First Novels: Raising Kain

I've said this with other posts, but yes, this is the third time I've sat down to work on this post. I have a valid reason though. I didn't like the way the first one started, and I started the second about five minutes before the end of my break. Had I realized that at the time, I wouldn't have started it then.

Either way, we have this post going now, so I'll just keep on writing.

The reason I didn't like what I had first written is because I was trying to pass off wise and sage advice. Then I looked at it, and knew I shouldn't be giving such advice. It's not that I don't have experience in the situation I'm bringing up. I just don't feel that I've matured enough from that experience to really be able to see it from all angles.

So, all I can really do is tell you about my experience with “first novels”.

I started writing Raising Kain after I read the how-to book Writing the Novel: From Plot to Print. (It's a very good how-to book, and is something I would suggest any writer, new to the craft or not, pick up.) Also, the name of the author is Lawrence Block. What helped me get started on my novel wasn't really what inspired the novel. It was more of a connection I felt with the writer. The way he was talking about his writing experiences the more I felt like I could see myself in that role, experiencing the things he experienced. Then he talked about his early writing habits.

Lawrence Block wrote soft core sex novels for the first few years of his career. He would write two of these a month. He'd do twenty pages a day Monday through Friday, not write anything on the weekends, then finish the book the next work week.

I don't know what possessed me, but I thought “Yeah! I can do this!” (I would also like to note that my first novel was not a soft core sex book.) So, I sat down, on a Monday I think, with a small idea about a boy who becomes the greatest hero in Atlantis, and I knocked out twenty pages. Tuesday (day two or whatever, I don't remember the days of the week) I knocked out another twenty pages. (If you're wondering, twenty pages equals some 6,000 words, not a number to be laughed at.) Both days I walked away from the computer exhausted and broken. It took almost every hour I was awake to write that much.

After that, I didn't touch the book for a week.

I was burnt out on it. I didn't think about it. I didn't want to think about it. All I wanted to do was shut it out of my mind. It wouldn't go away, thankfully.

That next Monday (using that day because Monday is a good day to start things, I guess) and I wrote more on the story. I didn't write twenty pages. I think I wrote five, and instead of walking away from the book like I'd gone eight rounds with Mike Tyson, I walked away feeling good. I felt accomplished, and that's the way it went for the rest of the book. I wrote a little each day, and inch my inch the novel got done.

I loved that novel.

I still love that novel.

And, I found out not too long after I finished writing it that it wasn't even really a novel. It tapped out at forty-eight thousand words, and your average novel starts at sixty-thousand words or so. Yeah, I was kind of crushed.

I still consider it my first novel though. And, I still fondly remember writing it. The only thing that makes me really sad is that I need to keep it hidden in a chest for fear that someone might read it. Lol. Not because I don't think it's good, I absolutely love the story, it's because of the way my writing style has evolved. Raising Kain very much looks like it was written by a child coming out of the sixth grade.

Now, I've ran my mouth on for far longer than I expected too. So, I'm going to shut up, and maybe continue to tell the tales of my first novels.

Ryan

5-8-14

Owls

I’m sitting here at work right now, wondering why I have to be stuck at work. I wonder why I’ve not succeeded yet, why I haven’t been published and am living the lifestyle of a fabulously wealthy author. I meant successful, not wealthy, but it will do. And, over the years I’ve come up with several answers to those questions. Some of the answers make sense, while others have come out of left field. The only thing they’ve all got in common is the fact that they’re not complimentary to the person asking the questions. In fact, I’m sure I would be beaten, severely, with a wet noodle should I write even one of those answers here. It’s best to just not do it. So, instead I’ll ask a question I can answer.

“Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?”

Mr. Owl takes the lollipop and licks it, “one, two, three,” and he bites through the rest, getting to the center of the tootsie roll pop.

So, why would the little boy in the commercial go and ask Mr. Owl for the answer? The answer to that is symbolism. The owl, with its regal bearing and luminescent eyes has been a symbol of wisdom for many, many years; centuries in fact, if I’m not mistaken. Like the wise old man on top of the mountain, the owl, and those who identify with the creature have been sought out for their wisdom and advice.

In my own experience, I feel that the owl is my spiritual guide (it’s either that or a squirrel), and I base this belief on the one time I’ve seen an owl.

The animal was standing in the road as I was driving along. There wasn’t roadkill beside it, it was just waiting and watching me come closer. It should have been blinded by my headlights, but it wasn’t. It looked past my headlights, and locked eyes with me. In that moment I felt stripped naked, bearing the whole of my soul out to this one creature. The truck continued on, but the owl took flight, spreading its great wings and rising up above the truck like an angel. I knew then that there was more to this world, more to this life, and this owl had been sent to me as a message to bring that home.

I try to keep that message in my mind every day. I try to bring the wisdom of that one owl to everyone else who reads my work. We are not alone in the universe, there are many other people in many other realities, and those focused on the arts are our glimpses into those realities.

Remember, the next time you’re reading a book. Those characters are real, their feelings and hopes and failures are real, and so long as you keep them in mind they will continue to be real.

And, to ruin all the nice poetic things I just said, I wonder what would have happened if the owl didn’t fly out of the way. Would it have been a satisfying crunch?

Ryan

3-21-14

Friends

This is an unusual topic, considering the fact that I am a supernerd, and therefore have no friends. Instead, we’ll talk about the greatest sitcom of all time. Nah, I’m kidding. I have a truck load of friends, and I love all of them. My best friend of the last 18 years is my roommate and that’s pretty badass. And, I play Dungeons and Dragons/Pathfinder (I don’t really see much difference between the two) with another great group of friends. I consider all of them my best friends too (with certain exceptions because I’m kind of a dick), and being able to sit down with them once a week is fantastic.

Then there’s Cupcake. If I had to say anything at all, I’d say she’s my very best friend. The one I love above all others, the one I would give my life for if it came down to it, she’s also the one I sleep with at night, so it’s best not to upset her.

Me and Cupcake at her mom and dad's house.

But, on another note, I’ve not always had a wide array of friends, and I’ve not always been the obnoxious asshole I am now who gets bored and likes to torment his friends.

Yeah, growing up it was hard to make friends as I was always the outcast. The one bullies picked on in grade school, and everybody else avoided me because they didn’t want the same sort of treatment.

Me and Erik in a Bitstrips comic. And, I just realized I don't have a picture of me and Erik.

I found Erik (my roommate) in the fifth grade. We got stuck in afterschool detention a number of times. Not because either of us were delinquents. I was always behind on class work, and he moved to West Virginia about halfway through the year and we were both in detention catching up on class work, and we started talking. We found we liked the same things, Power Rangers, Transformers, and other things I’ve probably forgotten about at this point in my life.

Our friendship was always solid. We practically lived at one another’s houses until the time we got out of high school. We were always making up stories, and playing them out with various action figures. I even remember the two of us using lighters and matches to disfigure one or two of the figures. We made it look like he’s suffered some serious battle damage.

I’m smiling now, as I think about this, maybe even tearing up a little. I wonder from time to time what happened to those kids. When did we stop being kids and start being adults? When did this wall of responsibility come crashing down around us?

It’s like I said in that excerpt the other day. Things change. It’s the way of things.

And, there’s a lot of irony there too. How much time did we spend as children wishing we were grown up? And, how much would an adult give up being able to go back to being a child? I would give up almost everything. Everything I own, everything I’ve done, except for being with Melanie. I would take a tight hold on her, and bring her back to my childhood, because, even as a child she would fill the empty spot in my heart.

I wasn’t whole until I met Mel. And, I’m still missing a few things (sanity is one of them, but I’m a-ok without that) but with her I am complete. I guess that’s what a wife, or a significant other in general, is meant to be. The puzzle piece that completes you makes you whole. That’s why she’s the best of my friends. One of the two I will hold close and never let go.

Now, I’m trying to think of a way to incorporate this concept into the game, but it’s already there. Without friends, without my Damn Dirty Dungeon Crawlers, there would be no game. So, yeah, I love all of them too.

That doesn’t mean I won’t summon Cthulhu on their asses if they piss me off. Just saying. Lol.

Ryan

3-20-14