Adam Oster's Blog, page 43

Flash Fiction Friday: The Trouble with Turtle-hood

His name was Timothy and he was the largest turtle in the turtle pond at the Petcha Can’t Pick Just One pet shop.

He wasn’t anything special, just a simple box turtle picked out of one of the local ponds, yet he had lived his entire life swimming around the same 2×2 square of water, playing as much as he could with the few floating pieces of wood in the stark container.

His life was easy, but he couldn’t help but imagine that there must be more out there, something different, something new, something amazing.

Everyday at 9am, the store owner, Liz, would arrive at the store, which Timothy would be aware of because of how it would suddenly get very bright just outside of his open enclosure.  By 9:30 at the very latest, she would appear and throw a few pieces of lettuce into his water, which he would greedily latch onto and eat slowly until approximately 10:15, which was generally when the first customer would arrive.

Mr. Beckett.  He loved coming in daily to get fresh crickets for his bearded dragon.  Timothy guessed it was more because he held feelings for Liz, but he didn’t say anything.  Not that he could.  Or would.

Even having Liz stop by to give him food, like she had done twice a day every day for the last 3 years, he just couldn’t get used to.  He knew she meant him no harm, but every time he saw her head appear just within view, he involuntarily slipped back into his shell.

It embarrassed Timothy that he couldn’t seem to get over this reflex to hide, even from those he knew cared greatly for him.

Of course, it would probably not be nearly as bad if it weren’t for the fact that by noon every day he would have already had at least 3 pairs of tiny hands reaching at him and trying to pry him from his comfortable spot sunning under the light coming in from his window.

The Baxter triplets.  Their mother came in at the same time everyday.  Mrs. Baxter knew Liz since high school, and ever since she found out that Liz opened her store, Mrs. Baxter felt it was the perfect opportunity to get her kids out and expand their minds.

For Timothy, it meant absolutely heart-stopping terror as those three girls groped him and laughed at how he retracted into his shell at every touch, followed by them shaking him violently in order to coax him back out of his safety net.

Life as a turtle was never easy, but he dreamed of the world he was told about by the turtle who used to be in this little pond with him, Gary.  Gary was a very old box turtle who had been brought in from the very same lake that Timothy had come from.  However, he had already lived in the lake for a couple of years and had found memories of lounging on sticks by the lakeside, lazily waiting for food to drift by, and sleeping in the comfortable night air.

Of course, Timothy loved Liz and his life at Petcha.  And he really couldn’t imagine leaving the safety of the retail establishment that he’d always known.  Besides, who would take care of Tabitha, the store cat who would stop by at take a few swipes at the fish that swam around his enclosure.  Speaking of which, what would the fish do without him here to keep the Baxter triplets from fishing them out?  He served as such a great distraction from the smaller swimmers that they were barely even noticed.  If he was gone, certainly those fish would bear the brunt of his absence.

Besides, it’s scary out there.  Away from his safe home.  And cold.

He decided he liked his home after all.

Fat Mogul vs. Literary Fiction

I’ve long struggled with genre.  I mean, how does one encapsulate the work of hundreds of hours within a simple word of classification?

After a couple years of thought, I took upon the term adventure novels for my work, although it was one that was rather uneasily come by.  It’s true…my works are very much adventure novels, but like other terms that would also fit, you know, things like Dude Lit, Spec Fic, or just plain Sci Fi, they just really seem to make things much simpler than they are.

That’s because of the term Literary Fiction.  The basic concept behind literary fiction is really that the story, no matter what it might be, really serves as a metaphor or an analogy to something much greater.

For a very brief period, I used this term with regards to my work.  Very brief, in that someone caught it and called me out on it almost immediately.  I removed the tag from Buddy Hero rather quickly, because I really didn’t know if I should be so bold as to take on the moniker anyways…but in the end, I’ve always felt rather bad about backing off on that.

Sure, Literary Fiction is, in general, rather douchey…and my books are generally anything but.  I don’t spend pages contemplating some small piece of life, like a plastic bag or a blade of grass, but instead use action to make my points.

But if you really look, I put a lot of work into my books to hide a completely different story within.  Take a look at The Legend of Buddy Hero, for instance.  It’s a tale of a mid-life crisis.  A man lives a life he really doesn’t want, has no clue of what he will be doing for the future, and then has a career placed upon him, only to be forced to question how he will move forward.

Sure, it’s rather silly and crude, but this book really looks into something much greater.  It’s about questioning those things you hold true, about making your own path as a human and really moving into adulthood.

But it’s also about tights and monsters and bad guys.

In fact, the only book I’ve written thus far that didn’t have an ulterior motive behind the words was The Long Chron, my newest book…I mean, there were a few things hidden in there, but overall it was written to be all about the adventure.  Agora Files part 2, like Part 1, is about coming out of adolescence.  The Right to Liberty is quite a bit blatant, but really a revision of the Revolutionary War.  And my newest book idea that’s been taking over my mind is really all about how small the world is, although we spend so much time fighting against each other.

Anyways…I may not take on the term officially…I want to admit here that I like to consider myself a literary fiction writer…even if I do so within realms that are generally considered beneath such writers.  Of course…Animal Farm is one of the more famous pieces of Literary Fiction…and it hides as a children’s book….so…yeah.

Moral of the story is that you shouldn’t get too hung up on labels, but should make sure that folks actually get what they’re expecting from the labels you do put on things.

Alright, have fun out there!

Fat Mogul vs. Planning

You may have guessed from my posts last week that I’ve been working through a few things with regards to how I’ll be moving forward on my writing.  Obviously, in one of the posts I went so far as to state that I’ll be keeping from doing much for new novel writing for a while, due to needing to focus on ventures that have a bit more of an actual monetary return…

Well…of course, the best laid plans and all that…I finally figured out the key piece of a story I’ve been mulling over for years, one that was inspired by a trip I took over seas…one that I believe is one of those great pieces of sentimental garbage that absolutely must be written.

Which leaves me with a bit of a dilemma.

I mean, when I finally was inspired on how to actually tell this story I’ve been wanting to tell for a long time now, I had a difficult time not just immediately sitting down and starting work on it…knowing full well that I really need to finish with Agora Files Part 2 first.

In other words, I actually have absolutely no idea of what I’m doing with my “free” time right now and can’t tell you what my focus will be.  Today, for instance, it was “nap”…but that was barely a thing either.

This whole SaHD thing is really taking up a heckuva lot of my time right now, and I’m having quite the difficult time figuring out if I even have time to do anything outside of it.

So…to put things rather bluntly.  I want to finish Agora Files 2, because I feel my readers deserve to see what happens with that series…but anything past that, I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll put the time in to complete The Right to Liberty, or to start UNTITLED BOOK ABOUT GERMANY…or I’ll just work on the whole freelance thing…or I’ll just kill myself bartending…which is probably the actually responsible option.

Well…if I were going to be extra responsible, I’d bartend AND go back to school…

 

But then I’d have to figure out what I’d be going to school FOR…and that’s yet another capitalized word the I just don’t have answers to.

So…for right now…I’m taking a nap and hoping things look brighter on the other side.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Writer Revisited

He sits down in front of the computer, contemplating why he sat down in the first place, and opens up the web browser, now by routine instead of want.  Before he even realizes it, he already has his publishing site’s platform open, and the button for reports clicked.

He knows what he’ll see.  He’s already seen it fifteen times today.  Yet he does it.  Compulsory.

And as before, he finds that nothing has changed.

He sighs to himself while finding that he stares at the empty report with a dejected feeling within the pit of his stomach.  He knows he should expect no different.  He isn’t even all that disappointed.  Just wistful.

While off in thought, he finds himself utilizing the search engine to see if there, for some unknown reason, happens to be someone talking about him out there within the world somewhere.

Zero new results found.

The life of this writer, like that of many writers, is one of silence, of patience, and most of all, of wistfulness.  Yet, today, not entirely different from most other days, yet altogether very different, he hears a nagging voice in the back of his head, a voice that questions his reasons, his thoughts, his purpose.

Why does he continue to put himself through this?  Why does he continue to write?  Why does he continue to put his work out there for the world to see, knowing that he simply does not have the energy, power, or motivation to convince people to read them.

This thought, he knows, is the same thought many other authors have found themselves facing, although the modern age has definitely made it much more easy to become completely dejected by the process.  The modern age, where everything is instant…except validation…for authors.

The time spent behind this very same scene crafting worlds and characters and scenes, followed shortly after by destroying them all through unique sequences of thrilling fiction, is time well spent, he keeps telling himself.  Although most will never read these items he’s created, and many who do simply won’t get it, he knows he’s created something amazing.  Something new.  Something different.

Yet, although he did all this expecting no riches, knowing there will be no fantastic success to come because of it, still he sits, thinking of the possibilities, completely unable to restrain his infinite optimism that pulls him into this line of thought which ultimately ends in absolute disappointment.

That disappointment, which constantly tells him to quit, to give up, to throw in the towel and turn to a life of much more mundane means, one that doesn’t involve godlike powers through the use of words, simply because that success he never sought, has never come.

The life of this author is no tragedy. Yet his mind wants him to believe so.  Because when a mind is so focused on crafting drama, sometimes that drama comes into places it never belonged.

Yet, even though he does ultimately force himself to continue forward on his path of creation, that nagging force continues on in the back of his mind, telling him success is a necessary end to this hobby he so deeply enjoys.  That nagging force, of course, causes that hobby to become something more, something it never should have become.  Something which ultimately taints everything the writer does until he is unable to focus on anything else.

That, my friends, is why this author quits being one at least fifteen times a day.

And that, my friends, is why you should never pick up a pen.

This has been a community service announcement from an anonymous writer who has a love hate relationship with his art…

 

Fat Mogul vs. Freelancing

This might be more of an announcement than a piece of advice.  As you should already be aware, I’ve been working on reevaluating my daily writing activities, attempting to figure out how to fit things in while also making them actually worthwhile.

I love writing my books, but I really don’t like promoting them, or dealing with the fact that there’s so little that comes back from them.

In other words, no matter how much I might attempt to legitimize my novel-writing, the amount of financial return I receive off them makes them still nothing more than a hobby.  It’s a hobby I enjoy, but at this point, a hobby that I really just don’t have time to pursue without giving up plenty of other things.

And since I’m looking for new occupational opportunities, I’ve decided to turn to the dark side…freelancing.  That’s right.  The time has come to make some real attempts at monetizing my efforts.  I’ve been writing for free for so long, things that, honestly, should be paid for, whether it’s through novels, posts here (or on the other blogs I’ve written for), or guest posts, etc.

And, I’ve recently become aware of the fact that freelancers actually are paid to write this same stuff.

Well, I should clarify that I’ve been aware of this for quite some time, but previously I had seen it as being below me as it wasn’t something that could financially replace my other occupational efforts…but since the other efforts are gone…I’m looking toward the future.

So…basically, I’m going freelance.

Actually, it’s more than that.  I’m going pro.  Not only are there many opportunities for writing for random folks across the internet, there’s also been an opportunity for me to write for local theater groups for a while which I just haven’t pursued.

But what does this mean?

Well, it means that the novels are going to take a back seat…

I’m going to complete Agora Files Part 2, seeing as I still feel rather bad about how much of a cliffhanger that series has been left on…and I believe I can actually make it into the last book of that series (I’m still working on some of those details)…but then the focus will be more on other efforts.

That’s not to say I won’t write any more novels, but that they will go back to hobbyist status…something I do in spare time, instead of something I do to find success.  There just simply isn’t enough success available there for me right now.

The blog will continue to exist in the current form for a while, I believe.  But, I’m not making any promises there either.

I’m making changes…changes that have been necessary for a long time.

And hopefully changes that won’t disappoint those followers I have found over the years as a novelist…

I’m pretty excited about where this all could lead…even if it’s a fairly big unknown…

Have fun out there!

Book Review: Kidnap: Book 1 of Guy Erma and Son of Empire by Sally Ann Melia

So, you might have noticed that I had reviewed a very similar sounding book not so long ago.  In fact, it was a very very similar version of this book, as in, the non-serialized version of this very book.

But, my friends out at iRead Blog Tours asked if I would be willing to give my thoughts on the serialized version of the book as well.  And, of course, me being the ever-willing pawn to folks trying to shill their books, I agreed.

As mentioned above, Kidnap is the serialized version of Guy Erma and the Son of Empire, which should be obvious from the full title.

There does appear to be some rather minor changes between the two versions, but overall, this seems to be purely the first act of the book which, I believe, is intended to now be split into three parts.

But enough of that, how about I get into reviewing this section of the book:

Everybody knows Guy Erma.  Well, almost everybody.  In fact, there seems to be only one person who doesn’t have a direct knowledge of the titular character of this novel, the Son of Empire himself, Prince Teodor.  However, these two seem to have an ongoing relationship which continually works parallel to each other, until the Prince is kidnapped, of course.

Guy is led on a wild adventure attempting to seek out the truth of the Prince’s disappearance, as well as learning a lot of the dark inner workings of the government which may or may not have played a part in this kidnapping.

I’m not much on political thrillers, but this book does have a fair portion of intriguing world building and edge of your seat adventure that it’s hard to mark it down for such a trivial genre issue.  That being said, the political pieces seem to get a little confusing from time to time, while also being altogether rather obvious.

My issues with genre aside, Melia builds a very interesting world, filled with enough unique items that one can’t help but want to read further just to figure out more about the intricacies of this world, like, what is this Dome that they keep talking about, how do blades help you jump higher, and how exactly is Guy Erma so well known when he appears to come from such humble beginnings.

The end of this first book in the series seems to leave us on quite the cliffhanger.  We see Guy questioning how he got where he is, as well as attempting to determine what is really going on…and what he has actually found himself in the middle of.

In other words, if you read the first book, you’ll definitely need to read the next.  And speaking as one who has read the whole thing, I can state that you won’t be disappointed.  This is a fast-paced adventure that will leave you wanting for more.

Buy it now!

Fat Mogul vs. The Year of Marketing

from cakepicturegallery.com

In my attempts to become something of a more reputable blogger, I’ve been spending some time, as of late, doing what they call a content audit, which is basically that you review old posts, clean them up if necessary, and you know, recognize the more popular ones and do something to make more like that, or whatever.

Mostly, I’ve just been taking a look back in time to see what I have been talking about on here over the years, as well as doing minor amounts of cleanup work on posts I’ve never read a second time.

Whilst doing this last week, I came across a post which seemed highly notable to me…One that stated I would begin official marketing efforts on my book.  Post date on that post: March 2014.

That’s right, for the last year I’ve been making sure to, once a day, do something which could be considered a marketing effort for my books.

After coming across this post, I realized that it might be about time to do some reflection on what all of this has actually meant for me.

I mean, I’ve spent over a year now working on trying to get my books to have more sales and all that. I’m not going to pretend that my marketing efforts were all that grand in scale or anything, but I’ve definitely attempted many of the standard efforts in order to put myself out there.

And the question that should be asked at this point is: Was it worth it?

This question couldn’t have come at a better time.  With my current status as an unemployed stay at home dad type of fellow, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on my daily activities in order to ensure more effective use of my much more limited time.

Previous to finding this post, I hadn’t even considered determining whether what I was doing was of any worth, but more trying to find ways to get all of the stuff done I needed to get done in a day without dropping anything.

Now that I’ve realized it’s been a year of marketing…I think I can officially state that what I’ve done has been mostly for naught.

I don’t want to pretend that I haven’t had a great year in book sales.  The last twelve months blew the prior twelve months out of the water…but the amount of effort definitely does not add up to the return on that time investment.

My efforts, although definitely working toward increasing my exposure, have been mostly in vain.

So, as with many other items in my daily activity list, I’m dropping many of these.  Things like my goodreads group, forced twitter interactions, facebook fan page shares, and a whole host of other things, they’re going by the wayside for the time being.  Pieces of them will definitely stay in place, but they won’t be standard daily necessities.

This is being done so I can pursue other avenues of increasing my exposure, including working toward finding freelance writing opportunities, as well as locating groups looking for short stories and flash fiction.  In other words, I’m dropping the rather obnoxious activities in order to find opportunities to do more writing…possibly for money.

I can’t promise any of this will pan out either, but I’ve definitely tried the marketing thing per the standard methods and have found it to be lacking.  Changing gears, once again, which is the name of the game for me right now, it appears.

Have fun out there!

Flash Fiction Friday: Mid-life

For the record, those of you who know that at the time of this article getting posted I will be on a big ol’ roadtrip, no, I did not write this on the road, but a few days before departure.  I’ll admit there’s some truth to the below, but ultimately, it’s mostly in fun…and an homage to the family I do absolutely adore…and will be missing greatly at the time this thing hits the page.

What is it about the male mid-life crisis and cars?  Perhaps it’s that feeling of escaping the daily routine the thirty-something male finds appealing, and so clearly defined by that of the automobile?

Whatever it is, the image is clear.  Finding himself with a paunch he never thought he would have, a family, a house, bills, children, more bills, a desk job, and altogether a life far different from that of the early 20-something he still believes himself to be, somewhere deep within his subconscious, the mid-life man (a misnomer in the age of extended life spans), seems to find himself at a crossroads.  And where there are roads, there must be cars.

The idea is simple.  The midlife man has worked hard to get where he is, has sacrificed, has struggled, and ultimately, has made a ton of compromises for the purposes of building a life for himself and his family.  But no matter how much that life may be perfect, there comes a time where he finally has to come to terms with how far separated it is from the plans he had developed for himself a decade earlier.

So, the easy answer is to do something selfish.  Something altogether stupid.  Something….reckless.

For many, this would be to buy the vehicle of his dreams.  A motorcycle, a sports car, or perhaps one of those army-style jeeps.  Something to show to himself that he is still the master of his own destiny.

For Carlos, it was to travel.

Carlos was thirty-three when his midlife crisis finally came full tilt.  He had struggled with it for years, working on a plethora of different avenues in which to avoid his own crisis and perhaps rectify the separation of youthful dreams and the reality of age.  Ultimately, reality, as always, won out.

And so, feeling guilty for leaving his wife and children, he departed for a long weekend on the road, just by himself.  He loved those he left behind dearly, and every part of his crisis struggled against his feelings of unhappiness when he knew that these four people made him happier than he could have ever thought possible.  He feared they would think they were at fault, that he might not return.

Sometimes he even feared that he wouldn’t.

But he would.  He always would.  Not simply because of his feelings of responsibility towards them, but because of his ultimate love for the four people he had made his life with.  They were the reason he was able to sacrifice so much of himself, of his ideal version of himself.  Because he wanted their lives to be perfect.

But the time had come.  He needed to be free.  Just for a few days.  Just for some time to remember what it was like to be young and wild and selfish.

So, with tearful goodbyes, he set off onto the highways and toward his destination.  He did have a destination, although he knew it was nothing more than an excuse.  So did his wife.

For hours and hours he drove on in silence, nothing to keep him awake except the droning of talk radio and rubber against asphalt.  Many times along the way, he considered turning back, knowing that he simply did not have the energy he had in his youth to perform this feat of cross-country travel any longer.  Ultimately knowing that he didn’t truly know how to cope with the silence any longer.

As the sun came up the next morning, and he was not yet halfway to his destination, he struggled further with the plan, the plan to get away.

His feelings of guilt about his selfish act had become overriden.  Carlos suddenly became aware, notably aware, of something he had long forgotten.  Not that he loved his family, because that he was all too aware of.  But that he missed them.  That he needed them.  And that providing for them, no matter what it might cost the young version of himself, was what he lived for.  What he needed.

He drove on, fighting the urge to turn back and take them all in his arms, knowing he should see this all thought, but also knowing that something had happened to him over the course of that long night.  Something that must happen to all men as they travel across the divide of middle age.  He realized the younger version of himself was an idiot.

His dream life was the one he led.  And the one he would always return to.

 

Have fun out there!

Fat Mogul vs. Friends

Ha! No, I’m not talking about these friends.

I’ve given a lot of advice on here for how to market your books, how to write your books, and basically, just how to cope with being an author.  But there’s one piece of advice I haven’t yet touched on…one that might be the second most important piece of advice you’ll ever hear (the first, of course, being: “Just write it already!”).

You need friends.

No, I’m not talking about sycophantic friends who will prop you up whenever you’re down.  I’m talking about people who are really there for you and want to help you do the best you possibly can.  These friends, will, of course, help you promote your books, by being awesome cheerleaders who want to tell everyone about the awesome thing you’ve done.  But they’ll also be the folks who will tell you when they think you’ve fallen back somehow, whether it be through your writing (hopefully as beta readers and not on a released book…but you’ve got to learn somehow, right), or through your inability to market yourself effectively.

I couldn’t tell you how often I get told by my friends and family about how I need to do [INSERT FAIRLY STANDARD MARKETING CONCEPT HERE], which I know I should, but still haven’t.  It might be slightly annoying to hear these things over and over again, but it’s also the kick in the behind that I need to get myself moving forward…at the snail’s pace in which I am accustomed.

I’m terrible at self-promotion.  I really want to insure that any activity I get involved in will be worth my time.  So, for instance: all of you who have told me that I should get involved in book signings or Q&A sessions.  Here’s where my head goes when you mention it: Me, alone, behind a table, with a sign saying, “Meet the author of these awesome books that you’ll love”, with absolutely no one coming around to pay me any heed.  Now, that might be the reality of things, but at the same time, just having that table creates visibility…something I don’t have now, pretty much simply because of my own fears about the idea of sitting there all alone.

Meaning, each time you remind me that I should do it…I get a lot closer to doing it.  And will…just not today.

But seriously, friends and family are the key to a successful author, in my opinion.  You need these folks to keep you moving forward when you’re feeling at your lowest.  I honestly don’t know how authors who keep their author-hood from their friends/family do it.  If I didn’t have friends and family, I’m not sure I’d have any readers as a first result…secondly, they’re the ones who actually tell me about their experiences with my books, and keep talking to me about them.  Every once in a while I get random folks who have done some reading and I get to enjoy conversing with them, but they’re not nearly as common as just having someone I haven’t talked to in ages say, “Hey, I read your book…it was alright, man.”

Use your friends, use your family.  I’m not saying that you need to force them to read your books…but make it really easy for them to do so accidentally.  Remind them often that you have written something as well, because even if they don’t read the books, you’ll find that they’ll want to tell everyone about them anyways.

Because…for some reason…telling people that your friend is an author is a cool thing to do.

I didn’t know that until I became one

My friends and family are the sole reason I continue writing…well…maybe not the sole reason, but they’ve definitely been a strong support system which has kept me from quitting.  I suggest you invite yours into the folds as well, by any means necessary.

Thanks to my friends and family for supporting me these last couple years.  I truly hope to make you proud as the next years come along.

Have fun out there!

Fat Mogul vs. Nero Days

found at news.discovery.com where they claim its from a movie poster…but they don’t say what movie. click to go to their site.

A friend of mine recently made me aware of the idea of Zero and Nero Days, basically being the days where you either get Zero writing done or Nearly Zero writing done.

This has been my life as of late.

Not that I’m complaining.  I’ve actually been mostly enjoying my unemployment, even if I’ve been ill for the majority of it so far and just really haven’t quite been getting nearly as much done as I would like.  But that’s alright, because I’m getting to chill with two of my most favorite people on the planet all day every day.  And soon I’ll get to add another to that group of people.

But I miss writing.

I’ve got about three different projects I’m working at simultaneously and all of them are basically stalled.  I mean, I’ve been moving rather slowly forward on my re-read of Agora Files 2, the murder mystery deal I’ve been writing is currently in hiatus to allow me to re-read it with fresh eyes, the item I’m writing for the anthology I’m involved in is, well…it really just needs two days of writing to get completed.  (Update: Three weeks later, and not much has changed except that I finished the first draft of the anthology piece)

But these are all things that could be taken care of quite quickly…things that I just need a few hours to sit back in the quiet and just rock through some words.  Something that I intend to carve out soon…mostly because I need it.

In fact, I’m keeping this post short in the idea that I’m going to do exactly that.

Granted…I won’t actually get to the creative writing portion of my day until something like 12 hours from now (if I’m lucky)…but this will just mean that I get through the other stuff a whole lot faster.

So, yeah…sorry for being lame, but I’m keeping this cut back because I could really use the writing time.

Have fun out there!