A.R. Kahler's Blog, page 6

Another Anniversary

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while. And today, being a day of lying in bed, waiting to go to acupuncture so my neck will stop making me hate life, seems like the perfect day to do it.

It’s been a year.

One year since I moved to Seattle.

You know, Seattle. It always looks like this.

Back then, I moved into a crazy artist-loft-warehouse thing I’d found on Craigslist while still in Iowa. Because, you know, life decisions are best made like that.

this was the entrance. just to give you an idea

In the time between then and now, I’ve done…many things.

By the end of this year I will have finished writing six books. Yes, six. Next year I have three slated to finish and I can’t even tell you how relaxing that sounds. And you only know about half of them.

I’ve traveled cross-country with my mom and a steamer-trunk full of books (and other, less-important worldly goods). Badlands, Devil’s Tower, Glacier…there’s a lot of beauty in America, turns out.

I’ve gotten neck-deep into the circus world. Costuming and stilt-walking and hanging from things. It’s been crazy, to say the least.

Speaking of, if you take a moment to vote for my company, you can help ensure further awesome circus events and photos.

Oh, and I’ve gotten three new tattoos. Having a tattoo-artist-apprentice as a friend is a very, very dangerous thing. (There will be photos. In another post.)

In a little over a week I head to Cali to spend my birthday with a friend and Thanksgiving with my agenting team. Then we return to a crazy December of gigs and writing and hopefully some snow-filled-mountain trekking.

So yeah. That’s my first year in Seattle in a nutshell. Not bad.

Not bad at all.

A year after The First Sale: a writerly retrospective

Some of you have been following me for a while, back since the days I was Alex_Incognito on Twitter, or even longer than that–back when I was the nerdy boy who read way too much fantasy and pissed off the writing departments of many prestigious schools because of it. If so, you get a medal for sticking around. Others only just found me through my books, which is humbling and crazy and precisely what this post is about: Books.

 

It’s been a little over a year since I sold my first series, THE HUNTED. Those who followed me before that knew that the year of pitching and waiting (yes, a full year) had been absolute hell. I was in Scotland, doing my Masters in creative writing, and had pretty much sent myself into exile in the woods for my last few months in the country. I didn’t give up, though; My agent was unflagging, and all my author friends told me that it only took one yes to change your world.

I didn’t believe them, but they were right.

This has been my motto. I’ve had this since Junior Year of high school.

 

A month after I sold THE HUNTED to Patricia Riley at Spencer Hill, I sold my thesis project, THE IMMORTAL CIRCUS, to David Pomerico at 47North.

Three months later, the first IMMORTAL CIRCUS book was published. Six months after book one, ACT TWO debuted.

if you told me 1.5 years ago I’d be holding my books, I’d have laughcried in disbelief

 

By the end of this year, I will have written five books. I’ve attended book expos in New York and Seattle. I’ve received fanmail from people I don’t know (and that’s seriously the strangest thing in the world). It’s humbling. It’s amazing. It’s just the beginning.

Author/Blogger rooftop party at BEA ’13. Iowa boy, meet New York.

 

A few weeks ago, I did my first real signing in the bookstore I grew up in as a child. I got to see the teachers that inspired me, got to sign books for people I’d never met but had somehow inspired in turn. We sold out. I can’t even begin to describe how it felt to sit in that bookstore and sell my own book–my own words, on the shelves I used to haunt as a kid. If that’s not a perfect example of life coming full-circle, I don’t know what is.

I might have been the only kid in town who bought Animorphs and Wheel of Time with the same allowance money.

 

It’s been a crazy ride. It’s going to keep getting crazier. Already, I’m slotted into more book expos and plotting tours with fellow authors. I’ve got more series in the works and more surprises up my sleeve. Every day I wake up with more words to write and worlds to create, and for that I’m incredibly grateful.

So, here’s to another year of big dreams and bigger realities. It’s not quite New Year’s, but what the hell: Every day’s a toast to something.

 

Next Time: Alex Recreates ‘The Oregon Trail’ Without Getting Bitten By a Rattlesnake. Or, my roadtrip west.

The Other Side of the Table

or: My First Conference as an Author

 

I’m not new to the conference circuit. I first attended an SCBWI conference in Winchester (yes, my first was in the UK) in 2009. It was terrifying and exciting and it reminded me why I wanted to be a published author: I wanted to be on the other side of the panel discussion or pitch table. I went to many more conferences hoping to land an agent or editor, hoping to one day be amongst the published.

This last weekend, I did just that.

 

Writing is a solitary venture. For 90% of the time, we sit in front of our computers and stare at a word document and use Twitter/FB to act as our social outlet. Some of us write with friends, some of us get workshopped, but I’d assert that the real brunt of the work is done alone. Conferences for authors and authors-to-be are a strange mix of business and pleasure: it’s a chance to meet your peers, socialize, and hopefully land the Next Big Deal. (I’ll be writing more about conference etiquette soon.) I’ve never been somewhere that is such a mix of nerves and fear and excitement. Everyone’s there to buy and sell, but we’ll make sure to try and have a good time while doing so. As an author who’s gone through hoops and suffered tons of disappointment, making it to the other side put the emphasis on ‘enjoyment’ rather than business. And oh, how the experience changed.

 

During the first panel, I sat with a few friends from college–both of whom now are working for The Big Six–and their boss, and realized afterward that I was basically living the author’s wet dream: sitting beside editors and agents and just joking about life, rather than worrying about how to pitch. I attended after-parties and pitch sessions, hung out with the big guys at the bar (this industry lives on coffee and booze, no joke). I met my agents for the first time and had slumber parties, stayed up til wayyy too late talking about books and life. Suddenly, the whole event felt like being with family and friends, one big party to celebrate all we’ve done and worked our asses off for.

And I suppose, that’s why I wanted to write this. For those of you feeling like the road is too long, or it will continue to be lonely even after the deal. Yes. It’s rough. It takes time–sometimes lots of time. But it’s worth it. It may not happen with this conference or the next, but there’s something immensely satisfying in sitting amongst the people who have become your peers, knowing you went through hell and back to put yourself there.

It’s worth it. It’s totally, totally worth it.

If nothing else, you get free booze.

That time I wrote vampires

Hey friends,

Still waking up over here but, if you’re anything like me, I just checked my email and realized that Kindle Worlds has launched today. Which means I can finally tell you about my new projects. I won’t launch into the history just yet because, well, I need coffee like woah. But long story short, I was asked to write a few pieces for the launch of the new platform. So I did.

 

First, I wrote some short stories. The first one just debuted and it’s called WITH BLOOD ON HIS HANDS. (clicking covers takes you to the Amazon page) The second story, THE INITIATION will be out next week.

 

Then I was asked to turn a short story into a novel. A serialized novel. So I am. It’s called THE TRISTRAM CYCLE and there are witches and vampires and walking dead. I’m also still in the process of writing it (yay serials!) so that’s kind of terrifying. But it does mean you can influence how it ends. Which is cool.

So yeah. You should go read them. They’re uber cheap and uber fun. I tried to write them so people with no knowledge of The Vampire Diaries will still know what’s going on. Hopefully I succeeded.

Now, coffee.

Rolling with the punches

This is the update post. The I’m still alive and functioning post. But this is far from the I have things figured out post.

 

I’m back in Seattle, couchsurfing with friends and trying to cobble together a summer. Every day feels like walking through clouds. There are moments of clarity or presence or joy, but much of the time is spent feeling adrift. Like I’m elsewhere. Or like I should be elsewhere.

My initial response is to reach out, to plan in advance, to try and carve out something solid. But this time…this time I’m just letting myself fall.

 

Not out of masochism. No, this is out of preservation. Right now, I know that nothing is going to last: I can feel it in my gut. So I’m done planning out the next few weeks, done trying to find places to stay past right now because right now is all I have. I’m done telling myself there was a reason you were sent back here because that builds expectation. I know that my greatest lesson is learning to let go of expectations, to just exist and not put pressure on things that may or may not be.

Be.

Here.

Now.

 

It’s terrifying. It’s every lesson I’ve read about in action. And for that, I’m grateful. Because there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I sit with the lesson and live it.

Sometimes giving up power is the greatest act of strength.

An account of being deported

Maybe this isn’t the time to write this post. Maybe the emotions are still too raw.

Maybe I’m still too in the thick of things.

 

But today, I’m being deported.

 

Not for anything exciting, mind. I was denied entry to Scotland because I didn’t realize I needed a visa to be of service. As part of my stay here, I was hoping to see friends at a holistic retreat–which entailed mild volunteering in exchange for a place to stay. Apparently I needed a special expensive visa for that. Apparently, that was enough reason to bar me from the country. Because of my intent. Because even though I can say I won’t volunteer, the fact that I intended to is a death knell.

 

I’m trying to count my blessings. I was able to stay in the country for a day. I was able to see a few friends, visit the retreat. I’ve had a great deal of emotional support from friends and family near and far. For that, for all of that love, I am grateful.

But it would be insincere to deny the negative emotions.

* The anger and shame of being treated like a criminal when all I wanted was to give my time to a place I love.

* The frustration of an airline (US Air) that is beyond incompetent. Yesterday, I was told they were flying me back to my point of departure–LaGuardia–even though my journey began in Seattle. I argued this. They said their hands were tied. So I bought a ticket from LaGuardia to my home in Iowa. Today, I learned they booked me through to Seattle. They can’t give me any paperwork to show their mistake. And since I’m being deported, any complaints I have against them won’t have any sway. So that’s another $300 I pissed away. The $1100 for the tickets apparently wasn’t enough. I am a writer. I am broke as fuck. This is big money when you can’t even afford health insurance.

* The fear of not knowing where I’m going to live or what I’m going to do for the next few weeks. My room has been subleased through late July. I have nothing on my itinerary and no clue what to do with myself now

Most importantly, though, is the sadness of having my home taken away.

I try to lean on the teachings of Pema Chodron, that now is the time to soften to the experience, to lean into the pain and find comfort there. And it hurts. It hurts like hell. I’ve been looking forward to this for the last six months. I’ve worked my ass off so I might have a chance to rest, to give back and give to myself. Instead, it feels like it’s all being taken away. It feels like all that work and suffering has been for nothing, and now it’s back to the grind. No vacation, Alex–you don’t deserve one. No rest.

I try to lean into this, to not shy away. This is the opportunity to open up to uncertainty and stop planning and let life provide. To let go, not know. All things pass. Stop expecting things of life and people and get out of this pattern.

I’m hoping this is the last curve ball for a while.

I need to rest.

 

I really need a vacation.

New Ink + New Series

Hey friends,

In about five hours I get on the road to start the whole NY/UK adventure. And before then, I wanted to share a few things I’ve been sitting on for a while. Because they go hand-in-hand.

A few months ago, I got a new tattoo. Of a raven. Any reason?

Easy: I wrote a new book. The first in a trilogy. A YA trilogy about gods and art students and Ragnarok. A trilogy with multiple love arcs and characters of various ethnicities and genders and orientations. This trilogy is titled Ravenborn. And the first book is Darkness Divine.

I’ve written a lot of things. I’ve loved all of them.

But this…this is my baby.

 

And because I’m feeling generous, I’m giving you a little preview.

No, I’m giving you a pretty damn big preview.

 

The first two chapters, in fact. In handy PDF format.

 

Just click the Raven.

Enjoy.

 

 

As of right now, this is still on submission. If you’re an editor and interested, contact my agent: Laurie McLean of Foreword Literary.

 

 

Travel Plans

Hey friends!

So, as many of you know, I am very soon (read: tomorrow) heading out on an adventure!

Here’s the breakdown:

May 29th – June 3rd – New York, BEA! I’ll have trading cards for THE IMMORTAL CIRCUS and MARTYR. So find me! Hug me! Help me navigate the Big Apple!

June 3rd – July 23rd – SCOTLAND! And maybe Iceland and Glastonbury if I can swing it.

 

As you can see, I’ll be overseas for the launch of ACT TWO (Which is June 11th…you have a copy?)… This means that I’m going to be relatively out of the loop on things. I’m going to keep up appearances as much as I can, but I’m also on vacation so. Yeah. I will be spending about 6 weeks in the woods without wifi and I am perfectly, perfectly happy with that. (Okay, I’ll have a smartphone but that’s only for emergencies!) This author already finished three books this year. He needs a vacation.

I’ll update as I can, but expect some silence on here and Twitter.

Love!

Chimera – Day 8

The final set, and perhaps my third favorite….

VIII

Songs for Chimera

in the style of Hill

1.

Lord of sandstone, moonstone, granite: keeper of questions, snakeskins and histories: shapeshifter: gatekeeper: sheepherder & eater: stargazer: torch-lighter, -bearer, -burner: founder of fire.

 

‘My myth is truth,’ Chimera says. ‘I am more you than me.’

 

 

2.

Goat embraced the cherry-groves, the adder, fawn, flora. His light a firefly, moss-worn lantern, moonbeam and star-cry.

 

Lion favored temples, traced ley lines in his veins. Hungry god, Muse of midden heaps. He, who gave up silence, spoke only heartbeats.

 

 

3.

His mirror, broken literature: sneers of Borges, laugh lines of Foucault. In secret, Meyer, Rowling. Beast and Burden break apart, strata of sagas; his self, plundered, asunder.

 

His body, Wonderland—mad and riddled. For one wondrous moment, he was himself. Chimera wept.

 

Chimera changed.

 

 

Chimera – Day 7

This is, perhaps, my favorite from all of these.

 

VII

Chimera’s Garden

in the style of Pegeen Kelly

In his garden there is a tree. There are no leaves on this tree, nor any branches—at least, not what I should call a leaf or a branch, or even a trunk. So perhaps it is not even a tree. But it is a tree: it grows older, reaches higher. Its limbs are white. They are bone. Some are hollow, like a bird’s breastbone, and these lift to the clouds above as fingers, or delicate lace. The clouds are grey and white, like bones, and so one cannot discern the difference between branch and cloud. Not on a day like this. Not in the rain. I have never seen the tree in sun. Perhaps the sun is not welcome in Chimera’s garden. Perhaps I am not welcome either. In any case, the dirt is white snow and the tree is bone and its branches bare, save for the hearts. They are not grotesque, these hearts, though it is hard to explain them otherwise. Each is vibrant and red, the color of hummingbirds or robin chests, and they still beat. They do not drip blood. They beat on the tips of these bone branches and if you listen close enough, you can hear their rhythm, the soft pumppump, pumppump of raindrops on old barn-wood. They are rubies. They glow, for there is no sun here, no daylight; they glow and the tree is white and the whole thing beats softly, the sound of sighing virgins right before they lose their name. Chimera rests beneath this tree. He is a proud beast, but old, with haunches like a dog, or a hyena. His eyes are closed as he sleeps beneath the beating tree. Both sets of eyes—the lion’s, and the goat’s. Their necks are curled against each other like the serpents on the caduceus, like the serpent of Chimera’s tail. There are many serpents in this garden, but they are sleeping too. I have not seen them. But I have laid my ear against the snow and heard the hiss of their passing, the sighs of their slumber. They hiss like Chimera’s breath. Once, I came when he was gone. His garden stood empty, the hearts content in their whispered rhythm. I went forth and touched a heart, felt its heat. It spoke of stars. My palm returned pink. When I left that day, I saw him watching. He stood atop a pillar. He was dusted with snow and still my palm tingled, warm. He watched me leave. Now, I stand within his garden and watch him sleep. I watch him sleep and guard his tree of hearts, and when I place my hand to my chest, I feel snow.