Story Prompt: Art Helping Art

Here's a tool I've used in the past to help generate story ideas. I fill a sheet of paper with whatever thoughts arise, using different colored pencils, starting at various spots on the page and not censoring anything. This prompts my subconscious to cough up helpful story facets. There is, however, a tendency to fill the page with "redrum," but therapy and an ankle bracelet help keep that in check.

A repost from April 26, 2009. Haven't used this in awhile. I'm keen to give it another try.

Waiting on the Beta Readers

Six readers will wade into my long short story. I shall wait until after Christmas to spruce it up, before sending it out. I can't wait to work on my next story: "Ella The Passive-Aggressive Ghost."

Most depressed lately, re. running, or lack there of. One more shot, then I'll call it a life and do other things. Hopefully healthy things.

Winding Down and Wasted from Writing

Weary on this shortest day of the year from slogging away on my novelette - the technical term for the story I'm writing as it's no longer short, but not wordy enough to be a novella. There's a temptation to punch ahead and make it so, but I need feedback on what I have. Perspective has "slipped the surly bonds of earth," as the poet said, and I crave input. Alas, I have no more signed Freakazoid posters to offer as inducement. Perhaps plastic grapes? Or a gnome child, left in my barbecue. (Actually, I already turned it over to the county. But my wife has photographs if we can figure out what's wrong with her Canon Sure-Shot.) Anyway, something.

Sizzled on Rewrites

Burned out yesterday rewriting the first seven pages of the jumbo short story. Today, I'll concentrate only on the last 20 pages. Everything needs to be paid off and its the weakest portion; the part I keep saying will "write itself," in the vain hope that it actually will. So now I will because the story will not do me a solid. My own story!

Stuck in the Short Story Consideration Line

Queue you. So I've been told electronically. One magazine I submitted to has an on-line submission and tracking page. You're given a number when you send in your story. Then you can follow its progress through the editorial process, much like watching your car move through brushes, soap, and hot wax at the car wash. My story currently has 94 other stories in front of it, waiting to be read. In other words, it has not even been vacuumed. A lengthy wait will certainly affect my tip.

Going Back to Jackson

Yesterday would've been the 90th birthday of author Shirley Jackson. Author of "The Lottery" and "The Haunting of Hill House," she died of an apparent heart attack back in 1965 at the age of 45. Jackson wrote good gothic, but could also crank out light-hearted, slice-of-slice books about the chaos of raising four kids. She loved writing because it was one of the few times during the day she got to sit down.

Unlike my laborious method of writing draft after draft until the right words finally appear, Jackson would mull a story over for a long time, then sit down and bang it out almost print ready. (Very similar to the Paul Rugg style .-:)) My favorite Jackon short story involved an older New York couple who decided to spend the winter upstate at their summer home and learned the locals could be deadly if you overstayed your welcome.

And that was this moment in Shirley Jackson history.

Zip Code Change

Folks up in the August burn areas are bracing for possible location-changing mud slides. Two more inches of rain are in-bound and they say an inch-an-hour is enough to provide the necessary liquefaction. Let's hope for a big long drizzle.

Today I begin the end run for the big long horror story. Everything makes sense, but I have to drop in a number of elements that will provide stronger ties to various character changes as well as foreshadow the climax.

Mostly, I want to be finished and send it out and have someone buy it for my Christmas present.

One of them, anyway.

Short Story Update

"Perry the Owl Boy" went off for consideration yesterday. Ten-in-Six now stands at:
One acceptance ("Bane Fish" in Night Chills Magazine.)

Five pending with "Dagon and Jill" the closest to placing (on a shortlist.)

That's four more to write (and ideally sell) before the end of February 2010.

"Apple Dan" is a few drafts from completion, but could be done next Friday.

At least two stories would have to be seriously rewritten, while "Ella the Passive-Aggressive Ghost" may be closer than I think.

My wife suggested I try writing a few Christmas cards.

Lining up Short Story Markets

A snap thanks to Duotrope. In the short fiction realm, 5 cents a word and up is considered the professional rate. A penny to 4 cents is semi-pro. Fractions of a cent - such as I was recently paid - constitute token payment. Publication copies are the minimum exchange for a story. I tend to send out to token payments and up, but don't sneer at anything that gets one aboard the resume-building train.

My last non-writing, acting, producing job took place on October 31, 1991. I worked at a temp agency on assignment to an engineering company in Pasadena. There I inputted reports into their database. Sit down, type, go out for a smoke at 10, lunch from 12:30 to 1:30, then type until 5:30.

They didn't want much: my time and effort for x hours at x dollars. I've been paid the long green and treated worse than the engineering company treated me.

Went to see good friend Ken last night for an evening of coffee shop chow and good bad movies. Same address for 29 years. That's astounding in Los Angeles. It's like living in the Sphinx.

Perry the Owl Boy

Currently perched, waiting for today's final polish. Then a read over Friday, and away it flies to a publication claiming to welcome such whimsical tales. After which, I return to the jumbo 11k horror short story. Looking forward to finishing that one and getting it out before the end of next week.

Another Day, Another No

This time from a wry, snarky humor mag. My story enchanted one editor, but not the three necessary for a spot in the magazine. Still, I was invited to try again. I find myself, more often than not, in what I call the "honored rejection bin." That's where editors acknowledge not accepting my work and invite me to have another go.

Cold and rainy today. But not for a man who works at home.

Not Everyone Mourned

My English nurse mom was grateful for Pearl Harbor. She'd been dodging Nazi bombs in London for two years and knew that with America now in the war, there was no way the British could lose. However, Roosevelt only declared war on Japan. Hitler saved the day by honoring the Axis Treaty and declaring war on the U.S. Italy followed right behind. WW II was on.

h/t: Associated Press

Research and Rates

My pharmacist father-in-law helped me research a story, providing insight into what sort of items one might find in a small lab. (Apparently, many of the same items you'd find in a regular kitchen.)

Tempers flared at Black Matrix blogsite after some guy dissed the publication for not paying pro-rates. (5 cents a word, I think.) It's similar to ripping independent filmmakers for paying talent a copy of the film. Having produced and directed one independent film (and a short one at that), I know pretty much everything comes out of your pocket. You get to be in charge in return for all the headaches and expenses. (I'm not saying it wasn't worth it, but regular readers may note I'm not blogging about directing a bunch more of my own films.)

And having acted in a few independent films, I acknowledged the trade-off between my time and effort and my meager compensation. Back then, it was one of the fastest ways to build an acting reel. Student films, too.

Duotrope lists hundreds of short fiction markets: paying, non-paying, token payment. Most paying markets list their rates. I'm free to submit to whom I will and do. If I don't like the deal, there's other places to shop.

And if some markets don't pay well, there are certain benefits such as a take-it-or-leave-it approach. This can sometimes trump excellent pay and a page one rewrite.

Shortlist

A short story, "Dagon and Jill," has advanced another rung up the publication ladder. This particular magazine employs a blind submission process, whereby you email two attachments: one with name and contact info and the other with the story. Relying only on the story, readers select which tales proceed. There are two such rounds before a story reaches the editors - the above-mentioned shortlist. (That's where I be, har.) As each issue has a different editor, the story circulates among them and, if no one picks, its a pass. (I have a one-in-three chance, so I'm told.) In the meantime, they've pleasantly asked me to send in something else. Oh, very well; if they insist.

"Bane Fish" Placed

Black Matrix Publishing has purchased my short story "Bane Fish" for inclusion in one of their four upcoming magazines, Night Chills. As this is my first prose fiction sale, I was so excited I almost stopped having the flu. I'm not sure when it's due out, but I'll update with a link for those inclined to purchase a copy. Or follow their publishing progress on Facebook. It's been a long, barren year and this really raises my spirits - which is appropriate when writing for a horror magazine.

Duotrope Shout Out

If you've ever hankered to publish fiction or poetry, this site will have you knocking on doors in no time. Duotrope provides a huge market database, plus weekly updates on what's open, closed or extinct in the publishing world. Since I began Ten-in-Six back in late August, I've used Duotrope's online submissions tracker to follow all my stories. They keep track of submissions, rejections, and acceptances. Visit on Facebook. Alas, they are not eligible for Stimulus Funds and must rely on donations to keep the data base fires burning. Help out, if you can. They do everything but write the darn thing for you.

4th Anniversary

Blogging erratically since 2005. My problems were different back then.

Marine Moment

As Project Valor IT rolls on, here's the USMC 1st Force Recon laser painting targets in Iraq.

h/t: TotenkopfSturmbann

My friend Kurt was in Marine Recon during Vietnam, operating in Laos along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. He learned to be very quiet.

Walk

And that's what I did yesterday - 1.6 miles on a soft dirt bridal trail at Griffith Park. A crew erected a large Christmas tree for the park's annual light show as I strolled past. I'm adding a little distance each week. When I can walk 3 miles without soreness, I'll try running a quarter mile or so.

Five years of t'ai chi really build up my quads and glutes. No wonder I wasn't injured on my first marathon. Now I'm practicing it again so as to build up my quads and glutes. There's a temptation to quit the whole rehabilitation thing and just eat. But then I'd start getting caught in doorways again. Forward, slowly, until my knee positively proves I can't run again. I believe I can.

Until then, I'm thinking of cancelling my subscription to Runner's World. The only section I read is food and diet.

USMC Moment

As part of my commitment to the Marine team of Project Valor IT, I'm asked to post something Marine-related for the duration of the contest. Here's a recent recruiting video:

h/t: maxwalsh92

Back in the fall of 1971, I prepared to join the Army. A high school pal was supposed to go along but his parents offered him a new car if he stayed home. (It worked.) Studying bored me, so I prepared to sign up solo. But one October day, I heard a couple of guys from the neighborhood were joining the Marines. I figured I'd go with them.

At the time, Vietnam was winding down. And while there were still weekly casualties, they were low and dropping lower as ground units were withdrawn. Still, the bloody years from 1965 to 1970 had left a bad taste in every one's psyche. (As I've mentioned, from Feb. 1968 to Oct. 1969, 500 Americans died every month.) My parents' hated the idea, especially my mother who pressured me to join the Navy or Air Force like my cousins. (Forgetting my cousin Danny joined the Navy to avoid the Army, got married after being told he wouldn't be sent to Vietnam, then found himself in bullet-riddled Saigon on the second day of the Tet Offensive.)

One day I came home from work and my sister said Chuck stopped by to talk me out of joining the Marines. Two years older than I, Chuck had amazing hand-eye coordination. My friends and I used to act as beaters for him, flushing rabbits out of the brush on a golf course in suburban Chicago. Chuck waited on the fairway and picked off fleeing rabbits with a bow and arrow. Amazing shot. Later a Marine, Chuck served in 'Nam as a door gunner on a helicopter, shooting other things. Whatever he'd seen and done over there, he hadn't cared for.

At eighteen, joining the Marines was the first major decision of my life. And here were my parents and an older guy from the neighborhood, whom I respected, trying to talk me out of it.

I was hot to go.