Markets Galore at Publishing . . . And Other Forms of Insanity

Are These Fiction, Non-Fiction, and Poetry Markets? 

By the Fulsome Beard of St. Crispin, They Are Indeed! 

 

dreamstime.com

A pause in writing as I prepare to send out a brace of short stories. Naturally, I visited Erica Verrillo's Publishing . . .And Other Forms of Insanity. A dense blog stuffed with literary markets of all kinds, primarily paying ones, as well as agents and book publishers open to submissions, and literary contests of all varieties. There's more, but go-see-discover. 

 

This is my first stop when lining up a market. If you're a writer, give it a go.

 

NOTE: I've been informed that the image is not that of St. Crispin, but jolly old St. Nick. In any case, the beard remains fulsome. 

Adrift in a Sea of Unfinished Stories v.2

 

uncoverydiscoveryblog

(Eight years later, not much has changed. Though this year I have submitted three shortie short stories with one rejection. David Mamet had a good take on writer procrastination: It's a way of avoiding the writing of a shit first draft. Interesting.)

Haven't finished a short story in over six weeks. Not even a first draft. Zip. I have no idea what I'm waiting for. Certainly not inspiration. Or the perfect metaphor. Or a really ironic Twilight Zone ending. I'm not even pushing the cursor around the screen, filling pages with swill that I'll edit later. Can't be fear. Whatever it is, I'm not producing.

Only a single short story remains under consideration with a magazine. Maybe I should switch to Flash Fiction until this malaise passes. "Death Honk" was fun, a thousand words, and still floating about online in Microliterature. I recall writing it very quickly. Could not other tales be written equally fast?

Back running and walking again, using my new chi running techniques. This morning, a friend called during my post-run stretch. I took the call and finished tasking my hamstrings, realizing that I'd become the person I swore I'd never be: one who combed physical activity and a phone call. At least this transformation took place in Griffith Park and not a gym, where those nearby would be hostages to my infernal chattiness.

Okay. Away. Keep it short.

 

Who Can Forget 2013?

Daisie Blog

Most people, myself included. 

Back then I imagined I'd complete 3 fiction ebooks within the year.  These days I am completing one of them, a mystery-thriller about a dystopian Los Angeles--hardly fiction--and a former cop attempting to stop a series of seemingly senseless murders.

First I went through four drafts and printed out material I thought could be shaped into a story. I ended up with a 240 pages of material. Lots of useabale copy. I should have finished this 11 years ago. But I'd feel awful if I never finished it at all.

More soon.

Hallow Mass Update

COMING THIS SPRING!

Igy Hotarubi Pinterest

Following an inquiry or two, I've committed to writing and publishing Volume II of my Lovecraftian horror trilogy: "The War on Death" Hallow Mass by spring 2024. 😬🙏 As illustrated by handy emojiis, fear and hope collide in my aging head. What if I botch the attempt? One promising backstop is to insert a financial penalty for NOT finishing, such as taking out advertising in advance of publication. Yeah. I like it. Now to work.

I'm also writing a horror/suspense novella which should publish in ebook form by Christmas. On top of that, I'm collating my notes from Ireland and hope to put out a short non-fiction book on my pilgrimage by next March. 

So many projects. I'm bound to complete one.

Available in durable ebook and softcover

Large Stinking Winter Storm

 

Patabook News

Oh, what a merry time to write. The heating bill is paid, the roof doesn't leak, and we have glass in our windows. In addition, our supply of coffee is ample. Under such conditions, working on my marathon book is a delight. 

What if I lived in Seattle? Under such conditions, I'd be familiar with rainy weather and spend the time web surfing. A pleasant Christmas eve to one and all.

Learning to Be Ineffective

 

Learning360online

Strategic Delay in Play

Here's a stunning revelation: I've gradually reached peak efficiency in teaching myself how not to finish writing projects. A recent shelf cleaning expedition uncovered a dozen first draft novels, novellas, long short stories over 5k words. Leafing through my canon I read a lot of rough but quite serviceable material. 

My pattern is to complete the first draft. Then let it simmer. Then start something new. But I never seem to return to the original draft. Plus I rarely outline, leading to me following each new shiny plot point or character so that the original tale no longer fits the new story that has metastasized into something unwieldy.

I've got hundreds and hundreds of pages, tens if thousands of words, and only a handful of completed works over the last five years. This writing malady started awhile ago, but it's really picked up steam since 2016.

The answer to more completions is not drastic: Do a simple outline. Then focus on the next word, sentence, paragraph, page, chapter. Staying locked on the process of story telling is more important than front braining a slew of new plans, approaches, and goals. 

I return now to culling my backlog. 

Thoughts on My 2020

A Land Remembered Journal

2020: I thought last year's post below was pretty comprehensive. Sadly, running—and weight loss—didn't pan out as I'd hoped. Back in November I injured my knees by forgetting everything I knew about chi running and attempting to "boost" my locomotion with extra force. And I'd been doing so well. In October I ran 48 miles for the month—the most since February—including 5 and 6 mile days. I had recovered from my spring Chinese Covid slump enough to enter a Virtual Challenge and was crushing it. Plus my wife and I were signed up for a 10k in Mesa, Arizona slated for February 2021. (We're going to Mesa anyway, just not to run.)

Self-inflicted running injuries are the absolute worst. No one to blame but yourself and I HATE blaming myself.

As for writing, it blossomed as in former days. I finished several short stories, including a whopping 12k word job. Sending them out wasn't resulting in sales, though the rejections were generally polite. So I assembled this year's crop along with stories dating back to 2009 and published the lot—all nine—in ebook form. Death Honk is out now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and more. The paperbacks will arrive in January. This is the first fiction book I've published since 2016. I bask in such warm accomplishments.

But writing is only a fraction of the battle for the indie author.

Unlike previous book launches, I obtained a few reviews in advance. Also, unlike previous launches, I bit off a good chunk more than I could chew. By attempting ebook and softcover launches on Amazon and Draft2Digital, I found each platform operates with different rules. So four sets of formatting required attention, eating up time with an appetite most voracious. Because my wife and her vast publishing experience were unavailable—I never interrupt her paying work—I was forced to hunt in the freelance veldt. The woman who proof read Death Honk was outstanding. The man who formatted the print version less so. As mentioned elsewhere, the cover designer rocked. 

No audio version for prostate, but I think that line has been jumped by Death Honk. We shall see how 2021 shapes up. I'd like publish a second edition of Hallow Mass with a new cover, add it to Draft2Digital, then write the second volume. Plan meet life. And for the second time in a paragraph I'll say: we shall see. 

This November marked fifteen years of blogging. Over 2k posts with entries topping 100 for the first time since 2012. Not that my traffic is that hot. But inconsistency carries a cost. I've really come to loath social media. (Do watch The Social Dilemma.) But I should examine which platform provides the most pop sales-wise for an author's effort. 

Canva proved a useful took in developing my own promotional materials. Even a digital butter fingers such as myself was able to figure it out. I highly recommend the website.

I end 2020 in reasonably good health, awash in efforts to publish two separate paperback versions of my anthology and eager to see what the future holds. 

And a Happy New Year to you!

The Express

Today's Short Story Recommendation

"Time Reveals the Heart"

As I'm reading more short stories to better my own, I've decided to share my discoveries with the

Clarkesworld Sci Fi and Fantasy

half-dozen regular readers of this blog.

Today's offering hails from Clarkesworld: "Time Reveals the Heart" by Derek Kunsken. (His name contains an umlaut over the u, but I can't figure out how to add one.)

Here's the opening paragraph of this science fiction tale:

"Guo Lěi mounted the stairs to his mother’s apartment at seven in the morning. He hadn’t visited in two weeks; he never knew what he would find. It was early, but he had a launch today, maybe several, and no matter what, he tried to see his mother before every launch, just in case. When silence answered his knocks, he used his key."

That's pretty nifty writing. You've got your foreshadowing, the knowledge that the protagonist's work is dangerous, and that his mother's health is an issue all bundled in the action of knocking on the door. It'd take me a page and half to get all that out. 

A story exploring time travel, addiction, the dangers of altered perception, and the worth of reality, this is a quick read, not too heavy on dialogue with nice descriptive touches such as "His voice sounded like falling drops of water, shapeless, wobbling in free fall, transparent."

Weighing in at 5804 words, "Time Reveals the Heart" is available online and as a podcast at the Clarkesword site. 

Griffith Park Luau 5k: Thoughts, Insights, Ruminations

Back with yet one more huge 5k medal.

I loath 5ks that allow strollers and dogs. Especially when the women pushing the strollers are faster than I. Also, it's not a grand idea to run 3.1 miles along Griffith Park bridal trails on a Saturday morning, which is a peak usage period. People training for marathons and sundry other races bolt through the pack and around the runners with dogs stopping to talk to non-runners with dogs. For the second 5k in a row, I felt a slight lactic acid buildup at the start, followed by fatigue, and the desire to quit and walk the race. Fortunately, such thoughts, if unentertained, turn listless and meander off.

On the upside, this was home ground. I often train on these very trails during the week when no one is about. On mile three, I was passed by a woman pushing a stroller and talking on the phone. This was too much. But I knew something she didn't. The final .1 mile featured very loose soil. Tricky for runners, especially those pushing wheeled conveyances. I passed her in the home stretch. But she found a patch of solid ground and came on strong. I gave it the gas and almost reinjured my knee, but extended myself enough to keep from being picked off at the finish line.

Thanks to this woman and child, I achieved my modest running goal for the race. (Sub 36 minutes, if you must know.)

Oh, Chi

Back in May, I noted different features of Chi Running. Today, I did quite well staying with cadence and leaning forward. But I lacked a speed burst. When stroller woman kicked, I fell out of chi running form and tried to race old school. This resulted in a tortured hybrid style that inflicted a sharp knee pain—the signal that I'm doing something wrong. This week I'll mark out 200 meters or so and practice sudden accelerations. In case I encounter more strollers.

Hallow Mass Volume II Outline  

Sloppy, scattered, but underway. I need to set solid deadlines if I hope to publish by Christmas of this fine year. I reread the original and was pleasantly surprised it didn't offend me with as many errors and poor writing as I'd feared. But onwards to December. 

So Long, Anne McCaffrey

Many years ago I was just starting out in improv comedy and worked a night job as a dispatcher for a security guard company. An improv chum lent me her collection of McCaffrey's Dragon Riders of Pern series. As mice skittered around a dirty office in downtown Los Angeles, I'd be transported to this exotic realm where everyone got around by riding a dragon. I wished I had a small dragon. I would let it roam free and eat the mice.

With her books slated for production in 2012, Anne McCaffrey passed away today at age 85.

I thank her for her dragons.

Image: Comic Related

"Bane Fish" Published

My short story on the law and surviving sea monsters has surfaced in Night Chills. Thanks to all who helped out with the reading last summer. (Image: Black Matrix Publishing LLC)

Writing in the 80s

Some facts about my writing career just resurfaced as I emptied out old boxes:

My first published fiction piece was in an artsy mag called Chimera. - 1983

I wrote a pretty funny short story that I only sent out once back in 1986. Last night, I sent it out again.

For a time, I wrote poetry. - 1981

Comedian Tom Dreesen, who used to open for Frank Sinatra, rejected three jokes I sent him. - 1981

From 1985 to 1988, I sent out a lot of short stories, all rejected. The whole process was labor-intensive, from typing to return envelopes to postcards signifying arrival, to finding out months later that magazines had closed or moved without a forwarding address or weren't interested in what I had to sell. Then I decided whether to rewrite the stories or press on. (That last aspect hasn't changed.)

I have a lot of old boxes. - 2010.

Monstropedia is Beast of the Web

Monstropedia catalogs creatures of all varieties, from rocs and selkies to dragons and cryptids. I use this site for speculative fiction ideas. Plenty to chew on - so to speak. (Photo: rottentoons.com)

Happy Birthday HPL

"P.S. Shoot Dr. Allen on sight and dissolve his body in acid. Don't burn it."Such an oh-by-the-way appeared in "The Strange Case of Charles Dexter Ward" by H.P. Lovecraft. (The author, not the band.) Howard Phillips would be celebrating his 109th birthday today, the candles on his cake, no doubt, human fingers cut from the hand of a poet gone mad dreaming of great Cthulhu. For those unacquainted with his horror stories, "The Call of Cthulhu" might be a good starting - or ending - point. Lovecraft's bleak, hopeless cosmos fascinated me once. He certainly was an original. No lovestruck teenage vampires for this guy.
h/t: Moe Lane

Pitching Movies with Paul Rugg

Paul Rugg and I shall once again craft a feature film idea and go a'pitching. We've done this twice. Back in 2002 we worked up a live-action idea about a group of actors undergoing military training in preparation for an upcoming war film. However, they are accidentally dropped off in a jungle and mistaken for real American troops by guerrillas. As I was preparing to leave for Cambodia at the time, we conducted a sales blitz, hitting nine production companies and studios in a little under three days — a blur of smiling faces, couches and bottled water.

In 2003 we prepared an idea about two tornado-chasing geeks sucked up by a twister and deposited in an Oz-like world where they blunder into a quest that changes their lives. A live-action idea, we pitched it around, here and there. (Eventually, I wrote it into a script.) Retooling our tale as animation for a 2005 Dreamworks meeting, we finished the pitch only to have the executive suggest we take it around as live-action.

Now we have an animated concept about dogs and honor and doing what is right, regardless of circumstances. We'll start building a story as soon as I get back from the San Diego Marathon. I have a most excellent feeling about this one, as it is just silly enough to warrant a sale.

UPDATE: Someone else had the same idea around the same time re. actors mistaken for real soldiers. In 2008, someone else's idea became a film called Tropic Thunder. Such are the cards of Fate.

Freakataping

Freakazoid! first season DVD taping was yesterday in Burbank. A whopping bin of fun. I'll have more a bit later.

Weary, Weary Me

For the last 48 hours I've been writing a story to submit to a horror anthology. Right now, New Year's Eve, my darling wife is proofing the last draft. Submission deadline closes at midnight. I wrote from noon to 11:00 last night. Eight o'clock to 1:10 today, went to the gym, then wrote from 4:30 to 10:20. MDW assures me I'm getting the rapid proof that will merely nip the worst grammatical offenders.

This story actually started out as something called Behind the Scenes. But over three weeks, it's changed, changed again and finally become Tyto Alba, the tale of a slacker who pays a price for "going with the flow."

All pressure is self-imposed. I must return to my young adult novel and didn't want this almost-finished story lounging around, up to no good.

And so, as I await changes on my final story for 2007, I say to one and all:

Blogged Down

Not many new entries as Christmas arrives on merry feet. This Monday I had breakfast with my agent, the lovely and financially-astute JKR. I learned that animation buyers now want writing samples that consist of original, live-action, sit-com scripts. It makes no sense.
Sit-com writers excel at funny dialogue. Their scripts are little more than a series of character names followed by set-ups and punch-lines. That's what the medium calls for. Animation writers must sling their jokes while rendering a blueprint that artists can board. In any case, I must now create a free, half-hour calling card for a medium in which I have bales of produced material.

As James Donald said at the end of Bridge on the River Kwai:

"Madness!"

His Brain's Overloading

Freakazoid! was the most fun I've had writing animation. A DVD of the first season will be released soon. Not that I'll see a cent, but it sure was a blast.

A Break

The first five chapters of Dummy Fever percolates in a second-draft stew. Next week I'll tidy it up and start my beta test process. So far I have a book club agreeing to give me feed back. As the story features a 13-year-old protagonist, I'm trying to line up a pair of high-school, freshman English classes. Given my general level of immmaturity, I find it quite easy writing as a teenager.

In the meantime, I'm blasting through a short story called Behind the Scenes. A rewrite of something I started two years ago, Scenes has Hollywood meet Washington, D.C. in a genetic engineering experiment gone wrong. There's nothing like crafting a light-hearted romp about massive fraud, incompetence and bio-engineered monsters to take my mind off holiday stress.