Darren Endymion's Blog, page 13

Productive While Doing Nothing

I’ve been getting down on myself for not doing all the writing things that I want. That’s not to say I’m not doing anything. I am. I’m just  not doing as much as I would like. I feel like I should be done with all the character sketches and concordance entries and synopsis writing, and ready to write the novel. I’m already writing out scenes as they occur to me, but all my characters have different agendas, so it’s important that I have them all in my head so I can put them down in the right way.

Meanwhile, through my job (which I never actually divulge, saying instead that I work for a pig launching company) I am nationally certified to, uh, launch pigs, and my recertification date is coming up. I have to do 20 units by this spring, but don’t want to do it late and have to rush. (It takes quite a lot of knowledge to launch pigs, mind you.)

So, this past weekend I did some of my courses, worked on organizing my concordances (one for this project and some for the recently set aside project), some character sketches, kept in touch with my previous (and hopefully future) editor…and yet I was down on  myself for not accomplishing more. I thought that I should be done with this, working on something else, past this developmental stage. I was down on myself for watching Netflix (American Dad!, in case you were wondering) and sorting my new iPod. Why? Because I had other things to do.

This is what I mean by being productive while doing nothing. Thinking about it objectively, I actually did…enough. Not as much as I could or even should have, of course, but I did do quite a bit. Sometimes we have these expectations of ourselves, these agendas we internalize which become law, and any deviation from them becomes crushing defeat. Any accomplishments, however significant, become paltry in the face of what we DIDN’T do.

Our perceptions and our focus become our realities, so that any achievement, no matter how lofty or hard-won, pale in comparison to our expectations. We minimize our achievements because they don’t fit 100% with our preconceived notions of what ought to be. Because of this, we are never satisfied, and therefore set ourselves up for failure.

With that mindset, we become discouraged and don’t work to our greatest ability. My only advice after all this is to not let it happen. Take a step back and look at it from someone else’s viewpoint. See your accomplishments for what they are without holding them against a background of your expectations. You might find that you didn’t do as badly as you thought.

Stolen Commonality (or at least shared)

There is a saying that every idea has already been done, that there are no new plot lines or ideas in this world. I don’t know if I believe that, but there is something to be said for the theory.

When I was a kid, I thought of two ideas which I thought were wonderful (still do, actually). Years later, I found out that there was one which was written in a fantasy novel written long before I was born (which I had never had the joys of experiencing). The other was featured prominently in a video game which came out several years after I had the idea.

I have had this happen to me twice in recent memory. I was thinking about a steampunk novel and/or short story when I decided to listen to an audio book I had recently acquired. It was my plot, but in a completely different setting. I mean, it was remarkably similar. From the characters to the plot line itself to the meeting place of the two main characters to a quirk about the main hero…shit, even to the sidekick seemed to have been ripped screaming from my head and put on paper by someone else. It actually gave me chills.

Another time it was just the basic idea that someone turned into a movie, but the actual plot was so wildly different that I don’t really include it. Then tonight I was listening to another book whose course I figured out early on, and it was something I was planning to do with my current series of novels. Granted, this author is a millionaire (probably hundreds of times over) and she did an amazing job and there are many differences, but there are also enough similarities to make me rethink the plot of my future novels. It will only seem like a pale copy now.

Now, I don’t for a second think that any of these things are in any way related to me. It’s beyond absurd to even consider it. I’d be a goddamned idiot to even entertain the thought for a moment. It’s simply not possible in a single one of these cases. It’s also not possible for me to have copied them, considering my complete ignorance of these works before setting on my creative journeys (which, bless my little heart, I thought were so unique).

My reaction to these things has matured over time. When I was a kid, I thought it was awesome that someone else — in Japan, no less — had a similar idea, though the methodology and ramifications I came up with were very much different.

The idea that became a movie I had to change not at all. We had a similar character. That’s it.

The steampunk thing I abandoned. There was no saving my plot. But there were little nuggets of ideas and basic characters which were very good, and I eventually took those and came up with a plot too huge for my current abilities (but better for me than my original idea).

Now…I’m torn. It would be like writing a good, sympathetic vampire novel only to have Interview with the Vampire come out and obliterate your thunder. Do I continue with what I had planned all along? Do I change it while the motivations of characters are still mostly in my head and only the beginnings are hinted at in my first novel?

Probably not. Every idea has been done. Everything has already been said. In my wildest dreams I would approach the popularity and recognition of this other author (and the money wouldn’t be bad, if I’m to be honest), but in reality those chances are slim. All I can do is be true to myself. You change enough to not seem outright plagiaristic, and suck up the rest. I’m trying to remain positive and actually succeeding.

In the end, though, I’m happy and in a strange way honored. In every one of these cases, the books or video games were wildly popular and bring joy to millions. While I can only hope that I have the talent to execute my ideas well (or can grow into it), I at least know that my brain, my creativity, and my spirit can come up with some goddamned good ideas. The proof is over there on that shelf. It will happen from time to time. You have to accept it and move on.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some happy brainstorming to do.

Big and Little Good

This weekend and today saw a lot of really amazing things coming my way, and they have to do with everything, taking leaps and bounds toward really improving my mood.

I mentioned recently that I’ve been gathering the good things in my life around me as sort of a shield against the horrors that can happen in life beyond my control…short of pushing half a dozen people down the flight of stairs seen in The Exorcist. “Do you know what he did…?”

Movie quotes aside, on Saturday I set aside some time and really meditated, calmed my mind, and calmly thought about my situation. I removed myself from the situation and did what always works — I thought about my problems as though someone else were coming to me with them. If someone else came to me with what I’m dealing with, what would I tell them? In that calm space, in that detached state of mind, I was able to see things clearer than I have been able to in the past.

As for things I can’t control, this awful, hateful shrew of a coworker has demanded that she be moved away from where she sits now (right behind me) because she doesn’t like the person who sits next to her, a good friend of mine. Also, I don’t think she’s too fond of me since I’ve stopped letting her get away with all her hateful little jabs (harpy wants my job yet has no idea what my team does and how she would support the team). This common bitch act to get away from someone who has never done a thing to her has shown her true colors, and it’s making our bosses look at her in the light the rest of us see her in. Plus, she’s away from me, and that’s all the better.

I’ve been writing and allowing the plot of my new novel to coalesce and take life. There are a lot of players in this one, a lot of different angles, and a lot of agendas. Normally, I would be intimidated, and it’s slower going than I expected, but it’s going and going well.

Also, the editor I adore, the one who taught me stuff and was kind and funny and sweet and tough and personable all at the same time, was a freelance editor my publisher used for this anthology and a few other projects. I found out this weekend that my publisher has snatched her up and made her a senior editor. I e-mailed her to congratulate her and tell her that I was writing again, the second novel in a series. She was complimentary and kind, and told me to e-mail her when I was going to submit so that she can tell the owner of the publishing house that she wants first dibs on editing it.

Can you imagine how warm and fuzzy that made me feel? Awesome.

Finally, I have been in pain for about a year, unable to walk, seeing a number of doctors and finally finding a chiropractor who can fix me. In that time, my wonderful work friend has been giving me a ride to and from work out of the kindness of her heart. However, she is making it passively-aggressively clear that she no longer wants to (it’s like 3-4 minutes each way to get me and I pay gas money, but it’s still a hassle). I have been working out, regaining my strength, and healing. It’s a long, painful process after essentially being immobile and unable to walk much for over a year. In my friend’s eyes, I’m ready to run the Boston Marathon. In reality, it’s an arduous, painful, long process, and I’m not ready to walk 3+ miles to and from work just yet. After about two to three blocks, I’m tired and in pain. Today she was still on Thanksgiving vacation, so I decided to walk home a bit and summon Uber when I couldn’t go on.

I made it all the way home.

I’m in pain, my legs are still jelly, and I know that tomorrow I will barely be able to walk, but I fucking made it. Essentially, I overcame a physical limitation that tied me down in so many ways. I have SO much work to do, but this was one huge step forward.

It has been a very good three days, and I can only strive to make it continue. May everyone reading this (and then some) experience similar happiness.

An Atypical Thanksgiving

Theoretically, Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time for family and putting up with relatives and turkey and mashed potatoes and all that. The best part, of course, being the FOOD.

My dad’s side of the family is…special. The last time I had dinner with them I walked away thinking that I come from a family that makes Ursula the Sea Witch look svelte, Donald Trump look tolerant, and Gordon Ramsay’s rejects look like master chefs.

My dad is fine, my uncle is, too, and the last Thanksgiving with the whole family my sick grandmother was alive and that was great. My aunt lived down the street from my grandmother at that time and she selfishly decided that she was having dinner at her house. We loaded my very sick grandmother in the car (who would pass less than a year later from cancer) and took her into the house of my aunt.

You’ve seen Hoarders, right? This house was like Hoarders Lite, only with 90% more cats. The chemo had deadened my grandmother’s taste buds, so she enjoyed everything, and I suppose that’s what really counts. For the rest of us, though, it was a culinary disaster and an event that would put Miss Manners into a coma.

Among the highlights were my cousin looking as though she had never known the joys of shampoo or comb, another looking as though she had never been introduced to the proper functions on a toothbrush, and the third looking as though someone had fought a three day battle with Jabba the Hut and only just managed to squeeze his fat, hairy slug ass into some sweats.

My aunt is about the size of aforementioned Sea Witch yet has the manners and cooking skills one would attribute to a mentally challenged three-toed sloth with none of the looks to go with. The woman wiped her mouth free of the gravy dribbling down her chins with a nearby, stained, and crusty dishtowel which had seen many similar wipings (hopefully all of her upper orifice).

Yet I could have blocked this all out if the food had been good. But it wasn’t. Not even a little bit. The turkey was slimy, and not just on the outside. The ham was cooked to the point where it resembled over-salted jerky made up of what I can only assume was racoon and couch. The mashed potatoes tasted like paper and paste, and left me wondering if I should eat it or make a wasp nest. The gravy was lumpy and moved of its own volition. The cranberry sauce had a rainbow-chemical sheen rather like oil on water (and I’m not convinced that these were not the main ingredients) and was a terrifying shade of blackish-red. I think it winked at me once and dared me to eat it. I declined the challenge.

When we left, I made sure to stop by Del Taco. At least I can eat their grease-soaked goodness and live to tell the tale.

Aside from her lamentable proclivity toward poisoning, my aunt is generally a terrible person, as is her whole immediate family. They left the state for about a year (Yaye!), but then came back (Boo!). They blew through about $100k in inheritance from my step-uncle’s mother’s house sale, came back, and are now living in my grandmother’s old bedroom in the same house with my uncle and father.

I was invited to Thanksgiving this year. I very much enjoy my father’s company, and my uncle is great and we can kill hours and hours talking about writing, video games, novels, television, and just about anything. But my aunt would be there. And she may cook. And, as I mentioned, she is a terrible, awful leech of a woman.

Instead, I hung out with my ex and friend and made a very good Pad See Ew and pasta salad. I wrote a little and thought of a lovely little scene in my new writing project. It was atypical, and for that I am glad. I hope everyone else had a wonderful day.

Write the Easy Way

Yeah, I’m still on that kick. I tend to do things the hard way, especially with writing. I think that I should be able to formulate this giant novel, complete with world building, deep characters, pull it all out of my ass, and do it with ease and joy. Then I get discouraged when it doesn’t work out for me like I wanted it to. And sooner than I could have hoped for. Of course, I get cranky and sometimes even think that I must not be any good if I can’t do all this with ease.

I’m reminded of Sharon Salzberg’s Lovingkindness book and audio book (also available from one of my favorite places, Audible.com). In the Buddhist meditations she was doing, there are several types of people you send love to: yourself, a benefactor, a friend, a neutral person, and an enemy, in that order. She was saying that she didn’t feel like she was doing anything worthwhile, that it really didn’t count, until she was trying to send love to her enemy, or someone who had wronged her. When she expressed this to her teacher, he asked why she wanted to do things the hard way, and that the teachings say to do things — everything, in fact — in the easiest way possible.

Now, that’s not to say that you take the lazy way out and never put any amount of work into things. But, as it applies to writing, it means to start with the easy things. Write a few short stories, keep a detailed diary, write a manual for something you know, write a review on Amazon. Whatever. Something easy. From there, step up and challenge yourself with something harder — a longer story, some easy world building, dissect a novel you love so that you can see what makes the world or the language or the characters tick and sing and talk back to you. Then novella, a novel, more in depth character analysis, etc. Whatever works for you, but constantly hone your skills.

Don’t let your ego mess you up by saying, “No, this is baby shit. I’ve got this.” You might indeed have it, but if you’re feeling overwhelmed, there’s no shame in stepping back and getting your bearings. You wouldn’t go to the gym and start working out by deadlifting 300 pounds. You would get a hernia, hemorrhoids, broken vessels in your eyes, orangutan arms, and a Vicodin addiction when you finally got out of the hospital…assuming you could move the weight at all.

Writing is work. It’s working out your mind and your skills. In the past I have been trying to lift that 300 pound weight instead of starting with something more reasonable. Now I’m moving forward. I’ve looked to the past of my story and novel to get to the present. Easy enough. Now I’m writing new characters and concepts, and that’s harder But I’ve done the work on this, and I’m filling in the gaps.

Best of all, I’m learning so that I can eventually reach that next step. I’m not trying to leap to the top of the steps and then sitting on the bottom riser, weeping like Nancy Kerrigan and thinking that I’ll never make it to the top of the steps. Start easy, work your muscles steadily, and you’ll get there. So will I.

Writing Progress

Once I get into something, I apparently won’t be stopped. In the past week I have done four and a half character sketches, written one scene to be inserted later, updated my concordance, rearranged and combined all the stray folders relating to this project and the novel which went before it, and then backed it up three times.

That makes me wonder…were the other projects I was working on duds? Was something inside me telling me that they had no real value as stories? Or was my intuition (which I have discussed at length and lamentably still ignore) telling me that now wasn’t the right time? Granted, that’s not something I need to decide now, or even think about too much, but it’s simmering on the proverbial back burner of my mind.

I honestly don’t know what it is, and while part of me thinks I should just go with it, another part of me insists that finding out the reason behind my loss of momentum is important. Understanding it may lead to me being able to prevent it. If my intuition is telling me that it’s not time yet to dive into something epic and huge, then maybe it’s only fright and I’m selling myself short. Maybe it’s genuine and I need more practice to get to the level I want to be.

Still another part of me knows why I haven’t worked on the wolves. I was sick of them at first. I was given a very small amount of time to go over the novel about four times and some of the processes and arbitrary rules were bothersome to me. Recently I have found an editor who tells me those rules that so irked me are not a publisher-wide thing and, even if they were, it isn’t the way she would do things. When talking to an acquaintance who has been writing in this genre for some time and with great success, she said that this rule would drive her crazy and that her publisher doesn’t have such a rule. Part of me considered waiting until the rights reverted to me and then publishing elsewhere, but my publisher has been nothing but good and warm and welcoming and kind to me. Having recently worked with an amazing editor and knowing that I can request her again in the future, it changed everything.

Now, I have to figure how much of this is me being a whiny little bitch (which I’m sure is a large part of it), how much is legitimate, and how much I can work with. Also, I need to figure what it is that makes me lose momentum. Those are mental journeys I welcome, though I sincerely hope the answers are manageable.

However, my wolves feel like home, even after so brief of a time spent with them. I don’t have to wonder what they will say or do because the characters are strong in my mind. Some of the things I did to them hurt my heart, but as the saying goes, you sometimes have to “kill your darlings”. Not literally…all the time, anyway. Writing them is easy, though, and if this is my level for now, I need to remind myself that I’m still only beginning, and only through diligence, practice, and care will I evolve into someone who is equal to the bigger, harder stuff. And by pushing myself, by starting at the beginning of this journey, by not trying to jump right into the deep end, I will get there all the faster.

Happy Places

The day job has been a bad lately. Like, ready to choke a bitch kind of bad. It centers around this ill-informed newcomer who has taken up with the absolute epitome of the terrible worker and believed all his stories. Since physical violence is frowned upon in the workplace, as is cursing someone out, and voodoo dolls have bad karma associated with them, I am getting her in the ways that I can — setting her straight, stopping her when she oversteps her boundaries, telling her to calm down — but it’s constrained by work etiquette and propriety.

Add to that the issues with me putting a little distance from the overwhelming bitchiness of my friends, the beginning of the year approaching with the work madness that always ensues thereafter, and the sudden reluctance and passive-aggressive hints of my carpool buddy, and I’m pretty fed up. Not only that, but it doesn’t promise to get much better for a few months. Therefore, I need to find my happy place and start working from it rather than from a platform of anger and increasing bitterness.

It reminds me of a Buddhist meditation I listen to from time to time by Sharon Salzberg, titled Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. Even if you’re not Buddhist (I’m not), there is so much wisdom here that it’s worth a read or listen. She talks about your mind being water and your problems being a heaping tablespoon of salt. The trick is to expand your mind to make it so vast as to render that tablespoon of salt harmless. If your mind is a teacup, that tablespoon of salt will be very impactful. But if your mind is as vast as a pond or a lake, one tablespoon of salt won’t do a thing. It’s about your focus. If your life and focus are centered only on that one thing, in my case the harsh work environment, then your whole life seems to crumble around you when something goes wrong with it.

If you draw back, breathe, and realize all the other things going on for you — home life, movies you like, books you can read, places you can go, friends you can talk to, TV you can watch, hell, even dinners you can make or restaurants you can go to — it helps put those negative issues in perspective as a very small part of your life. You don’t have to let the bad stuff overwhelm you and own you.

I realized this, and am assembling my happy place. I have had a friend staying with me and he has been a good distraction, but he has to go home sometime, and that’s today, unfortunately. Also, I can’t pin my happiness on another person. So, I assembled other stuff. I plan to reread the Harry Potter books and spend some time at Hogwarts, maybe spend some time with the Golden Girls, maybe save the planet as any number of super heroes, or any number of things. Who can say? For me, limited escapism helps me look at the real world for what it is — temporary, fleeting, and a place in which I control my own actions. I’m looking forward to making these new spinach and artichoke ravioli I bought. I’m looking forward to making Pad See Ew again and learning how to make carnitas and Thai Drunken Noodle. I’m looking forward to seasonal movies and hanging with a visiting friend and continuing with all the fun writing I’m doing and all sorts of other things.

Just that act of drawing back, of looking at things from a fresh perspective, makes all the difference. Find your Happy Place. Make a nest. Settle in. Things will get better, and you need to help that happen, but for the meantime make your Happy Place remote and huge, and the petty parts of life will disappear, or minimize themselves into bite-sized chunks.

Friday the 13th Marathon!

Yes, I’m a lunatic, but I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I usually do a marathon of the cheesy movies whenever a good, viable Friday the 13th comes along (meaning not spring or deepest winter), but I usually watch anywhere from three to five of them. No, I don’t usually sit there and absorb every cheesy second, but I do watch them and love them with all their special needs glory. I also usually do this alone…and I’m okay with that.

Tomorrow, however, I have an accomplice. I have wrangled my friend into watching them with me, and little does he know (until he reads this) that I plan to watch all of them that I have. Even the eighth one, Jason Takes Manhattan. I don’t have nine or ten, but I do have Freddy vs. Jason and the remake with a distressingly fully clothed Jared Padalecki (if anyone had read my Winter’s Trial and wants to know who I pictured when I was creating the character of Tim, watch this movie and look for the character Trent. Tim was a bigger dick, if you can believe that).

If the marathon has to go into Saturday, then I will let it do so. If I work on my writing and he, I dunno, cleans my room while the movies play in the background, then that’s fine. It’s the aura of the day and the charm of the movies. We’re planning a menu, just tacos (which has nothing to do with the theme) and bloody marys, which obviously is perfect. We may do more. I haven’t decided yet.

I’m just excited. Because I’m a total nerd. And, you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m sure I won’t be the only one.

Happy Friday the 13th!

Traitor Brain: The Story of a Turncoat

After the weird little signs and the thoughts and the contemplations and eventually the decision to work on the wolf story, I turned my mind and attention to that. I made changes, I wrote notes, I made a list, I wrote plot points, and I even wrote a small scene to be inserted at a later date. I was feeling it.

Then my brain decided to look back. Why? No other reason than to piss me off, I imagine.

It looked back to my last story, the one I’m working on the concordance for but no longer pretending to actively work on. To the story involving the ocean. My mind summoned a parallel to real life. And when I didn’t shove that one away, it made another. And another. “Doesn’t this person remind you of the priest?” Yes, he does. “What do you think this person would do in this situation?” I answered it. “Hey! HEY! How about you think up this entire scenario that shows both the foreign/alien nature of one character and the ego of another? No, really! Think about it.” I did. I still have that scenario in my head from beginning to end. I could write it out, even if it never makes it into the final version.

A great many of my stories (published and unpublished) start with me passing time just sort of daydreaming. Scenarios spin themselves out without me making any conscious omissions or additions, letting the characters frolic in my mind. The ocean story wasn’t frolicking. It wasn’t playing. It was just floating there like a dead fish, bloated with the sun and salt.

So, I made a decision to compile a concordance for the ocean story so that everything is well planned out at available. However, my main focus would be on the wolves. I made the decision and took off running. My mind cooperated. It worked. It thought and considered and imagined and prioritized. Yet at the same time, it was also looking backward, looking toward the ocean.

My brain is a traitor, a turncoat, a backstabbing idea machine.

So, I’m writing it all down. Wolves and ocean both. They are in no way related — the wolves are urban fantasy taking place in the real world with fantastic elements, and will be the second book in a series. The ocean story is total fantasy and takes place in a land which has (so far as I know) never existed outside the boundaries of my mind. Yet I’m taking notes and working on both. One is actual writing and getting ready to write. The other is more organizational with some brain storming.

Perhaps my brain isn’t betraying me so much as working overtime, on two things at once. Hmmmm. We shall see.

Wolves Update

After my strange little moment two weeks ago, I started to brainstorm what next novel should be about and should it be about the ocean (as I was planning on and stalled with) or should I return to the wolves I have already published a novel about. I had what you could call a sign (or it was just a random occurrence that motivated me) immediately after wondering this question, and then had another one later that day.

So, while at work I have put together a series of notes written in my cursive scrawl (which looks like a gay buffalo tried to stamp out a bug with its hoof and called it writing) detailing not only what I have to do as far as character development, but plot points along the way. I’m glad it’s happening. When I do character exercises (mostly of a “where are they now” variety for the recurring characters), the plot will become clearer and a full synopsis can be born. I lost a week to the festivities leading up to and including Halloween, then some drama at home and a full work schedule, but this is about making time, not blaming external circumstances (and never my own laziness).

I thought about trying to join in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), at least on my own, but decided against it. First, it’s already the 5th. Second, I have a particular amount of groundwork that I need to set, and without doing that, I’m blindfolding myself and getting behind the wheel. Some of that is expected with novel writing, but not that much. Third, there are other concerns which may require my time and effort, and I don’t want to commit to something I cannot fulfill. But, I plan to try anyway.

The good news is that the notes are coming along, the character sketches don’t need to be fully written (just what they have done in the past few years or whatever), and the story itself is working out in my brain. I already have an entire scene mentally written. Sometimes something just flows and you know that’s where you should be…but I’m not abandoning the other stuff, just working on it in my spare time.

Wish me luck!