Larkin Weber Jr.'s Blog

Chapter 1Meeting on Aisle Twelve


                “Jasen Ernest Wells, could you report to the service desk? There is a customer in need of your assistance. Jasen Ernest Wells.”                Jasen growled under his breath, but it wasn’t in frustration as much as it was in resignation. He had told Alicia time and time again to not use his full name over the intercom. He was the only Jasen that worked in the store, a fact that he was positive of since it was his store, and Alicia was well aware of that. She was also aware of just how much he hated his middle name. That was probably the reason she went out of the way to use it whenever she could.                 The name always gave people a very incorrect assumption about how he looked. Being the owner of the first bookstore internet café in the area didn’t help prevent people from picturing him as a short, overweight forty-year-old with glasses and a bald spot. He was short, but that was the only part of the description that was accurate. He was muscular – he had refused to be both short and out of shape – with brown skin and low cut dark hair that had waves that resembled a dark ocean whose surface was being disrupted by a gentle breeze. Brown eyes gazed out from his clean shaven face at the computer screen that he had been looking at before his name had been called.                Sighing, he stood, smoothing out his black slacks with his hands and making sure his dark blue shirt was tucked in.What’s the point in having employees if you still have to do everything, he thought as he headed to his office door and stepped out of it. He had always been told by his parents, before they had died, that working for yourself was the only path to true freedom. They had been right, but they had never told him just how much work came from being the boss.                It was hardly noon, but the scattered sounds of various conversations washed over him as he stepped out of his second floor office. His establishment was a medium sized building that was broken into three sections, all of which were visible to him from the small platform that connected to the stairs. There was the gaming section that was filled with computers spaced out into neat rows and three large televisions placed into oval shaped compartments. At each of the television filled stations there was a large couch that followed the curve of the room and a table that held one of the three major gaming consoles.                 The second section of the building, aptly named “The War Room” by its regular patrons, held a multitude of tables for people to play games that used miniature figures and dice. There were smaller tables for people who played trading card games or wanted to progress in their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.                The last section was the largest and the closest to the building’s entrance. It was the actual bookstore filled with numbered rows that contained a large assortment of books that were separated by type and genre. It was a haven for anyone who enjoyed books or games, and there were more than enough people who fit that description to always keep the place occupied.                Jasen headed down the stairs and made his way to the service area at the very center of the three sections. There were no customers standing in the area, something Jasen had seen from his office balcony, but Alicia Marsh was sitting there in her chair spinning around slowly while staring at her phone.                “So, where is this customer that made you call me? I am busy.” Jasen asked, causing Alicia to spin her chair toward him. She was a few years younger than Jasen, just into her freshman year in college, and, while she did have the typical college girl look, she didn’t have their usual personality. She was a bit shorter than he was, although the curly mass of dark hair that rested atop her head would make them appear to be the same height. Her skin was the color of creamy coffee and her grayish-hazel eyes always held a hint of amusement. She was slender and cheerful and beautiful.                 She wore a dark skirt that was a bit short and form fitting with a white button up shirt that was undone enough to reveal a nice amount of caramel colored cleavage. That was, Jasen was willing to bet, part of the reason so many people usually frequented the service desk.                 “You act like you were doing something important,” Alicia said, setting her phone on the desk. “You were either on Facebook, watching nonsense on YouTube, or reading manga.” Jasen rolled his eyes. She knew him entirely too well. They had known each other for six years so it wasn’t really a surprise that she knew his habits.                “That’s not the point,” Jasen said. “The point is, I pay you so I don’t have to deal with simple stuff. You realize that…”                “I don’t need another responsibility talk, dad,” Alicia said, sarcastically. “There’s a woman looking for you, and she asked for you by name. Your full name.”                “Oh,” Jasen said. “Well I apologize.”                “Don’t,” Alicia said. “I was definitely slacking off, the pretty lady just gave me an excuse. She’s over on aisle twelve. I told her I’d send you to her when you got here.”                “Did she say what she wanted?” Alicia shook her head. “Okay,” Jasen said, glancing toward aisle twelve. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could only see a bit of the aisle from where he stood. “Do something productive will you.”                “Oh, I am,” Alicia said. “I’ve almost caught up on “How to Get Away with Murder. In two episodes I’ll find out who killed Wes.” Jasen rolled his eyes and headed toward the aisle where the woman waited for him.                 He didn’t pass anyone on his way to the aisle that was designated for science fiction. He caught sight of the woman immediately. She was alone on the aisle, but she would have been hard to miss if she had been in the middle of a crowd. She was taller than he was by about an inch, with olive skin and jet black hair that hung down to the center of her back. She was slender, but Jasen noticed that she was surprisingly fit. Her clothes were simple, but they somehow made her natural beauty stand out even more. Black pants, a black sleeveless shirt, and a pair of black tennis shoes made the woman look like she was ready for a trip to the gym or a business/casual meeting.                She looked up as Jasen stepped onto the aisle, her bluish-gray eyes meeting his. She smiled as he walked up to her.                “Hello, Mr. Wells,” she said in a voice that was like soft music playing. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Illyana Hartwick.” She set the book that she had been thumbing through back on the shelf and extended her hand to him. He shook it delicately and was surprised by how firm her grip was. She was petite, but she was not weak.                 “Jasen Wells, but you seem to already know that,” Jasen said, releasing her hand. He had an idea about what she wanted, and he found himself fighting to suppress his irritation. He had been approached twice before by people representing large companies that wanted to buy his business. The first two had been men who had done more to insult him than convince him to sell. Apparently they decided to send a pretty woman to him for their third attempt. As if a cute face and a firm backside would make him part with what he’d built.                “If you’re here to try and buy my establishment,” Jasen said, “I’ll save us both some time and tell you that I’m not going to sell.” Illyana smiled, her eyes glimmering as if she knew something that he didn’t.                “That’s not why I’m here,” she said. “I’m here for you.” Jasen raised an eyebrow.                “I’m not for sale either,” Jasen said.                “I meant that I’m here to help you,” Illyana said. “I know about your gifts.” Jasen froze, his heart skipped a beat. How could she know? How could anyone have known?                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jasen said. The lie didn’t sound believable even to his ears, and Illyana gave him a flat stare.                “Fine,” she said. “If you want to play like that then I’ll have to be more specific. When you were ten your parents died in a car crash, one that to this day you don’t think was an accident. The car folded in a way that no one should have survived, but you, not only lived, but tore through the side of the car and stepped out. You didn’t have a scratch on you.” Jasen didn’t say anything, and Illyana continued. “Fast forward seven years. You were on a plane ride to Las Vegas with some friends to celebrate your high school graduation. The plane crashed. No survivors but you. Again unharmed. That was when you started testing yourself and found that not only were you practically indestructible, but you were inhumanly strong and fast as well. Does that about sum it up?”                “How do you know all that?” Jasen asked. His throat had suddenly gone very dry. He had worked so hard to keep what he could do a secret, but, obviously, what he had done wasn’t enough. “Are you from some government branch that hunts down individuals with unique abilities and studies them?”                When he’d first discovered what he could do, his fascination with comic books had given him the idea to become a superhero. He had decided against it. The last thing the world would be able to handle was a super powered black guy running around. He would have immediately found himself on an operating table in the middle of a secret facility.                “I think you read too many stories,” Illyana said. “Besides, nothing they have could even cut through your skin. I know what you are because I’m like you. You’re not as alone as you may think.” Jasen opened his mouth to speak, but Illyana cut him off. “I’ll answer all of your questions. Just not here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Come to this location whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush, but you have to come alone. That’s the only way you’ll get your answers.”                She handed the card to Jasen, and, without another word, she walked away. Jasen stared after her until she disappeared out of the store, not really sure what to think.                 “Definitely not how I expected my day to go,” he said to himself as he glanced at the business card. It looked entirely too normal to say it held the directions to a place that could tell him about his gifts. Still, it made him uneasy. Even so, it didn’t take long for him to make a decision. Of course he would go. It couldn’t be too bad. After all, how horrible could a place called Utopia be?








Chapter 2Welcome to Utopia


                Getting prepared for his trip didn’t take long. Jasen didn’t actually have to be at the shop. As aloof as Alicia pretended to be, she managed things quite well when he wasn’t around. Then it was just a short drive to his house where he grabbed enough clothes for a stay of a few days, then he was back on the road.                Illyana’s card had given the location of Utopia as somewhere in Texas. Jasen had been all around the state, he had been looking into opening another of his stores there, but he wasn’t familiar enough to be able to determine Utopia’s location. Fortunately, he had GPS on his phone.                He had expected the area to be untraceable, but the coordinates went into his phone just like any other place and gave him a four hour drive time. Which was just long enough to make his anxiety level increase. By the time he pulled up to his destination, his nervousness had peaked.                The street that the navigation system sent him to, looked long since abandoned. It was made of hard packed dirt, at least Jasen hoped it was. His car was for comfort and not for off road journeys. Vines and tree limbs spread across the road in a way that appeared to make it inaccessible, but the closer Jasen got to it, the easier it was to see that there was more than enough space for him to drive.                 “I really hope I’m not following this girl into a clan rally,” Jasen muttered as he slowly turned on the road to Utopia. He began to visualize scenes from the movie “Get Out,” and he forced them away. He never should have watched that movie, it had made him paranoid.                 The road went on for miles, and the further he drove the more unpleasant thoughts began to surface in his mind. He was even starting to hear the sounds of random animals that he knew couldn’t be there unless Utopia had its own wildlife preserve hidden within its borders. When the road finally ended, and he drove out onto a paved street, that possibility no longer seemed farfetched.                 The city was too large for him to see it all in a single glance. Paved roads led off in different directions, some lined with buildings that were obviously things like shopping centers or movie theaters while others led into neighborhoods filled with houses of multiple sizes and designs.                 There were no other cars anywhere to be seen, and even though it was the middle of the night, people were travelling in and out of the buildings, some carrying grocery bags, holding hands with someone, or generally doing things that seemed altogether normal. Something about them did bother Jasen though, and it wasn’t the fact that there wasn’t a single brown face among them. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something told him that the thing that bothered him was obvious.                 The building pictured on the card wasn’t the largest building in the city, but it was definitely one of a kind. It was a large pyramid placed at the very center of the city and crafted entirely from blue glass. The moonlight hit the building in a way that caused it to glow like a beacon. Jasen was willing to bet that it had the same effect when the sunlight hit it as well. Four roads led to a paved circular road that led to the pyramid’s single entrance. There were no parking spaces, so Jasen pulled his car to the side of the road and turned it off.                “So, let’s see what I’ve gotten myself into,” Jasen said as he stepped out of his car and headed toward the glowing structure. The door, made from the same reflective glass as the rest of the pyramid, slid open as he walked up to it.                The view inside of the pyramid’s entryway was breath taking. The room was the size of a football field and glowed brightly with the moonlight. The walls were indeed made of glass, but Jasen still couldn’t see through them. He could, however, see through the floor. A river, so clear that he could see the bottom of it, ran beneath the pyramid’s floor, and Jasen watched as fish, both large and small, swam beneath him.                “Mr. Wells,” a woman said from beside him, making him jump. He turned quickly, catching sight of the slim brown haired woman sitting at the reception desk. He hadn’t noticed her when he’d walked in. She was about his age and height, and, otherwise, very plain. He wondered if she was like him as well.                 “They have been expecting you,” she said. “Please take the elevator to the fifth floor.” She pointed to the glass elevator door behind her desk before her eyes went back down to the computer screen she had been looking at. Jasen followed her instructions. The building’s architects had a strange fascination with transparent surfaces. Jasen avoided looking down at the floor. He could see through it, and it looked off into what seemed like endless darkness. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding when a ding sounded through the elevator and the door opened.                Jasen stepped out of the elevator into a simple room that had a large raised platform covering the entire far wall. On the platform were nine very ornate looking chairs that would have been more accurately labeled if they had been called thrones. There were nine people seated in the chairs, four men and five women. Illyana was among them, seated beside a woman who had a more pale version of her face and a head full of straight red hair. They appeared to be the same age so maybe she was Illyana’s sister.                 Illyana gave Jasen a small smile, but the rest of the people wore stern expressions as they stared down at him.                “Welcome, Mr. Wells,” the man seated in the centermost chair said in a loud voice. The man was tall and lean with black hair that was slicked back by an insane amount of hair gel. Emotionless green eyes stared down at him contradicting the somewhat cordial tone of the man’s voice. “I am Luis Hartwick, the head of this council that runs this city. Though your situation is unique, I’d still like to be the first to welcome you.”                Hartwick? Jasen stared at the man. That was Illyana’s last name. The man was young, no older than Jasen or Illyana. Did the girl’s entire family rule there?                “I’m glad to be here, I think,” Jasen said cautiously. “What exactly is here?”                “It is a place for people like us,” Luis said. “People with special gifts. I thought my daughter told you all of that.”                “Daughter,” Jasen said, glancing at Illyana. She colored slightly in embarrassment.                “I just told him to come here,” she said. “I didn’t know how much I was supposed to tell him outside of these walls.” Luis gave her a flat stare, and she frowned back at him. “Well, if you let me do more then maybe I would know how to handle the responsibility,” she grumbled.                 Jasen was barely paying attention to the exchange. He was trying to figure out how Illyaa’s father appeared to be as young as she was. Then he took a good look at all of the council members, examining their faces. Their youthful faces. The thing that had been bothering him finally revealed itself, and, in hindsight, it seemed so obvious.                “Where are all of the old people?” Jasen asked.                “I honestly didn’t think that would be your first question,” an incredibly large man said. “I thought you’d be more curious about this place’s incredible lack of racial diversity.” The man was taller than Luis by a good margin, with a thick neck, blond hair, blue eyes, and a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face.                “I’m from Louisiana,” Jasen said. “I’m pretty used to being surrounded by white people.” The big man laughed, a deep throaty sound that was strangely jolly coming from the muscular man.                 “I like him,” the man said. “He doesn’t get rattled easily.”                “You like everyone, Cadmus,” Luis said, shaking his head. He turned his attention back to Jasen. “To answer your question, Jasen, we are Eternals. When our bodies reach maturity, we stop aging, and we steadily grow stronger and faster as time progresses.”                “And that goes on forever,” Jasen said. “You never age?”                “We never age,” Luis corrected. “You are one of us. And, like us, you’ll live forever.”                So that’s what he was. An Eternal. An immortal being was practically invulnerable. But why? How had that happened? Why him? They were questions that he apparently had an eternity to figure out.                “Being one of us means you have to follow certain rules.” Luis said, drawing Jasen out of his thoughts. “Eternals are usually born and raised in Utopia, where they are educated and kept away from the mortal world until their turn to make their mark in history comes. Too many of us wandering around with normal people will eventually lead to our exposure, and we can’t have that.”                Jasen felt a knot growing in his stomach as Luis talked. He knew what Luis was going to say. He had no intention of letting Jasen leave the place.                “It’s good that Illyana met up with you before someone discovered what you were,” Luis said. “We have very few laws, but the penalty for putting us at risk of exposure is a severe one. I’m glad that you’ll be joining us before we had to subject you to that.”                Jasen started to say that he was not going to be joining them. He was going to say that he had friends and a company to run. He had obligations and a life that he couldn’t just leave behind.                It is not a request, Illyana’s voice said so loudly into his mind that he nearly jumped. For your own good, do not refuse.                From the lack of reaction from the rest of the council members, no one had heard Illyana’s warning. She was looking at Jasen with the same blank expression as the rest of the council members, but her eyes held a barely noticeable amount of tightness.                                “So,” Jasen said, turning his gaze back to Luis, “where will I be staying?” Luis’s brow twitched as if he were about to frown, but he caught himself.                 “Illyana will show you to your new home,” Luis said in a voice that sounded strained. He wasn’t happy with Jasen’s lack of protest. His tone made Jasen wonder, just what the man would have done to him if he’d refused. “Welcome to Utopia.”













Chapter 3Silent Conversation


                The councilors talked to Jasen for a short while after Luis’s not so subtle threat, none of them radiating the open hostility that Luis did. Despite what Jasen had learned about the Eternals, he was still surprised to discover that the woman seated beside Illyana – she introduced herself as Kara – was, in fact, Illyana’s mother. She was the only councilor, besides Cadmus, who seemed genuinely happy about Jasen’s arrival.                 Eventually the conversation came to an end, and Jasen stepped out of the pyramid to find Illyana leaning against the driver’s side door of his car, arms folded across her chest. She hadn’t met his eyes since he had heard her voice inside of his head. She probably felt guilty for leading him into his current predicament.                “I didn’t know,” Illyana said suddenly when he reached her. “Not until he started talking. His thoughts were so loud that I couldn’t help but to hear them.”                “So you’re a telepath?” Jasen said. Illyana nodded. “I’m assuming that’s a part of being an Eternal.”                 “Kinda sorta,” Illyana said. “The abilities every Eternal gets when they awaken is different. I’ll explain more on the ride.” She held out her hand expectantly. Jasen raised an eyebrow at her.                “What?”                 “Keys. I’m driving.”                “Um, no,” Jasen said, shaking his head. “No one drives my car but me.” The first, and only, time he had made a concession on that point had been when Alicia had asked to use it to go grab some lunch. She had wrecked it in the parking lot not even a minute later.                “You do realize that I’m immortal,” Illyana said. “I can literally stand here forever. Besides, you don’t even know where you’re going.” Jasen thought about just picking the woman up and moving her, she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, but after a moment he decided against it.                “You’d better not wreck it,” Jasen grumbled, tossing her the keys. She grinned like a kid on Christmas as she popped the lock and slid into the seat. Jasen, reluctantly, plopped down on the passenger seat. It was the most uncomfortable seat he’d ever sat on.                “I weigh one thirty five by the way,” Illyana said as she started the car. Before Jasen could respond, she peeled out of the place where he had parked so quickly that he was slammed into his seat.                It only took Illyana making her first turn down a side road for Jasen to realize that she was the worst driver he had ever seen. She swerved back and forth on the street, turned corners so fast that the car nearly went onto two wheels, and seemed to not even realize that the brakes existed. It was fortunate that there were no other vehicles on the road. The woman would have hit them all.                “You’ve never done this before, have you?” Jasen asked as she turned another corner.                “Nope,” Illyana said. “we don’t use cars here. They pollute the air and such. Plus they’re slow. I can run faster than this thing.” She said it so casually that Jasen felt himself smile. It was normal to her for people to move faster than cars, and he wouldn’t have to hide the fact that he could.                “So, what is this place exactly,” Jasen asked.                “Utopia is the home of Eternals, at least in the Americas,” Illyana said. “We are born and raised here, at least until you that is. We are taught certain things during our younger years, but our real education begins when we reach maturity.” Her expression darkened. “It’s supposed to anyway. My parents only just decided to allow me to get ready to move out of the palace.”                “Some people mature later than others,” Jasen said. “Considering the childish way you took my keys, I think your parents are right.”                Illyana slammed on the brakes so suddenly that Jasen slammed his head against the dashboard. He hardly felt it, but his head left a dent in the dashboard that would take more than a little banging to get out.                 “I rest my case,” Jasen growled, glaring at Illyana as he put his seat belt on. She smiled at him evilly before peeling off again.                “All Eternals reach maturity at twenty-five,” Illyana said. “That’s when we stop aging and become capable of having our awakenings.”                “Awakenings?” Jasen asked.                “Every Eternal gets two of them,” Illyana said, turning down a street leading to the section of the city filled with houses. “You never can be sure what they will be, but they usually have something to do with your bloodline. My first was telepathy, I haven’t gotten the second yet.”                “I see,” Jasen said.                 “Any more questions?” Illyana asked.                “How old are you?” Jasen asked.                “First my weight, now my age. You’re really going down the list of questions that you aren’t supposed to ask women.” Illyana said.                “I never asked your weight,” Jasen said. “And since you don’t seem to have a problem reading my mind without permission, we’re well beyond the point where we do things we aren’t supposed to.”                “Is it that obvious,” Illyana asked.                “Aside from the fact that you answer questions before I ask them, there’s been a tingly feeling in the back of my mind since our silent conversation in the council room.”                “You really are something,” Illyana said, shaking her head. She slowed the car and turned into a yard’s driveway with far more skill than she had displayed when she had driven on the road. “We’re here.”                Jasen looked out the window at the house that they had parked in front of and felt his mouth drop open. It was an exact replica of his actual house. From the large wood double doors that had a large letter “W” carved where the seams met to the two large flower pots that rested by the large wooden pillars that bordered his door, everything appeared to be the same. It almost looked like someone had picked up his house and set it down in Utopia.                “I wasn’t ready for this,” Jasen said, stepping out of the car and walking up to the door. Not really expecting it to be there, he reached into the flower pot on the right side of the room. Surprisingly, his fingers closed around the spare key that he kept hidden there. Curious to see whether the inside was a carbon copy of his real home as well, he opened the door and stepped inside.                His living room was large and open, shaped like a distorted octagon. Two hallways separated by a space of wall where a couch sat led off to the master and guest bedrooms on the right of the entrance. A second large couch sat in the middle of the room next to the half wall that gave a view of the kitchen. A large flat screen television rested above the marble fireplace. A large window that took up most of the far wall gave a view of the fenced in back yard and the large swimming pool that he’d dug with a shovel.                Just judging from the living room alone, Jasen knew that the house was a perfect duplicate of his own, down to the clothes that he’d left neatly folded on his couch.                “Ellis Maze has the ability to recreate any structure down to the smallest detail,” Illyana said, walking into the house and standing beside him. “All he has to do is see it, and, in a few minutes, voila it’s been cloned. You have a nice house.”                 “When did he see it?” Jasen asked.                 “It is in your mind,” Illyana said. “I saw it, and I showed it to him.”                “I see,” Jasen said, still glancing around his living room in amazement. “All of this is gonna take some getting used to.”                “It’ll happen,” Illyana said.                I could talk to you more like this if you think it’ll help. Illyana’s voice sounded in Jasen’s mind, louder than her spoken words had been, but not nearly as loud as her silent warning had been earlier.                “How do I talk back?” Jasen asked.                 Just think your response and I’ll hear it,Illyana said into his mind again.                If we’re going to be friends, Jasen thought, you’re going to have to work on this constant invasion of privacy thing.                “Sorry,” Illyana said in the normal way. “The concept of friendship is kind of foreign to me. Most people here avoid me because of who I am and part way because of what I can do. It makes people uncomfortable to be around someone who can read their mind.”                “I know the feeling,” Jasen said. “Some of my thoughts aren’t meant to be heard. Some of them you’ll probably not like. Or slap me for.”                “For the record, I don’t hear all of your thoughts. I just hear the loudest.” Illyana said. “For me to hear more, I’d have to really concentrate, and it would be incredibly obvious what I was doing.” She yawned suddenly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s late, and I’m tired. You should get some sleep too. Tomorrow’s going to be busy. If you need me, I’ll be across the street.” Jasen raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Don’t read too much into it. The new houses are always built across from one another. The next house will pop up beside yours, and after that one will be built beside mine. It is how things stay organized.”                “I see,” Jasen said. It still seemed suspicious, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.                “Well, if there’s no more questions, I’m going to bed.” She turned to leave, but Jasen spoke, stopping her.                “Why now?” Jasen asked. “What made you come and get me now? I’m sure you people were aware of my existence before today, so what made you decide to act now?”                “It’s time for the newest school session to start,” Illyana said. “My mother wanted you here for it, and she said it was a must for me to get you. I really don’t know why.”                “You didn’t read her mind?” Jasen asked.                “I don’t read my parents’ minds much,” Illyana said. “My mother’s mind is always muffled when I try so I can’t make much out, and I don’t really like reading my dad’s mind. Plus it’s rude to read minds without permission. That’s an invasion of privacy, why would I do such a thing.”                Jasen opened his mouth to say something, but Illyana’s grin cut him off.                “For someone as old as you,” he said after a moment, “you are very childish.” Her grin widened.                “If you’re trying to find out my age, you’re going to have to be more clever than that,” Illyana said. “Now get some sleep. Tomorrow is probably going to be the hardest day of your life. Good night.”

I’ve talked before about how most conversation takes place through non-verbal means, and what I’m going to have you do here is practice a bit. I am going to list some emotions and a sentence that simply says what the character is feeling, and you will write a new sentence conveying the same emotion without directly telling the reader what the character is feeling.



Example: Fear


Telling: The large man standing before her in the dark alley terrified her.


Showing: The massive figure draped in the shadows of the alley caused her mouth to go dry and made her body subconsciously take a step backwards.


The second sentence gave the exact same message as the first, but the delivery was far more engaging. I want you to come up with better ways to show emotion for the following sentences.


1.       She was saddened by the news.
2.       The sight of the man who had beat his sister angered him.
3.       That was the most embarrassing moment of her life.
4.       The newscaster’s voice inspired a sense of dread.
5.       At that moment, he knew that he would never feel joy again.
6.       It was the happiest moment of his life.

Self-Publishing has become the most common way for new authors to get their work into the hands of readers. I know that it has been the dream of many writers to have their work picked up by a major company where they will be paid a hefty advance and will head to book signings filled with hundreds of people eager to get their autographed copies of your newest novel. You, unfortunately, have to accept the fact that the world that used to exist has vanished. Writers who don’t have a name already established or a fanbase of their own will undoubtedly never get their work picked up by a company. That may seem like a bad thing, but it is actually the opposite.
We live in the age of social media. Information is transferred in the blink of an eye, and the most amazing thing about that is that it is all free. Anything you want to find can be hunted down free of charge online. It is the perfect climate for new businesses to boom. In the old days you would have to spend thousands of dollars on marketing just to get a commercial on late night TV or a small slot on the radio. Now you can post your product anywhere you want with no more than a push of a button and a bit of data on your cellphone. It is the perfect time to Self-Publish that book that has been sitting in your notebook at the bottom of your closet under that pair of shoes and that ugly sweater you got a few birthdays back. What I am going to do here is tell you a bit about what you need to do to safely navigate the treacherous pathways of the self-publishing process so you can produce a product that the millions of book lovers out there will at least give a chance.
1: Cover Design: The first part of your novel that people will see is the cover. If you are not a talented artist or graphic designer then it is a good idea to get someone who is skilled to craft a professional cover for your work. Your cover should make people want to see what’s inside of your book otherwise they won’t even give it a chance no matter how good the story hidden in the pages may be.
2. Editor: It is imperative that you hire someone to edit your work. After your cover draws in readers, the content has to be flawless. If your work is cluttered with misspelled words, poorly formed sentences, and inconsistent themes you will lose your audience in the first few pages, and it is unlikely that you will ever get them back.
3. Marketing System: Having the greatest book ever written does little to earn sales if no one knows it exists. You have to establish a system for marketing your book, one that works for the type of manuscript that you have created. Join online book clubs, set up book signings at your local bookstores, broadcast on all forms of social media, put an add in a newspaper or magazine, pay for advertising from online web shows and podcasts that have a hefty following and sell ad space. There are loads of ways for you to get the word out about your product all you have to do is be consistent and creative.
4. Reviews: Getting people to review your book on sites like Goodreads and Amazon is a must. Reviews serve multiple purposes. The first is to give people who are thinking about buying your work a bit of insight on how other readers feel who have read your work. A few positive words could sway the decisions of potential readers. The second, but equally important, reason for getting reviews on your work is to get more traffic to your page. The more activity there is around your work, be they reviews, google searches, or likes on facebook, will cause your work to appear more often when someone is surfing the internet. Traffic is what you need. The more people who see your work the more likely someone is to buy it.

              As a lover of stories, I follow a lot of different mediums. I’ve watched anime, I’ve read comic books, played video games, watched movies, and read novels of multiple genres. If it is a medium used for telling stories I have checked it out at least once. Something that I’ve noticed that a lot of stories have in common is that the characters lack diversity. Now I’m sure that you’re wondering how can I say that after you recently finished reading a story about angels, demons, elves, and dragons filled with amazing landscapes, a multitude of races, and various cultures. Well you’re missing something. Whether elf, dwarf, male or female 99% of the characters that you see in books, movies, comic books, or video games are always white.
                The Lord of the Rings was a six part movie series with elves, dwarves, orcs, halflings, and all manner of other creatures from talking trees to mind controlling, flaming eyes, yet there was not a single dark skinned hero or heroine. The Wheel of Time series, one of my favorite series of all time, had people with the ability to erase you from history, yet there was only a single black main character and she wasn’t introduced until the eighth novel. Moving on to video games, I have more than two hundred games on my shelf across multiple genres and consoles, and if it isn’t a sports game you can almost guarantee that you wont see a single black character.
                A lot of people like to say that the color of the character doesn’t matter as long as the story is good, but the ones who say that almost always turn out to be the people who all of the characters look like. Those same people line up to complain and give negative reviews to shows like Luke Cage when they have a predominantly black cast. Having read a lot of the complaints, they sound like the ramblings of a racist trying to make their dislike of the show or story sound like there’s more to it than the characters were too black for them to relate to.
                The question is does any of this matter? Does it boil down to good story telling mattering more than diversity? The short answer is no. Representation matters as much as the stories themselves, especially when there are so few stories that represent black people accurately. Why do you think terrible movies with black casts still manage to make money? Because when people who either never see themselves in stories or only see people who look like them portrayed in negative ways, anything that is even remotely positive will garner the attention of black men and women. Tyler Perry has a following, and all he does is dress up like a woman and tell basic stories with black people in them. Every time he puts out one of his simple concoctions that pass for art he sells millions of copies. Why do you think that is? Because his products are one of the few places where black people can see themselves as something other than a drug dealer, an unfaithful spouse, a slave, an inmate, or some other senseless role that isn’t pleasant in any shape form or fashion. I mean really, who wants to cosplay as a character from twelve years a slave or whatever other slavery movie that will undoubtedly be released in theaters this year?
                Black Panther, marvel’s first black lead superhero in the Marvel Cinematic Universe has broken multiple records. The writing was amazing, the acting was phenomenal, and people got to see black people with all of the layers that make them human. They were kings and farmers, politicians and citizens, soldiers and criminals. You saw them as protagonists and antagonists. You saw siblings getting along and people treating one another with respect even if they didn’t truthfully like one another. None of the characters were baseless stereotypes created by people whose only knowledge of black people comes from BET and episodes of Empire.
                If you don’t think representation in stories matters then just look at the profit Black Panther has raked in while a lot of the big budget productions that seem to have forgotten that black people exist and enjoy partaking in the escape from reality that is a good story have been colossal flops.

Black Panther is the latest installment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and it is by far one of their most impressive works to date. With the pacing of the story, the comedy that doesn't feel forced, the relatable characters, and the antagonist whose motives are the clearest of any to date, it is very possible to forget that you're watching a superhero origin story.

You join T'Challa one week after the events of the Marvel Civil War as he returns to his nation of Wakanda to take his position as king. You will be instantly blown away by the beauty of the most technologically advanced nation in the Marvel Universe, all of the advancements overseen by T'Challa's teenage genius sister Shuri, and by how much the people love their self-sustaining nation.

At the same time you see Erik Killmonger, a Wakandan born in America to a Wakandan Spy. He is a ferocious warrior and brilliant strategist who is dead set on reaching Wakanda for reasons that I won't spoil for you. Just know that his quest inevitably leads to a battle that will shake the foundation of Wakanda and the world as a whole.

The chemistry between the characters, the design of the world, the writing, the music, and the comedy make Black Panther one of Marvel's greatest films, and one of the most enjoyable movies I've seen in a long time. The only reason it doesn't get a perfect score is because the movie did have to end.

Over the course of my life I’ve read a lot of stuff. I’ve always been a big fan of well crafted stories with characters that I can relate to and places that I’d love to visit. Something I noticed was that one of the worst feelings in the world appears at the moment when you complete the final chapter of the final novel in a beloved series. Knowing that you will no longer be a part of the lives of some of your favorite characters can be devastating. Fortunately, that problem has been solved, in some cases, by writers in the form of Fan Fiction.



                For those of you who don’t know, Fan-Fiction is when a writer who is unaffiliated with a project takes it upon themselves to create a story based in someone else’s universe. So were you to decide today that you wanted to create a story involving characters from your favorite anime, that would be considered fan fiction. You have no legal right to the work, cannot be paid for it, and if the author decides to use what you’ve written for themselves then they can and there’s nothing you can do about it. That brings up the next question. What is the point of writing Fan-Fiction?


                There are plenty of benefits, believe it or not. The first is you get to practice your writing and get quick feedback to determine how audiences take to your writing style. There are tons of websites where you can post your fan fiction, and you will quickly realize how fast you’ll have readers. That turns it into a nice source for marketing as well. If your fan fiction draws followers to your name, then those same people become potential buyers for your other works. Who knows. You could get lucky and build up a following like the woman who wrote Fifty Shades of Grey.


                If you were unaware, one of the most juvenile, grammatical error filled clumps of nonsense (whether you liked the book or not doesn’t change the fact that it sounded like something written by a perverted high schooler who slept through English class) started out as fan fiction for the story Twilight. Hopefully your writing is better than that, but if it isn’t you’re in the right place to fix it.

The mind wanders. It is normal. One minute you may be forming a grocery list in your head so you can avoid wandering around the store for an hour the next time you make a food run when suddenly you’re thinking about a song you heard on the radio the night before. It’s annoying when it happens in your daily life. It is even worse when it happens in your writing.
Anime watchers know very well what wandering minds looks like when it’s transferred into writing. We get filler episodes which pop up in the middle of an amazing plot thread and have nothing to do with it. Now you have to wade through six episodes for the story to finally get back on track. While it is annoying when our favorite shows do this, we understand why. The anime has to give the manga that it is based on time to progress so they make some random episodes to keep their time slot filled. That is tolerated by fans because there is a reason behind it. However, you as a novel writer will not get forgiven if in the middle of a scene you go off on a random tangent because you were watching T.V. while you wrote and a new idea struck. That is terrible. No matter what you do, you cannot interrupt a scene that you’ve started with a new scene.
Scenes do not simply exist in movies, they exist in books as well. They usually begin with the protagonist or antagonist doing something and someone or something reacting to it. There is no length requirement. Your scenes can be one chapter or a single paragraph, but they have to follow an idea to a cut off point that allows a smooth transition into the next scene. Each scene has an initiation point (where it starts), the high point (where things get intense either through action or some other means), and a Falling Point (either the conclusion of a conflict or the stopping point that leads into the next conflict). You should be able to pick out these points in each of your scenes and you should see that each of these points pertain to the progression of the same message. That way you can never have a scene that branches off in a way that wastes your reader’s time with information that has nothing to do with your story.

I am not telling you that having your mind wander during a chapter is a bad thing. I have come up with entirely new ideas for novels while I was working on a project. Errant thoughts are the sign of a creative mind, you simply have to know what to do with them. The day that you stop having stray thoughts is the day you will realize that you are running out of ideas.

Everyone, at least those of us who were raised in the United States, had the “privilege” of being taught the textbook rules of writing. The “proper” way to write a sentence or a paragraph was beaten into us in such a way that it is a miracle that we found any joy in writing at all. What’s worse is after reading the writings of some of your favorite authors, you undoubtedly discovered that the so called rules of writing get tossed out of the window quite often to create more engaging story telling.



In your younger days you were told that paragraphs were set up as follows: a topic sentence followed by three to five sentences designed to explain the topic, and a closing line. That format doesn’t take into account different kinds of paragraphs. Sometimes those rules have to be thrown out for the sake of crafting a compelling story.

There are times when you will have to write one or two sentence paragraphs to give a sense of urgency to a scene or a sentence may run on longer for the sake of completing a line of thought. Just like your story itself, the paragraphs can take on a life of their own. They flow as your thoughts do, and they may grow or shrink depending on your mood. You may be in the middle of writing a somber scene where a character is reflecting on a past event or having a quiet dinner with a loved one and suddenly..


Boom!
That one word paragraph that would have caused an English teacher to bleed red ink all over your paper would have snapped your readers out of the scene they were engrossed in with a ferocity that would have them hanging on your next words.

Conversations are another part of your writing that will break every writing rule that you’ve been taught. People do not speak in complete sentences. Most of the time they don’t use real words, especially in this day and age. Have you listened to some of the teenagers’ conversations of this day and age? It’s like listening to two people read text messages back and forth to one another. If you were writing their dialogue, the words on your pages would look like a bunch of tweets from Twitter, but the readers would hear the words of your characters in their mind and would come away with a far more accurate depiction of your character than if you had followed the “writing rules” to format the dialogue.


The long and short of it is, you are the god of your world. Your writing is your own. No matter how you set up your writing you are not wrong. As long as you retain full creative control of your work, of course. If you get signed to a publisher or work for a magazine then the writing rules may not apply, but the company who owns you, their rules certainly do.

Writer’s block is a real issue that affects all writers at one point or another. Some authors get it in between books while others get hit by it in the middle of a project. It comes in many forms, but primarily Writer’s Block is when a writer finds difficulty producing new work or having a hard time moving forward in a current project. It can be incredibly discouraging, especially when your entire financial well-being relies on your ability to produce new work. There are ways to break the block, and only a few of them involve banging your head against a wall or consuming a large amount of sugar.
The first step to getting over your block is stepping away from your work. Do something else entirely for a few days. Grab your favorite book and read it, watch a T.V. show, go to the gym, or anything that takes your mind off of your work. Sometimes you can focus so hard on your project that you lose sight of it. Physical activity can get the creative juices flowing in a way that they won’t while you’re sitting down.
Another way to fight off the block is to reevaluate the direction you are taking your story. As you write it is possible for the development of your characters to cause your story to go in a different direction from the one you originally intended. When that happens it is best to let the characters guide your story. Your block may very well exist because you’re trying to go against the natural progression of your story.
It may help you to start working on another novel altogether. If you have one in your head that is. If you don’t write something: a poem, short story, fan fiction from your favorite television show, a journal entry talking about why you should followed your first mind and thrown your computer off the balcony aimed neatly at the windshield of the person who caused you to want to be a writer in the first place. It doesn’t matter what you write as long it is something that allows your thoughts to flow in a completely different direction from your original project. That is the best way to clear out the gunk that is clogging up your mind so you can pour more of your thoughts onto the paper.

Are you trying to extend the length of your story past your initial plan so you can create a larger manuscript? Your block may come from doing something with your story that is outside of your initial plan. Editors and publishers may tell you to add things to your novel for marketing purposes (that is one of the many reasons why I chose to self-publish my work). You cannot force a story. When you started writing you had a story in mind. If you try to go against it your work will not flow. Writing is like swimming in a river. It is a lot easier to go with the current in whatever direction it takes you than it is to force your way upstream. 

I’ve addressed a lot of different issues in the past. I’ve talked about creating characters, building worlds, using the proper language, and an assortment of other ways to create a riveting story. Somehow in the midst of all of that, I never asked the most important question: Are you a writer?


That question may seem ridiculous to most people, and I’m sure that your first response is quite possibly, “Of course I’m a writer. Why would I be here reading this if I wasn’t?” The thing is, you may think that you’re a writer, but in truth you may just have an idea that could make a good story if it were put into the hands of someone else. That isn’t a bad thing. In fact, people like that are the reason ghost writers even have jobs.


When you decide that you want to be a writer, pause for a moment and think. Ask yourself why do you want to write. Do you have a cool character that you want the world to see? Do you have thoughts rattling around in your head, forcing their way out of you onto paper? DO you like creating things? Now comes the biggest question. If you knew for a fact that you would never make a dollar from your writing, would you still write?

A lot of people fail to realize just how much time authors spend on their novels. There are days, weeks, months, and sometimes even years spent doing research on your time before a word is even written down. That time is spent with the knowledge that it is very possible that no one will be interested in your work at all. A single copy of your work may never be sold, and, while that is never the goal of a writer, the primary focus of a writer is to get their story out into print.


The famous writers that you have heard of don’t make up one tenth of one percent of the writers that are in the world. The J.K. Rowlings and the James Pattersons are as rare as professional athletes. Odds are, you will never be counted among their number. It may suck to hear that, but it is the truth nonetheless.


Now, I am not saying this to discourage you. In fact I am doing it for the exact opposite reason. If you are still excited to write despite knowing how unlikely it is that you will ever truly make a living as a novelist proves that you have what it takes to one day be counted among those rare few who do become famous writers.