TEARING Your Soul Apart- Being A Writer

And now, another rambling from yours truly...

It's not an easy gig being a writer. It's easier for some for various reasons, but over all it takes strong will power. I won't get into how hard it is for most writers to break into the market and become a huge name. I know of several authors who have been popular about as long as I've been alive, and still they are not household names. I'm talking about authors who are just as good as the legends everyone knows about. I won't get into learning the nuts and bolts of the editing side, which I've been learning on my own for the pass year (I was a bored kid in school, and didn't pay any more attention than I had to. Yes, I want to go back in time and smack myself.) But the part that I'm talking about is taking a part of yourself and inserting it into your fiction.

There are some writers who don't do this, and still turn out great fiction; this post isn't about them :^) I'm talking about writing about the stuff that's hard to write. For me it's easy to a point, but it's only easy because I'm an honest person. I hold very little back, and the stuff I do hold back ends up coming out later on. The impact, however, is felt hard. I live my life inside of my head. While I can connect with a lot of people, more and more everyday, there are still things no one can relate to me on. I guess this is true for a lot of people out there; all of us have things no one else can completely understand. This has become a staple in my life. Maybe for me it's a mental illness, not sure, but some things get to me that don't get to other people. Or things that most don't see the big picture while it's freaking obvious to me. I may not get to travel around the world, or get to various writing classes, but in my head I go through more alternate timelines, more looking from wearing the shoes of others than most do.

In my head I live out various alternate timelines. "What ifs" is a part of my life. I exclude no one from this. And it doesn't matter if I'm happy or not. I always flip it in my head. If something tiny nags at me, I envision it becoming the focal point of a crisis. If there is a crisis, I imagine what it would take to resolve it. I also imagine what the other person would say if I brought up the problem, which the better I know that person the better the conversation in my head. All of this is fodder for my stories. Might as well, if I'm going to toil over things that either are just my problem, or things that wouldn't be good to bring up, I might as well use them. But I also use the good stuff too. Not everything is bleak. There are a lot of positive inspirations in my life that are included, but my point on this is that nothing is off limits. Most of which never happened.

A good writer writes what they know. Granted a lot of amazing authors shake their heads at this, but it's true. Not just for the story itself, I don't have to work for the CIA to write about it, but I do have to know what it means to be human before writing about people. I know what it's like looking from the POV of others at a situation. I also know what it's like to be different. I know what it's like to be the only one who understands me (outside of my mother). I know what it's like when I have to choose the lesser of two evils (anyone who knows me knows just how much I hate to do that), when I must decide which is worse? Being alone? Or being around someone who strips my nerves raw?

People sometimes think I come to my opinions easily, that I don't care as much as they do, if at all. Bull Hockey! As a writer I probably care more, or at least just as much. As a matter of fact, I might even understand their POV better than they do. I can also build on it, on what would be consistent based on their behavior, which may or may not be what they would do. The problem with real people is that they do things that don't make sense. They don't follow the rules of writing. But, as a writer I can make them do so in my head.

A few years ago, I was with someone who was almost raped. She was also raped when she was a teen. She was going through so much I didn't even know how to act around her. I was supportive of course, and I wanted to cut the nuts off of the guys that did this to her. She tried hard to handle it, but it became the reason of the break up. The last time we had together is one of the worse in my history of dating, and not at all her fault. We had communication issues, and we argued, but all of it stemmed from something that wasn't our fault, but the fault of a couple of degenerates (putting it nicely). Throughout the relationship, I tried to picture the right way to handle things, and of course reality didn't match up with what I had in my head. I could only think for myself, and not for her. In the end nothing I could write in my head could save the relationship. But it continued to play out in "what ifs" in my head.

As much as I hated what happened, I wanted things to be fixed. Even though her and I were through, I wanted closure. I wanted to see her and I at least end things on a hug. Instead of one day waking up to find she has restricted my way of contacting her. I had a couple of means to contact her, but I didn't. I knew she needed to hunker down, and focus on herself. She needed space. But still, in my head I wanted to see this story have a better ending. Not one together as I felt that it wasn't meant to be, but one where we part on good terms. She is a good person, smart, and capable doing great things. Naturally I hated the schism that was now and forever formed between us.

One out of a hundred examples of how my head works, one of a hundred "what ifs" that have tormented me, and one that has inspired a lot of my work, some of which hasn't been published yet. She isn't the girl that inspires great love stories for me, but she does carry a huge impact on the muse of characters for my stories. On the bright side, I do have someone who inspires the love and romance that I will be including in my writing (who by the way is one of the best things to ever happen to me). I'm not all grim. While darkness is where I live, I reach for all wedges of light that shine down on me, and I never turn them away.

Writing from your soul is more than writing about conflict, more than beauty, it's about writing for resolution. It's about writing the ending that fits, fixing the endings that didn't end right in the real world. Think of it as a form of karma, this is a chance for karma to fix what was broken, even if it is just in our heads.

WRITING From Oblivion

Here is a link I think all writers should read. Actually, read all of Chuck's posts. He knows his stuff. This post made me think of this post. Chuck talks about not caring when you write, because as writers we care so much, that we freeze up. And then our stories don't get written.

When I really tried soooo hard to write my novel series back in the day, I worked, and worked to try to make it perfect. You know what? They are still not finished. BUT, since I have basically "cared less", I have finished short stories, and a novella. I write faster, and yes, even better.

Once I gave myself permission to fail, I succeeded. The obsession of perfection is one of the leading causes of performance anxiety, AKA, writer's block. It is the fuel to fear. Come up with a decent idea, throw it down on paper, and follow through until fruition. Then, draft it, and try to make it perfect. "Try", because there is no perfect. Just your best, but your best comes after The End of draft one.

No one becomes Stephen King over night, not even King himself. Only through the maddening of failure, and overwhelming odds can we flourish. Conflict gives writers the fuel they need to create. That is why some of the best works come from some of the worst times in the author's life. Own it, don't let it own you.

The very crap, the bane of your existence is fodder for the muse. Life can really suck, but it can suck less if you use it. In a short story I'm keeping on the back burner for now, I use so much of my own crap. I won't get into the details, as a lot of it will be obvious in the story, though some of it is changed based on the character's experience. I use it. My life may never get any better. My bane may only grow worse, but that doesn't mean my writing has to suffer. (Which this post kind of reflects one of my previous posts on how ignorant people inspire me)

I can't offer professional tips like an author with decades of bestsellers, but I can offer what “I”, as a student who is slowly achieving his dreams, has gone through.

When I was working so hard before, I had few people who could help me. It took me forever to get a computer to work on, so my social media was zilch. But since getting connected, I have met several authors who are far more professional than me, have achieved far me than me, who have been amazing enough to help me. I try not to ask too much because they are very busy, but still they have done more for me than I have ever hoped.

A writer starting out needs more than a “how to write” book, though a few of those are a good place to start, (like Plot And Structure, by James Scott Bell or On Writing, by Stephen King). Writers need other writers who have been there, done that, and got the kick-in-the-junk to prove it. So to speak.

It is from those writers that we who reach for the glory of being published learn. Not only do they offer their experience, but can direct to to how-to books to read, and blogs with tips that can make you into a great author. Though, that mainly comes from you willing to craft and hone your skills by reading, writing, reading, writing, reading, writing, then editing, editing, editing, writing, reading, etcetera. Which will come in handy when reading said blogs and how-to books. I can point you in the direction, but the ability to make-it or break-it, is completely up to you. It all boils down to what you are made of.

Me, I'm just a schmuck who slaves away in fast food, who has done so for the pass thirteen years. But yet, here I am, intellectually flipping the bird to my self-doubt, to my enemies who said I couldn't do it, and I'M DOING IT.

I always try to be humbled. I hate people who hold their nose so high that I pray for rain. But, to myself, and to my enemies, I am the end-all, be-all. I will win, I will succeed. But I have to continue to earn that. I can't just say it and be a superstar. It takes daily work. Even if I'm not at the keyboard, I am reading newspapers, books, magazines, and yes even Facebook updates. A lot of my writing has improved by comments that I wrote then deleted. Most of my comments you never see. Because I will go on a great rant then realize two things: one, nobody is going to care. Or two: this is going to start world-war-three. Possibly bring a zombie-apocalypse down on the whole world. But the practice I get from it makes me a better writer. Some of it I even save.

Becoming a success is not about writing the next great American novel, it's about a lifestyle, about always being in thought, always writing, reading your craft. This isn't just a job, or a hobby (and never tell a writer that is a hobby, we will gouge out your eyeballs with our pens), or sitting on our butts doing nothing (never tell a writer that the are or the same fate will ensue), or something we aspire at (never tell yourself you are an aspiring author, I will thump you). It is you. If you want it bad enough that you have to have it, then claim it! You write, you are a writer. It is who you are even when the pen itself is not in your hand. The muse inside never goes away. Sometimes she/he lurks in the shadows, falls asleep, but the muse is always there.

You think in the classic Star Wars movies, that Luke Skywalker stopped being a Jedi the moment his lightsaber went back into the hilt? No. Yes, he always had the force, but, the muse is like the force. It is always with you. The more you depend on the muse, the stronger it becomes. And the more you read, the more you look at the world, and people through the lens of storytelling. The reason is, the muse is feeling the itch of creativity.

Though I suggest as much as possible you keep a pen and pad on your person at all times, always allow your mind to create even when you can't write it down. Think of it as Jedi training. Focus. A writer does not be come a writer without focus.

Just some thoughts on the subject, I hope this helps a little, and remember to keep writing. Keep reading. And when you finish a draft, keep editing. At least for three or four drafts. Check out some of my favorite links in my blog-roll to your right. I have blogs on that list that post the most often, and they are awesome blogs for writers.

See ya around!

From The Pen The Soul Spewith

So yesterday after finishing edits on short story, ESCAPE FROM LIMBO, I try to go to sleep. I'm so tired that I can't see straight (there might have been some spinning of the room), but when my head hits the pillow, my mind ponders some things that have been bothering me for years, and a lot of those things that continue to become a greater problem. My mind wonders how I would fare in this mental depiction. THEN, it hits me. I have to get out of bed and throw done some words for a story idea in regards to this.

The problem is, by the time I'm done writing this, there will be few publishers who will want it. It comes from my personal opinions on subjects that are very controversial (seems like most things that matter to folks usually are). And though it's scary to me, it's not horror. I would say it's close to political thriller, but on a much more intimate level.It would fit in great with a series I'm wanting to do down the road, but I'm really wanting to do these stories through a press if I can. This story can stand on its own, or be included with this series.

However I decide to go with this, I will forewarn anyone who reads this story, or any others in the line, that if you (the reader) are easily offended by opinionated fiction, then read no further. This is meant to entertain, and maybe, bring some thought on the subjects form the author's POV. This is not meant to forcefully change minds, to be hurtful, or even to cause any kind of insurgence.

See, I know as an author, I'm suppose to tread light on opinions that maybe controversial. But as an author, I have stories that demand to be told. That demand to be read just as any other I write. I may pen a stories that could be used for a B-Movie horror flick. I might write one that deals with demonic clowns. But I also write stories that focus on, life after death (which involve the protag making things right), or a story about a young lady surviving a serial killer/stalker. And I also write stories about the world I live in, and how it affects everyone, and draw on specific characters who must prevail against the said affects.

But, while I won't leave a story on the cutting-room-floor due to possible fragile egos, I DO respect my readers. I will always have a disclaimer ahead of time on these kinds of stories. Then if someone reads a story like this, and they fall a part over the controversial points, I will simply point to the disclaimer page. Not to mention I have friends who I adore that will completely disagree with the POV.

And maybe you're just not into this kind of fiction, but maybe you might enjoy my other works as they are published. Which is perfectly fine. We all have our tastes, and there's nothing wrong with that.

I read several authors whom I disagree with, but I love their writing and enjoy their stories. Like Stephen King for example. I have even seen in a book (The Stand, which of course I own the uncut version, and wanted this version for the sole purpose it was uncut) where he gave a disclaimer that if you bought the original unless you wanted to read the uncut version, don't waste your money on this printing. He didn't want his readers to re-buy a book only to be upset to find out with the exception of the uncut portions, that it was still the same book. Like me, he values his readers.

I love my readers, I love my friends, and I love me. Kinda :^D, I can be a pain. But anyways, I want to able to be honest without fear, and at the same time be fair to others. But I must also be fair to myself.

Cheers, everyone :^)

Words, Love, and the Pursuit of Happiness

By Dale Eldon

 Authors and the writing that spawns to life from their fingertips are connected. Every author has a different take on how it works, but from my point of view, the author and the muse are simpatico.


The core element for good writing has to come from happiness. In order for the right words to appear, the love has to be at the center of the core.


In order for any decent writing to come from me, the muse and I have to be in sync. It is impossible for her and I to coexist if we are not in harmony. The life we share is symbiotic. Each needing the other to become more then we would be apart. A lot like a good marriage. The problem here, is that the muse is a part of my mind. Sure she gets fired up over external inspirations, but she is basically an alter ego. So when I am in a slump, usually so is she. We are that connected. No matter how much I try to be happy, or even if I am in a decent mood it just isn’t the same as being happy naturally. The muse craves the same things that I do. Love.


I love my family. I love my friends. But so often I feel like a drifter in the middle of the ocean. I am sprawled out in a life raft looking through pictures of better times as my body slowly dies of dehydration. Here I am surrounded by water, and I can’t drink any of it. That is how my life feels. I have plenty of reasons to be happy, but I still cannot have these reasons to embrace. They are like the water. I can see them, but I cannot touch them.


My muse withers with me. In symbiotic relationship, we need each other to survive. We are not just compatible, if that were the case, then we could leave the other and no damage would be done. We would just seek out a new partner. But like soul mates, we hinge on the other without draining ourselves. Together we are a force. The muse, however, cannot pull me out of the slump. As strong willed as she is, my emotions ultimately control her.


Its strange, a lot of the time I don’t realize just how far out in the vast aquatic desert I have drifted. The longer I am stranded, the worst my mental condition becomes. The brain parasite called, “self pity” slowly eats away at any hope of happiness. It then continues to make me jaded, and diminishes my zest for the wonders of life. The once happy-go-lucky me is now becoming an empty shell for this parasite to live.


As much as I may have going for me (as I have been told by supporters), I am still drifting in this raft. From time to time I will see a search and rescue chopper fly overhead, but usually they don’t see me. I try to get their attention, but it is useless. Then when all hope is lost I see an angel. So far every time an angel appears to me, she is only around for a short time. And every time she gives me a little strength to push on. And again, an angel has appeared to me. The purest to visit yet, and again I feel my soul being rejuvenated. There is never a guarantee if the angel will stick around. There are so many factors that have to work for her to. But this angel is different than the others. She is extra special. Her grace makes me forget the raft, the dehydration, the self-pity; suddenly I am reforged.


I don’t know how long this angel will stay with me. What I do know is, for every moment I have with her, I am that much more thankful for. Somehow this beautiful creation of God has opened something up in my mind that I cannot open on my own. Not even my muse can reach this area. My dear angel who doesn’t have to try, she is a natural at bringing me back to life. And when I am in her presence I the aquatic desert become a tropical paradise.


So, what have I learned? How have I changed?


I have learned that no matter how much I work on bettering myself, that I will never be the man I want or need to be on my own. I need my angel. Just like my muse, I need that simpatico relationship. For I alone cannot live without her. One person cannot live in a symbiotic relationship. It is impossible. Perhaps angels are suppose to come and go until one decides to stay. Maybe this angel is the one. Maybe not. Regardless, I am thankful for her. Even if she only here to wake me up and show me this side of life.


It is easy to forget who we are as depression eats away at our soul. And like any good parasite the self-pity is inconspicuous as it slowly destroys us. The words cannot flow without love, and without love there is not happiness.


For some writers this darkness works for them. And I am glad that they have that as a muse. But for a lot of us we need that love. It can appear in many forms. I talk of my angel who is a beautiful woman from another country with view point that is refreshing, and creative. She can child like, but still be adult. She is intelligent, and graceful. This someone I would love to get to know more, and spend as much time with her as God will allow. That for me is the love. I have a beautiful daughter who also inspires me, though at this point I am in a position where I can’t be there for her. And though she the most important thing in my life, I need to be able to be apart of hers. And I cannot do that in this raft.


A lot of us have our own problems. No one has a monopoly on suffering. With that said pain is something that unites us. The despair that becomes the bane of our existence, is with most writers. Just because we may have a different way of looking at life, doesn’t limit our despair. In a lot of ways it increases it. A lot of writers become more sensitive to the world around them, they have to if they want their characters to come life. Even if the author is writing a non-fiction title, they can get so wrapped up in a person that they are writing about that they can feel their pain. Writers are conduits of emotions, ideas, and philosophies. We absorb mindsets that we may not even agree with, we take in the world of others, understanding their world better then they might themselves.


It is important to find that love. To find that ballast. Maybe even several loves. Like children, spouse, and other family, God; just like a tanker having more than one anchor to hold it in place. Love is the ballast that keeps us steady, it is what drives us, and completes us. Even if we are without what we need most, we need to keep our eyes on it at all times.