It's been half a year since the release of The Morbid Fascinations of David Bennett. I can't believe it's been that long, actually closer to seven months now. It's also bee roughly six months since I began my current work in progress.
So much has changed with the world, and my perspective on it since my debut released into the world. I have learned how to appreciate criticism without letting it devastate me. I have also learned to discern what qualifies as criticism versus knit picking or tearing down. I also have learned to appreciate that people will have very different reactions to my work depending on their own philosophy. It should have been obvious to begin with, but I was singularly focused and pretty obliviously obtuse about what life as an author is really like.
In the best moments it has been overwhelming, uplifting, vindicating, and just pure fun.
In the worst moments it has been frustrating, draining, humbling, and downright devastating.
You know what, though? I wouldn't trade it for the world.
My writing routine looks a lot different than it did a year ago. Back then I was struggling to find time to write amid a busy life as a work from home dad. Then, when I started drafting my current novel I had more scheduled time and it flowed much better. Now, I have time, support, but I also have extended periods of malaise as a direct result of the pandemic sweeping across the globe. It all makes life feel rather pointless, these days. Some days are better than others. I went from a pace that allowed me to complete the first draft of my current work in four months to being stuck in the first act of the second draft for the past two months.
So, what have I learned about the journey of being a writer, so far? It's not just a job or a career -- it's a lifestyle. It's a complete immersion into a new way of existing...and unless you can handle wear and tear, physically and mentally, it's going to wear you down like a jagged stone in a river. A year ago I was a very jagged rock. Now I'm but a humble little pebble who has learned to let the current flow around me without sweeping me away with it.
Monday, May 11, 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
The New Normal
I can't believe that we are settling in to our new routine. Either the human mind is incredibly adaptive or we have all simply accepted our insanity. Here in Michigan we have been under a stay at home order since the middle of March -- nearing the six week mark. It just got extended until May 15th. Personally, while I understand it and endorse it I would be utterly mad if it wasn't affecting me. My family goes through strange days where things feel normal for a while and then someone will end up breaking down. Early on I was handling it poorly. I think I've mostly settled into an at least even-keeled attitude over the past few weeks.
My writing is still a victim in all of this. I tend to write every other day. Sometimes the inspiration just isn't there and I can't force it. Yesterday I sat down to write but there was too much else going on around here and I only got about 400 words out, and most of those will need to be re-written. I'm around 22,000 words into the 2nd draft of Maestra.
It is going to be good, once done. I will be happy to set it free unto the world. After that, I will be glad to be done with this fantasy/horror universe that I created for a while. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy with these first two novels and I think readers will be surprised at the twisting linkage between the two. Maestra isn't so much a sequel as simply taking place in the same universe and utilizing some of the same characters to bring closure to their arcs. Writing this story has wrenched my heart and I have a lot of negative emotions from my experience of the world around me while writing Maestra. Again, the work is good. It's fresh, original, and a bit epic in scope compared to The Morbid Fascinations of David Bennett -- but everything going on around me has soured me on the pure horror genre for the time being.
I have no doubt that I will return to writing horror in a year or two. I have several stories outlined and ready to go.
My next project will be science fiction. It will be bleak, dark (quite literally,) and actually include a bit of hope -- which my horror writing lacks. Basically, writing so much darkness while going through such a dark time in the history of human-kind, isn't good for my mental health. When the sun comes out from behind the corona (pun intended,) and I can once more interact with friends without a screen between us, I will return to writing horror.
So, with any luck, draft two of Maestra will wrap by the end of June at the pace that I am working on. I am planning to take my time with edits and any additional re-writes. So if it is out by September or October I will be happy. Maybe next year there will even be some book signings in my future.
Hope everyone is staying safe and keeping their loved ones as near as possible. Take care.
_______________
Reduced to 99 cents on Kindle, read The Morbid Fascinations of David Bennett before the epic continuation releases this Fall: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1701845431
My writing is still a victim in all of this. I tend to write every other day. Sometimes the inspiration just isn't there and I can't force it. Yesterday I sat down to write but there was too much else going on around here and I only got about 400 words out, and most of those will need to be re-written. I'm around 22,000 words into the 2nd draft of Maestra.
It is going to be good, once done. I will be happy to set it free unto the world. After that, I will be glad to be done with this fantasy/horror universe that I created for a while. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy with these first two novels and I think readers will be surprised at the twisting linkage between the two. Maestra isn't so much a sequel as simply taking place in the same universe and utilizing some of the same characters to bring closure to their arcs. Writing this story has wrenched my heart and I have a lot of negative emotions from my experience of the world around me while writing Maestra. Again, the work is good. It's fresh, original, and a bit epic in scope compared to The Morbid Fascinations of David Bennett -- but everything going on around me has soured me on the pure horror genre for the time being.
I have no doubt that I will return to writing horror in a year or two. I have several stories outlined and ready to go.
My next project will be science fiction. It will be bleak, dark (quite literally,) and actually include a bit of hope -- which my horror writing lacks. Basically, writing so much darkness while going through such a dark time in the history of human-kind, isn't good for my mental health. When the sun comes out from behind the corona (pun intended,) and I can once more interact with friends without a screen between us, I will return to writing horror.
So, with any luck, draft two of Maestra will wrap by the end of June at the pace that I am working on. I am planning to take my time with edits and any additional re-writes. So if it is out by September or October I will be happy. Maybe next year there will even be some book signings in my future.
Hope everyone is staying safe and keeping their loved ones as near as possible. Take care.
_______________
Reduced to 99 cents on Kindle, read The Morbid Fascinations of David Bennett before the epic continuation releases this Fall: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1701845431
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Living Through This
It's been more weeks than I can count since anything seemed normal. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about dealing with the depression that comes along with living under a stay at home order. I understand it, I support it, but it is rough. It hasn't felt any more normal as time passes, either.
I hit a point where I couldn't come back after I finished the first draft of Maestra. I took less than two weeks off, but when I sat down to write again it was emotionless. My writing voice was gone. It wasn't because my talent had suddenly slipped away in the middle of the night. It was because my heart wasn't into it. My heart wasn't into anything any longer. I couldn't settle in to work on anything. All I kept doing was checking the news to see if anything was real.
I forced myself to write in small chunks, and eventually I rebounded to being back into my story. Some days still suck, and more than once I have had to walk away from the draft for a couple of days. I'm never going to forget the struggle I am having with getting this story formed and typed out. I'm a very linear writer, going from A to B in the most direct path. Taking breaks, for my own mental health, only makes me feel worse. I feel like I am getting behind on some made up schedule that never existed in the first place.
Breathe.
It's going to be okay.
Most likely...as long as I stay away from people and remember my mask when I'm in public.
Breathe again.
Each day is its own little universe right now.
If you are reading this and feeling broken or defeated, know that you aren't alone. This isn't coming from some Hollywood star sitting in a mansion. This is coming from a very sympathetic writer seated at a folding craft table where he spends most of his time either writing or on art projects to pass the endless days until society resumes.
We will get there. We have to believe that.
Take care of yourself and I'll see you all when the sun comes out from behind the clouds.
I hit a point where I couldn't come back after I finished the first draft of Maestra. I took less than two weeks off, but when I sat down to write again it was emotionless. My writing voice was gone. It wasn't because my talent had suddenly slipped away in the middle of the night. It was because my heart wasn't into it. My heart wasn't into anything any longer. I couldn't settle in to work on anything. All I kept doing was checking the news to see if anything was real.
I forced myself to write in small chunks, and eventually I rebounded to being back into my story. Some days still suck, and more than once I have had to walk away from the draft for a couple of days. I'm never going to forget the struggle I am having with getting this story formed and typed out. I'm a very linear writer, going from A to B in the most direct path. Taking breaks, for my own mental health, only makes me feel worse. I feel like I am getting behind on some made up schedule that never existed in the first place.
Breathe.
It's going to be okay.
Most likely...as long as I stay away from people and remember my mask when I'm in public.
Breathe again.
Each day is its own little universe right now.
If you are reading this and feeling broken or defeated, know that you aren't alone. This isn't coming from some Hollywood star sitting in a mansion. This is coming from a very sympathetic writer seated at a folding craft table where he spends most of his time either writing or on art projects to pass the endless days until society resumes.
We will get there. We have to believe that.
Take care of yourself and I'll see you all when the sun comes out from behind the clouds.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Dreaming of the End
I've been trying to think of something useful to write for a new blog entry over the past week but it's very hard to come up with anything inspiring during these crazy times.
I've been self isolating for the better part of a month now and my state has officially joined others in the 'Stay at Home' directive. So, for the next three weeks I have plenty of time to sit around and do a whole lot of writing...or not.
I am scheduled to begin the second draft of Maestri (possibly Maestra) this weekend. I may pick it up a couple of days early but I'm still trying to recover from the mental fatigue involved in writing 3 drafts worth of manuscripts within one calendar year. Some people can do it with ease -- I'm not one of them, apparently. By the end of draft one I was in dire need of a break.
Over the past week I've read a bit, tried to relax, waited through a bathroom renovation project that was nearly finished before the state shut down, and just spent time working from home at my other job.
The bathroom project came down to the wire on Monday. It's not painted, but it's functional. Just have to wait three weeks for the finishing touches. I keep reminding myself that it could be far worse. There are people scared, sick, dying so it would be extremely selfish to care about something as trivial as a bathroom remodel at this point.
I dream of warm Spring days sitting in my lawn swing with my chromebook on my lap, typing away at the second draft of this book. I also dream of seeing friends, again. I'm incredibly antisocial but I promise to get out more and stop self isolating so much once all of this is over.
If anyone wants to bury themselves in a book, though, not only is my debut available for Free on Kindle Unlimited, but it is also now only 99 cents. I don't expect people to shell out money if they are among the millions out of work right now, and I do appreciate the support if you choose to spend one of those precious dollars on my work. Thank you. Even if you just stop in to read this bland little blog, thank you.
-R. M. Smith
https://www.amazon.com/Morbid-Fascinations-David-Bennett-ebook/dp/B07ZG4N2XB/
I've been self isolating for the better part of a month now and my state has officially joined others in the 'Stay at Home' directive. So, for the next three weeks I have plenty of time to sit around and do a whole lot of writing...or not.
I am scheduled to begin the second draft of Maestri (possibly Maestra) this weekend. I may pick it up a couple of days early but I'm still trying to recover from the mental fatigue involved in writing 3 drafts worth of manuscripts within one calendar year. Some people can do it with ease -- I'm not one of them, apparently. By the end of draft one I was in dire need of a break.
Over the past week I've read a bit, tried to relax, waited through a bathroom renovation project that was nearly finished before the state shut down, and just spent time working from home at my other job.
The bathroom project came down to the wire on Monday. It's not painted, but it's functional. Just have to wait three weeks for the finishing touches. I keep reminding myself that it could be far worse. There are people scared, sick, dying so it would be extremely selfish to care about something as trivial as a bathroom remodel at this point.
I dream of warm Spring days sitting in my lawn swing with my chromebook on my lap, typing away at the second draft of this book. I also dream of seeing friends, again. I'm incredibly antisocial but I promise to get out more and stop self isolating so much once all of this is over.
If anyone wants to bury themselves in a book, though, not only is my debut available for Free on Kindle Unlimited, but it is also now only 99 cents. I don't expect people to shell out money if they are among the millions out of work right now, and I do appreciate the support if you choose to spend one of those precious dollars on my work. Thank you. Even if you just stop in to read this bland little blog, thank you.
-R. M. Smith
https://www.amazon.com/Morbid-Fascinations-David-Bennett-ebook/dp/B07ZG4N2XB/
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
In a Strange Land
Yesterday I completed the first draft of Maestri. It came in around 103,000 words over 353 pages. I'm sure that word count will change a fair bit in the next pass. I already have some ideas for what I want to change and thinks I would like to add or subtract.
So today begins my imposed two week hiatus from writing...and what a time it is to have not much of anything to do!
As I write this my 3 year old is making train-like droning noises to my right while my 14 year old is typing away on her Chromebook on school work that was sent home during the shutdown. She optimistically thinks she will be going back in early April. Personally, I think the school year is in the books.
I've never been one to go out and be social but even I am feeling this in the form of some ethereal claustrophobia holding me in place. It's like I am isolated in this tiny little world with kids, cats, and a wife who is increasingly despondent as the days pass. I'm not sure what to tell any of them. The odds are that all of us will be okay. I'm in a high risk group but I know the odds are in my favor. Still, witnessing the world come to a screeching halt and our financial future suddenly in doubt is not something fun to experience.
I am one of the fortunate ones who does have a safety net to fall back on. We live without debt and could, in an emergency, sell our vacation property (if anyone is buying.) Many people don't have more than a few bucks in their savings -- if they have a savings. Less than five years ago that was me.
All we can really do is be patient and kind toward one another. You know how there's always this one jerk that everybody loathes but when that person actually goes through a tragedy you suck it up, offer your sympathy, and wish them peace? Let's just pretend that every stranger you meet from now on is that person. You may not like what they are doing and they may rub you the wrong way but just show a bit of compassion toward one another. It will go a long way toward helping us all rise out of this into whatever changed world we find waiting on the other side of the Coronavirus Pandemic.
Be kind to one another.
So today begins my imposed two week hiatus from writing...and what a time it is to have not much of anything to do!
As I write this my 3 year old is making train-like droning noises to my right while my 14 year old is typing away on her Chromebook on school work that was sent home during the shutdown. She optimistically thinks she will be going back in early April. Personally, I think the school year is in the books.
I've never been one to go out and be social but even I am feeling this in the form of some ethereal claustrophobia holding me in place. It's like I am isolated in this tiny little world with kids, cats, and a wife who is increasingly despondent as the days pass. I'm not sure what to tell any of them. The odds are that all of us will be okay. I'm in a high risk group but I know the odds are in my favor. Still, witnessing the world come to a screeching halt and our financial future suddenly in doubt is not something fun to experience.
I am one of the fortunate ones who does have a safety net to fall back on. We live without debt and could, in an emergency, sell our vacation property (if anyone is buying.) Many people don't have more than a few bucks in their savings -- if they have a savings. Less than five years ago that was me.
All we can really do is be patient and kind toward one another. You know how there's always this one jerk that everybody loathes but when that person actually goes through a tragedy you suck it up, offer your sympathy, and wish them peace? Let's just pretend that every stranger you meet from now on is that person. You may not like what they are doing and they may rub you the wrong way but just show a bit of compassion toward one another. It will go a long way toward helping us all rise out of this into whatever changed world we find waiting on the other side of the Coronavirus Pandemic.
Be kind to one another.
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
The Existential Toilet
I'm a creature of habit.
Currently, I'm a creature of habit without a toilet.
Well, technically I have one -- upstairs in my house -- but the one on the first floor is completely gutted and looking incredibly rough.
That's right, tax time in the Smith household means home renovations!
So, for the next week or two the four of us in the house will all be sharing my daughter's 40 sq ft rectangle that she calls a bathroom, complete with 36" x 36" shower that is barely big enough for me, let alone my tall wife.
I've been grumpy. I failed to think through the ramifications of having to share way too much space with every other member of my family. I'm not a social person and no longer having a first floor bathroom has turned me into something of a bear.
During the day when the contractors are here I've been taking my soon to be 4 year old upstairs with me to hang out. We have 4 bedrooms upstairs, and a movie theater! Yet, this kid isn't happy. He wants to come downstairs and watch the workers, which I won't allow him to do. It's loud, the air is full of dust and insulation particles, and it's just unpleasant and he doesn't need to be underfoot.
So, now he's grumpy too.
I've been contemplating my recent angst and attempting to find a further meaning in it. I think it's just a loss of power and control in a situation and no longer feeling completely comfortable in a place that has always been extremely safe.
I'm having an existential crisis...over a toilet. It's not the toilet, itself, it's what the toilet represents. It represents gleaming, pristine, porcelain freedom to be able to roam my house and not have to tiptoe upstairs to take care of business when everyone is asleep. It's about being able to shower and groom on my own schedule instead of the twenty allotted minutes that I currently have!
The real question, though, is why does any of that matter? It's not a big deal, really! So why does it needle me so much?
It's like I'm living at home with my parents, twenty five years ago. I suddenly feel like I am on a clockwork schedule, have zero privacy, and have a mountain of things to do that I can't get done because someone is constantly in my way!
It's affecting my writing schedule, too, and that really throws me into a snit. Last week it was my poor, fluffy kitty boy tossing my writing into chaos. Now it's an ample-cracked plumber walking up and down the stairs all day, who's searching for leaky pipes and making sure that the water pressure is good for both bathrooms.
This isn't fun!
Yes, I will live.
Again, it's not a big deal. Somebody just needs to tell my brain it's not a big deal.
I miss my bathtub, too. *sigh*
Currently, I'm a creature of habit without a toilet.
Well, technically I have one -- upstairs in my house -- but the one on the first floor is completely gutted and looking incredibly rough.
That's right, tax time in the Smith household means home renovations!
So, for the next week or two the four of us in the house will all be sharing my daughter's 40 sq ft rectangle that she calls a bathroom, complete with 36" x 36" shower that is barely big enough for me, let alone my tall wife.
I've been grumpy. I failed to think through the ramifications of having to share way too much space with every other member of my family. I'm not a social person and no longer having a first floor bathroom has turned me into something of a bear.
During the day when the contractors are here I've been taking my soon to be 4 year old upstairs with me to hang out. We have 4 bedrooms upstairs, and a movie theater! Yet, this kid isn't happy. He wants to come downstairs and watch the workers, which I won't allow him to do. It's loud, the air is full of dust and insulation particles, and it's just unpleasant and he doesn't need to be underfoot.
So, now he's grumpy too.
I've been contemplating my recent angst and attempting to find a further meaning in it. I think it's just a loss of power and control in a situation and no longer feeling completely comfortable in a place that has always been extremely safe.
I'm having an existential crisis...over a toilet. It's not the toilet, itself, it's what the toilet represents. It represents gleaming, pristine, porcelain freedom to be able to roam my house and not have to tiptoe upstairs to take care of business when everyone is asleep. It's about being able to shower and groom on my own schedule instead of the twenty allotted minutes that I currently have!
The real question, though, is why does any of that matter? It's not a big deal, really! So why does it needle me so much?
It's like I'm living at home with my parents, twenty five years ago. I suddenly feel like I am on a clockwork schedule, have zero privacy, and have a mountain of things to do that I can't get done because someone is constantly in my way!
It's affecting my writing schedule, too, and that really throws me into a snit. Last week it was my poor, fluffy kitty boy tossing my writing into chaos. Now it's an ample-cracked plumber walking up and down the stairs all day, who's searching for leaky pipes and making sure that the water pressure is good for both bathrooms.
This isn't fun!
Yes, I will live.
Again, it's not a big deal. Somebody just needs to tell my brain it's not a big deal.
I miss my bathtub, too. *sigh*
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
Life Interrupted
Just when I'm on a roll and nearly finishing a stage of a project something seems to happen. That sounds selfish. Seriously, I would rather be interrupted by anything else besides what has happened here over the past several days.
Friday I noticed our nearly 11 year old ragdoll cat acting a bit off. He was still eating, but light, and spending more time sleeping in my laundry than normal. By Saturday morning I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, though the outside symptoms seemed to be invisible to anyone else. I convinced my wife to take her baby (whom she adopted 3 years before we met) to his vet appointment while I tended to Saturday chores with out three year old.
The diagnosis was grim. His body wasn't producing red blood cells. Instead of a healthy level between 25 and 50%, his red cell count was below 10%. His white blood cell count was low, as well. He was sent home since he was still at least eating a bit of food and treats, with four medications to combat a possible bacterial infection while some blood work was sent out for analysis (which would take upwards of a week.)
Coal continued to slide until Sunday night it was obvious that he didn't have long left. He was weak and collapsed into his litter pan. In a frantic last ditch effort to help the poor guy we rushed him to Michigan State University's 24 hour emergency veterinary clinic, roughly 60 miles away. It was 1:00am Monday morning by the time my wife arrived there.
The next several hours crawled by as I held vigil at home over the children (and a newly acquired hamster that was adapting to the house.) My wife and I both went two days without sleep. That never helps any situation. Our 3 year old was picking up on our sadness and commenting on it. His eating began to deteriorate and we were on the verge of sending him to his grandparents for a couple of days.
Monday afternoon we finally got a result from a bone marrow draw on the poor kitty boy. The good news was that it wasn't cancer. Unfortunately, he has an autoimmune disease and his own body is attacking his ability to produce blood cells. He was given a transfusion and put on medication to treat the autoimmune disease late Monday.
Today's update was that his blood cell count has stabilized, holding from his transfusion now that we have a plan of treatment underway. The vet said that Coal is a bit more feisty but still not eating. They were unaware of that cat's utter disdain for wet or canned cat food. So my wife went down there today to take a bag of treats and dry food that he typically eats here and to spend some time with him. The current hope is that he will begin eating in the next day or two and be able to come home soon.
To anyone who would say "it's just a cat" I would heartily roll my eyes. When you spend a decade with a creature who loves you and depends on you it isn't a pet, it's a child. Unfortunately, all of ours are aging and we have lost three in the past few years. Our remaining ones are 2 nearly 11 year olds and a 14 year old.
With this treatment we are hopeful and cautiously optimistic that Coal will live out the rest of his natural life, but each day is its own battle right now.
I am trying to be a bit more understanding toward myself no longer burying myself in my writing and feeling the motivation completely gone. There is no inspiration right now. I desperately want to finish the first draft of Maestra before I lose momentum but the story isn't speaking to me right now.
With a whole lot of luck life will slowly return to something resembling normal and the typically unending worlds within my head begin spinning again. Until then it's a matter of going through the motions and waiting to see if the bottom will firm up or fall out.
Friday I noticed our nearly 11 year old ragdoll cat acting a bit off. He was still eating, but light, and spending more time sleeping in my laundry than normal. By Saturday morning I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, though the outside symptoms seemed to be invisible to anyone else. I convinced my wife to take her baby (whom she adopted 3 years before we met) to his vet appointment while I tended to Saturday chores with out three year old.
The diagnosis was grim. His body wasn't producing red blood cells. Instead of a healthy level between 25 and 50%, his red cell count was below 10%. His white blood cell count was low, as well. He was sent home since he was still at least eating a bit of food and treats, with four medications to combat a possible bacterial infection while some blood work was sent out for analysis (which would take upwards of a week.)
Coal continued to slide until Sunday night it was obvious that he didn't have long left. He was weak and collapsed into his litter pan. In a frantic last ditch effort to help the poor guy we rushed him to Michigan State University's 24 hour emergency veterinary clinic, roughly 60 miles away. It was 1:00am Monday morning by the time my wife arrived there.
The next several hours crawled by as I held vigil at home over the children (and a newly acquired hamster that was adapting to the house.) My wife and I both went two days without sleep. That never helps any situation. Our 3 year old was picking up on our sadness and commenting on it. His eating began to deteriorate and we were on the verge of sending him to his grandparents for a couple of days.
Monday afternoon we finally got a result from a bone marrow draw on the poor kitty boy. The good news was that it wasn't cancer. Unfortunately, he has an autoimmune disease and his own body is attacking his ability to produce blood cells. He was given a transfusion and put on medication to treat the autoimmune disease late Monday.
Today's update was that his blood cell count has stabilized, holding from his transfusion now that we have a plan of treatment underway. The vet said that Coal is a bit more feisty but still not eating. They were unaware of that cat's utter disdain for wet or canned cat food. So my wife went down there today to take a bag of treats and dry food that he typically eats here and to spend some time with him. The current hope is that he will begin eating in the next day or two and be able to come home soon.
To anyone who would say "it's just a cat" I would heartily roll my eyes. When you spend a decade with a creature who loves you and depends on you it isn't a pet, it's a child. Unfortunately, all of ours are aging and we have lost three in the past few years. Our remaining ones are 2 nearly 11 year olds and a 14 year old.
With this treatment we are hopeful and cautiously optimistic that Coal will live out the rest of his natural life, but each day is its own battle right now.
I am trying to be a bit more understanding toward myself no longer burying myself in my writing and feeling the motivation completely gone. There is no inspiration right now. I desperately want to finish the first draft of Maestra before I lose momentum but the story isn't speaking to me right now.
With a whole lot of luck life will slowly return to something resembling normal and the typically unending worlds within my head begin spinning again. Until then it's a matter of going through the motions and waiting to see if the bottom will firm up or fall out.
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