Saturday, November 24, 2012


Someone once asked me why I don’t write anything happy or funny.  I am happy sometime, I’m funny—or so I’ve been told.  Johnny Cash had his black outfits, his dark songs (skip the bullshit gospel junk).  I have my stories.  I wish I didn’t sometimes.  Most of my stories are ripped right from my life in some capacity.  In “Tom Ford, the Girl, and Rejection” he loses his family.  Ditto.  In “The Numbness” he encounters his father corpse, a man he hated all his life.  Ditto.  In “The Surrogate” she longs to have loving family minus an insane mother and abusive father.  Ditto.  In the yet unpublished “A Patch of Earth, a Spot of Sky” he tries, and for the most part is unsuccessful, to come to terms with showing feelings of sadness for someone he’d admired.   I could go on and on…  I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve never had that feeling of contentment.  I’m 39, about halfway finished with my life.  I’m alone.  I’m pretty much broke for the time being.  I worry constantly about the next catastrophe to come down the pipeline.  Women, the one’s I’d be interested in are married, attached, or more messed up than myself.  Some of the them enjoy my company when it’s necessary to get a fix of feeling good about themselves and then they move on.  I’m left alone again.  But I condone it through my actions so I must get that fix as well.  It’s not a happy time.  Therefore, I write.  And it’s during the shitty times that I write the most.  So maybe someday I’ll not write at all because I’m content.  Or maybe I’ll write that sweet story that must be inside of me.  It’ll be my own version of that Johnny Cash gospel music phase.  Until then, I’m the man in black.     

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Digital Publishing--No, sir, I don't like it.

It's been a good past couple of weeks writing-wise.  Found out I was published and didn't know about it.  This I can blame on two things:  I never check Submishmash for follow up because I assume I'm going to get an email or phone call if I'm wanted, two: they never emailed which they usually(no I mean always) do if your story is wanted.  It's a nice looking publication and I was paid $00.00 which is nice.  Another story, I found out was accepted as well.  I feel it's too good for their mag.  Looking at the number of acceptances they have each e-zine issue tells me the story either isn't that good or it's too good to not see paper.  I'm having a difficult time embracing the digital format.  I know it's the wave of the future and all, but I like seeing mags I was printed in on the top shelf of my bookcase--not bookmarked on my computer.  Vanity. 

My novella Penitence was introduced to the digital world.  I haven't seen a penny from Amazon yet.  I made money when it was in paper though.  After I got the rights back to it I rushed to upload it onto Amazon which, despite their advertisements, is an assload of work if you want it to look nice.  I'll have to look into not receiving any money.  According to their site, I've sold several copies and am owed my whopping .31 a copy sold.   But I'm not retiring anytime soon even if they pay me.

My buddy Benltey Little mailed me a letter last month.  In it, he responded to my bitching about the digital format.  He too doesn't seem to care for it.  He did, though, liken it to his being published in several low budget magazines which are no longer in print.  Take what you can get.  He told me to shoot for paper pubs first, then settle for digital.  I'll settle for digital with some of my stuff.  But the stuff of mine that I know is damned good will have to wait for paper. 

Here's my flash fiction story, The Numbness, published in Emerge (page 28-29):  

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

It's Not a Hobby

Writing.  What other hobby can make you feel so good and so bad at once?  None.  But it's not a hobby.  Writing is something you do because you know you can do it.  You may even be so flamboyant as to think it'll be published.  One thing I've learned though, is to separate the two aspects of writing, the putting it all down on paper and the submitting.  There have been a very few times when I've written something that actually made me tear up with thoughts that "this is good.  this is really good."  There is no reason to give myself that feeling then check the status of submissions at my submission email address.  There isn't a reason to check my Submittable to see if something that once made me feel like crying for joy now makes me feel like sobbing for other reasons. 

My story "A Patch of Earth, a Spot of Sky" is one of those such stories.  I wrote it, felt all gooey inside after doing it, then sat on it forever.  I looked at it again and still thought, it's pretty damned good.  I edited it, changed some things around, then felt all gooey--gooier even.  I sat on it some more.  Finally, I sent it off.  First to one mag, then a bunch of them.  To date, it's out there in the writing ether.  Imagine my disappointment when I got the first rejection.  With no comments.  But it's only one.  And it's been out for awhile.  I'm curious to see if this story that I'm so close to, that I've totally departed from my more traditional style, is as good as I think it is.  But if it isn't, eventually it will be.  And I'll get that gooey feeling again, that pretentiousness that prompts me to submit it.  I've made it a rule to not check for these submissions statuses until after a couple hours of writing.  If I feel the writer's high, to heck with checking it.  I'll ride this feeling, then check later.   

Now, about my book I need to submit...