David R. Michael's Blog, page 44

Nano Day 12

Today's Words: 0
Month to Date: 20041
 
It's official: I'm starting over on this novel.
 
I'm not scrapping everything I've written, though. Hell, no.
 
Today I continued what I started yesterday, which is going back over my characters and giving them all a lot more detail. When I launched into Nano, my character's (which my RPG session creation habit keeps wanting me to call "PC's") were little more than thumbnail sketches. Names with a couple ideas attached.
 
I realized this week, as I finished the beginning of my novel, that I was uncertain how to proceed (even with my sketchy outline) because I didn't really know who the characters were. I had put them into situations, including the novel's "inciting incident", but I wasn't as sure of their reactions as I should be. Because it's hard to know how a thumbnail should react.
 
So me and my character's are spending some quality time together.
 
After that, which might be tomorrow, or might be Sunday, I'm going to see about getting the story itself better defined. I have an outline, yes, but like the character's, it's a bit sketchy. I'm going to expand the outline and see if I can't come up with some useful chapter breaks.
 
Finally, though somewhat concurrent with all of the above, I'm moving this novel project into StoryBox, by fellow indie software developer and writer Mark Fassett. Mark's been adding features to StoryBox that sound both interesting and useful. I've avoided most specialized writing software up to now because how that software expected me to work and how I worked were seldom compatible. StoryBox, though, might be exactly what I was looking for. And, if not, I know Mark, and can badger him about making it more so.
 
-David
 

THE SUMMONING FIRE Gets 5 Stars at Murphy's Library!

Murphy's Library gives The Summoning Fire 5 stars!
 
…From the moment the summoning happens until the end, I would say it's a read to be read during the day, way before the night. And even then you could have some nightmares. The story is so well written that you feel the need to look behind you while reading the tensest moments, and I got my fill of shivers…


…Overall, yes, I'd totally recommend this book. But let me warn you, it is the type of horror that scares you, not the type of horror that makes you laugh. Don't expect a trash horror novel, but [a] very well written scary book.
 
Read the whole review here…
 
-David
 

Nano Day 11

Today's Words: 0
Month to Date: 20041
 
"0″ isn't entirely accurate. I've written about 1500 words so far today. And they are related to the Nano novel. They just aren't, you know, words.
 
Today I realized that I needed to get to know my characters better. I could've just kept writing as I have been, but … I haven't been entirely happy with some of it. The depth isn't there. I'm not really seeing the story through the eyes of my characters. So I've spent my writing time today trying to squeeze my way into their heads and behind their eyes.
 
I've also been thinking-via-typing (in The Journal, of course) about how I want the comedy parts of the story to work. I will confess that I'm somewhat intimidated by trying to be deliberately funny. That's another reason I'm trying to get to know my characters better: I need to see them more completely, so I can emphasize their funny/odd/quirky features, personalities, and behaviors. So I can make their dialogue less straight, more odd/offbeat/distinctive.
 
While not-writing today, I had the odd idea of writing the novel to completion, then going back and giving it the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. That is, go through the story and make fun of it. Add in the sarcastic and self-referential lines that might seem to be missing and could be ad libbed by hecklers in the audience. If it didn't seem so much like doing double work, I'd take the idea more seriously.
 
-David
 

Nano Day 10

Today's Words: 1993
Month to Date: 20041
 
Possibly the fastest 20K words I've ever written.
 
A friend of mine suggests I should be able to write even faster. That I'm sloughing. Since, as he puts it, it's not like I have to upend my life so much to participate in Nano.
 
In response, I say: Yeah. Well.
 
I did use Nano (and the end of DSL) as a good time to rejigger my daily schedule. Now I get up at 8-ish in the morning. Instead of, well, variably later than 8. I get more done when I get up about 8. So it's a good thing. The hard part is getting to bed early enough that getting up at 8 is even feasible. I've been self-employed, working from home, since 1999. It's hard to not stay up as late as I can. For no other reason than: I can. Wouldn't you?
 
Still, getting up earlier I get more done than getting up later. Not entirely sure why.
 
My standard Nano Day this month:

Get up (yawn)
Breakfast (yum)
Workout (sigh)
Shower (warm)
Write (type-type-type)
Lunch (leftovers or frozen?)
Write some more (if I haven't hit 2K words yet)
Marketing (of various sorts)
Time Wasting (forums, personal email)
Dinner (reminds me: need meat)
Family Time (Netflix! DVR!)
Customer Support (makes TV more watchable)

 
Next month I'll have to slot in some development time for The Journal. New Years will be looming by then.
 
-David
 

Nano Day 9

Today's Words: 2025
Month to Date: 18048
 
As predicted, I (finally) started writing in Part 2.
 
Part 2 should, according to my outline and preplanning, span about 2/3′s of the book. I've put Events in Motion. For the next 40K-50K words, those Events should bump into each other and spin off New Events in Motion, and so on.
 
Writing 2000 words/day, the word counts stack up pretty fast. In the past 9 days I've written as much as some entire months back in the summer. I'm curious if I'll keep up this pace after Nano has ended and I've finished the first draft of this book. Since I'll have to devote some time to The Journal soon, I may have to ease up a bit. Or maybe not.
 
-David
 

Writing Progress Report

 
Writing progress report for the week starting Monday, November 1, 2010.
 








Writing Project


Words




Monday


Nano Novel


2015




Tuesday


Nano Novel
Edited Door to the Sky chapters 1 & 2.


2017




Wednesday


Nano Novel
Edited "Celebrating Christmas on the Moon".


2001




Thursday


Nano Novel


2022




Friday


Nano Novel


1997




Saturday


Nano Novel


2047




Sunday


Nano Novel


1925














Total



14024




 








Marketing/Submission




Monday


Updated the Serene Morning promo threads on KB and MR.
Updated the TSF promo thread on MR.




Tuesday





Wednesday





Thursday


Edited Door to the Sky chapters 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.




Friday


Posted a FREE PDF version of "Nostalgia" to Guns & Magic Bookstore.
Posted a FREE PDF version of Nasty, Brutish & Short Short to Guns & Magic Bookstore.




Saturday


Edited Door to the Sky chapters 10-20. And bonus stories.




Sunday





 
Reading List

The Terror by Dan Simmons.

 

Nano Day 8

Today's Words: 1999
Month to Date: 16023
 
I feel like I've said this a few times now: I'm almost finished with Part 1.
 
Today I wrote the rest of the Big Scene that ends Part 1, plus the requisite "backstory followup" for the Big Scene. So I expect that tomorrow I'll be writing the first scene or two of Part 2. Unless I do that the day after.
 
Switching gears from humor (or at least light hearted) to horror has been easier than the reverse. Once I get into Grim Mode, I have to make an effort to get out of it. I think a notable portion of my later editing of this novel is going to be going through and "lightening up" many scenes. I'll be looking for something funny (or at least light hearted) that I can be adding to a scene or emphasizing within the scene.
 
I do like my jumble of writing styles in Part 1. I don't know that I'll continue that in Part 2, though, because Part 2 doesn't need as much backstory woven in.
 
-David
 

Baptism (Part 1 of 3)

 
by David Michael
 
Winter Solstice
 
Myra stood on the lip of the broken bridge, her bare feet on hot concrete. The sun looked down at her, unspeaking as always, while the dry air swirled dust around her, caressing her, once more trying to seduce her, trying to reach what she held inside her.
 
In front of her, the twisted superstructure of the bridge littered the rocky terrain of what had once been the bottom of a bay. Below her, even more dust blew over and through the smashed Mazdas and Fords and Toyotas and Peterbilts as the wind looked in vain for anything she had left behind. Among the vehicles, she could see the desiccated corpses and wind-stripped skeletons of the drivers and passengers as tiny stick-figure shapes drawn in white on black asphalt or as shadows pressed against shattered windows.
 
She didn't remember visiting this place, yet here was her handiwork spread before her.
 
Was this the end? What would happen if she took the next step?
 
Behind her she heard the children talking, asking about her, asking about food. Not all of them could speak. Few of them spoke the same language. Had she not brought them, they would not be here.
 
Is that why she had brought them? To see the end?
 
She didn't remember when she had started sparing the children. Her memory had become as broken and uneven as the bridge she stood on, as frayed as the suspender cables that hung from the lonely towers and moved with the wind.
 
She remembered drowning.
 
Spring Solstice
 
Drunk on mojitos, high on love and smelling of sex just consummated on the beach–to the scandalized protests of upper class mothers and grandmothers and the entertainment of their husbands and boyfriends and children–Myra Acevedo went swimming. Topless, because she decided not to worry about being naked now, and because she had no idea where Antonio had flung the sequined, aqua-colored top of her bikini, she adjusted her thong and walked into the water. And drowned.
 
She had been warned about the undertows, but she didn't remember swimming out far enough to reach them.
 
Since it felt like warm, strong hands grabbing her waist and pulling her under, she had thought at first that it was Antonio. That he had followed her into the water and was wanting to make love again. She tried to giggle, but it only sent saltwater up her nose and made her cough.
 
No longer amused, already needing to breathe and spit out the salty water in her mouth, she tried to twist free and kick for the surface.
 
The grip on her waist didn't let up, and continued pulling her down.
 
She couldn't see clearly in the water, but she couldn't see anyone near her. No one was holding her. No one was pulling her down. She might have thought she was suspended in the water, floating, except that the sparkling sunlight on the surface was receding as she looked.
 
Her lungs began to burn with the need to take a breath. Her ears roared with the nothing sounds of the water pushing against her eardrums.
 
She clawed at the water with cupped hands and kicked with her feet. She tried to grab the hands on her waist that she couldn't see, but only scratched her skin.
 
The water around her became darker. She could still see the sun directly overhead but it no longer offered any hope of the surface.
 
She had to breathe. She fought the urge. She tried to calm herself. That was what she had always heard. You had to calm yourself. You did more harm, and used up more oxygen, if you struggled.
 
She no longer seemed to be sinking. She felt no movement. She was suspended in a blue-green universe.
 
She hoped that Antonio or one of the lifeguards or someone–even one of the creepy old men who had watched so intently as she made love to Antonio–had seen her go under. With all the eyes that had been on her when she walked down the beach and into the water, someone must have noticed she had disappeared. Someone who even now must be swimming out to save her. She just needed to calm down, and everything would be OK.
 
The warmth encircling her waist spread to cover her body like a heavy blanket. If she didn't need to breathe, if her lungs and cheeks weren't threatening to burst–or collapse–she could have enjoyed the sensation of being enveloped by the warm water. It felt like slipping slowly into a mud bath at the spa, like heated towels being wrapped around her face. The roaring in her ears eased.
 
If only she could take a breath.
 
No one was coming. She didn't know how she knew that, but there was no doubt in her mind. She could feel–somehow–other people in the water, splashing in the tide along the shore and swimming toward the breakers and around the distant boats. None of those swimmers, though, were coming to help her. The people on the beach were talking about her and laughing–she could almost hear the echoes of their voices–thinking about her–she saw remembered flashes of herself walking, her round bottom smudged with sand, her breasts moving in rhythm with her steps. She had become the sole focus of everyone on the beach, but none of them had seen her go under.
 
Her calm flashed away like a school of silver fish, leaving her alone in the water. She tried to move her arms and legs, but they responded too slowly, as if the warm water had become crystal honey. She couldn't even panic, now that she wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to thrash about and grab something, anything. But there was nothing there.
 
At last, exhausted and unable to do anything else, she open her mouth.
The air rushed out of her mouth and nose in a fountain of bubbles that didn't seem slowed at all. She continued to flail and kick in slow motion as her last breath frothed and shot to the surface.
 
She expected more pain when the water claimed her. She expected to choke and cough.
 
Instead, as if the warmth had been waiting for her to let go, it now moved to claim her completely. She didn't choke. She felt no pain. The warm water came into her. Not just through her mouth and nose but through her fingers and toes and her belly and breasts and her back and legs.
 
She became the water. The water became her.
 
She died. She felt herself die. She didn't know what else it could have been. Death seemed the only possibility. But there was no darkness. There was no pain. And she did not leave.
 
The water around her became as bright as raw sunlight and then sunlight itself washed over her face as she came up out of the water. She had not even realized she was moving. Then she was standing on the water, feeling the shifting, faceted surface of the ocean on the soles of her feet.
 
She looked down at herself, uncertain what she would see. She saw her naked breasts, and below that saw she still wore the sequined, aqua-colored thong of her bikini. She looked at her arms and hands and her fingers and fingertips. Everything was as she expected it to be. Except everything was new. Her skin still glowed with the tropical tan she had spent so much time on the weeks before leaving with Antonio, but now she seemed to glow for real. Her muscles, toned by hours in the gym and long runs in the park, flexed and moved as they always had, but with a lushness and fullness she had never experienced.
 
And she was standing on the water.
 
She squatted and touched the water. Her finger went into the water as it always had. She pulled her hand back, and then touched the surface of the water again. This time, because she wanted it to, the water pushed back, indenting only a bit around her fingertip.
 
Still crouched, she looked down into the water below her and it was like looking through the glass of an aquarium. At first she thought she might see her body down there, because she had drowned and this had to be what it was like to die. But then she knew that she couldn't be down there, because she was up here. She had died, but she had not died.
 
She didn't know what that meant.
 
She heard anxious voices and shouts. She looked at the beach.
 
People stood on the beach, men and women and children, looking at her, pointing at her. As she looked at them, some of the people fell to their knees and crossed themselves.
 
Like an echo in her head, as if two parts of her expressed the same thing, she thought, They are praying. But then the echo split. –Why are they praying? –It is too late.
 
She stood. Too quickly. Her vision went double. Her head became too light and too heavy at once. She stumbled. One foot went ankle-deep into the water before the water–or she–remembered that she could walk on water now, and it rose to be level with the other foot still on the surface.
 
She straightened and faced the shore again. She saw Antonio standing with other vacationers and the waitstaff of the beachside bar. Antonio's face showed religious rapture, which she didn't expect. She stood before him on the water, naked except for a few square inches of Latex, and she could see his mouth moving. She could almost hear his prayer, even as far out as she was. She could hear the sounds of the words, but the words themselves did not reach her. As if part of her refused to hear.
 
–It is too late.
 
Myra cried out in pain and put her hands to her head, fingers pressing on her temples to keep her head from exploding. It was the first pain she had felt since–
 
Since she drowned.
 
Since she died.
 
Fear touched her and sent goosebumps down her back and up her stomach.
 
Why was she standing on the water? How–? Was this a dream?
 
The water opened to take her back into itself. This time she sank up to her knees.
 
Her eyes fixed on Antonio again. She could see him still praying–It is too late–but his eyes were closed now.
 
–Go to them. Part of her did not see just Antonio. She saw everyone on the beach. Everyone in the resort.
 
"Tony!" she shouted, forcing herself to see only him. She didn't want to see everyone. She wanted to see only Antonio.
 
She took her first step toward land. Then her next. The water still came up to her knees, as if she were standing on solid ground hidden beneath the wavelets. But the water was clear, and anyone could see she stood on nothing.
 
"Tony!"
 
Antonio opened his eyes and looked at her. She opened her arms as she continued walking toward him. She felt the resistance of the water decrease with each step. Arms still spread, she looked down and saw the water was down to her ankles. Now, though, it wasn't her feet coming up to the surface of the water. The water was receding to the level of her soles, as if the tide were going out.
 
More of the people on the shore, including Antonio, fell to their knees.
 
–It is too late.
 
She paused where the blue-green water touched the white sands of the shore, suddenly afraid of stepping onto the beach. The water made the decision for her, pulling away from the land and leaving her with her bare feet on the sand.
 
Her legs felt rubbery, insubstantial versus the hard earth, but she did not fall.
 
More people had gathered on the sandy shore, waiting for her, arranged like an amphitheater with her at the center. Those closest to her were all kneeling, genuflecting, crossing themselves again and again while saying prayers that were at once familiar and alien in both Spanish and English.
 
"It's …" Myra stopped her voice. She didn't want to say what she felt she must say. She clenched her jaw. She took a step toward Antonio.
 
She felt the sand shift–and change–under her foot. She felt the moisture of the sand sucked away. She looked back where she had first touched the sand and saw two dry footprints. She took another step, leaving another foot-shaped patch of dry sand that seemed to glow out of the damp, and felt the same shift and change. And the same sensation of water being taken away, out of the sand.
 
She felt the offshore breeze touch her then, and where it brushed against her the moisture it carried was stripped away.
 
She looked at the people gathered around. She forced herself to focus on Antonio. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to tell him to run away, far away.
 
"It's. Too. Late," she said, fighting against every word, and now trying not to resist coming any closer to Antonio.
 
Antonio opened his eyes and looked up at her when she finally stood over him. Her hands twitched as she fought to keep them at her sides.
 
"Myra," he said, his voice a thick whisper. Behind him, around them, the people whispered her name too, like a ripple through a pond. Myra. Myra. Myra.
 
She wanted to cry, but there were no tears in her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him she had died and he should run. That he should not touch her. That he should not let her touch him.
 
But what she said was, "It is too late." When he reached for her with his right hand, both of her hands closed on his like a sprung trap.
 
TO BE CONTINUED

Part 2 of "Baptism" will be Posted on
Monday, 15 November 2010.
 







Read the rest of the story on your ereader right now!
 




"Baptism" Edition


Price




Kindle edition (Amazon)


$0.99




Ebook (Smashwords)


$0.99








 

Nano Day 7

Today's Words: 1925
Month to Date: 14024
 
I'm almost finished with Part 1 of my Nano novel. Hopefully I'll get Part 1 wrapped up tomorrow and start on Part 2.
 
I'm going to call the first week of November/Nanowrimo a Success! I met my goal of writing 2K words/day every day this week. And I think some of what I wrote is pretty good. Obviously first draft material, but not dreadful. I think I should be able to keep up this pace through next week, as well.
 
I do worry that what I'm thinking is funny might come across as more mean. I don't have any choice, though, except to keep writing. I won't know if it's funny (or mean) until I finish it up and show it to people.
 
I've never before written anything with the intention of it being funny, so this is all new to me. Lots of room for self doubt. So far, though, I've been able to beat back the self doubt and keep writing.
 
On word and up word!
 
-David
 

Nano Day 6

Today's Words: 2047
Month to Date: 12099
 
Lookit. Writing on a Saturday. Been a while since I did that.
 
I'm coming up on the last big scene of Part 1 of my Nano novel. I expected to use fewer words to reach this point, but I'm OK with the count so far.
 
As I write I'm trying to "up the weird factor" since weird is supposed to be a big part of the book. I'm also trying to keep the prose light even as I deal with some moderately heavy issues. I'm also trying to avoid "walking the story" between scenes. Gotta skip the boring parts, you know.
 
I haven't posted an excerpt of my Nano novel yet. Not sure if I will.
 
-David