Kind Words Make a Good Day

I'll be honest. I'm a bit sick of promoting my book. I know it's important, and I'm thrilled with the reviews so far, but sometimes it becomes a bit much and I start to think I'm becoming narcissistic, if not an egomaniac. Even looking at my Facebook feed makes me grimace. Yet another post about The Last Angel? Really?

Unfortunately, that's part of the deal for anyone who owns their own business. Forget that I'm an artist. If you don't promote your work, who will? The notion that you can "stand on your own" and "just let people find you" is nonsense. The truth is, you have to push. You can do it with class and humility, but you still have to push. Fortunately, most people seem to understand this, and if your work is good enough, they'll even applaud you for bringing it to their attention.

It's still uncomfortable though. 

That said, the reviews for The Last Angel have been very encouraging, and today was one of those days when an author is very encouraged. First, I found this new review on Goodreads:
"Full disclosure: Stephen is a best friend. Also: I'm a discriminating reader and read widely across genres: from Sanderson to Atwood to non-fiction to theological tomes. The Last Angel was quite unlike anything I've ever read - and I loved it. 

Frankly, I'm not used to reading "page-turners;" that's what The Last Angel is. I'm not used to encountering deep, contemporary theological questions about the nature of God in a novel; that's what The Last Angel does. I'm not used to loving a world so much that I wished the book weren't over and can't wait for the next one; again: The Last Angel. 

The writing style is fast-paced, but doesn't sacrifice on richness: you get the sense that this is a deep world and the characters have a thick backstory. Something happened decades ago that shaped the setting and moulded the people, and you just want to find out everything you can about it. Steve does not disappoint: he slowly time-releases this information exactly when it suits the plot and gives the reader a jolt of surprise.

From Tommy and Kallie, to the Nephilim and even (unexpectedly) the Ganath and supporting characters, everyone is important and unique - no character feels "tropey," but rather imbued with their own emotions and motivations. This serves the action well, as we're never quite sure what to expect - but when the characters act, it's because they're being true to the selves that we're discovering as readers methodically throughout the story. 

'Loved the author's iconoclastic questions about God. You get a sense of his wrestling with traditional pat answers about God - and it's fun that he puts those struggles in the mouths of authoritative "angelic" characters such as the Nephilim and the Ganath. These are not trivial pop-neo-athiest or evangelical stereotypes. The creatures in this book have the same questions we do about God in a world like ours, but they know just a little more about "Father" by proximity. And what they say about him makes sense.

In short: I ripped through this book, reading it whenever I had spare time - even just a few pages at a time if the minutes allowed. I didn't want to leave the world - and can't wait to get back to it in Book II. This is a fast-moving, action-packed, theology-filled thrill. I haven't had so much fun reading a novel in years. "

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted a picture of the book with this message: 
"Look what came in the mail today!! A friend of mine has published his very first novel, and let me tell you it's goooooood. SO excited to have a copy! If you enjoy reading, pop over to Amazon and grab a copy for yourself, you won't be disappointed!! Available in print or e-novel, just specify which you prefer once you click the link below 😉"

Two more people posted pictures of the book as well, and it was all, well, it was very humbling. And it made my day. 

As I go through this process for the first time, it's amazing that I've never realized how important it was to share my love for a particular piece of art and what a difference it made for the artist.

Amazon and Goodreads make a work more accessible by the number of reviews that a work receives. That's it. It doesn't even matter if those reviews are negative. When a book causes people to comment, the algorithm finds the work more easily. 

That, of course, mirrors our society. When a Kardashian, with the intellectual vigor of an astute five-year-old,  can pull down great ratings, we begin to see what drives modern commerce. 

I'm not dismissing my society or snubbing my nose at it, but what I am saying is that if you do find an artist you like, take a couple of minutes to promote them. Write a review. Rate their work. Send them an email. All of this sounds, in some ways, quite ridiculous, because for all that we can comment on the internet about things we like and don't like, the disconnect between artists and those who enjoy their work have never been higher.

But today a few people took the time to tell me, and their peers, how much they enjoyed my book. It not only made my day, but inspired me. So if you find an artist whose work you like, let them know. Let your friends and family know. And for goodness sake, if you're looking for reading material, pick up a copy of The Last Angel. You won't regret it. 

Selling Out to Sell Books.

Am I too harsh in my public criticisms? Am I turning away potential readers because I insist on being so aggressive about certain issues on social media?

I've been wrestling with these questions for the past month or so, ever since The Last Angel was published. Writing is a business, and it takes a lot of work to build up a readership apart from writing great stories. For all the ease and availability of finding a book, it has become increasingly difficult to find readers. Turning off a potential reader to make a point about certain "hot" issues is risky.

In the past, I never even considered the consequences of such things. I didn't care if I lost a "friend" or "follower" over something I'd written. As a writer and observer of human nature, there were certain inequalities too upsetting NOT to comment on. (Like anything to do with animal rights/factory farming and social justice)

Unfortunately, when I did comment on these issues, subtlety was, err, not my strong suit. I can be abrasive when I believe our society or certain individuals are whiffing on a topic that revolves around kindness. I'm particularly aggressive when it comes to apathy. It's one thing to not be in a position to help (though I do think we can all help in small ways), it's something else entirely when people just don't give a shit.

And yet, am I really going to change anyone's mind? On Facebook? On Twitter? Probably not. So why say anything in the first place? And for heaven's sake, why be so damn obtuse about it? If it doesn't matter, then focus on the good things and sell a few more books. Don't be so political, and that way more people can enjoy your stories. You'll have less aggravation as well.

Sigh. (This is why you do not want to get inside a writer's head.)

I wrote about this a little while ago, although I attacked it from a different angle. Artists are NOT politicians. However, we sometimes have to be a little political, especially when you have a temperament like mine, to ensure that we don't anger people before they've even seen our work.

Or do we?

As proud as I am of THE LAST ANGEL, and as excited as I am for the release of three more books this year, I certainly haven't "made it." Not by a long shot. I'm still a starving artist. Still struggling to pay the rent. And yet, as much as those questions haunt me, there is one question that haunts me more.

Twenty years from now, when I look over my career, what will my legacy be? I can tell you that it won't be about the number of books I sell. (Though I would like to sell a lot, obviously.) I think, on that day, I will ask myself if I pushed for better in society. I will wonder if my stories were not simply entertaining, but if they asked the moral questions that all art should ask. I will think back to this time right now, when my future as a writer was very much in doubt, when I had no idea if I'd sell a hundred books or a hundred thousand of them, and ask myself whether I was more worried about myself, or this world I inhabit.

And if I can't say that my stories reflected my heart about issues like poverty, racism and bigotry, if I can't say that I strove to correct social wrongs with passionate tales of courage and redemption, and if I can't say that my works were nothing more than entertainment, then I will know that I have failed.

I do not want to be a failure.

That isn't to say that I do not hope to make a good living, of course i do, and it's not to say that perhaps I could tone down some of my comments on social media, if not the message. But I will not sell out to sell books.

THE MODEL 

I've written about this before, but the first positive portrayal of a gay man was a secondary character from one of Robert B. Parker's books. A tough, wise, funny cop. To that point in my life, all I'd heard about the LGBT community was that they were a bunch of perverts. I'm not exaggerating, and if some of you grew up in a small, conservative town like mine, you may have experienced the same thing.

That was the start of a journey for me. Along the way, that enriched worldview, or at least, that wider worldview, has been expanded to race and gender.

Books like Twillight and Fifty Shades sell millions of copies, all while giving women and girls terrible role models. Role models that suggest they need to "surrender" to men and that they aren't worth as much. Perhaps these books are popular because women Identify with those characters. Perhaps they are popular because they speak to the patriarchal worldview that still grips most of the world.

But I find it destructive. As a youth worker for nearly twenty years, these are not the models that I want young girls, sisters and daughters and nieces, looking up to.

That will not happen in my stories.

Will I lose readers?

Maybe.

Probably.

But I won't consider that failure.

Starting your own business, whatever it is, inevitably means compromise. But where? In this case, selling out to sell books is something I will work hard not to do, even if the questions still plague me from time to time.

Parker showed me that one could be successful novelist, tell thrilling action stories that people loved, and still make a point to change the world, even in a small way, by staying true to his principles. And in the end, that the goal for all of us, isn't it?

The End is the Beginning

“How’d the writing go today, love?” Bethany asked as I bustled inside.

“I don’t know. Good, I think.” I’d spent the past six hours at a local café after work. I managed a hug and kiss for my wife as I slumped into a chair. “I don’t know, babe. I don’t think I’m getting anywhere.”

“You will,” she smiled. “The book is good. Hear anything from the agents?”

“Two more rejections.”

I bit my lip and glanced at our apartment. Our two cats were laid out comfortably on the floor. They didn’t care if I became a successful writer. They were at peace. I knelt down to scratch Nelson, our fat one, between the ears.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been failing at this for a long time. What’s a few more rejections?” She kissed me again and moved away. I didn’t bother telling her how much these rejections hurt, because they all hurt. I’d been writing for eighteen years. I’d spent the past five working on an epic fantasy novel that had gone through many shifts. I'd been certain that it would break the glass ceiling for me. 

It hadn’t happened.

Hell, not even a sniff from the agents. Nothing but form rejections. And this after completely re-writing it (and sending it out) three times. I don't mean simply editing it, either. I'd probably written about two million words to get to the ninety thousand word novel that it was right now. 

It hadn't mattered.

I had no idea what to do. I’d been writing for so long, and had encountered so little in the way of success, that I wondered if it was time to give up. Oh, I’d keep writing, of course.. (It was impossible to imagine a life without writing stories.) But maybe I had to accept the fact that I wasn’t good enough. It wasn't like I wasn’t a prodigy. I hadn’t studied writing or English Lit. My degree was in theology, and I’d spent most of my life working with students with special needs.

I’d just turned forty-one. Nearly two decades after I’d penned my first novel, I was going nowhere.

My wife walked back into the room. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah. I just… I don’t know how to be good. I’ve done this every day, babe, and I’m still… They don’t like it.”

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “It’s good. You’ll make it. Just be patient.”

I was lucky. I knew that. Bethany understood who I was and that the man she’d married was an artist, successful or not. She didn’t care that I hadn’t broken through, didn’t care that the agents had rejected my work. Instead, she found time to edit my drafts and encourage me. It might’ve been a great story if a publisher or agent had sent me something other than a form rejection.

But they hadn’t.

Two weeks later, still revising my manuscript,  I stumbled upon a website called National Novel Writing Month. (NaNoWriMo) Their challenge was to write fifty thousand words in thirty days. I’d written between two and three million words the past five years, but when I looked at my manuscript, I decided it was time for a change. Something new. Maybe the agents were wrong. Maybe my book was good. It didn’t matter. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to write about. That it would be fantasy was a given. It was my favorite genre, the one I felt most comfortable in. But fifty thousand words in thirty days?

But I had nothing to lose (the website was free) so I signed up. 

That first day, I barely crawled past the necessary word count (1,667 words). Unlike my past attempts, however, I knew that my obsessive self-editing was no longer possible. Not if I was going to meet my goal. Not at this pace. 

So I stopped. I stopped worrying about who I might offend with language or religion. I stopped caring about what my friends and family might think. I stopped editing myself as I tried to unveil the story. In this, I’d reached the end. The end of trying to please people. The end of trying to make others happy. The end of trying to write so that everyone felt better.

I reached the end, and it was a new beginning.

With only a couple of vague pictures in my mind, The Last Angel formulated into something solid. I finished the challenge and completed the first draft ten days later. I still had no idea what I’d done until I showed it to my wife.

“It’s a winner, love,” she said.

But she’d said that before. I began the usual practice of sending it t agents, only this time, it garnered interest. Real interest.

Bolstered by what I’d written, I used the same thirty-day tactic to write the sequel. No editing. No censoring. Write from the heart.

The result, CITY OF SLAVES, was another book I was immediately proud of.

And while the interest from the agents waned, I was no longer deterred.

I had something. I could feel it.

I contacted my old editor, Erin Healy, who’d become a best-selling author in the years since we’d last spoke. I was on the verge, she said. And self-publishing was probably my most viable option.

The publishing world had changed greatly in the past four years. No longer did the gatekeepers hold all the power. The digital revolution had changed everything. And with my esteemed editor’s words ringing in my ears, I published The Last Angel.

THE LAST ANGEL

Four weeks have passed since I made the decision. The reviews for the book have been overwhelming. Every day, I am astounded by the love and encouragement from those who have picked up the book and cannot wait for its sequel.

One might think this to be an easy adjustment for an artist. It is not. I wrote for nearly two decades in the caverns of underwhelming. To have so many people leap to my work and love it is exciting, but oddly disconcerting as well.

The Last Angel wasn’t the beginning for me. It was the end. It was a desperate attempt to change things. And to do it, I had to ignore all the well-intentioned voices in my head, the ones about my friends and family and everything I’d ever read about best-selling books. Instead, I wrote the book that I wanted to read. I emphasized the scenes that I liked. I didn’t have time to consider the “public.” It was just me, my characters and a story that somehow made me feel better about myself and the world. That’s it.

It is so difficult today for artists. I suspect that has always been true, but in a world of fifteen second “takes” and “memes,” it has become increasingly difficult for story tellers to find a home. Hollywood seems more interested in sequels than new stories, and people are reading less than they did twenty years ago.

It’s easy to get lost in the mayhem. Easy to say that it’s not worth it.

But it is.

Even if it’s only your friends and family who read your work or listen to your songs or look at your paintings, it matters.  We have to end this notion that art is just for others. Yes, we hope people admire and buy our work, but art is ultimately for the artist, first.

 It isn’t the end of their dreams that creates life, it’s ours. It isn’t their pain that draws us to the page, it’s ours. And it isn’t their critique that matters.

It’s ours.

Until we stop trying to please people, we will never create the art we want, we will never be the person we want to be, and we will never live the life we long for.

So you’ve reached the end. And you are absolutely certain that no one wants to hear what you have to say?

Perfect.

You've reached the end. It's time to begin. 

           

Beta Readers: Why, Where, and How

If you've been writing for a while, you probably know what beta readers are, unless you're like me and you came to the party a bit late. Though I'd heard  the term in the past, it wasn't until about two years ago that I finally started using them. It changed my work dramatically, and this past month I published my first novel, THE LAST ANGEL, to positive reviews. 

That would not have been possible without my beta readers. They helped me take a good concept and turn it into a polished work of fiction. If you're new to the writing game, (I've been doing it for over twenty years) don't wait like I did. In this post I'll outline exactly what beta readers are, why you need them, and where to find them.

WHAT DO BETA READERS DO?

In short, a beta reader looks at your piece of fiction (or memoir) in advance of publication and offers feedback on why the story works or doesn't work. Now, if that's all they did (and some beta readers do only that, but we'll talk about that in a minute) they wouldn't be terribly valuable. 'Yes' or 'no' is only mildly helpful, unless, as a writer, you really can't judge your own work. (And this DOES happen to writers who don't show their work to others.) 

The good beta readers, however, do far more than give you a simple answer. They offer feedback on characters, on scenes that work and don't work, and tell the author when they were pulled out of the story. Many of them can tell you "why" as well, which is incredibly helpful. I bounce story ideas off my beta readers when they tell me a scene doesn't work, or if a character seems inconsistent. I'll re-write it and hand it back to them. The process becomes incredibly collaborative. 

But not all beta-readers are the same, and they shouldn't be treated that way. Some will offer you ideas about story, but won't be able to pinpoint why something went wrong. (It just didn't "feel" right.) That's okay! That's still good information to have. Some, especially if you have a fellow writer as one of your readers, will offer editing at a prose level and red mark your work because of awkward sentences and phrasings. Every beta reader is different, which is why you need more than one. I use five. Two of them, Shelley and Caitlin, offer the deepest amount of information. 

Caitlin is a literary writer (she's brilliant) so she focuses on two things, my prose and grammar, and, because she's a feminist (like me), zeroes in on my female characters, making sure they are strong and well-rounded. Shelley is not a writer, but a prolific reader who really understands story. When she reads my work, she'll offer comments throughout the manuscript describing her experience as a reader, as well as a full report at the end as to what she liked and didn't like. She is particularly good at helping me to maximize the impact of every scene. Without her, my work would not be as good. The same is true of Caitlin and the rest of my readers.

WHERE DO YOU FIND THEM?

That sounds great, right? But where do we find these amazing people? Especially since so many of us writers tend to work alone. 

The easiest way to find them is to ask people you know that like to read. Pretty simple. Most readers, especially those that don't write, enjoy being part of the process. What I did was put out a call on my Facebook page. (If you're a writer, you need to be active on social media, and while I do use twitter, I prefer Facebook for connecting.) And with 1100 friends, it was relatively easy to find a few people who were willing to read THE LAST ANGEL. Now, I got lucky with Shelley, who is the prototypical beta reader. And with Caitlin, for whom I serve as a beta reader as well, I've also been lucky.

There will be some who want to help you, but they won't know what to do. That's an easy fix. Give them four or five questions (not too many, you still want them to be enjoying the book, not doing homework) to answer when they're finished.

Example: How do you feel about my main protagonist(Name)? Are they likable enough?

                Was the story too slow, or were there parts that it slowed down too much?

                Can you just make a mark every time something takes you out of the story?
                Was the dialogue between (Name) and (Name) believable?

There are many questions you can ask, but the key is to a) limit the questions, no more than four or five (b) Don't ask for essay answers. Something that can be answered in two or three sentences or less (c) know your beta reader; understand what they're capable of, and keep it simple.

SOME FINAL TIPS

1) If you're a writer, even if you also work as an editor or are moving in that direction, as I am, you should be functioning as a beta reader, FOR FREE, for a fellow writer. Or, as I do with Caitlin and another writer, I read for them and they read for me. Even then, it shouldn't be about "give to get." Artists need to support one another. Beyond that, editing and reading someone else's work will improve your skills and give you a better eye when you're editing your own work.

2) BE HUMBLE. I can't stress this enough. If you've asked someone for their opinion, don't be a diva when they tell you they don't like something. They are doing you a favor, a HUGE favor. That doesn't mean you have to agree with them, but thank them profusely for taking time from their busy schedule to help you and tell them you will consider deeply what they said. When a beta reader knows you take them seriously, and even better, when you can point to how you changed something because of their suggestion, they'll want to help you in the future. Any time I help someone with their work, and they are grateful and humble and involve me, I'll move heaven and earth to help them again.

3) Make sure that your manuscript is ready. This seems counter-intuitive, because I said earlier that beta readers help get your manuscript ready. This is true, but I hear horror stories all the time about people sending a first draft to a beta reader. Ugh. Your first draft is going to be unreadable and filled with mistakes. I wait until at least the fourth draft, sometimes the fifth, before sending it. You want the manuscript as polished as possible. You only get the "first impression" from your beta reader once. Don't blow it by sending them a shabby copy. It also reveals a lack of professionalism. Most people want to help professionals who take their work seriously. Very few want to help someone who sends them something half-assed and unedited.

Beta-readers are the difference between a good story or a great story, between publishing something professional and publishing something that won't sell. It's that simple. And the first step to finding a beta reader is to be one. 

If you're new to this game, and don't know anyone that will help you, feel free to send me your first chapter and I'll look at it for free. Use my CONTACT page to reach me, however you like. 

Artists helping artists. That's how it should be.

Stephen R. Burns is the author of THE LAST ANGEL, now available on Amazon, the first volume of the Desolate Kingdom series. Three more in the series are due out in 2016. 

Frequently Asked Questions

Ever since I published The Last Angel, I've had a number of friends and colleagues ask me questions about the process. It's all been thrilling, and I was touched by the questions. So tonight I created a new page that answers those questions, everything from my decision to self-publish to where I got my ideas for the book.

You can find the new page HERE.

What a ride it has been. I'm thrilled that so many have enjoyed the book.

The Last Angel Is Here!

At last!

After twenty years, my first novel officially hit the shelves this past week. It has been a whirlwind these past two months, and I can't decide if I'm excited or exhausted or both. Phew! And the work has just begun. I've spent most of the day working on the latest newsletter, which should be done by tonight. (If you're interested in signing up for it, just shoot me your email in the top right part of this page. I only send one out every two months or so, so I won't spam your email.) I have three more novels, already completed (all in the Desolate Kingdom Series) due out this coming year. (April 6th, September 2nd, and December 4th) And I'm currently at work on the first draft of WINTER, which is due for release in the Spring of 2017.

Click this cover for Kindle e-book.

                             Click this cover for the Trade Paperback.






I mentioned this in my newsletter, but the lifeblood of any authour is a book review. The more you collect, the more prominent your book becomes for the search engines. If you've read one of my ARC's (Advanced Reader Copies) or if you are interested in reading it in the future (Goodreads, mark as "to-Read") please take five minutes and write a couple sentences for me at Goodreads and Amazon. I cannot overstate the importance of reviews. Thank you SO MUCH for doing that!

The next step will be three book signings in the next two months. I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous about that, having heard some horror stories from my fellow writers. But hey, it's an adventure, right? And even if no one stops to talk to me, I'll be in a bookstore for a few hours, and that's NEVER a bad thing.

There will be more news to come, and I'll keep everyone posted as it happens. Eventually there will be a new website as well. (Though you'll still be able to access it through www.stephenburns.ca) Thanks again for all your support this past year. It's been a wild ride, and the journey has just begun!

-Stephen

An Unlikely Road to a Dream

           

I read the viability report three times before I showed it to my wife. I’d worked with Erin Healy, my editor and now best-selling author, in the past. But that had been more than a decade ago. Back when becoming an accomplished writer had seemed so much more attainable. The years had passed, and I was no closer to accomplishing my dream. I’d written three books and spent five years working on a failed fantasy novel, believing I needed to spend years working on a single project for it to be worthwhile.

The three books I’d sent to Erin to review, however, had been written over the course of a single year. I’d accepted a writing challenge, and the result was a new fantasy series, one I was very excited about. I’d hired Erin to look at the prospects for the series, a birthday gift from my wife. Erin had gone miles beyond in her review of my books, and I struggled with her final suggestion.

“I don’t think she likes my stuff,” I said, involuntarily wincing as I grabbed my stomach.

“Is it bad today?” My wife asked.

I smiled and sighed. “Like every day. I’m okay.”

I’d experienced chronic stomach pain the past year. Most days I ate only once. I’d finally gone to see the doctor a month earlier. She was convinced my ailments were a product of anxiety. As were most of the other symptoms, all of which had worsened after I’d lost my job back in May. My stomach hurt constantly, but there were also days when my hands refused to stop shaking. And for nearly three months after I was fired, I’d been battered by hives.  

            Bethany took her time reading Erin’s notes. When she was finished, she shook her head. “She likes them. You just have to make some adjustments.”

            “It feels like a lot of work.”

            My wife laughed. “It’s not. You can do it.”

            As she moved to walk away, I cleared my throat. “Erin also thinks I should self-publish. She says that the publishing world has changed.”

            Bethany smiled. “Yes. And she also says that you produce a high volume of quality work. That you’re ideal for it.”

            “It’s not the dream.”

            She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Times change. Dreams change, too.”

            I grunted as she walked away. I’d dreamed my entire life of “the call.” Of the agent phoning me to tell me that they’d sold my book to a publisher. A great part of this, obviously, was about acceptance. About becoming part of an exclusive club. If I published the books myself, was I not simply saying that I wasn’t good enough to be part of the club? Or was that simply my pride talking? I understood that the publishing industry was at a crossroads. Self-publishing was smashing old barriers. Technology had splintered everything from TV shows to movies to music. Nothing was at it once was.

            With some reluctance, I decided to take my editor’s advice. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was doing. I was suddenly being asked to start my own publishing company and figure out not only how to publish my novel, but do everything else that came with it.

            It was, in a word, overwhelming. So I started in the place I knew best; my manuscripts. I attacked the holes and questions that Erin had addressed. And before I could change my mind, asked some friends if they’d be willing to critique my work. To my surprise, people jumped in, willing to help. Within a short time, my manuscript changed. It became more polished. The holes filled. And still, I was nervous.

            Even those published traditionally were required to do their own promotions, but what did I know about that? And what about the cover? I was artistic, but visually, I had the skills of a first grader. It wasn’t going to work.

Old Ways Made New

            THE LAST ANGEL had arisen from a challenge. I’d been writing for twenty years, but when I’d discovered the NaNoWriMo (National Novelist Writing Month) challenge to write fifty thousand words in thirty days, I decided to give it a try. For the first time in years, I didn’t worry about censors or what people would think. I didn’t have time for that. All I had time for was to complete the challenge. And so I did. THE LAST ANGEL was unlike anything I’d ever written, but even though I recognized its need for serious editing, I felt the beat of something special in it, something different.

            I’d written two sequels by the time I sent it to Erin, and when she told me what I needed to do, I was ready. Even now, I find it staggering how many people volunteered to help. Emily Thiessen volunteered to design the cover, something that was beyond me, and created a work that captured the world perfectly. Others read advanced copies of the book, and their response and suggestions made it even better. At some point, THE LAST ANGEL ceased being a solo effort and began to feel collaborative.

            That was the moment I realized that Erin was right.

A Very Merry Christmas 

            “How’s your stomach?” Bethany said.

            It was a week before Christmas. Two months had passed, and I was waiting for the first physical copies of my novel. I’d managed to sort through the maze with the help of friends like best-selling author Steena Holmes, who had forged an ultra-successful career in self-publishing. She was, in every way, a star, and yet she took time to walk me through the path, again and again, even when my questions must have surely become irritating.

            “Good. Well, better,” I said. “Just anxious about the book. What if it looks amateurish? What if people don’t like it?”

            My wife kissed me. She’d read the first two books in the series. “They’re good. Erin likes them. So do your other readers. Trust the process.”

            I nodded, grateful for the reassurance, but still unsure. The person you love is supposed to support you. It was true that my beta-readers had nothing but high praise for it, but even that felt slippery. I’d been writing for more than two decades, and this was the first time I’d exposed my work to the public. It was difficult to accept that perhaps I’d accomplished something. That people might enjoy my work.

            On Christmas Eve, shortly before my wife and I left to do some last minute shopping, a UPS truck stopped outside our house. The man handed me two small boxes. I hustled inside and tore them open.

            As much as I’d always waited for that phone call from an agent, I choked up as I flipped through the pages. It was everything I’d ever imagined and more. By the time we left to do our shopping, I could hardly speak.

            Things hadn’t happened the way I’d imagined them so many years ago. And yet, the force of what I‘d gone through, and what was happening now, was still overwhelming. The dream had become a reality.

            “Are you okay?” Bethany said.

            “I’m good.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I just… I just never imagined it would be like this. I know there’s a lot to do, but…”

            My wife smiled and kissed me when we pulled into the mall. “You did it, love. You did it.”

            I shook my head, felt tears crowd my eyes. Felt the weight of twenty years of writing in solitude. Felt the weight of my depression and anxiety and pain and everything else I’d fought through to write the story I’d always wanted to write. I thought about all of my friends who’d supported me, encouraged me. And I thought about all those who had volunteered to help me do the things that needed to be done. The people who had not only helped me with my writing, but helped me continue when the dream seemed so far.

            “Yeah,” I said, smiling, thinking about my friends and the people who had invested, without hesitation, in changing my life. It wasn’t a solo effort, and I guessed it never would be, “Yeah,” I said again. “We did it.”

             

STORMS: A Teaser

STORMS, the fourth book in my Desolate Kingdom series, is a prequel. Set one hundred years before THE LAST ANGEL, it tells the story of Tommy's (the main character in THE LAST ANGEL) grandfather, who as a young college student, helped save a remnant of humans. Here is a tease from the introduction.

(THE LAST ANGEL is due out this month on Amazon.)

STORMS

...“Charlie. I’m serious.” Spenser’s voice shook slightly. “Y-you need to see this.”

He moved over to the window. “What?”

“There.”

A ball of fire appeared on the horizon, still small, but marked in the clear blue summer sky. It was moving slowly, but steadily, towards them.

“What is it, man?” Spenser asked. “It has to be something. But it freaks me out. Like one of those bad B movies or something.”

Charlie moved to the window, then hurried over to his laptop and began typing furiously. C’mon, Leah. Answer me! He only had to wait ten seconds before his friend in China responded. A one-word answer that made him swallow.

“What do we do?” Spenser said, his voice rising.

Charlie did not answer. Minutes passed, and slowly the ball of fire passing over the city grew bigger.

His roommate started laughing hysterically. “This is it, man! The end of the world!”

Suddenly the ball of fire dipped, and a great explosion, though silent, rippled into view. Within seconds, a mushroom cloud appeared over the city of San Diego.

She was right.

“Get your things. We’re going to the Hole,” Charlie said.

“W-what?”

“Get your things! Now!”

Charlie started packing whatever necessities he could find in his room. Extra clothes. His cell and charger. A few packages of dried soup.

“What are you doing?”

“You were right,” Charlie said, calming his voice. “The world is ending. Do as I say and you may make it out alive. We have three minutes.”

Spenser stared at him, grinning like a fool, until he realized that his roommate wasn’t joking. He jammed a bunch of things into a garbage bag and followed Charlie out the door.

“Hey! Where are you guys going?” Rusty called, standing in the hallway in his boxer’s. “Party at Karen’s tonight!”

“We’re going—”

“Shut up!” Charlie said. “Be quiet or we die. Got it?”

Spenser, his drug addled brain not comprehending anything but the seriousness of his roommate, nodded.

A few others called out to them, but Charlie ignored them. As much as he’d enjoyed his time at Cole, he felt no special attachment to the rest of the student body, with the exception of Spenser, who was like a lovable dog without a brain. He was offensive, but only because he was stupid. He was also very kind.

They took the rusty stairwell down five flights of stairs. When they got to the ground floor, Spenser began to run.

“Where are you going?” Charlie yelled.

“I have to get Mae!”

Spenser had dated Mae last year, and though she’d broken up with him, he’d remained smitten with her.

Charlie’s mind flashed to the image he’d seen. He’d only seen such a picture once in his life, a photograph of Hiroshima after they’d dropped the bomb. Judging from the sketchy news regarding the other parts of the world – news that most major media outlets had ignored – it wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together. Leah had confirmed this.

He checked his phone as Spenser burst through the doors fifty seven seconds later with a lanky, black-haired Latino trying to extract herself from his grasp.

“You idiot!” she shouted. “I told you to stop doing weed. Let go!”

“We have two minutes,” Charlie said calmly. “Maybe less.”

Mae stared at him. “What are you talking about,” she said.

Charlie knew Mae from the track team, though they’d never spoken. “A nuclear blast blew up San Diego a few moments ago. If we do not get underground, we will suffer from the effects of the fallout. Come or don’t come. We need to be in the Hole very shortly.”

“I…”

“C’mon, Mae!” Spenser said. “It’s Charlie! Do you think he’s joking?”

Mae fingered her eyebrows. Unlike most of the blue-blood girls at Cole, she had olive colored skin and black hair that fell across her shoulders in waves. She had a prominent nose and deep set eyes. She was wearing a blue knit skirt and a white blouse opened at the neck with a pearl necklace.

“Mae, you gotta come!” Spenser said.

She glanced over at Charlie, and for a moment, his look held her.

“Yes. I’m coming.”

They hurried down three flights of stairs into the “Hole.” The student lounge had a battered fifty inch TV, as well as a number of couches that were either shedding or sharing pieces of foam. During the hot months, the Hole was a welcome respite from the heat.

Charlie didn’t stay in the room. He led them into a tight closet that smelled of liniment. Through the closet, he opened another door hidden behind pails and brooms.

“Quiet, now,” he said to them. “You must not lose your wits. If you do, we die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mae said.

“Yeah! Sure! Whatever, man!” Spenser stared over his shoulder at the open doorway. “Where are we going?”

“Down.”

Charlie led them into a darkened tunnel. The sound of moisture dripped from a pipe somewhere, but otherwise the silence was startling. It reminded him of his trips as a child off the reservation with his grandfather. Away from the music. Away from the technology. Away from the noise.

‘Life begins in silence,’ his grandfather would say. ‘We yell when we come into this world, but when we are conceived, we are birthed in silence. And for the rest of our lives, we long for such silence, though we never again experience it quite so beautifully as we do in our mother’s womb.’

Charlie pointed to a rusty ladder attached to the stone wall. It was far too late for them to turn back, even if they thought he was crazy. They followed after him, his hands firm on the slick metal.

About twenty feet down the ladder ended, and Charlie leaped to the ground. It was a smallish room, perhaps ten feet by ten feet. In the middle was a battery powered grill. Two old sleeping bags covered the floor like a raggedy carpet. In the corner was a small refrigerator that had been hooked up to a battery powered generator. A lamp glowed dimly in the corner.

Mae dropped lightly to her feet beside him, her eyes wide but sharp. “What is this place?”

“Dude!” Spenser said. “Dude!”

Charlie allowed a slight smile to cross his sharp features. “Be grateful for the benefits of racism.” The smile disappeared. “And now we wait.”

Mae turned. Touches of grease and dirt smudged her expensive blouse. The intelligence in her eyes was unmistakable. “How long?”

“In a few moments, you are going to hear screaming. Whatever happens, you must not go up that ladder. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mae said.

Spenser was too freaked out to answer.

“How long?” she said again.

“Until the end.”

Charlie checked his cell, but it was no longer working. He started counting. Forty seven seconds later the screams started to reverberate through their hiding place.

They did not stop for a very long time.

Book Recommendations/ Newsletter/ Other News

I've nearly finished my first Authour's Newsletter, which I will send out at the end of this week. When I was putting the newsletter together, there were a number of things that I originally thought I would include (like a column on sports news, maybe a political corner, etc...) but in the end, what I really wanted was to create something for you, the reader. Something short and interactive.

Now, this may change in the future, but for now, the newsletter will be divided into three sections.

BOOK NEWS: This section will up date you on my books, news or updates anything related to my work that's been published. I'll also update you on current projects and take you inside a bit on what it means to be a writer.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Every newsletter (bi-monthly) I'll recommend one non-fiction book and one novel that I've enjoyed the past two months. The catch is that these recommendations are going to come from you, the reader. Email me your own book recommendations (it can be your own work) and if I choose your recommendation for the next newsletter, I'll send you a free signed copy of THE LAST ANGEL (Due out on December 21, 2015). As time passes, I'll include different prizes, like gift cards. The idea is to expose good authours to other readers and establish a community of sharing. As a reader, there's nothing more exciting than discovering a new authour, right? So here's our chance to help one another find new favourites!

INSPIRATION: In this last section, I'll choose one inspirational story, perhaps even just a quote, something to motivate and encourage you or just make you smile. Again, this is an interactive segment. Send me quotes or stories or something that inspired you recently. If I use what you send me, I'll send you a free signed copy of THE LAST ANGEL. 

By the way, if you'd like to sign up for my newsletter, you can click the icon on the top of my page or just email me. And if you'd like an ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) of THE LAST ANGEL, shoot me an email and include (ARC, THE LAST ANGEL) in the subject line.

A MOUNTAIN TO CLIMB

Even if you publish traditionally, every artist now needs to learn a number of skills outside their chosen field. Most of the marketing must be done by the artist, and as Seth Godin says, "we must find our tribe." This creates problems, because while someone like my friend Caitlin Galway is as talented an artist as she is a writer, I have problems drawing stick people. So creating a website (this site is pretty much just a blog, I mean a website where I'll be able to sell my books) in the next month feels like I'm about to climb a mountain. (Seriously, I have no idea what I'm doing. Hell, just figuring out the newsletter was tough.)

But it only looks like a mountain right now because I've never done it. This is true of most things. And so, I'm committing myself to forty-five minutes a day to learning a new skill. The same is true for formatting the book. Again, I have no idea what I'm doing. But the publishing world has changed, and artists need to change with it.

I've never taken a writing course. I studied theology and adolescent psychology (and business and wildlife biology) at the variety of post-secondary institutions I attended. (Yes, I'm a geek, I love school) But writing? Nope. For me, it's been twenty years at the Desk, putting my time in, reading how-to books, and gradually getting better. I'm a big believer in the law of persistence, that if we put in enough time and really work at it, we become water over rock. What that means for this year, though, is that my website, like my skills, will be a work in progress.

Wherever you're at, why not join me in learning a new skill these next two months. Start today, and when I publish my second newsletter (On the day I publish THE LAST ANGEL) send me an email and tell me about it. If I mention it on this blog or in my newsletter, I'll send you a free copy of THE LAST ANGEL.

THANK YOU

By the way, thank you to everyone who has shown interest in my work, and to the many people who are now reading an ARC of THE LAST ANGEL. After two decades, things are finally moving, and it's exciting. But I couldn't do it without the help and encouragement of so many people. So thank you all. And thank you for your patience in regards to this blog. As you can see, there are a number of plates in the air right now. Eventually I'll get a better grasp on how to handle them all.

Steve

New Blog Plan; Other News

Hey folks,

I apologize for not posting this week. I'm back at school, working at my day job as a special needs worker. It's my third year at this elementary school and my third year with the same student, a true blessing. And while I enjoyed being back with the kids, it was sad bidding farewell to those late nights sitting out on the porch with a great book, promising myself 'just one more chapter!'

It was a quiet summer for my wife and I, though I did manage to write a new urban fantasy novel (The Last Angel) in two months. (Woohoo!) I'm working on the second draft now and it should be finished soon. As to the question why that one took two months and my epic, Second Blood, took five and a half years, I'm not sure I have an answer to that. Not a full one anyway. Part of it has to do with the genre. Urban fantasy is a blend of noir detective and fantasy, it's quicker to write and develop. The world building is far less intense, too. And I think that understanding the way the publishing industry has changed makes a difference. I spent two years polishing and re-polishing Second Blood. Now that I know I can self-publish so easily AND have it be a worthwhile process, frees me up to just go for it. I have another urban fantasy novel in the works as well. The goal is to write three books a year, one in each series. Ambitious, but not un-doable.

New Blog Plan

What I'm trying to develop now is a plan for this blog. I'm fairly certain I can manage four posts a week, although they'll be shorter than the ones I used to post. Unlike some blogs, Trials of a Kind Life is a pretty wide open topic. (Believe me, there are a lot of days I wish I was writing about one thing. Thing is, I'd get bored of that pretty quick.)

So here's what I'm thinking:

Post 1: Sports

Post 2: Movies

Post 3: News Item of the Week

Post 4: Books

I'm not sure if I should lump books and movies together or not, maybe have a another topic? I'd love some feedback on it, so feel free to drop in some suggestions. I appreciate you stopping by. :)

Steve