Tag Archives: author

A Flood of Work

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In the time I’ve spent away from this place, I have created six works, all ready to be purchased, all outlined below. If you’ve been following this blog for awhile, you’ll know that documenting my whole experience from writing to publishing is kinda this whole blog’s thing. As much as I like to use the blog for emotional release, I’ve never forgotten its true purpose.

1. The link below leads to one of the first novellas I wrote that took place in Melias. The main character, Thas, is a Warrior Shaman- a strange wanderer unique to the planet and all of its inhabitants. A hero first and foremost, I wanted this story to not only give the reader an excellent introduction into how magic can work in Melias, it also illustrates the finer points of Thas’ personality, ideals, and goals. Find yourself curious?

Path of the Warrior Shaman: http://tinyurl.com/jyos2e3   $0.99 on Kindle

 

2. One of my favorite legends, this work depicts what can happen when people work together to oppose evil. I introduced a few new characters with abilities and secrets of their own, along with a vile. Antagonist. This story was meant to illustrate the mark of the truly privileged- apathy. And with apathy and power comes cruelty. Is your heart beating a little faster? The Heroes of this tale think it should.

Suffering and Hope: http://tinyurl.com/hpzqmmp   $0.99 on Kindle

 

3. This tale is one that stands to scream a hideous truth; shining light on the abuse and ruthlessness of man. However. Celat, a Ranger (and the protagonist), is a human that aims to turn these hideous qualities on those the most deserving. This tale illustrates that no man is invincible. No creed is certain, no fate, no fact. There is only Celat and the lifeless, broken bodies of evil men left in his wake. Push the weak around long enough and they push back. Hard. Did this speak to your darkness?

The Hunters: http://tinyurl.com/z27b43e   $0.99 on Kindle

 

4. Might as well be a campfire tale. This work illustrates how the fanatical never make sense- and only seek to destroy what does not suit them. Humans have turned to human/animal sacrifice for eons to communicate with the otherworldly. More pleas than communicating really; hoping to appease a being that doesn’t answer to our base, and disgusting offerings. But…what if one such being answered back from behind one of our bloodied and broken boons? Indulge that shiver in your spine.

A Memory of Suffering: http://tinyurl.com/jh2fe5j   $0.99 on Kindle

 

5. A tale coated in rust and scalded by salty winds of the sea, Gruun the Barbarian tests his mettle against seafaring bandits hell bent on raiding and destroying any village that gets in their way. The story seeks to truly highlight the mortality of even our most dangerous, horrifying foes and obstacles can be crushed, and crushed by everyday people like you. Ready to draw steel with Gruun?

Joy and Misery: http://tinyurl.com/zwnbgj4   $0.99 on Kindle

 

6. Truly the best for last, this is the first novella I ever wrote for the 99 Cent Novellas series, and was a launchpad for my entire body of work to date. This legend follows Gruun as he carves his way through a nasty batch of bandits, putting his sword and skills to good use against evildoers. His employer, however, seeks to change the terms of his employment. This does not bode well for out hero. Witness a caged beast break free.

Path of Violence: http://tinyurl.com/z22yvu7   $0.99 on Kindle

These are the works that I plan on presenting first because I feel like they make the biggest impressions. Not only do I want to entertain with my writing, I aim to enlighten, educate and inflict cognizance.

Truth be told, a lot of the fucked up things that happen to characters in Melias are based off of things I’ve seen, experienced, heard, or studied about first hand. Many protagonists highlight the best in humanity, while the antagonists highlight the bad; both sides constantly being influenced by the other while being influenced by nothing. It is this struggle that I am interested in. If you are a reader of the Fantasy genre, prepare to become obsessed.

 

Stolen Steel Spine

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People have a strange relationship with the world.

Little busy creatures, bustling about. In all types of weather, all types of climates, all types of places. I watch them from afar, always studying. It is not a place of superiority, rather of curiosity. Stewing, I believe, is the term I’m looking for here.

My mind is not free from idea. My projects have slowed. But sometimes the need to write outweighs the want, and vice versa. It is the struggle of both that is so godamn tortuous. The thing I miss the most was spine. A writer’s voice. Mine has dwindled into a pathetic vomit of disjointed entries like this one, or as ambiguous pieces in the abstract. And the kicker is that there is no solid way of knowing whether or not it’s my voice as a writer, or just a load of fresh, steaming bullshit.

I think most of myself is twisted in hypocrisy and guilt. In spite of the light, it gets bent. Bent around experiences, fractured by pain, amplified by joy. But always malleable. It’s this fact that drives on the terrible point, hanging like an old noose at the gallows. Dramatic.

It’s all dramatic. Each emotion, each word I push forward feels like shit flavored molasses. I don’t have the will to write now. Not forever, mind you. But the strength of mind writing takes (for me) fails me. Fuck this entry, and fuck this day.

Dark Work

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Profound inspiration, or a driving will to create are often sparked by periods of intense emotional trauma, and are usually sustained by said trauma until the writer can find another source for production. This is true for many. Not all, but many, and I am one of those “privileged” few.

I have been working with Melias on and off for some time now, going with the ebb and flow of my mood swings. Out of a particularly dark mood, I created Gruun, a barbarian half-orc with a conscience and a penchant for honesty and raw beef. I don’t have a picture of him yet, so I’ll give you the details if you’re obsessive. He stand seven feet, two inches tall, covered in muscle. His skin is a rich, but muddy green, and he bares two large tusks that jut out of his bottom jaw line. His sword is five and a half feet long, and weighs about 125lbs. He is my response to a world that is strong enough to hold you down with a single finger.

He is the response (no, this is not going to be about politics, religion, or Syria) to a world that I see having much injustice, with too many good, decent people being hurt, exploited, and corralled by terror. Gruun is the terror. He is fear incarnate for the dark forces that perpetuate Melias, and he knows it.

I created Gruun out of need. We all struggle with darkness in life. Regardless of what that black spot on your soul may be, you know it’s there, and it wants you to know it. That’s Gruun. He is all of my basic Id feelings and actions wrapped around a good, decent, honest foundation. And wouldn’t you know it? He’s one of my favorite characters to write as.

I am still writing. I had a drought on WordPress because…I didn’t have anything worthwhile to share with anyone, to be honest. In that same vein, I am still on the fence whether or not I do, in fact, have anything worthwhile to share, but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I kept working. Thinking. Going. Like we all must.

I’m being a Shitty Writer.

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Alright ladies and gentlemen, listen the fuck up please.

These last few sample chapters I’ve been posting have been utter shit- just…fuckin’ diarrhea, fresh from my ass, onto my keyboard, through my screen, and directly into your eyes and I am sorry. So, what Im gonna do. Is overhaul each and every single chapter I’ve posted on this website (Except for Warrior Shaman. it needs to be edited, sure. But I KNOW I nailed that shit to the fuckin’ WALL YO) until awesome and then re-post them one by one, whether you like it or not.

I am sorry for my shitty work. I forgot that it is very easy to become those shit spewing, self centered asshole writers I am always slamming on. And THAT. Is not something I ever want to become. Never.

Peace bitches YEAH   8======D

MODERN WARFARE, YEAH

Sample Chapter: Path of the Wizard

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You know this dance by now. Here’s a sample chapter from another novella. Remember, all these sample chapters are rough drafts. They haven’t even been proofread yet.

All ideas and concepts and all that other shit by Will Truex — The Disfigured, 2013

 

“Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The ground. It’s rumbling. Moving beneath our feet.” He gathered his robes and lifted them, looking at his bare and dirty feet. Pebbles had begun to move. “See? See? Look Ronah!”

Ronah looked below her, her robes shorter than her brother’s. Sure enough, the pebbles were starting to move, and the tremors started to become more intense. A thunderclap of footsteps approached from the west, and a train of birds flew without direction away from the disturbance.  The distinct sound of snapping wood got louder and louder.

“A giant?” Ronah said.

“A giant.” Her brother said.

“Is it headed towards Melgor?” Ronah asked.

“No, no. No. It’s headed towards the college. Look.”

A colossal humanoid crashed through the forest, causing the two siblings to run for cover. It carried a massive spine from an unknown creature as its club with thick bands of iron bent and jammed amongst the vertebrae, probably scavenged from the hull of a galleon. It reeked of body odor and dirt, its skin greasy with sweat and grime. It wore only a loincloth.

This was no ordinary giant.

Well over the canopy of the forest, the beast’s face could only be seen from the underside. The siblings watched in absolute horror as its loathsome nostrils flared, sniffing the air. It wasn’t long before they got a good look at the abomination’s face as it snapped its eyes to their hiding spot. The giant’s face was twisted in feverish anger, its lips curled back revealing two rows of tiny, blunt teeth in the front. Its eyes widened, the lenses glowing as the light shifted.

The siblings clutched at one another, paralyzed with fear. The giant new they were there it seemed, but couldn’t pinpoint where. A massive bead of sweat rolled off its nose, crashing to the forest floor. A plume of dust and pine needles rose before them not ten feet away.

“Geryl, we have to distract it.” Ronah whispered.

“How?” Geryl returned. “Be quiet.”

The giant crushed them with his hand. It ground their corpses into the dust, and then licked the gore clean from its palm. It stood erect once more, peering over the canopy, and saw the College of Demonic Studies in the distance. The giant screamed in fury and ran full speed at the structure.

The college was thrown into panic when the lookouts saw the giant coming. All except one. He crossed the courtyard deliberately, gently pushing the panicking students and faculty to the side. He step out from the main gate just as it closed, and started to walk towards the giant’s warpath.

His robes were black with silver hemming, the garb of a master. His face was stoic before such violence, and a hot desert breeze pushed sand into his graying beard. His eyes hid beneath his brow, the brim of his hat protecting his eyes from the glare off the bone white sand. He stopped moving about a hundred feet from the college’s front gate. He dropped his walking stick, and rolled his sleeves up.

It was a struggle to keep his footing as beast charged forward, its terrible club held high, its roar like demonic thunder. He winced at the sheer volume of it, but stood his ground. The wizard’s right hand balanced a turbulent sphere of energy that hummed and churned with unbelievable power. He cast his hand out, and a sphere flew from his hand faster than an arrow, aimed right for the creature’s right kneecap.

It hit home, making the beast trip and fall. The wizard did nothing, standing there. The chaos and screaming from the college had fallen silent. They were all watching this wizard fight the raw fury of nature, hand to hand- mind to mind.

The giant rose with alarming speed, and changed his target. It roared at the wizard, an object of its pain and fury. It swung its club downward upon the wizard. It lifted the club to see if his target was dead, but there was nothing in the massive impact crater his swing had created. The wizard reappeared on the beast’s left flank, immediately drawing its attention  and provoking another swing. The wizard pushed his palms out, clenching his teeth. A massive pillar of sand rose and flew forward like a cannonball, aimed directly for the giant’s fist clutching the club. It’s hand flew backwards with the force of the strike, the club flying backwards and down into the Abyssal Maw.

Now infuriated, the giant charged the wizard with its fists clenched, its eyes wide and vacant, its mouth foaming. The wizard lifted his hands into the air and ignited two double helix shaped pillars of fire. He clenched his fists, all the while the giant still getting closer, and smashed them together. The shockwave knocked the giant off balance, and when it regained its footing, the wizard launched a twisting column of searing hot fire from the middle of his outstretched arms. The smashed into the giant’s face, making it howl in agony and stumble away from the flames.

When it pulled his hands from its face, a charred skull grinned back at the wizard; the giant’s face had been completely burned off. It started to advance, and then collapsed face first into the sand. It wasn’t long before it stopped breathing.

The wizard pulled his sleeves back down and picked up his walking stick. “Fuck you, cocksucker.” He said, and walked back to the college.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Monk

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Just got struck with inspiration and wrote the intro for one of my novellas. Tell me what you think:

 

99 Cent Novellas: Path of the Monk, Book One

All ideas and concepts by The Disfigured, 2013

Sunshine was expected in these parts, and it was beautiful to behold when filtered through the gnarled branches of the mangroves nearby. He smiled thinking about them, holding his groceries in a cloth bag. He shook his head as a small insect buzzed in front of him, smiling as he watched it dart off. The sunlight caught its wings- a flash of a dagger in a well lit room.

He had walked this trail many times before. It was easy to navigate, free of bandits, and civilized enough to deter some of the more…unsavory creatures located in Melias. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was a pleasant walk through a lightly wooded path in the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere, however, had residents. And they had been watching him for a little over a half an hour now. Five men, armed to the teeth, stalked their prey methodically. They intended to rob him of his goods, his money, his dignity, and maybe his life. The men looked at each other, and then to their leader. He smiled and shook his head “no”. They walked behind him, careful to mask their approach.

Flower petals jerked with the haphazard force of the wind, which also carried with it the scent of pond water and wild flowers. His soul finally felt like it had a place to rest. To call home. He turned to the south as the wind picked up again, hoping that he could smell the mixture of seawater and mangrove tea. He knew that the coast was close, but he could not smell its salt.

One of the five men broke off from the group and moved ahead of them all, waiting in ambush. The remaining four stayed behind their target, watching. He was completely oblivious- this would be the easiest money they’ve made in a long time.

The scout made his move, and stepped in front of their target. “Hold it monk,” the bandit said. “got a question for you.”

“How do you know I’m a monk?”

The thug snorted. “Ha! Those faggot robes? That shitty crew cut? The vacant expression of moronic bliss? You’re a fuckin’ monk alright.”

“I want no violence.” The monk backed away, only to be stopped by the remainder of the gang.

“Too bad sweetie.” One bandit said. His nose was massive and scarred; his eyes cruel and his skin unclean. He pulled a twisted dagger from his belt, and flashed a single silver tooth. It wasn’t long before they were upon him.

*             *             *

                It also wasn’t long before the monk returned home to Cheldas, dozens of miles away from the nearest town, or city. This…was not something he was sad about. Townsfolk greeted him as he returned, showering him with gifts that he did not accept, and compliments which he thanked them for. He pulled a large loaf of bread from his bag and gave it to a few children playing in a puddle. Cheldas was a poor community, and this food would not go to waste. They looked at him, shy and smiling. He gave them a steely glance trying hard not to crack a smile. Suddenly, he lifted his arms up and yelled ‘BOO’!

The children squealed in delight as they scattered and ran back to their homes. Once more, the monk found himself smiling. He looked into his grocery bag and noticed three teeth resting in a patch of blood that had saturated the bottom of the bag. One was silver. “I think I’ll pawn you.” He said to the tooth, and hid it in his robes.

Today was going to be a good, good day.

 

Ah, I love misdirection. Good? Bad? Indifferent? Lemmie know.

Naturum: A College of Magic in Melias

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Melias is a world of high fantasy, so there has got to be magic. I mean, what the hell are we all doing here if there isn’t magic in a fantasy world?

Many of the characters that dwell in Melias wield magic, so I figured, rather than pulling random spells outta my ass situationally depending on plot, I’d split all the magic spells in Melias into four groups: The Naturum, the Arcanum, the Etherium, and the Mysterium. An entry detailing all of these colleges would be long, boring, and dry. So I’ll do one at a time.

You see, each college’s name is a direct refection of the spell disciplines that each college has. Naturum focuses on spells that harness the raw power of Melias itself (the four elements) and at greater levels, a master of the Naturum college can command the intangible forces that govern Melias as well. Like slowing down time, or using the force of gravity to crush a heavily armored foe.

From largest to smallest, here’s how it’s broken down: College – – – Primal Source – – – Energy Source – – – Discipline – – – Spells. Take a look at the picture, and then I’ll explain more:

Naturum_Tree

See? You got the college at the top, Naturum. Then, you have the Primal Source (where all the spells are ultimately drawn from) in a rectangle, and then the Energy Sources which are circled. The disciplines are where we’ll get into all the spells.

Spellcasters in Melias cannot just fling a fireball, or spit a curse. They must channel their focus deep into the primal source of the spell they want to cast and make it manifest into an Energy Source. For example, if I wanted to cast that aforementioned fireball, I would tap into the collective energy of ALL elements, and then make the fire materialize, often in my hand. Once materialized, I can recall the incantation verbally or in my mind (depending on my skill) and then let that fucker fly.

For those of you that are interested (that’s like…ALL of you), I’ll explain what kind of spells one can find in each discipline.

Fire

Pyromancy– generation of flames, controlling conjured fire and naturally occurring fire, extinguishing flames, exacerbating them.

Detonation- make volatile substances explode, generate explosions, smash atoms together and then pull them apart.

Ionikinesis- control and generate plasma, change its form to weaponize or fortify

Water

Hydromancy- creation of water molecules, controlling water, changing tides, shoot crushing geysers of water at enemies, walk on water

Frost– freeze water, make stabbing weapons out of ice, ice projectiles, freeze targets

Time– slow down time, speed it up, pause it, rewind it

Fauna

Communion– speak with animals, understand animals, ask animals for help, share vision and other senses, understand an animal’s intentions

Ascension– bolstering animals, healing them, making them stronger, making them bolder

Flora

Vibrance– make plants grow, recede to your whim, control plants, communicate with plants

Alchemy- the distillation of magical properties contained within an object, potion making, salve making, transmutation

Mutation– alteration of natural world via biological manipulation. Generate extra limbs, improve senses, merge species together, splice species with yourself

Earth

Tectonomancy- controlling dirt, sand, rock as weaponized or defensive forms, generate earthquakes, make fissures in the ground

Physiokensis- Controlling physics itself- slowing objects down, speeding them up, tearing them apart, pulling them together, moving them, throwing them

Gravity- crush targets, throw spheres of superdense force, eliminate gravity, multiply it, make targets lighter, heavier

Wind

Aneomancy- controlling wind to push, pull, or smash into targets, compressing air into piercing projectiles and slicing blades, levitation, flying

Electricity- projectiles, protection, arcing from one target to another

Weather- generate/calm storms and other natural disasters, command powerful storms like tornadoes and hurricanes, create tidal waves, rain, sunshine

I think that does it for now. There’s three more colleges to talk about whether you like it or not, so strap on uh, I mean in and get ready to read, or to tell me to go fuck myself.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Warrior Shaman

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Just finished the intro to what is soon to be my newest novella: The Path of the Warrior Shaman: Book One. Take a look:

PATH OF THE WARRIOR SHAMAN: IDEAS, WRITINGS, AND CONCEPTS BY THE DISFIGURED, 2013

Clouds conspired to block the sun; its beams choked by the umbranous thunderheads. The Warrior Shaman stood against the dark edges of those thunderheads, watching the lightening flash within them. A roar of thunder made his pulse quicken, the blood in his veins frothing as his heart slammed into his sternum. Lightening struck nearby. He could feel its heat, but he did not shield himself from it. The rain came soon thereafter, and he accepted it, never looking for shelter.

The cliff he stood on overlooked a large portion of Galivec, Jol’Tah Hak was a merely a point of grey on the horizon. Soon, the shadows flooded the valley, and he was alone with the coming storm. He lowered his head and allowed a grimace to darken his brow and lips, his dark brown beard beading the rainfall and running rivulets down the middle of his chest. He was distant now, barely feely the icy cold water.

Thousands of soldiers were in the valley below him, looking up, waiting for his signal as their enemies approached. The storm above grew more violent. Massive arcs of searing hot lightening smashed into the ground, extending its branches, making his allies cower below him in the valley. The sky was completely overcast, a shade of steely grey, and pitch black where the clouds rumbled in fury.

The Warrior Shaman stood silently, his mind focusing on the storm. His sword at his right hand, his axe at the left, he drew them both and let them stand at attention near his hips. Water dripped off the weapons, but soaked into the wooden handle of his axe. He could feel its heartbeat thud into his bones, its anger mounting as the storm grew more violent above.

Soldiers, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, approached from the other side of the valley, their voices almost drowning out the thunder. Still the sky grew darker, casting the entire land into a false night. Torches and a few patches of haphazard sun illuminated the valley like an ethereal leopard’s pelt. The Warrior Shaman’s eyes glowed a dark orange, tiny pinpoints in the dark, but piercing and terrible. As the light changed on his face, the strange glow would flicker on and off, disappearing completely against the bright white strobe of lightening.

Now the battlefield was bloated with murder as the two armies stood against one another. A mere one hundred yards were all that separated the two opposing factions, one side clad in yellow, red and white, the other dark green and gold. The Warrior Shaman’s eyes widened, his teeth clenching, his breathing quick. He raised his left arm into the sky, and screamed in pain and fury as a bolt of lightning struck the axe head, transferring the unbelievable energy into his hand. He could feel the power coursing through him, the rage of nature contained within his tiny, fragile body.

The thunder from this lightening strike was deafening, and an eerie hush fell over the battlefield. He opened his mouth, his voice shattering the silence, carried on the thunder. “You will all die today if you do not lay down your arms and return to the north from whence you came!” He screamed. The opposing army laughed at him, and charged forward, blades, axes, spears, polearms, bows, drawn and eager for killin’. With a scream, he cast an enormous bolt of lightening mere inches from the charging horde, stopping them in their tracks. Those closest to the impact where blind and soon afterwards deaf as the thunder issued forth from the point of impact, no doubt an effect of the Warrior Shaman’s magic.  They looked up at him, and one solider stepped forward, recognizing the insidious dark orange glow of the shaman’s eyes.

He ran back into the ranks to find the general, who was safely ensconced behind a wall of archers and infantry. He screamed, “we must surrender! We must surrender!” and leapt upon an officer’s horse. Before the officer had a second to punish him for his audacity, the soldier said, “forgive me m’lord, but please, please take me to our General. I could save all of our lives today.” The terror in the boy’s eyes and the rabid urgency of his voice lead the officer on.

The crowd parted for the pair on the war horse, and soon, the soldier reached his General. He jumped down off the horse, and seized the General by his breastplate. “What are you?” He screamed, but the soldier interrupted him. “M’Lord, m’Lord! Please, do not strike me down! Listen to me! Their wizard possesses a storm cataract! We will die to a man if we fight today!”

“A storm cataract? I should gut you for such cowardly lies!”

“No sir, please! I saw glow of the demon in his eyes!”

“Blood orange?” The soldier had the General’s attention.

“None other.” The General looked at the soldier, and rode to the front line on his horse. He looked up to the Warrior Shaman, and yelled, “Wizard! My sources tell me you possess the storm cataract!”

“I do.” The Warrior Shaman replied. His voice was as thunder, and could be heard throughout the entire valley.

“Prove it. Prove it, and we will all lay down our arms! I’ve only seen one other spellslinger like you before, and I don’t believe-“

Three bolts of lightening screamed forth from the black ink that was the sky, striking the Warrior Shaman’s axe. He sheathed his weapons, and wrestled with the energy, his teeth clenched and his browed furrowed with fury as he tried to hold back the wrath of nature. His body ached with the immense power, and his nose begun to bleed. Now disarmed, he held his arms out in front of him, palms up, his fingers locked into claws as tiny arcs of electricity climbed in-between them. Soon, a huge arc leapt from one hand to the other, a peal of thunder in short pursuit afterwards. He threw his hands to the sky, screaming as he flung the lightening into the sky, piercing the thunderclouds.

After the thunder died down, the valley filled with a new sound- the sound of countless weapons being dropped to the ground.

The storm calmed only after they were all gone.

Good or bad, long as its serious, I want feedback.

Writing is a Higher Form of Masturbation

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I’m not joking about the title.

When you think about it, what does a writer really do? Just that- we have stories in our heads, so we gotta get them out. Well, at least that’s what it’s like for me, but I must say the whole process from start to finish just makes me stiff. I love writing and comin’ up with shit as much as the next author, so I’ve decided to try out a new idea. All too often (and I’m sure 99.9% of you can relate to this), I have ideas that will never fit into a novel. They’re too small scale, or they’d be good for a scene in a novel, or something like that. And some of them actually aren’t all that asinine. So that leaves me with an overflow of cool ideas that might work together, but nowhere to put them. Until now, bitches.

Thanks to AutoRealm, I can create gigantic worlds as a framework for my ideas. All you do is download this program (it’s free) and you can create massive maps (or small ones) that can be used for role playing, recreation, or whatever. After getting used to the interface, I created a world called Melias, and this is where I will start with my new idea:

99 Cent Novellas.

I figured, what better way than to stroke my brain than putting all these little ideas and scenes into a novella? Like serials. They can be produced quickly (and with quality), and can be sold for cheap. Every single one of these novellas that I will produce will be 99 cents on Amazon. All of em’. And these novellas won’t stop at just Melias. I plan on creating a whole host of other worlds with a whole string of fresh novellas! And here’s the thing. Each novella will be its own story, with unique characters and places. Here, take a look at where the first group of novellas will take place:

99CN_Galivec

Galivec is a relatively small continent in Melias, and will be the stage for my first tale: The Path of the Warrior Shaman. Here’s some concept art of the main character:

99CN_WarriorShaman

Ah, fresh ideas, fresh starts. Love it. See what I mean? How can writing not be akin to pullin’ the mower? I created a skeleton where I can literally write with no limits as much or as little as I want. And since I have another job other than this one, I don’t need to worry about writing being my main source of income. I can focus on the writing and the art, and that’s all I really want. A limitless creative outlet that I can take refuge in.

Too many people see writing as a business. And that makes for shitty writing. More and more authors, writers, whatever need to remember (if they haven’t already) that you must be true to your art form. Take criticism, but don’t ever let it completely alter the fundamentals of your work. Because when we get down to it, who are we really creating novels, paintings, poems, blah blah blah for?

Our metaphorical authorpenis.

Approaching the Zenith

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Anticipation builds as I approach the most climatic moments of Blestemul.

As a writer, I find these feelings difficult to deal with. Sometimes, I can accept them. Channel them. Sometimes, the thought of finishing a book, or writing along to the end is very intimidating. It’s not the size of the project (a book is done when it’s done) its the…well fuck. I don’t know what it is. It’s a weird backwards anxiety that wants to be embraced and ignored all at the same time.

Writing hand to hand combat scenes, gunfights, large scale battles, these are things that are well, once again, intimidating. The violence and intensity, and the utter intimacy of combat is difficult to capture. And I still don’t know if I am doing it well enough. And it’s not just action sequences- there are many large and powerful plot points that are coming up, ones that will completely change the face of the book and allow it to go into a different direction. There’s a lot of pressure there, but then again, all I’m doing is tellin’ a story.

But that point is trivial. The feelings are still there.

Big moments in books come in many shapes and sizes, and they are all a little scary to face and actually flesh out. You name it: love scenes, loss scenes, pivotal parts where your protag meets your antag, killing important characters, dialogue, oh the list goes on and on, and every author worth their salt meets these challenges head on and the good ones execute with precision and merciless vocabulary. And the gravity of these plot points can be daunting to anyone that means to tell a story. But it must be done.

I guess the purpose of this entry was mostly confessional. I talk harsh, violent, and to the point, but I’m still a human wrapped in a greasy shell of meat, and I can still feel fear. Anxiety. Sheepish. And…I think that’s okay. Such vulnerabilities makes a better author, which in tern makes a better book. What about you?

How do you deal with such pivotal points in your stories? Novel or no, you’ve faced these challenges in fiction, and in different forms with non. Confess to us all. You’ll feel better.

And you’ll be a better writer for it.