Yeah, I'll go ahead and make the Christmas post early to make up for lost days. A combination of busted car batteries and then holiday traveling immediately following the fix didn't really lend to decent time to post on a blog. No big deal, still got some good things done.

I am very close to completing the material I want to send out as sample chapters, and and synopsis of the novel would take me half an afternoon to write. Telling the family about all this makes the idea much more real to me as well as them. When you can explain that, yes, one could make money off of an advance for a book, then all that time their kid spent as a child writing in notebooks seems like a good thing (long story there).

The only mistake was that I forgot to bring that Writer's Market book with me to show the parents and family. Would have been boring but made the idea somewhat more legitimate. Ah well, there's always next year. Of course, by then I'd actually like to have something published. We'll just make that the New Year's Resolution, to publish a novel. How many people you think put THAT on the list?

What? You thought I gave up?

Wow, a whole week goes by without an update. I suppose that's what the holidays and work can do to you. Since I've spent so much time getting things ready for family time and presents, not to mention my additional responsibilities at work after the promotion, there hasn't been much time for writing. That's why a week went by, because there wasn't really anything to blog about. I keep updates to show how the process has been going, but since nothing really has happened, then no updates.

Not a day went by that I didn't right something at least. You have to write, even if it's only a few sentences long. If that doesn't happen, the main character will die a slow death because you didn't keep the idea of him/her alive to know what they're supposed to do. It sounds odd when I word it like that, I know, but it's the truth.

I chose today to get back into the swing of things because I finished all my Christmas stresses, I mean, Christmas shopping, so some proper amount of writing was done. It's writing sessions like the one I had today that really get me going on doing this professionally. See, I was stumped on how to handle a certain sequence in my story. The characters had met, they had to meet, but the next incident couldn't happen for awhile yet, so I was stumped at how to handle their interactions for a the next few story days. So, like any writer who is stumped/blocked, I did the only logical thing: I kept writing, knowing damn well that what I was writing would most likely be crap. What happened? I gave the characters something to do that not only better developed both their personalities but provided a balance to story elements I had already planned. That, my friends, gives a man hope.

On top of this, my friend Dustin lent me a copy of "The Writer's Market," an almanac of publishers, so that I know who to contact once I feel that the first few chapters are in good order and a synopsis is complete. Best case scenario once I send out some query letters would be that somebody likes the idea I have to offer and gives me an advance to finish the novel. I wouldn't quit my day job if that happened, but you can believe I'd lose some sleep making sure the advance meant something. Here's to hoping!

Location, Location, Location (and some books)

I always have to wake up early to get to work. This morning I figured Why not just do the blog in the morning when I'm attentive, instead in the evening when I'm groggy? Personal history has taught me to always listen to the voices in my head, so morning time entries it shall be. The best blogs, vlogs, etc. I've seen over the years put in early morning updates, like newspapers. You wouldn't put much faith in the Times if they didn't release their stuff around dinner time now would you?

What a hell of a day yesterday was for me though. After waking up on a friends couch, I headed out and went to get some breakfast at Ernie's in Columbia, taking my notebook with me. I wrote a little before my meal came, then stuck around for 30 minutes afterwards to keep writing and refilling my coffee. When Columbia Public Library opened, I went over there to write. I realized in all this that where one writes can really affect how efficient they are. I got through two pages while at Ernie's and then another seven during a two hour writing period at the library.

Since I was at the library, I thought I'd see if they had any books on the subject of writing that the kids in college would want to get their hands on. It turns out that, yes, there's a book here and there; by which I mean entire sections full of the things. I couldn't check them all out, so I to scan the shelves to see what looked good. I didn't know how to tell, thus the eyes-closed-and-point method was used. If that didn't work I just grabbed whatever looked good. Ended up going with four books, as that was all I felt like carrying out of there: "Master Class in Writing: Techniques from Austen, Hemingway, and Other Greats," "How Fiction Works: Secrets to Writing Successful Stories That Sell," "The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And How to Avoid Them)," and my personal favorite just based on the title, "Novelist's Boot Camp: 101 Ways to Take Your Book from Boring to Bestseller." As I move forward with drafts and the like, I'll try to give more details on how much help each of these volumes give to me.

Change We Can Believe... that I really flipping need!

I know I'm dedicated to the writing. Even on busy days like today where I have increasing involvement at work, chores to take care of around the apartment, practices to go to, I still manage to get something written down.

The problem is that nothing's happening. I guess I'm impatient. I know I'm a ways off from sending anything to a publisher, the desire remains to write something that people will actually see and hopefully enjoy. In short (and this will be a short entry) the next project for me will be finding better outlets online and in print, whether it be for short stories, articles, or submitted fragments of a greater work. Just something that I can point to and say "yeah, I wrote for that." Call me crazy, but that's what I feel, and I could never be anything besides honest on this blog.

If it's boring to write, it must be boring to read!

I realized today that some moments in a planned novel, if you have a synopsis made out that you wish to follow, can be pretty boring to write about. For instance, in the story I'm working on now, I've got the main guy, a high school student, who will meet up with the love interest at the end of the first day of his senior year in high school. In my outline I tell myself, "John goes through each class of the day, you describe each teacher."

There are two main problems with this.

1) I didn't bother to write out each teacher in the outline because I had no idea how each would be affecting the story. If it turns out that a major motivator for the protagonist to act is advice from his jolly old english teacher, then it'd be a problem if they guy was old and bitter when I went through my first draft.

2) Simply describing each class as John goes to it, with on bearing on the action of the story or John emotions is pointless, and just no fun at all to write. One thing I refuse to do is write something that I do not enjoy writing about. What is this, college? The moment I write something that isn't for a grade is the second fun time starts. If I wanted to spend a page describing my hero's worst childhood memory as a writing exercise, I'd go back to school and let some bitter husk of a fictional writing teacher tell me to (just speaking from personal experience, nothing against academics in general).

The most important thing I realized in this process what the importance of the first draft, it's simply that: first. It's like Connery said in the movie, write with your heart the first time, then go back and start thinking about it. If I keep thinking about the first draft, it'll never leave my mind and leap onto the page.

Studying the past masters

Today, in addition to the normal slew of writing, I also began reading a biography of Alexander Dumas, whom most of you would know as the author of The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Man in the Iron Mask, and a number of other great classic novels that bland, mediocre movies have been made out of. Considering the scope of Dumas' works, I'd really like to get a grasp on what kind of man it took to produce such books that were equal parts massive and captivating.

In addition to that library book, I also picked up a biography on Ayn Rand. I like her novels, though I'm not quite as militant as she was with such ideologies. After reading both The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, one could only be curious what Rand was like in real life, if she lived what she preached. I'm hoping not, because that would be both frightening and quite dull.

The Strangest Writing Zones

Well, back to it after a weekend break. I'm not sure if I want to always break like that on Saturdays and Sundays. Both felt kinda slow without the blogging aspect behind them.

Work on Monday's always goes a little long. On short days I get off of work around 2 pm. Today it was around four. I come home and don't really have much of a chance to write because I really want some time to freaking relax and watch some of those Netflix movies that have been laying on my DVD player for weeks now.

Around 6:30 pm I finally decided to break out the pen and notebook, only to get a call from some friends inviting me over to watch TV and eat chicken. As I've mentioned in a previous post, I put a lot of importance in spending time with other people, so of course I said I'd come by immediately. To stave off the feelings of guilt and laziness, I took the notebook with me.

When I arrived, I realized they had invited me over to watch pro-wrestling. I liked wrestling when I was a kid, but in adulthood it doesn't do much for me. I had some chicken, sat down to try and watch it. Normally I just make fun of the shows, which is where most of the joy for my friends comes from. Then I started jotting down a few things here and there. After a while those few things turned in a page, and then another page. Even after taking a lengthy call from an old friend of mine who's out in California right now, I still managed to nearly complete three pages.

Most people go to coffee shops, the park, the library, or bars to write. Tonight, I watched pro-wrestling to write. Life's an amazing complex and bizarre thing when it comes to writing. Just another reason for me to love it.

Gotta have friends...

I'll keep it short and sweet today since I've got little time. I didn't get as much writing done today as I would have liked to, but I don't feel it was a night wasted, as I spent it with some friends of mine, and in an odd way that adds to the writing.

This is something I noticed in college when studying acting. The good actors were the ones with personality behind them, the kids who had led lives full of emotions and memories that shut-ins who dedicated all their time to "the art" simply didn't have. To express something, you have to had experienced something similar to it first to make things believable.

The same would hold true to writing. A good writer can create a better image of the world around him as he sees it. If he never sees it to begin with, then he has nothing to work with. The bottom line is to keep the door open, don't lock yourself in and miss out on what life has to offer. Otherwise you won't have much to offer your stories.

First draft from the heart, second from the head

Allright, here we are at post number five. Suddenly I recall that pride I felt the day I turned five years old. "Hey there Ben, how old are you?" I'd hold up my whole hand and loudly state "Talk to the palm!" Just kidding, I said I was that many. Now when people ask me how many posts I've put up, I can say (for a day anyway) "This many!" and hold out my hand, right before asking why they didn't just read the number of posts if they know I have a blog to begin with.

Today while writing I found myself blocked, as most writers do from time to time. Though I consider myself fortunate in that I can unblock myself fairly easily. It comes mainly from the commentary on writing I've been exposed to over the years. By far the best, and the one people wouldn't think of right away, was a 2000 movie starring Sean Connery called Finding Forrester. It's most famous as the flick with Connery yelling out "You're the man now dog!"

There's a moment in that movie (around the time he says the iconic phrase actually) that he tells his pupil to start writing. The kid hesitates, and when Connery asks what the problem is, the guy just says "I'm thinking," to which Sean tells him to stop thinking, and explains that the first draft of any story, no matter how long it is or what it's about, comes from the heart. You write with your heart the first time, then when you want to revise it you go back and start writing with your head. Then it's okay to think about it.

Another variation on this idea is simply knowing that what you're going to write the first time is going to be crap. Complete, horrible, totally unpublishable crap. A good way to look at it is like seeing a woman you want to ask out. You could say something and risk it turning out poorly, or say nothing and risk nothing. In writing, you write and might get something poor, or you don't write and get nothing at all. The difference is, you can improve crap. A stack of blank pages cannot be rewritten.

That's why in a good writing session, you don't stop because you're out of ideas. There's always something you can add to what you're creating, no matter how mundane. Think that the part of the story you're working on is boring, like I did today? Then write it so that it isn't boring anymore. You're the one in complete control, you play God and amuse yourself. That's why writing is so great, the only thing stopping you from creating the most far-fetched situations is a lack of ink. So pick up a spare set of pens for cheap, and go get to it!

Because that plasma isn't going donate itself!

When you live in the type of financial situation I do, donating plasma becomes a very welcome secondary income. There have been times I've actually paid off student loan bills with the monthly amount I get from plasma donation. I don't care too much for it, and the moment I have a better income I'm quiting. (I wonder if they need a two week notice?)

Donating presents a challenge if you want to get some writing done. Even during work, I can still get at least a page written in my notebook with breaks and lunch combined. When you go to donate, however, your left arm is occupied, so you have nothing to hold the notebook steady while you write. Most people don't think about this, but when the notebook is balanced on your lap while you're sitting down, writing legibly becomes a challenge.

Then there's the cold factor. I don't know why, but when donating I get cold. I've heard it has something to do with your blood flow, but I think they just always sit me under a vent. Normally it's no big deal, but perhaps with the weather being what it is, I began shivering and plain out could not hold a pen straight, let alone concentrate on writing. Thus the notebook remained closed on my lap while covered myself with my coat to to keep warm.

One thing that did develop out of all this was the working title for my story, if only as joke. When I brought in my notebook, one of the employees asked, "Whatcha workin' on there?" Being the cocky SOB that I am, I told them, "It's the next great American novel." They shook their head and went off to get some equipment. When they came back, I was already back at the writing, and they said, "Oh, creating some greatness there huh?" Looking up at them, I flipped the notebook closed to show the front cover, on which I had written the title "The Next Great American Novel."

"Yeah," I said. "That's what it is. No mistake about it. So of course I'm creating some greatness. I already know that's what it's going to be. Frankly it helps take the pressure off the writing process when I already know it'll be great."

No rest for the weary

I could hardly get any writing done, but it is days like today that remind me how much I want to write professionally. Tuesday's are always big days for my job, and going in at 5:30 I worked a 10 1/2 hour day. My job is a lot of moving around, so by the end I could just barely make it up the stairs to my apartment. A few sentences were scribbled down to complete what I had pulled off during work breaks. It's difficult to write when I'm that exhausted, but that's something I know I'm going to have to work to overcome. Eventually I should be able to put down some of the finest literature the world's ever known even after two days without sleep.

There was little time for writing or relaxing before it was time to go practice with my improv group. I've always found improv to be a nice creative outlet. The main problem with a really good practice is that you know all the wonderful things you made up that night will only ever be seen by the people who were watching you at that very moment. But it also means you're capable of coming up with something that funny, so you could probably do it again.

It looks like day three of my journey down the novelist road will end with me taking the notebook to bed, attempting to get through at least a page before succumbing to the demands of the sandman. Exit light (couldn't resist).

The little obstacles testing you.

All right, here I am into day two of the most awesome blog I have ever maintained. Yeah, easy, I know, but that's how it'll go for awhile.

Getting through today really showed me how much I really wanted to keep writing. I woke up around 4:05 to my cell phone's alarm, threw off the covers only to realize I hadn't kept the space heater on last night. The heater is broken at my apartment right now, so if the space heater isn't going then the place adjusts to whatever temperature nature intends. That'd be about 28 degrees for this morning. What did I do? Get a nice warm shower going you say? Heat up some tea or run to a gas station to buy lousy gas station coffee and/or hot chocolate? Hell no I say to that. I put on all the clothes I was going to wear that day, including my jackets, draped myself with a heavy bath robe I got as a gift a few years back (you never think about that kind of application when the PS2 you wanted didn't come through), sat down at my table and got some damn writing done. I wrote for a half hour with hands I had to constantly steady.

At work, I took the notebook (a typical Mead composite book worth less than a dollar) with me to get some words down during my ten minute break, and even in the car with me to jot down what I could while I waited for my lunch to be me made at Sonic on Paris Road. Neither during the morning nor during work did I feel like I was forcing myself to do this. I just wanted to write dammit!

When I got home, I realized a stupid mistake I had made. The pen I had been using to write during the morning, break and lunch times had been left at work. Looking around, I made the shocking and bizarre discovery that I didn't have a single damn pen any where at my place. So what to do then? Sit around and browse the Internet mindlessly for the evening? HELL NO! I went straight over to Wal-Mart to buy a 89 cent 12-pack of pens. (And a Dr. Pepper, what the hell splurge a little.) I came write back home and got to writing.

Since I had done so much up to that point, when my friend Mary came by to drop off eggs (long story) I didn't feel like I was wasting time. That's a bizarre feeling for me after most of college felt like time wasted, no matter what I was doing. After she left, I was hungry and decided to make some dinner. But holy hell I actually felt compelled to COOK! Not just simple pasta or stuffing myself with Cheezits, but I was slicing up chicken and onions (forgot I even had them) and sautéing them in olive oil mixed with some pasta. What the hell? I don't even normally do that sort of thing. I guess when you're productive in one part of your life it tends to spread to others.

While eating I watched a video on Cinemassacre.com in which James Rolfe described how his film making developed. If you don't know him, Rolfe is most famous for his Angry Video Game Nerd videos, and if you have a love of old school (NES, Sega) games and adore limitless profanity, give his stuff a look. Hearing him talk about childhood film making suddenly took me back, and the way he detailed his joy of the art hit home with me. One thing he said made me think for a moment. James mentions how what you do should stem from an honest passion for the art, not for superficial gain. Since technically I'm blogging about my quest to become a PAID novelist, i'm going against what would be considered the 'pure' form of art, if that makes any sense to you.

I could cry out "forgive me! I'm in it for the money! I'll stop now!" But you know what would happen if I stopped writing? There'd be nothing produced, and I'd be where I was before. It's like having the balls to walk up to the hottest girl at the bar and offering to buy her a drink. You're not doing it because you love asking women if they want a drink, you've got ulterior motives. She might tell you to piss off and you're back to square one, or something very, very, very, very good might happen. Same thing (in a way) with writing. You want to get something published, of course. But if nobody wants to use what you've written, then you still have something you can look at and say "I did that, I liked doing that, and I'm proud of it. I'll keep going." Eventually somebody will want to publish you, just like eventually there will be some girl at the bar who'd be happy to accept a Budlight from you (ya cheap bastard).

In total, even with these distractions, I'd say I wrote for a total of two and a half hours today. Now all I can think about is breaking that record. Hey, it's only the second day. My hopes are high.

Down the road we begin...

This being my first attempt at blogging, I naturally go in with a sense of confusion, fear, and wondering if anybody is really going to give a damn. I probably haven't started a blog up until now because I didn't believe I had anything to say that people would care about. But now I've changed something very drastic in my direction in life.

This past holiday weekend, I woke up on Thanksgiving day to realize how very much at peace I was with myself after sleeping past 8 am. That may sound odd, but I normally wake up at 4 am each day to get ready for work. It's beginning to take it's toll on me. I was so pleased to feel refreshed, I began to wonder how I could change my life to fit this situation. As I was walking to my computer desk, some of the notebooks I had been writing in were in plain sight, and it occurred to me that I had been approaching any writing up to that point as a hobby. But hobbies don't amount to anything, they're just something to keep idle hands from doing the devil's homework. But what if I could do this and make money.

Suddenly I began to think how amazing it must be to be a novelist. You're obviously free of the wage slave lifestyle, you make your own schedule, and so long as you stay productive that schedule can take place any time or any place you want. The work is limited only by your ability to write, write well, and to get paid for it. In a way, becoming a novelist would be gaining a type of freedom I've never known. Now I want that, and I'll probably die trying to achieve it.

I realize that my ideas about professional writing may be naive, and once I find out the truth I might give up. For right now, however, I will try like hell. After returning home for the holidays I sat down and wrote for two straight hours, just to make sure I could commit a small part of my day to this. I've started this blog to make the quest a little more real. I plan on updating this everyday with news on how much I've done and steps I've taken to getting something, anything, published, towards making money of something I've written, with that great goal in mind of publishing a full length, original novel and writing full time. I don't know if I'll ever get there, but what a time it will be trying. I'll get to work on that.