Travis Thrasher's Blog, page 13

2.0

They’ll always have one-up on us, guys. Always. They carried a human being in their stomach for nine months. Nine whole months. We eat a big burrito and complain about having pain for nine hours. Let’s face it . . . God decided to give the stronger of his two creations the burden and ability to conceive children. I’m sure he looked at Adam and then Eve and then looked back at Adam and shook his head.             He wouldn’t be able to handle it.              As men, we will always sit on the sidelines.             As men, we will always watch and wonder and have no freaking clue. Seriously.             As men, there will be this deep-seated, pulsating fear inside of us beating like an irregular heart when it comes to having children. Because we start afraid and clueless and then we gradually get used to burying the fear and the ignorance.              We like to control things, but this whole arena is way out of our control.             We like to fix things, but there’s no fixing any of this.             We’re the hunter-gatherer-Alpha He-mans who go collect wood to burn and animals to cook and . . . Okay, well, maybe that’s a bit overdone. But still. We have a makeup that’s not prepared for this—this tiny, crying thing.             Holding it might break it.             Shaking it might hurt it.             Living with it might wreck us.             We don’t know. Be honest, guys. We don’t. We hear that first cry and then we think, oh dear Lord please help me now. Our beautiful, beloved bride has suddenly become all about something else. She’s waged a war and come out on the other side and we’re standing there simply watching, wondering what’s going to happen next.             “She looks beautiful,” some strange lady tells you as she hands you this wailing little thing that can’t possibly belong to you.             You see the glow from your wife. It’s not some warm sort of glow. No. It’s the color of the sky after a volcanic eruption. It’s the expression of an astronaut finally orbiting the earth, staring down at it with some exquisite sort of joy. It’s the feeling you find after watching a Pixar film for the first time.             Thank God you can’t see your expression. Surely there’s this look of bewilderment and cluelessness and deliriousness filling all four corners of your face. The nurses already know this look. Your wife will recognize it. It’s the face every man will eventually mirror.             It’s the reason we don’t have to do this thing on our own. It’s the reason we have someone better and stronger to help us.             I believe this with every fiber of my soul: when God created Eve, he made a 2.0 version of Adam. Better, stronger, more attractive, with more memory and faster capabilities. Compare women with men. There’s no comparison. There isn’t.             Now, yes, I might already be waving the white flag being the only male in a household of five females. And yes, the fact that I’m counting our female Shih Tzu as one of them might already show that I’ve laid down and given up my man-card for the rest of my life.             But . . .              Guys, let’s face it. We have it easy.             Women have to deal with us. Then one day, they will have to spend nine months with this thing all because of us. Then they really are the ones responsible. Oh, yes, these days, it’s all about teamwork. Don’t think I don’t know. I was there in the middle of the night holding our girls. I did every single thing I could. Really. But women—MOMMYS—they always have to do a little more.             I think they do a lot more.             I’ve been on the sidelines watching our three daughters. Our eldest is eight while the twins are four. They are beautiful, brilliant, and utterly baffling. I see myself in them, and then I shudder at the thought. Their impatience, their insanity, their moodswings, their love.             I’m biased, I know. But girls really are better. 2.0. I’m telling you. God said “It is good” with Adam and then I believe he said “It is better” with Eve.             But with better comes complications. I believe this, too.             I know I don’t give my own mother the respect she deserves. I don’t acknowledge my wife as much as I should. I simply don’t understand what it really means to be a mother.             Maybe, potentially, we have three mothers-to-be running around in our house. What an amazing and breath-taking thought.             I hope that I can be a cheerleader for them. I hope they can grow up knowing the love and the joy a man might feel. I hope they see things in a more colorful light after being around me. I hope that they can acquire a few good things from me over the years.             I really hope I can just keep up.             It’s Mother’s Day. We buy cards with statements other people wrote. Perhaps we give the mothers in our life flowers or gift cards or framed photographs.             But there’s nothing—nothing—we can ultimately do to express the gratitude we really should have.             That’s okay, however. Because mothers are used to this. ‘Cause—well—you know . . . They’re just Mom. Supposed to do this. There for that. Handling this thing. Dealing with that.             All of us are lucky to have mothers in our life. The older I get, the more I realize just how incredible a mommy really happens to be.             So to the mommy in our house, and to the mommys in my life, I say thank you.             To all the mommys out there—if you’re reading this, I want to thank you, too.             You might be beautiful and you might be talented and you might be good with numbers and you might be wonderful with the keys of a piano. But none of that compares to the beauty and talent and ability of being a mother.             You rock. You really do.             I say this now, but sooner than later I’ll act like a guy again, acting like I’m the stronger being, like I know more, like I work harder, like I’m just so dang superior.             But deep down, all guys know. We do. We’ve been spared. We have the easier lot in life and we always will.             Doesn’t mean we can’t love and support and celebrate those mothers in our life.             Today I’m trying to do that. I’m starting with what I do best—writing a few rambling thoughts down. The true test will be during the meltdowns and the rebellion this day will bring. And, oh yes, it will bring some.             I hope I won’t be so very Adam-esque. But it’s my nature. I can just try to be a little better.             I can also try to remember to celebrate all day long.
            Viva La Madres.

Afternoon Showers

   Go ahead. Splash in the puddles. Remind me of the joy that can come with it.             Grace the air with your laughter. Show me how to embrace the mundane and make it something memorable.             This surreal, sensory-overloaded world we live in occasionally stops. Every now and then it screeches to a halt and I’m standing there watching in a little bit of wonder.             If only I could have this perspective more often.             Parenting is for the patient, and I am absolutely and positively not.             If only the creativity that comes so easily could be so evident in handling the pink meltdowns of every day. Outnumbered, outguessed, and so outmanned in every single way, my wife and I find ourselves daily at the end of Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. The only difference is that we’re too tired to make that one last break with guns blazing.             Thank God the rest of our lives are stable. Oh, wait a minute—I’m a writer.             But wait is what you three tell me.             Look, Daddy, you say about the simple things I overlook.             Over here, Daddy, you shout about the ordinary places I never notice.             Stand still, Daddy, you scream as I have to wait for you to count my age while the rain falls over my head.             It’s never felt better.             Relief is gentle. This respite, so generous. I take a snapshot and wish I could keep this sort of attitude 24-7. God in His gentle and generous mercy has given us these three characters worthy of three Pixar films. Only more beautiful and complicated and original than any genius artist could ever create.             The wonders of parenthood. So rich for a pauper to begin to try to have a budget for.             Every day I begin and end feeling unworthy. Yet every day, I begin and end feeling loved.             The afternoon rain shower sometimes breaks because of a tear in the grey sky. I suddenly see these dazzling bursts of sunlight cutting through, splashing my world with a lot more brightness than I deserve.             The laughter is an echo of another me. The trio is a three-pronged attack on my sanity and my self-control. Yet this youthful joy mirroring some forgotten part of me is as welcomed as the rain on a dry, scorched lawn.             I wish I could stand in the rain for forty-four seconds more often. Listening to the countdown not out of fear but out of pure fun. Then running toward shelter not because I have to but because of the response it will bring from those who love me and laugh at me the most.
           You crazy three are my shelter.  

Glimmers of Possibility

            So this is what my collaborative world looks like.             At any given moment throughout the day, I might be contacted by someone for a potential book project. I’m not talking about the daily thing I hear from everybody, that “hey do I have a book idea for you!” sort of thing.             No, usually it’s my agent who contacts me, though sometimes there are others as well. Typically she doesn’t have a lot of information. In fact, many times she only has a tiny sliver of it. A name and an idea. It’s always exciting when my agent calls or emails about these glimmers of possibility. They’re fun to think about.             They also usually send me frantically starting to educate myself on a person, place or thing.             So let’s back-up a minute. In case you don’t know, I’m not some famous, best-selling author. What’s the opposite of best-selling? The thesaurus says “inferior, last, poor.” Am I an unknown, inferior-selling author? No, not exactly, though if you ask me at any given point throughout the day, I might tell you otherwise.             Since I’m not, in the words of the Peter Gabriel song, BIG TIME, I have to navigate these very uncertain waters of publishing. Technology has never made it easier to be published, meaning there are millions of books available. We live in an everything-is-awesome-and-most-of-it’s-free world these days. If you’re an artist, it’s a struggle to earn any kind of money simply because there’s a wealth of everything out there.             I’m going on nearly eight years of being a full-time writer which seems miraculous in itself. But I’ve been able to do that by collaborating. And honestly—I really love it.             This is the season of collaborations for me. The great thing is that I’m becoming good at them and developing a reputation for doing quality and fast work. Often, the latter is a necessity.             So I might get my agent forwarding an email to me from another agent or an editor at a publishing house. My agent will usually ask what I think. Pretty much all the time I tell her it sounds great and to keep me in the loop. I begin to already start thinking about it.             This is one of the problems with collaborations.             For a writer, thinking is work. I’m not one of those who sits by the river contemplating on life and then considering it work. But still—it takes time to formulate ideas. For me it’s usually less than a second but that’s me. With collaborations, I need to get more information fast. Like the following: It’s a novelization? What’s the film about? Does it have a trailer? Who’s in it? Who made it? It’s a biography/memoir? Who’s the person? What’s their story and what do they want and how quickly do they want it? It’s a concept for a novel that I have to come up with based on XYZ? So give me more info on XYZ. You don’t have any info? When will you have it?  Ever since Becky Nesbitt at Howard Books contacted my agent in 2009 about the potential of two collaborations (which resulted in Letters from War with Mark Schultz and Paper Angels with Jimmy Wayne), I’ve had a series of different projects coming my way. Some have been amusing, some thrilling, and some downright strange. For me, ideas come easily, and they come quickly, too. It’s nothing to put ten difference concepts on paper the night I might get a possibility like this. The difficulty comes in getting a green light. I have a folder in my email inbox called NO GO’S. These are all the projects that came my way that looked really possible. Not complete longshots or out-there possibilities. These are all ones I might have done work on or even spoken to people about. Right now I have 15 of these folders, but there have been more. One thing I always have to do is keep my mouth shut. Anytime these possibilities come, a part of me wants to tweet and share things about them on my Facebook page. I can’t believe I might be doing a novel with Manny Pacquiao! Something like that. Of course, I have to remain mum. And also, no, I’ve never been in talks to do something with Manny Pacquiao. Yet. I’m always working on something, whether it’s a collaboration or two or it’s one of the several fiction ideas I have. I might be editing a manuscript that came to me in one form or another. I’m always doing something. But there are times when the silence can seem very, very quiet. Then all of the sudden, there’s one project, then another. Suddenly the clock is ticking. If I’m given the green light, then I know life’s going to get a little more intense for a short while until I make the deadline. I’m proud about my ability to make a deadline. The more of them I make, the more possibilities come my way. This is part of living my dream. Part of being an artist today. But as I’ve said before, I enjoy these collaborations. I really do. This week I’m finishing work on a business memoir. The whole experience has been thrilling. The guy I’m working with is a superstar businessman. He’s one of the most successful people I’ve ever met yet he’s more down-to-earth than most I’ve worked with. I’ve learned things from the words I’ve been writing. This job has also opened the doors to other possibilities. Yet I really can’t say much of anything about it. Not because it’s some massive secret. I simply want to be professional and respectful. When someone I meet in passing tells me they have an idea for me, they have no idea what they’re really inferring. So I don’t have any good ideas of my own? So I’m just bored looking out my window waiting for something good to come my way? No, I realize that like so many others, they simply have some kind of meaningful life experience or story idea that means the world to them. I get it. I really do. Sometimes the roads meet where I can use my talents to help someone share their life story or idea. Possibility knocks all the time. It knocks and then leaves for a while. Sometimes the door eventually opens. Other times it remains locked and silent. The key in this collaborative season is having a door to knock, being able to open it whenever necessary, and then racing through when invited.
The journey is everything, right?

“O Again”

                 (The following is a portion of a novel I’m currently writing called MIDNIGHT. It’s about a ghost who falls in love with another ghost. It’s been a fun passion project I’ve usually worked on late at night. The title based on the Coldplay song certainly fits. Right now it has about a hundred of bits like this. I’m weaving them together with a storyline, but it’s still very internal and poetic. I’m calling this bit simply “O Again” because I wrote it listening to the Coldplay song “O” just like several other chapters. Obviously this is one of the goodbye chapters near the end. I wrote SKY BLUE and 40 the same–in pieces at all different times. I have over 35,000 words on this. Hope to see it come to light one day.)  




“O Again”

            Passing

without a passion to be seen. So casual, so mundane. Just passing time. Just

giving a simple nod to a simple soul.

            I

stand and reel and wonder.

            That’s it?

            You carve your skin and cut out

a piece and carry it over in your hand to give to her. And this—this is what you get in return?

            Maybe

she’s simply holding back because of the reality. But there’s this doubt—this

little demon inside your mind that’s been there your whole life.

            You’re not worthy.

            You’re not wonderful.

            You’re not something to wait for.

            So very whatever. That’s what I

get? That’s all it will be?

            The

real, painful goodbyes in life are never grand. They’re simply moments you have

to try and get through. They’re not accompanied by rapturous music or memorable

words. Usually they simply come with pauses and regret. Open-ended sentences

without periods. 

            I

want the closing credits accompanied by the last meaningful song on the

soundtrack. I want to leave this feeling like I got my money’s worth. I want to

stand in the dark and proceed down the aisle feeling this joyful rush of

inspiration follow me out of the theater and into life.

            But

life is not a movie. It’s not a song nor a poem. It’s not a sweet, little love

story.

            Life

doesn’t have a two-hour limit that can be summed up by a two-minute trailer.

            Life

consists of inconsistencies, with broken character arcs and unresolved tension

and plot points going nowhere.

            Life

is a messy structure that would be rejected in the first round of a Screenwriting

For Dummies contest.

            Life

is that goodbye that’s really never uttered. The awkward, stilted, circular

sort of conversation that stays with you simply because it could have been so much

more.

            Life

is seldom more than you want it to be. Yet you meet people that could never be

summed up with a simple story or a sappy song or a shiny painting. People—magnificent,

imperfect and complicated creations—are God’s artwork running on its own.

Faults and all. Precious and peculiar.

            Fly on right through.

            Yes.

            Fly on right through.

            Maybe. Of course. One day.

            Fly on.

            That’s what people and life do.

They fly on past you without giving you a chance to truly say goodbye.

"O Again"

                 (The following is a portion of a novel I'm currently writing called MIDNIGHT. It's about a ghost who falls in love with another ghost. It's been a fun passion project I've usually worked on late at night. The title based on the Coldplay song certainly fits. Right now it has about a hundred of bits like this. I'm weaving them together with a storyline, but it's still very internal and poetic. I'm calling this bit simply "O Again" because I wrote it listening to the Coldplay song "O" just like several other chapters. Obviously this is one of the goodbye chapters near the end. I wrote SKY BLUE and 40 the same--in pieces at all different times. I have over 35,000 words on this. Hope to see it come to light one day.)  
“O Again”            Passing without a passion to be seen. So casual, so mundane. Just passing time. Just giving a simple nod to a simple soul.             I stand and reel and wonder.             That’s it?             You carve your skin and cut out a piece and carry it over in your hand to give to her. And this---this is what you get in return?             Maybe she’s simply holding back because of the reality. But there’s this doubt—this little demon inside your mind that’s been there your whole life.             You’re not worthy.             You’re not wonderful.             You’re not something to wait for.             So very whatever. That’s what I get? That’s all it will be?             The real, painful goodbyes in life are never grand. They’re simply moments you have to try and get through. They’re not accompanied by rapturous music or memorable words. Usually they simply come with pauses and regret. Open-ended sentences without periods.              I want the closing credits accompanied by the last meaningful song on the soundtrack. I want to leave this feeling like I got my money’s worth. I want to stand in the dark and proceed down the aisle feeling this joyful rush of inspiration follow me out of the theater and into life.             But life is not a movie. It’s not a song nor a poem. It’s not a sweet, little love story.             Life doesn’t have a two-hour limit that can be summed up by a two-minute trailer.             Life consists of inconsistencies, with broken character arcs and unresolved tension and plot points going nowhere.             Life is a messy structure that would be rejected in the first round of a Screenwriting For Dummies contest.             Life is that goodbye that’s really never uttered. The awkward, stilted, circular sort of conversation that stays with you simply because it could have been so much more.             Life is seldom more than you want it to be. Yet you meet people that could never be summed up with a simple story or a sappy song or a shiny painting. People—magnificent, imperfect and complicated creations—are God’s artwork running on its own. Faults and all. Precious and peculiar.            Fly on right through.             Yes.             Fly on right through.             Maybe. Of course. One day.             Fly on.
            That’s what people and life do. They fly on past you without giving you a chance to truly say goodbye.

So Many Buttons To Press

We know longer wonder. We simply type and click and search. I miss the mystique. I miss the curiosity. I miss the walls put up. Not knowing. The teenager wanted to know it all. It turns out, all is way overrated. Nothing is subtle anymore. Everything is bold and big and bigger and bright and boxed-in. We consume this all-you-can-eat buffet and never consider that most of it happens to be free. I find myself swimming longer into deeper waters full of the endless everything. A song links to a movie leading to a book sending me to a personality showing me some kind of other story. I’m so curious and can’t get enough of this creative onslaught. I keep moving my arms and legs yet know I’m exhausted. I know I’m far from land.It’s a strange world we live in. So hard to keep up. So easy to connect. So difficult to keep up with the connections. The likes and the comments and the posts and the replies. Seems I used to live a lot more when I didn’t have so many buttons to press to prove I’m alive. A face in a box with words that should mean something feels as real as a cereal commercial. The noise in the background never stops, with little girls and soundtracks and the piping information all stuck with the traffic jam of words in my mind.  Maybe somewhere down the road I’ll shut it off. I’m not allowed to right now, so I open up the floodgates and feel myself holding my breath deep underwater. Breathless. Knowing so much that I don’t want to know. Looking around places I didn’t know I was even interested in. Learning and loving and longing and realizing that all this is making me a bit crazy. That simplicity of listening to a song playing on the radio on a little portable box powered by batteries while working on clearing a lot on a North Carolina mountaintop . . . man I miss that. I miss that curiosity. I miss that not-knowing. I miss that world where everything isn’t suddenly there. I miss the days when you couldn’t seek and find anything. You couldn’t simply think and do. You couldn’t just speak and be heard. Ten million voices speaking mean very few get heard. Truly heard. And I’m not talking about the voices out there talking. No. I’m talking about the voices in my head. So many. Always more. And yet.
Tomorrow there will be more, wading in these thick waters already so full.

Publishing Plans for AWE & GLORY

Just recently I’ve had half a dozen people ask about the third and fourth books in The Books of Marvella series. Here’s an update.
Two weeks ago I was already working on plans for a Kickstarter. But I’ve changed my mind because of a couple of things. First, I still honestly don’t know whether a Kickstarter would work. I’m sure some of you diehard fans think otherwise—oh how I wish I could clone all of you gracious readers! But the life of an artist these days is so different than even ten years ago. In our everything-is-free & everything-is-awesome & every-technology-known-to-mankind-is-available universe, trying to get interest and buy-in is very tough.
The other reason I’m not going to do a Kickstarter is simply time. Even if it’s just a simple and straightforward one, it would still require quite a bit of time, something I don’t have. My plate has never been more full with projects. I’m grateful for this but know I can’t devote time to something that might not pan out.
Having said that, I fully plan on releasing Awe and Glory this year. Both are finished—I only need to work on the edits for Glory. I don’t want to only have them released as eBooks. But I don’t want to go the cheap route on publishing them (and no need to send me links for doing it—this is my world so I fully know the details).
When you’re struggling to provide for your family in a profession, spending time and money on something that won’t bring you any income isn’t the most inspiring thing. But I’ll say this again—this series is one of the most important things I’ve done. And yeah, I’ll use the cliché that if it only touches a few people then it’s worth it. I believe that. My bank and mortgage company don’t, but that’s okay.
Hopefully-maybe-possibly, Awe will be coming late spring or early summer. If I can afford to publish Glory at the same time, I will. I want anybody who wants to read it to read it. I’d give them away if I could. For now, I’ll be figuring out ways to publish them. I’m creative. I sorta have to be on a daily basis.
For those of you interested, thank you again. I’ll try my best to keep you updated.

Author Editor Insight

I’ve worked with a variety of editors and publishers, but my primary editor has worked with me on twenty of my books. I actually had to email her to ask since there have been so many. She first worked with me on Admission, my college mystery novel that was published in 2006. Since then, she’s journeyed to the Amazon with me, worked on my Jerry Maguire of publishing, been scared of what’s going through my mind, and waded the mysterious waters of Solitary with me. I’m grateful for her talents and abilities. Just yesterday I received her editing notes on Glory, the fourth book in my Books of Marvella series. In my mind, it’s one of the best and most important novels I’ve written. It concludes a series so there are a variety of things I was hoping and attempting to do. Just like Hurt, the fourth book in my Solitary Tales, I knew this would be the most important book in the series. Last year, my editor had emailed me back quickly after I handed in book three, Awe. I had rushed to finish it and felt unsure about it, but I got this initial response from her. “Travis, this is just that first quick note to say I’ve read through Awe and I’m pretty much, well, awed. Do I dare say best YA yet? So many plot turns I wasn’t anticipating.”She’s a pro and an editor at heart, so she doesn’t send praise out that she doesn’t believe in. The great thing was that she knew where the story was headed, so I’m glad to have still provided a few surprises for her.
Since I didn’t get something like this from her about Glory, and since I hadn’t heard from her in a while after giving it to her, I started to get worried. But when I reached out to her to ask, she said to not worry. She also said to not get freaked out by the three single-spaced pages of notes on Glory. I was pleasantly surprised to read her thoughts.  After so many stories we’ve worked on together, we have a great rhythm and routine. So much so that when I’m writing, I can hear her in my head. Come on, Travis…really?? She’ll do this when she thinks I’ve gone overboard (which I do a lot). She always shares her thoughts in a safe way, but the longer time has gone by and we’ve gotten to know each other, the more trust has been developed, allowing for levity in the process of shaping a novel.  “I know these are teenagers but REALLY?” “Okay, I can deal with underground tunnels, but dead horses???”“What is up with you and kitchen utensils, Travis? Is there something you need to share with me?”I often laugh at comments like these. In the case of Glory, I knew that there were about four or five parts that I was unsure about. A few of them were written solely for me. I’ll do this often, for better or worse. Sometimes she calls me out, saying a chapter or a bit doesn’t fit or wondering what I was thinking. But sometimes she doesn’t say anything, or even better she says she loves what I did. As the saying goes, it’s hard to see the forest for the trees when you’re immersed in a book of your own. After four books in this series, the story of Brandon and Marvel comes to a close. I try tying up the stories and providing a moving ending. I had some doubts about a few scenes, as I mentioned, but I didn’t tell her about those doubts before handing the story in. In some cases, she really liked what I did. In others, she gave me reasons why something should change. We will talk through her comments. Usually we both agree to the end results. Sometimes I’ll fight to keep something in, other times I’ll hear her point and totally agree. I’ll even have to admit to her “Yeah, I knew that wouldn’t make it, but I SO love it.” For now, I’ll let her comments marinate in my mind so I can see clearly what needs to be done. In the end, the story is not for me. It’s for those reading it. So despite the things I’m wanting to do and needing to do for myself, I ultimately have to think of the reader. The ending is everything. Everything. So I want to make it work in the best way possible.             I thanked my editor yesterday and she said that’s why she loves her job. “Iron sharpens iron,” she said.             I’m not sure how sharp of an iron I bring to the table, but I’m grateful I have an iron blade that helps sharpen my edges.             Author James Thurber said this great quote about the editing process: “Editing should be, especially in the case of old writers, a counseling rather than a collaborating task. The tendency of the writer-editor to collaborate is natural, but he should say to himself, ‘How can I help this writer to say it better in his own style?’ and avoid ‘How can I show him how I would write it, if it were my piece?’”
I’m grateful I have an editor who has always been helping me say things in my own ever-changing and always-growing style.

The First Draft

It’s starting slow. This is deliberate.
Part of writing a novel is driving in the dark and trying to see where the road takes you. Even if you know where you’re going the path you initially take in a first draft can lead you astray. Just like when you’re lost driving around country roads, you’re bound to take a few that meander and go nowhere.
This is what Anne Lamott refers to as “shitty first drafts” in her amazing book on writing, Bird By Bird. This is why, I believe, many talented writers never finish their novels or never decide to do anything with them if they do indeed reach the end. It’s so hard to make the average appear extraordinary. It’s so easy to see the brilliant and beautiful over the mediocre, yet it’s so difficult to actually pull of yourself.
My talent has always been to persevere and just get the thing done. I’m stubborn and probably foolish and surely way too hasty. But that doesn’t mean I don’t try hard. It doesn’t mean I have moments where I wonder if I’m a complete and utter failure.
So why, then, am I blogging one of those awful first drafts this year for the world to see? Good question. Maybe I’m a sucker for pain.
I’m writing a novel called The Howling Wind. It’s the first of a three-book series called The Hinterlands. Here’s a little description about it on this blog Two and a half months into this project/experiment, I have to say that it’s strange. I’ve never realized how much a novel can change and how often I go back to tweak and correct or toss out material. I’m not doing that with The Howling Wind. If and when it ever becomes edited, I know it’ll change. Perhaps some material will be cut or majorly tweaked. But for now, when I post it I won’t change it (except, of course, when there are obvious mistakes that need editing).
My thoughts on the book so far. I knew that the first chapter is very autobiographical in ways. I hesitated to start with Will simply because I know some people might say oh dear a book about Travis no thanks. But he’s not me, just very similar in some ways. His chapter was okay in my estimation.
I really like the character of Allie from the second chapter. I’ve struggled in ways to figure out where to begin with her, and I like the way I did it. I was pleased with the overall chapter.
The third chapter—that’s a tough one. That might be one in the future that gets cut. In my mind it’s okay. I give it a C if I had to grade it.
The story is starting off slow, but that’s a conscious decision I’ve made. With the number of different characters in the story and all the things going on, I’m really trying to help any readers who will take the journey with me. It’s a massive work in my mind when I see the whole thing. So I feel like I have to take it slow. I don’t want to bore readers, of course. But I need to try to set the stage in a careful way.
I had a case of writer insecurity yesterday when thinking about The Hinterlands. A rational and sane voice asked me what I was going to do a few months from now if I knew there was only thirty people reading this thing? What if each post is viewed by fewer people? Will I simply quit and try something new?
I quickly shut up this voice. My hope is that I’m going do this and finish the novel and eventually finish the whole series. For this project, it’s about the story and about getting it out of my head and heart. I believe it’s worth telling, so that’s why I’m doing it. Is this the best way to do it? I don’t know. I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my writing career. In so many ways I feel like I still haven’t really started. But with almost forty books in print, I can’t exactly say that, can I?
I hope there are some of you who take this journey. Maybe simply to see what a first draft looks like. Maybe I’ll inspire some people to start and finish that novel they’ve been wanting to write. “If this hack can do it maybe I can, too.”

My head isn’t just full of the nagging, insecure voices. It’s also full of the blathering, braggadocious ones. Every day I try to balance them out. Maybe that’s why I’m a writer in the first place.

Singing The February 2015 Blues

Snow is falling outside. The end of February usually brings an urge to break out of winter’s prison and find some warmer weather. It’s been a particularly long winter for many in our country.
I haven’t blogged much this year, not because I haven’t been writing but rather because I’m trying to be more strategic with things like that. Trying being the key word. I want posts to be more meaningful and helpful rather than simply being random poetic ramblings. I’ll save those for some of my stories. But I wanted to share some happenings in my writing world.
Here’s what my To-Do List looks like. 
First important item is finishing going through the first three books of The Books of Marvella series in order to make sure I’ve answered every question (at least in my mind) by the end of book four. I’m also going back through book four before giving it to my editor next week.
This series has been quite an interesting experience. After lackluster sales of Marvelous and Wonder, the publisher cancelled books three and four. There was no way I couldn’t finish the series since it’s one big story. Book three, Awe, had already been written and edited. So I was left trying to fill the hole of two incoming checks that suddenly vanished, not to mention trying to find the willpower to write a fourth and final book that maybe five people out there would want.
Finding the willpower to write has never been a problem for me. Paying bills . . . well, that’s another story.
As I finished Glory, the fourth and final book of The Books of Marvella, I realized how much I loved this story and how important it happens to be. Several times I wept openly as I neared the end to the tale. It doesn’t matter how many people will be moved by the conclusion. But a few will be, I know that.
Now I have to figure out how to fund the publication of Awe and Glory. The thought of doing another Kickstarter comes to mind, but I tried that last year and got a big, fat yawn from the world. That particular idea was different, and I knew that going in. This is a lot more straightforward. But I don’t know. I just know that the books need to be done right. My plan is to have them designed by the same designer, edited by the same editor, and printed by the same printer.
And all of these thoughts and work and time come with whispers. You’re not getting a single penny for all this. If it was just me living in a van down by the river, I’d be fine. But there are four ladies at home depending on me. So sometimes the demons of doubt go Why are you wasting so much time on this? Why, oh why, Travvy-Boy?
Thankfully I have other projects in the works.
I’m revising/rewriting a business memoir by a successful entrepreneur who came my way through a contact in the publishing industry. The longer time goes by, the more doors open for collaborations. People realize that I’m a good writer, I’m a fast writer, and I’m easy to work with. So in this case, I’m taking a book that’s already been written a couple of times and making it better. It’s such an interesting process, cutting and replacing and reshuffling and adding and rewording. It uses different parts of the brain that aren’t used in writing fiction. Working with a business leader who has had lots of good fortune in that world is inspiring.
I feel like every single person I work with is someone I can learn from.
I have two editing jobs I’m working on as well. One is for a manual of sorts for the recovery world, a project where I’m simply helping streamline the book and make it more reader-friendly. The other is a very dense textbook that I’m working on with my father (who is the biblical scholar and nonfiction guy).
My father tells me I take for granted all my talents and knowledge. Twenty-years of being in publishing have helped me learn how books are done, how they should flow and read. I’m not a true editor at the core, but I do have the ability to work on something and make it more consistent and easy to follow and hopefully improve the writing itself. 
A couple of potential writing projects are floating out there, and as always I’m trying to be patient waiting on them. My impatience always comes from how slow the process takes to get a green light, then how fast publishers usually want the product. Everything in my life is about pacing. About the daily word count and pages.
So I haven’t even mentioned The Hinterlands project. I’ve already blogged about that, but in a nutshell, I decided to go ahead and get this story that’s been in my heart and soul out there for any to read. It’s more of an experiment in writing fiction because I’m posting it as I go. I’m already learning a lot about that. Most of the time when you write a novel, you change and delete and rearrange and all that as you go. But in this case, the unedited content goes up. Like demos that a songwriter is creating.
The chapter bits are being blogged as well as done in audio form. My goal is to finish The Howling Wind this year. This is a labor of love and something fun I’m doing. We’ll see where it goes. Check it out here: The Hinterlands
I have more projects on my To Do list. But this is how I operate and honestly how I survive. Working hard on the paying projects I’m fortunate to have and continuing to believe in the passion projects I’m forging ahead with.
My head and my heart are still overflowing with stories to tell. I wish I could be a better writer, but then again that’s number five on the things I want to become better at. Well, I should make it number five, but writing slips to number one quite often.
A thousand-word writing update. Geez. I type fast.
I never know the tone of how these sound. Sometimes I write these things and people send comments like “I’m praying for you!” or “I’m sorry it’ll get better” and I think Did I really sound so down and out? I never claim the writing life is an easy way to make a living. But I try to keep things in perspective. My cousin’s husband who is younger than me is struggling with ALS. My wife’s cousin’s four-year-old son is battling leukemia. So should I be thankful? Yes. Every second of every day.
That doesn’t mean the battle isn’t tough, however. So I keep fighting with words and emotions and stories. It still beats building a brick driveway. Believe me . . . I know.
Let’s all pray that spring comes fast. I can't wait to welcome the warmer days to come.