Alex Laybourne's Blog, page 89

The Importance of the Reply

This is a post that I have been meaning to write for quite some time now. As a writer, I understand the importance of being out there. A name people will hear, recognize and learn to bow down to… um… ultimately investigate my writing and perhaps purchase my books.

As an Indie Writer this is even more important. I do not have a publishing house behind me, I don't have an agent pushing my name around. In short, I am, much like the rest of you, in this alone. Therefore a relationship with any potential readers is pivotal.

Social media aside, I think one of the most important places that you can build this relationship is through your blog.

I think of my Blog as the Amino Acids of my writing. The building blocks that my whole reputation is based upon. I mean social media is ok, but there you are part of a large community. With a blog, each visit – random search engine finds aside – is a much more personal experience.

My blog is the basis of my platform. Ok, I may reach more people via social media such as Twitter and Facebook, but it is here that I show who I am. It is here through their blog that a writer really communicates. Therefore, whenever anybody takes the time to comment on a piece I write, I reply to them.

I think the reply is a writers / bloggers most important tool. I always – ok, I'm not perfect, but 99% of the time – leave a comment for everybody who comments on my blog. Not just some generic text I can copy and paste, but a personalized comment. I reference what they said and prove that I actually read what they had to say.

Oddly enough, I do not do this for my readers, but rather for myself. I want to do everything I can to show people that I read what they say, and that I truly, and I mean truly, appreciate the fact that they take some time out of their lives to not only read what I have to say, but to comment on it.

Each comment I receive touches me, and to some degree humbles me.

I have seen a great many (both) writers and bloggers promote themselves and write long flowing posts every couple of days, they get fifteen twenty comments per post, but I never see a reply. Or if there is one, it is always to the same person. If you look, it is also the main person they interact with on Twitter, Facebook… social media in general. Now, I am not one to stand and throw out character defamation, and it is not my intention now. I will not name names either, because I see no point in it. But, I do feel it reflects poorly on a blogger if they cannot take the time to thank the people who make their site, their books possible.

 

Review: Full Dark, No Stars

Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Once again Stephen King has held me mesmerized. This collection of stories was something a little different, dark tales that look at the horror of human nature, and the lengths some people will go to cover up or get even for a crime.

All four stories look at life from a different perspective and each one is just as dark, macabre and hard to read as the others.

What I love about this book, wasn't just the stories, it wasn't the bonus story I got in my copy, but the small dialogue that King added to the end. A common theme in his works, as I am sure you all know. It was only a few pages, but it was spoken from the heart and got me thinking.

Out of all of the stories, I think the final one was possibly the darkest. I won't give it away, but it was the only tale of the two that had a… shall we say 'happy ending' but it was ambiguous enough to make you think. Is it really.

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This is me; Like it or Lump it.

I have just finished reading Full Dark No Stars by my idol Stephen King. Ok, I have one short story to go, but it is a bonus one that was added to later print runs. So, I have already had the pleasure of reading the stories that were intended for this collection and the as always brilliant dialogue that S.K. offers at the end of this works.

One thing he said struck a chord inside me. He said that (and I paraphrase because the book is not to hand currently) writers are rarely honest about ourselves or what we do. We use humor or all manner of tactics to deflect from the truth about who we are.

So here we go…

This is ME!

In short, I am a nut. I have ridiculously low self-esteem and suffer from mood swings that see my feeling on top of the world one minute and bottom of the shit heap the next, no cause, rhyme or reason for it. I often feel angry, at myself not at others I should add, and have been known to silently berate myself for days at a time. I suffer from such a phobia of social interaction that I border on being a recluse, and if it were not for my wife and kids I would never socialize at all. Not because I don't want to, but because I just can't do it. My lack of social skills and inability to interact with others leaves me hovering one step away from being a manic-depressive wreck.

I was bullied pretty much the entire way through school and to this very day do not have a single friend in my life. Not counting those few close people I have whose relationships with me exist only via e-mail and social media.

I am neurotic, and am chronically disorganized in real life. Yet I lie to myself and pretend to be organized, thereby annoying myself for never being in a tidy place.

I am not religious yet with each passing day I find myself realizing that I do believe. Maybe not in the bible, but in a spiritual world, in a world of good and evil, and of lives beyond those that we are aware of. It is very much a side of myself I really want to explore, once I am brave enough to meet myself.

I never went to university and it is the single largest regret of my life. I write because, as we all do, I need to write. I physically have to sit and write, if I don't I get even worse with regards my above issues.

There are only two things I seem to be even half way good at. Being a father to my children, and writing stories. I do not even claim to be a great person. Not all of the time at least. I am too withdrawn and moody to even tell myself I am halfway close to perfect. I love my wife, and I love my kids. I love my life and where I am right now.

Yet I am constantly hard on myself for not doing more. I work all day. Do I do my very best at work? No, I give more than average, I push myself, but could go further. Why don't I? Because it is not what I want. I feel underappreciated, not listened to and basically stuck and stagnant in my job. I want to write, and yet find myself equally lost when it comes to taking that next step in my writing. I can publish all the books I want, but without sales, and a successful advertising process, I will never make it.

I am proud of my writing, I am proud of what I have achieve, and almost exploded with pride when my son said to me tonight at dinner. "When I grow up I want to be a writer just like my papa." yet instantly covered it up with a joke about him being the only one who calls me a writer. See, there is that deflection again.

I am constantly struggling for money, but then again who isn't in this economy ($9 a gallon for gas this week). I have all these plans and idea, home improvements and holidays I want to take, but know deep down that unless my writing takes off I will never be able to do them.

If asked, I make jokes about my writing, about why I do it, but the truth is I take is seriously, I devote my life to it and do not regret a single word. I know, and I don't say this just to sound like a positive thinker, but because I know it, the same way I know the sun will rise tomorrow and that I will no doubt break the diet I have been on since… um… dinner. I will be a success as a writer, there will come a time when I can support myself primarily based around my writing. I do not say with it will come unimaginable riches, but certainly enough to live a normal life.

I don't write for money, another sentence that I have used before. Yet it's truth is as honest as I can be.

So there you have it. This is me. I am a grumpy old man trapped inside a 27-year-old body. Cynical beyond my years, yet at the same time, my cynicism should be seen as humor and my attempts to deflect people away from me.

How is that for honest? Once again Mr. King has inspired me, and in a way that goes beyond fiction. The question is, can you accept me as me, or only as the image that has existed of my previously?

The truth is hard, it is harsh and unloving. Yet I embrace it, I feel good about it, and have no regrets about revealing it to you. Are you ready to face the truth about yourselves?

Page Fright

This is a term I was not familiar with until I actually started talking with fellow writers and realized that there are terms for almost every sort of writing based consternation.

The other day I finally say down to start writing my next novel. I say finally, but I only finished editing my last one a few weeks ago. Still it has been several months since I really wrote anything substantial.

"Nail that first line" I told myself, "No, just get something down, you can change it later."I answered. "No, the first line sets the tone for everything." I countered. So the argument raged until, before I knew it, not only had the opening line appeared, but the closing one also.

I sat back, suddenly nerverackingly aware that I was doing it, I was writing. Was my opening sentence the BANG factor that I have longed for ever since reading the opening line of Kathy Reichs debut novel Deja Dead. No, not when read on its own. But, when coupled with the final paragraph. Oh boy… I love it.

It was a sobering moment. I was actually scared, and my hands were clammy as they hovered over the keys. It was a strange reaction and one I have never really had before. Then again, the last three years have been spent working on in effect the same novel. Ok, it is two novels but they are part of a series. So I'm sure you can see my way of thinking.

I only started thinking of myself as being a writer when I wrote Highway to Hell. As a result of job losses, unemployment, babies and all manner of financial problems, it took a long time to write. The sequel not so much, but all told, these books are all I have ever known.

Now, here I am, standing on the abyss of a new adventure and I just have no idea as to what way I am going.  The one thing I do know is that I cannot wait to find out.

The Good Wife

Rick Dearny knocked gingerly on the front door of the house he had been sent to. He would have knocked harder, but the door was already only on one hinge and he feared breaking it completely should he be anything less than delicate.

Rick had been on the force for nearly fifteen years, the last ten of which had been walking the streets of Lowmouth. So he knew that in the area he stood, the door was the only thing he would need to be gentle with.

He waited and then knocked again. To look at, the house was a mess. Then again, every house in the street was a mess. Milton Road was the hub for all deviant families that the large town had to offer.  Rick was certain that nobody in this neighborhood had a job, although he knew a few of them claimed unemployment and worked when it suited them on a 'cash in hand' basis.

There was no real sign of life in the property. Rick knocked one last time. Harder now. He felt the door rattle in the frame. Somewhere, deep within the blackness that was the house, a dog barked. It sounded large and angry, obviously roused from its slumber.

Rick turned to leave when the hallway light came on. He turned and listened as at least three different locks were opened and a chain was unbolted. As was always the case when on Milton Road, Rick braced himself. You never knew what would open the door. He had been greeted with baseball bats, shotguns, grown men hiding behind children, a knife in hand - as if any extra emphasis was necessary – and all manner of drunkards and junkies.

The door was opened by a young woman. The first thing Mick noticed was the infant that she held to her exposed breast. The child was asleep but the mother hadn't noticed and so flaunted her rather ample if unnatural chest for the neighborhood. However knowing the girl as he did, Rick new it was a sight people were accustomed to.

She wore half a bra, a short skirt that was hitched up and no longer even covered her crotch, which was in an equal state of undress as her right breast. Rick also saw garter belt around each thigh, but the stockings that attached to it were nowhere to be seen. Her shirt had been lost at some point before she opened the door. Her greasy blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail that was just off-center, while her eyes blazed a fierce blue.

"What the fuck do you want?" She barked at Rick. As if in agreement, the large German Shepherd which stood by her side gave a bark of its own.

"Evening Daisy." Rick began, but she cut him off.

"Sorry, I'm on the blob, not copper freebies tonight." She blew him a kiss and went to slam the door shut.

However, Rick was used to the neighborhood and already had his foot blocking the door.

"I'm not here for you Daisy, so don't flatter your self. I'm after Billy. You seen him around recently?" Rick asked, knowing full well that Billy was the girls boyfriend slash pimp.

"What if I have, he's not here now so fuck off." She snapped, angered that her first attempt to end the conversation had failed.

"Now now Daisy, there's no need to be like that. I just want to talk to him, that's all." Rick lied.

The German Shepherd took a step forward and growled. It's mouth curled back into a snarl, and even Rick found himself staring at the animals teeth.

"He's not fucking here is he. Come the fuck in and look around if you want. Just don't think you can get all fucking handsy with me like the last copper that came here." She had started to bounce on the balls of her feet, and her eyes were unable to stay focused on anything. Rick watched as a stream of milk dribbled from her exposed nipple.

"It's alright, I believe you. But if you see him, tell him to pop by the station." Rick offered a smile and turning, walked back to his car.

He heard the door slam shut behind him before he had reached the bottom of the steps that took him down to the curbside.

***

Daisy closed the door. "That was close" She whispered

"Thanks Babe"  Billy said as he rose from all fours and zipped the still open fly on his trousers. "It was fun, but I gotta run. See you around, and next time, leave the brat in the other room. It scares away the customers." He kissed her and was out of the door before she had the chance to pull him back to the bedroom.

Teaser Train: Roses are Red by Carrie Green

It is my pleasure to open up my blog to not only a fellow TeaserTrain Author, but a person I consider to be a very good friend. The wonderfully talented Carrie Green is here and wants to share a few words about her awesome short story collection Roses are Red.

Roses Are Red: A Collection of Short Stories

A LONG  DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP—Drunk, Allan ended an all-nighter of partying with a hit and run that escalates into First Degree murder.

 A LUCKY HUMAN—Traveling the Universe aboard a space cruise ship may be  the hottest trend, but a young man may be exchanging his life for this  privilege.

 CASH ONLY—This bounty hunter only cares about the paycheck.

EXCERPT:  A Long Distance Relationship

"I don't care. You killed a man. I'm going to call the cops."

Allan Gunther stared at Margaret, wondering what he had ever found attractive about her. Her face was red with dark circles engulfing her eyes. Worse yet, she wore no make-up. She had already washed her face and changed  in to one of the old t-shirts that she wore to bed when they weren't  having sex. "It was an accident," he said abruptly.

"It doesn't matter, you hit the guy and you didn't stop the car. That makes you a murderer," she picked up the beige receiver. Her eyes flicked  down the list of important phone numbers stuck to the wall with yellowed tape.

"Man, what did you want me to do? I'm still  on parole. You know I would have failed a breathalizer test." Allan  referred to the party that they had attended last night, or, more  accurately, this morning. It had been a long date. "Besides, I have  enough grass in that car to get me put away for a lifetime."

"You killed a man," she repeated. She was visibly upset. Allan speculated  she was about to cry. She always looked horrible when she cried.

"Margaret. Put that phone down," he commanded.

She ignored him, her chipped red fingernails pressing down the grey push buttons.

"Damn it! Stop!" Allan shouted, trying to pull the phone out of her hand. She held fast. Allan shoved her back against the wall. Her body thudded  into the hollow plasterboard. The sound echoed before he shoved her back a second time. Her head snapped as if to separate from her neck, but  she still clutched the receiver. She looked at him with dazed eyes, then she swung the receiver into his face.

The ear piece crunched against his right cheekbone. The disconnected buzz of the phone rang out. Both of them paused.

  "Want to play games?" He asked, each word causing his jaw to vibrate with  pain. His hand surrounded her hand holding onto the phone, forcing the  phone down on her head. It was easy. Physically, she was no match for  him. Again, and again, he slammed the receiver down.

She crumbled to her knees. Her other arm rose in a futile attempt to  protect her head and face. He brought the solid plastic down on those  skinny finger bones covering her forehead. Her hand fell away. He felt  strong and powerful.

He swung again. The hand  holding the phone no longer opposed him. He swung again, this time the  skull no longer crushed. It gave way. The receiver dug deep into her  brain. Her body slumped backwards, the receiver  jutting out of her head.

Still her fingers clung to the handle. His own  hand had never touched the murder weapon. The coiled cord of the phone  strained, stretching from the wall.

She wore an old  t-shirt, something with a fat cat on it. Her legs were bare and twisted  odd on the floor. If she was alive it would have been a difficult  position to hold. Allan examined the blood seeping around the receiver.  Her eyes looked blankly beyond him. She was dead.

It was funny. He had always thought death was dignified, sort of calm and  peaceful. Death was a corpse in a coffin, hands crossed on the chest, a  smile of contentment upon bloodless lips. There was no dignity in her  death. Her mouth gaped open and her tongue had rolled back between  crooked teeth. The angle of her head revealed the double chin she was  always trying to lose. The nipples of her breasts pressed hard against  her thin t-shirt. She was a slut, Allan thought humorously, in death as  well as in life.

"Hey Babe, tell me, is death a turn-on? Better yet," his gaze fell on the useless receiver, "call me."

Carrie's books are available on Amazon so why not have a look today?

 

Making Friends With Character Questionnaires

Well, I have been searching and have found a number of articles that talk about character development and offer tips on creating realistic characters. Almost every one of them has ended with or been focused around these 'character questionnaires'. Some have been interesting to look at, and others have been almost laughable, but what I find myself thinking is, do I need to complete a questionnaire for my character?

I know, I know, I set out to educate myself and have stopped to argue at the first hurdle. It just bugs me. I mean, as a writer, do we really know our characters before we start doing the dance of many syntax with them?

Look at meeting people in real life, for that is really what we are doing with characters when we start a brand new novel. We are meet them, we get to know them, and slowly they invade our every waking moment until their story is told.

Is it not dangerous to over develop a character and define them down to the name of their nursery school. Especially this early in the relationship. Where is the mystery, where is the intrigue.

Plotting out the chapters and a tight story outline I can understand, but even after just one day, I feel that over planning characters just isn't for me. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but I like to get to know my characters as I write. I find a much better flow if the whole process is more of an exchange. I learn about them, and they in turn learn a little about me.

Out of all of the articles I read, the one I found the most enlightening was perhaps the most basic of them all. It spoke about how successful characters are three-dimensional, in just the same way the people are. The article itself you can read here. It is not groundbreaking, but after a day of nothing but questionnaires and prompts to fully breakdown the psyche of someone who for all intents and purposes and stranger to me, I found it something of a breath of fresh air.

With this in mind, I think I will start my story plotting, I will create the shadow and the man I hope will become a close friend over the coming months, and wait for nature to take its course and for the light to be shed.

Mind Jumble

Have you ever sat down to write a blog post, written a couple of hundred words and then realized what you have been writing is not only a bunch of horse shit, but also a bunch of nonsensical horse shit. I hope so. I say that not to be mean or hurtful, but rather because it means I am not going out of my mind.

For the last week or so I have sat down to write some posts that have been floating around in my head for a while, yet once I get past that first line, I find myself lost. I guess the closest I could describe it would be Wirter's Bloggers Block. The words and ideas are there, but they just don't seem to want to make that trip from my mind to the page.

I shook my fingers but heard nothing rattle inside them so I don't think they are broken. Which can only mean the problem lies in some other part of my body. I am hoping it is a short-term thing, because even I am not happy with the blog posts I have been putting out recently. They are a bit weak (in my view at least) and only seem to get half of my point across. Often mixing up several other points along the way. Ironically this post seems to be the most coherent one I have written for a while. Maybe I have broken through and come out the other side enlightened and having grown as a person. Or maybe I just slept quite well and have had a strong assed cup of coffee this morning.

What problems do you face when blogging? Do your ideas flow and pile up waiting to be used? Do you ever have periods where all form of blogging inspiration dries up and leaves you wondering if you will ever think of a post again? Ok, maybe that last sentence was a bit dramatic but I refer you back to the strong assed cup of coffee comment and use that as my defence.

Back to the Drawing Board

With my novel finished, I find myself with some time on my hands. The way I see it, I have three options. I know my next project, and have had it planned out in my head for a few years already in various forms. So, I can bang on and get cracking on this novel, or I can give myself a rest and take a month or two off and allow myself to relax and enjoy my free time, or I can immerse myself in the technical side of writing and try to learn a few new tricks.

Now, I want my writing to improve, and simply cannot  sit still and do nothing. It just isn´t in my nature. So, I am going back to the drawing board. I am clearing my mind and am ready to learn more about this craft I love.

With my new novel being a much more character driven piece than my previous two projects, I am keen to learn as much as I can about characters. Their development, how I can evolve them; construct or, as is the case for this new novel, deconstruct their lives.

I also want to learn more about plot structure and story arc's. I also want to try, as I have mentioned in previous posts, to plot my novel and my characters more than I have in the past.

A while ago I downloaded y-Writer 5. It looks to offer me everything I need and I am actually quite excite to crack it open and get planning. I hope to be able to start fleshing out my characters pretty quickly. There are two main characters in the novel, and their lives are pretty interweaved. They are best friends, and colleagues. They have known each other since school and have a rather complicated history.

I am reluctant to give away much more at this stage, simply because I haven't started writing it yet and as I am sure you can appreciate. Even the best laid plans can be ripped apart in the blink of an eye. Maybe the things I hope to learn will lead me down a different path. Who knows… seriously, does anybody know, it would be a big help.

I am also tempted to have a re-read of Macbeth, I mean that character has such a clear arc and such a clear deconstruction of both his own character and on a broad scale as an example of human nature and how we can destroy ourselves. My story is not Macbeth, and I do not intend for it to draw any parallels, but I think that there is a lot I can learn from him.

I am sure that you have noticed that there are a lot of things I want to learn about, and my plan is to take it one at a time, starting with characters because personally, I think that is my greatest weakness.

If you had to pick an aspect of your writing to take the time to read up on, and learn more about, what would it be?

Trials and Tribulations

I am finished. Yes, that's right. The second installment of the Highway to Hell series is finished. Not only that, it is in the hands of my beta reader and cover artist. It has taken me in total about 6 months to get to this stage, and I feel great. That being said, I am nervous about what my beta read – the wonderful writer Carrie Green - will think of it. Yet at the same time I am proud of this novel, and think the ending is stronger than the first installment.

I have to be honest with myself however. I am sure the novel is not perfect, I am after all still learning, and to expect perfection would be downright foolish. Yet, I am confident it is both a good and entertaining read.

The question I find myself faced with now however, is where do I go from here. I will admit to a small part of me wanting to push on and write the third installment. However, I have a feeling that this will be a large novel. I have very grand plans and think I need to take a step back and perfect my craft a little more.

Until now, my work has been more about the imagery. My first two novels have been set in Hell and the imagery has been one of the primary things behind them.

My new project is one that I have had brewing in my mind for several years now. It is a character driven piece. One that looks at the deconstruction of man, of human character. Rather than the setting, the characters are the main focus, their journey. Also, I have what I consider to be a rather novel styling for the book itself.  I am really excited about this book, and really cannot wait to get started on it.

First I have some research to do and a bit of plotting. Not too much, because I cannot stick to a plot to save my life. However, as is the nature of the story, there are certain elements that I need to get right.

I managed to read two short story collections last week too. Both were amazing. First was Dark Bites and the second was Roses are Red. I have now gone back to the classics and have started reading Dracula. I have read it before. Well… I have read most of it before, but that was years ago, and I remember enjoying it greatly, however it is about time I read it again. I'm older now and have a much greater appreciation for writing than when I was a teenager.