Stephen Clary's Blog, page 2
April 28, 2014
Love Story
The best stories are love stories.
Wait a minute...I know what you are thinking: paperbacks with shirtless, athletic men and busty women in an intimate embrace. No--that is not what I mean.
Of course, stories involving romantic love can be great. I think of the Spiderman movie and the opening narration: “But let me assure you, this, like any other story worth telling, is all about a girl. [Cut to first shot of Mary Jane] That girl, The girl next door. Mary Jane Watson. The woman I loved since before I even liked girls.”
Or it can be impossible love, like the love of a mouse for a princess in The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo.
Or it can be the love of a boy for his dogs, like in Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls.
Or it can be the love of a hobbit for a world of beauty where people can live a simple life as in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.
Sometimes the audience falls in love with the characters. In that first chapter of J.K. Rowling’s The Philosopher’s Stone we just want to storm into the Dursley’s home and rescue poor Harry Potter. We want to take him to a better place and tell him everything will be okay.
If it isn’t a love story, then it doesn’t matter how many interesting and exciting things happen, because if we don’t care about the characters, then we won’t care what happens to them.
What love stories do you like?
#Tolkien #Rowling #harrypotter #dicamillo #spiderman #lordoftherings
Wait a minute...I know what you are thinking: paperbacks with shirtless, athletic men and busty women in an intimate embrace. No--that is not what I mean.
Of course, stories involving romantic love can be great. I think of the Spiderman movie and the opening narration: “But let me assure you, this, like any other story worth telling, is all about a girl. [Cut to first shot of Mary Jane] That girl, The girl next door. Mary Jane Watson. The woman I loved since before I even liked girls.”
Or it can be impossible love, like the love of a mouse for a princess in The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo.Or it can be the love of a boy for his dogs, like in Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls.
Or it can be the love of a hobbit for a world of beauty where people can live a simple life as in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.Sometimes the audience falls in love with the characters. In that first chapter of J.K. Rowling’s The Philosopher’s Stone we just want to storm into the Dursley’s home and rescue poor Harry Potter. We want to take him to a better place and tell him everything will be okay.
If it isn’t a love story, then it doesn’t matter how many interesting and exciting things happen, because if we don’t care about the characters, then we won’t care what happens to them.
What love stories do you like?
#Tolkien #Rowling #harrypotter #dicamillo #spiderman #lordoftherings
April 18, 2014
Coming Out (I'm a novelist)
I came out on Facebook the other day. Most of my friends, and even some of my family, didn’t know.
I came out to one of my teenage daughter’s friends last night. I’m not shy, but telling people is uncomfortable...somewhat embarrassing. Revealing yourself and letting people have a glimpse into your soul is hard.
We were talking about John Green’s books and Divergentand...I just want people to know...especially people who care about books. Besides, my novel The Globe just became an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist. Getting people to leave feedback on my entry is a part of the competition.
Yes, family and friends, it’s time you knew it—I’m a novelist. It didn’t just happen overnight. I’ve been a writer since I can first remember, handwriting stories in spiral notebooks, typing them on mechanical typewriters that were boat-anchor heavy, moving on to the electric typewriters, and finally writing my first novels on a computer.
“Wow, you’ve written a novel,” some have said. They are impressed. But I don’t see what I’ve done as much of an accomplishment. I write fiction because I like to do it. Also, anyone with a computer can write a novel with a little time. The hardest part is turning off the TV. The real achievement is writing novels that people like. The real achievement is writing novels that will sell.
But what if I never find that ‘real achievement’? Like I said, I like to write. I like to dream, to put my thoughts into words, and I even love the labor of editing. I still win.
#ABNA #WRITING
I came out to one of my teenage daughter’s friends last night. I’m not shy, but telling people is uncomfortable...somewhat embarrassing. Revealing yourself and letting people have a glimpse into your soul is hard.
We were talking about John Green’s books and Divergentand...I just want people to know...especially people who care about books. Besides, my novel The Globe just became an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist. Getting people to leave feedback on my entry is a part of the competition.
Yes, family and friends, it’s time you knew it—I’m a novelist. It didn’t just happen overnight. I’ve been a writer since I can first remember, handwriting stories in spiral notebooks, typing them on mechanical typewriters that were boat-anchor heavy, moving on to the electric typewriters, and finally writing my first novels on a computer.“Wow, you’ve written a novel,” some have said. They are impressed. But I don’t see what I’ve done as much of an accomplishment. I write fiction because I like to do it. Also, anyone with a computer can write a novel with a little time. The hardest part is turning off the TV. The real achievement is writing novels that people like. The real achievement is writing novels that will sell.
But what if I never find that ‘real achievement’? Like I said, I like to write. I like to dream, to put my thoughts into words, and I even love the labor of editing. I still win.
#ABNA #WRITING
Coming Out
I came out on Facebook the other day. Most of my friends, and even some of my family, didn’t know.
I came out to one of my teenage daughter’s friends last night. I’m not shy, but telling people is uncomfortable...somewhat embarrassing. Revealing yourself and letting people have a glimpse into your soul is hard.
We were talking about John Green’s books and Divergentand...I just want people to know...especially people who care about books. Besides, my novel The Globe just became an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist. Getting people to leave feedback on my entry is a part of the competition.
Yes, family and friends, it’s time you knew it—I’m a novelist. It didn’t just happen overnight. I’ve been a writer since I can first remember, handwriting stories in spiral notebooks, typing them on mechanical typewriters that were boat-anchor heavy, moving on to the electric typewriters, and finally writing my first novels on a computer.
“Wow, you’ve written a novel,” some have said. They are impressed. But I don’t see what I’ve done as much of an accomplishment. I write fiction because I like to do it. Also, anyone with a computer can write a novel with a little time. The hardest part is turning off the TV. The real achievement is writing novels that people like. The real achievement is writing novels that will sell.
But what if I never find that ‘real achievement’? Like I said, I like to write. I like to dream, to put my thoughts into words, and I even love the labor of editing. I still win.
#ABNA #WRITING
I came out to one of my teenage daughter’s friends last night. I’m not shy, but telling people is uncomfortable...somewhat embarrassing. Revealing yourself and letting people have a glimpse into your soul is hard.
We were talking about John Green’s books and Divergentand...I just want people to know...especially people who care about books. Besides, my novel The Globe just became an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist. Getting people to leave feedback on my entry is a part of the competition.
Yes, family and friends, it’s time you knew it—I’m a novelist. It didn’t just happen overnight. I’ve been a writer since I can first remember, handwriting stories in spiral notebooks, typing them on mechanical typewriters that were boat-anchor heavy, moving on to the electric typewriters, and finally writing my first novels on a computer.“Wow, you’ve written a novel,” some have said. They are impressed. But I don’t see what I’ve done as much of an accomplishment. I write fiction because I like to do it. Also, anyone with a computer can write a novel with a little time. The hardest part is turning off the TV. The real achievement is writing novels that people like. The real achievement is writing novels that will sell.
But what if I never find that ‘real achievement’? Like I said, I like to write. I like to dream, to put my thoughts into words, and I even love the labor of editing. I still win.
#ABNA #WRITING
April 12, 2014
The Accident
“Are you sitting down?” my daughter asks. Those are her first words after I answer the phone.
“No.”
“You need to sit down.”
“Okay,” I say. My heart has gone from a trot to a thundering gallop in the space of a pregnant pause. “I’m sitting,” I say, a lie, and I am feeling my way to the sofa like a blind man, feeling my way past the piano and coffee table. My wife and daughter left about thirty minutes ago; my wife was driving my daughter to her TCC class.
“There was an accident,” my daughter says.
“Are you okay? Mom? Did something happen to mom?” I ask. My hand is trembling and I’m having a hard time holding the phone.
“It was a drunk driver,” my daughter answers. “He ran the light at 51st and Memorial. The van is destroyed.”
I don’t care about the van. I realize that my left hand is clenched; I open it to see a mark of red where one of my fingernails drew blood. “Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital. The emergency room.”
“In god’s name, honey, is mom okay? Can I talk to mom?” I can hardly hear my own voice for the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“I thought it would best if I called,” my daughter says. “Mom’s no good at telling stories. She doesn’t know how to build tension.”
“Huh?”
“We just have some burns from the airbags,” she says, the intensity now gone from her voice. “Police said we should come here to the emergency room just in case. Looks like I’m going to miss my Creative Writing class.”
I don’t yell. I’ve been focused on composure and trying to remain calm and I hang onto this. My hands still tremble, but only as an aftereffect. “Honey. Dear,” I say. I really want to hurt her for putting me through this and I think I know how. “Do you know what an anticlimax is?”
Not a true story...I just wrote it and posted it on my blog for fun. #flashfiction. I hope you enjoyed it.
“No.”
“You need to sit down.”
“Okay,” I say. My heart has gone from a trot to a thundering gallop in the space of a pregnant pause. “I’m sitting,” I say, a lie, and I am feeling my way to the sofa like a blind man, feeling my way past the piano and coffee table. My wife and daughter left about thirty minutes ago; my wife was driving my daughter to her TCC class.
“There was an accident,” my daughter says.
“Are you okay? Mom? Did something happen to mom?” I ask. My hand is trembling and I’m having a hard time holding the phone.
“It was a drunk driver,” my daughter answers. “He ran the light at 51st and Memorial. The van is destroyed.”
I don’t care about the van. I realize that my left hand is clenched; I open it to see a mark of red where one of my fingernails drew blood. “Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital. The emergency room.”
“In god’s name, honey, is mom okay? Can I talk to mom?” I can hardly hear my own voice for the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“I thought it would best if I called,” my daughter says. “Mom’s no good at telling stories. She doesn’t know how to build tension.”
“Huh?”
“We just have some burns from the airbags,” she says, the intensity now gone from her voice. “Police said we should come here to the emergency room just in case. Looks like I’m going to miss my Creative Writing class.”
I don’t yell. I’ve been focused on composure and trying to remain calm and I hang onto this. My hands still tremble, but only as an aftereffect. “Honey. Dear,” I say. I really want to hurt her for putting me through this and I think I know how. “Do you know what an anticlimax is?”
Not a true story...I just wrote it and posted it on my blog for fun. #flashfiction. I hope you enjoyed it.
April 10, 2014
My first guest blog!!!
My wife was kind enough to let me do a guest blog on her website. How to count to 255 on your fingers (and not even use your thumbs!) Go to Clary's Math Lab and check it out.
April 1, 2014
Bio Air Freshener
So I’m sitting in my living room watching Netflix with my wife.
“Was that you?” she asks, her nose crinkled up.
“No,” I reply, offended. “Was it you?”
Then we both look at the dog. Just like my wife’s uncle Weldon, the dog hasn’t mastered the ability to contain its bodily gases.
I think I would make a fortune if I could come up with a solution. What if you could feed your dog something that would turn those noxious gases into pleasant scents? Now imagine the scene again, my wife and I watching the boob tube.
“Do you smell that?” my wife asks.
Yes, I do. “Roses...with a hint of lavender?” We both look at the dog.
She breathes in deeply through her nostrils. She smiles. “Yes, it’s divine.”
Like I said. I’d make a fortune, right? I have experimented some. I mixed one of our Glade refill packages in with the dog’s Purina Dog Chow.
While cleaning the vomit off the rug I noticed the aroma of crisp McIntosh apples, cinnamon and nutmeg combined with the pervasive odor of bile.
April fools. I didn’t really do this and you shouldn’t either. You’d probably kill the poor dog.
#aprilfools
“Was that you?” she asks, her nose crinkled up.
“No,” I reply, offended. “Was it you?”
Then we both look at the dog. Just like my wife’s uncle Weldon, the dog hasn’t mastered the ability to contain its bodily gases.I think I would make a fortune if I could come up with a solution. What if you could feed your dog something that would turn those noxious gases into pleasant scents? Now imagine the scene again, my wife and I watching the boob tube.
“Do you smell that?” my wife asks.
Yes, I do. “Roses...with a hint of lavender?” We both look at the dog.
She breathes in deeply through her nostrils. She smiles. “Yes, it’s divine.”
Like I said. I’d make a fortune, right? I have experimented some. I mixed one of our Glade refill packages in with the dog’s Purina Dog Chow.
While cleaning the vomit off the rug I noticed the aroma of crisp McIntosh apples, cinnamon and nutmeg combined with the pervasive odor of bile.April fools. I didn’t really do this and you shouldn’t either. You’d probably kill the poor dog.
#aprilfools
March 25, 2014
Why my blog is named The Discovered Story
So you’re reading a novel, or watching a movie, and it is getting intense. The character, or characters, are in trouble, and your heart is beating fast, your adrenaline is pumping, and the slightest sound might make you jump out of your seat. Your body is responding as if you are there with the characters...as if you are in danger. Your physiological response is, analytically speaking, irrational. These characters do not exist, the situation does not exist, and whether they die or not will not have a physical impact on your life. And yet the response is real, and it can be delightful, because you’re not just reading a book or watching a movie—you are living in another world.
But this heart racing, palm sweating, gut wrenching experience cannot happen if the reader or watcher doesn’t believe in what is happening. The characters and the situation must seem wholly real and rational and vivid; otherwise, the sense of empathy is gone and we are no longer wearing another person’s skin. Once again you are just sitting on the couch reading a book or watching a movie.
The story can’t seem fabricated and it can’t be false...it must feel like a real thing discovered. The story must appear to be a Discovered Story or the ultimate story experience can never be achieved.
#writing #writers
But this heart racing, palm sweating, gut wrenching experience cannot happen if the reader or watcher doesn’t believe in what is happening. The characters and the situation must seem wholly real and rational and vivid; otherwise, the sense of empathy is gone and we are no longer wearing another person’s skin. Once again you are just sitting on the couch reading a book or watching a movie. The story can’t seem fabricated and it can’t be false...it must feel like a real thing discovered. The story must appear to be a Discovered Story or the ultimate story experience can never be achieved.
#writing #writers
March 16, 2014
The World-Wide, Mass-Production Company of You
I’ve read the discussions about how to price your e-book. Some people are very passionate about this. There are those that are outraged that indie authors are pricing their books for 99 cents or less. “Don’t you think your book is worth more than a cup of coffee?” they ask.
The problem with that question, to my way of thinking, is that it asks us to make an emotional decision on what price to ask. Your main premise in a business case shouldn’t be an emotional argument.
On the seller’s side, your e-book is a one-of-a-kind specially crafted product. On the buyer’s side, your e-book is the digital equivalent of a mass production product with world-wide distribution. Mass production items are priced low to maximize sales; the margin is low, but the return is good because the sales are high.
We may have worked for years on our books, writing and editing and rewriting. We may have paid graphic designers for covers and paid for editing. Maybe you’ve paid for marketing too. But we’re getting an insane margin—the worst I’ve seen is 33%. And the only person in your factory is you! In the mass-production business you’re making out like a bandit.
I do know that the majority of indie e-book publishers aren’t making much money. Most of us are pretty much invisible to the e-book consumers. But pricing our books at a ‘fair’ value of $9.99 isn’t going to increase the odds of people finding (and buying) our books on the virtual shelves.
My opinion on this subject is still developing. I’ll be glad to hear what you think, one way or the other.
The problem with that question, to my way of thinking, is that it asks us to make an emotional decision on what price to ask. Your main premise in a business case shouldn’t be an emotional argument.
On the seller’s side, your e-book is a one-of-a-kind specially crafted product. On the buyer’s side, your e-book is the digital equivalent of a mass production product with world-wide distribution. Mass production items are priced low to maximize sales; the margin is low, but the return is good because the sales are high.
We may have worked for years on our books, writing and editing and rewriting. We may have paid graphic designers for covers and paid for editing. Maybe you’ve paid for marketing too. But we’re getting an insane margin—the worst I’ve seen is 33%. And the only person in your factory is you! In the mass-production business you’re making out like a bandit.I do know that the majority of indie e-book publishers aren’t making much money. Most of us are pretty much invisible to the e-book consumers. But pricing our books at a ‘fair’ value of $9.99 isn’t going to increase the odds of people finding (and buying) our books on the virtual shelves.
My opinion on this subject is still developing. I’ll be glad to hear what you think, one way or the other.
March 10, 2014
The Story Behind Mimic
If you tell me a ghost story I will listen attentively, because I enjoy ghost stories, but don’t expect me to believe you. As an engineer I believe in what I can see, hear, touch or what can be proven empirically. I have never read a document that produced a shred of evidence supporting the existence of ghosts.
And yet...in our house there have been a couple of events that can’t quite be explained.
My wife and I were lying in bed still awake though it was late. We heard our daughter running down the hallway toward our bedroom. She wore onesie pajamas and the plastic soles on her feet made a distinctive sound. When she reached our door she stopped. We waited for her to come and jump into our bed, as she’d done many times before. And we waited. And waited. Finally, I got up and checked. She was in bed sound asleep.
If it had just been me I would have guessed I had a hypnagogic hallucination...but both my wife and I experienced this. To think this was a hoax by a two year old is ridiculous. Two year olds don’t have the coordination to tiptoe silently. They don’t have the acting skills to pretend they are asleep.
Fast-forward ten years. My second daughter is sleeping in the top bunk of her bed. The bottom bunk is reserved for her friends when she has a sleep-over. She hears me come into the room and climb up the ladder. But it isn’t me. I’m out of town on business travel. And no one is there. It really disturbed her. After that, for at least a year, she always propped pillows up in the gap in the rails where the ladder goes.
Two unexplained events in the course of ten years is hardly a haunting. What both events share is the sense of mimicry. And they mimic routines that held strong emotional power for me and probably for the other members of my family.
I took these events and wove them into my Spear Bearer short story Mimic. As writers we are always recycling things from our lives to reuse in our stories, and this is just one example of that.
Oh, and one last thing: My oldest daughter really did have an imaginary friend named Kracken. And don’t tell her, but he always kind of gave me the creeps.
Download for free: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/417831
And yet...in our house there have been a couple of events that can’t quite be explained.
My wife and I were lying in bed still awake though it was late. We heard our daughter running down the hallway toward our bedroom. She wore onesie pajamas and the plastic soles on her feet made a distinctive sound. When she reached our door she stopped. We waited for her to come and jump into our bed, as she’d done many times before. And we waited. And waited. Finally, I got up and checked. She was in bed sound asleep.
If it had just been me I would have guessed I had a hypnagogic hallucination...but both my wife and I experienced this. To think this was a hoax by a two year old is ridiculous. Two year olds don’t have the coordination to tiptoe silently. They don’t have the acting skills to pretend they are asleep.
Fast-forward ten years. My second daughter is sleeping in the top bunk of her bed. The bottom bunk is reserved for her friends when she has a sleep-over. She hears me come into the room and climb up the ladder. But it isn’t me. I’m out of town on business travel. And no one is there. It really disturbed her. After that, for at least a year, she always propped pillows up in the gap in the rails where the ladder goes.
Two unexplained events in the course of ten years is hardly a haunting. What both events share is the sense of mimicry. And they mimic routines that held strong emotional power for me and probably for the other members of my family.
I took these events and wove them into my Spear Bearer short story Mimic. As writers we are always recycling things from our lives to reuse in our stories, and this is just one example of that.
Oh, and one last thing: My oldest daughter really did have an imaginary friend named Kracken. And don’t tell her, but he always kind of gave me the creeps.
Download for free: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/417831
March 2, 2014
ABNA – It’s all over except for the crying
The Amazon Breakout Novel Award competition is closed. No more entries. No more editing of existing entries. It’s all over except for the crying.My chances aren’t great…one in 2500 approximately for a First Prize award, about 1 in 10000 to win the Grand Prize. But heck, it certainly beats the odds for winning the lottery, right? I’m sure my entry isn’t perfect. I have gone over my MS numerous times and still I find those niggling mistakes. A few days back I was looking at the first page and I saw where the UPS guy delivers “a square brown box.” (Really Clary? A square box? Square boxes are so rare. And it is brown too?) Geez, I’m an idiot. How many more of these goofs are in there? How many will it take before the reviewer says “I’ve had enough!” So, my chances aren’t great. Besides, the ABNA award really isn’t even a ‘prize.’ It’s just an advance on future sales. It’s like a McDonald’s manager telling a pimple-faced boy, “Congratulations, you’ve won $12,000. Here’s your apron. Your prize will be awarded in weekly installments throughout the year.” Okay…not exactly the same. They don’t give the boy the $12,000 up front. (Would they see him again if they did?)
Still, I want to win. I have fantasies about winning. I imagine Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos calling me, a tremor of emotion in his voice, saying that my novel The Globe is the best book he’s ever read. The fantasy is eerily similar to Ralphie’s in A Christmas Story when he imagines the teacher’s response to his Why I should get a Red Rider BB-Gun for Christmas essay. Remember the teacher grading the paper A++++++++++ with a dramatic flourish?In any case, it’s been a good experience. ABNA really made me look at my pitch. Study it. Improve it. ABNA put a fire under my feet to edit and re-edit The Globe (and, yes, I know, I really should invest in an editor.) Finally, ABNA has encouraged me to work on my social networking. If, against the odds, I’m a finalist, my social networking platform will mean the difference between the Grand Prize and First Place. So…thanks Amazon. Even if I don’t make it past Round 1, the competition has really helped me.#ABNA #ABNA2014 #AMAZON #WRITING
