Sneak Peek: The Watchman

Last but not least in the Anthology is The Watchman, inspired by Ezekiel 33. It's been a fun ride for me; I hope you've enjoyed these little previews as well. As I mentioned, this one makes the turn toward fantasy; so don't be thrown by the weird names all of the sudden.

THE WATCHMAN

The only life saved by retreating would be his own.

Sneak Peek: The Butterfly in Brazil

Today's story has a bit more complex inspiration. Tom Clancy's Hunt for Red October contains a scene wherein a Russian mail-clerk delays an important letter from the captain of the titular submarine to one of his superiors. Clancy spent a good deal of time on this very incidental character, all for the purpose of showing the letter was delayed. I wondered: "Would it be possible to write a story from the point of view of everyone around the main character?" Well, I don't think a novel would work, but a short story seems to. See if you agree.

THE BUTTERFLY IN BRAZIL

Chaos theory says a butterfly may flap its wings and cause a hurricane across the world. I wonder if the butterfly ever knows that.

Sneak Peek: Casualties of Wars

Good Monday! Continuing the series of Sneak Peeks for my anthology now at a new price of only $0.99. This excerpt is from Casualties of Wars, story #5 in the anthology, and looks at those who suffer a different kind of wounding. The inspiration for this one was a little more odd: a song by Natalie Walker called "Empty Road." I began imagining 'hearing the sounds of an empty road' and why someone would be doing it, and eventually this popped out. I hope you enjoy it.

CASUALTIES OF WARS

Sacrificing your life does not always mean dying.

I sat alone in the window seat, in the chill air trapped between the glass and the drapes as I gazed toward the quiet road in front of the house. The sounds of the family of ten, of which I was the eldest, were beginning to die down, warm cider and cheese calming toddlers eager for the arrival of St. Nick. My mother was herding the last few, shushing them and ordering them to their beds, when she caught sight of me.

“Jane, shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked.

I didn’t turn immediately. “Am I a child?” I asked quietly.

There was only silence, and I pulled the drapes aside to look at her. Mother took a few creaking steps toward me, wiping her hands on her apron. “Which means you should be leading the example, Jane.”

 “I just want to wait…John wrote that he might make it tonight. I just thought…”

I knew that my eyes – always shutter-less windows – emanated the quiet and too-frequent fear that clogged my throat and parched my tongue. My mother’s eyes, like tarnished mirrors, faintly reflected back that worry, stirred also with drops of concern for me which occasionally pooled in the corners. We shared the gaze, frozen as the fire cracked, for several moments before she turned and left. It may have been a nod she parted with, or the acceptance she conveyed only made me perceive it. I turned back to the chill window, drawing up my legs and settling bare feet against prickling-cold wood. I remembered John’s letter of companies marching without shoes; I prayed his march back home this December would not be as cold as the pins that pricked my soles.

Snow was falling lightly, the flakes ticking against the window pane, faintly above the cracking and popping of the fire in the hearth. It was a night for tea and buttered biscuits, not for being away from home. Yet he was out there, somewhere. It’s funny how it happens; a year or two ago neither of us heard much of King George, except the rare occasions when I was allowed to go to town and I would hear when his name was appended to “Long Live…!” Those calls seemed gradually less frequent, certainly, and garnered more and more angry looks, and fewer and fewer mugs raised in agreement. But father seemed hesitant to treat me as an adult even then, which went fine until mother and I were the oldest family members still at home. I suppose my brother Nathan was doing alright, but he was too young to replace such a man as father.

I set my feet back on the floor to try to rid them of the chill, but the warmth of the fire reached barely farther than its glow. My legs cast wavering shadows against the soft brown paneling below the window. I paused to gaze at it, remembering the shadows John and I learned to cast against that very spot as children, long before amorous thoughts entered our minds…

The snow was falling thickly outside, promising a pillowy blanket by morning. A carriage with swinging lanterns on its roof went slowly by outside, travelers coming late from a to-do somewhere nearer town. Though a full moon struggled to pierce the clouds, it was enough to see a dark-complexioned face below the tall hat of the driver whose head bent into the light wind. I could not see it without remembering John – but then, he never truly left my mind.

He had always kept a clearer eye on events in the world. I knew several of our neighbors who had Negro servants, and that seemed fine; but John always told me that trouble was coming, down south. Sometimes it troubled me, how much he had changed; as the snow slackened for a moment, I remembered a night just like this barely seven years ago. I had been upstairs, attempting to sleep, when something came tap! against my window. I blinked and rolled over, and it came again. I got up and went to the window; there was John in our yard below, digging through the snow to find another pebble. He cocked his arm back before he saw me, flashing me a grin as the stone fell from his hand. I raised the window as quietly as I could.

“Want to go sledding on Blind Man’s Hill?” he whispered loudly, gesturing to the sled behind him.


As always, if you want to keep reading, head over here to pick up the full copy. Next up: "The Butterfly in Brazil", the story of one man whose self-absorbed actions ripple outward to everyone he sees, and a few he doesn't see. See you then!

Sneak Peek: No One Heard Her

Sneak Peek Part III: No One Heard Her. This story was inspired by (and answers the question of) the Casting Crowns' song: "Does Anybody Hear Her?" I hope you enjoy it.

NO ONE HEARD HER

The dead tell no tales only because we close our ears to their cries.

Sneak Peek: Not in the Whirlwind

Sneak Peek Part II: Not in the Whirlwind. I wrote this for Creative Writing class, taking a bit of inspiration from my alma mater (the college setting is identical, I've excerpted one of the lectures I've heard, and his professor is a modification of one of my professor's names). I hope you enjoy it.

NOT IN THE WHIRLWIND

If a tree falls down on your room and you’re not there to hear it, does it still affect your life?

Sneak Peek

Hey all, we both know I've been gone a long time. Rather than use this post to catch up on everything that's happened, let's just continue and we'll pick things up as we go (hint: I was working a lot). So what's in the Sneak Peek? My anthology, If They Keep Silent.

Rhetoric: The Small Stuff

I’m starting a two-part series with this post – two part; so, blink and you might miss it. But I want to talk to you about rhetoric – you know, that stuff you hear on the news all the time that’s keeping politicians from actually getting anything done? Fortunately, I’m kidding: today’s political rhetoric is about as juvenile as college humor compared to what it actually means. It is, technically, using words to convince the listener of the rightness of the speaker. In its highest form, though, it’s supposed to convince the opposition of the rightness of the speaker – not convince those who already agree, like political rhetoric tends to do.

Whose Work Is It?

According to one sociological study, it was discovered that, throughout the world, the tasks that constituted “men’s” and “women’s” work varied widely – in one culture, washing clothes was considered “men’s” work. But even though the specific tasks varied, what was oddly universal was that each culture viewed “women’s” work as less important. Now, this may be a bit of a chicken & egg conversation: that tasks deemed less important are given to women; not that tasks the women do are therefore deemed less important. But the point I want to make is two-fold: we still see this, even in contemporary “liberal” western thought; and I find little evidence to support such thinking in the Biblical view of God’s kingdom.

Adding Character to Your Novel

My new plan of revision (a revised revision plan?) is humming along nicely – it was supposed to, since the early chapters were already pretty solid. I’d say in a few weeks, as hard as I may try, I’ll be slowing down a bit. For now, the prologue and three chapters are locked in, and I’ve only started this last Saturday. So I’m pretty stoked about that. But what was really fun on Wednesday was adding some character to the novel.

How, do you ask? More thematic elements? Some symbolism to spice things up? Maybe a rip-roaring description? No, silly: by adding a character.

Trails of Literature

There’s an interesting thing about the mountain bike trails in my area: I’ve ridden three (or four if you count my parents’ property) and each place, even though within 30 miles of one another, has a distinctive feel to them. One place has ten to fifteen miles of trails, another seven, a third has near 30 I believe, and my parents have six miles. But I’d be willing to bet you could drop me blindfolded in the middle of any one of those parks, take off the blindfold, and in a few minutes of riding I could tell you exactly where I am.

A Good Imagination

I read a verse last week as part of a new devotional that reminds us that God “is able to do immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine” (Eph. 3:20, NIV, emphasis mine). And we hear awesome, amazing stories of His fulfilling that promise. But I was thinking, as I read that verse, that surely it’s getting harder for Him: after all, since reading and hearing and seeing so many awesome stories of God’s providence, I’ve got to say I’ve got a pretty good imagination.

Scent of Creativity

So, I was working on my book this past week (yay!) and something interesting happened. Let me back up: I’m still deep in the middle of revising my book, getting everything aligned with the most recent vision of the stories events, and trying to make sure that I don’t have references to past (edited out) or future (abandoned ideas) plot lines – as well as generally fixing the issue with having a lack of sub-plots.

The Three Percent

I read an interesting statistic the other day on a buoy-me-up self-publishing picture: it said, in a contextual tone to suggest this was why self-publishing is awesome, that of all the manuscripts that are received yearly by traditional publishers, only about 3% are accepted. It also mentioned that, a few years ago, 86% of all books published were self-published. What it failed to mention was what percentage of that 86% found any kind of success. How much would you like to bet that it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 3%?

What is Truth?

“Words have no inherent meaning, you know!” Every time I hear that, I have the strongest urge to continue talking to whoever uttered it in no language whatsoever. Objectively, that’s true: words are just sounds or symbols strung together. As long as you define it beforehand, any word can have any meaning you want. But subjectively, words are how we learn, communicate, and even think. Words, and their meanings, are inescapable. Without meaning, words are just sounds or symbols strung together, and accomplish no purpose.

Whack-A-Scene

Not because it's relevant...just because it's
so darn cute

Well, one week down on the new schedule. If you follow me, you know I missed this past Wednesday. There’s a very good reason for that: I hadn’t written the post on the previous Thursday like I wanted to. Because once we get into the week, all bets are most definitely off. It’s incredible the things that can pop up, and you with hammer in hand can only do your best to pop them back down.

Let's Make God More Palatable

A strange thing has been happening, lately – or maybe not so lately. I was first clued in a week or so ago when my wife pointed out to me that modern translations of the Bible had removed John 5:4. Christians condemn Jehovah’s Witnesses to eternal damnation for taking out verses, but no one has ever mentioned this to me. The verse so disagreeable that it was removed without a whimper? “—and they waited for the moving of the waters. ⁴From time to time an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters. The first one into the pool after each such disturbance would be cured of whatever disease they had.”

Where Have You Been?

I’ve been everywhere, man; out in the desert it’s bare, man; I’ve breathed the mountain air, man… Well, okay: I’m still stuck in southwestern PA. My schedule has been shifting a bit lately, and I’m still trying to get settled into it and see where I can fit some time to write. It’s a little more cramped than the old place, but it’s cheaper. I think I found some space in the corner by the bookshelf.

Destroy All Humans

Yes, I know it’s the title of a video game; and as a standalone, it’s probably a dangerous title. But I mentioned last week about humans and the almost universal sense of us as defilers of nature. Now, obviously, it depends who you ask: but I think in the main, those who care for the environment see any trace of humanity as making impure that which is pure. This is called worshipping the creation.

Biographies

It’s that special time of book-writing – at least, fantasy-book writing – when things start to come alive. I’ve had a map up on my wall for a while (more fully fleshed out from something I’ve had for quite a number of years now), with all the little towns and castle and villages and things; names that carry some amount of meaning; a little bit of history and culture worked out, and a description of a key point within the story that epitomizes the culture of the land today. Which is all well and good. But it hadn’t truly come alive. Yet.

OMG OUTLINES!

Sorry for my teenybopper outburst there, but I’ve just spent a few hours today revising my book, now that I have character arcs – complete with necessary scenes, incidents, and internal and external manifestations of each stage of the arc. It went so much better than any of the other of my attempts at revision, I just had to tell you about it.

Stuck in the Middle

A little apropos, seeing as how this post is supposed to be on Monday, two days before the post on Wednesday. But, having missed two Monday’s in a row, I’ve stuck this one in the middle. And I want to talk about middles – no, this isn’t a fitness blog, and I’m not making up pet names for the Duchess of Cambridge: I’m talking about the war between two ideas that refuse to consider that the answer lies in the middle.

New, Magical Waters

The day has come; the time is rotten (I let it ripen a little too much; lot’s going on, you know). I have character arcs in hand – well, in Word, but you know – I have scenes planned, even a couple all worked out in my head. It’s going to be fun.

You're Showing Too Much

If you’ve been interested in writing for more than a year, and have read at least two blogs or books on writing, you’ve heard “show, don’t tell.” I talked about it here myself. And as I also talk about there, sometimes we lose the point among all the emphasis – we tell, instead of show, how to show instead of tell. But it doesn’t end there.

Plan to Look at Planning Ahead

Be careful of those who look too far ahead, because they often don’t know where they are. The downfall of the idealist is they don’t often know how to get from where they are to where they want to be – they’re so intent on what should be that they can’t recognize what, for now, only can be. But there is a good way to look forward, that I’m practicing right now with my writing.

A Taste of Spring

Going to take a different track, today. I’m still holding steady in the novel-writing arena, without any major, major breakthroughs (outside of some new ideas for book 3, and finishing up minor tasks toward the revision of book 1). So I thought I’d talk about another passion of mine: cycling.

Original Selfishness

Oh, the things that come out in middle-of-the-night conversations when you spend your night with someone like Courtney Dydek. “Sweet nothings,” you might think; well, let’s see what you think by the end of this story.

Blundering Along

Don't be an intestine: they're full of crap!

Dreams: having them can really suck, sometimes. Like when you try to fulfill them, and they refuse to be fulfilled. Or when you think they’re about to be fulfilled, and then suddenly it seems like it’s going to be years. Or maybe they are fulfilled, but they’re not nearly as dreamy as you hoped they’d be. I’m on the second one, right now.

Finding Time

Time. It’s an interesting thing; people think of it as a line, a continuous sequence of events from one moment to the next. But really, from God’s perspective, it’s a giant ball of wibbly-wobbly, time-y wimey…stuff. (Yes, that’s adapted from “Dr. Who”. Moving on…) And within Creation, it’s everywhere. You can’t go any-stinkin’-where without time being right there with you. And yet people these days have so much trouble finding it; it’s incredible. Don’t get me wrong, I have that problem too.

Sharpening Iron

“You’re a day late,” said the man, grumpy from a long day at the office at he sat across the world from me. “Yes I know,” I reply. “And I don’t like to make excuses—” “Then don’t,” he snaps. I pause for a moment, considering. “Okay, fine: I do like making excuses. My schedule at the bike shop changed starting this week, and I’m still acclimating.” “Get on with it, then,” he muttered with a wave of his hand.

The Low Moors

In my fantasy novel By WaysUnseen there’s a place called Frecksshire that’s dominated by the high moors in the center, and the low moors in a ring around the high moors. The low moors are so called because most of the year they are submerged in water, with bits of firmer ground like muddy walkways – think the Dead Marshes, but shallower. Haydren won’t fall in and almost drown. But in the darkness it can be tough going, especially as it continues to rain and the firmer ground becomes steadily softer. And I feel like my revisions are on the low moors in a rainstorm.

A Handy Skill

You know, I realized something the past few days: writing can be a good skill to have. After four years of college, mostly in an English major, writing a lot has helped me in one big way: writing a little is stinkin’ easy. I’ve been writing articles on bicycle-related stuff – not much, 300 to 500 words – and honestly, it’s being kind of easy. I’m not saying I’m some sort of prodigy, or even very good. But small pieces, now, don't even increase my heart-rate.

The Trust of Christ

Another interesting topic with my church small group – it’s nice to have that on Sunday so I have something (usually) to talk about today, not that I’m taking personal advantage of my small group. But we looked at John 2:24-25 – “But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all people. ­He did not need any testimony about mankind, for he knew what was in each person.” So would He entrust Himself to us? As Christians, we said, He already has; but isn’t it true that those God foreknew he also predestined… And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified?

The Library of Barnes & Noble

A few days ago, a story was tweeted from The Washington Post concerning the idea that bookstores should charge customers to browse the store. Obviously the idea was not taken very seriously by anyone who owned a bookstore. But the chilling fact remains: B&N estimates 40% of their customers browse their bookshelves, go home, and buy the book cheaper from Amazon. And anyone with any ear to the publishing world knows the rampant fear of bookstores (and publishers?) going the way of the telegraph office.

Very Inspiring Bloggers

There are days when waking up is awesome: Sunday was one, as I received a notification that Tash Berbank over at TashEdits nominated me for the Very Inspiring Blogger award! Whodathunkit? Thanks Tash! It's wonderful to know I'm not just rambling (though I still do that ~_^)

Now it's my turn. Check-list time:

·  Thank and link back to the awesome person who nominated you.

            Check

·  Share 7 things about yourself.

1.      I love casseroles. And chili. Amalgamations just do something for me.

2.      I find the Book of Revelations is equal parts terrifying and exciting.

3.      I thought I loved my Keurig until I didn’t like the non-recyclable waste and got a standard 4-cup brewer that supports a reusable filter: now I realize I just like access to coffee.

4.      Some people have a countdown to birthdays or Christmas or a concert: I’m counting down till spring, and a local six-hour mountain bike race.

5.      I have one pair of shorts that I can wear, because they actually come close to fitting: this will be a problem soon.

6.      I recently learned to make over-easy eggs. To date, 30 unborn chicks have entered the world to be fried and dusted in salt, pepper, and garlic powder or chives. Don’t worry: they were delicious.

7.      Intro to Rhetoric class changed my life. At least my writing.

·  Nominate 15 5 other bloggers and comment on their blogs to let them know.

Yeah, I really don’t keep up with 15 blogs. So here’s my top 5, in no particular order.

Courtney Rae

Joline Atkins (currently under construction, but returning in its aweseomeness soon!)

Glynn Young

K.M. Weiland

All the ladies at Daily Fast Fuel: Joline, Debbie, Sara, Katie, Angie, and my main girl, Anitra.

It's Mostly True

A mostly white picture...

I considered for a moment simply reposting my thoughts from before, but that might be cheating. It’s an inherent problem with the purpose of this blog; that is, to post on what’s uppermost on my mind at the time I sit down to write. Because themes recur, because the same things happen in life and upset me the same way each time. Well, not exactly the same way. Which is why I feel comfortable talking about truth. Again.

What Had Happened

“Show, don’t tell.” Can anyone explain this maxim better? A lot have tried, and a lot have tried to claim one secret to understanding “show, don’t tell.” Unfortunately, it’s a lot more complicated than that. Now, if you’re a passable plot-creator, and just want to make money, then it’s simple: stuff action into every possible crevice of your writing. But if you enjoy wordplay and will write whether you get published and make money or not, and are aware of subtle action (think PBS instead of NHL), then I’ve found one instance of telling that’s easy to spot.

Mountain Biking with Rushdie

This is sort of a mixed post, writing/riding – two of my favorite activities. Some of my best writing has come after an hour of riding, and some of my best riding has come after not being able to write. It’s not that one motivates the other, at all; it’s just that riding allows my mind to focus and follow a single train of thought (rather than the usual two trains), since most of the rest of my brain is screaming “AHHH IT’S A TREE!!”

The Constitution and Christian's Rights

Had a good talk last night with my church small-group contrasting the church in America and in China. General conclusions? Persecution makes saying “I’m a Christian” in China meaningful, while general societal acceptance makes saying the same thing in America a lifestyle or personality trait rather than a life-changing proclamation. Which raised the question, how can we stand out in a relatively persecution-free America? Here’s what I thought.

A New Word Order

I had a major break-through the other day. Well, the breakthrough happened much more slowly; but I recognized it a few days ago. At some point in the writing process of my novel, I had to add a character into the story. I don’t remember why, and I don’t even remember if they’re still in there, or if that was one of the several forgotten ideas now left behind in my subconscious to crop up in some later novel without my realizing. But I did it wrong. I didn’t know how then, but I realize now how I did it completely wrong.

Where the Work Is

Not a perfect example of a good sentence.

So I’ve been reading a free e-book the past few days, and for good reason: I wouldn’t pay for it. The book. No, I meant it was free for a good reason, not that I’ve been reading it for a good reason. Yeah, my bad; I should have worded that better. Speaking of wording things better, this e-book I was talking about: I won’t mention it by name or author because that would be mean. So take this as an insight into why books – even e-books – should have a particular sales figure attached to them; a sales figure, for instance, that might let you know at least if the book is well-written.

The Image of God

In our (my wife’s and my) church small group last night we we’re studying from that morning’s sermon on Mark 12:13-17. This is the well-known story of paying taxes to Caesar: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” (v. 17 ESV). What often happens with well-known passages of Scripture, however, is that – as with well-known water-courses – I tend to slide into the same rut I’ve commonly fallen into when reading down the verses. But occasionally, God pulls me out of that rut and shows me something above and beyond the stream-banks.

It's Never Right to Write Never

American Sign Language

“Never say never” never gets a chuckle anymore; it doesn't even strike a nerve. And some people still demand their right to deny, to set in stone and bound with rocks; to feel safe in their little versions of reality and make sure no one else feels safe outside it. Writing teachers too, of all people, still make their right to say “never.” Well I say, “Under no circumstances say never.”

Signs and Standards

“Do this, don’t do that; can’t you read the sign?” Great song. But can we really just make up signs to tell people what to do, where to go, how to be? Or laws? Or guidelines? I don’t think Christians can. And if you know me, you might have foreseen that, because I’m all about reminding Christians when they’re wrong. Permit me a little tangent.

What Day, What Week?

Another week of the new year sliding away, fading to fossilization; forgotten but not lost. I had a lot of ideas about how things might go, and a certain amount of respect for what I didn't know. But I do have a schedule for how things are supposed to go, if things go the way they’re…you know…supposed to. And it’s centered around my goal to become as close to a writer as possible while still paying the bills.

My Feelings About Truth

The moment the Romney camp announced that fact-checking would not run their campaign, what the nation should have heard was the hundreds of thousands of Christian Republicans running for the door.

Blogging a Book

I can hear the questions tumbling through your mind: What on earth gave him this idea? Did he just ruin everything so no publisher will ever look at this book? What if I don’t want to read it even if it is miraculously published? How is this going to work, exactly?

New Year's Intentions

“Atrophy: a wasting away or progressive decline.” Why am I defining “atrophy” according to Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, when I’m supposed to be talking about New Year’s Intentions?

Happy New Year!

Happy new year, everybody! I decided to test everyone’s limits on the phrase “Better late than never.” I may even wish you another happy new year in August, just to see if you still stick to it.

But it is a new year, and I’ve got a lot of new things going on. I’ve got a new iPhone, with new apps that allow me to create Tasks to complete and times to complete them. I have a new schedule, and a new plan of eating (I would say “diet” but that word has changed meanings these days, in a way I don’t intend it).

I have a new degree, and new opportunities for employment that I’m not taking advantage of yet.

And I have a new relationship with God: whenever I catch myself thinking sinful thoughts, or if I think of my new commitment to Him, I immediately say some variant of “Father, don’t leave me.” Because I’m a child, and Satan prowls like a lion, seeking whom he may devour; because there is darkness, thorns, rocks, and crows out there, and I need my Father to protect me.  Because I used to cry out to Him only when I’d fallen, instead of asking Him to help me walk.

So here I am, putting my hand to the plow and trying not to look back; it’s a new year of writing: college is done, my degree completed, and it’s time to pick up the keyboard and write. Starting right now.

See you Wednesday.

Don't Look Back

I don't know who that guy was, but it wasn't me; I mean, armor, really? Victorious fist pump and "Hail the returning writer?" Psh. Showboat.

I've been working. Certainly too hard for Renaissance-fair antics. Nope: I've been wearing corduroy britches, diggin ditches, dodgin' pitches, pullin' switches -- I've been working on the railway (Hadrian's Wall? Anyone?)

No, actually I've been getting married, finishing my degree, and trying to figure out what to do next. But I have some plans. Some are going to show up here, so stick around. I'm going to. Just gotta lay down my shovel first.