Look for our book in the next 6 months! Draft Cover Below!
I just finished my new novel’s 1st draft, 300 pages!! I thought I’d get some rest at last. Revisions aren’t that exciting, are they? Perhaps I’ve lost my mind or was that something just reserved for kids? Here I am up at Four in the Morning, excited about revising! I know how it starts, I know how it ends….. can repainting road signs be that exciting? I think however it’s the inspiration of friends I’ve found at Indie Writers…..
There is an addiction to the creative experience that is inspired by nothing but others. What is it I want to make certain I have done? What is to exciting to wait? I’m inspired by those in my writing group, who I hope like me can’t wait for enough light to again be up and write! This is how my sleep is undone…
SHARING A #WRITING #CHALLENGE WITH YOU: I am about 80% through with the longest most complex fun novel I have ever written, “The Carneeg”; however, for the first time ever I noted that I was avoiding completing my work. I was writing poetry, researching marketing, working on our author’s meetUp group, learning new software…. Just not writing.
I told my wife, Evelyn, where I was in the story. She had read and quickly edited the first 200 pages 3 weeks earlier. I had added 50 pages but not more. Because the story is so complex and rich with world creation, I have 26 pages of notes which include my first attempt at interviewing my characters as @Alvin Wander, my friend and author, inspired me to do.
I needed someone to talk to about my problem so she listened. I told her wear I was in the story and I enumerated the 6 sub plots that were seeking resolution, most of which had started in the first 200 pages she had read.
As the wise teacher once said, “the solution is in the problem,” also a powerful 5,000 year old Rosicrucian teaching. When I finished, I knew why I was not writing and what I had to do. I had “felt” overwhelmed by the complexity of what I thought I had to keep in mind; however, in reality all I had to do was summarize the issues and speak them to another person. When I clearly formulated my challenge, I also formulated a question that my mind could ask of the muse and I had the answer. All I really needed to do was decide which were the main subplots, how they would resolve (completely in this book or partially for the next volume to come), decide what is a great ending for this series installment and write it. My books write themselves, I never know the ending. In this way it is as much fun writing it as reading it. I have my 26 pages of summary notes to reference and my editor will know if I have left anything untied. Tomorrow is the beginning of the end 🙂
Does it matter if a book of poetry or a book of prose is published as an e-book or physical book? I asked this question and was told that an e-book detracted from both. To some extent this may be true for those who grew up with physical books but less for the next generation. On the other hand, it did make me think a lot about this and here are some thoughts you may enjoy reading:
I feel that a paper book has a sensual classic beauty, feel and even smell. This is particularly relevant to poetry, I believe, because poetry is both an art form and a language media. I say this because the words in poetry are denser than in prose. They are more visually evocative, filled with simile, metaphor, sound, rhythm and even rhyme. The language may more frequently be esoteric, historically phrased, culturally unique or even quite stylized. This is not so common in prose. Just as putting a beautiful painting in the right frame is critical, the same is true for poetry.
Putting prose in an e-book read on a thin light kindle tablet or other device is not so traumatic to prose as it would be to the more mystical beauty of poetry.
Something to think about…………
People who know little, believe they are the smartest type
People come in different colors, and see beauty in variety
People see beauty in their variety, but don’t want to come in different other colors
People dress in different styles, and love the change
People who love the change, won’t dress in different styles
People pray to different Gods, and find their God exclusive
People finding their God exclusive, want to pray to different Gods
People alone, like to gather and so they may talk together
People who talk together, gather that they would like to be alone
People who are different come together to form a nation for support.
People who form a nation for support can’t come together because they are different
NO DIALOGUE: The text below is the beginning of a sci-fi D-trip journey as used in my many fiction stories. I have wondered how it would seem if the hero’s in my stories were at first dumbfounded by the shift from Earth into the D-Dimension. Here is a fun experiment aimed at taking you there with them, but without their saying a single word of dialogue:
We arrive rather suddenly and were instantly both fully immersed in the D-dimension (immersed being way to mild a word in retrospect). It seemed so intense and palpable that imagining the physical world we had just left, was most difficult. I tried to picture my lab which we had just left seconds ago, but found it nearly futile as the D-Dimension stimulated all my senses at once. The overload of images and sensation in my mind made me recall years earlier sharing a writing room (a study) with my wife. I recalled trying to read a complex story on my computer screen as my wife’s computer frequently and randomly burst into noisy distraction that popup commercial videos created. Back then concentration on my reading was shattered by the intentional distraction of commercial intrusion. The D-Dimension, though in no way intentionally disruptive, was so captivating and full of random pulses of energetic change that trying to picture my physical world was interrupted by its strange but overpowering sensations and magnificence. The “real” world had faded out and the D-Dimension faded in with a whisper rapidlly became a roar as we arrive above the Earth in outer space wearing nothing but our skin and no protection from the vacuum I knew could kill us in seconds.
Just looking down on the Earth below was breathtaking; but, my first instinctive reaction upon arrival was to sense that I had fallen off a cliff and was tumbling downward at unaccountable speed! Of course that was just because the massive Planet Earth, filling 40 percent of my view below, was alive with motion and spin and I lay floating in space upon nothing but vacuum. I recalled the pilots saying, “we fly by the seats of our pants for security.” Now I knew what that meant!
The huge blue globe beneath my feet turned slowly while clouds above covered its drifting continents like the magical veils used by Oriental dancers. Sunlight sparkled and pranced on and off the floating cloud banks setting them on fire or just burning their edges; but, this was just the most normal appearance of the D-Dimension. The hypnotic beauty of this splendor was accentuated by my awareness of the nakedness, of my body lying in empty space, suspended on buffeting winds of gravitational force from the Earth, the Moon and the Sun. All that seemed to lift me above the Earth like a Hawk sailing effortlessly in the morning winds of the south Florida dawn. On the other hand the Hawk was in control and I had no idea how to respond to these waves of non-physical interaction. Fortunately they tossed me around as gently as a feather in a mild breeze and I discovered that I could balance myself against them by just thinking it so. Yes I could feel space rise and fall as it turned and twisted in the gravitational well of the Earth. Why not? I had no mass.
Occasionally I would find myself not breathing because of unreasonable and unconscious fear. It took a while to register that no space suit was needed, despite my instinctive expectation of having all air sucked from my lungs by the black vacuum around me. I had to remind myself that I was only there in the form of energy, within a universe of energy and nothing could suck the air from my lungs as there was nothing physical in me or in space.
From behind me however, the Sun at my back felt like a pelting rainstorm on a hot sunny day. It reminded me of storms we used to call sun showers. I could feel the constant beat of every form of energy radiation the sun could emit pulsing and hammering as it collided with and past through my ghostly form and then on to interact with that radiation emitted by the Earth. Each ray had a distinct taste, smell and texture that so overwhelmed the senses that for moments the Earth below vanished as my mind was drawn to focus upon just what the Sun was saying to me. It spoke in a foreign language seemingly accentuated with ferocious intent and multisensory tongues. X-rays and Gamma rays stung and burned like bee stings, until you acclimated to their roar. They came in loud bursts like waves beating the sand on a stormy day but much faster. Sometimes they soared up the scale of intensity and sounded like thunder claps or a jet breaking the sound barrier. Paradoxically some of the radiation had texture and flavor, some quite intense. Burst of them reminded me of the orange flavoring used by my grandmother to make cod liver oil more palatable but served on a spoon that seemed to rust between dosages. Then there was the eerie smell of mustard and hot dogs. I have to say it made me salivate somewhere where I actually had a tongue and mouth. But here I was not sure what it was other than my mind trying to synchronize my senses with energy that it had never experienced before. I remembered suddenly watching my very young daughter trying to touch the rings of a clown suspended above her in the play pen. She tried for two weeks off and on to get those chubby little arms and pudgy fingers to grab the clown’s ring like feet. When she finally succeeded, it was the first time in her life she ever laughed! Like her, my mind was trying to make sense out of what I was in touch with but not yet understanding.
When I turned and gazed at the Sun, I could see rings of multicolored energy exploding from its surface in waves of vastly varying frequency. The dark pulses were gravitation, the distortion of space-time. Pulses of solar gravitational fluctuation as they arrived however felt like sitting in front of a base speaker at an old rock concert. My whole body reacted to this sound as if being hit by an unseen wind gust; however, the deep bass note had its own unique sound and one so deep I could not relate it fully to hearing.
All in all, and somewhat perplexing, the bath of energy made the empty space somewhat less disorienting. I thought this might be because after awhile this energy substance allowed me to feel suspended in something more secure than falling down an elevator shaft as first impressions on arrival above the Earth created. Like a hot bath that at first stung, little by little the environment was feeling more lukewarm and more like a friend than an enemy. I wondered if this was what birth felt like to a neonatal human whose mind was way too developed?
What if you were amongst the few who are born truly telepathic, what would your birth experience be like? Would you survive after birth at all and if so for how long? If you did survive what would you see without your eyes and how might that affect who you are and what you do with your remaining life time? In essence, upon achieving consciousness, you would be one with the entire universe finding yourself part of something infinitely large and yet knowing that you were physically small by contrast. It is something that you might ponder if you are predisposed to the lengthy thought process that is the particular disease of creative writers. It is something I lie in bed thinking about at 5:00 am when I would like to be asleep blissfully as you are.
On the other hand what if you were not born telepathic, what would your experience be like? What would it be like in a world of singular aloneness? In your small space your mind would struggle like a sponge to absorb every bit of sensory data possible so you could become one with the terrifying vastness around you. In so doing you would hope to not be frightened by your painful smallness in the now suddenly unaccountably large and unpredictable universe.
Do either of these contrapuntal scenarios exist? It is my contention that they both exist and all the time, at each human parturition. I believe that at each child’s genesis they are infinitely large, and connected cosmically with every other living thing, call it telepathy if you choose. At the same time they are focused on their physical smallness and struggling to incorporate all sensory data possible so that they can make sense of and take control of that which is their new physical environment. It is truly terrifying even without the slap on the ass from the supposedly wise gynecologists. It is terrifying because, since they became sentient, many months ago, their environment has been consistently warm, cozy and full of love and nurture both mental and physical; but, now it has suddenly transformed with the psychological impact of a car crash!
Have you not noticed, as a parent, that children are “sponges” for knowledge? Everything they see and hear becomes part of them, as if they were a movie studio’s camera. They all appear to have total recall (and may infact have this trait). On the other hand, not long after they become able to communicate, in some meaningful manner, we discover that they, at times, play with “imaginary” friends. They do this in our culture, at least until we become concerned. They do this until we tell them that there is no such thing as imaginary friends and that it is time to “grow up” and stop this nonsense.
The sponge like behavior also becomes less and less, for many, as the experience a child possibly absorbs becomes more and more contaminated with doses of bitters and pain. After all, all of existence is a sign wave. There is nothing that does not run like hot and cold that we can perceive, probably because that is all there is to our universe. Our nerves only respond to opposites, change! After you splash into a warm bathtub, in a few minutes, the initial sensation of heat transforms itself, in your perception, to a constant temperature, hardly noticeable. You need change to be conscious. For the neonatal, the fun and security of becoming one with the universe by learning all it has to offer becomes far less joyful with negative experience. Experiences such as those punctuated with the pain of an angry, frustrated parent’s hand slap or that caused by less friendly bacteria trying to eat us from the inside out after spoiled food is consumed. So we don’t really want to remember this pain and we may learn to dissociate from it, since we cannot turn senses on or off at will.
As for being one with the universe by “telepathy,” if we should call it that, it too has its pain. Consider the disturbing confusion of connecting with a being that has no eyes. This being is called a Spheron. This spherical being connects with the universe by sonar like transmissions, much like a bat, but in the radio wave frequency range. It senses its position too by the shifts in gravitational and magnetic fields coming from its planetary home, much like a bird or bees do. It has almost no physical structure because it is mostly energy. It is spherical as that is the natural form that energy takes as it radiates (at least in this quadrant or our universe where the physics we try to comprehend is mostly prevalent). This being does not interact with many of its like others, there is no value. No, in fact its created purpose is like that of honey bees, it gathers information (like pollen) from that thought process and experiences of planets and shares that with other planets much as a bee shares pollen. If you thought that planets are not sentient, just for the moment imagine they might be; it will help with the concepts we are discussing. The Spheron shares that “experience” by warping space and traveling across the universe instantaneously (at least this is how we would describe it). From its perspective, there is no time, no space and no distance. These are the delusions of physical beings like us.
A telepathic connection with this alien mind would be literally Earth shattering. It could be far worse than a trip on LSD! Those with acute telepathy, to maintain their sanity, would quickly withdraw to the comfort of their small, warm, cozy physical space. So perhaps the genesis of that which we call people, derives from the balancing act of sanity trying to maintain its integrity by figuring out how much total recall or total communication makes sense for the environment into which it, the newly created being, has been unceremoniously dumped.
Out of every black sky filled with frightening lightning and torrentuous storms comes the birth of new plant life, the flowers of a sunshine filled morning. Perhaps in a similar manner so do we.
I awakened slowly in the unfamiliar bed as vague aches and dull pains began to express themselves through my 70 year old body. It was my nerves responding to the cascade of hormones that created consciousness. I was almost awake but my muscles felt heavy like the lead acid battery I had carried from my dad’s car long ago…long ago, I was a kid then. I pulled the damp cold sheet, I reflexly clutched in my stiff right hand, up to cover my head and shield my naked scalp from the moisture in the damp earthen scented air; but, the cloth was tucked too tightly under the foot of the hard metal frame forming the strange narrow bed, I lay upon. I never tucked sheets under the foot of my soft bed as they bent my toes in an unnatural posture causing me pain. With that thought and a tragically slow growing awareness, I recalled that I was not home and that the groggy sleep I was struggling to overcome was not natural. If only I could open my eyes, or did I not want to?
Memories were beginning to drip resoundingly, like annoyingly loud rain drops on a metal roof. Richard and I had fastened those sheets of corrugated rusty metal to the pine log cabin we had built in the Everglades many years ago when we were in High School. When it rained on those mosquito filled night in the swampy South Florida it was like a timpani of dischord. Now however, each chilly drop was washing off the dirt and dust that covered the eye of my mind and as they did so, a picture of last night emerged from beneath my efforts to forget.
At last, against my will, I remembered! I was in a “room” at the old Florida Department of Corrections prison, up by Jacksonville, that was now commanded by the US Army. It was winter and despite the high water level of the ground in Florida, these windowless concrete boxes had been built totally below ground to make them escape proof and very much like solitary confinement.
In my tight stomach, hunger pains and nausea were both awakening in disharmony. I had not eaten in a long time other than the chemical laden brew the armed soldiers had forced me to drink sometime ago…. It might have been yesterday.
The deafening lack of sound began to play tricks with my mind and I heard them speaking to me again from beneath the depths of the drug induced fog. What was it they wanted? Oh yes, they wanted to know how I knew what I did not know! They laughed at my stupidity for it had been easy for them to find me. The on-line casino computer had identified me, over many months, as winning too much, too frequently. They knew for sure that I could beat the odds at least online. Starvation had a way of making people like me careless. Winning the Bitcoin credits had allowed my wife and I to purchase canned rations and sterile water from the service center. We had not died horribly as we had watched our neighbors do.
I closed my eyes tightly trying to not awaken. I did not want to face another day of this reality. That was it! That was why I was there! Some religious lunatic in government believed that we could undo what had happened by prayers from those mentally gifted with prophetic skills. What was his name? I had heard it mentioned on the underground Internet broadcast. My wife, Nancy, had told me about his teachings years ago at the University of Florida, theology class. It was that old dream of each of us creating our reality by choosing to think it so. What had Nancy said? Oh yes, “Believing Is Seeing.” That was professor Seamann’s credo. Pain stabbed at my heart! Where was Nancy, they had separated us weeks ago when we were dragged in for interrogation. I could not bear that thought and tried to imagine myself seeing what was around me.
Finally a picture formed in my mind. My eyes were open, I was sure, but it was totally dark so there was nothing to see. In memories eye they had wanted to know how I constantly beat the odds. They wanted to know how they could use me to help them do the same. They had records dating back many years to when they secretly drugged my sister and put her in an insane asylum to ostensibly help my family. Their goal, with her, was the same then as it was now with me. I tried to recall how this had happened and somehow through the drug induced lethargy and image managed to form.
Kim Jong-un’s N. Korea had launched the high altitude nuclear missiles, through their proxy radical terrorist organizations. It was easy for the terrorists to purchase the missiles, from North Korea, in exchange for the petro-dollars that North Korea desperately needed. It was simple form Kim Jong-un to imagine evading retaliation too, as who would America retaliate against when missiles came from several distant countries all at once? Countries who supposedly supported us but were riddled with radical terrorists we were helping them oppose.
The EMP, electromagnetic pulse, had wiped out 3/4 of the computer systems in America in just moments. On the underground internet it was quickly estimated that a year later 80% of our population would be dead from starvation, disease and the ensuing chaos. It was then I had made the mistake of using the underground Internet to gamble at the virtual casinos. It was amazing what starvation will do to your otherwise clear thought process.
Now the military hoped to reverse, what could not be undone, by using PSI to win WW III. So far, it was a non-nuclear battle, except in sporadic sputtering attempts at eliminating terrorism; But, hell was hell no matter how you define its fires.
The dull sound of a distant heavy metallic security bar’s clang echoed through the concrete slabs of my tomb. They were coming again………..
Wherever I have been involved in any organization’s leadership (many times) or just time with friends, people end up telling me, “you think outside the box.” Those who really know me well say, “you live outside the box.” From most people this is a compliment occasional it could be a less positive comment; but in my case, I have never cared.
Reviews of my writing periodically involve comments about my creative suggestions and again outside the box thinking. It is simple, this is who I am. My books and short stories have simply flowed from my fingers. No matter how outrageous the story, there seems no limit. In other words, I do not believe in “writer’s block.”
I have always chosen to live in change and challenge. When I write a story it does not go through the process some writers are taught about planning, outlining and finally filling in the details. I simply start writing about something that has come to mind at 4:30 AM, quite often. What is really exciting is that as I write the story, I am reading it for the first time! It is as if someone is telling it to me and I am taking
If you have ever enjoyed reading an exciting story (and I hope you have),
this is almost exactly my experience writing it! As for the “out of box thinking,” I don’t actually think this was a conscious choice. My mom had this genetic thing that she gave to me and so does my daughter. My mom did a lot of writing and she was always up at 4:00 in the morning. Though she did not share much with me (we did not see eye to eye), she did say however that it was quieter, early in the morning, when the noise of everyone’s minds thinking were not there. Now there is something to think about!
I wake up at 4:30 AM and have these ideas or hypnagogic
dreams that are more real than reality. From these experiences, I often begin writing. If a story ever seems to stop, I take a long walk or bike ride and it begins writing itself again. My lifestyle is not “normal” either and I like it that way.
At least for the last 5 or 6 years, for breakfast I have salads with some protein in them. Lunch is “normal” but I do not do dinner or meet socially for dinner. I believe that dinner is a modern invention of civilization created to please restaurant owners. It is much like shopping for Christmas presents for 6 months before Christmas is an economic contrivance. Eating after 4:00 pm, in my opinion is bad for your health. It denies your body an opportunity to clean itself as it does when fasting. This is where the term Break-fast came from. In primitive times, as we evolved, most of us ate during the day when we could forage for food or hunt. In the evening we rested and fasted. Yes I know there was fruit and nuts that you could store, even in a cave. Our bodies have evolved around this paradigm, but we follow that created by the electric light and food as pleasure culture. …….. a topic for another day.
In any case, I sat down to write about 4:30 am, I think. If you have studied Rosicrucian literature, as I have, you will know the secret system for solving problems. I find that the answer comes at 4:30 am.
My next book is now 80% created. It is called (for now) “The Carnneeg.” I may publish some early chapters of it on a site like Booksie. We shall see. If so you will find the links on the social media, like Facebook or Twitter.