately, I am one of those who has difficulties writing continuously, I constantly find myself fixing spelling and grammatical errors as I write. Worse than that, I sometimes revise what I write while I'm still in the process of creation.
"Assassin Marked," sadly, took me over a year to get to the stage it's in now, and all I needed was a cover.
Still, I find myself nervous. What if it doesn't do well? What if nobody is interested?
Well, this week I am going to take the plunge and publish on Amazon. If it doesn't do well, then at least I'll have my name out there.
Artwork: A Writer's Obstacle.
In the past, I always felt that writer's block was my biggest problem. After finally finishing a piece and having it ready for publication, I find that finding an artist poses a much more harrowing problem, especially when low on funds.
At least with writer's block, my issues stem from self-induced obstacles, but finding an artist is beyond my control.
Over on Goblin Savant I had my friend Ian illustrate Gerald der Zeichner, the Goblin Savant. However, finding suitable art to portray my protagonist in Assassin Marked proved near impossible, and after months of searching, and waiting on the good graces of others, I decided to dust up my own photoshop skills. I created a very plain cover, but I like it.
At least with writer's block, my issues stem from self-induced obstacles, but finding an artist is beyond my control.
Over on Goblin Savant I had my friend Ian illustrate Gerald der Zeichner, the Goblin Savant. However, finding suitable art to portray my protagonist in Assassin Marked proved near impossible, and after months of searching, and waiting on the good graces of others, I decided to dust up my own photoshop skills. I created a very plain cover, but I like it.
