Rathan Krueger's Blog, page 10

A New Split

I finished the first chapter Friday. Or rather, I tried writing more and it laughed hysterically. I was afraid of that happening. I still had two cards that needed to be fleshed-out and I hoped that when I stopped writing, I’d still be able to fit them in. Alas, nay. Chapter One felt like it ended where it needed to and adding the two cards would’ve made it bloated, to the point where I would’ve taken their content out during the final edit. But they couldn’t work in the next chapter. And they’re too important to the overall story to simply put away. Worrying about the waste gave me the idea of what I’m calling an Intermezzo. As much as I love cinema, I tend to make more intriguing musical references. Anywho, what I’ll be doing with Intermezzos (because I feel that this is something that’ll be in my eventual Wikipedia entry under “Artist Trademarks” [along with parantheticals and "Gosh, he really loves gingers... poor guy."]) is take something that’s important to a particular part of the story but won’t fit somehow and make it a side-story. Or turning a negative into a positive, which is what all artists should do. Basically, I’m making a mini-chapter after the chapter-proper, but Intermezzos could be mini-songs or short films.

I’m a big fan of the Metal Gear Solid series (well… up until the fifth one but that’s a rant for another day) and each game ends with a long post-credit sequence. What I loved about them is that they were legitimately adding to the story. You couldn’t put the info from them into the games because it’d be out of place. Similar to the Appendices with “Lord of the Rings”. I wanted to take that idea and apply it to everything I create, basically. Although there’s nothing like that with “Lie”, there will be whenever I can release it as a paperback (gotta give the kids a reason to buy it). The post-credits sequence has gotten out of hand, though. The Marvel movies are known for them, but they don’t add anything to the story. They’re there to either wink at itself or be an ad for the next movie. Because of that, I started recoiling from the idea of addendums. Then “Nostalgia Season” told me to stop being stupid. Not every chapter will have an Intermezzo because they’re a coping mechanism for too much content and I’ll try to make everything fit, but it’s nice to have an out.

Read the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”, so I can cause more creative mischief. Liking what you read, you can pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

A Quickie Update About “Nostalgia Season”

I’m close to finishing the first chapter. I didn’t realize how much writing I’d be doing when I told myself to write eight massive chapters… I have a habit of throwing myself into situations that might be too big for me without thinking them through until I’m in the middle of it. I figure things out in the end, though, which is one of many reasons why I relate to “Doctor Who”. In case anyone forgot, I’ve split the chapter (and all subsequent chapters forever) into a series of notecards that break down the chapter into sections. I can’t express enough how much easier it makes writing (thanks, “Breaking Bad” special features). I’m almost finished with the seventh of nine cards. Something interesting happened as I was writing. I didn’t get to the notes on the card until pages after I started writing. The card involved a trip to another city and was written in a way that made most things happen after Luciana and Sadie got to where they were headed. But I didn’t get a chance to make Sadie say what she needed to in a previous card. Or rather, I felt that she had more to say. The previous card had her pretty manic so she couldn’t get a story out in its entirety. She said enough, I thought, so I moved on. That was my original intention: for her to say Just Enough. But I had a feeling that Everything Else would come out in later chapters, and I didn’t want that. I wanted what’s bothering her to get out of her system by the end of the chapter because she and Luciana have SO many more places to go emotionally. I also started cluing in on how people, when they have something bothering them to the point of tears, don’t say everything all at once. They blurt out pieces and later on, when they’re calmer and unprovoked, will say everything. Those two things made the current card take place mostly in the car ride.

Originally, Sadie was supposed to find her ex and unload all her emotional baggage on her. However, it felt superfluous after the car ride because I felt that she got everything out, mostly. And it was SO draining writing that car ride, but it was great because Sadie was feeling so drained as she was saying what she had to. It’s part of the reason why I’m not done with the card yet. I knew that if I kept writing after where I stopped, I would’ve rushed everything and felt like shit afterwards. Anywho, Sadie still finds her ex but I found a more elegant and concise way to handle their meeting. And I’m gonna enjoy editing this chapter because Luciana’s really becoming defined at this point. In the back of my head, I’m constantly reminding myself “Don’t make her like Idette! Don’t make her like Idette!” The way I’ve found my way to Luciana (well, one way) is that I think that Idette (from my first novel, “Lie”) had something to prove, whereas Luciana has nothing to show. Reflecting on her, Idette came off as overcompensating. Luciana’s an innocent. And people are gonna think that I’ve made Luciana too unrealistic when it comes to her innocence, but women like her exist. I knew one like her for years. That’s not to say that Luciana’s modeled on her, just that I know she’s coming from a true place. Anywho, there’s a moment at the end of what I’ve written so far that IS Luciana. And it’s great because it’s so different from the moment that made Idette to me. Idette, in the initial writing of “Lie”, became Idette when she was recollecting a story to Fantine to get a reaction out of her. Luciana’s moment is when she bellows the most vulgar thing she can think of to Sadie’s ex, then turns to Sadie and smiles at her “like a cheerful child wanting their parent’s approval”. As I write, inspirations for future chapters hit me and I feel that Luciana’s a bit like a sponge in that she starts absorbing traits of those around her. That won’t show itself in this chapter because she hasn’t had time to but she’ll start picking up bits of Sadie in the next chapter.

I’m not sure if I’ll post the complete first chapter when I’m finished. I don’t mind doing it, it’s just that it’s MASSIVE and I a) would feel bad dumping all those words on you all, and b) would feel worse if no one read it. Yesterday, it hit me that among other things, I’m writing a friendship-at-first-sight story. I was thinking about how quickly Luciana and Sadie became friends and how that doesn’t usually happen. Then I thought about how it’s not so weird in romances, two people falling in love tout de suite. Heck, “Terminator” took place during one night and Sarah fell in love with Kyle. One of the things that I know will keep popping up in what I do is the concept of friendship. You’ll be seeing far more things from me about that than romances (I have a romantic story in me, but it’s rather apocalyptic) because I feel that there’s too much of a push for romantic stories these days. It’s like if you put two people in a room, they have to kiss before they leave it. I say be friends (says the hopeless romantic). One of the reasons why I love “Hot Fuzz” and definitely “World’s End” much more than “Shaun of the Dead” is because they aren’t about getting the girl in the end. And I’m tired of the term “bromance”. Everyone’s so afraid of having two guys be as close as friends as two gals can be that they have to make up a fucking stupid word for it. I have no ending to this brewing rant so I will simply take a bow.

Ha! “Quickie” update…

Come read the first four chapters of Idette’s adventure with three other women. Then skip o’er to your local eBookstore and pick up “Lie” for only $1.99. Thanks for reading.

I’m Featured on A Blue Million Books Now!

Here’s a link to it.

Thanks again to Amy for giving me the opportunity to reach a few people, and for asking some great question.

If you liked what you read about me and the excerpt from “Lie”, pick it up for your eReader. It’s only $1.99 and available wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

“Nostalgia Season”: First Chapter Excerpt

Here’s the first third of the first chapter of “Nostalgia Season”, “I Don’t Know Your Name, So I’ll Call You…” The hardest part was writing when the two main characters meet because the rest of the novel depends on how well I write it. Hopefully, you all think I’ve done a good job. It was a lot of fun writing the two together, once the pen started agreeing, so I foresee a lot of giddiness throughout “Nostalgia Season”. Well, giddiness for me. It’ll get damn dark for most of you. Damn dark.

Tears stain the sidewalk of Desolation Row. Feet drag across the wet spots like slabs of stone. Both belong to a woman. A wounded confection of Godiva. She holds close to her, as apathetic eyes pass her by, her only friend. She meows before licking her owner’s damp cheek. The woman doesn’t react. She can’t. All she can do is grip, is cry, is amble to a silver box most have forgotten about.

It’s nine in the morn on this November Wednesday. A woman pulls up cautiously to an apartment building. “Cautiously” might be too strong a word. She’s not familiar with this part of Andilana Park. She usually spends her time in the town just below it, South Holland. A job presented itself in Andilana Park and she’d like to live in the town she taught at for a change. She checks the address she wrote on a notecard: 14615 Motor Way. Yup. She then laughs at herself for not writing down the building’s name. Barbet Place would’ve been easier to spot. She maneuvers her blue ‘99 Chevy Cavalier into a parking space and gives herself a once-over before stepping out. She checks her watch and sees that she has more than enough time before her therapist’s appointment.

The trees are a dying orange and a light breeze picks up. She’s glad that she wore the black sweater, but not so much the gray business skirt. She stops to brush off a few strands of cat hair, then clip-clops in black thigh-high boots toward the glass door. She glances to her right on the way and is slightly confused at the sight.

She pulls the locked door, then checks her palm. “2B”. She presses the button with the number attached.

“Yeah?” The voice is distorted but obviously female and nonthreatening.

“It’s Caryn. Caryn Shea?” Caryn’s voice has the clarity of someone who deals with teenagers from 8-3, Mondays-Fridays. “I’m here for the interview about the extra room.”

“Oh, cool beans. C’mon up.”

A buzz and a tug and Ms. Shea makes her way to Room 2B. The tiled floor of the lobby has stray leaves from outside, but the steps are carpeted and the dark brown makes up the floor on at least the first two of three levels. The walls are beige and have two doors per side. The usual morning stirrings can be faintly heard through the thick wooden doors. As Ms. Shea passes Rooms 1B and 1D, she looks to her right. Broom closet. She takes the stairwell to her left and up to the second floor.

Room 2B is the first door she sees and straightens her skirt before knocking. Actually, she’s slightly taken aback by the sticker of a strange logo on the door, then knocks.

“It’s open, Caryn!”

The first thing that Caryn notices is that the lights are on the floor. Or rather, in the floor. Two long strips of light sit lengthwise in the hallway’s floor, a black-carpeted floor that seems a little higher than the carpet outside Room 2B. Next, her eyes go to the white walls with red trim, and the framed posters on them. She can tell that they’re film posters, but doesn’t recognize them. One seems to be many different posters torn and arranged behind a frame.

“Caryn, down here!”

Caryn’s eyes dart to the other end of the hallway and sees the body that owns the voice. Or part of it. The lower half is covered by the leopard-print couch she’s resting on the back of. She thought about turning it around for interviews… but “it’s too much of a bitch to turn back around.” Caryn passes the kitchen and bathroom.

“Did you find the place ok?”

The body belongs to a woman who looks like a scuffed Gil Elvgren painting made flesh. With a long mess of ginger barely held by elastic. She wears a white thermal shirt under a black t-shirt. Caryn doesn’t recognize the design on it. Or the music playing on the widescreen TV behind her hostess. Behind the TV is a heavy black curtain. She can tell that the music’s rock, but it manages to be mellow and powerful at the same time. The ginger would be able to tell her that it’s the Silversun Pickups’ album, “Swoon”.

“Yes, I did. Thank you.” The two shake hands and Caryn continues, “I have a friend in South Holland, so I sometimes pass through this town.”

The ginger smiles and says, “Let’s see about you maybe staying, then.”

Fumbling hands find their way around a payphone’s receiver. The cat made of patchwork fur sits at her owner’s slippered feet. Doing what it can to guard and comfort as the busy street moves past them in indifference. The only payphone that still exists in the area is attached to the outside of a liquor store. The broken woman tries to calm herself down enough to press “0”. Her world a watery haze, she manages to find and press it. An operator asks if she needs assistance, and the wreck falls to pieces as drunks stumble to and from their next fix. The wreck strains to whelp two words: “suicide hotline”.

Caryn tries to take in the shelves and shelves and SHELVES of DVDs and Blu-rays surrounding them in the living room. She still stands in the hallway and her hostess still kneels on the couch. Two floor lights are parallel to the front and back of it.

“Are the lights too bright,” the ginger asks. “They’re on a dimmer switch so I can—”

“No! No, they’re fine,” Caryn says. “I’ve just never seen lights in the floor before. And on dimmers? Are all the apartments here like this?”

The ginger smiles and replies, “Nah. Just here in Room 2B. So tell me about yourself, Caryn. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got cans of Canada Dry.”

“No thanks, I had breakfast before I came.”

“Spiff.” The ginger leans forward and says, “Tell me about you.”

“Well, I was a teacher— am a teacher— I am a teacher but I don’t work for the school I used to.”

“Layoffs? Damn bailout.”

Caryn hesitates, “No… shooting.”

The ginger drops a little, “Shit. What was it like? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Are you sure you don’t want anything? I’ve got stronger stuff than—”

“No, it’s fine. Besides, it’s a little early on a Wednesday to start drinking.” Caryn rests a shoulder on the wall and continues,”Anyway, I could’ve stayed there but how could I? I saw that the high school here is hiring and I thought it’d be nice to live where I worked for a change.”

“Where’d you live?”

“I still live there but I’ll be putting my notice in soon. If nothing else, I can continue living with my friend in Soho. Oh. I live in Crete.”

The ginger pushes herself up and says, “Crete? And you worked at THAT school? That’s a two-hour drive both ways if you’re lucky enough to dodge traffic.”

“Heh, I wasn’t always lucky. But yeah, that’s where I’m at right now.”

The ginger nods and her eyes drift to the shelves, then to Caryn’s eyes to see if she followed. Nein. She asks the teacher what she does when she’s not working.

“Not much of anything, really. Being a teacher is more of a full-time job than I’d like sometimes, but I love being a teacher so that’s fine.”

A light goes out behind the ginger’s brown eyes as she says, “Oh. What do you teach?”

“Astronomy. I love stars and space.”

And another light goes out. “Oh.”

The pressure one puts themself under to reach the point where taking their life makes sense could turn wood into oil. Some people dangerously flirt with the idea. Most pull themselves out of their miasma, either because they found a better life or because they’re too afraid. The ones who reach their final end… is it braver to live or die? Do the intentional dead wear a badge or a mask? Those on their way to find out would love help, to either be saved or to the grave. Not everyone looks for help, though. So it should be celebrated that, even though she’s being ignored by the world, the woman gripping the phone is desperately trying to get help. But her hysteria’s getting the best of her. The helper on the other side is getting a barrage of words and emotions. The only things that can be figured out are that she feels betrayed and wants control.

Caryn asks her hostess, “What sort of things do you like?”

The ginger gestures around the living room and replies, “Well, obviously films.”

“Heh, obviously.”

“And music. I have a band, actually. Soda Pop Moon.”

“Oh, that’s neat. Who’s in it?”

“Just me. It’s an electronic band, but it sounds pretty heavy metal.”

“Heavy metal?”

Yet another light goes out for the ginger. “Yeah. Like Black Sabbath, Slayer, Metallica, Jethro Tull…”

Caryn lights up and says, “Jethro Tull? I love ‘Aqualung’.”

A city block goes off behind the ginger’s eyes. “Jethro—” She tries finding something else, anything else to talk about. “Do you like poems?”

“I love poems!”

“Well,” the ginger perks up, “the name ‘heavy metal’ comes from something written by a Beatnik. Burroughs, I think.”

Caryn smirks, and sheepishly admits, “I don’t like Beat poets. They write about being high and gay and not much else. Not that I have anything against either, you know? I just feel that there’s more to write about. T.S. Elliot’s pretty great.”

The ginger tries going back to a topic that worked. “What were you like in college?”

“I went to be a circus performer, actually.”

The ginger tilts her head to one side and asks, “There’s a such thing as clown college?”

“Heh, yeah… but that’s not what I went to! I went to an actual college downstate here in Illinois that had an actual circus program.”

“There’s a degree for being a carnie?”

Caryn gets slightly offended, but it’s an offended that’s caused by well-meaning people, so that she easily blows it off. “The carnival and the circus are two different things. Carnivals have Whack-a-Mole. Circuses have rope acts. Circuses also have more fun behind the curtain. I’m not sure what goes on in those port-a-potties, but we got pretty shameless backstage.”

“Get the fuck outta here. What, like a lap dance on a unicycle?”

“Ha! No.” Caryn gets lost in a memory and a smile grows on her face. She lets out an amused groan and says, “No… I miss circus.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Not everyone needs a Diablo act. I was always interested in stars and a professor I knew helped me transition to teaching.”

“Oh… do you still know any tricks?”

“Nah. I haven’t seen a trampoline in years. I still hear from some of my old circus gals. One of them works a Cirque du Soleil show.”

“Sirk duh wha?”

Self-consciousness gets the better of the suicidal tendency and she hangs up the phone. She hasn’t formed her final solution, for better or for worse. She slides to the sidewalk, black hair covering her bloodshot hazel eyes, and cuddles her only friend in the world. Callousness passing her with brown paper bags.

Caryn and her hostess, sadly, couldn’t find a middle ground. She was looking forward to living in Andilana Park, but South Holland is only a ten-minute drive to her new job. Beggars and choosers.

As she opens her apartment door, the ginger tells Caryn that she likes her peroxide-white hair. Ms. Shea thanks her and goes to her car. She calls her friend and tells him that she didn’t get the place, and reminds him that his cat slept on her clothes again. She hangs up and drives to wherever her day takes her.

The ginger shuffles back to the couch, almost tripping over her baggy blue jeans. She puts her back to its back, then flips backwards, sighing loudly, so that her head rests on a seat cushion. She stares at the inverted TV for a while before reaching for the remote, deciding that she’s had enough of SSPU for a while. Resting in silence for a few seconds, she continues her flip with a loud thud as her knees hit the floor. She rolls over in pain and rubs her owies, then sits up.

She looks over to the couch’s right, at an empty room save for a desk. She gets up and stands in its doorway. She thinks about a promise she made to herself during a stupid moment in her life. She then takes out a sheet of paper from a pocket and crosses off a name.

Caryn Shea.

There are other crossed-off names before hers, and since the ginger keeps her promises, it looks like she’ll have to add more to cross off eventually.

She sighs, her tummy gives her a rumbly, and she groans. She shuffles to the kitchen and is greeted with a fridge full of Canada Dry and not much else. She pulls her flipphone from her back pocket and scrolls through the address book. She can’t choose between three restaurants, then remembers that it’s too early to get anything from them. The earliest any of them open is noon.

She groans as she accepts that she’ll have to go to a grocery store. She thinks about driving but settles on using her tootsies. It’s not far and it doesn’t seem that cold. Caryn just wore a sweater and a skirt. She throws on her red Converse high-tops and her black frock coat, then pops on headphones and presses “play” on her CD player. The first song on Dragonforce’s “Ultra Beatdown” gets her adrenaline going and she sets out for the nearest grocery store.

The ginger kicks what dead orange she can out of the lobby before stepping out onto the 1-4-600 block of Motor Way. She immediately looks to her right, a muscle memory by now. When she moved here years ago, she was desperate. When the contractors built Barbet Place decades ago, they were stupid. As was the mayor. Who puts an apartment building next to a graveyard? The ginger doesn’t like facing true mortality on a daily basis, hence her muscle memory and her heavily-curtained windows. As she walks to the grocery store on this overcast day, she thinks about her spare room and the issues she’s had finding a roommate. About how Caryn would’ve been great if only she didn’t have to bring stars home everyday. She thinks about how much better it would’ve been if Caryn was still part of a circus because she could’ve heard heard some damn awesome stories. Heck, she might’ve even been a part of a few. She assumes. She then wonders how “fun” being in a circus could be. Slapping each other with balloon animals doesn’t sound fun. Neither does getting squirted by an elephant.

The ginger depresses herself with her imagined boredom and skips the CD to the third song. She decides to go to Walgreens instead of a grocery store because she doesn’t wanna deal with the crowds. Plus, general stores have batteries. For her CD player.

As the song gets to her favorite part, a guitar solo that sounds like a waltz, she reaches Walgreens. She does a little spin to the music in the parking lot and looks across the street. Seeing people being miserable outside of a liquor store is part and parcel of the location. As is, unfortunately, the unpracticed apathy of others walking by. Still, it takes a special person to cry with a cat outside of one, and special people to ignore them. The ginger shuts off her music and stares at the crying woman at the payphone. Then those around her. At first, she’s astounded, but that quickly develops into a more baneful a-word. She watches as the crying woman hangs up and slumps to the concrete, holding her cat. She counts how many “people” flit by. Her eyes match her hair before she can get to 30 and she blazes across the street, her gaze stabbing daggers at the “people”.

“Excuse me. I saw you across the street and— Are you ok?”

Bloodshot hazel eyes meet caring brown eyes. The melancholy maid’s voice cracks, almost a whisper, as she says, “No… not really.”

The ginger kneels down, “Did someone steal your car?”

“No. I w… I walked.”

“Do you live around the corner?”

Tears begin to stream. “No…”

“I do. Well, around the corner and three blocks that way. Wanna go there until you feel better?”

The melancholy maid holds her cat tighter.

The ginger holds out her hand and says, “C’mon, let’s go. All of us.” She takes off her coat and drapes it over the teary woman’s shoulders, then helps her up. Putting an arm around her, she leads her and her cat to Room 2B.

They get to the apartment and the ginger continues her careful escort to the leopard-print couch. She guides her guest to a seat and attempts to take back her coat. A gentle head-shake and a tightened grip tell her to do otherwise.

At a loss for what to do, she’s never picked someone up off the street, she looks around the living room as if she’d find the meaning of life. She hears a stomach gurgle but is so flustered that she doesn’t know whose stomach it came from.

Clearing her throat and playing it safe, she says that she’s hungry and asks her guest if she is as well.

“A little,” the melancholy maid whispers.

“Oh, good! I mean, bad! I mean… I was headed to the store for something to eat before I saw… I’m gonna get some food. You want some food? Food sounds great.”

“Yeah…”

“Great! I mean, good. I’m gonna get some, and you and your cat—”

“Björk.”

“You and Björk can relax. I’ll get it—”

“Her.”

“I’ll get her some food, too, and— Are you a vegetarian?”

“No.”

“We’ll all have a good breakfast. You should take a shower. Wash away some of those bad feelings. The bathroom’s the first door on the right in the hallway. Just go in there and… yeah. I’m gonna go and you stay. I mean, wait. I mean—”

“I get it. Thanks. Really.”

“No problemo.” The ginger leaves, sans coat, but not before doing quick checks in her head. About what to get, about her guest’s safety, about if she handled the situation ok. These things continue through her head as she says, “Be right back.” She’s about to close the door when her guest says, “Hey. Thank you,” and Björk meows in kind. The ginger nods, closes the door, and heads to her car.

The grievous woman sits in silence after she hears a car start up and drive away, then lets the coat go slack onto the floor. Björk wriggles out of her arms and lies on the outerwear. Her owner watches her go to sleep, then looks at the door that should be the bathroom’s. She goes to it and looks across to the kitchen. She looks in the fridge and takes out a can, then puts it on her face. It feels so soothing as she goes to the bathroom door.

She feels the wall of the dark room until she finds a knob. Twisting it too far, the checkerboard tiles become a nuclear explosion to her aching eyes. She quickly adjusts the floor-born light, then steps inside the room and closes the door behind her.

The sink is to her right, where she sets her cool can, and above it, a mirror. She’s afraid to look at herself because of all the crying she’s done. She hates that someone was able to make her feel so horrible, which is also a reason she hesitates. She doesn’t want to see the consequence of that bitch, of heartache.

She takes off her oversized gray t-shirt and slides off her black woolen tights. She doesn’t bother with the underwear and keeps her eyes averted as she walks to the shower in front of her.

It takes her a while to close the curtains as the warm water flows over her sepia skin. She lets the water run on her back for a minute or so, then turns around and puts her face in the path of the showerhead. Then she lets the water fill her mouth and makes a sound that goes from gargling, to screaming, to laughing, to nothing. She stands with her mouth open for a while, soundless apart from the hush of the water. She closes her mouth and turns around again. The water feels like a hundred tiny fingers gently massaging her back. She almost falls asleep, but her legs remind her that she’s standing.

At last, she feels like she’s showered enough and, for the first time, notices the designs on the curtains. Faeries. She reaches for a towel near the sink and pulls back a long, black one. It’s probably the most expensively-made towel this side of Downtown Chicago. She wraps herself in it and is amazed at how soft it is. So amazed that she doesn’t notice she’s looking at it on her with the mirror. Then she does and gets a foggy view of her gone-lover’s consequence. She wearily wipes the mirror and pushes her black hair back, making it trace her tense shoulders. Her eyes are the puffiest she’s ever seen them. She then picks up the still-cool can and places it on her brow as she walks into the hallway.

“Feeling better?”

The melancholy maid almost drops her can, then sees the ginger standing in the kitchen, and Björk in her arms. “Yeah, thanks.” Her voice still sits twixt a crack and a whisper. Her eyes drop to her cat and she continues, “She usually doesn’t let people hold her.”

“Heh, I bribed her with tuna. Wait, is she allowed to have tuna?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” says the maiden as she walks to them and scratches Björk’s head. The ginger notices a bandage at the top of her right ring finger. Björk lets out a sleepy meow, then wriggles to the floor and goes to the open can of tuna, her blue, handmade bell jingling all the way.

The ginger asks, “Did you make her bell?”

The guest answers, “Yeah. It’s something from a show I like. A TARDIS.”

“’Doctor Who’?” The two smirk the way geeks do when they share a moment. The hostess exclaims “Oh!” as she runs to the counter behind her and rushes back with a warm TV dinner and a small bouquet of flowers. “You were in there for a while after I threw this in the oven so you might have to reheat it. And you were in a bad way before I left. Flowers always cheer me up so…” She hands both to the smiling, embarrassed woman, then asks, “Are you homeless?”

The presentee tries wrangling her presents before giving up and placing them on the counter before replying, “No, I live on the other side of town. Are you this nice to everyone?”

The ginger nods, “I try to be. Someone has to in this fucked-up world, right? So, if you have a home, why were you—”

“What’s up with these posters? Are you a movie geek?”

The hostess puts on a mock-charming demeanor, “Film geek. And, heh, yeah. Have you seen any of them?”

“I didn’t get a good look at them because…” The maiden turns around and sees a poster near the bathroom door. “I’ve seen that one. ‘Batman Returns’.”

The ginger does a little bounce and says, “People give it shit but I love how subversive it is. A kids film with the line ‘unlimited poon tang’.”

“Who said that line?”

“Max Shreck. The guy with the crazy white hair. He says it to Penguin by the stairs. During the mayor thing?”

“Oh yeah. Weren’t there toys for kids meals from this?”

“Yeah! And Batman gleefully kills a carnie.” She flashes to Caryn disapproving. “I mean, circus performer.”

“With a bomb!” The maiden looks at the bathroom. “Where’d you get those curtains?”

“Custom-made. I had a great painter, Amy Brown, make ‘em for me.”

“I see. What other posters ya got?”

“Six more.” The hostess takes her guest on a tour, through “Versus”, through “24 Hour Party People”, through “Some Kind of Monster”, through “Punisher: War Zone”, through “Monty Python’s Life of Brian”—

The maiden asks, “Isn’t that the one that made a bunch of religious people angry?”

The ginger replies, “In a knee-jerk sorta way.”

—through a poster that seems to be made of a bunch of torn posters.

“What’s the deal with this one?”

“They’re bits of posters from all the films I hate. Fuckers.”

“Awful spiteful of you.” The melancholy maid sighs, then inhales and says on the exhale, “My girlfriend left me.”

Thanks for reading!

A Review, Inteview, and Giveaway from Books with Tien

And viola.

She had a few nice things to say and a few great questions to ask. Hopefully, I gave a few great answers. If you’re an author looking for a reviewer, you should definitely drop her a line.

Nostalgia Season Opener

“Nostalgia Season” Day One Work

There it is. Chapter one, page one of “Nostalgia Season”. At the upper-left corner is the date. I don’t remember exactly when I started writing “Lie”, so I thought I should date the first page. December 16th, 2013. Now I get to appreciate/”appreciate” how fast/slow I am as a writer. The title of the chapter is “I Don’t Know Your Name, So I’ll Call You…” It works on two levels: as a great introductory chapter title and as a nod to a dance song I like, “Medicine” by Kim Leoni. The latter is ironic because “Nostalgia Season” is, overall, a novel of heavy metal music. But the lyric (“I don’t even know your name, so I will call you “Medicine”, you can ease my pain”) was too good for me not to use. The first sentence of the novel has been in my head since shortly after I chose to make “Nostalgia Season” my next project. Before I wrote “Lie”, I read that the first sentence should grab the reader’s attention, which is why it started with the rather cheeky “‘Are you ready?’” With “Nostalgia Season”, I wanted a sense of gloom to hang over it, even at its lighter moments, so when the first sentence it me, I thought it was fantastic. “Tears stain the sidewalk of Desolation Row.” I never poked at it or tried to change it because it felt like the perfect opener. Funny thing I re-read about first sentences yesterday: that they immediately take away what the story could be and the rest of the story pays for it. The story has the potential to be anything until that first sentence is written. Then imagination is slowly replaced with execution, otherwise you’d have a story with lots of things happening that don’t make any sense.

Speaking of perfection, I’d like to address the p-word before I dive into a new novel. I believe that perfection, contrary to popular belief, isn’t an abstract and can be achieved by everyone. But perfection is different to everyone at all times. The perfect day for you isn’t the perfect day for me, and the perfect day for you when you’re nine isn’t the perfect day for you when you’re 38. Perfection is relative and achieved by a moment-to-moment basis. It also helps if there’s a monopoly on the end result. “Lie” isn’t the perfect novel, but it’s the perfect novel about a bunch of women who get together for a while and things get really weird in the last third. Perfection also comes from flaws. For some people, the perfect lover is someone who needs to be taken care of sometimes. For that to happen, there has to be something wrong with them. A flaw. But because of that, they’re perfect. For that person. And perfection can be improved upon, but at the cost of something else. Take “Lie”, for example. If I re-read it, I’ll find bits that I could’ve done better. I could go back and rewrite those bits, but “Lie” wouldn’t be the perfect novel about a bunch of women who get together for a while and things get really weird in the last third when I was 27. It’d be for when I’m 28, and my skills as a writer have changed along with my tastes. Along with the technical things, I’d start changing story things. Then the temptation would be to constantly change it until I create the perfect novel. But I’m always creating the perfect novel. But I wouldn’t see that. Also, science has proven that an artist should worry about creating often than creating The Thing. There was an art teacher who split a class into two halves. One half had to create one perfect pot, the other half had to create as many pots as they could. In the end, the quantitative half created better pots than the qualitative have.

Being my own cheerleader, my subconscious took it upon itself to help out. Last week, I had a crisis of conscience and I was punished for it severely in a dream. The next day, I came around and was treated to a great dream. Last night, I looked at my corkboard and I saw that the first chapter was as planned as it was gonna get so I decided that today was when I’d start writing (and hopefully have at least half of the 45 pages done by the end of the year). I only had one dream that I could remember, but it was enough. I feel that dreams are private things so I won’t go into detail, but I will say that when it was over, I was filled with two very different emotions. It was one of those dreams that you wake up immediately at the abrupt end, so both emotions were strong. One was “I hope that comes true…”, the other was “Oh no.” It was a lot like when Spike dreamt of Buffy. “I hope that comes true…” is an obvious reaction, but “Oh no.” intrigued me. It wasn’t “Oh no.” like Spike’s “Oh no.”, but we did have the same intensity in our “Oh no.”‘s. Mine came from a… “I don’t wanna dream about this because I really want it, REALLY fucking want it, but it’s an absurd dream that maybe has a chance of not happening more than happening and I’ve been too beaten by the world to allow myself to think about things like that” place. And a “We both know that you’re not like them and could never be like them, but the sort of thing that you’re thinking about is at the level of those sad people with unironic shrines to celebrities” place. Those things made me think about an odd through-line in my life.

Everything I’ve REALLY wanted, I’ve gotten and gotten in a way that went beyond what I originally thought. Nothing fickle like dating the hot girl in high school (I’ve come a LONG way to be able to admit that idea was fickle…). What’s a good example… ah. In 2007, “Dark Knight” was filming in Chicago and since I live close to the Windy City, I REALLY wanted to see what I could. I was a BIG fan of Batman and of the director, Christopher Nolan (still am). When “Batman Begins” was filming there, I had a chance to audition to be an extra but I ended up being a sorta pawn in someone else’s… Long story, they’re fucked-up, I’ve moved on. Anywho, in the interim twixt “Batman Begins” and “Dark Knight”, I realized that being an extra would’ve sucked for me because I wanted to see how films were made (because I wanted to direct) and not be in a film (because I didn’t wanna be an actor). So the opportunity presented itself that summer to see some things. And I did see some things. Oh, the things I did see. Before I go on, I wanna point out that I wasn’t one of those people who leaked things onto the internet. As far as I was concerned, it was an honor being able to see stuff and I wasn’t gonna betray any of that for a little notoriety on a few forums. Methinks the crew noticed that because I got to meet Nolan, I could’ve gotten a few Joker cards, I saw the Tumbler explode, I saw Joker’s truck ram the SWAT van… and I saw Heath Ledger as Joker. Multiple times. I wasn’t expecting to see any of that, I just REALLY wanted to be there. Things like that have always happened to me, and something I’ve come to expect about the things that don’t happen to me is that I didn’t want them enough. And that they wouldn’t have done much for me in the long run. I mean, it would’ve been cool to have married the hot girl in high school… but I would’ve ::shudders:: settled into modernity. A wife, 2.5 kids, and a 9-5 job? Quelle horreur! I’m not knocking people who enjoy that life, it’s just not the one for me. At all.

The interesting thing about the waking dream is the road. I REALLY want what I saw in the dream, and it’s achievable (in an abstract way), but the only way I could achieve it is if I stayed on the road I’m on and continued being productive and awesome. Which is a reason why I “Oh no.”‘d when I woke up. Let’s say that I became king of my hill and didn’t get what I REALLY wanted. With my crown came nothing. But I can’t allow myself to think like that. You don’t achieve your goals by second-guessing and pondering “What if?” You get it by showing your war face. I know what happens to people who give up, I see it when I go out, and I’ve got too much to do and REALLY want to do something as silly as that. Well… if I don’t get what I REA– Fuck that. As far as I’m concerned, I’m gonna get what I REALLY want. I’ve spent most of my life playing second-fiddle to a lot of things. Time to start rockin’ the lead electric guitar.

I’ve spent two hours writing this… why not read something that took me six months? My first novel, “Lie”, is about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision, and here are the first four chapters. If you like what you read, treat yourself to it as an eBook for only $1.99 wherever they’re sold. Thanks for reading.

Lenora Howe’s Character-Building Blog

[Filled out a survey to help me find the other star of "Nostalgia Season", Lenora Howe]

Name?

Lenora Howe.

What do people call you?

Nothing now.

Birthday?

August.

Height?

I’m 5’5″.

Eye color?

They’re hazel.

Hair color?

Black as pitch.

Righty or lefty?

You really know how to be boring. I’m right-handed.

Do you believe in God?

No.

Do you have a religion?

If I don’t believe in God, I can’t have a religion, can I? Jedi. How about that?

Do you speak another language?

Some French and Japanese.

Do you consider yourself tolerant of others?

Yeah, I’m a regular good neighbor. Want your tires washed?

Are you confident?

I’m a fucking lion, alright?

Are you a daredevil?

Yeah, I play in traffic nightly.

What’s the complement you get from most people?

“Nice tits.”

What do you like the most about your body?

My uneven tits.

Do you think you’re good-looking?

Yeah, I’m Vanessa Williams’ twin sister.

Do you have any bad habits?

I like people too fucking much.

What’s your biggest fear?

That you’re not gonna ask any better fucking questions. My crystal ball tells me I just might be right.

Do you play an instrument?

Yeah, heart strings. Drop-tuned to B-Flat.

Can you sing?

Only when I’m paranoid.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

That I didn’t waste my time with you. Or with Maylea.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in life?

That women are as useless as men in relationships.

Do you think life has been good so far?

Yeah, me and Bruce Wayne and Sandy Hook share happy stories all the time.

Is there anything you regret doing/not doing in life?

Living with Maylea.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Not anymore!

Do you kiss on the first date?

No, we hold hands ’til fucking dawn.

Do you have sex on the first date?

Are you fucking serious?

Do you have a favorite color?

Black.

Do you have a favorite number?

One.

Do you have a favorite food?

Comfort.

Do you have a favorite drink?

C’mon, try harder!

Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?

Four Horsemen with a Long Island chaser. Guessing you don’t have that with you.

Do you have a favorite country?

Japan.

Do you have a favorite animal?

My cat.

Do you have a favorite season?

Winter of discontent.

Do you have a favorite day of the week?

Gosh, I really like Day-day!

Do you have a favorite name?

Elizabeth.

Have you ever been arrested?

A few times. Thanks, Maylea.

Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex?

I’m fucking bi!

Have you ever done something you regret?

Maylea. Ugh. I’m sorry. I realize I’m being a bitch. I’m going through some shit right now, because of who… you can guess. I’m normally half a bitch and even then, I have some charm. Lemme try to show you.

Have you ever smiled for no reason?

I used to, but life goes on. With or without Corky.

Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?

Yeah, when Bjork fell off the couch and into her bowl. Bjork’s my cat.

Have you ever sang to someone for no reason?

Nobody but nobody would want me to sing to them. Not every girl’s a little mermaid.

Have you ever talked to someone you don’t know?

I don’t even know what you look like.

Have you ever been in love?

Yes. A few times. And it always hurts the same when it stops. Guy or girl. Animal, vegetable, or mineral.

Have you ever broken the law?

I almost got married to a woman but she… changed her mind. Like Chev Chelios changes heart conditions.

Have you ever been in a car accident?

Almost, when a guy was driving and I had a mouthful.

Have you ever run into a wall?

After every break-up. Do I mean literally?

Have you ever made yourself cry to get out of trouble?

I’m not that clever. Maylea was, though. She used to make herself throw up to get a few tears out. Fucking psycho.

Have you ever cried over a movie?

Yeah, “Gremlins 2″. I can’t stand whenever something bad happens to Gizmo.

Have you ever been so drunk that you can’t remember?

Once. Never again.

Have you ever stayed home from school?

I was home-schooled, so yes and no.

What do you–

I’m sorry. I gotta cut you off. I thought I was but I’m not ready to talk to anyone. I’m gonna go and… and watch something with Bjork. Something violent. Bye.

[What I knew about Lenora beforehand (besides her name) was that she had a cat named Bjork, what her eyes and hair colors were, that she was a heathen, that she was a geek, that her breasts were uneven (there's a point to that one, trust me), that her lover left her, that she was bi, and that I didn't want her to be like Sadie]

Give an earlier work of mine a read. It’s titled “Lie”, it’s about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision, and its first four chapters are waiting for you. If you like what you read, you can buy it for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

Character-Bulding Exercise Blog: Sadie Tellus’ Survey

[I found a survey that I used to help me find Sadie's voice and a few details about her. Here's what happened. I'll share what I knew before I started writing and after at the bottom.]

What’s your name backwards?

Sullet Eidas. Wow, I sound like a French Greek. I doubt I would’ve had much to myself a few thousand years ago. I wouldn’t have been French! I would’ve been Gallic Greek. Oh, now I sound like salad dressing.

What did you do last night?

I vacuumed my apartment. Tomorrow, I start interviewing roommates. They have to impress me, and I don’t wanna get off on the wrong foot by having a month-old tortilla chip stab ‘em in theirs. Is that how long it’s been since I bought that bag? Ew. And one more for luck: Ew.

The last thing you downloaded on your computer?

The cover of one of Queen’s albums. I bought their discography earlier this week and my media player couldn’t find decent cover art. So much for the computer uprising. Unless they’re just homophobic. I guess the ATMs of Boystown are safe. Oh dear, I just went to a dark place. Fuck you, brain.

Have you ever licked a 9v battery?

You didn’t get this hair by right! Just funnin’ you. No, I haven’t licked a battery. Licked my elbow once. No, really. Really! No, I didn’t.

Last time you swam in a pool?

I live in Andilana Park. If there’s a pool, you don’t wanna be in it. Besides, even in the prettiest pool, I’m only showing the skin that shows through a wetsuit and I’ve been told… many times… that wetsuits aren’t chic.

What are you wearing?

A Rob Zombie t-shirt and pajama pants. With little skulls. I call… that one “Horace”. Ah fuck, another hole?

How many cars have you owned?

Just one. Even after winning the lottery. A 1992 Toyota Paseo. I’ll drive it until I have to put it down with a 12-gauge.

Type of music you dislike the most?

That rap-rock fusion bullshit. Turntables and power chords don’t mix.

Are you registered to vote?

Do women have an equal say in politics?

Do you have cable?

I have a cable modem. I’m fine with Netflix and waiting for DVDs. Comcast loves trying to change my mind, but they’ll have a better chance trying to get Avenged Sevenfold to turn into a Kylie Minogue cover band.

What kind of computer do you use?

A laptop that can’t hold a charge anymore. I can buy a battery today! Is it cold? I don’t want wind shooting through a hole and– Sadie. Quit being dirty and lazy and change your pants.

Ever made a prank call?

No… but I feel like it every time I call a guy back after a date. Fuckers. If they were fuckers, they’d fuck this her instead of fucking her over. Losers. That’s better.

You like anyone right now?

Love is dead to me. I’m focused on doing a little good with the few bucks I won. Yeah, I think about being a good person. Some of us survived Reaganomics. Being good doesn’t involve being a necromancer, though.

Would you go bungie jumping or sky-diving?

How about… neither? Or I could pay someone to drop a watermelon out of a plane. I wonder if it’d set on fire as it fell. Would it put itself out since it’s a watermelon? Or turn into jerky? “Watermelon jerky”? Sadie: get help.

Farthest you’ve ever traveled?

Is Nebraska or New Mexico closer? I’m being serious.

What’s your favorite comic strip?

“Beakman’s World”. You can never get enough science, not even when it’s dumbed-down for children.

Do you know all the words to the National Anthem?

Jimi Hendrix didn’t say any words while he played it, so I won’t either.

Shower, morning or night?

Whenever the mood hits me.

Best movie you’ve seen in the past month?

I rewatched “Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years”. The lengths some people will go… So the devil horns hand thing. It’s an Italian gesture to ward away evil spirits. Ronnie James Dio introduced it to the masses to make fun of Reagan. Some bitch said that it was the mark of the beast and tried to shoe-horn three sixes into it. Bitch. And people believed her!

Favorite pizza topping?

Pepperoni and spinach.

Chips or popcorn?

Kettlecorn!

What cell phone provider do you have?

Cricket, but I wish I didn’t. I don’t have anything against Cricket, I just don’t like cell phones. I’d rather have a rotary phone, but no company recognized them anymore.

Have you ever smoked peanut shells?

I said I lived in Andilana Park, Illinois: not Gary, Indiana.

Have you ever been in a beauty pageant?

Nope. They don’t want gingers and I don’t want bulimia.

Orange juice or apple?

Appy juice. Except before bed. It’ll give you some fucked-up dreams. Fucked. Up.

Who were the last people you sat at lunch with?

It wasn’t lunch but Derek and I went to IHOP yesterday morning. It was fun, when he wasn’t checking out men. Oh, that gay of mine…

Favorite chocolate bar?

I’d knife a bitch for a Nestle Cookies n’ Cream.

Who’s your longest friend and for how long?

Derek and… 11 years? Yeah.

Last time you ate a homegrown tomato?

…you can grow those at home?

Have you ever won a trophy?

My one-gal band, Soda Pop Moon, did a few times.

Favorite arcade game?

“Dance Dance Revolution 5th Mix”. What? Just because I’m a metalhead doesn’t mean I don’t like the dance dance pad. The dance dance pad doesn’t like me, though. When I wear my boots. One time, I was at a Wright’s Barnyard and thought I broke a pad. I didn’t go back to see if I was wrong. Maybe next year.

Ever ordered from an infomercial?

No, but I did get a brochure from a snowmobile place when I was five. The first thing I ever got in the mail.

Sprite or 7-Up?

Canada Dry. Blessed be.

Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school/work?

Yeah, black pants and a yellow polo. I fuckin’ hate polos. They’re like what happens when a shirt and t-shirt fuck and one forgets to pull out.

Last thing you bought at Walgreens?

Mouthwash. On. Sale. Hey, I didn’t win as much as you think.

Ever thrown up in public?

What kind of metalhead would I be if I didn’t?

Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love?

Well, I won a chunk of change and I’ve thrown away love so I guess that choice has been made for me.

Do you believe in love at first sight.

Blind.

Spongebob or Jimmy Neutron?

Dethklok.

Did you have long hair as a kid?

No, but you grow into it.

What message is on your voicemail?

Still haven’t recorded one.

Where would you like to go right now?

Metallica’s first “S&M” concert so I could’ve been one of the first to hear “No Leaf Clover”.

What’s the name of your pet?

Don’t have one. If I did, I’d call it… “Hot for Teacher”.

What kind of backpack do you have, and what’s in it?

None and nothing. Whatever doesn’t fit in the pockets gets left behind.

What do you think about the most?

Lately? How to help the world in my own way.

[The only things I knew about Sadie Tellus (besides her name) before I started were that she was a ginger, a Wicca, owns a copy of "Decline of Western Civilization II", is a metalhead, drives a Paseo, won a lottery, wants to do something with the money, has a gay friend named Derek, wants a roommate, has a band named Soda Pop Moon, that she's been to Nebraska and New Mexico, that she lives in Andilana Park, IL, and has been scorned by love. Everything else came organically as I filled out questions. So I fully endorse surveys for character-building.]

Read the first four chapters of the novel I wrote before finding this clever trick. It’s about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. If you like what you read, you can pick up “Lie” for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

My First Amazon Review (and it’s a five-star!)

By Sheri A. Wilkinson:

“A story of four women who take a mini vacation to try to help one in their little group. Each person has character, they are not prefect, they have their own flaws. A nice story of love, family and friendship. I loved the writing style of Rathan Krueger and would definitely read more from this Author.”

It took me a long time to stop staring at that. After all the messages I’ve sent to reviewers since August, someone finally said something about it in a public forum. Probably the biggest public forum for any artist looking to have a career. And not only did someone have something to say, they gave what I wrote the highest merit. The stars? They’re great but as someone who’s just getting started, it’s fantastic to know that someone “would definitely read more from this Author”. Because where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and there’re more people out there who’d want more from me. Who’d want female characters who are more than just wallpaper or cut-outs. Who’d like stories with a few cracks in them. Who’d enjoy earned unpredictability. Who’d not mind more song and film references in a novel than they’re used to.

But one review is just a step along the way, and I have many more fans to earn… which I’ll be sure to get after my new ad gets posted in an online magazine soon. You can’t imagine how much thought went into creating it. Figuring out the layout, deciding on the font, choosing the right words, nudging everything so that they’re arranged in the best way, getting the right shade of red, and on.

Creating the character of Sadie (originally Stacy) hit a bump because I realized that I was creating yet another fun-loving ginger. I don’t want it to seem like I’m creating Idette for the rest of my life. Ironically, it’s because of Idette that I came up with a great way to build a character. I had to do an interview as Idette and last week, I wondered how I could translate that to other characters. So I figured that I could fill out one of those personality surveys that Myspace and Facebook used to love as one of the characters as I’m creating them. The mere thought of doing that made Sadie different than Idette, so I’m looking forward to doing that soon for her and Lenora.

Read the first four chapters of the novel that’s (very slowly) sweeping the nation. If you like what you’ve read, pick it up for yourself or as a gift for someone else for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

Something New, Something Borrowed

I’ve set-up my corkboard in a different way for “Nostalgia Season”. With everything I’ve written, although I’ve had the ‘board for three years, most of my notes have been on sheets of paper. The notes on the ‘board were there more as reminders to look at the paper. It made me feel a bit like Gandalf as he was searching through the libraries of Minas Tirith, but it’s not as productive as I’d like. Thinking about it  before I made the switch to how I’m working now, I figured that it was because I did more of my thinking on paper instead of on cards. With “Nostalgia Season”, I still have notes on paper, but they’ll be transferred to the cards ASAP. Not having the entire story in front of me at all times should be interesting. I’ll have tunnel vision like I’ve never had before. Will what I have planned for future chapters stay or go?

The ‘board, however, is only so large, which brought me to my next evolution. It started as I was watching one of the special features for the MASSIVE “Breaking Bad” complete series boxset (so glad to see that presentation hasn’t gone out of style [still amazed that I own a TV series in a chemical drum]). Each episode starts off on a corkboard and starts off as four cards labeled “Act I”, “Act II”, “Act III”, and “Act IV”. From there, each act is annotated to death with notecards. Once all that’s taken care of, the cards are given to a writer who makes sense of them and creates an episode. “Nostalgia Season” is being created in a similar way. The ‘board has the initial notecard for the chapter in the upper-left corner, notes scribbled like John Doe. In the lower-right corner are three cards: one for Lenora Howe, one for Stacy Tellus, and one for Stacy’s apartment. Lenora’s has a drawing of her and some notes about her. Ditto Stacy’s. At first, I was gonna have each character represented by an actress, a la “Lie”, but that turned into trouble rather quickly. So I’m going back to my intention with “Love! in Bedlam” and instead painting the characters with broad strokes and allowing the reader to add the details. The apartment has the layout and some notes, including the address and apartment number. The off-center of the ‘board has three lines of three notecards.

Knowing that I wanted eight chapters that seemed like episodes of a TV show made me do more planning than with “Lie”. I knew how many chapters I wanted with “Lie”, but that’s about it. Page-count wasn’t a factor, but it is with “Nostalgia Season”. I figured that a long episode of a TV show was about 45 minutes, so each chapter of “Nostalgia Season” became about 45 pages. “Lie” was 200 pages, but I wrote them longhand first. On notebook paper, “Lie” was 89 pages, front and back. To make sure that each chapter of “Nostalgia Season” was around 45 pages as a book, I had to do a little math. The final edit of “Lie” slaughtered a lot of pages (particularly in the film day chapter) but I was too lazy to figure out how many exactly, so I rounded down to 80 pages. Besides, it’s easier to figure out how 80 pages ballooned to 200 instead of 89 pages. From that math, I figured that I needed to write around 18 notebook pages, front and back, per chapter. The notecards have page-number quotas I have to reach with each.

I am an enemy of traditional structures. But I like to challenge myself. The three sets of notecards (because that’s all the space I had and nine divides into 45 perfectly) lend themselves well to a three-act structure. So that’s how I’ll be handling “Nostalgia Season”. And only “Nostalgia Season”. It’s a bit fitting because I’ll be writing it with the same intent as “Huetta’s Grace”, in that I’ll try to get it published the traditional way. The next novel, whenever that’ll be, will be self-published but like I said a few weeks ago, I’d like to see how the professional world works. Plus, if I could slip in an anti-nostalgia blade twixt the ribs of this nostalgia-crazed culture right through the front door, vive le revolution!

Some of the major things I really wanted to do in “Huetta’s Grace” and “Love! in Bedlam” are finding their way into “Nostalgia Season”, but I also have a few new goals. One is writing a declarative monologue. I love them and hope to make a career out of writing and performing them. One that stands out at the moment is Galadriel’s speech in “Fellowship of the Ring”. Another is The Doctor’s speech in “Rings of Akhaten” (apologies for the video quality on this one). Especially The Doctor’s speech. They don’t come naturally to me, though. By that, I mean that I know I have them in me but they haven’t found their way to my pen like so many other words. So I decided to give myself a note about it, a treat for myself in the final chapter. That chapter doesn’t have much in the way of notes, but the few it does have makes it potentially the most epic thing I’ve done so far (and I’m not using that word lightly). I mean, something titled “The Insanity They’re Heir To” can’t be anything BUT grandiose, right?

I had an epiphany last week pertaining to the sort of tales I plan to tell. Sandcastle stories. As far as I know, I came up with the term by me onesies. Essentially, I build something beautiful but either by something external or my need to destroy, it’s a devastated lump when I’m finished. Which means that there probably won’t ever be a happy ending coming outta me. If there is, I lost a bet.

Give the first four chapters of the first novel from yours truly a read. It’s about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own with a life-changing decision. If you like it, you can buy it for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.