Home Alone

The car chortled to a halt and Damian twisted the key to kill the engine. Gathering his trusty coffee mug, he opened the driver's side door. It squealed in protest, resisting until pushed past the rust. With a quick foot, Damian hooked the freed door before it could crash into the shiny BMW in the adjoining space.

You should have let it go, Inigo muttered in his brain.

Damian shrugged. Too obvious.

I believe these magnificent automobiles can be moved, no?

The rust would have given me away, Inigo.

Ah yes, the rust. Of course.

With a deep sigh, Damian twisted his way out of the small, two-door vehicle. Not for the first time, he reflected that he really should upgrade. With his lanky frame, the beater wasn't really optimal. He'd be much more comfortable in a larger sedan. A beamer even.

But he drove a beamer.

Damian pushed the thought from his mind. It would only serve to make him angry, and the day had been stressful enough.

What about a truck? Inigo offered.

Damian didn’t answer. He realized the futility of the suggestion even as it skittered across his mind. He was simply too cheap. He'd be stuck with the beater until it disintegrated around him, leaving him sitting in the threadbare captain's chair, skidding down the highway, sparks flying behind him like an Independence Day sparkler.

Such a destructive holiday, Inigo noted.

You don't celebrate the Fourth of July in Spain?

Inigo laughed at him. Silly American. No, where you celebrate your Declaration of Independence, we have Constitution Day in December. I would think it more logical to remember the establishment of one's Constitution, no?

Damian paused. I wonder when our Constitution Day is.

September 17. Though in 1952, your President Truman changed the name to Citizenship Day.

How do you know all this, Inigo?

Luck. I was aware of those dates. Also, I have been with you for several Septembers now.

Damian pondered that for a moment. He wasn't sure what to make of the voice in his head. When he was younger, his parents had taken him to doctors. They'd tried to get him to take pills, diagnosing him with Dissociative Identity Disorder. None of the treatments had ever worked. In fact, it seemed to Damian that the more chemicals they put in his body, the more voices spawned. Left alone, whatever afflicted Damian seemed to produce only Inigo.

It hadn’t taken Damian long to figure out that he’d rather just have the one voice to deal with. So, he’d lied. It was pretty easy to figure what his parents and all the doctors wanted to hear. He told them that he was better, that the voices were gone.

And so began my solitary hermitage, Inigo chimed in.

Is it really so bad in my head?

Inigo chuckled. I have been in worse.

In high school history courses, Inigo had even started earning his keep. The voice knew a surprising amount about ancient history, things that Damian was pretty sure he’d never learned anywhere. It was one of many reasons that led Damian to suspect that Inigo might not be as simple as a figment of his imagination. Problem was, Damian didn’t know what else Inigo could be.

I have told you, Inigo said. I am a friend.

Most friends have a distinctly physical component.

You wound me!

Damian rolled his eyes. The apartment door in front of him did not respond.

Juggling his mug and overloaded key-chain, Damian found the correct key and jimmied it into the lock. He twisted the knob and put his hip into the door, backing his way into the dark room. Key in mouth, Damian fumbled for the light switch. The click was followed immediately by the clatter of the key-chain hitting the floor. Damian looked down with a sigh that only deepened as he raised his eyes.

A single bare bulb burned above what passed for the living room. The other lamps that Damian had grown used to were gone. Where the couch used to be, only a dusty outline remained. There were similar silhouettes for the end tables and the TV stand. The bookcase had been left behind, but all of the pictures that had adorned its shelves were gone, leaving only the actual books. Nearby, Damian's ratty old recliner rounded out the sad lot of possessions. Damian didn't even need to lean his head into the adjoining bedroom to know that its occupants had been similarly culled.

The worst part? He still had the awful metallic taste of the key in his mouth as he nudged the door shut.

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Scene 2 - Damian Comes Home

I think I wrote this scene on Citizenship Day, hence the random history lesson in the middle. The side note adds a bit of character to Inigo, so I left it in. One of the things that I've noticed I like to do is find completely random things on Wikipedia and integrate them into a story. I have a naturally curious mind, so I'm always looking things up, for no good reason. When I can find character-based ways to weave some of that random knowledge into a story... it's like when you find that one puzzle piece that finally fits. Just makes me smile.

One of the changes I'm making this time around is that Damian isn't just coming to terms with the end of a relationship, but the end of "the" relationship. That is, it'll become apparent over time that Damian was married and on the wrong side of infidelity (obviously drawing a bit on my own recent experiences, for those that know). Apart from being cathartic, it really gives Damian the emotional wounds that I'd like to work with going forward. I deal with things just a bit differently than Damian, but Damian's character provides me a chance to explore the process from the outside.

Before I think I was afraid to go "there" (there being divorce). Gosh that's still seems such a shameful word to me. But it happens. It's part of life. Probably one of the most painful ones. When I sat down to start writing again, I was drawn to Damian's story, and dealing with divorce in his world is one of the big reasons why. Stories allow us to experience rough stuff with a degree of detachment that life generally does not afford us.

The shout out to DID definitely draws on my experience with psychology. The field has always fascinated me. DID is what most would call "multiple personality disorder." DID is the more clinical name. There's a bit of social commentary in the post where Damian sort of flippantly remembers his childhood treatment. If you couldn't tell, I'm not exactly a huge fan of the tendency to medicate everything these days. Sometimes I think solid therapy, support, and listening would be far healthier than the latest chemical cocktail that a pharmaceutical company has dreamed up. (On the other hand, there are a lot of pretty awesome drugs out there. I'm not a zealot or anything... just a light jab at the medical world.)

We'll learn more about the nature of Inigo and Damian in future scenes, but when I started this story the idea of friendly, helpful voices in the head of the main character really interested me. I like to think that dialog is one of my strengths in writing, and voice-in-head provides a very convenient, omnipresent story-telling option. It allows me eliminate a lot of backstory and tell it via interaction, which I think is far more interesting.

This week is a "to be continued" scene. I'll try to edit the rest for next week. In the book I eventually plan to put together, these sorts of scenes will just flow into one another.

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Soul Searching

“Just… look,” Genny said.

Damian frowned, but did as he was told. As he turned back toward the mirror, something happened. A shimmer? A flash of light? He couldn’t honestly have said. His eyes seemed to squint at the same time they were being thrown wide. It felt as if the world around him suddenly got sharper, more vivid, and not the least bit… prickly.

That was the best description he could muster. Something about the air around him poked at him, prodded him, grated against him. Yet at the same time, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. It was a pain that hovered on the verge of pleasure. A seductive tremor.

“What is…?” Damian trailed off.

He noticed his reflection in the mirror for the first time, and the image took his breath away. He’d expected, well, himself. The same boring visage that stared back any other time he made use of a mirror.

What he saw instead was a battled-hardened street tough. Oh, the shape was still his, but everything inside was not, like a coloring book where a child has used all the wrong colors. Orange grass, green sky, a purple sun.

The arms of the man in the mirror were corded with muscle, taunt and twisting beneath gray, heavily scarred skin. Tattoos wound around his wrists and crawled up under his shirt, except they weren't ink; they were furrows, intricate designs carved directly into the skin. The cloth covering his legs was ripped, as if he’d just gotten out of a particularly nasty fight, and his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

Still, it was not the grisly body that frightened him the most. Rather, it was his face. The designs on his arms snaked up the back of his neck and wrapped over the top of his bald head, tapering to seven points where his hairline should have been. His cheeks were sunken and severe, his mouth a grim line. It was still his basic bone-structure, but harder. More chiseled. Even the eyes staring back at him seemed full of stony chips, and deep in the heart of his irises, flames danced.

Damian stretched one gnarled hand outward, and then took and involuntary step back as his reflection did the same. “W-what? What is this?”

“It is a reflection of your soul, Damian,” Genny said, her voice sounding curiously metallic and resonant.

Damian tried to find her in the edges of the mirror, but one of the overhead lights seemed like it was amplified by the strange phenomenon. It was far too bright and stabbed at his forced open eyes. He held up an arm, trying to shield himself from the radiance, but it didn’t help.

Squinting, Damian turned to look for his friend, and the spell was broken. The room muted out. Genny stood nearby, arms folded and looking somewhat embarrassed.

What did she see? Damian wondered.

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Random Scene: Damian's Soul

I have a random scene for today. I totally meant to go edit the next logical scene in the series, but just never got around to it. Instead, I'm giving you a brand-spanking new scene today. Something that just popped out in the last few weeks.

This is one those scenes that will probably raise a lot of story questions. There are a lot of holes in the story before we get to this scene. The danger of sharing this is that I may need to go back and change parts of it to actually fit. Still, I said I was sort of winging this story and putting it all out there. This is part of that.

I'd been doing a lot of soul searching of my own in the last several months. The scene that popped in was a literal bit of soul searching by Damian. Genny is, shall we go with, not-completely-human. When I intro her, she is an obvious love interest, but I'm not sure I've given away that she is much, much more than that yet. Spoiler alert, I suppose. She's more than meets the eye. Like a Transformer (except, you know, she doesn't turn into a truck or anything).

Both Damian and Genny possess a wide variety of special abilities that may or may not come in handy. This isn't magic, really, but we can call it magic for now. Faith-based magic, I guess. Genny is able to see and reveal the soul of humans (and other creatures).

The scene then, was very simply... if Damian could see his soul, what would it look like?

I think it's a pretty cool question to ask yourself. How do you imagine your soul? If someone were to try to describe it from a reflection in a mirror, how would they do that? What words and images would you use, and what would they mean?

This is the 1st draft of the scene. Feel free to point out jarring errors or inconsistencies. I'm not sure exactly how/where I'm going to fit it in yet...

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A Satisfactory Beginning

There he sat, shredding the air with his stare. Watching as the sausagey fingers of his sworn enemy hovered above a shared foe. This peaceable union would never last. It was a simple matter to slay the metaphorical Jabberwock between them and then go galumphing back to a meaningless and antagonistic coexistence.

With a smooth, practiced hand, the enemy of his enemy plunged that mightiest-of-all-weapons downward. Dry scratching filled the room as the wicked instrument of doom worked back and forth, grinding relentlessly until black blood stained in a pattern that was pleasing to the manipulator. Even so, the tragedy was not the sacrifice on the mahogany altar, but the tick, tick, ticking of the round observer on the wall, forever lost down the rabbit hole and funneled directly into Tick Storage Room A.

With a final snicker-snack, it was over.

"I've gone ahead and marked your performance as satisfactory for this quarter."

His boss spoke in a flat monotone. The man’s dry, ashen hair had all but deserted the apex of his head, growing ever thicker as one moved downward to where salt and pepper whisker battled with trembling jowl. Two chins rounded out a face schooled in multiples. Even the beady brown eyes seemed a copy of each other, as if only one had been faxed in by God with instructions for the Earth-bound souls to "go ahead and take care of that."

"Thank you, sir," Damian heard himself reply.

Now is your chance, Damian! Press onward!

He had named the voice in his head Inigo. Or perhaps the voice had named itself, he couldn't remember. It had been a constant companion of his since grade school. The name fit with the Spanish accent, so it had never occurred to Damian to call it anything else.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" his boss asked.

Damian was pretty sure his boss had a name, too. He could dredge it up from his memory, but that would require effort, and he was loathe to give the man even that. It was rumored that, deciphered from its native Managerican, the name would roughly translate as Door Mat. In English, it was probably Bob. Weren't all bosses named Bob?

"No, sir. Thank you."

Bob nodded, pleased with the stability of the boat. "Back to work, then."

Damian felt himself return the gesture. He watched, detached, as his body rose and took one step toward his boss.

What am I doing?

For the briefest of moments, he entertained the notion that he might actually punch the man on the other side of the large desk. But that was silly. He couldn’t afford to lose his job. Could he?

Damian shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind. Hitting the man was not a smart idea, and Damian was not many things – not striking, or strong, or smooth – but he prided himself on being smart.

His body turned and exited the office. Hands balled into fists, Damian stalked away from the corner office. Feeling began to return to his extremities only when he’d made his way back to the forest of cubicles.

Once again, your cowardice shames me, Inigo said.

Damian frowned. It's not my fault, Inigo. There was nothing I could have done.

Lies! Inquiring about the raise you are due would surely have been an appropriate action.

At least I have a job. I should just be thankful. Besides, no one is getting raises, Inigo. And you heard his review. "Satisfactory" does not translate to "raise." Even in Spanish.

Damian, you and I both know that Benjamin just received an increase last week.

Shhh, Damian hissed in his head, we're not supposed to know that. He plodded between rows of desk, frustrated both with the voice in his head and with himself. Mostly with himself. Besides, Ben has been here longer than I have.

Inigo snorted. Yes, a paltry six months, and he does nothing whilst you work.

"You all right, Gardner?"

The voice startled Damian. It belonged to his cube-mate, Ben Windsor. Tall, dark, and handsome, Ben seemed to lead a semi-charmed life, riding the coattails of his suave demeanor and dashing looks to success. Damian was only slightly jealous.

Ben raised a dark eyebrow. Damian echoed his puzzlement at first, but then realized he'd been standing at the entrance to their desk area, mumbling to himself. Heat rose to his cheeks.

"Yeah, we're fine," he replied casually, cursing himself as he noticed the slip in personal pronoun. It had been a rough day. He was losing his focus.

Ben shrugged and shoved an ear bud back in. "Whatever, dude."

The young man spun around in his chair to return his attentions to the glowing screen. Over one of Ben's muscular shoulders, Damian could see a clearly non-work-related video playing. It looked like one of the gentlemen in the clip was about too... yep. Gratuitous nut shot. Ben let out a guffaw, oblivious to the various shades of work going on around him.

Inigo piped up. See?

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Damian Scene 1 Intro

Generally, I try to spread out my posts, but for this whole "live construction" thing, I'm going to do something a little different. I'd like to introduce the scene, maybe place it in context, etc, so I'll make a "scene intro" post prior to the actual fiction post. I think that'll make it a bit easier to follow. That does mean two posts in one day... egads!

Today is what I'm pretty sure will be the opening scene of the story. As such, it doesn't need a whole lot of intro. I cleaned it up a bit from the original posting, both in terms of typos and the hooks I'm leaving myself.

One thing that is interesting about this story is that it's going to delve pretty deeply into my own ideas about faith and Christianity. I've not talked about such things on here much. When creating your own fantasy worlds, I'm sure it rubs off, but it's rarely so obvious. And I'm not a preachy type of person. Still, something I've always wanted to do is make use of my Catholic upbringing to lay the foundations for some world lore. In particular, I've wanted to explore the nature of Angels, Demons, and creatures of that nature. How does one do that without your own faith-bias leeching in? I don't believe you can, or at least not an preserve the characters.

I guess my whole point is that Damian is a very strong reflection of myself and my faith is going to shine through him a bit. I'm cool with it, but religion can be a touchy subject. I wanted to be clear that these are reflections of my faith journey. I'm not pretending to be a biblical scholar here or a preacher or anyone other than a run-of-the-mill, born-and-raised Catholic Christian. I may get some things wrong. Some things may seem skewed to others. That's fine. I'm happy to discuss them. It's one of my favorite things, actually. Just don't expect it to change the story. The reflections are further skewed by the fact that I'm going to make them true to the character, and not necessarily to me. I think that makes sense, especially since the goal is to tell a good story. If you pick up something of what I think of faith in the process, all the better.

Anyway, there's not a whole lot of that in this scene (thought it is introduced). I'd just written a few other scenes recently where I discovered a whole lot about Damian that I'm not sure was even part of the plan... but I think is freaking awesome. That's all I'll say for now. :-)

Scene incoming in the next post!

(I really need to come up with a better title.)

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Sporadic Scenes

I've been working on this post for about five days now. I keep writing a sentence, then getting distracted and telling myself "I'll get to it later," and then never getting to it. I have been working though! My muse caught up to me last night and held me hostage for a couple thousand words. I also gathered all the Damian posts and compiled them into a Word document. I do most of my writing in Word. I'm a pro at using styles.

I was surprised when the total at the bottom read 10440 words. I'm shooting for 50k for these books. That means I'm already 1/5th of the way there. Pretty cool.

I simply labelled them all "scenes" for now, and write at the end whatever I feel like writing that day. If I'm having trouble mustering the energy to write, I try editing for a bit. I'm going to start by re-sharing the edited scenes on here first, reintroducing the story in the process. Then, I'll try to fill some things in. Maybe I'll share a couple scenes out of order. I don't know. We'll see how it goes. I'll at least try to make it clear where I think the scene is going to fall in the story. If you don't want to be spoiled, you can skip later scenes for now. I'm not sure that's an issue though, because I don't think this plot is super twisty or anything. I guess some of the tension will be spoiled by early reveals, but it may balance out since it's more about the journey anyway, right?

I'm going to try to share or re-share one chunk each week. If I get stuck, I may just lay the situation out there and ask for help/advice. Feel free to point out typos or consistency errors. This is sort of like... live novel construction. My creative process isn't all that scary, promise.

When it's all done, I'll wrap it all up and produce an e-book. Anyone that helped along the way will be welcome to a free copy (via Smashwords code that I'll figure out how to send to you). Sounds like fun, doesn't it! Here's hoping....

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Another Check-In

Football ended last Friday for me, freeing up some time. The muse is waking up and stretching her wings.(I imagine my muse with butterfly wings, or on bad days, bat wings.) I still have to catch up with all the stuff I put off during the tumultuous end of the season. I suspect November will bring me back to being able to write a bit each day.

The real question is: what should I write. I've started two series. I'm about a quarter of the way into The Binder's Husband, but I'm not sure I want to work on that one. I might be a tad bit too jaded at this point in time to do it right. The themes and undercurrents I had planned for that one were related to specific situations in my own life. Situations that have since changed.

Instead, the story that is calling to me is the one I started on here. Some of you might recall Damian. I wrote some fictional posts with him as a character. He's darker than my typical protagonist (which is still to say, probably pretty light... I'm just not a horribly dark person), and I'm feeling a bit dark myself.

I didn't originally have a plan for a novel featuring Damian, but the idea has slowly formed in my head over the last few months. These would be shorter books for me (I want to shoot for 50k words instead of my usual well over 100k). I have (very) loose plots for 8 such stories. They'd be more like quick hour-long TV shows than full-length movie (at least in my mind).

I wrote a scene from the forming novel last night. I've done pantsing. I've done loose outlining. I generally write linearly. For these books, I may just write scenes, and then, like a puzzle, fit them all together later. For some reason, that sort of approach really appeals to me right now. It makes it really hard to scope the project though. How will I know when I've written all of the scenes, especially without a real outline? I'm not really sure, but that's part of the appeal as well.

To borrow a saying from one of my all-time favorite fantasy series: "The wheel weaves as the wheel wills." I'm not going to fight it. In fact, I'm just pleased as punch that it's still rolling.

I might share some scenes on the blog. Completely out-of-order, completely unedited. I figure, why not, and I'd love to get feedback. I guess we'll see how it goes.

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Weekly Check-In

Despite my somewhat abrupt leave of absence from writing, I'm still trying to check in once each week. In my opinion, the worst thing you can do to a blog is leave it dormant for long stretches of time. Though the regularity of my content has waned, I don't want it to disappear entirely. I do plan to be back, and stronger than before.

I promised some more information once upon a time, and I'll provide a small bit right now. Apart from my Mom being diagnosed with breast cancer last month, I am also transitioning through a divorce. Such things happen in life, and one of my goals in therapy is going to be to develop a 5-minute version of the story that is mostly positive. I'm not quite there yet, so I won't relate the story. Still with the editor, so to speak.

Yes, therapy. Totally getting it. Totally need it. Totally wish more folks would make use of the many mental health professionals out there. Finding the right therapist can be tricky, but when you find the right one, the dividends are totally worth it. I'm a big fan of psychology and mental health. I think it's something we, as a society, tend to be ashamed of more than is good for us. Consider myself included in that statement. It was definitely a difficult step for me to seek help.

I suppose it feels like failure, but I know that's not the full story. Truth be told, I feel like I'm in pretty good shape given what has transpired. Mom getting cancer, divorce, even alone these can be difficult things to deal with. And I'm getting up, I'm soldiering through. I have a great support network (you guys included). My sense of humor may be somewhat cynical as of late, but I still have it.

For instance, I was researching Indiana divorce law the other night. Real cheery stuff, I know. But on this site were ads. Ads that I'm sure have some sort of targeting algorithm. One of the ads that popped up was for familial insurance. Yes, pictures of puppies, smiling children, and happy spouses. On the "fill out your divorce paperwork online" site. Ad targeting failure.

I did what most slightly unbalanced folks would do. I got angry with the ad, insurance, and the Internet in general. Then, I realized I was mad at an advertisement, and started laughing. So, yeah... therapy.

There's humor in everything, it seems.

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On The Personal Front

For any of you that have been concerned about me on a personal level, I wanted to write a quick post to say that I'm doing well. Lotta stuff still going on in my life, preventing me from really focusing on writing, but I'm pretty optimistic that I'll be back in the saddle sooner rather than later. Adversity seems to provoke the creative mind, so I have plenty of ideas swirling around. I've even jotted some down.

I did whip out a personal post yesterday on my secret public journal. Talks a little more about what is going on (if you're curious) and also a pretty funny story about buying condoms. If that doesn't get you to click through, I don't know what will. :-).

Thanks to everyone that has been supportive. I will be writing more stories at some point, but the dream is still on hold for now.

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On Controversy

Since I don't have writing to write about, I'm going to weigh in on other random interests of mine. This is an "author blog," so it can definitely cover the interests of the author, right? We don't have to be business all the time. (Also, George RR Martin writes a lot about football, and that's what I'm going to do today, so I figure I'm in good company.)

Anyone watch Monday Night Football last night? I did not. But I sure did read about it this morning. The crazy ending seems to be on everyone's mind, and for good reason I suppose. Don't worry, I'm not going to pick on those poor replacement refs. I umpired baseball for five years. Did some soccer and basketball games, too. I've never done a football game, but I feel that there is somewhat a fraternity of officials, no matter what sport. Officiating is not an easy job, especially on the bigger stages. Even with the little league stuff I was doing, you often had unruly parents to deal with. Shocker, I know.

(Random side story. I only ever had to call the cops on a parent one time. I like to think I was a pretty good ump, and generally could explain my calls adequately so that most coaches were placated. There's no instant replay in little league, so while they may question your sense of sight, if you can honestly say what you saw, there's not too much they can do. Disagreements will happen, what matters is if you know the rule you're invoking. Get the rule right, and the rest is just opinion. Most coaches realize this and, though they fight for their kids, will respect you at the end of the game.

With regards to the cop incident, the argument wasn't over a baseball rule, but a league rule regarding equipment. To be fair, it was a bit silly, but it was my job to enforce it, as handed down by my superiors. The parent took issue with it, and threatened to "meet me in the parking lot" after the game. He would not leave the premises. We called the cops. That cooled things off, everyone went home safe.)

So I feel a bit sorry for the replacement refs. Not an easy stage, not an easy job. No officiating is perfect. But here's the thing: what do you imagine the television ratings have done this season? Are people watching less because of the poor officiating? If the media coverage of last night is any indication, more people are tuning in than ever before. It's like the old "train wreck" adage. Human nature is fascinated by the adversity of others. I don't know why. I didn't make the rules.

While we all sit here and say "the NFL has to do something," I feel like I should ask "why?" The NFL is in the entertainment business. Are you not entertained? Is angry entertainment still not entertainment?

It's an interesting thought. Any long time football coach can tell you that the Packers didn't lose that game on the last play. They lost the game because they put themselves in a situation to lose. By now, everyone should know not to depend on the refs to bail you out. If a bad call can hurt you, you have to assume it's going to. You need to play the rest of the game so strongly that there is no doubt at the end of regulation. You cannot blame a loss entirely on a referee, no matter how awful the call.

If I'm an NFL exec, I might be sitting back, cackling with fingers steeple and saying, "Let them stew for a bit. Ratings are up. We're making more money than ever. What's the rush?" Meanwhile, the old refs are out of work, and all it takes are some well placed comments to make it sound like they're the ones "holding out." Then the ire turns on them, and the big wigs keep getting rich. Sometime during the season, they can come up with some "miracle" of compromise, bringing the old refs back in to save the day. Perhaps right before tournament time. Can't ruin the Super Bowl, right? Too much $$ there.

Maybe this is a somewhat cynical view. Perhaps everyone is really trying, in good faith, to get the proper folks on the field as soon as possible. I just know how controversy works. Reality TV didn't rake in the cash because of its utter predictability and happy endings. We, as humans, love controversy. It's entertaining, and we'll pay good money for entertainment. One need only look at photos of the Coliseum in Rome to remember how basic our love of struggle can be; how "old hat" it is.

It sucks to be on the wrong end of a bad call. It really does. Losing isn't fun, either. But--dang!--did we have something to talk about around the water cooler this morning, didn't we?

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Not ROWing Right Now

Sadly, I do not plan to join round 4 of the ROW80 challenge. As obliquely referenced before, my world sort of got Blown the Eff Up (to put it mildly). Such things happen. I am neither the first, nor the last to have run this particular gauntlet. I will rise and write again... just not right now. I have to get through today first. And then tomorrow. And then the next day.

I can't make goals and promises, because all the old ones are still sitting around me in shambles, twisted and blackened from the explosion. And me? I'm like that grizzled war vet in the movies when a bomb goes off next to his head (I'm even sporting the typical unkempt stubble). I've got blood streaming from the ears and I'm wandering around aimlessly with a high pitched ringing in my ears. Occasionally, another soldier sidles into my view, visibly yelling, but not making any sound that I can discern. Also, where is the bunker? There's way too much shit flying around for me to be out in the open like this.

Love is a battlefield. Better go and get my armor.

So while I'm off looking for it, I don't quite feel that I can invest myself in anything productive. The goal, this round, is just to Get By. Haven't we all had a round like that? Doesn't exactly make for interesting blogging, does it? Oh, what did you do this week? I woke up, did some stuff, and then went back to sleep. And I did it seven times! Can you believe it? No, I don't really recall exactly what I did. Strange? I guess I didn't notice.

Sometimes life's just like that, though. When you're going through hell, the best thing to do is keep going.

I wish all you ROWers luck. I'll be lurking a little less than usual, but still lurking. Maybe come New Years, I'll be ready to hop back in. I know I still have stories to tell, I just need to get off this damn beachhead first.

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Stepping Back

I missed the Wednesday check-in. That's all right, I had nothing to report. The last check-in I mentioned priorities. I can honestly say that last week was the worst week I've ever had in my life. Totally trumps the week when my dad died and I had go home, do funeral stuff, then head back to college for finals. And that was a pretty rough week.

I've not told a whole lot of people the full story of what's going on right now. I don't plan on sharing all the details here. For now, at least. Eventually, I'd like too. Suffice it to say, for the few people I've told, the most consistent response has been "holy cow!" And then "if you need anything at all, let me know." I have great family and friends.

Unfortunately, writing has to take a back seat. I love it, I still have dreams to chase, but other, more pressing matters have to come first. I'll still write. I can't stop, especially not now. I just can't really commit to writing anything worthwhile.

I still plan to post the occasional blog post (but likely not as frequent), and lurk where I've been lurking. I may even keep checking in, we'll see. And once things settle, I promise a much less cryptic explanation.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me so far. It means more than you know.

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#ROW80 - Priorities

Well, I don't have a whole lot to say for this check-in. My writing dream is going to have to take a back seat for a bit. There are some important things going on on the personal side of things that require my undivided attention. As such, I'm going to put my goals on hold for now and just be happy if I get anything done at all. I'm still going to try to learn something every week. My WIP is on hold until I find my way out of the woods. I'll probably read some more. I might blog less, just depends on if I have things to say or not.

The new goals (not all that different from the old, just more relaxed):

• Lesson Learned - Life is about priorities. When you know yours and one preempts the others, it makes the decision really easy. Set your priorities before they conflict.
• WIP Progress - 0.
• Blogging - 2 Here. 3 on the gaming blog. 1 personal post. A couple of football posts.
• Reading - I'm reading a football book right now called The Jersey Effect. Pretty neat. The goal is to finish it by the end of the season (Thanksgiving). Shouldn't be hard.

Like I said, I'm just going to be happy with carrying on. I still like to add up the words, though. I won't stop writing, so I shouldn't stop counting. It's just what I do.

• Since last check-in: 2,678
• New Fiction: 0
• Round 3 Total: 47,893

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Fifty Shades of Post

If you came here because this popped up on a search and you're looking for a serious post... turn back! Turn back and head for the hills! Rant incoming!

The following rant is brought to you by a local Mexican eatery that shall remain nameless. Let's call it El Bar and Grill.

I should also throw this caveat up front: I'm going to try really hard not to make any disparaging remarks toward the novels. That's not the point of this rant. Plenty of folks have already ranted about that. This is about the Fifty Shades advertising movement. Make no mistake, it is a movement. A jumping the shark sort of movement. Each and every shade.

Let me back up. What inspired this?

I live in central Indiana. For those that may not remember map coloring class in middle school (we called it social studies, but it consisted of a lot of map coloring), here's a quick fact about the great Hoosier state. Our capital is smack dab in the middle. I remember this being somewhat unique, and some history book saying how this has worked in Indiana's favor as far as transportation goes. If the state is a wheel, the capital is the axle, and wheels work a whole lot better when the axle is more or less centered. Smoother ride, or something like that. I'm no historian.

The side effect is that we have this "all roads lead to Indy" thing going on. My daily commute finds me starting on the very top edge of the axle, and taking a straight spoke north to the lovely city of Kokomo, IN. Kokomo is a unique city, in that it is sort of large... but I think it lacks a certain urban feel to it. The auto industry has formed the backbone of the city, and the city's demographic reflects that. Very blue collar. Maybe it's just me, but I feel this whole city meets country vibe.

Anyway, as I was motoring into town this morning, I spied a sign on the side of the road. It was advertising El Bar and Grill with a photo of several shots lined up on a bar. The tagline read: "Fifty Shades of Tequila." That was all.

I don't get it. Does the tequila mess with you until your utter the safe word? In my vast experience with tequila, the safe word is "where is the bathroom" and even then it does not relent. You're in for a long night.

But this is part of a larger trend. I feel like I've seen Fifty Shades of Your Product Name Here. It's like, if just slap 50 shades on it, it'll sell. Not just with books, but with, well, everything.

I can't help but wonder about the marketing meetings. How was this discussed at El Bar and Grill? "Well, our target demographic is women who read kinky romance novels. This billboard will speak to them. It will conjure just the right amount of whips and chains that make you think... gee I need a shot of tequila, and maybe some taquitos to wash it down."

Are the words "fifty shades" really that powerful that they can catapult your sales, just by a mere rubbing of elbows? Your product doesn't even have to be related, just slap the words down and, BANG, instant sales. Is that really how it works?

I can't imagine El Bar and Grill was licensing the use of the phrase, either. They're pretty local, as far as I know. This is not a big chain. Same goes for most of the other places I've seen it used. (For the record, I'm cool with it being used with, say, an lingerie line. That makes a certain amount of sense.)

It just all seems so crazy. I don't remember anyone ever being like "We make a tasty tequila... Twilight," or "Have a tequila Breaking Dawn," or "Drink a New Moon... oops, we meant Blue Moon, with a tequila shot." Or, to use another giant book franchise (this one unrelated): "Harry Potter and the Many Shots of Tequila."

To be fair, I'd check out that last place. Just so long as I don't have to experience the sequel: "Harry Potter and the Revenge of Montezuma."

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