Rathan Krueger's Blog, page 13

Little Successes Are Swell

I was notified earlier today that my short story, “Startuggers”, was accepted and posted on Microstory.me. It’s a great feeling, seeing it there.

In other news, I decided to try something different with writing. Gonna try writing two scripts. Why? Because I’m young and stupid. Also, I had an idea for another horror story. If “Tangle Core” will be my 70s horror film, then “Murderhounds” will be my 80s horror film. Y’know, playfully violent and full of satire. I wanna finish them both by my birthday in September so that should be interesting. I’m using notecards in a different way. I have one pinned for each film and at the top, “What’s Left for [film]?” is written. The rest of the card will be a constantly updated checklist of things I need to figure out before I can arrange my notes and start writing. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m gonna write two scripts at the same time, but it’ll probably be the James Cameron approach. When he was writing “Aliens”, he also had to write “Rambo: First Blood II”. He took the total amount of pages he had to write and divided that number into how many days he had to write them (or vice-versa). Then he found out how many pages he had to write per day and did it.

Full of Life and Full of Spirit. Come to Me, Let’s Talk About

Self-promoting for “Lie” is going slowly but steadily. Nothing major has happened yet, but I didn’t expect them to so soon. Just continuing to beat the drum gently. I did manage to get around to registering “darknessopera” as a domain name last week. I had a push from “Pacific Rim”. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. I ordered the (awesome) artbook and it came in last week from Barnes & Noble. It also came with a coupon for 250 free business cards. Free comes in many different gaudy disguises, but I managed to find something that worked for me. There was a spot to put an address, but I don’t feel comfortable with everyone knowing where I live. There weren’t any rules that said I had to put an address, though. So I remembered a nifty quote I saw on Twitter earlier that day. There was a place for a web addy and professionalism started sneaking in. I have a site, yes, but methought that darknessopera.wordpress.com didn’t look very good (no offense to WordPress). So I stopped dragging my feet about it after a few months and registered the domain name. A shipping-and-handling charge later, my new business cards began their journey to me. Then I thought that I should get a case since a) it’d be sloppy of me not to, and b) I don’t want a bunch of cards in a pocket. I searched ebay for about an hour until I found a card (or cigarette) case that worked for me. I won’t be ordering that until Friday… which works out great because that means it and my cards will be coming in at around the same time next week.

Most people have nightmares about monsters or death. I have nightmares about mediocrity (“settling” is the scariest word in the world… that and “bored”). And they’re not the sort of scary that makes you wake up suddenly. Nay, these are the slow and brooding ones that ensnare you until they feel like letting you go. Saturday night wasn’t the best night for me and something was heavily weighted on my mind. So much so that said mind decided to give me the rare dream. Then went one better and made it a nightmare. Since I’ve started up the professional artist journey years ago, the end goal in my dreams was always represented by a theatre. Well, the theatre was there this time but at one point, it was craned away. Where it was, a squished roll of hundred dollar bills sat. Nearby was a crappy car with an average gal sleeping in the backseat wearing something I kinda sorta liked but not enough to enjoy. Then I unrolled the bills and they turned out to be fridge magnets with “Never Forget” written on them. When I woke up, it only took about ten minutes for me to figure everything out. Basically, I could get what I wanted right now but it’d be far less than what I could get. Horrifying. It’s like a part in “Scrooged”. Y’know, the Bill Murray Christmas film. When he and the Ghost of Christmas Past went to his job’s party and was hit on by the attractive flake. He was angry at his past self and then he saw him meet the love of his life (after getting hit by a door and curb). He could’ve done something with the flake… but she would’ve flaked and he wouldn’t have met Claire. And the thing about meeting Claire was that it hurt. Settle for a good thing or take the pain it takes to get the great thing. I wonder if Bill Murray thought “Scrooged” would ever have been used this way.

I figured out what I wanna do next and have already started working on it. Last week, I started embracing Video-On-Demand because I got tired of theatres near me not playing what I wanted and didn’t feel like driving an hour and paying for parking. One of the things I watched was the remake of the horror film, “Maniac”. I hate remakes, for the most part (ask me about “Robocop” sometime [really, don't]), but hearing that Elijah Wood was the maniac and it took place in 1st-person perspective was too good of a thing to pass up. At the risk of sounding psychotic, it spoke to me in ways films about lonely people speak to lonely people. The only other film to do that for me was also a horror film that began with an m, “May”. While I was watching “Maniac”, I remembered a film idea I had about a crazy guy falling in love with a crazy gal. Once “Maniac” was over, I rushed to the desk and fleshed the idea out. Soon after, I thought of a title. “A Tale of Two Psychos” (inspired by one of my favorite ghost stories [as a guy who hates ghost stories] “A Tale of Two Sisters”). Later last week, I found out that Natalie Portman is making a film that starts off with “A Tale”, so I chucked that. Recently, I’ve been getting back into anime and it loves its random-seeming titles. That unlocked the part of my brain that could think of “Tangle Core: A Psycho-Love Story”. The words and the hyphen are very deliberate. I decided not to write with a budget in mind like I have before. One of the things David Cronenberg taught me is to not censor yourself because of a budget. Write freely and figure out a way to make it later. So that’s what I’m doing. It’ll be around 100 pages and I’m wondering if I could (almost) finish it by the end of August. It’ll also be my first stab at writing something faerietale.

Come read the first four chapters of my first novel, “Lie”. It’s about a group of women who go on a getaway to help one of their own through a big problem she’s having. It’s also an attack on generic female characters (of which none of mine are). If you like what you’ve read, you can buy “Lie” for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks and I hope you have fun.

“Lie”

Hello.

Firstly, I want to thank you for preparing to read my novel, located as a PDF download below. I have put a lot of work into it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

On the surface, “Lie” is about a group of four women who go on a getaway to a cottage to help one of their own through a life-changing problem.

Underneath the bridge, “Lie” is an attack on bland female characters in modern fiction.

Wherever you look, it’ll be a lot of fun.

Here’s the cast, in alphabetical order:

Quinevere Ainsworth is the one with the problem. Under normal circumstances, she’s quiet but with the right accident, this white-haired comic book geek can be quite the companion.

Fantine Karoly is quiet under pretty much all circumstances. In her defense, she’s a rather shy teen. She’d much prefer to watch films or let her mind drift to faerie folk. Her aunt, however, wants her out of her shell and feels that this getaway will do her a world of great.

Veronique Karoly is a middle-aged woman with no regrets. Save for how her niece acts sometimes. She’s done it all in life, and sometimes twice. The only thing she loves more than Fantine is being a woman.

Idette Rudelle has known Quinevere for most of her almost-30 years being alive. Although she’s younger, she’s the protector of the two. A bit like those tiny dogs that are cuddly with the ones they like, and insanely… chompy around everyone else. Except she’s obviously not a dog and I’ve never seen a ginger pooch.

Lie – By Rathan Krueger

Thanks a bunch for reading and I would love to hear your opinions about it soon.

New Horizons, Or Why It’s Great to Have Lumbar Support

This week, I kick into high-gear the self-promotion machine. “Lie” is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and iBooks but I don’t have iTunes so I can’t link to it. It’ll eventually be everywhere possible around the world, if it’s not already, but I wanted to have them in the big three before I rolled up my sleeves. I hope to have a level of notoriety by September (big dream, kid…) or by the end of the year (big dream, kid…). Big dream, you say? Sure, but this.

I have a few projects coming to me. I wrote a short film script for something Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s doing. The prompt was to write about the edge of the universe, have it dialogue-centric, and fit some science facts into it. For a guy who hates space, I know a lot about space. I chose to write a back-and-forth convo between two space explorers, and you can read “Edge of the Universe [ping-pong]“. It’s not my usual brand of darkness… or any sort of darkness. Apart from space. Tell me what you think of it.

He also asked for poetic short stories about being dumped and working trash into it. He speak-a my language because I know pain. I know pain.

Clive Barker asked for fans to write a horror short story that fits into his “Cabal” novel (adapted into the film “Nightbreed”) for an anthology novel. There aren’t many rules except a word limit and that you have to weave in a theme from a few keywords he offered. I dug out an idea from my idea notebook (I strongly suggest every creative person to have one) and it’s more or less plotted. I’ll go in soon and flesh things out but the hard part is done. I’ll talk about it more later but what I can say is that it’s a sort of satire.

These things are possible because of two things: skill and a comfy chair. Do not underestimate the power of a good chair. The chair I had until this one was a piece of shit from Wal-Mart. I got it because it was cheap and looked fine. Sure, it didn’t rock back, but I could lean the whole chair back on its wheels. Then the cushion more or less gave out on me and I started feeling back pains. VERY bad when your current career revolves around you sitting down for extended periods of time. Enough was enough after a while and I went to my old pal, ebay. Found a great chair that cost half as much as the piece of shit from Wal-Mart. It rocks back and has arm rests and a high back. The only problem is that it doesn’t raise, but my back feels great. I can take on the world with my back muscles.

In random success news, I get to see “The World’s End” on the 1st with an Edgar Wright Q&A afterwards, then “Shaun of the Dead” with “Hot Fuzz” on the 2nd with an Edgar Wright Q&A afterwards. For free. Success loves when you earn it, kids.

I’d like it a lot if you read the first four chapters of my take on awesome female characters, “Lie”. Thanks.

The Adventures of Zofie and Mr. Fluffy: Dead-Beat Dad

Mr. Fluffy, I think it’s time I told you the truth about your father. She– Yes, your sweet mother Zofie loves women. She– Her name was Natalia. Whew… this is gonna be hard already. You want some nip? No? Well, I’ll have some nip. Long Island Iced Nip.

So you’re maybe might be done with listening to me after last night… or maybe might not. You’re sleeping so it doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna tell you about her because she’s your father and I need to let her go. Cheers.

We met… three or four years ago. You’re not gonna judge me, are you? Wait, you can’t make it onto the chair sometimes. I was a fiend on a forum for photographers. Or “photographers”. It was open to everyone and not everyone is talented. One time, I found a horrible– Right. Your father. I posted a pic on the forum, of… a make-believe murder scene. Your mother’s fucked-up, Mr. Fluffy. Natalia found me that day. I thanked her for her critique… probably over-thanked. The slightest praise to a starving artist sounds like an auditorium loving you. Natalia didn’t mind and we became friends soon after. Exchanging notes in the forum then moving onto e-mails. Never phone calls because international charges are a bee-yah-itch.

That’s right, Mr. Fluffy, you’re a mixed kitty. A peace-offering to the world. Your mother is American and your father hails from Ireland. A Russian in Ireland. She had the cutest accent… too soon. Now, I should say that I didn’t want to fall in love with Natalia. Who wants to fall in love in that situation? There was an ocean between us and six time zones. There was the fact that we were both women. There was no denying that I was slowly becoming addicted to her words.

I didn’t know it was love. I thought it was just a brewing excitement from knowing someone so interesting. Someone who thought I was so interesting. I can’t tell you how great it feels for someone to genuinely think that you’re special. Especially when you go through most of your life in absence of any sort of affection from someone not related to you. It’s probably like when I scratch your kick spot.

I fucking hate when people use broad adjectives to describe someone they love, so I’m not gonna do that to you. I’m not gonna… let my glass stay empty. Be right back.

Comfy? Goody. I didn’t know what she looked like until a while after we started dating, so I’ll leave that part out until then. I guess we had a real love. She– FUCK! I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it together. She… heh, she was like her son is now when I first knew her. A frightened cat, I mean. She was timid about a lot of things. I guess my American braggadocio helped her open up which made her–

FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! Why is this so hard?! I just…

Sorry. She was timid about a lot of things. People, the ones who chose to speak to me, feel pretty quickly that they can tell me anything. That backfired immensely with Robin. This was after your father, Mr. Fluffy. She was open to women and I met her online and within days, I was her bff. And I was too close to be her gf. We women can be really weird sometimes.

Natalia, Natalia. Ok. Timid. Our e-mails revolved around what we did that day and other randomness. She used to tell tales, like how people thought she was a classical music freak because that’s how she looked. She looked the part, y’know? My first peek into her… many-leveled basement showed me that she loved that really angry guitar music about eating daemons and things like that. She was also an atheist who loved religious iconography. The rants we used to have about that… I should’ve accepted that about her.

A HUGE problem she used to have ’til me was about her body. I know this is jumping the gun, Mr. Fluffy, but your father had a fucking awesome body. She was a petite, womanly Russian lady who some fucking asshole is probably–

It was two months after we met that I noticed I was falling for her… and I was scared. I was fucking scared. We didn’t live any sort of feasibly near each other, I’m gay, she might not be, and I’ve been comically unlucky in love. I don’t wanna bore you, but have you ever fell in love with a girl, then have her tell you she doesn’t want a relationship, then watch her and your best friend suddenly become cuddle-buddies, then have your best friend thank you for setting her up with your failure?

One day, it got too much and I had to tell Natalia how I felt. The Ides of March were– Heh. We started dating on the Ides of March. Before that, we started writing actual letters to each other. We both love getting them in the mail. She loved my handwriting. Heh, not at first. She thought it was too neat and said that it hurt her eyes. She got used to it and told me that when we eventually meet, she was gonna have me write a bunch of things and stare at my hand. Your father was silly, being self-conscious about her scribbling. I thought it looked ok, but she thought it was too narrow. She used to sign her name with a snail because “they’re such charming creatures”. Ditto elephants. Heh, you could’ve been an elephant, Mr. Fluffy.

She loved everything India.

March 15th came… which didn’t make sense to her. She preferred 15th March. That day came and I put my feelings in the all-or-nothing box, then e-mailed it to her. I sent it much earlier than usual because I wanted to hear from her as soon as possible. Longest few hours of my fucking life, Mr. Fluffy. Cheers.

Then I got a reply. A very confused reply. But I wasn’t gonna let her go, goddamnit. I was so fucking tired of losing that– I can’t think of another word for it thanks to my nip, but I felt that she was my soulmate. We complimented each other so well. Everything I wasn’t, she was. And she was smart. And she loved the same goofy music and films I did. And she had the cutest accent… I heard it by that point. And she was kinky. Fuck me, Mr. Fluffy, she was kinky. You probably don’t wanna hear this about your father… but you don’t speak English. She was such a sub, and got horny at the drop of a hat. She used to tell me that sometimes she cried because she was so turned on sometimes. And she never had an orgasm. Poor thing. Your purrs can attest, I’ve got some fucking magical fingers. I would’ve loved to have dipped them in her Irish borsch. AND she loved tight skirts with thigh-highs and garter belts!

What clued me into her maybe being into me was that she used to tell me about how women turned her on. Then I sent her an e-mail, got a confused reply, and I fucking poured my heart out. More than I ever had to anyone. She wanted to fuck in every room of our eventual new house. I poured out my heart and told her how much I admired her brain and reminded her of how well we fit and… and… and all those other things hopeless romantics say when they have nothing to lose.

And she said “yes”.

Things weren’t ever easy with your father, and I mean that in the best way. With whatever involved her, I had to work at it. It’s one of the things I loved about knowing her. She always pushed me. Heh, and this is probably something that any other artist might slap me for but she wasn’t a big fan of everything I created. I loved being grounded like that. No matter how well I thought I did, no matter how many people loved what I did, she was always there to say “Um..not really, no.” And I never, ever got angry at her about that.

She used to move her hands a lot when she got excited. And sometimes erupted into giggle fits.

I did get angry, though. I loved her but I wasn’t blindly in love. I couldn’t glaze over something wrong and, thankfully, neither could she. Besides, it wasn’t ever anything serious. Well… there were moments once in a while… lots at the beginning but they dwindled to nothing as time went on. I’d blame it on PMS, but my periods were always pretty light. Kinda like having bad gas. General Cramps wasn’t so kind to her, though. It always hit her hard and she was a mad Russian-Irish for a few days. My mad Russian-Irish. I was afraid of… of… fucking say it, Zofie. I was afraid of losing her. She was the first woman I felt so strongly for and I had her and I’ve lost out to so many people so many times that… I was paranoid. But you can’t blame me. But it wasn’t right. Neither was looking around for someone else sometimes. But I’ve been thrown away so many times that I couldn’t help but make a plan-fucking-b. I got over it, though, because she loved me so unconditionally.

Two years. Two of the best fucking years of my life. We used to have video chat dates… talking to each other for hours and hours. We talked about… Her dream was to get married and I took that away from her. I beat into her head that marriage was outdated and she gave up something that meant a lot to her. There was a pic she sent me. A bunch of pics she found when she was a little girl. One of them was of her as a little girl in a beautiful bell… a beautiful bell dress. She had a tiara, a sparkly scepter, and an adorable smile. She wanted to look like that for her wedding. A princess. And I took that from her. She looked so happy in that pic, Mr. Fluffy, and I fucking ruined her happy moment because I was too stuck on myself.

I wasn’t always an asshole to your father. All this happened at the beginning. I was the best person I could’ve been to her most of the time, then all of the time. One of her favorite… She had a favorite TV show but she never saw every episode. I found the complete series on DVD, and you would’ve been proud of your sneaky mother. I ordered it for Natalia. I was probably happier than she was when she got it. I loved making her happy however I could. She loved giving gifts more than receiving, though. Whenever she was on vacation with her family, she always made sure to get people things. She, heh, she always bought something for me last because she over-thought it until the last second. The fact that she was thinking about me was enough.

Two years… then she had to move in with her aunt in Holland. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. While we were togeth– FUCK!!

…while we were together, I made Natalia more comfortable with herself. She was always so timid at the beginning. She couldn’t look at herself and didn’t think she was attractive. She was such a gorgeous woman. My favorite pic of her– FUCK!! Fuck you, fuck y…

My favorite pic of her was one her father took of her one trip. It was a little out-of-focus but that didn’t matter. He caught her by surprise and she was looking over her shoulder… her right shoulder… she was looking over her right shoulder and had the warmest smile. I’d have done anything, ANYTHING to be smiled at like that. She told me that she’d always have one for me.

She rarely went out when she was in Ireland. Too insecure. Too into me. But I got her to open up. I got her to be comfortable with herself. I made it so that Natalia could go wherever the fuck she wanted when she moved because the world didn’t fucking scare her anymore. I made her a better fucking human being and she LOVED it. She loved it and those guys in the clubs loved it and those guys on the street loved it and she told me not to bother being with her because– FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING WHORE! I LOVED YOU! I LOVED YOU! I WOULD’VE DONE ANYTHING FOR YOU! I WAS GONNA UPROOT MY WHOLE GODDAMN FUCKING LIFE TO FUCKING BE WITH YOU! AND YOU THREW ME AWAY LIKE SHIT WHEN YOU DIDN’T FUCKING NEED ME ANYMORE! FUCK YOU!!

You made me… you made me promise to… you were afraid that I’d leave you when you got older. When the wrinkles and the gray started to take you. You made me promise to never leave you, Natalia. But you left me for hedonism. And all of Holland is taking advantage of your blooming. It’s been over a year and I have to, at last, break my promise. I should’ve done it the day you left, but I’m a fool. I’ve tormented myself and scared my cat enough. I’ve been neurotic about life and women because of you too long. You probably don’t think about me anymore. One cloud on a stormy day. We have lives to live without each other now. I see that. I know that. I have to let you go. With these words, I have to let you go. With these words, I have to let you go. Whew… ok. Ok. Ok. Alright.

Pakah and slán abhaile, Natalia.

Hello, new world.

Think they’re ready, Mr. Fluffy? For some cold, dead hedonism? Lick-ums! Blegh, less fish for you. Ugh… less nip for me…

Stuck around to the end? Awesome. You should check out the first four chapters of my first SELF-PUBLISHED novel, “Lie” (by me, Rathan Krueger). If they tickled your fancy, you should buy my eBook for $1.99 wherever you can buy them. Thanks a bunch.

The Adventures of Zofie and Mr. Fluffy: pairofducks

…I’m just so tired of wasting my time, you know? I thought that I’d finally found my artistic haven. Instead, it’s nothing but “Ooo, Zofie, look at this game!” Or “Ahh, Zofie, doesn’t this look funny?” As if the entire world revolved around high scores and web links. We were all doing so well, Mr. Fluffy. Or I thought we were. The other gals and I had great ideas for comics and films… AND it looked like we were actually onto something! I’ve told you all this before but you’re the only one I can talk to about these things. Besides, I feed you and clean your litter box: the least you can do is lend me one of those cute ears. And try to aim in the box more. In the box, Mr. Fluffy.

We were supposed to show the world that women can do more than wiggle our asses and be hausfraus. Not much ass for me to wiggle, anyway. Linda and Patty have so much imagination behind their mascara. Whenever we’re up all night at the diner spewing randomness, I get excited. For me and for them. I tried– Put those claws away. I tried so many times to get them motivated but it only seems to work when I’m around. No offense, but it’s like herding cats.

Linda is very much the sci-fi gal. Well, we all are but I think she’s the one who’ll make the most out of it. Who’d make the most out of it. I think her love of Douglas Adams makes her feel that she can write just like him… including his pace. Mr. Fluffy, did I tell you about that biography I read? Douglas Adams couldn’t make a deadline for five years! Or was it ten? Five years is still a long time to fuck up a deadline. I couldn’t imagine being that irresponsible. And THEN– Oh yeah, Linda.

She tells me these great ideas and then gets distracted with so many things. Or is it the same thing a bunch of times? That’s what talking to you is for, Mr. Fluffy. Figuring everything out. Aw, you yawned for me. I won’t fall for your ruse, though. Despite my feelings on the matter, I can’t tell you what she’s told me. In the strictest confidence, things were said. And I’m a woman of my woooord. Liked my Joker impression?

Linda’s distractions, Linda’s distractions… there’s her fella, Otto. Where one goes, so too does the other’s kingdom. And their castles are dripping with PDA. I mean, if it was warped and fun like Spike and Drusilla, I’d love the popcorn view. But nooo, it’s that sappy love song bull that makes me wanna… makes me wanna… Oh, shush, I’m not bitter. But back to Lotto. Or just Otto for right now. He’s an enabler. He knows she’s creative and wants to write stories, but he lets her get distracted with video games. And sex. No, I’m not bitter.

Then there’s Patty. What hurts is that we’re so similar and yet she can’t get her act together. It’s like we’re opposites: Nega-Zofie and Posi-Patty. Remember me telling you about the zombie novel I helped her plot? The one I spent a month helping her with? Completely discarded and forgotten. Or rather, it’s discarded because it’s forgotten. It was a great satire, too. But the newest game probably came out and she had to choose twixt 20 hours of fun or a lifetime of fun. Herding cats, Mr. Fluffy.

I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how someone could allow themself to be gutter bait like that. Yeah, yeah, more belly rubs. Patty has so much going for her, or could have, and yet she spends her time doing everything but something worthwhile. And her standards with men are just… most of the time. Sometimes, she does good for herself. But she seems quite happy with the bare minimum in life as long as her games still work. And her phone’s turned on. Mein gott, Herr Fluffy, you’d swear she was 14 with all the time she spends on her phone. Smart phones are probably the worst things that happened to conversation in the 21st century. She also has a habit of being on the phone for long periods of time while out with Linda and I. It’s fucking rude, Mr. Fluffy. Always talking to some guy she met online or wherever else. No, I’m not bitter.

Alright, I’m fucking bitter. I have the most going for me yet I’m the worst-off socially. I’m having a one-sided heart-to-heart with my sleeping cat. How are they able to get men while I get dick? Figurative dick. What’s that? How are my standards? Only the best for me, Mr. Fluffy. Only the bestiest-est-best. I guess it’s better this way, being alone for now. If I had a guy, he probably wouldn’t be the best I could do. And when the best comes, and it will come, I wouldn’t think twice about about ditching one for the other. Like Evan Grey. Mmm. Ok, I’m a bitch sometimes, but you’re a cat and can’t call me one. Success: mine.

I’m not sure what the point of this was, Mr. Fluffy, but I feel better. What’s for din-din…

If you liked this short story, you should read the first four chapters of my first novel, “Lie” (by me, Rathan Krueger). And if you liked them, you should buy the eBook wherever they’re sold. Thanks a bunch.

Success Unbound

This blog is brought to you by Sylver.

Now that I’ve had some time to clear my head and not have every other thought be “I’M A FUCKING PUBLISHED AUTHOR! GAZE UPON MY WORK, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR!”… I can write a proper blog about things.

Let’s start with being a self-published author. I went through BookBaby for all my eBook needs and will have “Lie” in every eBook retailer in the world in a month’s time. Some stores will have it days from now, others will have it in weeks. Two of the things I had to do was write a bio and summary. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy those parts.

An aspect of being self-published, perhaps the largest aspect, is that I’m also self-promoting. There’re a few reasons I’m choosing to self-promote, because I don’t really have to. However, they’re just offshoots of two so I’ll explain them. One is that, sooner or later, agents and publicists cost money. Money I don’t have or want to spend. Particularly because although I’d rather not self-promote, I know how great a job I can do of something if properly motivated. Which brings me to the second thing. I’d much rather be the master of my own destiny than worry about being in the hands of someone else’s. A someone who’ll have other authors to deal with. However much effort they’ll put into me, they’ll still have a split focus. I won’t. Agents and publicists could do a better job of getting me noticed, but I’d rather have myself to blame with whatever good or bad comes my way. Besides: I’m an adult and this is a new world for all artists. I just have to put my boyish charm and social awkwardness to some use.

I’d debating creating a trailer. I’ve already recorded the voices for it, so it’d just be a matter of editing them together, scoring it, and creating visuals. Why wouldn’t I do it? I started thinking that it might be superfluous, but I’ll probably change my mind by Monday.

I’ve been reading a lot about marketing eBooks and have a solid plan. One site said that it’s a shame I’m thinking about it now vs. while I was writing. Because I could’ve skewed my novel toward a particular demographic. That bullshit’s one of the reasons why entertainment is so horrible now. You can’t cater to people while you create and still create something wholly truthful. One of the best periods of cinema is the 1970s because artists were allowed to work without worrying about four quadrants. At the same time, I understand that I have to sell my novel. And I’ll do a damn good job of it. But “Lie” stays as it is. While writing, my novel is art. While selling, my novel’s a product.

Artistic success is probably the greatest high anyone can achieve. All I’ve done is finished a novel and managed to get it in stores, and I already feel like I can flip mountains. I can’t imagine how tolerable I’ll be after I sell my first copy. Which leads me to that a-word: arrogance. I’m not the modest guy I was two years ago. I mean, I’m still modest but I have the added weight of accomplishing something few have done and being my only cheerleader during the process. There’re so many people who say they’re gonna do something, I’ve known some, and others who’ve allowed themselves to become distracted by whatever excuse, and I’ve also known them. It also doesn’t help/hurt my ego that I’m the first person I know who’s taken such a large creative step. Or that so many great things are happening to me now. Next week, I get to see the most famous living burlesque dancer do her thing along with “Pacific Rim”. Later this month, I have the club experience I’ve always wanted (hopefully). Next month, I get to see one of my all-time favorite bands live (and I hate live shows so that should tell you how excited I am). The month after, I celebrate being a professional artist before my next birthday along with hearing Nine Inch Nails’ latest album. The month after that, I get to see Freddy Krueger present films three nights in a row. In November, I see the culmination of my entire summer of ’12 and 50 years of sci-fi with the 50th anniversary special of “Doctor Who”. In December, more Middle-earth fun. All the while, I’ll be earning my fandom and enjoying whatever benefits come from doing that. It’s so easy to get lost in the air up there. So I remind myself that I’m lucky I’m able to live off being creative. That I’m humble first and cocky second… which becomes a strange playful arrogance. Ladies like guys who can stand up for themselves and fall out of chairs.

Although writing is the means, not the end, I feel that I have to keep that wheel greased. I’ve spent most of the year writing but I didn’t have anything to show for it until around now. And I enjoyed writing weekly short stories. Part of the problem was that I couldn’t juggle two creative ideas at the same time. The other problem was that ideas outside of “Lie” stopped coming. That hasn’t been the case for the past few weeks, however. I have a notebook dedicated to ideas and I’ve filled far more pages than I thought I would’ve by now. I was worried though, because I had films in mind for them… but there’re far too many to do well in a lifetime. However, they’d make great short stories. And songs.

12:22am on July 4th, 2013

…I self-published my first novel, “Lie”. I’ll write more soon. I just wanna ride this high for a while.

AND the country’s gonna celebrate later tonight by throwing me a fireworks show. U-S-A!! U-S-A!! U-S-A!!

Awkward Melancholy

I’ve been lazing around today after doing the copyright business for “Lie” and I’m a lot more brooding about it than I thought I’d be. I’m very, VERY glad to be finished and on my way to what I want… but now more than ever, there’s a sense of… dunno, “this is it”. These are my last weeks or months of being a “normal” person. Once “Lie” starts floating to where I need it to, a lot of aspects of my life will change. Some things… a lot of things I’m looking forward to. Being able to get most of these ideas outta my head and into books/films/songs/stuff, for one. Some things I’m not looking forward to. Things like loss of anonymity. No one can control how the world will react towards them. Sure, they can guide and hope, but people have the final say. They can either like you, love you, or fucking love you. It doesn’t help that I’m not sure exactly what I want. Part of me wants to be able to fill stadiums for a Q&A, but the rest of me knows that there’s A LOT of crap that comes with that level of notoriety. Part of me wants to be able to swim through crowds carefree as a jellyfish, but my blooming ego wants to be known, damnit. I know what I don’t want and will do everything I can to avoid: stalkers. It can’t ever be fun knowing that someone you don’t know knows where you live. I also don’t want fans who think everything I do is great for no other reason than it’s me. If they think everything I do is great because for some reason, I’ve managed to hit upon everything they’d want in entertainment, I’ll be very grateful. But it’s hard to respect yes (wo)men.

Another thing that I won’t have as much time for once the fame monster bites is myself. Once I have a fanbase, I have to share some of my time with them. That’s not really a gripe, more of an observation. My time has always been my time, so it’ll be a new thing knowing that sometimes I have to meet people. Luckily, they’ll wanna meet me. Few things suck more than an uninterested date.

I’ve spent the past year or two preparing myself for whatever fame may come to me. Lots of reading biographies and the various aspects of fandom. The one thing I’ve constantly heard is that no matter how much one prepares for success, nothing can prepare someone for success. So I think about ways to convince fans to respect privacy and laugh at the idea to remember to be grateful for fans (as if I’d forget). And I enjoy the little things, like being able to go to stores unnoticed and watch films all night without having to worry about meetings the next day. Because anonymity and an abundance of time is gone forever once you step into the limelight. Unless you’re forgotten or thrown away, and fuck that.

June 19th, 2013 at 5:40pm

I copyrighted my first novel, “Lie”. Excuse me while I Queen myself…