Writing a Series of Mysteries

I have no idea as to the uniqueness of these tales. What I know is that they are fun to write , and writers — like anyone else– need a break sometimes. The advent of self-publishing has things in the world of the average writer rather topsy-turvy.  Where our forte is to write, we find ourselves in a world of self-promotion.  Now, I like to say nice things about my work, even consider myself talented, but am uncertain if I will be found in the myriad of other self-aggrandized authors.  For that reason, I chose to find a traditional publisher for my fantasy work. What I’m writing now, however, is for pure pleasure.

If you don’t seize the moment, squeeze the joy from everything, life has a way of passing you by.

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Self -doubt

We all have it. Some of us deny the immensity of introspection. Nonetheless, self-doubt can raise its ugly head at the worst of times.

I’m a new blogger, with my feet relatively undampened by the sea of information telling me what to write, how to phrase and generally how to behave here in blog world.  To be perfectly honest, its terrifying, but has the excitement of a very new experience. 

I can ask my few readers to be patient while I try to determine where tabs and bells and whistles all attach to a written piece. Yet, somehow, they seem to know that I will muddle through this and come out improved.  I might not be a better person, but I will know–eventually–the hows and wheres of the process.

Unless, of course, I let the old self-doubt have a full hand in the experience.  While it makes me cautious,it can also make me sweat.  Here’s to trust and friendship while i wade through hopefully undaunted by my worst enemy.

I’m a great writer — I can do this.

Google & Amazon

For the first time ever I “Googled” my own name. It proves to be instructive. Says nothing about my being Irish.
I’m exposed! Well, everything I’ve put on the internet is available for anyone to peruse…while eating jelly donuts and wearing their underwear at 3 a.m.
Okay, yes, I’m a private sort of person not likely to say too much about where I’ve been or where I’m going.
I did, however, learn that my new release is available as an Amazon pre-sale.

http://www.amazon.com/Dreamer-ebook/dp/B00BFYE2HW/ref=sr_1_8?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361324876&sr=1-8&keywords=dreamer
It is a bit of a discount.
Can buy NOW direct from the publisher:
http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781625107169
It came as rather a shock, though, since I hadn’t yet been informed. Glad to see it’s out there so I can sit around in my underwear at 3 a.m., eating jelly donuts…with something to read!

A Taste

Dragon pin

The creature had been running. The hot desert sands burned
through his coarse leather shoes. The suggestion of a city in the
distance seemed so real. Knowing he would not survive disappointment,
the beast slowed his pace, keeping his eyes fixed on
the heated sands. Time now separated him from disaster, but she
might follow. Tangled in paranoia, he found a second wind and
bolted forward… toward a dream… toward hope.
***
Magic looked down at his swollen feet as he sat on his bedside.
Dim light entered the dusty interior of his once-grand bedroom
from a gap in the heavy curtain. A small stream of bright sun
escaped the drapery and pierced the gloom. It was just another
day, just another chance. Yet today might be special. Today might
be Magic’s last chance. At least he could dream. Magic had always
believed in the power of dreams.
The young man could not remember how long it had been
since he last considered his appearance. Staggering to rise, he
studied his reflection in the dust-covered antique mirror. The man
who stared back had become thin. His beautiful blond hair had
become long, tangled, thin, and neglected, matted from months
of agitated sleep. There were gray circles under dark-blue eyes,
and his face wore the stubble of a light beard. A grimace crossed
Magic’s lips at the thought of how he had changed. In days gone
by, he had been called pretty enough to be a girl. The man who
grimaced in his reflection appeared to suffer from some internal
stress. What demons danced in this mirror man’s nightmares,
Magic denied knowing.
Turning away, almost sickened by his own reflection, he chased
negative thoughts from his mind. It was a new day. He rose,
passed the large oaken desk, and headed to the shower. Maybe
the water would clear his mind. Perhaps he could wash away the
changes that had taken deep root in his life.
The computer in the darkened corner of his room made a slight
sound, indicating a demand for his attention. For the moment, it
could wait. For the moment, he would allow the torrent of warm
water to pour over him and let him forget everything.
Life had a way of letting the mind drift only so long. The
phone was ringing, the computer signaling, the doorbell chiming,
all as he exited his shower and hurriedly dressed. He knew the
day was not going to be pleasant. Magic stumbled, numbly steeling
himself with the endurance he must find within to survive.
He must live now—one minute at a time.
Finally dressed, he swung open the door, ignoring both phone
and computer. There on the steps was Oliver Scheen, known to
him as simply Scheen, smiling in warm greeting.
“Come on in, I’m almost ready,” Magic called over his shoulder
as he turned away to locate his special shoes.
***
Scheen entered,his smile fading as he watched Magic stumble. Knowing how his
friend struggled with illness and medication was the most difficult
thing Scheen had ever faced. He had seen his own troubles,
was no stranger to them, but this was Magic. This was different.
He was taking Magic to the hospital again today.
Scheen scooped up the shoes in one large hand, turned to
scooped up Magic in his free arm, then carried them both to the
chair. The large man knelt and put Magic’s shoes on him, grinning
up into his face.
“Just thought I’d hurry things along a bit.”
“I know you just can’t wait to get back to the game.” Magic
smiled the words. “I know how you feel about it, but…let’s do
this. We can go back to Salandra as soon as it’s over.”
Yes, Scheen thought, keeping his desires silent. He could
not stifle his urgent need to return to a world where Magic was
whole, to return to the game, to see his friend well. He lived for
it. Scheen put out his muscular arm to steady Magic as they left
the security of his home, climbed into Scheen’s blue luxury sedan,
and threaded the path toward the treatment center. They would
soon be hurrying back toward more pleasant things, toward the
game, toward their roles in the world of Salandra.

So in Today’s News…

I’m what’s refered to on a video game as a noob. As I shamefully hang my head, I realize that I need to understand so many things so much better.
When I decided to write, I lacked the understanding that I would also need to sell my stories–if people were going to read my book.
Now at first, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t care. I wrote my books for myself and my loved ones because I sincerely believed that my stories could enhance their lives. I hid my light, so to speak, under a basket.
It’s time the lid was off. The light revealed. I’m climbing a steep grade from the blinded to the seeing…and sometimes it seems impossible.
There is one thing I know. With the help and patience of my friends online and offline, I will succeed.

Courage

Sitting here thinking about my new release, I feel exposed. I imagine it’s what every writer feels publishing the words that sprung so readily from the heart. We know some people won’t like what we say, or they will find fault with our use of language. No one can please everyone. However, it takes bravery to give a novel to the world…like sending a child away from home for the first time.
It might not seem so much an effort to those who have not done it, or those who have written without the force of commitment. An author’s reasons for producing their work can be varried. For a person who is called by the words, no matter the intent, there is a strong tie between writer and story that is almost an attachment.
We live with the words for days, months and even years before we let our readers see them. We hoard them, refine them, adjust them, coddle them, make them whole. Every time I finish a story I contend with a deep sadness that it’s over, wanting it to last forever.
The only way I know to give it a life beyond my own doorstep is to release it into the world and hope against hope that it survives and is loved.

Joy and happiness

“Your a word expert,” my friend pronounced to me loudly enough that it drew my attention from the book I was reading.

“I’m no expert,”I denied.

“You’re a writer.  Good enough,” he paused as I raised my eybrows. “What’s the difference between joy and happiness?”

I puzzled for a few moments and then discovered that I did indeed have an explanation, whether right or wrong. “Happiness is based on the external. At least to me, joy comes from within. You can be joyful and weep at the same time.”

My friend pursed his lips in apparent distaste. “You’re weird.”

I met his gaze. “I know.”