Tag Archives: nanowrimo

Not to the Swift Preview Chapter 1

This is the first preview chapter of my novel, Not to the Swift. You can find the original post describing the novel here, and the novel is available on my Amazon author page.

 

“Okay, Chris, soon as the bell rings and Mister Jax blows the whistle, make a break for the alley.” Jamal grinned, the light in his eyes a warning that trouble was brewing.

Over a hundred teens milled about in the open yard of Pulaski High, separated into clusters by cliques based on race, gang affiliation, or social status. The two freshmen stood near the schoolyard fence.

On the other side of Lincoln Street, three men stood in the alley, puffs of smoke wafting around their faces. One of them beckoned Jamal with a wave.

Chris looked back toward the double doors of the school. Already some of the nerds gathered, working on homework, waiting to get back to class. When Jamal wasn’t around, Chris would join them and get a head start on the next day’s projects. But Jamal always had something else in mind if he wasn’t busy with his connections or getting high in some dark corner of the school.

“Yo, you with me or not?” Jamal rocked on his feet, eager to escape the afternoon’s classes. His thick arms and chest made him look big and slow, but he could sprint like a jackrabbit. Once again, Chris shoved down disappointment at his own awkward, lanky frame.

“Yeah, man,” Chris said. “I’m with you.”

“Then wake up, bruh, this is serious. These guys promised me a set to work, Eighteenth South, from Madison to Nelson. And I’m bringin’ you in with me. We play this right, we can make serious bank.”

“If we don’t get caught ditching.”

“Man, screw that,” Jamal said with a soft shove at Chris’s shoulder. “Wastin’ time in a stuffy room, solving for x or talkin’ about white dudes hundreds of years ago. That ain’t gettin’ you nowhere fast. My boy Lamar got stacks-a-cash for us—if we get out there and move his product. This is big time, bruh.”

Chris scoffed.

“Okay, okay, true enough. This is a step to the big time. Lamar see us doin’ good work, he’ll maybe hook you up with your own set next to mine. Then we makin’ double what we get at the start.” Jamal looked across the yard at the school doors and Mister Jackson, called “Jax” by the students. The teacher was well out of earshot. “How’s that for some math in real life, Jax? Hundred percent increase in profits.”

Jamal checked his cellphone. “Almost time. Hope you run faster than I remember.”

Chris nodded, swallowing fear. He tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. Mom will kill me if I get caught doing this. She will absolutely murder me if she ever finds out I had anything to do with drugs.

He looked up at the school’s third floor, searching for the admin offices. Mom might be in there… what if she comes to the window? Once again, he decided it sucked having your mother work for your school district.

“Better not punk out on me, man,” Jamal said. “We gotta make a good impression. Show ’em we can get it done.”

A long, clanging bell announced the end of lunch break, and Mister Jackson—a former Marine—loosed a whistle blast that echoed through the yard. The scattered groups of teens plodded toward the doorway while Jax yelled for them to hustle and line up.

“Go!” Jamal took off in a dash, trusting the crowd at the door to serve as distraction.

Chris froze. He tried to pick up his foot and run off after Jamal, but terror held him in check. His eyes watched the office windows. No sign of her. It’s safe. Go!

But something inside balked at the thought of Jamal’s plan. Taking this step felt like getting on the metro. Once the door closed behind you, you went wherever the train was headed, no chance to get off.

Jamal looked back as he ran across the street. His brow furrowed, then he sneered. He said something that looked like an insult, and disappeared into the alley.

Last chance, man. Chris tried to push past his fear. You want to make money? This is real, this is right now, this is your golden opportunity. Whatchu waitin’ for?

He lurched toward the fence and reached the edge of the schoolyard.

“Mister Washington!” Jax’s voice.

Chris froze, hand on the chainlink fence. He winced and turned to face the teacher.

Polo shirt stretched across a wide chest, with the same high-and-tight he’d have worn in the Corps, Jax marched toward Chris. “Where you think you’re headed, son? It’s time for class.”

Chris sighed and moved toward the school.

Jax looked at the alley and frowned. “Washington, I don’t know exactly what you had in mind, but do you realize you were about to make a huge mistake?”

Chris glared at him and kept walking.

Jax laid a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder, halting his progress. “Look, son, I’m not your enemy. But I’m not your friend either. And I’m not stupid. You’ve got hope. You’ve got a future, and you’re going to find it in here.” He pointed to the school doors. “Nothing good for you on that side of the street, you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Excuse me, son?”

“Yes, sir.

Jax put his fists on his hips. “Boy, I could walk upstairs, pull your mother aside, and have a nice chat about what her son’s up to. You want that?”

“No, sir.” This time the respectful tone was genuine.

“I thought not. Here’s my deal with you. I won’t talk to anyone about this, but you promise me you’re not getting into something you’ll regret. And you’re coming to see me for detention after school’s out today. Now let’s move.”

Chris’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, sir.” He followed Jax to the double doors and took his place at the end of the line.

But he glanced back at the alley, just in time to see Jamal and his friends stroll down Lincoln toward Jamal’s set. Jamal’s words echoed in his mind. Better not punk out.

He hoped his ears played a trick on him when he thought he heard Jamal’s laughter on the breeze.

 

 

Sergeant Christopher Mason straightened his crisply ironed uniform shirt and adjusted his cap as he stood outside the Precinct 112 police station. First day. Remember this moment. He smiled, took a deep breath—and immediately regretted it.

Precinct 112’s jurisdiction included the industrial district of Stapleton, Illinois. The smokestacks of the massive car part manufacturing plants pumped God only knew what into his lungs and everyone else’s.

Chris coughed and strode up the stairs to report for duty. Showing up for half a day and a Friday… not a bad plan. The drive from L.A. in a U-Haul truck with a wife and toddler following behind in the family car took two days longer than expected.

He stepped through a packed waiting area and showed his ID to the clerk, a blonde twenty-something with an easy smile once she realized he wasn’t another civilian with a complaint or report. She buzzed him in to the operations floor.

The detectives got the nice desks with computers. Other than a long table in the break room at the back of the station, patrol officers were left to fend for themselves. A female sergeant rushed past with a stuffed folder and an evidence bag.

Chris reached for her. “Sergeant, can you tell me—”

She turned aside and brought her burden to one of the detectives, paying him no heed.

Another officer ignored Chris’s second plea with an abrupt “I’m off duty.”

Welcome to Stapleton. Chris meandered through the ops floor, taking in bits of conversation and noting details. He looked over an enormous street map of the precinct that covered the north wall. Precinct 112 sat divided into eight color-coded regions. Magnets with dry-erase names showed which officers were scheduled for patrol in each zone that week.

He looked for Mason and found his name in a large rectangle at the precinct’s center, slightly east of downtown, running north to south. Kazsinski. Can’t wait to meet him… or her.

Another officer stopped beside him, a studious black woman with a tight bun and a pretty face. She adjusted names on magnets for the residential area on the east side of the precinct.

Chris glanced at her nametag. “Afternoon, Sergeant Bristow. You post the patrol schedule?” His academy instructor’s voice echoed in his mind. Always pays to know the scheduler. Never disappoint your Captain, never screw over your scheduler, and you’ll be fine.

She gave a silent nod, then spared him a second glance. “Mason… right. New guy.” She extended a hand and gave a firm shake. “Welcome to Stapleton. Your first patrol’s next week, good luck in the Twenties.”

“Uh, sure, thanks,” he answered. “Can’t wait to hit the street. But can you point me to the Captain’s office first?”

She laughed. “My bad. Captain’s office is down the hall around the next corner. Good timing, I think your new partner’s in there now.”

“Perfect.” Chris nodded his thanks and hurried to report in. His shining dress shoes clicked on the tile floor with military precision. But a sudden voice swallowed up the sound.

“Come on, I had the last one! You gave me Jarvis, and that guy was a moron. Do me a solid here, give him to someone else.”

A soft voice replied behind the tinted door and windows ahead, but Chris couldn’t make it out. He slowed as he neared the door. Stenciled letters read ‘Michael McCullough, Captain of Police, Precinct 112.’

“Look at the record. This kid’s so fresh outta academy, he’s probably still wearin’ T-shirts with the logo on the chest.”

Chris blushed and stood at parade rest outside the Captain’s door.

“Kazsinski,” the other voice growled. “You know why I give you the new guys? ‘Cause you get results. If half my force hit the beat like you, the Mayor would finally be off my—as a matter of fact, look who we got here. Come in!”

Chris turned the knob and entered. “Sergeant Mason reporting for duty, sir.”

Kazsinski snickered. He looked like a caricature of a bodybuilder, with an oversized chest stuffed into a too-tight uniform shirt, tucked into a pair of creased trousers over thin chicken legs. His blonde spiked hair looked frozen in plastic, and his abnormal jaw muscles bulged. He probably does reps clenching his teeth with all his “bros” just for that effect.

The Captain seemed the opposite of everything Kazsinski represented, with thinning grey hair, some chubbiness under his chin, and a decent beer-belly stretching his waistband.

“Have a seat, son, and relax. Meet your new partner, he’s gonna show you the ropes.”

Kazsinski huffed and spun toward the door. “I got tickets to file. See you tomorrow morning, six forty-five, ready to ride, scrublet.” He stormed out and let the door slam behind him.

 

 

Chris Washington rubbed his palms together, trying in vain to get the dry-erase marker powder and chalk out of his skin. Backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds buzzing with distorted bass, he walked out of the school and checked the time on his cracked phone screen.

The display read quarter past four. René is gonna walk home on her own any minute now, and I’m gonna catch it from Mom. Better to take the beating now than to wait for later.

He paused the music and dialed his mother’s number. Before he hit call, strong hands grabbed his shoulders. Chris jumped and spun with a yelp.

Jamal laughed. “Yo man, I knew you’d punk out.”

Chris bristled and kept walking. “Screw you, man, I wasn’t gonna get busted for cuttin’ class to hang with the Kings. My mom would kill me.”

“How long you gonna be a Momma’s boy, dog? Carryin’ all your books home, doin’ homework on lunch break.” Jamal pointed back at the school. “Man, just ’cause your mom work at Pulaski don’t mean all this gonna do you any good.”

“Education will do me good,” Chris countered. “It’ll get me the hell out of the Twenties.”

“Yeah, whateva. Keep talkin’ white if that works for you.” Jamal put his hands in his pockets and followed Chris for a moment, then spoke with a warmer tone. “You know what does me good? My buddies Ben and Grant.” He flashed two large bills. “Not bad for an afternoon. How much cash you make today, cleanin’ the classroom boards?”

“Jax gave me detention instead of tellin’ my mom what he almost caught me doin’. You should be glad I didn’t turn you in too.”

“Nobody like a squealer, Chris. Don’t even think about it. The Kings be on you in no time. Besides—” He clapped Chris on the back. “I put in a good word for you.”

“Say what?”

“Please. They saw you choke. They ain’t gonna give you product to push. But I told ’em to give you another chance. Maybe when the heat dies down an’ Jax has other kids to worry about, you can come with me. I’ll hook you up.”

Chris ignored the queasy feeling building up. “Hang on man, I gotta call my mom to pick up René.” He dialed and held the phone up before Jamal could object.

“Hey Mom. Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way home now.”

Jamal cracked an imaginary whip. Chris glared at him then turned away. “I got held after class to work for Jax—sorry. Mister Jackson. No, ma’am, I didn’t. I’m with Jamal, we’re headed home. No, really.” Jamal gave Chris a mischievous smirk.

“He’s not like that, Mom. Yes ma’am… Uh, can you pick up René? She always leaves if I’m later than four thirty. Thanks, Mom. Bye.”

Jamal cracked up when Chris lowered the phone. “Yes ma’am, no ma’am, whatever you say, ma’am.”

“You met my mother, bruh?” Chris slapped the back of Jamal’s head. “Talk about punkin’ out. I bet you say ‘yes ma’am’ real quick if you come by our place. Or she put you in your place.”

Jamal chuckled, but nodded. “Yeah, true dat.”

 

 

Sergeant Mason’s head swam with information from briefings. Equipment hung in his locker, an issued weapon sat on an armory shelf, and a file folder stuffed with signed documents joined the others in the records room. The afternoon whirlwind of activity drew to a close. But now he was ready for duty.

Chris noted the long shadows and amber sunset hues in the windows of the ops floor. He checked his watch and gathered his things.

His cell buzzed and a text message from Laura flashed on the screen. “I’m in the parking lot. The Bee is with me. How was first day?”

With a smile and a joyful step, Chris made for the exit to see his wife and daughter.

“Mason!” The captain’s voice rang in the hallway to his office. “Got a sec?”

Of course I do. Even if I don’t. Chris walked with a brisk clip, fired off a text to let Laura know he needed a few minutes, and entered the open office without knocking.

The captain grunted a greeting without looking up from his computer screen, fingers tapping keys. “I know you’re on your way home, Mason, but there’s something you should know. Close the door, son.”

Chris did so, then stood at parade rest. “What’s wrong, sir?”

Captain McCullough paused his work and looked up to meet Chris’s gaze. “The stuff I told you about Kaz? Forget all that. He gets to babysit rookies—sorry for the term, but that’s what it is—because he’s hopeless. None of the vets will work with him. He’s certainly not the best I got. But he’s the open patrol slot where I could put your name.”

“Okay, Captain, understood.”

“I’ve got some special training lined up for next week that might help him sort himself out. Might help get you on the right path from the start, too. But listen, a new guy like you can still learn some things from him. Kaz knows the precinct well, and can teach you what to look for. He does a decent job while he pisses everyone else off, so figure out the stuff he does right, and throw away whatever else he tells you. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain nodded and returned to his work.

“Sir? I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Hmm?” He kept his eyes on the screen, and kept typing.

“I keep hearing about the Twenties. That’s where Kaz and I are scheduled to patrol starting Monday.”

“Yeah, the Twenties…” The captain chuckled and sat back, hands behind his head. “Most of our trouble starts there, with the Southern Kings and the Mercy Disciples shooting each other up. Same way no one wants to ride with Kaz, no one wants to ride in the Twenties. That’s behind enemy lines to us, Mason.”

Great. Chris swallowed hard.

“I send rookies there first,” Captain McCullough said. “Trial by fire. You learn to deal with that place, everywhere else in the precinct is cake.” He noticed Chris’s reaction and softened his tone. “Don’t worry. Kaz may be a brick some days, but he can handle a rough situation. Pretty soon, this’ll all be old hat to you. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed. Leave the door open, please. And Mason? Get a good night’s sleep.”

“Thanks, sir. I’ll try.” He left the office.

Chris stepped outside to his wife’s smiling face and his daughter’s delighted squeals, and his mood brightened. Their hugs gave him comfort—one around his neck, one around his right leg. But he couldn’t shake the dread that latched onto him like a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder.

Preview – Not to the Swift

A year and a half ago, I completed my first National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge–I wrote a novel with over 50,000 words in the month of November. I revised and published the book last year, but I never really promoted it on my blog.

I’m a huge fan of caveat emptor – Let the Buyer Beware. No one wants to drop money on something with no idea what they’re actually going to get.

So over the next two weeks, I’m going to schedule posts for preview chapters of the book. But you can always go on my author page at Amazon and find all my books available there in both paperback and Kindle editions.

What’s this book about?

When I first committed to writing a novel, I planned on doing one of my fantasy projects. But around that time, the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson and the resulting explosion of racial tensions dominated the news. What I saw online frustrated me, because I knew that there was more to the story than any one side would likely present. Such complex issues aren’t answered by sound bites and 140-character policy statements, and anyone who thinks they are doesn’t deserve my attention or consideration. (Good advice for the current election, perhaps.)

I read up on aspects of culture I had no exposure to. I sought out perspectives that were unlikely to appear on my Facebook feed or regular web browsing. And at this time, I got sucked into some great books by Malcolm Gladwell that address human nature from an analytical angle using racial tensions and the civil rights movement as primary examples.

I was amazed, moved, challenged, and inspired. And I knew that though I arguably have no right to say anything on the subject of racial tensions, I had to write this book.

The back cover synopsis is as follows:

When a white policeman shoots an unarmed black teenager, the faith and strength of two families are shaken and a Midwest inner city community struggles with all-too-familiar tensions. The city’s lead investigator strives to control escalating protests, a middle school teacher tries to calm her frightened students, and a pastor sees a rare opportunity for his community’s voice to be heard. The victim’s friend feels the prison walls of gang and drug-related violence closing in, and the officer suffers under a burden of guilt and shame. But the heaviest decision falls on average-Joe hospital technician George Washington, who finds himself–gun in hand–face to face with the man who killed his son.

 

Most Words in a Week

I started logging my daily word count this year in an effort to 1) see how much I am or am not accomplishing, and 2) push myself to do more. 

Camp NaNoWriMo kicked off in April and I thought I had a good guesstimate of how many words I could knock out on my April project. And last week I logged the most words of any week this year. 

  
7,442? That’s my best effort this year?!

I got a few word sprints in with my virtual cabin-mates. I spent a couple hours at Starbucks on Sunday, cranking out words. And Thursday I took it easy to spend some time off with my kids and to get over a headache.

Still, it feels like a weaksauce effort. I can only guess how much time I spend browsing Facebook (then closing it, then reopening it a minute later as if everyone may have just updated). I don’t know how many YouTube videos I watched of Gordon Ramsay swearing at people (it’s a terrible but addictive vice). And when I “need to veg” for a bit, I make time to level up yet another toon on World of Warcraft. 

I’m sure I did better in November during the actual NaNoWriMo event, or December when I finished up my book revisions and got Diffraction onto Amazon and Kindle Unlimited (hint hint).

But I’m nowhere near the goal I set for the month on my Camp NaNo novel… not even if I count all the words written on other projects.

I know these things take time and effort. And I’m happy that I have 7400+ words more than I had the week before.

But good Lord this is not an easy discipline to master. 

Maybe I should take up cooking. Gordon has some great “how to” videos…

This Year's Projects

So I discovered that roughly two months of NaNoWriMo pace at my “second job” / “jobby” is too much for me. 

 

Yay! But also “OW! Thank God it’s over!”
 
I wasn’t about to miss out on November. I had a project bouncing around in my head since last November, waiting for its moment in the spotlight. The idea of psychic reconnaissance 30 years in the future proved to be a lot of fun for me to write. So 50,000 words later, Perdition is probably 80% complete. (I had some scenes I toyed with beforehand, and I have some gaps to fill in.)

On December 1st, I transitioned to my new goal–the “Christmas present to me” of completing and self-publishing my fantasy novel I’d written and revised off-and-on since 2008. Diffraction made it out the door laaaate in the evening of the Winter Solstice here on Okinawa, an appropriate timing for the struggles of the main character as an outcast and religious rebel in her community. Several friends bought copies, and a couple people read some of it on Kindle Unlimited. Then I ran a NYE giveaway and got 70 Kindle copies out there into the ether. Plus I have a shipment of paperback copies coming my way, with a few committed purchasers waiting. 

It’s no break-out success but I’m happy with it. 

What’s on tap this year? 

1. Finishing Perdition. It would be silly to leave it on the back burner when it’s this close to done.

2. Critique my wife’s NaNoWriMo draft. Jem surprised me, our writers’ group, and pretty much everyone who knew how her progress had been going. A day into the event, an idea sparked her creativity and she started brainstorming. But with about 4 days left in November, she had maybe 10K words. So instead of giving up, she declared “I am doing this.” And she knocked out the 50K before the deadline. She did awesome, and as she’s my biggest supporter and fan, I want to be the same for her. 

3. I hope to return some attention to short stories and flash fiction like Rachael Ritchey’s Blog Battle. I also want to get back to my Echoes project on WattPad, which has been ignored for the past two months. 

4. Most of all, my goal is to return to the Bordermarches and pen another book in my fantasy world (I have six or seven planned, in different time periods). I hope to put Diffusion into public sales by Dec 21st. In fact, I took time last night to touch up one of the first scenes.

I figure if I could manage 50K in a month while forsaking almost everything else, then manage touching up and publishing a 140K word fantasy novel in the run-up to Christmas, then a goal of 20K words a month is reasonable. If I do really well, I’ll finish the first draft of Diffusion in time for Markday (Midsummer), which would be a lovely treat.

Hopefully, I’ll get to spend more time with all of you lovelies on WordPress along the way. I always enjoy reading about your journeys, wherever they may lead. Thanks for joining me on mine. 

Christmas Present to Me

So NaNoWriMo is over, and I have another 50,000 words down on my future military / psychic reconnaissance novel. A few middle and ending scenes need to be filled in, and it’s all a disordered jumble in one document at the moment. But I’m happy to have completed my 2nd NaNoWriMo event.

  
I learned (or re-learned) a few things along the way, which I’ll post over the next month. 

But more importantly (to me), this frees me up to focus on revising and publishing my fantasy novel that I finished in late Spring. Thanks to several very helpful and thoughtful first readers, I have some solid suggestions on fixes and changes.

I’m going to start posting the first few chapters as a lead-up to the book being publically available online–which should happen by Christmas. It’s my present to me… and maybe to some of my friends who are already after me to work on book 2. 

If all goes well, this year’s group of Okinawa NaNo participants will also form a monthly writers’ group–something we wanted to do last year but couldn’t due to various military commitments and obligations. I’m ecstatic, since I maintain that’s the absolute best way to grow as a writer. I enjoy it so much I wrote a book about it, called Elements of Critique

And sadly, when I look at the news out of my hometown Chicago and other places around the States, I see very little has changed from the stories dominating the headlines last year. When I completed my first NaNoWriMo, racial tensions and community relations occupied my mind. More importantly, I could not ignore the wide gulf of animosity I saw on social media between people holding opposing viewpoints. And I wondered if anyone really considered the hurting families and broken lives in the aftermath of Ferguson and other flare-ups of racial tension. My book, Not to the Swift, is my effort to understand and empathize as a fellow father, husband, human. Seeing or considering what others go through reminded me how much I have to be thankful for. 

I hope Thanksgiving and the oncoming holiday season find you well and give you the chance to count your blessings. Maybe that can be another Christmas present we give ourselves. Gratitude and contentment seem truly counter-cultural in the West, so this is our chance to be ironic hipsters and go against the flow.

Grateful always for your time and attention,

Dave

NaNo Swag!

I’ve got mail!

 

Supplies are limited!
 
An exciting batch of “swag” arrived from the organizers of National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo… a stack of postcard-sized explanations of the event, and a small batch of stickers to give to participants. 

 

This year’s T-shirt design.
 
If you didn’t know, NaNoWriMo is an annual writing challenge where participants attempt to write a novel of at least 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th.

It was the driving force behind me finishing my first book, Not to the Swift.

I’m a Municipal Liaison this year, which means I get to help organize events and tell people what’s going on so that interested writers can get together to share in the joy and misery. 

Also I got a sweet T-shirt.

 

I always thought NaNoWriMo sounded like the old Batman theme…
 
It’s one month away, and it costs nothing but effort and commitment. Whether you outline and plan every detail in a story, or loose wild characters into a fun setting to see what happens, it’s an exciting time to hone your craft.

And especially if you think, “Well, I can’t do that,” know that plenty of us said the same thing for years. Then we sat down and did it. So you can too, and we’d love to cheer you on along the way. 

There’s plenty of time to sign up.

Your imagination is waiting.

You Didn't Write That

I got an email from social writing platform WattPad celebrating my accomplishment in their recent 1-month writing challenge. “Congratulations! You wrote it!”

They ran an event for the month of August for their 2015 Wattys (their internal awards), using the slogan and hashtag #JustWriteIt. The goal? Write a story within a 30 day period, with at least 10,000 words. 
  
“Just ten thousand,” I thought, “that’s it? NaNoWriMo was fifty thousand words, and I completed that. So ten thousand is nothing. Easy-peasy.”

A little further inspection of the email made it clear no one had actually checked whether I really did write that much.

Which is good… 

…because I didn’t.

It was classic “the tortoise and the hare” stuff that brought me down. “So few words! I have all kinds of time. I can take a little break over here… the tortoise will never reach the finish line.” Days pass, then weeks. Then I see my word count isn’t where it needs to be, but busy schedules and competing priorities get in the way. 

“I have maybe one day left… if I sit down tomorrow and pound out the last 3,000 words, I could finish the 10K.”

But it’s a 30 day challenge, not a one month challenge… so what started on August 15th ended September 13th, not the 15th. 

The email arrived at 11:55 PM. The celebratory tone poured a little salt in the wound on my pride, and reminded me of the simple truth about writing or any other hobby we claim to take seriously. 

Writers write. 

They don’t just talk about writing, or talk about what they wrote in the past. They don’t just read about how to write better, or collect supplies and gimmicks and tips on cool, inspirational writing locations.

Being a writer involves intentional effort, effort that I failed to make.

So, what now? 

Well, I’m enjoying the Echoes story I started, and plan to continue it. It’s a nice side project if I want something I can break into smaller chunks (compared to working on a novel). 

And NaNoWriMo prep is in full-swing, with a little over a month before the kick-off. I’m going to be a Municipal Liaison this year, so I’m going to be encouraging others to accomplish the challenge while trying to complete my own. 

I managed to finish last time, and sure enough, it was all because of disciplined effort instead of any supposed skill. 

It took writing during almost every free moment. Beating a 1666 word goal each day before letting my hobbies distract me. Putting aside things I really enjoyed to focus on what I said I wanted. Avoiding the inclination to take a breather if some hard work over the weekend got me a bit ahead of the daily goal.  

For example, my wife started playing the new expansion to World of Warcraft when it came out in the middle of the month. I listened with eagerness to her descriptions of all the added features… then I kept typing the next scene in my book.

I finished the 50K a couple days early and finished the first draft of the book just before the end of the month. 

People balk at the idea of writing a book in a month. They hear the number of words and wonder if it’s possible. It’s both challenging and easy, in a way. You just sit down and write. Then keep writing. Then write some more. Then do it again the next day. 

We make time for what’s truly important to us. We make excuses when it doesn’t matter enough. And when we know something is easy, we may fail to put in the effort.

It’s harsh, but it’s more true than the email celebrating my success. 

After writing about hopes and dreams and possibilities, it strikes me that I don’t want a lingering memory of “what if I had?” 

I want to look back with pride and joy, saying, “That’s what I did.”

Woulda Coulda Shoulda

It seems inevitable. You work on something for days, weeks, even months. You reach the point where you’re satisfied that this is a good, finished product. You click “Publish” or “Submit” or some equivalent…

…and immediately you notice mistakes. 

 

“Oh no… how did I miss that?!”
 
I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time last year and completed a manuscript of a novel inspired by current events. Then I deployed to the Mid-East for almost four months, with grand intentions of re-reading and revising the draft (as well as finishing my fantasy novel, and starting a futuristic military novel). 

You know what they say about the best laid plans, and this was no exception.

In late May or early June I got the email from the nanowrimo account warning me that I would lose my reward of two free hard copies from CreateSpace if I didn’t use them by the end of June. I refocused my attention on the manuscript and got it ready for public release. I sent the materials into CreateSpace and started working on reformatting the document for the Kindle edition. 

Then I found the issues I wish I noticed sooner: two supporting characters whose plot threads could have been expanded and better resolved. Later feedback revealed an erroneous technical detail about hospital equipment that a little more research might have resolved. And while I got good in-person reviews from a couple first readers, I also learned they had a hard time connecting to the main characters–feeling what the characters felt, sensing their reactions to the various crises in the plot. 

So while I chalk this up as a win, I also have to recognize where I could have done better. 

1. Critique is essential. Bad on me for skipping it, since I wrote a book about this. Other readers see the weaknesses and mistakes I cannot. If I wasn’t going to pay the money for a professional editor, I should have taken the time to solicit some alpha readers’ input. 

2. There are five senses. It’s basic advice but a great reminder. A lot of the description in the novel provided sufficient detail for sight and somewhat for sound. But there are missed moments where taste, touch, and smell could have shined.

3. Plot like a roller coaster. Let the drama rise and fall to create pauses and build tension between rushes of excitement. Perhaps in the interest of trying to create good hooks, my characters go through a never-ending rush of drama, from one crisis to the next. I’m not saying everything should be happy go-lucky, but I could’ve included a few beats of humor or serenity in the midst of the chaos.

4. Good writing outshines wordplay trickery. I went with two characters with the same name as a way of driving home the point that we’re all pretty similar. In retrospect, the confusion that causes for readers doesn’t seem to be worth any supposed payoff. (Critique would have caught this… to her credit, my wife told me this was a problem and I foolishly went along with my grand plan instead.)

5. There’s no rush if you’re self-publishing. I let myself be fooled by the “deadline” of the nanowrimo reward. But that reward only saved me maybe five dollars. On the one hand, it spurred me to finish the project and get it out into the open, which I might not have otherwise done. On the other hand, it created a false sense of urgency that blinded me to some of the areas where I could have written a much better novel. Better to get it right than to regret missed opportunities. Like many things in life, victory in the battle to become a writer goes sometimes not to the swift

Lessons (hopefully) learned. I will do better next time. 

Finding Myself on Amazon

So I searched for my name on Amazon and to my delight, I see my two books available.

Elements of Critique (Kindle) is a 30-chapter guide to performing constructive critique and giving thorough feedback for writers and critique groups. It’s a revised compilation of the A-Z blog series I did last year. The topics cover a range of aspects to look for when reviewing a piece of writing, whether someone else’s or your own. Three chapters at the end lay out how to set up a potential critique group if a healthy one isn’t already available to you. A paperback version is available here.
Not to the Swift (Kindle) is my NaNoWriMo novel, born from my response to the dominant news story at the time: the tensions and protests in Ferguson, Missouri following the death of Michael Brown. I spent a couple months researching and reading about experiences outside my norm, because I couldn’t get the story I envisioned out of my head. A paperback version is available here.
 

Naturally there are several David Williamsons, so if you’re looking for ME, use the links in the text above.
 
Seeing these online is a surreal experience. I don’t know why it should feel strange; publishing–even self-publishing–is usually the point. Otherwise, why am I wasting my time? 

Yet it feels awkward to have my “babies” available to purchase at a click.

Needless to say, this is a small step by a fledgling writer. Anyone can self-publish anything and get it on Amazon, so I understand how much this does and doesn’t really mean.

But to me, it’s the end result of several months of effort and a milestone towards what I hope to accomplish in the future. With my fantasy novel in the hands of alpha readers, a couple Chicken Soup for the Soul of Military Families submissions in the works, and a sci-fi project currently a few chapters into the first draft, I’m excited about what lies ahead.

Thanks for encouraging and supporting me on the journey, wherever it leads. 

Back Where I Started

On a deployment six and a half years ago, to a “secret” undisclosed location in Southwest Asia (that everyone knew all about), I picked up some D&D rulebooks to keep boredom at bay.

I read through the rules of the game, and noted some of the authors’ suggestions for ideas players could use for their characters–or Dungeon Masters could use to write stories those characters could star in, like a Choose Your Own Adventure.

And it struck me that no matter how well I planned a story, real live people would make decisions I didn’t anticipate, causing the Adventure to go in any of several exciting ways–but not the way I first envisioned.

So why not write the story the way I wanted to?

I sat under the Memorial Plaza’s massive double-tent (affectionately referred to by most as “the bra” for how it appears from a distance) or at the Coffee Beanery shop across the street, and I began to write.

I’ve written things before, of course. But during my two trips here several years ago, I decided to take writing seriously. Within a couple years of studying novel writing and elements of style, over the course of six plus months deployed (and time writing at home), I’d typed out over 100,000 words of a massive fantasy tale.

But the material borrowed too heavily from genre tropes. It sounded too much like World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons in novel form. It had no unique element to separate it from the rest of the books on any fantasy shelf, along with too many elements I discovered had been done before and better than anything I’d write.

I decided to shelve the thing until I could devise some fixes to all the problems I saw. And I worked on other projects until I found the solutions to those glaring issues.

I regret that decision. It took me six and a half years to develop the discipline to finish a full novel manuscript–not of this fantasy project, just a novel–because I’d learned to give up part way whenever I felt a project had too many flaws.

So here I sit, where I began years ago, halfway through the almost-completely-rewritten manuscript of my long-planned fantasy novel. A lot has changed. Almost everything about the world, the magic systems, and the long-term plan for the story is different than when I first envisioned it. Also, I’m allowed to sit here in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt instead of wearing Air Force PT gear.

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Most important, I’ve proven to myself through NaNoWriMo that I can finish what I start, flawed or not.

So this time, I will have a completed draft before I depart for home. I may find my way out here again in the next few years, but I don’t want this novel to come with me for a fourth trip.