Prologue

Today's word count: 7750.

First draft of book 2s prologue is now complete.

Wooo!

Of Sequels and Contests

First, the fire and the Fog is now on Goodreads and Smashwords. Check it out. On Smashwords, the book is free (you decide if you want to give me money). So go get it, and pay me either in money or a review.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/460691

Also, on Goodreads, there is a contest for a free copy of the book.

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/103483-the-fire-and-the-fog

Check that out too.

In other news, work on book 2 has begun, and I will start updating this page more frequently with word counts to keep track of my progress.

Today's word count: 277

Not much, but it's a start!

More Procrastination

Again, I procrastinate. 

Again, I find almost any excuse to avoid writing.  I continue to send my work to Agents / publishers as I can be bothered to, but the lack of replies takes its toll. 

I’m sure I will eventually find my way out of this rut.  I have a whole second, and third, book planned out in my head.  I just can't find the time to bring it out. 

Not that I’m doing nothing, of course.  I spend much of my spare time now doing woodwork; carving is inordinately fun. 

But I need to get back into writing again.  I love it when I do it, when I can lose myself for hours just writing.  But it can be hard to jump start the trend. 

Ah well.

As I try to focus myself on continuing to write the sequel to The Fire and the Fog, I still try to do something with it.  This week I will be submitting to a contest, the details of which can be found at

http://tinyurl.com/pwbds3q

The contest is for middle-grade fiction, which, as far as I can make out, my novel qualifies as.  I hope. 

Once again, as with everything, we shall see. 

Sex (and death)

Sex.

 

Blood violence sex.

 

So, Game of Thrones (the TV show) has started again.  I watched a few episodes of the first season way back, and stopped.  I've read the first four books, but I've pretty much given up on them.

 

Why, you might ask.  Why would I not like arguably the most popular fiction novels since Harry Potter?

 

Honestly?

 

Too much violence.  Too much sex.  Too much everything goes wrong.

 

I understand that lots of people seem to enjoy this.  The gritty, 'realistic' trend that's hit books, TV, and movies lately.  Mad Men, everyone's an ass, Breaking Bad, everyone's an ass, Game of Thrones, everyone's a murderous, incestuous ass.

 

I know this is just a very minority opinion.  I just don't enjoy it.

 

I enjoy reading the fantastical for the fantastical.  I enjoy David Eddings and Brandon Sanderson, because even if some bad things DO happen, they're generally tempered by all the good things that come later.

 

My favourite TV show is Dr. Who, where nothing bad ever happens and the Doctor always solves everything, or close enough to.

 

I don't feel I should go on about this for too long, as it's a pretty unpopular opinion these days I feel.  But to me, TV, movies, books, when they're fiction, they're about escaping.  History shows, self-help books, sure, they should be more 'real', but when I'm trying to escape from the death and sex, the blood and guts and reality that exist every day around us, well, I'd rather escape into something that isn't as dark (if not darker).

 

Again, this is just me.  And I'm not sure my writing really reflects my personal opinion either.

My first novel, the Fire and the Fog, was originally much darker.  After a few re-writes, it came out lighter, with only a few instances of death, but the theme of depression still measures heavily throughout.

 

So why am I saying all this?  Why am I complaining about all the blood and sex and violence in media, when I myself am, at least slightly, a perpetrator of it?

 

Honestly?

 

I don't know.  It's what was on my mind when I decided to write.  I probably read too many articles about Game of Thrones' season opener today.

 

In other, more writing-related, news...

 

I've made pretty much no progress on writing.

 

I've hit a roadblock.  I have three main characters from my first novel that I want to continue with into the second.  I know where they're going to start (the ending of the first book), and I know where I want them to go (the beginning of a third book).  For two of the characters, I have an entire books sequence of events mapped out.

 

The third character, however, I'm having trouble with.  He's in a state of flux.  Based on his character and what I know of him, half of me wants to find a way to continue writing him in, to find a way to save him.  But the other half of me feels, knows, that he should die.

 

This break, this character in flux, is holding a lot up.  Not because I couldn't write without knowing what happens to him, I could.  I could do a lot of writing with his status undetermined.  But it feels wrong.  It feels like the writing I'm doing without knowing what happens to him is just a stopgap, that it isn't important.

 

So I've been spending more and more time lately arguing with myself over what will happen to this character, and I'm no closer to a decision.

 

It makes it hard to write.

 

It's a sad excuse, I know.  But I like him.  I like the character.  And not knowing whether to keep him or kill him off; not knowing which works better for the story, for the world, for the character himself.  It's hard.  It's almost draining, in a way.

 

Which brings me back to the first topic, way up at the top.  The sex, and violence, and death.  How can I disagree with what other authors are doing, when I'm considering killing off one of my own characters?

 

I don't know.  Answers aren't really something I've ever been terribly good at.

 

But I guess I'll keep trying to ask myself the question.

Lore

I've started building lore.  In my first novel, I mention some religion, some historical and religious texts.  I'm not sure if passages from them will ever be used later, but I"ve decided it's time to write them out.  I know what they contain, in general, but I feel like sitting down and putting them to paper might be a good idea, a good place to start from.

I have a history of the world, and of the universe, in mind.  Telling the story of the world, and making it interesting, is the difficult part. 

I have three sort of starting points for what I'm trying to do with my novels, and I guess this is as good a place as any to explain them.

My first inspiration is David Eddings.  I've already mentioned here somewhere how much his Belgariad series meant to me when I was young; how much they shaped who I am and what I’m interested in.  He's the first starting point for what I’m trying to do.  My first goal.

My second starting point comes from Isaac Asimov.  One of the best, and most prolific, writers of all time, Asimov was my introduction to Science Fiction, just as David Eddings was my first introduction to Fantasy (Okay, really my first introduction to Fantasy was Tolkien, but isn't he everyone's?).  What Asimov did was to me, at the time at least, astounding.  He took all his various novels and short stories, from the Robot series to the Foundation novels, even to his R. Daneel Olivaw Detective novels and, in the end, tied them all together.  One giant, persistent, mostly coherent universe, spanning thousands of years; hundreds of characters.  Yes, some inconsistencies were created (You can look them up if you're not familiar with them.  Or even better, go read all of Asimov's books and find them yourselves.  I can wait), but the revelation that everything was tied together was, for a late-teenaged me, astounding. 

My third starting point is Robert Jordan, and here's where it gets tricky.  Robert Jordan created both one of the most detailed and expansive worlds I've yet read (I'm sure there are others out there, I just haven't gotten to them yet), and one of the most secretive.  There are hints throughout of a giant, expansive timeline; one that extends from today to the far far future and back.  But they're never really acted upon.  I very much enjoyed the world Jordan created; I just wish it were more open, more revealed.  I also wish the series were about three books shorter (9, 10, 11), but that's beside the point.

The point is, I have a starting point.  Or, I have three starting points.  Three examples of what I want to do with my world building.  I've tried to start with characters; with creating people to fill the world.  But I feel like they come to me when I write; that I pull them to me when I need them, and that they're best left alone until they're needed.

So now, I'm going to try another approach.  I'm going to build the history of the world, starting with its ancient legends, its religion.  Hopefully from that I will be able to extract the lands and the people that inhabit the world.  They already exist somewhere in my head, and I’m hoping that this new approach can help me drag them, kicking and screaming, onto paper. 

Quiet on the Written Front

All’s been quiet on the written front the past week or so. I’ve done some more planning for my second novel, mainly world-building notes; countries, cultures, economies, rivalries, pastries, the usual.  But it’s been quiet.  Life intrudes.

Which leaves me with two points:

One, waiting sucks.  I understand the wait, but having to go six months before hearing back from a publisher on a manuscript you submitted is just…painful.  I feel like I’ve mentioned this before, but the waiting hurts.  And not just in a ‘oh I hope someone accepts my book and I become a tri-zillionaire and all my woes are suddenly cured because someone wants to publish me’ way, because all that is totally a thing that would happen.

The waiting hurts because of the lack of confidence it instills. 

So far, everyone who has read my first novel (and told me they have) has been a friend, or at least an acquaintance.  True, they’ve all told me it’s great, that it’s entertaining, that they want to read more, but there’s the continual nagging doubt in the back of my mind that they’re just saying that.  Waiting for someone that doesn’t know me to read my book and judge it…it’s excruciating.  Not knowing what strangers think, not knowing whether my first novel will ever be read by anyone outside my immediate friend circle, it makes it hard to write the second book. 

Writing the first, I was filled with some measure of confidence.  Some measure of, I can do this, and I can do it well.  I can take the story that’s in my head, and put it on paper.  And I could; I did. 

Writing the second, I’m filled with dread.  Yes, I can do this; I can take the story that’s in my head and put it on paper.  But why should I?  Why bother?  Will anyone read it?

The second of my two points is that life intrudes.  It intrudes often.  To begin with, working a full time job leaves little time to write.  Work, go home, cook food, relax (for sanity), sleep repeat.  Even the weekends are taken up by renovating, repairing, and managing my house; making sure the place doesn’t fall apart around me.  Important work.

I’m rushing through these two points, and I may revisit either or both of them later in more detail, for a reason.  In order to try to combat the lack of confidence, and the inability to find time, I’m going to try a solution.

Wednesday night is now writing night. 

I will get home from work, cook food, and then write. 

Who knows.  Maybe with a dedicated time to write I will be able to force the nagging doubts from the first point and the lack of confidence from the second one to back down and let me do what I really want to do.

Only time will tell.

I can't think of a title.

Last time (here’s a secret, I wrote this post and the previous post at the same time.  Aren’t I sneaky?) I talked about quotes; about how amazing and powerful they are, and about how I someday want to write something that powerful, that meaningful.

I know it may sound strange, wanting to get that sort of meaning out of writing some young adult fantasy novels, but it’s true.

Growing up, I read a lot.  Like, a lot.  Like, I read through morning prayer and had my book confiscated so I pulled out a second book and continued reading a lot (I think that last bit should be hyphenated.  I also think I like, said like too many times there).

Between bullying, a dearth of friends, and angry, divorced parents, reading was my escape.  I found a series of books, The Belgariad, by the late David Eddings, and they changed my life.  Literally.  The characters in the Belgariad became my friends, my parents.  I didn’t go outside and play with other kids, I played inside my head with Garion and Ce’Nedra.  They were my friends.  Silk and Barak were my wise uncles, Durnik and Pol were my more-functional parents, and Belgarath was my crazy, mischievous grandfather.  The characters that David Eddings created in that series, they were my family.

I can look at the interactions I have now, the things I try to do in my daily life, and almost everything about me comes from those lovely novels.  They have meant so much to me that, if I ever were to get a tattoo, it would be a line from those books.

What line, I don’t know, don’t ask.  That requires thinking and choosing, and I’m bad at both of those things.

In my journey from Elementary school to High school, I read through the Belgariad literally hundreds of times.  They were, and always will be, my favourite books.

As I sit and look at the book I’ve written, The Fire and the Fog, I find myself despairing, just a little.  Because I don’t feel it, or anything else I ever write, will ever be as good as the Belgariad; will ever captivate someone so completely, so totally that they’ll live their whole life by the words I’ve written; that they’ll literally inscribe my words onto themselves, using their own body as paper for the things I’ve said.

Because I want that very badly.  Not the tattooing; I could do without that really.  (though it can look really pretty sometimes).  But I want something I create, something I write or make, to mean that to someone.  I want for, after I’m dead and gone, someone to think of my passing and say of me, ‘David Alloggia was my favourite author.  His books changed my life’.  I want for someone I’ve never even met to miss me.

I doubt that will happen, the odds are not in my favour.

But that’s not going to stop me from trying. 

Because I’m hoping that’s where quotes come from.  Not from sitting at a desk and thinking about saying something witty and meaningful, but from wanting to mean something to someone.

Quotes!

Hello again, internet person!  Do you have a favourite quote?

I assume you do.  Most people have one, or several.  I have a few that I’ll share.

First, ‘My pants are off, right now’, a quote from a Blink-182 song.  This is one of my favourite quotes because, really now, who actually likes pants?  They’re all constricting, and they get dirty, and you have to clean them, and honestly now, who has time for all that?

More seriously though, I think my favourite quote is ‘Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time’.

Yay for Winston Churchill, right?

Quotes are cool.  They can be short, or long, they can have deep meaning and be witty and intelligent, like the Blink quote, or they can be base and silly, like the Churchill one.

Wait, I think I got that wrong…

No, no I didn’t.

Continuing.

Quotes are interesting, and I read a lot of them recently.  The internet is full of them; Tumblr is awash with inspirational quotes lettered over images of cats grabbing at string, or scaring off dogs, or looking really lazy.  Really, cats and quotes just seem to go together nowadays.

Even if quotes are often misattributed, or unattributed, they still mean a lot.  A quick, cursory google (Do I have to say a google search?  Or can I just say google?  Is the word understood for what it is?) will show about 24,700,000 images of people who have tattooed quotes on themselves.  That is an awful lot of people who have had someone else’s words literally carved into their body (okay okay, literally stabbed repeatedly into their body, semantics).

How does someone come up with something so personal, so meaningful to another person, that they’re willing to tattoo someone else’s words permanently on their body? (that’s a lot of someone’s.  I hope you can follow)

How does someone write, or say, or sing something so influential?  Where does it come from?

And how can I do that someday?

What can I do to someday mean that much to someone else’s life? 

Because that’s what I want to do with my writing. I want to someday write something that means so much to another person, that they inscribe it on their own flesh.  I want to someday write something that literally changes another person’s life, just like my favourite author did to me.

Which I will talk about…NEXT TIME muahahaha evility and perniciousness!

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.  

Until next time!

Free Stuff!

Hello!

This is an interim post.  I swear I have two more important, interesting, fulfilling (for me at least) posts on the way.  Two!

For now though, Free stuff!

My debut novel, The Fire and the Fog, is free right now on Kindle.

Get it at https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00GHYJZLS

Or if you're not from Canada, just search The Fire and the Fog in your local amazon...search bar?  I don't really know where I'm going with that one.

Thanks for reading!

Rejection

A new post?

A new post.

That’s almost two posts in a week, which would be impressive if this weren’t the first week of this blog’s life.

I’ve always had a slight problem with procrastination.  All throughout University, I would make things up as I went along.  Why do readings when I can make up answers well enough to pass?  Why actually research papers when I can write them at the last minute and then find quotes that fit my point three hours before the paper has to be handed in?

Why clean now when I can clean tomorrow, or the next day, or never?

If I leave plates out long enough, they’ll biodegrade, right?

Procrastination and getting writing done don’t go too well together.  The number of times I found myself distracted while writing my first book, well, it turned what should have taken me six months into a two year process.

And it did take me two years, after editing, to write my first novel, an 80,000 word ‘behemoth’ (that’s sarcasm, which sadly doesn’t translate well on paper).

So now, planning the sequel to my first book, I’m struck with more procrastination.

Character planning?  Drawings of locations, styles of dress, working out the economic trappings that move an entire continent?

Why would I work on that, when I could just watch TV?  Or clean?  Or cut my toenails?

Somewhere the procrastination will have to stop.  I just haven’t figured out where yet. 

It’s like the age-old depiction of good and evil, tiny figures standing on peoples’ shoulders, opposites eternally telling us to do the right thing, or do the wrong thing.  Well, procrastination sits in the middle, its feet covered in unchanged socks, lounging in a reclining chair in a half-open bathrobe, eating popcorn and watching the Discovery channel.

Or maybe the History channel.

Or maybe Fox.

Whatever procrastination is watching, it sits there, waiting and listening while good and evil battle it out and then, when one of them inevitably wins and says you should do something, procrastination chimes in, popcorn bits spraying out of its mouth like a fire hose while it says, with more whine than Italy, ‘fine, but do it laaaater’.

Right.

So, that was a rather long and unnecessary analogy.  Where was I?

Right.  I have a lot of planning to do, sorting out a new continent for a sequel, populating it, creating and drawing an assortment of secondary and supporting characters, really just creating a world.

And I just can’t bring myself to do anything but watch Brooklyn nine nine.

It’s terrible.

So that’s been the progress on a sequel this week.  Thinking about maybe starting and getting distracted by television.

There has been some progress on getting my first novel published at least.

And by progress I mean I got my first rejection letter.

WOOOO partyyyyyyy

I’m going to get it framed.

No seriously.  Framed and put on a wall.  This first one, and every one that comes after.

It came from Penguin/DAW, and was not bad, for a form rejection.  Thanks for applying, don’t give up, we can only take the best because of the failing market on books, you know.  The usual.

Or what seems like it might be the usual anyway.  I’ll find out when I get the next rejection letter, I suppose.

p.s. For anyone interested, below is what a rejection letter looks like.  Woo!  Rejection!  Party!

 

 

Of Beginnings

Where to begin.

Where to begin is something I often wonder, and I’m sure I’m not alone.

With something like this, a blog, where do you start?  Do you start at the beginning?  And if so, which beginning?

I have no idea where you start.

I start here.  Or…well I started up there.

That’s beyond the point.

The point is, I want to write.  I’ve wanted to write for a long time, almost as long as I’ve wanted to read.

Reading, that’s pretty easy, all things considered.  I feel like I’ve gotten the hang of it over the years.  Grab book, or newspaper, or fancy electronic device, or cereal box, then look at little squiggly lines as long as it takes, until hopefully words start making sense.

Writing; writing’s a bit different.

I keep hearing, very often, that the only way to learn to write is to write more.  Write until you’ve finished something, and then continue to write.  It’s pretty good advice, as far as I can tell, and so far I’ve followed it.

I’ve written one thing; one novel.  The Fire and the Fog.  A young-adult fantasy.  A fairly simple beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.

Now, I’ve begun working on a sequel. 

Write until you’ve finished something, and then write more, right?

I feel I may be using that word too much.

Right now, I’m doing character outlines, location planning, setting out the first ‘act’ of the second book.  I have some broad ideas, ideas of where to begin and where to end, and vague, nebulous notion that there should probably be words somewhere in the middle.

What I find myself wondering now though, is what do I do with the first book I’ve written?  What do I do with The Fire and the Fog?

I’ve put it up on Kindle independently, for $0.99.  I’ve had 125 copies printed, and I have sold ~75 of them so far.  I’ve sent the manuscript off to two different publishing companies, Penguin (through the DAW imprint), and TOR, and await answers from both.

So there’s the background, now we can get back to the beginning.  The beginning of this blog is, I suppose, a way to chronicle the progress I make on my second novel, and the progress I make trying to get published.

Where this blog might end, who knows.

But at least there’s a beginning.