Michael Duda's Blog

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I’m struggling with it now. But I’m gonna’ lay it bare for you. Buck naked, so to speak, my mind exposed to the world. Hell, maybe I don’t even really know what’s in there.

The more stories I’ve written, the faster I’ve approached a wall. 60, 70, 80 mph, type, type, type–crash! That wall is made of concepts and end results: structure, genre, character, dialog, theme. Brick after brick, stacked thick and tall, mortar and grit and stone. I’m no longer sounding like myself. I’m not inspired. Just sounds like mortar and stone. I’ve lost sight of something. Or lost something inside myself.

I’m looking for my inner voice. Got to return to something more natural and rekindle a flame, a passion. Want to sound natural, sound like how I might speak. Let things blossom. So, I started writing a journal. Not a, “Dear Diary,” kind of thing. Not a, “You did this and that to me and now I can’t stand you,” thing. Just several lines or paragraphs a day of saying something. Just write it. Say it. Let it flow…

Okay, first day, I wrote this:

I want to write a book. A novel. A best seller. One that will be loved. And cherished. Talked about by others.

It’s dark and empty in my head. I write themes. And read books. Many books. I write plots and outlines. It all seems uninspired, uninteresting, boring. I can’t connect to anything. Dark and boring. Empty of the life inside me.

So I sit outside, on the walkout. Light up a cigar and puff grey clouds of smoke. I think. I stare at the basin. The low scrub waiting for Spring. My hands are cold. I try to relight the cigar. Should I create a character list? What genres are popular? Should I imitate someone’s work?

I fumble with the lighter. Just manage the striker. I puff again. This is so much easier than writing. Than typing to a structure. Than sitting at my desk.

But something in that darkness haunts me. It’s not my face. It’s a creature. Whispering things. Failure. Loner. Forgotten.

I want to write a book.

The next morning, I reread it. Am I trying to write bad poetry? Is this how I would speak, naturally? Can I imagine standing next to someone, saying these words, in this order, in this way? No, I wouldn’t. I’m thinking too much about an end product, a result.

Next day, try again:

It’s pea soup. I don’t like soft, mushy beans. That goes for peas. It’s all green and thick and soft. Are they a bean? Yuck, anyway.

Is that how I would really speak? If there was a steaming bowl of green goop under my nose? Would I actually say something like that? Maybe. But I better keeping writing in this journal. A little bit, added each day to the document. Trying to imagine that I’m standing there. Seeing it. Saying it. Naturally. Inner voice. Forget trying to sound literary-like. Forget style. Themes. Genre. Instead, find something in my core.

Maybe next week, I’ll have done a better job of finding my actual voice. Then it’s on to the next step, still experiencing what I discover within myself, for now. Carrying forward. And then stepping back when I forget my inner voice.

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Hello, my name is Jon Bolitho-Jones. Along with being an author, actor, and all round creative. I am also an audiobook narrator.

Warm, bright, and quirky, I am a passionate storyteller with a rich and enjoyable voice. I have a home studio from which I can create bespoke audiobooks in a range of genres and styles.

My own thoughts regarding Jon’s entire reading of Spectrum: Stories of Science Fiction, Fantasy, the Unusual and the Sometimes Ordinary? I had pulled my hair out over finding someone to read my new novella, The Trouble with Potions. It’s a fantasy riddled with bits of humor. To make it work well, it requires interesting character voices, intuited pacing and an appreciation for the overall story.

I thought I might have to jump into a mysterious portal so as to discover a wizard of the arcane narration arts hiding away in another dimensional plane. Turns out, I didn’t have to go to such extremes to produce a great audiobook. Jon brought the reading to life and gave it a dimension that goes beyond spells and potions. No need for wizards. Or self-inflicted baldness. Jon is the real magic.

Need proof? Have a listen.

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A student sorcerer just can’t seem to get a break after he accidentally transmogrifies his assistant into a palm tree.

Excerpt from the audiobook edition of Spectrum: Stories of Science Fiction, Fantasy, the Unusual and the Sometimes Ordinary.

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I had already put it down some months ago. But every now and then, I’d walk by and look at the dust collecting on it. Did it really deserve this neglect? Wouldn’t it be better a second time around? It just didn’t feel right.

It’s true that I stopped playing guitar for a while. Part of me thought that I wasn’t making any progress with the instrument. Doubt can stop someone in their tracks. If I had continued to allow my inner skeptic to take over, a recent live performance would never have happened. Back on the proverbial horse, I was rockin’ it out again and having fun. And the inner skeptic sat grumbling on a curb, kicked out of the venue.

But I’m not really talking about guitars. I’ve just republished the print edition of my science fiction and fantasy collection, Spectrum. The story selection has been updated, two new stories have been added and “Edge of Twilight” got a rewrite. Once again, I’m rockin’ it out.

Nothing ever comes easily. That goes for both learning to play guitar and writing books. An audiobook of Spectrum also got released. But the links on the product page need to be fixed. Right now, they still point to the previous edition. And even before I encountered the publication issues, I had doubts about working on a second edition. Or even attempting to write a novella length fantasy story.

Did I give up on both accounts? Nah, it will all work out. Quit worrying. The inner skeptic just needs to be kicked to the curb, yet again.

Playing Stone Temple Pilots, “Unglued,” Cover Performed at Mercury Music Lounge in Cleveland

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The audiobook is coming soon. Print edition soon to follow.

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Short Stories of Science Fiction, Fantasy, the Unusual and the Sometimes Ordinary

A student sorcerer just can’t seem to get a break after he accidentally transmogrifies his assistant into a palm tree. Alien Bleeders are coming for Earth, ingesting one terraformed planet after another. A ghoul hungers for souls but still finds time to enjoy art. And a shoeshine boy struggles to make ends meet at the far edge of the Oberon Galaxy.

Markey VI, an android on an orbiting space station, assists an artificial intelligence. David, the A.I., ponders the question of humanity’s fate. The ultimate question is, “Should life be returned to Earth?” The answer is known as the Singular Conclusion. But the answer’s impact reaches far deeper into Markey VI’s electronic components and programmed logic than could be anticipated. And the android’s final moments bring it closer to humanity itself.

Anna wants Gina to forget about Todd. She tells Gina a scary story about the Winter Revelers. They were a mysterious group that had disappeared years ago in the woods behind Anna’s cabin. So, what do the two women decide to do on a cold Saturday morning? They take a winter hike in the woods to search for the missing Revelers.

What’s new in the Second Edition of Spectrum?

A rewrite of the science fiction story, “Edge of Twilight”A new fantasy story, “The Trouble with Potions”A new dystopian story, “A Metal Heart Shines Brightest”An updated selection of stories

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The real world riding experience lends a hand to a fiction project I’m working on. Motorcycles, magic and monsters.

I’ll admit it–I’ve detoured, finishing a last short story. Ever. Denouement wrapped up this coming week. It’s a fantasy. Had to try one last time at a competition. I’ve come close twice, so one more attempt.

My stubbornness wouldn’t let me give up. There’s been benefits to writing this way. I’ve learned a lot about writing fiction without having realized it’s a 500 page trunk story. And I’ve learned how I like to write for myself and, more importantly, an audience.

But no more shorts. It’s so time to move on to novels. I’ve got distance in me now. Besides, I’m already a draft into the work. Vroom, vroom.

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Where, oh where, has the fiction writer gone? On trails, up mountains and through rugged days.

The hike seemed to go on forever. One hundred miles of forever. From Milngavie to Fort William. Rain, cold and hard paths. And Laura and I had forgotten how much scrambling over rock was involved.

It was our second time. Drip, drip, drip. Whoosh. Splash. The wet wind in our eyes. One foot in front of the other. Eyes up or on your bootlaces. We’re gluttons for this.

Forget about warm offices and comfy desk chairs. The West Highland Way called me to adventure once again.

On the trail, you never know what to expect. Just expect that–anything. It’s just like writing. I’m twelve thousand words into a novel. I don’t always know where I’m going with that, either.

No road map to a conclusion. I’m twelve thousand words in, as I’ve said. Can’t turn back. The trail doesn’t let you. And I have a 60,000 to 80,000 word count in mind. That will end Book 1 of several. Outlines? Outlines are for publishing agents.

So what kind of book is it? Inspired by such rugged beauty on the trail, it’s a fantasy. With elements of horror, the story, so far, has been an adventure of its own. I keep writing. Several characters with different goals. In a haunted world that’s something akin to a medieval setting. Magic and mayhem soon to evolve.

Writing a novel seemed daunting. I worried that it was beyond me, having written only shorter stories. But I’ve gone further in than I already imagined possible. I can do this. Patience. There’s an end to this trail. Just one proverbial foot in front of the other.

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An audiobook preview of A Metal Heart Shines Brightest.

The stainless steel people marched by the chain-link fence. Their electronic eyes looked up to the sun. Their sculpted jaws, strong and square. Behind them streamed a banner. A Metal Heart Shines Brightest.

Young One watches the metal people proudly marching back to Tekna Magnus. They give meaning to her simple existence on an apple farm. If she could be just like the metal people, she too would bring joy and hope to others.

But after jumping the protective chain-link fence, the world is not what she first believed.

A virus has infected the world, slowly rotting the body. The dirty bloods, those infected by the virus, don’t want her help. And Crow, a man made of both flesh and metal, wants to use her for his own purposes. Even the metal people are not what she first thought.

With no place to go, not even the apple farm, can Young One discover what she truly wants and still survive a dystopian world?

Story by Michael Duda. Audio narration by Ben Burnes.

The Kindle edition releases March 25th, 2022.

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