Hail, the Returning Writer!

I have returned! It has been an interesting journey in which I visited distant cliffs, became married, and almost got a kitten twice. While I have not the time right now to recount my adventures, being much in need of what draught this region most favors, I shall forthwith regale listening ears with these, and more. Pull up a bench or chair, grab a pint of cranberry juice, and stray not far from yon roaring hearth.

Or whatever.

Hello. Goodbye.

Sad day, perhaps. For me, it is. A day of overwhelmed realization: I'm trying to work too many jobs at once. I have a full-time job making steady pay; I'm trying to have a second full-time job marketing my ebook; I'm trying to have an infrequent part-time job helping my fiancee with her business, when she's a little swamped; I'm trying to have a second part-time job writing a novel; I'm preparing for our wedding in 8 weeks; I'm preparing for college in 12 weeks; and there's the everyday/everyweek stuff, cleaning, shopping, et cetera. It's a lot of stuff. Too much, in fact.

I started this blog, and my Twitter account, and my Facebook account, to try to build something of a platform -- to connect with potential readers before my book even comes out. Well, no book will be forthcoming for a while. I hate to admit it, but it's very true. And as things continue to pile up on my to-do list, it might actually help to be able to dump off some of them, at least till after the wedding.

So, this will be my last post for a few months. The announcement of this post will be my last Tweet and last author Facebook post for a few months.

But when I come back, I should have all sorts of things to tell you, and hopefully the time to tell you about them.

See you later.

The Source of Inspiration

Some time ago, I was reading an article in The Writer's Chronicle magazine (February 2012) by Alice Mattison titled "Where Do You Get Your Ideas?" Now, all respect is due Ms. Mattison for a deep and thought-provoking article; and I'm sure some account should be taken for word-count requirements, and a certain level of intellect required to be featured in such a magazine. But my golly: way to take the fun out of writing.

So I thought I might take the next few weeks and talk about the inspirations and impetus' for the stories featured in my anthology, If They Keep Silent.And I thought I'd kick off this little series with some of my own thoughts about ideas, inspirations, and general sources of this stuff we call writing.

One Small Step for Me, One Giant Leap for My Book

Sometimes you need to step back in order to take a flying leap.





If you've been watching the news over at facebook.com/danieldydek.author, you'll know that premier fantasy agent Josh Bilmes of JABberwocky recently turned down my manuscript. No biggie: I'm a new, young writer and he represents the likes of Elizabeth Moon and Brandon Sanderson. I shot for the stars, and I'll never regret that.

But something else has been going on -- behind-the-scenes, like -- in my personal writing life. A little bit of reading, and a little bit of thinking. And now, a whole lot of changing.

Remembering Iraq -- A Memorial Day Story

It may not be flashy, exciting, or heart-breaking, but it was my experience. I was lucky.

In the first weeks of January, 2006, I became an Other. An outcast; there, but not there. I was a pogue, or Person Other than Grunt. I was unimportant.

Three months into my tour in Iraq, I went home on mid-tour leave. Upon arriving back in Baghdad, I was pulled into the command post (CP) to monitor radios and do various and sundry tasks for the Battery’s First Sergeant. (A Battery in artillery-land is similar to a Company, though smaller than infantry companies at about 90 soldiers. The First Sergeant is the highest ranking non-commissioned officer, and the one generally accepted as running the Battery.) On a day-to-day basis, I spent much of my twelve-hour shift watching movies on my laptop in an air-conditioned office. I will admit it’s something of a travesty that I received Combat Pay during those remaining nine months. But I had my days, too.

The opinion of “grunts” – those brave and lucky few who venture “outside the wire,” into the thick of things; who put their lives in imminent danger with only body armor, a gun, and God to protect them – toward those who sit in air conditioned offices and collect combat pay is, to say the least, diminutive. Having come off of three months of patrols under the hot sun with 40 pounds of ceramic, Kevlar, and ammunition strapped to my torso and head, I understood the sentiment. And for a long time I sympathized, and made no defense of my fobbithood.

Ah, the fobbit; a name concocted by combining “FOB” – Forward Operating Base – with the then-popular “hobbit.” A couple of indie-rappers – I believe who were soldiers – even wrote a song commemorating the epitome of the fobbit: the officer or NCO who enforced all the rules and regulations with no regard for the stresses of combat, or the enlistees who complained of paper-jams and bad food at the dining facility while their older-brothers-in-arms risked life, limb, and sanity under cruel conditions. I may seem light-hearted at times, but there is no excuse, in context, for the complaints of the fobbit. Life is good, generally air conditioned, and food doesn’t come in thick plastic packs with the joke “Meal Rejected by Ethiopia.”

But part of my job was to prepare our Quick Reaction Force (QRF). One unit of four trucks was always on stand-by if something happened outside the wire and reinforcements were needed. When they got the call, they came to the CP to draw weapons and equipment (our personal weapons were always on us, but the trucks would need to be armed). On occasion, if they were called to higher alert but not sent out, we of the CP would get a box of to-go plates from the chow hall if they were held over lunch. And, once it was realized I would stay in the CP indefinitely (it was supposed to just cover another soldier’s leave, but he came back and I stayed) and I got the proper schooling, I handled the mail for the unit. All jobs for which the “grunts” (infantrymen had a special dislike for artillerymen of any stripe who dared consider themselves Grunts – it is all relative) were vocally unthankful, but certainly did not mind.

Tempering, too, the lofty view the soldiers on patrol had of themselves over fobbits was the fact that we were all in Baghdad during the occupation phase. “Outside the wire” meant villages outside our particular FOB, but within some of the confines of the larger FOB that Baghdad had become. One of the minor palaces within our FOB was rumored to be holding Saddam Hussein during trial – not a defendant the U.S. will keep on just any “dangerous” location. So “combat action” consisted once of hearing a single shot fired, and all four trucks in the convoy opening with everything they had. A Mercedes a street over might have backfired, and for that a stone, multi-story building caught lead-hell.

But I’m not here to say their job wasn’t dangerous. Mine certainly wasn’t. Except once. Our CP had the misfortune of having an alley outside the walls like a gun-barrel pointing directly at it. One day, during the civil war between Muslim sects that developed in Iraq after their government was elected, that gun barrel became loaded.

It’s a common occurrence in untrained weapons-firers to shoot high; during an act of “Spray and Pray” – crushing the trigger of an automatic weapon until a majority of all 30 rounds are fired, and praying you hit something – the muzzle of a weapon will climb from the recoil, until by about the third shot and onward, the weapon is pointing generally up. Well, when only a low wall stands between a shooter and a CP, and all those shots do eventually return to earth, some of them may land around said CP. Like ours.

So, for one day, I got to experience the thrill of seeing puffs of dirt springing from the gravel lot outside our door as spent rounds struck. Of course, some jobs outside still needed to be done. That’s what the ceramic and Kevlar were for, even though they didn’t quite cover everything.

But by and large, I had a schedule, and I stuck to it. I made a lot of runs to the dining facility, whether by Gator, Ranger, SUV, or bus. I transported and sorted mail for the unit. I answered the radio, took reports, and kept First Sergeant and Battery Commander (or Executive Officer) informed. I relayed messages that needed to be relayed. I picked up orders from the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), or at Battalion HQ, also in either Gator or Ranger. Once a week, usually, I would accompany our supply sergeant on one of his runs. Sometimes, when my shift extended into the middle of the night, I would take our Battery SUV (an ’04 or ‘05 Suzuki Grand Vitara) for a tour of Camps Victory and Liberty (adjacent FOBs so smashed together that you could drive from one into another without realizing it). Incidentally, that was how I learned to drive. And on occasion I would pick up or drop off soldiers from Baghdad International Airport who were going on or returning from leave.

Was it dangerous? Rarely. Was it important? I should think so. Did I complain? Sometimes, quietly to other fobbits or to myself. And aside from my Otherness, life was good, sometimes hot, but always well-fed. The movies were generally great, too. But I didn’t have popcorn, and that was a shame. But I didn’t say that.

What's in a Name?

Strange happenings lately: my Twitter, Facebook, and here, for pity's sake -- my name is changing everywhere. In comments, at parties, I am becoming Daniel Dydek. What the heck is going on? Well, I have a confession to make: Daniel Donovich was *gasp* a pen name. Or perhaps more appropriately a pencil name that is being erased as we speak. I understand if there are lots of questions as to whitherto and whyfor. Consider this blog the Pen Name FAQ blog. Or you could just message me and ask me, because I'd be happy to talk to you.

Speaking of Dialogue

Hello and welcome to you all! Sorry for the off-week there; but now I'm back! And I got a beta-reader's critique back. It was less generous than others I have received, but as with most feedback it did teach me a few things. Now, a couple notes on this beta reader before I get started, because I don't want to paint her in a horrible light (even though you'll never know who she is): first, her reading was required for a class she was taking. Yes, my academic adviser is sometimes awesome like that. So she might not have been reading it with the utmost care; it also might not really have been her genre. Second, I have an 85% accurate guess on who the reader was (my adviser didn't tell me outright, but I'm pretty sure he mentioned who was in the class, she was one of them, and it sounds like a review she would write) and she is a very strong, very opinionated, very confident person. I find her sometimes to be mean, but not malicious. That will be important later.

A Conversation in Absence

"He's been gone along time."

"A little while, I suppose."

"It's been an entire week; do you think he's coming back?"

"I'm sure he will. Maybe his finals required a little more work than he realized. And he's been picking up hours at the bike store, too. But he'll be back."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. In fact, I can tell you he got back a report from a beta-reader, and he's going to talk about a few points that came up in there. I overheard him talking to his fiancee about it; it might be interesting."

"What was he talking about?"

"Oh, just some strange assumptions people make about characters and dialogue; things like that."

"Is he any good at dialogue?"

"I guess we'll see. But I don't want to give away too much. He'll be back, and he can talk about it to you then. But you'll have to make sure you're here, okay?"

"Okay, I'll be here. I hope it's good."

"See you then."

The Work of Prayer

I don't know why this is on my mind today, but it is; ever faithful to the itinerant winds of my mind, I'm going to talk about it with you. The topic is prayer, and an interesting question that comes up frequently concerning prayer: does it actually work? This is a question that prompted a "scientific" study of prayer a few years ago. I wish I had stopped for a few moments to think about what such a study might reveal, and predict it before my friend revealed the results. I probably could have come quite close.

For the study, they took several groups of sick people. One group was prayed for, but not told they were being prayed for; a second was not prayed for, but told they were; and a third was prayed for as well as being told they were prayed for. And they judged the results in healing times and frequencies. They were determined, by this test, to see if prayer actually worked or not.  Before I tell you what happened (if you haven't already heard of this study) let's pause to examine prayer from a Scriptural stand-point, instead of a (popular) cultural one.

My Reasons for Hope

It's funny how things can work out; sometimes all your hard work is suddenly rendered nearly meaningless by the sudden appearance of an outside factor. Take, for instance, my independent study this year: Working to Land an Agent. Course description? Research, query, and try to land a literary agent for my novel. It took several weeks into the semester before my adviser took me down this road: I started in January with working on an anthology of short stories -- which I may take on next year, but we'll see. But what happened was something that began actually last semester, and is still ongoing but nearing a (successful?) conclusion.

Think Like A Man?

No, this isn't a review of a movie; and I apologize that this is turning into Faith & Politics Friday. I promise it'll stop soon; my political science class is over in a week and a half. But I've had a question on my mind for a long time that just floated in and out, and I could never seem to really investigate it more. Well, I could yesterday; and I don't know if my professor wondered why I got fidgety all of a sudden in class, but my mind was spinning. So I thought I'd present it to you all.

The question I have is, why do we think that wisdom always necessarily comes out of democracy? (I haven't yet gotten the question in a phrasing I like, either.) I mean, why do we assume that if we get 10,000 people together and ask them questions, the answer at which they arrive is better than the answer of one person with advanced knowledge of the subject? Well I think I have an answer, but some people may not like it. I know my boss wouldn't.

Review of "If They Keep Silent"

Woke up and found this on a friend's blog. This man is awesomely supportive, and a terrific and prolific writer himself. Check it out, and check out his poetry posted a couple times a week!

http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2012/04/daniel-dydeks-if-they-keep-silent.html

See you tomorrow.

The Pride of Vanity

Today is, indeed, the official Writing Wednesday, even though I talked about writing yesterday (sort of). But I can't pretend yesterday didn't happen either; lots of good things happened that I want to keep as having happened. So I'd like to build off of one theme and expand it a little: self-publishing.

For the duration of this post (and, really, until things change) I'd like to remember that I am not a high-and-mighty published author; I am not even an author with an agent; and I am someone with a self-published title (see sidebar -- and feel free to check out the book, too). But you can ask my fiancee (always-becoming.blogspot.com): I don't consider myself an author, still only a writer. I am not one who has "made it" and is trying to keep others away, or feeling some twisted kind of need to "keep the waters pure," or something like that. But I do have serious misgivings about self-publishing.

Plea/Bargain

Little bonus this week, because it's hitting close to home. Some of you may have heard about the Justice Department filing an anti-trust suit against Apple and five US publishers. Others of you may listen to NPR and have heard a quote by one Mark Cooper, director of Consumer Federation of America. I didn't actually hear the quote, but I read it. It disturbed me, just a little. Here's what he said, as per npr.org: "[Amazon] may be a threat to the publishers, but that's only because they're more efficient and they'll deliver books at a lower cost. They're not a threat to the consumer, and that's what's the important point." (Emphasis mine.)

Now, I understand that Mr. Cooper is the director of the Consumer Federation of America, so there's going to be some unavoidable bias. My problem with this quote is it only assumes two parties: publishers and consumers. Unfortunately, there is a third. Need a hint? Look at my bio, and consider who it is writing to you.

That's right: writers. Low prices and piracy are a threat to writers. When we're dealing with cars, with iPods and iPads, with food, water, housing -- most physical objects which inhabit our world, prices are very objective: means of production + cost of production + cost of distribution and shelving = cost to consumer.

Here's the problem with that: publishers are the only ones working for salary or hourly wage, and the only physical object is the book -- which is taken away with e-books. The money a writer receives is entirely dependent on the price of the book. Publishers take the lion's share -- while they need writers to publish, they do handle a crap-ton of the work, between editing (which, sorry self-pubbers, is more than just a spelling and grammar check, which many of us still need), marketing, publishing, and distributing; agents, if the writer went a good route and got an agent, takes another 15% to 20% (I think Josh Bilmes over at brilligblogger.blogspot.com had the actual dollar numbers (roughly) of what a writer brings home on hardback, paperback, and e-book sales. It's not a terrible lot.)

Art across the spectrum is more complicated than cost v. pricing. We can't all just work 40 hours a week, and we can't be guaranteed a salary. We need people to buy books, and to buy books at a price that earns us some amount of money. We aren't owed our passion as a full-time job, and I'm not demanding it. But just remember that it hurts the writers', the painters', the musicians' wallets more than it hurts yours. Just watch the movie Equilibrium to see a world without art. If you want that, by all means, steal the book or demand copies for 99 cents. If you don't, help an author and pay a few bucks more.

See you tomorrow.

Promises of...Prosperity?

I don't know, folks; the more I think about this, the more I'm convinced that Western Christians have had it way too good for way too long. Paul said the cross would seem foolishness; Jesus prayed to God on behalf of the disciples he was leaving behind, lamenting that they would have to stay behind in a fallen and broken world; Jesus promised us persecution: he preached for three years before people couldn't stand it anymore. We expect and demand an entire life free from any serious, hardcore persecution. I don't mean taunting, jeering, and ridiculing; I mean forced silence, threats, and legal action. Maybe even death.

Bordering on Hysteria

You can't turn the pages of Writer's Digest or any other writing magazine, or browse the blogs of writing, without finding legion articles about the changing face of publishing/book-selling. A particular favorite among fear-mongers of the book's "demise" is the collapse of Borders; and a particular favorite among fear-mongers of the publisher's demise is the e-book. Here's my take.

Good Friday: Read

Sorry I missed Writing Wednesday. I'm trying not to make that a habit, but with work, school, a book, and a fiancee, days can really run away from you. I can tell you that some exciting things are developing toward finding an agent/publishing, but I don't want to bring those eggs to market before they hatch, as it were.

But, oddly, as I was laying in bed this morning I was thinking about death. Specifically about knowing when you were going to die. Usually that knowledge comes, at most, months ahead of the occurrence. There's a devotional series about how to live your whole life as if you've only got 30 days to live. I cannot fully apply that, because as I think about writing and think about all I want to write -- there's simply no way to do all that within thirty days. I have to take a more patient position, or I'll drive myself nuts.

But what if we did know when we were going to die? I know there's been movies and TV episodes based on this premise, and it's getting kind of old. Do you think there would be a year that you wouldn't mind living until? Would there be a year that you would mind living until? Depends on health, sometimes, doesn't it. I wouldn't necessarily want to live to 110 if I had chronic hip pain at 70. Maybe there are those who wouldn't mind dying at 50 or 60: they've had a good life, accomplished everything they've wanted to; "let me go" they might say. But of course, I'm not saying it should be that way.

I also wonder how many of us could choose to die. What if we had some internal trigger that -- when we really meant it, not when we were in the throes of teenage angst -- would let us choose the time of our death.?I feel like every time that moment came, we might push it back a little further. "Let me die when I'm 70." We reach 70, and have grandkids who are getting old enough to be fun. "Never mind, let me die when I'm 80." But now the grandkids are nearing graduation. "Give me until 90." Great grandkids are on the way...

So what about knowing when you're going to die, and also choosing that time to die? It is Good Friday, I said so in the title. Jesus knew when he was going to die, and he spoke of it often. But he also chose that time, in not calling legions of angels to prevent his arrest. Now, not many of us fulfill our lives in our death; usually our work during our life is the calling. But it's still something to consider, and something worth considering. And it's not like Jesus chose to slip away quietly, with friends and loved ones around; he chose a painful, excruciating death. I'm not sure [m]any of us could do that. So in this day of remembrance, let's remember to give thanks, too.

See you next week.

Expect to be Expectant

Monday is a Friday schedule. So you get three posts this week! (Maybe!) Two on faith. This one is something that's hitting me a lot from a lot of different places over the last day or two. Maybe it's the season: this weekend, we dwell on the disciples' dashed expectations as we wait expectantly for the rising Christ. He was raised upon the cross, raised from the dead, and raised to the right hand of the Father. And none of it was according to the expectations of those He came to save. Which got me thinking.

A Walk 'Round the Block to Talk

"Let's take a walk," she said, "and talk about this." It wasn't an "oh no" moment in the relationship, at least not between me and her. And it was a lovely day. So we walked around the upper part of town, my fiancee and I, and talked plot and conflict. Conflict should more drive the plot, after all; and plot should at best add to the conflict, not make up the conflict. And, see, when I first sat down to write my novel as an immature writer, I sat down to write a plot. As a maturing writer, I knew I needed conflict. And I've been trying to wrangle a conflict from the plot. Write and tell me how many professional writers think that's a good idea.

Making Disciples

I started thinking a little while back about the posts I do on Fridays about my faith, and the Christian faith. I wanted to make something clear, something I feel very strongly about: and that's about how my views relate to you, the reader.

Putting On A Voice

I can remember back in Iraq, I was there for a year on the Army plan. For nine months we were in a place called Camp Victory. They pulled me in to watch radios and work for the First Sergeant. Twelve hours on, twelve off. It went through phases, kind of: it was six to six, either am or pm; or noon to midnight. Day after day, seven days a week, for nine months.

A Salvation Issue

I know I'm wading into dangerous waters here, but I will try to be as reasonable and humble as I can. Last Sunday in our small-group we got off on a major disagreement on salvation: can you lose it, what defines its gaining, things like this. My baseline question for this discussion is this: if a man or woman "says the prayer" at a young age, then during college falls away, eventually stating: "I no longer believe there is any such thing as God"; is that person saved? John 3:16 says, in part, "whoever believes in Him shall not perish." So if you stop believing, are you still saved? But after several conversations, and much time to think, I'm thinking this may still be the wrong question.

A Glimpse

Today I decided to share an excerpt from my novel with you guys, one that's shaping up as a fairly critical part of the story -- a hinge, as it were, upon which a fairly significant part of the plot swings. The beauty of it is, outside of its context, you can't necessarily tell that. Which means I can share it without giving away a huge part of the novel. Taken from a moment about halfway through the novel, this excerpt includes three of the novel's four main characters: Haydren, Geoffrey, and Pladt. They've been travelling, lost, for an indeterminate time, but probably weeks in a forest of complete darkness. To keep track of intersecting trails, they began laying bark arrows along their route of travel, with other strips to mark them by numbers. They had spent this last day chasing the call of a bird known to inhabit fringes of forests -- that is, a bird that should be living near their exit. Two of their three torches have run out of fuel and extinguished, and they paused to eat...

Here Comes Daniel, God On Tail

Hopping down the bunny trail. Did you hear that in the subject-line? That's cool.

God took me down the bunny trail on Monday, illuminating both James 1:2-3 and Psalm 25:3, and passing through Psalms 23 and 24. Let me show you the way.

Officially Official

If you like what you find here, you can also go to www.facebook.com/DanielDonovich and keep up-to-dater on the goings-on of querying agents and generally trying to become published. Sound like fun? If nothing else, it's a road full of excitement, anticipation, hope, and sometimes a little despair and frustration and waning patience just to make it interesting. Check it out, and follow along!

A Writer....

...fill in the blank. Reads? Writes? Doesn't make much money? Potentially all of them. But here's one not many people might think of: A writer watches movies.

Really, a writer needs to experience life. Reading is good to see what other creative people are doing, and maybe feel alternately good and bad about yourself. Writing is obviously good; all professionals do their profession to get better. A baseball player may read all the self-improvement books in the world, but if he never steps on the field he won't get any better. And you watch movies to learn dialogue.

Home School or Public School?

Don't let the title mislead you: this will be about faith. I came to this topic when speaking with my "agnostic" friend (who admitted to me that true scientists could never be anything but agnostic or believer -- atheism requires proof, which doesn't exist.) I was trying to relate a good story in which I experienced God -- because I truly believe that is the only "proof" someone will ever get. Unfortunately, my story had to do with God's providence. I say "unfortunately" because it immediately brought up the question: why you, and not this other person? This person who died, for instance. And I don't want to be glib about this, because these are serious issues. But I think we miss the point about God.

The Voices on my Page

I have a confession to make: I wrote a book a couple years back. Finished it in 2005. It was horrible. Truly, truly bad. It was 165,000 words long. L-o-o-o-n-g. I tried to revise it; tried for five years, off and on. Couldn't do it. My mind was shot. Part of the problem, that I recognized even in '06 during my first attempts to rewrite it, was that I didn't have a voice for the narrator. Took me six years to find that voice. Here's how.

Opening Your Precedent

I know, it's Monday, not Wednesday or Friday, but I needed to get this out. I don't want to talk about it on Wednesday, because it's not about writing; nor do I want to discuss it on Friday, because it doesn't deal strictly with faith. Although, after reading it, it may seem like evolutionists have more faith than they profess.

Calm in the Storm

"A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?' He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, 'Quiet! Be still!' Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, 'Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?' They were terrified and asked each other, 'Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!'" (Mark 4:37 - 41).

It's popular in feel-good theology -- and maybe even glossed over in not-feel-good theology -- to marvel with the disciples at Jesus' power to calm the storm, and think to ourselves "Well, Jesus can calm the storm in my life, too!"

But check out another verse:

A Good Life

There is a troubling, deeply troubling idea out there; every time I encounter it, my stomach churns a certain amount; and if it is too blatant or too subtle, it churns the worst. The idea is that the best stories are born out of the worst circumstances. Specifically, the writer's circumstances; someone said, and I don't know who and I don't want to wrongly attribute a paraphrase, that a person must have a bad life in order to be a good writer. Maybe I only hope that's not true, because I've not had a particularly bad life. But mostly I think it simply isn't true.

Love's Ascendency

Just one more post about this, so hang with me. Because when I get on a certain topic like homosexuality and gay rights, and it's important for me to have my opinion on firm footing, it tends not to leave for a while. At least not until I get through the major arguments.

So, when all you have is the material world, love turns out to be one of the strongest motivators -- hate is up there, too, but we don't promote that one for obvious reasons; and, really, hate is the same passion, just turned the opposite way. So without God, love becomes the complete and utmost expression of humanity, in a way. There's no greater drive, and there's no reason it should not be fulfilled within certain cultural limits.

The problem is that, as Christians, we've bought into this.

Radical Changes

First, late me take an opportunity real quick to say I've published a short anthology of shorts (whoa) on Amazon Kindle under the name Daniel Dydek. If They Keep Silent is a collection of voices as varied as any crowd with one thing in common: the need to tell their story. You can get the book here. If you don't have a Kindle, you can search "Kindle for PC [or Mac]" and get a free download that will allow you to read Kindle books on -- you guessed it -- your PC or Mac. My version even came with some free books. Check the anthology out, you can preview before you buy it, and if you're an Amazon Prime member, you can check it out in the Kindle Library. Thanks!

So last night, while we were sitting and eating at a very, very good local Italian place, my fiancee and I began talking about the next book I'm working on. Well, "working on" might be a little misleading: I'm primarily working on finding an agent for the novel I've finished. But I'm tumbling around ideas in my head, I have a sample chapter done just to explore the world and meet some of the characters -- but nothing terribly concrete. It's malleable. Which, after last night, is a good thing.

Mind Blown

Some of you may have to forgive me if this is patently obvious, because I have never heard this described so that I understood it this way. I'm talking about the key to God's omniscience and omnipresence. Because every way I've heard it described indicated to me that His omniscience was simply a trait -- just something He had that we had trouble explaining. If God knows everything, we ask, do we actually have free will? If I'm getting this right, the answer is unequivocally "yes." Here's why.

"Search" for an agent

Emphasis on "search." Fortunately, I live in an age that includes -- along with Spotify, Nobuo Uematsu, and the Post 9-11 GI Bill -- a wonderful website called agentquery.com. Have you written a book with a loosely definable genre-classification that you desire to publish? Go to agentquery.com, select your genre from the drop-down menu, and hit "search." Poof: all the agents looking for that genre are right before you. Except, not quite.

Extreme Itinerance

Now I'm jumping in so swiftly, I don't have a title. This is going to be extremely itinerant -- bam! Title. But this is going to be some very itinerant musings about the Bible and Christianity. Because I work with people who don't believe in it, and I watch TV shows containing characters who don't believe in it. So these are a number of observations that have been collecting in my mind, but lack the germination to become full-fledged posts. Here we go.

Perhaps one of the bigger mistakes has been dividing the Bible into Old and New Testament. I thought about this after an exchange by two characters on a popular TV drama wherein one character expressed his preference for the New Testament. So, here's the point: they're both about the same God.

It's Weird Coincidence Wednesday!

Maybe that was a bit dramatic; but I've been gone for a long time, so leave me alone.

Something strange arose recently, as I'm moving back into find-an-agent-and-query-them phase: I began to realize an intertwining between the theme of my novel, and my quest to craft a perfect synopsis. I basically needed to take the advice of my book. But I couldn't realize that until I had already taken the advice of my book that I didn't realize.....Let me explain a different way.

What the Heck is Going On?

Seems I'm doing a lot of posts directly in Blogger, which is weird for me: I usually prefer to write them in Word, then paste. I don't know why. Probably for the same reason I don't converse much: what the heck do I say, and what if I say something really stupid? You can't take it back. Well what if I write something stupid?

And all the critics say: "Too late."

Nasty weekend/first two days of the week. Ick. Homework, housework, work work -- and no write work? That's just wrong. I've neglected most of my friends, my fiancee a little, my work-outs, and God. Funny that in chapel today the speaker talked (spoke?) about extravagant devotion to God. Gee, just when I wasn't doing that.

Thursday on a Saturday

I promised you guys a short story on Thursday, and through no fault of yours, you didn't get it. Mostly because I was spending most of Thursday writing the story. So I decided to break with tradition a little bit here, and post it now. This myth, running mostly in the Endolin Mountains, took a little longer to present, so you're only going to get a snippet of it. In the short story, a boy named Doliger has been sent to a cabin deep in the mountains to learn falconry from a man named Garutan.

Whose Story, Again?

I've had two questions pop up that, put together, give some interesting thoughts to ponder. They're theological questions, ones which I assume will have no answer this side of Heaven; and I'm not advocating a religious stance upon these questions. But they're questions that, I think, are fun to think about.

The first one came up in Bible class last semester as we were talking about consummation and the new heaven and new earth. I wondered, suddenly and for the first time, if God can renew the heavens and earth, and if in these new heavens and the new earth, sin will be no more, why couldn't he make it that way to begin with? Why originally create a world that sin can enter?

Literature

So let me jump right out the gate here: Why don't we burn books? If there's a book in the library I disagree with, that just rubs me the wrong way, that I really feel is bad -- why can't I burn it? We might answer: Because that's what the Nazi's did. Generally, if the Nazi's did it, we probably shouldn't. There are exceptions: They had an extremely disciplined military force, which is generally a good thing.

So why can't we burn books?

Emotion du jour: Excitement

Excitement. “I’m excited: are you excited?” “I could go for a beer.” As with just about any emotion, it’s always easiest to just say, or make the character say, what they’re feeling. But also as with any emotion, there are generally physical and verbal cues that go along with the emotion. These are what will lend “showing” to your story instead of “telling.” That’s the very definition of that oft-used literary admonition. With setting, show the character interacting with the pieces of the set; with emotion, show the character living the emotion. An easy place to start is, of course, with yourself: how do you act when you’re excited? Do you forget things, everything else except what you’re excited for? Say random bits of nonsense that pop into your mind? Laugh uncontrollably and without normal reason? Split your cheeks with grinning? And again, find ways to show this, not just tell it.

Work

The short story I’ll be working on this week is skating two different edges. It first begins to resemble the myth of Prometheus, being tied to a mountain. Then it switches to the story of Elijah, when the protagonist is kept alive by birds. At least, as much of a synopsis as I have right now: today is brainstorming day, so all sorts of plot details are yet to be worked out.

Research, What?

I played around (swiftly, and in my mind) with putting the comma in that title. It really could go both ways. See, I started writing fantasy because I didn't want to do the research necessary to write military fiction like Tom Clancy. I didn't want to do research at all -- and in fantasy, the question may be: "Research what?"

And, for a long time, that worked. I had an itinerant love for the medieval period, so I had a basic working knowledge of castles and swords and knights and the like; and dragons and other beasties are easy to write in. If I had to write combat, I did what I could and made the rest difficult to follow.

Myth of Salme

One of my classes this semester is an independent study, writing an anthology of short stories based on my novel. I begin planning the story out on Monday, write it Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and revise and turn in on Friday. They're a little too big to put the entire story on here, but what I'd like to do is put a portion of it up on Thursdays, leaving Tuesdays still (if I can get to it) to continue Emotion du jour.

So, for today, this is an excerpt from the Myth section of the anthology, concerning the formation of the country of Salme. Enjoy.

Shoot from the hip...

I have been sucking with this lately, dunno why. So I'm composing this within Blogger (gasp!) so, Judge, if I could be granted some latitude....

Still pressing on with the more regimented writing, which is being great. This time it's for a class: Monday, hash out plot ideas, focusing on one story and getting in my head what I want it to do; Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, write about 1,000 words a day; Friday, revise and turn in. 12 stories in 12 weeks, with two weeks to re-revise and arrange in book form.

Today In The News

It’s a new day, in a couple ways: going back to college in about an hour here; and it’s day 1 of a certain 90 day fitness routine. I can’t remember its name, but it’s like P90...something or other. I’m hoping it’s normal to kind of want to puke after the first workout.

But also (joy! joy!) I get to start my independent study this week: an anthology of short stories based on the history of my fantasy novel. I may be able to share some of them here, or at least parts of them, so keep an eye out for that.

Weekends are always tough for reading, and this past one was no exception.

Seeking The Unexpected

I realized the other night, talking to my fiancée, why I like Deed of Paksenarrion so much – and, consequently, why I didn’t appreciate Great Gatsby or East of Eden. Here’s a little bit about me.

I like the unexpected. In humor, I love Mitch Hedberg because there is no possible way to see his punch-line coming. Usually the subject matter is something you would never even think of. In general comedy, I prefer the punch-lines that are left to the audience to supply because it makes you think, and usually because it’s an unexpected concept, one you might never have thought about. I like physical comedy to the extent that action is unexpected; when it’s just action for the sake of largeness, like Dane Cook, I’m less impressed. I don’t like crude humor, and not only because it’s, well, crude, but because you can see the punch-line coming a mile away if you realize you’re watching crude humor.

Emotion du jour: Despair

Despair: when Satan laughs. I like the line Eowyn delivers in The Two Towers film: “and all hope of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.” Most of us may not hope for valor, per se; but there is something we want, something that – should it go beyond recall or desire – to lose would most certainly engender despair. That is when I must turn to Isaiah 41:10 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” If I were to lose God, I would despair utterly; but I also know that nothing can separate me from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39).

So despair most often comes to those who do not realize they have had, or can have, God’s love. We make, all of us (even Christians), other gods – success, reason, action, health, a certain job or lover – and when those gods “abandon” us, we despair. Do I mean that faith in God will make everything better?

Errant Spelling

So yeah, I can take the internet off of this computer to help it run faster; I’ll just borrow the computer from the person whose life dream is running their online business. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?

I finished East of Eden at about 3am last night. I’ll have to read Life of Pi to make sure, but I think it might just be that I’m not a huge fan of American literature. I mean it was good, well written, and I kind of want to spend more time with my dad after reading it; but it didn’t get to me like other books do – and not just fantasy, British literature too. Not entirely sure what it is.


So by the time break is over, I should have read six books. Plus, after my final revisions, I’m going through my book front to back, just reading, for two reasons:

Emotion du jour: Desire

Desire: according to Mrs. Hood, the pitfall with this one is to jump to the easy sexual desire. I think of Psalm 37:4, “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” (I always wonder if the catch with this verse is that your desire will be for Him...) Now, I am a man of few desires, so this is another kind of tricky one for me. But there is one, aside from the Lord and my fiancée, that I think I can adapt for this sketch. I hope you enjoy it.

So This Is The New Year

There’s something about weekends – or maybe it’s just that the past two weekends have been holidays. Some reason, I can’t seem to keep up with my blog on Thursday and Friday. I apologize for that, and for how long this means I’ll be running the “Emotion du jour” series...we might finish this year.

What I wanted to do for you guys on Friday was give a glimpse of what I’ve been seeing when I have a day where I have no obligations but to write. When I can wake up after enough sleep, and spend my time reading, writing my book, writing my blog, and et cetera. Unfortunately, the day I decided to keep track of what I did was the day the hard drive on my computer failed. My three-month-old computer.