Interesting Story Formats

Recently, I've noticed some interesting story formats. By recently, I mean in the last year or two. 100 word stories, Hint Fiction (click here for a call to submissions) which is a story of twenty-five words or less. These are intriguing little snippets that can be downright disturbing.

I find these little tales fun to write. I've been writing them for a long time--not with publication in mind, though. I use it as a outline, actually. Three sentences; a beginning, middle, and end. I'm not major on outlines, I have very little use for them, but I have to get my ideas down or I'll lose them. So, I started writing out the beginning, middle and end in a single sentence for each. I called them snips for a while.

Anyhow, just a cool little tid bit (yes, pun intended). Check y'all lata.

Peace & Love, always
~E.

Talking seriously about horror

Many people consider horror the bastard genre. That's just how it is.

"Oh, I can't read that! It's scary!"

Yes, yes it is. Fear is powerful, almost too powerful. The most powerful of those fears is the fear of being afraid. Most people do not want to feel fear because it is sheer, raw emotion that they can control no more than they can control their breathing or heartbeat. Human fears are inexplicable, like why the Earth is round or why twenty-four hour convenience stores have locks on the doors. We humans like to be in control. We like to know that we are in charge. But when fear is involved, our own power is stripped away and instinct for survival kicks in for some, or they huddle in a sobbing, squeaking mass of uselessness for others. Fear is uncontrollable. You can't just stop being afraid of spiders or snakes or the tooth-fairy.

When considering what fear is in it's self, a person is most times stuck for words. It seems undefinable. Inexplicable. But it's not. It's really not. Fear is a beautiful emotion. Some may argue that it isn't an emotion, but that is totally untrue.

Fear, for me, starts as a physical reaction. Breath quickening, heart pounding. Blood rushing in your ears. Sound familiar? Does anger not do this to you? Does love or lust? All emotions, remember.

Fear starts out physical, but eventually moves on to mental. Again, sound familiar? The mental aspects of fear are the ones I like to explore the most. The thoughts, the half-formed things we wouldn't dare to allow ourselves to think. Going beyond our boundaries and into the unknown areas of our hearts and minds. Fear is a sickness, an emotional reaction. Fear is physical, mental, emotional.

Fear... is powerful.

And I love it, my god, do I love it!

There are irrational fears that take a person back to childhood. A fear of heights or the dark for example. Both fears of mine.

The lights go out and I'm useless. I may cry, I may scream, I may mumble incoherently until someone turns on a light or strikes a lighter. It's incapacitating. And I can't explain it any better than the next person.

When I die, I'm being buried with a flashlight.

Now, how has a post about horror morphed into a post about fear?

Well, to write horror, the writer needs to understand fear on it's most basic level. Some argue that fear is one thing or another; reaction versus emotion, as I mentioned earlier. None of that matters in the least.

Fear, in its most basic form, is all encompassing. There's a loss of control, over body and mind. Panic, hysteria.

I'm not talking about running from a spider or getting the willies over a clown painting. I'm talking about, "Holy SHIT! I'm either going to die or go crazy," type of fear. Real fear. Hardcore, baby, hardcore.

Horror plays on fear. All things macabre and horrific... all things that drive you crazy with fear. The unknown? Perhaps. But really, what is more fear invoking than the possibility of loss of life, limb, loved ones? What is greater than that? Loss of mind? Oh yes. My worst fear is going insane.

Which brings me to another point. I write quite a bit about mental defect. It's a fear of mine and one most people can share, even if they refuse to admit the possibility of insanity frightens them. Imagine being in a mind that is no longer your own. In a frame of mind that has no end to the thoughts that intrude and provoke strong emotion. Imagine not being able to control the one thing that makes you who you are. THAT is what I write about, most times, in one way or another.

Scary? Oh yes, it can be. Being bipolar, I can write about the places in the mind that others dare not go. Those insane little places that are more screaming chaos than actual cognitive thought. I can do it. It just takes me a long time. I'd rather not go there more than I have to. Would you blame me?

Now, the fun part. I want some participation. Tell me about the side of fear that you don't like to look at. I don't want to hear about mice and spiders and snakes. I want to hear a deep thinking analysis of how fear manifests its self in you. And not just what makes you afraid... I want to know how you deal with fear. No mantras, please.

So? Tell me. How do you deal with fear? How do regain control? And is there, in some tiny part of your mind, a place that quietly whispers that this will never end? That this temporary insanity will become permanent? And if it does... does that little thought drive you closer to fear induced hysteria... or does it ground you and help pull you back to reality?

Think about it. Talk to me. I want to know.

But for now,

Peace & Love...
~E.

Release Dates and LINKAGE!!!!!!!!!

So, it's that time again. But this time, I have links and dates for you, so you should be happy.

Short Story Library will be publishing my poem, titled "ADDICTED", on August 30, 2009. You can subscribe for their free newsletter for updates.

The Piker Press has my story, "TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE", set up for release on November 9, 2009.

Now, on to other things.

I'm writing a lot of short stories lately. Work on the novel has slowed, but it's still percolating. These things take time. I had a self-set deadline (along with some of my lovely friends at AW) for September 1, 2009, but I don't think I'll finish it in time. Since it's not a publisher-set deadline, I'm pretty okay with that. I'll finish it. This is the novel, I think. The big one. It's gone so smoothly for so long, I was bound to hit a snag, and I did, but this book just won't let go. I'll keep you updated. I promise.

For now guys, I'm out. I need coffee and cigarettes. And of course, I have some writing to do.

Peace & Love, y'all.

Always love.

~E.

No longer unpublished? Oh the HORROR!

Well... unpublished doesn't quite fit anymore. Semi-published? Can I get away with that one? Would y'all forgive me for being semi-published? Can I still blog on The Life of an Unpublished Writer if I'm no longer "unpublished"?

Why, fuck yeah I can!

So, by now you've figured out that I'm having something published. Two somethings, actually. One is a poem, the other flash fiction (which is very short short stories). I'll provide links once they are up on the web-based magazines. I promise I will. There's time enough for waiting, don't you think?

So, what to write about? Well, on my writing front, there's the short stories, as always. There's the novel I'm not writing. I'm supposed to be writing it, but I'm stuck. The bells aren't ringing right now. I have a feeling this novel is one I'm going to have to take in sips. If I write for too long on it, I start going nuts. I wrote all day on it once and when I went to bed that night, my ears started ringing. Anyone who knows what the novel is about will understand the reference.

In other news, on my last post, I told you about my recent rescue, Chancey. She is a darling. Gaining weight and muscle... she looks good. Much improved. Very happy, as well. She loves me to death. She follows me around the house, always close to where I am.

It's getting close to school time again, so school shopping will start soon.

Oh joy of joys. I have to shop for three kids. It is never, ever fun. School shopping bites a big weiner. A really big one. A footlong even.

I really don't have much to talk about, so I think I'll leave it at that. For now...

Peace & Love, y'all.
~E.

When Just Rescue isn't Enough

Here's another insight to my life that my readership may not know. I'm a big dog lover. I love dogs of all kinds. St. Bernard's are my favorite breed, but the ones that really hold my heart like no other are pit bulls.

I have a four-year-old male pit named Sarrow. He's red and white, red-nosed and too gentle to bite at flies. He's been in my family since he was three weeks old, and been a complete joy from the moment we brought him home. He's a beautiful dog, weighing in right at 70 lbs. A good weight for a medium sized pit. He might be a tiny bit fat. I can't help it, I have to spoil him.

That's him above, in his play area outside.

Today, though, my heart was broken. I met a beautiful little girl pit named Chancey. She is only three-years-old, tawny and white. She seems gentle and has taken right up with my children, my husband and I.

Chancey, though, hasn't had such a happy life. For a long time, she was left on a mountain top with no food or sufficient water. She received no human love or attention--no one even lived at the place where they left her chained, outside, with no dog house or cover. She's full grown, as tall as my Sarrow, but poor Chancey can't weigh but 25-30 pounds. Every bone she has shows through her skin. She has no muscle mass, no fat stored on her body. She literally is skin and bone. The pads of her paws hang from her feet, even the joints of her toes knob through the skin and fur. I nearly cried when I saw her in the condition she is in. Her neck and legs have abrasions from being chained for so long with no slack to play on. Can you see the difference in the sheer size of these two dogs? Can you?

Well, what could I do? I brought her home with me. When a friend of mine and my husband's called and said he knew where a neglected female pit had been left, I had no idea how bad it was. I've seen neglected and abused dogs, rescued my fair share, and I've never, ever seen a dog this thin. My friend wanted to keep her himself, but he knew he couldn't afford to feed her. So he called me. And now, my family has grown yet again. Do I mind? Hell no, I don't mind. If I could, I'd rescue every animal I see that suffers neglect and abuse. I'd take them all.(And I'll post new pics of her once she's healthy again. This one doesn't show how ghastly it looks up close, but you know)

But it makes me wonder if rescuing is enough. There are times, as is the case with sweet, gentle Chancey, that it's never going to be enough. Will she always wait until she's alone to eat, so that nothing can take her precious food away? Will she always ache for attention, as I can see in her liquid green eyes that she aches now? When I held her, loved on her, she just leaned on me--like her frail frame could barely stand without my support. Her tail flicked back and forth with each stroke of my hand on her head, but it never reached a full wag. She just didn't have the energy. And when I took my hand away, I saw her lean under it, trying to make the gentle touches stay. She has missed being loved.

She will not miss it again.

I can't keep every dog. I know that. This will make my third amid a veritble menagerie of pets. Turtles, frogs, fish, birds, cats and dogs. I have some of every one of those animals. I can't take on all the abused dogs I see. Though I'm a horror writer, my heart is so big that if I could afford it, I'd give every one of them a home and the special attention they need. Because no one else will. Especially for a pit bull.

These dogs have been given a stigma that nothing but caring and understanding will out-do. These animals want only to be loved, like any other breed. They are not fierce killers, but gentle darlings who are forced to kill by the bastards who use and abuse their awesome strength. If they will not kill, they are left to starve, as Chancey was.

So next time, dear readers, you see a thin dog with sad eyes--stop. Take a chance, as I've done with this sweet girl Chancey. You may get a trusted friend... and you may instantly become a saving grace in a life that, before you, had no meaning beyond the three feet of chain that held it down.

There. I'm fairly certain I've destroyed my hardened image, but I don't care. Sometimes, it's good to be soft too. To love. Chancey has a chance now, and that is all that matters.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

Oh, you sexy BEAST you!

I'm so sick of this new fad that has vampires as protagonists. They shouldn't be protagonists. I think ALL of these vampiric romances are gimmickry. Bland blah romance story, so what do we do? We make one half of the couple a vampire who hates themselves. COME ON!

Let me ask this. Would you date someone who drank blood? Would you find Hannibal Lecter (fictional) or Jeffrey Dahmer (very real until his death) sexy? Ooh baby, ooh baby. Would you lay beside someone who could, at any point and time, roll over and take a chunk out of your throat?

Let's all face the music here. I'm not ranting, but I'm gonna make my point. Vampires don't like humans except for as dinner. If a vampire male or female took an interest in a human of the opposite sex, they would turn the human. Humans are the vampire's natural prey. No way around it. Does a tiger fall for a gazelle? Would a lion love a zebra? (Although, I do have to mention, I did find my cat having his way with a squirrel once, but he was one of those that would have his way with anything... we called him the rape artist)

These vampire romance things are ridiculous. It's time to move on from the vampires and let them be the horrifying, disgusting monsters they are supposed to be. Vampires do not have souls. No soul. They are things, creatures. They do not feel. RESEARCH! My god, if you can use google, you can find out what constitutes a real vampire.

I wouldn't kiss a dead man. I wouldn't kiss a man who wanted to drink my blood. What is so sexy about a killer? Before you (general you) start screaming "my vampire doesn't kill anyone", I'll go ahead and say it. If he doesn't kill, he's not a vampire. Or she, since we could be talking about the female here.

The sexy enchantment everyone is bastardizing is supposed to be frightening, not admirable. The animal magnetism has been part of vampire lore since it's fledgling days. However, the "enchantment" wasn't by a sexy guy who just happened to have fangs and suck blood. It was like hypnotism--the one on the receiving end had no control over themselves. They went like a lamb to the slaughter... because there was no way to stop it. And in all actuality, that particular trait of the vampire was borrowed from snakes, of all things. Want to kiss a snake?

I'm not trying to stifle creativity. But just because your story has a vampire in it doesn't make it horror anymore. The vampire is just the new forbidden fruit and to be honest, it disgusts me. The things we used to fear are becoming acceptable and desirable.

Does anyone know what happened in the 17th to 19th century to people who were thought to have the "vampire virus"? Anyone? If they do, I'll eat my hat. Does anyone even know what the "vampire virus" truly was? Tuberculosis. Let me put on my history hat and instruct...

Throughout Europe and the colonies, a sickness struck. Those afflicted would weaken, grow pale, feeble and frail. Their skin would eventually take on a translucence that could only be explained by old folklore. Vampires. Many times, after the death of one person with the sickness, their family members would become ill. The more widespread the illness, the bigger the fear grew. It became the belief that if one died, the corpses were reanimating and coming after their families in the night while they slept. One after another, family members would die. Immediately after their death, their cheeks would grow rosy, as those with TB or the plague do, feeding the belief that the corpses were rising from the grave.

To stop this "vampire affliction" it became practice to mutilate the bodies. Remove the head, burn the heart and mix the ashes in a tea to feed the living but ill relatives, saw off the arms and cross them over the remains. Pretty gruesome, huh? But this is all sexy. This is romantic.

I admit it, I'm pissed. Every single vampire romance out there is a fraud and bull shit and I don't mind people knowing how I feel about it. These are the monsters of my genre, but suddenly, they aren't monsters anymore. They're just "misunderstood". Sure, sweetie, come on. I don't care if you kill me by ripping out my throat, because it's you and I LOVE you.

Fuck it.

I'm done with this. I can't keep going or I'll just get angrier.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

White dresses and burning candles

Today, I watched my husband's youngest brother get married. Ben and Amanda have had a short romance, but I think they are well suited. I'm not one to say whirlwind will end in disaster. My husband and I'd been together for two months when he moved in with me, so I am living proof that whirlwind can turn out good. Wonderful in fact.

I'd never been to the church the ceremony was held in. There wasn't much to it, the place was positively tiny, but the home-like structure held a certain Southern charm that larger religious structures are incapable of having. Beyond the walls of the tan exterior, a comfortable room sported only two rows of pews and small stage. A minuscule flight of stairs descended from the immediate left of the door. Candles burned on the stage area, no taller than the rest of the church, but set off by lovely wooden banisters.

Ribbons of royal blue and cream floated down from the top of each pew. Two candelabras sat a bit behind and on either side of the pulpit. Their glow would soon encircle the couple about to join their lives.

Ben stood in front of the guests, maybe forty to sixty people in all. His nerves were all over his face too. Poor boy. He looked like he'd swallowed a few fistfuls of Mexican Jumping Beans, the way he looked. Like his insides were taking a go on a tilt-a-whirl.

The music started and the wedding party came in. The music was a simple accompaniment to the party, rather than leading the show. The party was small, only the best man and maid-of-honor and the intendeds' parents.

After a short pause and little jingle of the piano, Amanda came up the stairs and took her father's arm. She was spectacular too. I'm not sentimental, or one to tear up at weddings. I don't normally form an opinion of them. I think most of the time, they're a big waste of time, energy and mental well-being. Not to mention money. The dress, the hair, the decorations, flowers, cake, the tuxes and dresses for the bridesmaids. It's ridiculous.

This wasn't. The wedding was simplistic and of tasteful elegance. Amanda didn't look like the brides in magazines, but in every way, she was far more beautiful. Her face nearly devoid of make up, just a bit of eye liner and a pastel shadow that only sparkled on her eyes lids, but she didn't need even that.

And it made it all perfect when she walked into the reception hall and told her maid-of-honor to "Please bring me my flip-flops". I don't know why, but that was the funniest, sweetest thing in the world.



I just wanted to share this. I'm not a sucker for weddings, but this one was truly magical. I have a new sister to add to my family. And she's a spit-fire. Of which, I wholly approve!

Good luck Ben & Amanda.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

You know that certain appendage on a brass monkey...

Balls. Do you have them? Anatomically, I don't.

But in my work, I definitely do.

No matter what I'm writing, I'm willing to take chances. I'm willing to pay to play. I'm definitely able to write good stuff.

So why the hell don't I?

Well, a couple reasons. I am not pounding out publishable prose on the first draft. Unless I somehow become a genius in the next twenty-four, I don't think I ever will. That doesn't mean it's not good, just not publishable on the first go around.

When will it become publishable, you ask? Fuck if I know. I'm not a big believer in faith, no "It'll get better" for me. To me, it's shit, will always be shit. It's never perfect enough.

This holds me back? Sure it does.

My problem, not yours... unless you want to read, and then you're fucked. Double fucked.

But I'm trying! I'm sending out short stories to different magazines, getting good--no GREAT-- feedback. Will it ever happen? Maybe. Probably. Does this mean I'm better?

NO! A big, giant, resounding NO to be exact. It's hard work, writing a good story. People say, "Anyone can write a story."

Yes, yes they can. But I don't just want to write a story anymore. I want to write a good one, one to be proud of, one I can point at and say, "I did that!" without a big, fat face full of red shame. Okay, okay, I know my face isn't fat, but still...

So, what does that make me?

It makes me a writer. We all want our works to be better. That's why we edit non-stop. Yeah, that's loads of fun. But in truth, it really is fun. It's a blast. But it's frustrating, confusing, and intimidating all at the same time it's being fun, too. It's a roller-coaster.

It's a drive through the mountains.

It's a day without a night.

It's a beautiful spring morning.

It is... whatever I want.

So, why can't I get it right?

Answer: Because no matter how perfect I want to be, I am as fallible as any other. I have flaws, for fuxake!

I am beautifully flawed.

Imperfectly perfect.

Pessimistically pessimistic.

Incredibly gorgeous... Oops! Didn't mean to type that one. Oh well, it stays.

Really, this is just a post for the sake of posting. I really just wanted to say that a person needs to have a pair. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm saying here.

Do I ever?

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

Description

Today, we are talking about descriptions. This was a recent discussion on Absolute Write and it got me thinking. When you are in school, they teach you to over-describe and put adverbs and adjectives everywhere. It's not good practice for fiction anymore. You can't get away with it. So, put it out of your head, for now. No adverbs. They are cheap and easy. I don't write cheap and easy, well, at least I try not to.

Sometimes, it's easy to get into lengthy descriptions about surroundings. But let me just say, unless your readers are from Mars, then they know what an oak tree is. They know what most kitchens and bathrooms look like. So, what about description?

Well, for the most part, it needs to be interweaved with the story, not thrown down in long chunks of prose. Build your world slowly, in sips. It's more natural.

Your characters don't notice their surroundings constantly, so why should the readers? Most human beings take their surroundings for granted, especially the familiar ones. By all means, if this is the first time your character has ever seen a certain object/place/person, describe a little. But only a little. Don't over-do. Since it was the subject of the conversation on AW, let's use the kitchen as an example.

I don't describe the kitchen or anything else unless I have to. I describe the things that are important. I mean really, how many ways can a kitchen be? If you let your readers get to know your character well enough, they know what color the kitchen is. Or a rough estimate. World-building isn't descriptions. It's making your character, and through them your readers, interact with it. They know it's there. It's safe to assume that if they are getting coffee, that they have a coffeemaker (or instant coffee). We don't need to know anything more than the character's actions. If they are painting a room, fine. Mention the color. Have the characters talk about it. Why are they painting? Why did they pick this color? But always ask yourself if it's important. If it's not, then there's no point in it being there. If they are just painting the room to be painting it, do they discuss something that helps with the plot? That's always an option. Does something happen while they work? It's not always about painting a picture. In fact, it's not painting a picture at all.

For me, description is only a little bit of information to allow the reader to assume the things you (the writer) want them to. That's all it needs to be. You needn't add into the story that the cocker spaniel has brown eyes. All cocker spaniels have brown eyes. It's unnecessary. We writers need to stop assuming everyone else on the planet isn't as smart as we are. In truth, they're are probably quite a few that are smarter.

My point is, describe what needs a description. Loading down your manuscript with pointless words is only going to make your job harder when it's editing time. Editing, however, is for a different post.

That's it for now guys.

Peace & Love
~E.

sex & sexuality

Hehe. Bet that got your attention, huh? Now, as you may have figured out, we are going to talk about sex today, but not like you probably think. I'm making my comments not for shits and giggles, my friends. This is a serious post. Sorry.

I'm so sick of people treating sex to different extremes. There's the: Sex is like the plague! extreme. And then there's: Sex is just a thing. Have a lot of it with a lot of people.

My view? I think sex is personal and intimate. I think this world was a lot better of a place when people thought sex and sexuality were best left where they should be: behind closed doors.

Opinions on sex vary and have varied in society for years. It's gone from something to be discreet about, to something shameful and nasty to something all people should indulge in with anyone they wish. And we all wonder why disease runs rampant.

Way back when sex was something special that happened after you were married is strangely the same damn time period when people had some fucking respect for themselves. I don't know about anyone else, but my worth will not be measured by how good a lay I happen to be.

I am worth more than how fuckable I am. I have standards. I have respect for myself and my body. I've been fucking the same man since I was 15 years old. Maybe I was too young to have sex. I dealt with the consequences. I am raising my children with their biological father, so I figure my choice in partner was pretty damned accurate... even if we were just kids.

I think discretion with sex is a needed thing. Can we stop acting like it's nothing? Are our children nothing? Didn't think so. Strange, though, how we treat the very thing that creates a child with such flippancy.

Sex is not just another thing to do. It is not a cure for boredom. It's a naturally occurring phenomenon between two people that is wonderful and can have wonderful results (You know... like having a KID!). But, unless we want brothers and sisters having children together, we must stop acting as if sex is just a meaningless act. Want me to prove it? Fine, mother fucker, fine, as someone once said.

Woman A has spontanius, wild, drunken sex with man A. Woman and man A use no protection. Man A and woman A never see each other again. Baby boy is born to woman A.

Meanwhile, Man A goes on to marry Woman B. They have baby girl.

Woman A marries Man B. Man B decides to adopt baby boy so his birth certificate no longer has a blank line after "father's name".

Baby boy grows up. Becomes man C.

Baby girl grows up to be woman C.

Man and woman C both go to same college.

Man and woman A were too drunk that night to remember who they procreated with.

Man and woman C fall in love, get married and have children.

Now, does this sound like responsible people? No. Does it sound realistic? Hell yeah, it does. It's sad, and it's sick, but fucking true. And what about all the adopted children? Think about it. There really are only so many people in the world and unless you are having one night stands in another country...

Being responsible doesn't mean making sex shameful. But teaching our children to respect it for the beautiful catastrophe it is might be a good thing.

I tell my daughter that her body and virginity are treasures, precious. I'm teaching my children that sex comes with responsabilities. They are not too young to know what sex is. They understand the mechanics of it, and the results and risks. I firmly believe that my kids will make the right decisions.

But then again, I bet my mom thought that too.

In an age where young girls think desirability means looks and wildness, "Just how far will she go, I wonder" I fear for our society. I fear for our children. And our future. Why? Because as little as sex means now, imagine how desensitized the next generation will be.

I don't remember a time when you only fucked who you married.

I don't remember a time when a grown man still felt fear if he thought his daddy was going to catch him touching a kid the wrong way.

I don't remember a time when sex was special.

I don't remember a time without AIDS.

I wish like hell I did.

Peace and love, y'all. I hope.

~E.