Remi Michaud's Blog, page 2

Last Day!

This is it. The countdown is on. The great birthday celebration is winding down. The Path of the Sword is still free but only until the end of today! Grab yourself a copy today!

And remember: the sequel, Rites of Ascension II: Blood of War is out!

Part III is just around the bend (maybe two bends; it's taking me a little longer than anticipated).

Thanks for all your support!

Celebration Sale!

It's ma burfday! Yes it is!

To celebrate, I'm giving away The Path of the Sword for the next three days! I wanted 3.5 days--you know 'cause I'm 35 and all--but Amazon doesn't allow half days.

Until 12:00 am PST on the 18th of January, The Path of the Sword is free for the taking! Enjoy!

Goodreads

I'd like to say I hope everyone had a great holiday season. I haven't been around much because of my own revelries but now that it's done for another year, well, here I am.

I'm changing the pace a little this time. Some of you may have noticed that I'd begun writing about how I became a writer. I did this for two reasons:

1) Some of you may be interested in trying your hand at penning your own work and I thought I'd pass on any wisdom I've come across in the last couple of years. It's a shallow well yet but in time hopefully I'll have some useful nuggets for you.

2) The subtitle of my blog is 'A Writer's Journey'. Seemed to make sense to me that I actually mention something about my journey.

Today, I want to mention something just a little different. Goodreads.

I signed up some months ago but I didn't do very much with it. I was always too busy with other stuff to really give it a whole lot of attention. But, lately, I've been going more often and I have to say, it's not bad. No, it's not bad at all. In fact, I'd say it's one of the best resources a reader--or writer--can have at his or her disposal. Not only can you find any number of books that you may enjoy but there are a lot of authors and authors' groups that you can interact with.

Think Facebook, but for books. And without the eye-rollingly bad status updates.

So I've made an effort to create a more complete profile which you can see here. It still needs work--I'm still tinkering with it--but it's well worth the effort. It's a great place to discover new books, and readers interested in the same things you are.

Now, I know that, if you do happen to take a look at my profile, you'll notice I have a lot of books by very few authors. This part has, so far, been the most time consuming for me. I've read thousands of books in the past twenty five years and I'm trying to remember them. I'll never remember them all, and even of the ones I remember reading, I may not retain enough to remember whether or not I enjoyed them.

It'll look weird that I have suddenly read so many books but rest assured I have read everything I listed (just not, as Goodreads indicates so far, all in January).

Any down sides to Goodreads? One: sometimes navigation is a little confusing. But once you get the hang of it, you'll love it. I wholeheartedly recommend it to everyone.

A great site. If you love reading or if you're an author looking to have a closer rapport with your readers, I heartily urge you to check it out.

From Idea to Outline to First Draft

I had my ideas on paper. In point form, they didn't really evoke a sense of awe. Rather, it was thirty-odd pages of scribbles that, frankly, looked like a really long doctor's prescription. I could read it, but just barely.

It wasn't entirely my fault. I was writing at a break-neck pace, trying to get all the ideas out so I wouldn't forget anything. I wrote until my fingers cramped and I wrote while my fingers were cramping. I wrote beyond that until my hand was numb. In fact I wrote so much, the body of the pen made an imprint in my finger and thumb that lasted days after I put it down.

My brother once took me jogging. I'm not much of a jogger. I'm more of a sitter. An eat-chips-and-swig-Pepsi-by-the-gallon-then-take-a-nap-before-bed sitter. About five minutes into the jog, I was panting and sweating enough cola out my pores to cause diabetes. I begged him to stop. I don't think he heard what I said; the words sort of stumbled out between death-rattle gasps. But he got the gist, I think, by the begging look I gave him and the fact that I was gripping my guts as though I was afraid they were going to fall out.

Of course, he wasn't even winded. The man's an ox: martial arts, weight-lifting, calisthenics: his left pinky finger can bench press more than I can.

He looked at me and smiled (he smiled!) and said, "You gotta push through the pain."

I don't think he knew this, but after he turned back around to keep up his torturous pace, I flipped him the bird. Okay, I didn't. I tried, but I couldn't seem to stop my arm from flopping around like spaghetti.

But as I wrote, I understood. I wrote, and I wrote, and it didn't matter if my hand was turning into a twisted, mal-formed claw. It didn't matter if my arm went numb. I just had to keep writing. Push through the pain: I got it.

And it only got worse. You see, at this point, it was time to organize the point-form notes into an actual story. I mentioned I didn't yet have my laptop. It was all done by hand. I went through a box of pens before the story was down. I went through two packages of lined paper. I went through a dozen layers of skin.

I would not stop until it was out of me. Strangely, I would not stop because I could not stop. I was gripped by some manner of ghost, possessed by some sort of demon, that would not let me lay my pen down, that laughed maniacally whenever my knuckles seized. The bastard.

Three months passed like this. Three mind-numbing, knuckle-busting months. I don't remember much else from that time. I've never been so obsessed about anything ever. When I laid my pen down, forcing my fingers apart to do so, I stared at the page, at the words, "The End" with a combination elation and sadness. Elated because I had done it, and sad because, well, the story was out. It's like saying good-bye to your best friend. I know that sounds weird. I mean, the story was sitting right there, right in front of me. But it wasn't the same. And I felt sad.

But it was done. I now had my book, The Path of the Sword, out of me. On paper.

And that's not what any of you read. That was only draft 1. The story had to do a lot of growing before it became the book you read (or maybe you didn't, I won't judge). That part of the process took much, much longer.

Especially since it was around that time that I got my laptop. *Sigh*

Behind the Scenes Mechanics

My lovely Cori had succeeded in kicking me in the butt (metaphorically).

After the kick in the butt (metaphorically), I was brimming with energy. I wanted to write this book. I needed to write it.

I pulled out paper and pen (I didn't have my laptop yet) and started scribbling away.

And that's all I was doing: scribbling. Sure, I had ideas. Sure, the whole story was there in my head trying to pop out. That was the problem: the entire story was trying to pop out all at once. If you don't already know this, take it from me: trying to get a dozen ideas out all at the same time doesn't work.

After a few pages of garbled junk, I sat back in frustration. I needed to do something about this. I needed to organize my ideas into one cohesive, chronological list.

Well, though I hadn't written much since high school, I still remembered some of the lessons. I realized an outline was needed. So I sat and started getting my ideas out in point form, line by line. Each fully developed idea became a scene...scenes that tied in became chapters. Oh sure, I had to move a few scenes around, chapter 6 became chapter 8, chapter 7 became chapter 6; all for the sake of clarity and, well frankly, entertainment.

When I put my pen down, I had about thirty pages of notes.

And the basic outline of The Path of the Sword.

And then the fun started.

In the Beginning...

I've embarked on quite the journey. I've been through a lot since I released The Path of the Sword. I'm a pretty private kind of person so not much of what I've been doing gets posted here--which, in retrospect, you're probably grateful for. I mean, who wants to hear about my work day? Really? I suppose if you had a case of insomnia I could help you out. Or if you were suffering from a rough case of "good mood" I have just the cure.

But I'm digressing. I haven't even gotten to the point and I'm already digressing. This bodes well.
With the holiday season at hand, I find I'm reminiscing about things past; between memories of my daughter taking her first steps and my son hurling his very dirty diaper across his bedroom (that was a good day), I somehow managed to think about how I got on this whole writing kick.
First, a little background. I'm a reader. I've always been a reader. I don't think I've gone anywhere without a book since I was ten. But writing...not so much. You see, I was a COMPUTER GUY. I didn't have time to write stories. I was busy writing code.
But about a decade ago, I got an idea for a story. I was excited by it so, naturally, I sat down to write it. It was the first thing I really tried to write--besides creative writing assignments in high school that is. I wrote approximately ten pages--the prologue and the first chapter. Then I read it. Then, horrified by the atrocity I had committed to computer screen, I repeatedly slammed the delete key until all trace of what I had done was gone forever.
It was bad, is what I'm saying. It was eye-gougingly bad. It was...well I think there are statutes in the Geneva convention that make what I had done a crime against humanity.
Resigned, I decided I would--could--never try again.
Yeah. Okay.
About three years ago, an image popped into my head. Clear as day. It was the climax to The Path of the Sword. I don't know where it came from but, by golly, it was compelling. I dared not ruin it by actually writing it, but I thought about it. 
Over the next few weeks, more images came to my head, surrounding the original climactic scene like a posse and I couldn't shake them. Those scenes stuck to me like glue. It got so bad, I started telling my lovely Cori about them. I told her over and over again about the scenes that played out in my head (but did not dare write) and she listened. At first, she listened because she thought it sounded neat. Then, after a week or two, she listened because it was polite. After a month or so, I think she listened only because she loves me just that much.
I was annoying, is what I'm saying. I never shut up about it. I actually had the whole damned thing in my head from start to finish and she heard it all. Over and over again. And soon her smile started to seem forced. If you've ever seen someone smiling while their jaw muscles are clenching repeatedly, you know what smile I'm talking about.
Well, one day, I was talking about it again. Yes, imagine that. Somewhere in the middle of my monologue, Cori sighed deeply and loudly. She leaned forward and placed her hands on my cheeks, she smiled. It was a radiant smile, the kind of smile that stops hearts and turns knees to water. She looked deep into my eyes, and she said, "Sweetie, I love you. More than anything. But please, p*** or get off the pot."
"Huh?" I stammered as my head tried to wrap itself around the incongruity of her words and her smile.
"Either write the thing or shut up about it."
I don't really know why, but it was as if those words were a kind of...mitigation, maybe a pardon for my previous atrocity. I could write it--no one had to be exposed to it if it sucked.
After I finished, Cori read it. She knew the story, of course. I'd told her often enough. But she wanted to read it. I spent the next two days cringing, just waiting for her to tell me what I already knew: "Sweetie, you know I love you. But..."
When she put the last page down, she looked at me and said, "Sweetie, you know I love you. But...How long do you expect me to wait for the second part?"
"Huh?" I stammered.
"This was awesome. I want the next one."
"Huh?" I stammered (She does that to me a lot).
And here we are. The Path of the Sword is out and readers seem to generally enjoy it (though I've taken the criticisms to heart: from now on, I'm going to ask a professional editor to tear my work apart). Blood of War is out and, again, readers seem to generally enjoy it. I'm writing book 3 of Rites of Ascension (title still pending). I have a half dozen other ideas that I want to get to. I have this blog (that I fully admit is not updated nearly enough but, come one! You don't want to know how my son and daughter can get into a screaming match over a sticker book!)
Looks like I'll be writing for a while. Who'd a thunk it?
Thanks everyone.

The Path of the Sword only 99 cents

The Path of the Sword
[image error] For a limited time, I thought I'd offer Rites of Ascension I: The Path of the Sword for 99 cents. I don't know how long I'll leave it at that price. So if you'd like to try out my first book, now's the time! Check it out here.

Decisions, Decisions

You know, I never knew the writing process could be so difficult.

I'll explain it briefly...then I'll end my little rant. Then I'll probably go to bed. After a bowl of chips.

Here's the deal. Rites of Ascension III is well under way. Jurel and his friends are embroiled in some pretty dicey stuff. So far, so good. The problem lies in that I have more ideas for dealing with their situations than I have pages. I've hit a couple of spots where I'm not sure which one is the best.

Now, there are a few solutions:
1) Eeny meeny miney moe. Yeah, I don't like that one either.
2) Play out each one in my head and write the one that sounds best. This one makes me uncomfortable: I can never be sure I've explored it all until it's down on paper.
3) Write them all. Then pick the best one. Ooh. Time consuming. But at least I'll know.

No one ever said this was gonna be easy.

I'm working on it. It'll be out as soon as I can get it done--to my satisfaction. I want the story to be right!


Thanks for your patience, folks.

Okay, rant done. I'm going to go check up on Metana.

To Promote or Not to Promote

There is an issue that has been at the forefront of my mind for months now. It's an issue that is a hot topic among indie writers. Can you guess what it is? Can you?

Oh, right. It's in the title.

Promotion. Ads, giveaways, book-signings, interviews, reviews, rinse, repeat. Is it important? Is it necessary? I don't know. But to some authors, it seems that promotion is more important than production. I mean, they spend months or years producing the next great literary work, then when they publish it, they seem to forget that they're writers. They become marketers. They work constantly, obsessively at it, always trying to find that one great technique or method that'll guarantee bestseller status.

I would never argue that promoting is useless. We've all got to get word of our masterpieces out, we've got to let all the readers out there know that we have something they'll love. But it's too much. Too much stress.

Let's see, between my efforts to get as much writing as possible done, a full time job, spending time with my wife and kids, chores, errands, and time to, you know, eat, sleep and have the occasional shower, I don't have a whole lot of time left over to devote to promoting my books.

Yet, I'm doing all right. Thanks to all the fantastic folks out there, I'm doing all right. J.K. Rowling does not fear that I'll break her sales numbers any time soon but readers are finding my books, readers are reading my books and it seems that readers are enjoying my books (and, hopefully, they'll continue to do so for years to come).

Can promoting more (in my case, 'more' would be read as 'at all') help my sales? Maybe. But enough to warrant all the time that I could have used to continue writing the conclusion to Rites of Ascension? Or even the time that I could be wrestling with my son, or playing tea party with my daughter? I don't know. It has worked for some. The big names in indie publishing--John Locke, Amanda Hocking, J.A. Konrath--have certainly benefited from marketing. But for every story I hear of promoting making a real difference, there are fifty stories of authors who have promoted the living heck out of their work and they're struggling to find even a handful of readers.

There's one more thing to consider. I, too, am a consumer. But when I'm online, I don't look at ads. I just don't register them. They appear all over the place and I sail right on by. Assuming I'm normal (according to my lovely Cori, that's a shaky assumption but never mind that) then it seems plausible to extrapolate that many others don't stop what they're doing to read the ads either. So what's the point?

This will raise many eyebrows among the indie crowd--to many, marketing is as important, or more important, than writing. To those, I say, "Hey, it's a free country. Do what you like." I think what I'd like to do is write a few pages and then color a picture with my daughter.

Rites of Ascension II: Blood of War Now Available

It's out and on sale at Amazon.com for $2.99!


Rites of Ascension II: Blood of War
The Journey Continues.
After his foster father's brutal murder, Jurel Histane unleashed powers beyond his comprehension, perpetrating a bloodbath that left him horrified to the core of his soul.
That day, he discovered the truth.
He knows who he is, he knows what he is.
And now he is on the run, accompanied by his only friends: Kurin, a Salosian healer; Mikal, the commander of the Salosian army; and Gaven, once Jurel's enemy.
He is on the run from a relentless foe: the Soldiers of God, the military army of the Prelacy, intent on destroying him before the truth gets out.
He is on the run from himself, from the darkness lurking, from the awesome power that he desperately does not want.
But there can be no escape. He must either confront the forces rallying against him, or he must die. And if he dies, the world dies with him.
Yet, before he can face his enemy, he must face himself. He must come to terms with the terrible truth that has been hidden all his life beneath the facade of the simple farm boy he once was.