Ghost Writer – All I Need is a Flaming Bike

[<--Ghost Rider ... Ghost Writer? Get the pun?!?]

I’m a vain person.

I’m either slowing coming to grips with this reality or am re-discovering the depths of this truth anew. Now, to be straight, part of “living the writer’s life” is an act of ego and vanity. Ego to believe that something we’ve written ought (DEMANDS!) to be read by others and vain enough to want to see our name on our work. How many of us day dream about walking into a library or a book store and seeing our name on the shelves?

This moment of revelation has been brought to you by elance.com. You see, I’ve been on the site grabbing up the occasional bit of freelance work. I’m about to submit a bid on another ghostwriting job. And once again, my mind is calculating how much time and effort I am going to spend, how many (good) words I am going to use … for someone else’s name to go on it. Then Sally reminds me that bills are due and I prepare the proposal.

Continued on the Apex Blog.

I Suck at Titles

I admit it, I do. I suck at naming things.*

For example, when it came to naming children, I was allowed to come up with boy names, with Sally getting a veto option, and she would get to name the girls, with me having a veto option. When it came to naming my firstborn, I went with what I knew. I named him Maurice Gerald Broaddus the Second (whom we’d call “Reese” as not to confuse the two of us). It worked for a couple of reasons: I got to retroactively declare myself “Maurice the Great” and I got to declare my son the beginning of my dynasty. When son number two came along, my original plan was to name him Maurice Gerald Broaddus the Third. My reasoning, follow me on this, was that in case something happened to Reese, I’d still have someone to carry on the dynasty. And we could call him “Tre”. Solid, solid reasoning on my behalf … vetoed by the wife.**

It’s rare that I start with a good title. “Pimp My Airship” might have been the last time I was perfectly happy with a title and even then I had the title before I had the story. In the end, I don’t know if the tone of the story matched the title, but I kept it anyway.

Most times I have working titles, a place holder while I come up with something that will work. To pull back the curtain on my creative process, I have a story which sold (which I’ll announce later) that had the working title “Virtual Babies.” Shock of all shocks, it’s about virtual babies. Eventually the title became “A Stone Cast into Stillness”, but my editor has been beating me to death with my working title. Just a subtle reminder that I don’t crap gold. *** Which means it’s probably a good idea that I never let my Angry Robot editors know that my original working title for King Maker wasn’t “The Knights of Breton Court” but “Black Camelot” (hey! I was watching “Black Caesar” at the time. DON’T YOU JUDGE ME!!!).

This originally was meant to be a random tweet. But I couldn’t figure out a way to reduce my rant to 140 characters. That’s why God created blogs.


*This is an entirely different conversation than the one about Pen Names. Though it ends the same: me making the mistake of sharing said name with a “friend” and that friend then beating me to death with it.

**Instead, we end up naming him Malcolm Xavier, after one of my heroes, Malcolm X. Sally wanted the “X” to stand for something, and I could live with the allusion to Professor X of the X-Men. This was also before my Malcolm X came out blonde and blue-eyed.

***In fact, our running IM discussion while I was writing this blog went like this:

Me: I'm two paragraphs into my latest blog and haven't had a WHIFF of a point yet.
HatedEditorWhichShallRemainNameless: sounds like your short story first drafts. ZING!!!

Cause he’s got jokes.

Transitions

It’s been fully acknowledged that 2009 was a rough year. It was a year of major shifts, having shed or been shed of a destructive relationship, a church, and my job of twenty years. It also finally feels like I’m coming out of a near year long depression.

It’s easy to become risk averse. Life and responsibilities need to be met, and can make us afraid to take the risks necessary to do what you need or want to do. You can end up in a comfortable situation, make enough money to get by, and be dogged by the feeling that you aren’t where you want to be or doing what you’re supposed to be doing. I know that I had a position that allowed me a flexible schedule, and thus the time to do the stuff that really mattered to me. It became more readily apparent that my job no longer mattered to me, which is sort of the point: work became numbing and could be done on muscle memory. Until I couldn’t. It wasn’t fulfilling, wasn’t where I wanted to be, wasn’t what I wanted to do and it showed.

There’s a tension that we live in. Work is hard and it’s supposed to be. It doesn’t mean you have to hate it. It’s a matter of matching your passion to your need. I could never be a mechanic. We’ll ignore the fact that I couldn’t pick a wrench out of a line up and am not known for my ability to do physical labor. It’s just nothing that holds any interest for me. However, I have a friend who is a mechanic. You get him under the hood of a car, and it’s like watching poetry. Working with cars is his passion, he loves it, and he’s doing kingdom work. He donates his time fixing up cars for folks, helping out ministries when he can. His passion is infectious … though I still won’t be picking up a wrench anytime soon.

So I’m seeing this time as God’s permission to dream … within reason. Our safety net has been removed and we have to trust in our good Father for provision. As I try to move from occupation to vocation, having been freed to pursue who I am supposed to be and figure out where I’m supposed to be—as well as use my gifts and passions—I don’t want to be irresponsible either. It’s a lot easier to take risks when you are single and without kids. My wife, however, has apparently become accustomed to little things like insurance. And food. Now is a time for dreaming. Right now, I’m exploring the life of a freelance writer and what it means to use my gifts and passions in a missional sense.

If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?

The 40 Year Old Virgin (Writer)

I have a so-called writer friend who shall remain nameless (Brian Keene says what?) who loves to remind me of the fact that this year I turn forty. Forty. Four Zero. That milestone of angst and turmoil, even for the most secure of us … and we all know how stable writer/creative types are. Thing is, this year marks my debut turn as a novelist. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve had short stories, an anthology, and novellas published,* but I hadn’t had a novel see the light of day. Now while I find myself ready to choke the next person forwarding me a headline about the latest pre-/teen offered a six figure book deal, there are some very practical reasons why it has taken me so long to find my way to novel print.

1) Writing is long and hard.** I decided in 1993 to write a novel. I was all of 23. The world was full of hope and I could dare to dream. I finally typed “the end” in 2000. For the record, this is the first lesson of being a writer: writers finish things. When I set out to write a novel, I had NO IDEA how to write one. Sure, I’d read quite a few (and read the Cliffs Notes of many more during high school). Sure, I had thought to myself “this is easy. Anyone can do this. I can certainly do this better than (fill in the blank).” Seven years and 140K words later, I learned that 23 year olds aren’t always that bright.

2) Just because you’ve written a novel doesn’t mean you have written a sellable novel. My first novel is a horror novel called “Strange Fruit.” My second novel is an urban fantasy called “Pantheon of Dreams”. I would tell you the name of my third novel, an African American romance, but my so-called writer friend would join with another so-called writer friend (Wrath James White says what?) to beat me to death with their taunts because I made the mistake of telling them the pen name I planned on using. My fourth novel was a sword and sorcery collab with Steven L. Shrewsbury entitled “Black Son Rising”. My fifth novel is an urban fantasy/crime novel called Knights of Breton Court: King maker (with the sixth being Knights of Breton Court: King’s Justice). There are a few lessons I can take home from my lack of sales.

-One, there are no wasted words. My romance novel will never, no never, see the light of day. However, one of the story lines in it was incorporated into Kingmaker. Just like there were scenes from Pantheon of Dreams that made it into King’s Justice.

-Two, some books have their time. “Strange Fruit” and “Black Son Rising” are simply waiting on the whims of market demands. For example, should a Conan movie go into production, the market for old school sword and sorcery novels will heat up. Also, I still stand by “Strange Fruit”. First time novels typically suck. That’s why God created second drafts. Or, in its case fifth drafts (as it is now down to 90K words).

-Three, while it took seven years to write “Strange Fruit”, it took six months to write “Pantheon of Dreams”, one to write the first draft of “Kingmaker” (yay NaNoWriMo), and three months to write “King’s Justice”.

3) Just because you’ve written a novel doesn’t mean you can sell a novel. It’s one reason why so many first time novelists turn to self-publishing. But, for me, FOR ME (as in the decisions I’VE made for how I want MY career to go), I believe that there are worse fates than being non-published. Plus, if I’d gone the self-publishing route, well, then my so-called friends would be beating me to death with physical copies of a book.

The selling of a book can age a person. Spending time developing contacts, learning the business, finding an agent … all of these things take time. You query a batch of agents, you wait on their replies. You/your agent sends your brilliant, I say, brilliant manuscript to a publisher and you wait on their replies. And that’s IF you can bypass the developmental hell known as the slushpile.

It’s hard to factor in luck or being in the right time at the right place (depending on how your quantum universe works), but I do believe in being prepared for when your opportunities do arise. In short, fifth time’s the charm.

4) Publishing a novel takes time. I won’t lie, Angry Robot has spoiled me on publishing. They’ve been a delight to work with. But here’s another bit of time consumption: they accepted my manuscript in August of 2009 for a book that will be released in March 2010 (U.K. release date). That is a breakneck pace. The contract stuff had been worked out by then (a couple months), but that gives us months to go through the editing process, work up a cover (and allow me to show you this cover again), get my input for marketing ideas, and slotting it in their release schedule. Only then does the novel see the market. And like I said, Angry Robot is moving very quickly. I could very easily be a 43 year old virgin writer.

I say all this to encourage my fellow aspiring scribes of all ages. Writing takes time. Publishing takes time. All you can do is keep writing. You’re never too old to write.



*I also have a so-called publisher/editor friend who shall remain nameless (Jason Sizemore says what?) who loves to remind me that I “ain’t no virgin.”

**THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID! Ok, I’m turning 40, but I’m afraid my sense of humor is perfectly 8 year old boy.

Writing Goals 2010

My blog traditions this time of year begin with a look back and then with a look ahead. First let me begin by grading how I did as far as last year’s goals:

As for new goals for 2009, I want to write 6 new short stories, revise a screenplay, write a new novel (the problem is that I have three bubbling around in the back of my head with no clear favorite), write a new novella, and revise my second novel (Pantheon of Dreams) down to a novella. With any luck, I’ll be able to get back to doing more reviews and blogs so it should be a good year.

Six new short stories: Closer Than They Appear (Shroud Magazine #7), Pimp My Airship (Apex Magazine), Trouble Among the Yearlings (Harlan County Horrors), Virtual Lamentations (for an anthology I can’t announce yet). Four written, four sold. Other stories sold this year include: House of Blue Lights (All Hallows), Hootchie Coochie Man (Black Static #14), Uncle Boogeyman (Dark Recesses #11), Shadow Boxing (an anthology I can’t announce yet).

Revise a screenplay: didn’t even dust it off.

A new novella: Bleed With Me. Though I did sell a novella, Devil’s Marionette (Shroud Publishing)

Revise my second novel: nope.

I’d declare it a B- year, but a few things popped up that I hadn’t planned on:

Sold a novel. The Knights of Breton Court. Turns out, fifth novel’s the charm. That novel then became a trilogy: Book One – King Maker, Book Two – King’s Justice, and Book Three – King’s War.

Wrote a novel. Um, I had to write Book Two – King’s Justice.

Edited an anthology. There’s no such thing as good or bad timing when it comes to publishing. You pretty much just have to grab onto your opportunities when they came up. So the idea of doing an anthology related to Mo*Con took off and I put out the guidelines for Dark Faith. Here is the final line up.

Heck, those last three alone would have made this an A+ year.

So my goals for next year? I need to do any revisions required for King Maker and King’s Justice as well as write King’s War. Currently, I have eight stories out and about searching for homes. I’d like to write a half dozen more (Jason Sizemore and I have this challenge that we’re to keep at least dozen stories in circulation at all times). I have other novels I hope to write (one a collaboration, one an expansion on a short story). I’d still like to revise that screenplay. I have two novellas percolating in the back of my head). And I’d like to make a comic book pitch.

Lofty , yes, but not entirely unrealistic. It’s good to challenge yourself.*







*Though I’m trying to keep in mind the words of a dear friend: “Try not to mentally overbook yourself, okay? I understand better than you realize about the voices in your head that drive you to accomplish more and more and to prove that nothing interferes with your ability to do your thing. But you're only human, despite rumors to the contrary.”

Palate Cleansing (aka I’m made of random writing related thoughts)

Okay, so I’ve needed to not write for a while. The last couple weeks I’ve gone largely blog dark as I had to get my novel done (Knights of Breton Court Book Two: King’s Justice). Once I get locked into fiction writing, I’m pretty much stuck there. Then after wrapping that up, I just wanted to not write or think about writing for a while ... mostly because my brain is made of mush right now.

But I suck at breaks.

Already I’m thinking of stuff I want to do in another pass through of my novel manuscript. I also realized that I have six stories to work on (three are now done), before the novel projects I have lined up for January (more on that in my writing goals for 2010 blog). All of which is fine because I think of short stories are mental palate cleansers. They give me a chance to get out of the universe of my novel for a bit and experiment with some different kinds of writing. Some of the stories have been requested by editors, some I’m just doing for me because I’m running low on stories “out there” making the rounds to markets. I’ll write them first then worry about where to send them, which brings us to …

… the fact that I missed out on commenting on PayRateFail (see Scalzi, Ann and Jeff Vandermeer, Scalzi, Mamatas, and a different perspective) and HarlequinHorizonsFail (luckily, my nemesis was on the job here, here, and here) while I’ve had my head down, buried in writing. So I’ll have to wait til next time this comes up (if we all set our watches now, we can agree that 2010 we’re due for another racefail conversation before we get to another “you realize we don’t make crap writing short stories” discussion).

-I have a lot of free time on my hands these days, so I’m catching up on other mental palate cleansing activities. Stories from friends I’ve needed to read (yay the return of reading for fun and not slush or research!).

-I’ve also come to the conclusion that arguing your genre label (slipstream, bizarro, new weird, etc) is like arguing theological doctrinal/denominational positions. After a while, I don’t care.

-I’ve got a lot of reviews to catch up on.

-and there’s always real life getting in the way. But I can still tie that back to writing through the magic of IM chat:

me: okay, my son (malcolm) is learning how to be an editor: he comes up with a cool idea (fixing mommy breakfast in bed) and then enlists the best folks to do the job (daddy, um, you need to fix the food)
nicole: lol he's learning how to delegate! if he's like most small press editors, he won't pay you for the task, either

Now back to my hobbit writing hole.

Living With a Writer

There she is, front and center. Do you see the glee on my wife’s face? Matched only by the devilish glint in Christie White’s eyes. You bear witness to the “what the hell was Wrath James White (and apparently Monica O’Rourke) thinking putting our wives together as the tag team of evil” on the panel the Seven Deadly Sins of Living With a Writer: the Highs and Lows of Life With A Writer at KillerCon. I am still torn about whether this was the worst idea ever or the most insightful panel I’ve witnessed in a while.

It sprang originally from a panel at Mo*Con IV where we were discussing what it was like as writers to be married to spouses who were fellow writers. Apparently the non-writing spouses wanted a voice in the matter. An interesting phrase was used by Karen Lansdale. She referred to what she called “the curtain,” the all-too-visible expression on our faces we get when it’s obvious that we’re in our heads writing.

This became evident to me on two occasions within the past week or so. My youngest son, Malcolm, employs a screech (it’s the most awful sound you’ll ever hear) when it’s time for me to help him with his homework. He says it’s to get my attention because he knows I’m writing. In other words, he’s learned already that he has to pierce the curtain. Even my boss recently commented that he recognizes the look of when my mind is no longer on the job, but rather working out plot points and character arcs.

We ask a lot of our spouses, wanting them to support us in different ways. To read our work, maybe even edit it, or let us run ideas by them. To us, that’s including you in the creative process, that part of our lives. Sometimes it’s a matter of taking care of the banalities (realities) of life, from having a career, providing little things like financial support and insurance benefits. Sometimes it’s a matter of giving us room to write by taking the kids out of the house so we can have peace and quiet to concentrate.

We can say “we’re working” all we want. Yes, hanging out on a message board and on blogs is work because it’s a matter of networking and interacting with fans Hanging out at a room party is work. Reading is work. Playing Scrabble on FaceBook counts as work (ok, a bit of a stretch, but I do play with my agent). As Leslie Banks pointed out, we’re like entrepreneurs in the middle of a business launch in terms of how much time, energy, and finances we pour into our career. Many times this is our second job (or even third for some of us).

Then there are the little things—which are bigger than we’d like to recognize things—that also take a toll. What we call “at least being there” as quality spouse or family time, they see as either just the back of our heads or just our eyes above the cover of our laptops as we write. We also ask them (sometimes just expect them) to give up a slice of their privacy as they find out that parts of their life has been shared within a bit of fiction. Be it arguments or personal situations. Many of us have had that … “corrective memo” … delivered to us that what was put in a story wasn’t meant for public consumption. (Does this sound familiar: “but honey, no one will know that you said this or this happened to you.” * “But I’ll know.” This scene may or may not be followed by a night on the couch.)

And they have to put up with our moods, the emotional frisson of creation, or what my wife may call my silent cry for the need for medication. (The “existential terror” sounds too grandiose for what she simply refers to as my “mood”.) The process is like giving my personal demons shape and substance, the accompanying mix of anger and depression that comes as I leap from inside one character’s head to another. Even friends find me especially hard to read if I’m not present in the moment but rather half in a character’s head wondering how’d s/he’d respond in that situation.

And I appreciate how great my wife has been about understanding all of this and put up with me. At the same time, I’ve promised to try to do better at being present with her and the family, learning to be in the moment and raising the curtain. It's funny how any of us can be at home yet functionally absent, focused on whatever side project or work we're doing.

Plus, there’s no winning an argument when I have to say at any point "seriously, honey. I was googling 'autoerotic asphyxiation' for research for my novel!"

KillerCon 2009 Report

For folks who don’t know, Wrath James White and I are basically like brothers. Overly competitive brothers who like to one up one another. Orgy of Souls was written that way. In what constitutes the rest of our real life, I do a chili, he has to do a chili. He gets a book deal, I have to get a book deal. I do a convention, he has to do a convention. And par for course, KillerCon was Mo*Con on steroids.

As he didn’t learn any lessons after so often mocking me during my Mo*Con prep, I watched he and his co-chair, Monica O’Rourke, ran around madly seeing to everyone’s needs. (The lesson to have remembered: you don’t have to worry about programming gaffs because when in doubt, you have food, booze, and, well, Vegas. The conversations will take care of themselves.) The short and clearly sanitized summary, for those who didn't just follow my twitter, work got done, new friends were made,
old friends were hung out with.
Plus it’s always good to meet with your agent in the flesh for a change.
This con had a series of firsts for me. I did a reading of some of my fiction (“Night of the Living Baseheads” the story that became the basis/a sub-plot in the first book of The Knights of Breton Court: Kingmaker). Don’t get me wrong, I’d been building up to it, having done some non-fiction readings (“Man-O-Gram”) and a few poems, but never a story. Though I could live without Wrath and Monica bragging about popping my reading cherry …

Also, though I’m use to doing a couple of panels, my wife Sally sat on a panel, the “what the hell was Wrath thinking putting his wife and mine on the” Seven Deadly Sins of Living With a Writer panel. That experience will require a separate blog post.

And the convention was in Las Vegas. With most cons, we rarely leave the hotel so the city hardly matters as long as there are bars/restaurants nearby. This time, we were rarely in the hotel. Of course, the Broaddus’ were personally hosted by Wrath and Christie, for which we are very grateful (and they were the consummate hosts).
With only two tracks of programming, one would think that the con would be more of a relaxicon. Yet between running back and forth to the Strip and trying to take in so much while there, KillerCon needed a few days to recover from (read: I can’t wait til the next one).

And “teh wife” has a more complete album of the event on her FaceBook.

Barbara Vey was live blogging the convention. You may want to check it out.

Life in the Broaddus Creative Mind

When I was in second grade, my teacher (Ms. Rainey) didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t exactly a bad or troublesome student, but I was the only black student in my class and obviously bored. Ms. Rainey had an overloaded class and had her hands full catching kids up to the current curriculum in class much less deal with students who were ahead of the curve. So she put me in a corner with a stack of paper and told me to just “create whatever appealed to” me. So I wrote, drew, created little books and just let my imagination and creativity run wild.

[As opposed to my brother, who was also bored, but his teacher—who shall remain nameless—had low to no expectations of blacks, males in particular, and all but said so. So through neglect, she stripped away any interest he had in school that he’s only regained as an adult.]

I was reminded about the state of my desk as I wandered into the room of my eldest son, Reese. He has his own desk in there, surrounded by books and stacks of paper. Within easy reach were trays of markers, pens, pencils, crayons, beads, and clips – things he’d need at fingertip access to in order to create at a moment’s notice. Everything was collected and separated by sandwich bags (which reminded me of the shelf of cereal boxes I used to use as my filing cabinets for all of my projects and “research” when I got home). All about were half-finished projects and preparation for new projects amidst the organized chaos that is a creative mind.

I had entered the forbidden zone since I had to clean it because when I’m in MY creative throes, I am compelled to clean and organize. No worries, I preserved the order and condensed it to his desk, getting rid of only the trash and toys and cups that tend to accumulate during … creative bursts.

Just something I wanted to note. On the flip side, we spent the evening trying to convince my youngest son that “Cock” was not the best way to shorten the name for his pet rock, “Cock-A-Doodle”. Of course, I suppose that I probably ought to be more disconcerted by him talking to and petting a rock …

Oddest Places - A Spirit & Place Essay

The Spirit and Place Festival invited me to write an essay on its theme of "Inspirational Places." The essay is up on their site but I thought I'd preserve here also:

The terrible secret of my writing is that I don’t have a great
imagination. I have to go to a place, soak in its atmosphere, its
nuance, and let it speak to me. I’m sitting in a rear corner booth in
a bar/café in downtown Indianapolis, a known haunt for
prostitutes and strippers when they are “off shift.” Under the
crimson glare of the bar’s lights, I stare out at a sea of empty lives.
Women clinging to men to fill a void they might not even be aware
that they have; men searching for the momentary distraction of
bedroom companionship to numb themselves from the pain of
their reality. The décor reeks of a pervasive hopelessness that has
settled even into the formica tables; an air of desperation as thick
as the fumes of spent Scotch from the nearby table.

And here I find inspiration.

I’m a horror author, not a genre often associated with spiritual
musings. I have a novel to write—three, in fact, over the next
eighteen months—and some might not think what I choose to
write about honors God. It’s like we have come to believe that the
only thing that makes art redeemable is if it’s a set up for our
proselytizing sales pitches. But I believe that using your gifts to
your fullest—and bringing yourself to Him in worship—is what
pleases God.

My faith informs my writing, that secret alchemy of creation, that
strange union of art and spirituality. What we believe, why we
believe—from nihilistic to religious—are a part of us and thus a
part of our writing. We all have stories, mine is no better than
anyone else’s, all of us leading broken lives to one degree or
another. And I find inspiration writing about redemption, about
wringing hope from hopelessness.

To think, as I sit here drumming my fingers along this table waiting
for inspiration to hit, all I need is a pad and a pen and a place for
something mystical and profound, yet simple and ordinary, to
happen. I believe that we’re called to creative purpose. I write
because I have to, in order to still the voices in my head. Because
something in the core of my being crawls up and takes hold of me
and makes me move pen to paper. The Creative Spirit’s work, the
good news of grace, drives me into mission, to use my gifts to be a
blessing to others.

My notepad has been like my security blanket, since I never know
when a good idea will strike. My notepad is also my act of worship.
It contains my attempts to join in with the Holy Spirit by
participating in creation. I carve out places to write in the same
way that I carve out places to worship. We often think of church
as the building we go to in order to worship God. Yet, it’s just a
structure. There is nothing “sacred” about it until a sacred space is
carved out … by the people. The church is people, a sanctuary set
apart where heaven and earth meet and we can connect to God
… not a building. In the same way, I find my places of inspiration, to
get into that mental place, where I can capture the ever-elusive
ideas and words and wrestle them to this blank page which scares
me with its sheer … emptiness.

I love working on my stories at church, even (especially!) the
darker ones. Surrounding myself with reminders of who the
ultimate Author is, whose work I join in, I’m working out my
spiritual journey as much through my art as through my faith. So
it’s okay if we pursue art for art’s sake because creating beauty is
its own pursuit of truth and all truth points to God. I was born
with the gift to write and when you are doing what you were
created to do, you are doing God’s work.

Life is wondrous, even the dark sides of it, and there is a beauty
not only to Creation but in the act of creation. So be it a seedy
bar, a poorly lit street corner at 2 a.m., a neighborhood left
forgotten and abandoned by folks who lock their car doors while
speeding through them, or the other sides of a city hidden in
shadows, I carve out places to find inspiration. It’s no Walden Pond,
but it works for me.

When Do You Find Time to Write?

It’s that most magical time of the year: BACK TO SCHOOL.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my kids and love the time I get to spend with them. I’m luckier than many dads in that I have a work schedule that allows me to offset my schedule with my wife’s such that I’m home by the time she has to go to work. So, for good or ill, I’ve always been around my boys during their formative years.

But, despite my lazy parenting style, I can’t say that I get a lot of writing done while we’re clowning, I mean, I’m busy parenting. With many deadlines looming, I was asked when do I find time to write. Honestly, I have no idea. I always have a notepad with me, so I thought through my day.

Early-late morning
-I get to work early and do some free writing (allow me to be clear, since my boss often reads my blog, this is as stuff comes to me while I’m working).
-I listen to books on CD while at work (which loads my brain with words, keeps me in the flow of language, if that makes sense).
-I constantly jot down ideas, plot points, snatches of dialogue (my job has fairly repetitive moments leaving me with a lot of brain time. Which again, to be clear, O boss of nearly twenty years, is part of why l love my job).

Afternoon
-When the kids are home, I flat out bribe them for an hour of quiet time (alternately, read: on non-pay weeks, I randomly ground them ... for an hour of quiet time).
-I can usually work in some reading and writing time. This is actually my most productive time (probably because I've primed my brain all morning with ideas and words so I'm ready to dive in and know exactly where I want to go).

Evening
-During the summer, Sally will sometimes take the boys swimming or simply let me disappear for an hour or so. This is my second most productive time (in terms of word output). Unless the boys are doing exactly what they are doing now: fighting. Course, that’s matched by my ability to tune them out and keep blogging.

Late night
-I can get some work done, I'm not as productive during this time because it's the only time Sally and I have relatively undisturbed. Once she goes to bed, however, I can usually squeeze in another hour or so.

So that’s it. The current iteration of how I’m a productive writer. Or try to be. I could probably attack those deadlines harder if I wasn’t, you know, blogging right now.

Will Edit for Food

Dreams of writing that huge hit novels and soaring to the heights of a Stephen King or JK Rowling aside, it’s hard to make it as a full-time writer. The question I have been asked repeatedly lately is “when are you going to quit your day job?” The answer is: “when my writing can provide full health care benefits. And dental.” So not anytime soon. (Plus, my day job allows me a flexible schedule which lets me get my work done, have time for my family, and time for writing and ministry work while paying the bills of my life. I know a good situation when I see it.)

Not everyone has this luxury. In this economic climate, I’d be especially loathe to give up a steady paying gig. Some folks, however, have those gigs taken from them or their significant others (the other way to be a full-time writer, as unglamourous as this may seem, is to marry someone who can has a job which can provide things like insurance). So you have to do what you have to in order to make ends meet. Ain’t no shame in that, especially if you can do what you love to do or at least something tangential to it. Such is what has happened to a few friends of mine.

Uber-talented Catherynne Valente has begun a novel online supported by donations. Similarly, Tim Pratt, who co-authored with Nick Mamatas, one of my favorite short stories of last year, The Dude Who Collected Lovecraft, is also writing a prequel novel also for donations. Who knows, this may be the way of the future for all writers who have accumulated a following.

Editor, Jason Sizemore, publisher of Apex Magazine and books (a stable which includes my own Orgy of Souls and my future anthology, Dark Faith) is also in need of economic stimulus, offering to sell his services as a freelance editor. It’s not easy to finance your dream, no matter what that dream is. Labors of love still cost money as well as sweat equity.

The advice I give to newbie writers all the time is "learn as much as you can about the business side of writing and how to handle your money." Here are a few blogs which I have found interesting which discuss the reality of money and writing full-time which I have found quite informative:

-John Scalzi’s Unasked-For Advice to New Writers About Money and On Writers, Marriages, and NYC/LA/SF.

-Jeff Vandermeer's The Full-Time Writing Life: If It Doesn’t Kill You First, It’ll Kill You Second

-Kristine Kathryn Rusch's Freelancer’s Survival Guide, Money, Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four

Know what you're getting into before you go quitting that day job. The dream is one thing, it's another thing when that dream runs over you with a bus.

Enjoying My Cigar

Ok, I don’t smoke, but I need some sort of after the novel ritual. I’m only in a quasi-honeymoon period. To catch those playing along at home up, I signed a three book deal with Angry Robot (HarperCollins UK), for an urban fantasy series entitled The Knights of Breton Court (a re-telling of the legend of King Arthur set in the streets of modern America). Imagine The Wire meets Excalibur. I just turned in Book One: Kingmaker. By December, I need to have Book Two: King’s Justice written as well as my anthology, Dark Faith, edited. Not to mention the inevitable re-writes (unless I can successfully convince my publisher that I indeed can crap gold).



(I love this "A Man and His Muse" photo taken by Surreal Photography)

So far I’m on schedule. Actually, I’m ahead of schedule (why editors love me). Then take a month to finish researching and plotting out the second one. Then I’ll take a couple months to do the writing. In the mean time, I’m allowing myself a couple weeks off. Probably catch up on a few blogs I have been intending to write.

So if you notice the blog postings getting a little erratic, you’ll know why. I may have the occasional guest blogger take over (anyone interested, drop me an e-mail) since I tend to go blog silent during the final push on a project. I get all focused on crossing the finish line.

Did I miss anything good?

Tales from the Slush Pile

I’ve always imagined what life would be like for an editor. I imagined that editors reading a slush pile probably do sound a lot like Simon Cowell from American Idol. Faced with mountains of slush, sifting for gold among the lumps of rocks; each writer, myself included, convinced of their own story’s greatness, sometimes presuming to tell the editor so (uh, I don’t do that).

I know I left the guidelines for my Dark Faith anthology purposefully vague to allow writers room to interpret as they need to, but I’ve been a little bothered by those who, I don’t know, didn’t read them at all. The most egregious offenders have:

-pitched me a novel
-submitted a comic book
-passed off thinly disguised fanfic
-sent stories that are on the front page of the sender’s website (yes, we do look you people up)
-submitted the “white woman gets raped by a black guy then goes on a killing spree” stories

And though I have appreciated the go-getter spirit of some of the artists (the cover and interior artists have already been lined up, thanks).

Some cover letters have made me laugh and caused their stories to jump to the top of the TBR stack. Others have intrigued me enough with their personal story to do the same. This is not an encouragement to do likewise. Others have put me off just as much.

For the most part, folks have been extremely professional. If I do say so myself, the competition is VERY stiff (though I’m sure that won’t stop the eternal writer’s grouse: “my story was better than that one” when the anthology comes out).

Wait, this just in which certainly qualifies at unprofessional behavior: if you’re going to simultaneously submit to us (which I’m on record as saying that I don’t mind), be sure to let us know if you sell the story elsewhere. At least before we read said story in the magazine of, I don’t know, the same company publishing the anthology. That’s not a way to make friends across the board.

If nothing else, this is another take home lesson: editors talk to each other.

A Reminder for Maurice

I wrote a reminder for a friend not too long ago which included all of the affirmations I’d given to them during the past year. All the reassuring comments, all the encouragements, all of the validations I’d ever e-mailed, texted, or im-ed (because, sadly, I rarely throw away or delete anything). Why? Because sometimes it’s easy to get lost in the murk of our own heads and lose perspective of who we are.

My wife came up with 25 reasons why she loves me as part of her Valentine’s Day gift. When I’m feeling charitable, I see Valentine’s Day as a ritual of memory for my wife and for those around us who have our affections. It’s a reminder occasion.

We need the occasional reminders (like my Break glass in case of emergency blog was a reminder). Why? Because it’s easy to forget. We get caught up in circumstance. We have external factors: critics; folks whom we invest in who end up draining us; sacrifice of time; the pressure of family. We have internal factors: lies about ourselves, falling prey to our own insecurities, our voices/demons that get the better of us and spiral us into depression.

Pastors and writers (artists) have similar head spaces, I think; especially susceptible to mood swings and depression. It’s easy to get down and wonder why you do the things you do. Even now, I thought against posting a reminder to myself because it struck me as an exercise in vanity. Then I remembered how easy it is for me to get twisted, tripped up in my own head. I received a few notes from friends who shall remain nameless and realized how much these notes, reminders of why I do what I do, pick me up when I get into those funks:

“I haven't posted much lately, but I thought I oughta let you know I'm still reading your blog regularly, and man, you do inspire. I've had some rough times in my soul lately, and your words have really, really helped me get grounded. I want you to know that because whenever you are called to account, you've touched a poor old plodding sinner where it counts many a time.”

“And you know, you once told me that I was making you rethink some of your attitudes towards gay folks. Well, you and your friends have me rethinking my attitude towards Christians. I just wish more people of faith were as inclusive as you guys.”

“Whatever sort of wordsmith I may be, I can scarcely express how much this weekend meant to me. It was everything and more that I hoped it would be: thoughtful, exciting, enlightening, and FUN. I know you have help (and damn good help it is), but Mo*Con is still largely a one-man show, since it's your vision behind it and your hands that have brought it to life. I don't know if I've ever had such an all-around experience at a "horror-related" event. Or any event. Getting to meet you and so many folks that I've known online but never met in the flesh was kind of overwhelming; I'm really something of an introvert, have been since I was a kid, and it's a challenge for me to hit the "on" switch and keep it going when I'm out at a con or some event with my peers, so to speak. But Mo*Con felt really good, really natural, and you helped make it so easy to stay in the "on" position. Your talent and energy are awesome, and I admire your devotion to both your writing passion and the way you present the gospel to people. As you surely inferred, I'm not a religious person per se, but I do believe I'm a spiritual person, for all that's worth. Your way of presenting God's message speaks to people where they live, and surely that's the most Christ-like way to do it.”

Now the tough part is living up to being the man they talk about in these notes.


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A Day in the Life of a Writer

It’s been a while since I’ve done a day in the life type blog. I was curious to see how my typical life has changed since then. Although, truth be told, I blame this on JF Gonzalez. He asked me, because of the hours that I twitter, “when do you work?” The better answer to that question may be “when do I sleep?”

4:00 a.m. I’m awake. I sleep fairly randomly and I’m facing my regular decision: go into work now or annoy my wife. You see, when I’m wide awake in bed, I have to resist the urge to do something obnoxious … like stick my fingers in her nose. Actually, she’s learned to say “Quit” from a dead sleep if she feels me stir. Off to work.

4:15 a.m. Yeah, it’s a five minute commute to my lab. I probably ought to mention that I'm an environmental toxicology at Commonwealth Biomonitoring. On today’s work agenda: a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon (“research” for an upcoming blog), five toxicity tests/bioassays, and I’m up to my elbows in biosolids (sludge) which I’m testing to make sure it’s pathogen-free so it can be sold to/used by farmers.

9:00 a.m. Staff meeting. Apparently a co-worker has decided to throw me under the bus.

10:00 a.m. Off to my pastor’s meeting. I probably ought to mention that I'm the facilitator (think administrative pastor) of the Dwelling Place. We meet with other pastors to coordinate our ministries and pool resources. All of my efforts to call this a “pastor’s sexy party” have been rebuffed. We’re planning out Holy Week (the week leading up to Easter) activities and adding an open mic night to our pizza night for the Bridge kids (homeless kids in the Broad Ripple neighborhood).

At this point in my day, I’m still half expecting my assistant, Lauren David, to drop by for tutoring in algebra.

12:10 p.m. Susan calls. Time for industry gossip, I mean, networking.

12:30 p.m. Lunch meeting at Yats. Dear white folks, I’m no longer fielding meetings at Panera’s. I know it’s your secret cabal of power, but I refuse to learn the secret handshake.

12:45 p.m. Kelli calls. More networking.

1:30 p.m. I assume the position to edit a story. As always, it’s important to get your feet set.

2:00 p.m. I wake up from my nap.

2:05 p.m. Chesya calls. More networking.

3:10 p.m. I’m once again late for picking the boys up from school. Now, chaos ensues (It’s that magical time from 3 – 5 p.m. that we call “Uh, let’s not tell mommy about this.”)

5:10 p.m. Teh wife comes home. Time for me to fix dinner.

5:40 p.m. Minor church crisis averted. For a change, it had nothing to do with me.

6:00 p.m. Because of my (forced) New Year’s resolution to drop a few things in my life, this evening is spent deciding only between going to Cub Scouts, going to Indiana Horror Writer’s meeting or popping back into work to check on a test (and have a conversation with said co-worker). Either way, I’m taking my notepad – I got blogging to do.

8:15 p.m. What’s that sound? Relative silence. The boys are in their rooms if not asleep.

8:25 p.m. Malcolm comes out. He has to pee.

8:30 p.m. Reese comes out. He needs water.

8:40 p.m. Malcolm comes out. Something about pee and Reese … I quit paying attention.

8:55 p.m. Real silence. That means … UNINTERRUPTED TV TIME (that blessed time when I can watch television and not have to explain to the boys the complicated relationships on Grey’s Anatomy or reveal that Damages is indeed convoluted, not complex). Plus, I’m doing a review for hollywoodjesus.com.

9:15 p.m. I explain to my wife that Facebook time (even playing Scrabble) and e-mail check not only counts as quality time with her, but doubles as networking/business time. She explains something about her shoe and my behind.

10:35 p.m. Teh wife heads to bed. FINALLY, I can get some writing done. I stare at the blank page.

11:05 p.m. I do laundry, dishes, and straighten up the living room. Time to reorganize my desk.

12:25 a.m. My DVDs need rearranging.

12:45 a.m. Writing.

2:15 a.m. I think I’ll call it a night.

Another day of completely productive writing done.


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[BIB/ReadersRoom] On Agent Hunting

It's query season. Yeah, as part of the care and feeding of my writing career, I'm beginning another round of an agent hunt. These rounds always coincide with the completion of a new novel manuscript length project. I’ve finished my third novel now. The first two haven’t sold, but I can see my progress as a writer from novel to novel (to the point where I recently went back to re-work my first one as it was filled with “first time writer” stuff).

One of the benefits of having a network of friends is that you can not only draw on their experience, but also their inside knowledge about agents. Okay, sometimes they’ll try and hook you up with their agents. I do have some other things that I am looking for in an agent, you know, the whole competency at their job thing. Thus, I have come up with a few criteria for my future possible agent.

1. Don't do crack. I keep thinking of the "Randy Moss lesson":

ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. ‑‑ An agent for Randy Moss was charged with possession of crack cocaine after police were called to a hotel to investigate a disturbance, authorities said…

If there's one thing I've learned from watching athletes and agents, it's that my name will be the one in the papers when my agent has issues. You'd think I'd aim a little higher in the "things to look for" department, but I thought this was worth putting near the top. In my experience, limited though it may be to episodes of The Corner, drug use doesn't indicate the best money management abilities. Additionally, a crackhead probably wouldn't make for the best ambassador for me.

2. Don't be a part of my social circle. I'm all about community, however, business is business. My agent will not my childhood buddy, will not a distant relative, and will not some friend of my mom's. For example, I have a best friend (yes, I'm part 12 year old girl). He won't be my agent. On the other hand, he has already put his hat in the ring for being a part of my posse.

3. Do not have a psychotic break. Especially online. The occasional breakdown I can live with. We all have them. Try not to have them too publicly and we're good. You’d think one wouldn’t have to say that, but you’d also think that you wouldn’t have to remind folks that the internet is forever. While I’m on this topic, blogs should be professional. Yours AND your prospective agents. I don’t want to know about my agents pets, arguments with neighbors, shouting matches with writers (wait, strike that, yeah I do. I’m a gossip whore), or anything related to their sex life. I’m sure prospective agents think similarly when they check out your blog after they get your query letter. And allow me to assure you that your blog, your MySpace, whatever presence you have online are all checked out soon after that query is opened.

4. Why don’t you NOT have publishing ventures on the side. I don’t want my agent dabbling in being a publisher or even a writer, truth be told. The words conflict of interest tend to pop up.

The way I see it, an agent is someone else to fight certain battles for me. They tend to the business side of the craft and I don’t have to exhaust myself trying to learn a second job in the field of publishing. While it’s important to educate yourself as much as possible about the business and develop a strong set of contacts, I’m not presumptuous enough to think I can do an agents job as well as an agent. It’s a different skill set.

Plus, in general, I’m a nice, easy-going guy. Prone to let folks walk on me. So I need someone else to be the professional a-hole and look out for my/their interests. I suppose I ought to, you know, be eventually useful in this post. And by way of token effort, I’ll direct you to some interesting reading:

Lucy A. Snyder wrote a great blog on how she got her agent. One of the things she touches on is the importance of an agent as she compares and contrasts her book deal via an agent vs. her husband’s who went the majority of the time sans agent.

Also recommended reading, John Scalzi’s blog on why you need an agent: foreign markets edition. What he knows about foreign markets “could fill a thimble”, but he has an agent who is fascinated by those markets. Which means basically free money for him.


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On Author Pictures (a Fail)

I don’t want to shock teh Interwebz or anything, but I’m vain.

(I’ll wait for all of you to recover.)

As you know, I'm always here to offer advice to the young aspiring writer. Kelli Dunlap mocked the fact that I took four rolls of film before arriving at my last one. So I’ve been thinking about re-doing some of my author pics. Sure, sure, some of you may wander past my web site in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man, the legend, and you may say to yourself “that’s one scary, intimidating author.” Well, then my job is done.

On the other hand, I also want you to recognize me at a con. Not necessarily talk to me, but at least recognize me. You know, point to me in furtive whispers as I pass by, but not actually engage me, because, seriously, who needs that. But this gets to one thing I’ve disliked about most author pics: when I meet you at cons, I don’t need to do double takes to match the person in front of me to an outdated (to say the least) picture of you. To the point where I’m attempting to guess what decade your picture was taken or what kind of Photoshop you were using to touch up your … everything.

So I dragged my friend Larissa Johnson out to take some new snapshots and I’m trying to decide on what look to go for this time. I’m trying to decide what strikes the proper chord for an image of me. We have:

the obligatory slightly pretentious me.
moody, slightly scary me (ooooo, spooky horror guy!)
a man and his muse
a lot of shots with a variation of me looking pensive. You'll note, there's a fine line between looking pensive and, frankly, the world giving me a headache. Yes, this was my fourth outfit change of the photo shoot.
an excuse for me to wear my bowler. This is my "Maurice the Icon" shot. Every aspiring writer should have one.
do you want a little pirate in you? It is important that every writer be concerned about his image. After all, your author pics are what define you to the readers. Um, sure, some people may argue that it's the writing that may define you, but they're wrong. It's all about image. Listen to the man in the pirate hat (and, mind you, who DOESN'T have a puffy shirt in their wardrobe?)

This blog brought to you by my third dose of Thera-Flu. I’m not actually sick yet, I just enjoy the rush.


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Reviews of Orgy of Souls

I know, I know ... live by the review, die by the review. However, in case folks were interested in how our novella, Orgy of Souls, was being received, here's a one-stop collection of all the reviews I've been able to find:

-Horror*Web gave it four (out of five) stars.

-Paul Jessup thought it was beautiful (and I must say, even if it wasn't our novella, DE Christman's cover IS breath-taking)

-Nick Cato: an unlikely collaboration

-Michele Lee of the Fix

-HorrorWorld review (by JG Faherty)

-Dark Scribe review (by Jeff Burk)

-Amazon reviews

-Dark Discoveries ran a review in issue 12

-the APOOO book club chimed in

-Nosse Morte review

-the Green Man review

-the Hellnotes review

-the Shroud Magazine review

-the Dark Discoveries review

Rue Morgue (Nov. 08, Issue 84) has this to say about Orgy of Souls:

"Like a twisted Gemini, two brothers - Samuel, a dying priest, and Samson, a superficial party boy - are seeking salvation. Samuel is hoping to live out his last days in service to God, while Samson collects souls to save him in an unearthly exchange. Featuring bloody, sexually charged violence that'll give American Psycho a run for its money, this novella just might grope you into believing."

And lastly, not only did Orgy of Souls make Horror Mall's best seller list for December 2008, the first chapter is up on the apex website.

(plus there's the ongoing discussion on my message board for folks to chime in with their opinions.)

Overall, I've been pretty pleased with the reviews. As always, let me know what you thought.


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Don’t Talk to Writers…

…or at least don’t read writers you know. You may be happier that way.

My wife doesn’t read my fiction. The reason why was touched upon in one of the panels I was on at ConText. We were discussing how we incorporate real life into our writing. My position was that everything around me was up for grabs. In particular, I draw on my story and the things that connect to my story. You engaging me, your story bumping up against mine, all stories period … all up for grabs for me to draw on.

When folks ask “where do you get your ideas from?” I don’t want to have to respond, I wait for folks to do or say something interesting, but you rarely do. But it can be a little disconcerting to see bits of a personal argument in print or see a friends’ history informing a character. But it’s what we do. Lord help you if you are friends with a writer/pastor: your story could end up doing double duty in print and a sermon.

It's a fine line to walk, protecting privacy and being true to the demands of the story. Can we go too far? Um, yeah. Show of hands: how many of us have spent the night on the couch after our spouse came across something we’ve shared or written? It’s so bad, the official term in the Broaddus household for retracting/editing a statement or story is the “corrective memo”. My wife does read my blog. I’ve gotten more than a few corrective memos (she was ESPECIALLY not pleased with the original versions of me detailing—emphasis on details—the birth of our first son (in two parts, no less).

This blog is dedicated to the person who wrote me saying “you don’t have to use this e-mail as a blog or story. We’re just having a conversation.” Yes we were. At least I’m not using your name. When all is said and done, we do ultimately respect people’s privacy (if only for fear of a libel suit). Truth be told, only you will know when your story’s been co-opted, unless you or the author run your mouths about it. Ironically, most of the time my friends don’t even recognize themselves in my stories unless I point them out. That’s the point.


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A Story for My Boys: Magic Dad

So I was chastised early today for spending too much time on the computer. Apparently my eldest, Reese, sat next to me singing “you’re not listening to me, you’re not listening to me, you’re not listening to me…” until I responded. (In my defense, it has taken me years of training and discipline to tune out the chatter and noise produced by my two boys in order to concentrate on anything).

Anyway, Reese decided (with Malcolm playing the Amen corner role) that since I was writing, the least I could do was write a story for them, involving them. Reese immediately declared himself the editor and illustrator of the project, and decided that this was a strictly for the love project (despite my emancipation proclamation). Here’s what we have:
Magic Dad: "Who do you love more?"


Page one:
One day, Magic Dad relaxed on the couch watching television. That was the secret way that Magic Dad recharged his powers.

Magic Dad had two sons, Malcolm and Reese, who suddenly rushed into the room as if they had been racing.

Page two:
"Can we ask you a question, dad?" Reese asked. He looked at Malcolm who nodded excitedly.

"Sure," Magic Dad said, always suspicious when his boys looked like they were up to something.

Page three:
"Who do you love more: me or Malcolm?"

The two boys looked up at him, both with big smiles, trying to look as good as possible.

Page four:
The question caught Magic Dad by surprise. He sat up in his couch, thought about this tricky question for a minute, and then smiled. "I don't know, I have a lot of people to love and only one heart to do it with. Let's see."

Page five:
So Magic Dad reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. It looked like a giant Valentine's Day heart. The boys both grinned.

Page six:
"How do you do that?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm a Dad. We're magic," Magic Dad said.

Page seven:
"So this is my heart. Here's a piece for you," he tore off a small corner of his heart and gave it to Malcolm.

"And here's a piece for you," he gave a piece to Reese.

Page eight:
Each child looked at the small piece of Magic Dad's heart. They both looked kind of disappointed.

"Aren't you happy with what you have?" Magic Dad asked.

Page nine:
"No," said Reese.

"It's so small," said Malcolm.

Page ten:
"You're right, but I only have one heart and I have to share it with a lot of people. What about Mommy?"

Magic Mommy peeked into the room from the kitchen. One of Magic Dad's other powers was getting out of having to clean up after dinner.

Page eleven:
"She should get a big piece," Reese said.

"She can have my piece!" Malcolm said.

Page twelve:
"You're both so good. I'll give this piece to Mommy." Magic Dad put the last piece on the coffee table for Magic Mommy. "There that's all of it."

Page thirteen:
"That still doesn't seem like very much," Reese said, looking at Magic Mommy's piece, then at his piece, then at Malcolm's piece.

"Don't you need a heart to keep going?" asked Malcolm.

Page fourteen:
"You're both right. And I've given away all of my heart," Magic Dad said. "How about if I do this?"

Magic Dad blew up each piece of his heart until each piece became a full sized heart.

Page fifteen:
"There," he said, "now each of you gets all of my heart."

Both the boys took their pieces and studied at all of the hearts. They were all the same size.

Page sixteen:
"Quick, hand them back to me," Magic Dad said.

He stuffed all three hearts back into his chest.

"That's how I keep going: by giving all of my heart to each of you."

Page seventeen:
Reese and Malcolm finally understood that their Magic Dad loved them both equally and with his whole heart, so they went off to play.

Page eighteen:
"What did you think, Magic Mommy?" Magic Dad said.

Page nineteen:
"I think that you had better get another heart." Magic Mommy patted her belly.*

Page twenty:
[Shocked picture of Magic Dad]


*This is not some sort of bizarre way for me to announce a surprise (we've had this scare before), it was just the only ending I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Once again, I'll point out, Magic Mommy has had her tubes tied, so should that ending come true, I'll have to take it up with Magic Deity.


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I’m an Artist Dang It (Or I at least Play One on the Internet)

Okay, here’s what set me off: I was on a message board (mistake number one. I really keep learning that the main board I need to be visiting is my own) and a writer was extolling the need to write irregardless to “artsy” things like grammar. That was then coupled with the idea that we should be concerned only with the story, not with pretensions to “high art”.

This is exactly the attitude I’m really tired of encountering. It’d be one thing if I just heard it from the occasional newbie writer (mind you, it’s not like I’m swelling the ranks of the mid-listers), but it seems to be a fairly tenacious thought among too many writers (and even more fans) of the genre. This idea that we write solely to entertain, with the intimation that we aren’t creating art because art is the realm of snooty critics.

It’s almost like the take home message is that one’s devotion to one’s craft is a bad thing.

It’s typically perpetuated by those who love the genre, so it’s hard to be too mad at them. They’ve embraced horror as a community and are protective of it. I get that. However, it’s that same slavish fan devotion that can threaten the health of the genre. It reminds me of the panel I was on at Necon: “KICKING HORROR TO THE CURB: Why genre horror deserves a quick and nasty death, and how every one of us can help!” aka “KILLING THE GENRE IN TEN EASY STEPS: Why Category Horror Deserves to Die a Brutal, Messy Death and How You Can Help!”

[Aside #1: I’m all about “transcending the genre”. Here’s how I look at it: I’m a casual sports fan at best. The kind of fan drawn in by the Tiger Woods, Michael Jordans, and Danica Patricks of the world. If you’re a sports franchise and you aim your product at your hardest core fans, you’re going to lose me. If you can give something for the casual folks to latch onto, you do so, knowing that you’ll get most of your hardcore fans to come along anyway.]

Anyway, these brand loyal horror fans have gone out, seen a bunch of movies or read some Stephen King, Clive Barker or whatever author drew them to horror and then end up writing stuff that mimics them. They end up creating derivative stories, never as good as the stories they’re imitating, trying to rekindle the feelings evoked from the first stories that inspired them. In short, they are like a drug addict chasing a high: always trying to repeat the experience of the first high (not appreciating the diminishing returns with each attempt).

[Me, it was Poe. And I kept churning out Poe pastiches and re-hashes until I found my own voice. After that, I started turning out a new brand of dreck, but at least it was dreck unique to me until I was good enough to start getting some stories published. Actually, I received one of the best compliments the other day. A fellow writer said "Let me say how impressed I am with how much you've grown as a writer ...Your storytelling has always been strong, but you have, for me, stepped across that threshold that separates writers and artists." I hope to keep living up to those words.]

These are the same folks who get hyper defensive when critics take works seriously and discuss their merits seriously in terms of language use, theme, characterization - standards by which we can judge what is good. I think when folks here critics talk, they confuse matters of taste with standards, confusing good with entertaining. Look, I Rocky 4. Yeah, I admit it. It entertained me to no end. I could probably sit down and watch that movie right now. But I know that it wasn't a good movie. If the movie’s sole job was to entertain me, then it accomplished that. If the creators strove to do something … good (and we can measure that in terms of coherency/depth of story, characters, acting, direction, and the avoidance of, say, every boxing/sports movie cliché in the book), then there was a massive fail.

The debate about being a writer vs. being an artist is a false one. There’s nothing wrong with aspiring to tell the best story possible, without “writing to impress the critics” (if by that you mean writing for their approval). You write for yourself (the artist) or for you audience (to be commercial, again, not a pejorative); those are the only two targets worth aiming for (and their aren’t an either/or proposition).

There’s nothing wrong with being original. There’s nothing wrong with aspiring for more. You respect your audience by respecting your craft. By giving your stories theme, strong characterization, and depth, in addition to your plot - that’s the “high art” of the craft.

Look, you’re going to fail readers as you experiment and stretch … but you’ll fail yourself (and eventually them anyway) if you don’t.


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Writerly Type Updates/I Blog Therefore I Blush

I told a friend that I’d blog less and concentrate on my fiction for a while in order to push my career forward. In that regards, and to spare myself his wrath, I sent out my story "The House of Blue Lights" for an anthology looking for regional ghost stories. Also under loving threat, I recently revised my novella, "Devil's Marionette" and have sent it off. I'm currently wrapping up my story for an anthology ("Shadow Boxing") then I'm going to revise the first three chapters of my young adult fantasy novel "Knights of Breton Court" and send it off to a friend to look over by the end of the week.

In order to keep up my goals set out at the beginning of the year, I have to have "Strange Fruit" (my first novel) re-written by September 1st because an agent is interested in seeing it. And I need to get two short stories written for a humorous horror story market (one a collab with Kelli Dunlap*). Then it’s revising two stories to send out ("Warrior of the Sunrise" and "Here, There be Pirates") before I outline a story for another anthology I was asked to submit to.

Yes, I know, I know. I have one other collab to wrap up before I start a new novel in November (I don’t necessarily do Nanowrimo, but that time of year works out pretty well for me in terms of having time to devote to a new novel). With all that in mind …

The latest "issue" of Apex Digest has been posted. In it is a story by Wrath James White as well as an interview with him and yours truly.

In a bit of news that ties together a couple of markets I was published in earlier this year, my story “Just an Old Man on a Bench”, is also up. It was originally published on the Horrorfind web site (accepted by then editor, Brian Keene - thus why this story is a sentimental favorite of mine because it marked me hitting his radar). Interestingly enough, my story “Just a Young Man and his Games” (published in Doorways Magazine) was a continuation of that story.

An early review of Legends of the Mountain State 2 is up on the Dark Scribes site. Allow me to share a bit of it:

“Buyer beware” is the cautionary theme of Maurice Broaddus’ sublime “A House is Not a Home” – the standout of the collection. When a young artsy couple goes house hunting, they find more than they bargained for as an appealing fixer-upper soon becomes a conduit back through time. Soon the couple finds themselves part of living history as they find more than termites in a basement that once served as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Broaddus’ commanding use of language coats the story with a lushness that belies its short fiction format and places it in a class of its own.

Although I firmly believe that if you live by the review, you die by the review so on the whole I try not to pay too much attention … you may now picture me dancing naked in my kitchen.

In other writerly news, congrats to Cullen Bunn with his announcement of his new comic from Oni Press, The Hollows. And big ups to Alice Henderson: her novel Voracious will be released from Penguin in February 2009.

So I am getting writing done and not just blogging. I can’t be held responsible for blogs set to auto-post. That’s my latest excuse: anything you see for the next few months was OBVIOUSLY set to autopost.


*Speaking of which, hear and obey teh Kelli.


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There are worse fates than being unpublished

It frustrates me to see people I know, people who can write, publish so poorly. This isn’t another rant directed at those folks still butthurt over my last rant about self-publishing. There are legitimate times one might consider self-publishing (one of which I’ll mention later).

I've checked out several writer's websites, some friends, some "big talking" folks on message boards or MySpace (you know the ones: "the greatest horror writer of all time", taking the genre to new heights-types). Your hundreds of stories and poems given away aren’t impressing anyone and aren’t generating the kind of audience momentum you think it might. The promise of exposure is a lie. If a site can’t afford to pay you, the content provider that drives the site, they probably don’t have the money to seriously drum up eyes to the site. (And I question how much the “for the love” sites/markets actually “love” the artists, considering they can usually find the money to pay their host fees, or printers, but not the writers).

The process of being rejected and persevering provides its own lessons. Don’t let your hundreds of credits delude you into believing you’re something that you aren’t. In the rush to be “a writer”, with the accompanying desire for your work to see the light of day as soon as possible, you may have placed it in poor hands. Essentially, you have gone through the pains of childbirth only to give your child to abusive parents. But because you have works available, your ego become puffed up.

In fact, such credits can be detrimental. If you’re building a resume, you pretty much want to put your relevant credits on it. When editors see only a string of crap markets, they can’t help but think you must only write at a crap level. They probably aren’t going to assume that you didn’t know any better than to submit to the worse markets because you bought into the idea of working your way up. Or that you simply lacked faith in your own ability, thus ended up only submitting to bottom rung markets. No, they’re going to guess your relative ability by the types of markets you’ve been in.

Poor publishing includes having your friends publish you or a micropress publish you. It doesn’t matter if a friend publishes you, your wife, or an unproven editor/publisher … it’s all pretty much the same. You get lost in the noise of small press publishing. At this point, if you are determined to go this route, you might as well self-publish. It’s like the thinking begins on the right track: I don’t want to publish myself. I want an editor to validate my writing by accepting it. And then things get derailed and you go with “whoever” accepts you. At least then you get to keep all the proceeds minus your costs.

(My other beef with SOME self-published folks came out recently. On a panel discussion, it was quite evident that the self-published writer involved short circuited his own learning about the business/industry of writing and thus was doling out bad advice.)

Maybe what you’ve written isn’t ready.

And once you work is ready, if you want to build an audience, write well and get published where people will read it.

I have no delusions about where I am in the greater schemes of the writing professional ranks. I’m a complete nobody. Why listen to me? The only thing I’ve tried to do is study how people who I do consider successful have handled their careers and model myself after them (and learn from their mistakes as best I can).

Look, people have the right to sell or give away their stories as they please. No one is infringing on that right. Keep banging your head into a wall, it’s no concern to me. But if you come to me asking what’s the best way for you to climb the ladder of publishing success, I’d say publish well, don’t just publish. Be seen in the right company. Your resume is a reflection of you. I don’t write that many stories and can’t afford to just give them away any old place. You don’t have to be in such a rush to be published that you settle for anywhere. There are worse things in the world than being unpublished. And, frankly, I’d rather be unpublished than published poorly.

I'm an active member of the Horror Writer Association. Still a nobody, it only means that I've made at least three professional sales. Bob Weinberg gives this bit of advice to HWA members:

1) If you ask for advice in writing, look carefully at who is giving you advice -- i.e. if you are an affiliate member, don't take advice from affiliate members.

If the sink in your kitchen breaks, you hire a plumber to fix it. You don't ask your neighbor how to fix it. If you do, you'll most likely have water all over your floor. Sure, maybe once in years it will turn out that the neighbor knows something about plumbing, but not often. The same is true for writing. If you are not selling stuff, don't ask for advice how to sell stories from someone who has not sold anything either. Sure, they might be able to write pages and pages of advice how to improve your writing, but if they can't sell their own work, don't count on them selling yours. Too often, the people giving the most advice are those who are least qualified to do so.

2. If you want to write a story for an anthology that pays $25 per story, or only pays in royalties, that's okay. But realize that you are wasting your time because such books will not make your reputation, will not add to your reputation, and will definitely not help your career in any way. If you are an affiliate, you definitely should not be spending any of your time writing for such markets.

simply put, your time is valuable. As a writer, you need to concentrate on writing fiction for the markets that pay well. If you spend most of your time writing for the markets that pay next to nothing (or nothing) you are wasting valuable time you should be writing (or rewriting) stories for the better paying markets.

3. your reputation as a writer depends entirely on what you write. It does not depend on who else is in an anthology.

4. if you are writing and writing and not selling anything, the market is not wrong, the editors are not all wrong. You need to change what you are writing. Good writing sells. Bad writing does not. Simple but true.

There are worse fates that being unpublished. I'd rather have no stories out there than bad ones or good ones buried where no one will see them. Simple but true.


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MB: Marketing Genius

I've been trying to think of ways to market my upcoming novella, Orgy of Souls. I thought about starting a book group. Apparently, however, my publisher thought the North American Maurice Broaddus Literary Association was a bad idea. Back to the drawing board.

Now what to do with all of these T-shirts ...


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