Randy Mixter's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"

It's easy for us, as authors, to fall back on old habits. I'm referring to the discipline it requires to sit in front of a computer monitor and type words onto a keyboard for three or four hours a day. It begins after a while to feel too much like work. When that happens, it's break time.
Here's where the old habits come into play. I find myself getting restless at around the same time the characters in my book are getting bored with their lives, usually somewhere in the middle of the story.
This often occurred at work too. When I would get bored with what I was doing, I'd start looking for excuses to do something else.
Nowadays, when this happens, if the phone rings I pick it up. Something never done when I'm at a crucial juncture in my story. I might even find myself entertaining the ideas of telemarketers, asking them to go over that thing about a free iPad one more time. Or, if the phone remains silent, I might again browse the same internet sites I left mere minutes before, hoping for a new e-mail or a freshly posted movie review on Rotten Tomatoes.
Old habits are hard to break, even as you know the longer it takes to write the book, the longer it will take before publication.
Soon I will push through the center of my story and begin the rapid free-fall to its dramatic end. Until then I resign myself to the gods of the internet and to the fate of the telemarketers.
Hey, anybody interested in a free month at Planet Fitness?

My wife Roni gets irritated when I write. What I mean when I say that is this; my wife feels strongly that there are much better ways for me to spend my time at home while she works. That's the catch, you see. She's working and I'm at home relaxing in front of the computer all day. In the meantime, important house chores are being neglected.
The yard is not mowed as often as it should. I am told weekly is the correct timeline. Clothes are not being washed (I believe three times a week is the prescribed schedule for this). And, I'm afraid I've also been negligent in the basic housecleaning assignments such as vacuuming, dusting, and maintaining a sterile bathroom.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a slob by any means. It's just that I feel I have more important ways to spend my time.
When I informed my wife of this fact, she immediately drew up a weekly house chore work schedule, scanned it, then ran off several copies on the computer. These copies were then placed throughout the house, in places she knew they would be seen. My computer monitor received one, as did my pillow (over and under). Whenever I thought I had found them all, another would pop up. Removing the offending paperwork was an exercise in futility. They would always be back in the same spot the next day.
I'll never understand how she accomplished this without help, but I must admit that her strategy worked. She wore me down. It took more effort to find and remove the lists than it would have to implement her demands.
She won, as she always has and always will. I now do my chores regularly as told. My wife is happy. The house is clean. The grass is mowed. Everything is right with the world.
My writing took a small hit, but I still find ample time for it. Occasionally I still find a list while going about my business. Each time I do, my wife assures me that it was paperwork I missed the first time around. As for me, I'm not so sure, but I can't be worried about that now. I have vacuuming to do.

Whenever I finish writing a book, I face a dilemma of sorts. Should I take a breather and wait two, three weeks, or longer, before I begin my next book, or should I just get right down to it and crank out another one. The second option is probably the best. It seems that the more books one has available for sale, the more money one is likely to make. But then the question becomes what to write?
The truth of the matter is, I have no idea as to the plot of my next book. I know I want the book to revolve around a character in my latest novel, Swan Loch. I want to place my character in a couple of bad situations and see if he can work his (or her) way out of them, but that's about it.
Of course, not knowing what happens until it does has never stopped me before. Before I wrote my last two novels, I knew how they began and how they ended , but that was it. Each time I had entered a race knowing a finish line was in the far distance but with no knowledge of the obstacles in between.
Most authors have a general idea of a story in their heads before the first page is typed. Some have the basic plot premise written down in outline form. The thrill for me is flying by the seat of my pants. I love to create scenarios as I write. And I enjoy bringing unexpected characters (both heroic and evil) into the mix. For me that is the difference between going on an adventure or typing out a homework assignment.
I imagine there will be times when I've pretty much figured out who will win and who will lose. Who will get the girl and who will go home empty handed. But right now, I'll take the thrill of the unknown.
Now where was I? Oh yeah. I think I'm going to take the first option and enjoy some time off, maybe a month or so, to catch up on my reading and work on my tan. As for my characters (and I'm talking to you Jake), I'll say don't worry, I won't forget about you. I promise I will place you in a hair raising situation or two before the summer ends.
Please be patient and stay out of trouble until then.

I have found two excellent proofreaders and editors in my wife and her sister, Joan. Both think alike and pick up on many of the same grammatical errors. And here's the good thing. One always finds what the other one misses. Another good thing. They both offer excellent suggestions to tighten up the story timeline and the plot in general. They instinctively know story pacing. A third good thing. They work for free. Well, at least my sister-in-law does. My wife runs a tally on the hours she puts in looking through my pages. The time starts when she picks up her red pen and it ends when she sets it down. At some point I have to match the hours with house chores or other forms of physical labor
She worked 14 hours on Swan Loch. I know this because she posted the hours on the refrigerator door. She then broke the hours down by chores and by the amount of time it would take to complete each one.
Here is the way it looked:
Weed the garden- 4 hours
Paint the spare bedroom - 8 hours
Stain the backyard deck - 6 hours
Total - 14 hours
My wife may be good at editing but her math skills aren't much. No sense in arguing about it. All in all, it's still a good deal. Thanks to her and her sister, Swan Loch will be available for sale within days.
Now I must run. I need to get a jump on my editor's 'fair is fair' list. Lets see, paint the spare bedroom- 8 hours. Sounds like a plan.

In case anyone is wondering why there has been a shortage of blogs from me lately, I have a simple two word answer; the summer.
Since I was a child I've never been able to say no to the summer sun. It beckoned me from my bed in my youth and it beckons me from my computer today. Simply put, I cannot bear to be indoors while a warm breeze blows outside my office window.
It was like that when I had a job and little choice but to stay indoors, as the summer passed me by, in a cubicle surrounded by people of an equally sour disposition.
Now, retired, I've become a child again, free of school, free of responsibility (well, maybe not that). I own the summer once more. I am free to walk park trails, or maybe ride my bike on them. I can hop in my car and roll down the windows and push through a July day on the road of my choice. Or maybe I will be content to laze about on my backyard deck and think of summers past.
As the years roll on faster and faster and the days in the sun get shorter, I find solace knowing each minute outside was a minute well spent. It's in those minutes that I'll live for the next three months. It took a great many years, but the summer belongs to me again and I won't let it go.

Eight years ago, in 2004, I had a heart attack. I woke up in early on the Saturday morning before Labor Day and knew something was wrong. I didn't have any chest pains but my left arm hurt and I felt sick to my stomach (my wife Roni said I was sweating heavily also).
Roni drove me to the local hospital and, after a nitro pill, I felt much better. I wanted out but Roni and an insistent nurse persuaded me to stay. A good thing as it turned out. About two hours later I had a serious heart attack, a sharp chest pain, chest heaviness, the whole bit. I was told later by a doctor, I survived that one only because of an attached nitro-glycerin drip.
Two days later I had a stent in an artery instead of a blockage.Everyone said I should feel better, but I didn't. In fact, as the weeks passed, I felt progressively worse. Two months later I decided I should take another stress test. By this time I could barely make it up a flight of stairs.
As I suspected, the test did not go well. My cardiologist called me that same evening and advised me to seek hospitalization. And so here I was again, a scant eight weeks after my first surgery, back in a hospital bed.
A second stent was put in another artery.
Three weeks later, while sitting in my cardiologist's office, he asked me if I was a religious man. I told him yes. I turned out that a major blood vessel leading to my heart had ruptured (probably aggravated during the first stent operation). It had collapsed over 90%. A 100% collapse, according to my doctor, would have almost certainly been fatal.
After that, I had a few years of feeling pretty good health-wise, but two years ago I began to tire easily doing chores around the house, like cutting the grass. Things just didn't feel right.
Another stress test and another heart catherization. This time the worst possible news. I needed heart bypass surgery. I'll spare you the gory details and just add that I would never again want to go through the trauma of the procedure or the long recovery.
I went in for my two year post-op stress test on Monday, July 16, 2012. Later that same day my cardiologist called me. Everything looked great. My arteries were strong with not even the smallest blockage. They were pumping blood like there was no tomorrow. So now I have my tomorrows and, at least for now, I feel blessed. There have been so many close shaves in my life, so many times when I should have died.
In my latest life I have become a writer of sorts. I'd like to think I'm good at it, but it makes little difference to me. I enjoy writing and will continue to do so for as long as I'm able.
This summer I took a break from writing to catch up on my reading and, of course, put a dent in my chores list. When the weather cools I'll begin to write again. I have the beginning and end to my new novel on paper. Much like life, the adventure is always in the many pages between.

I have decided that the book I am currently writing, Sorcerer, will be my last print book. There is a possibility I might write one or two more Jake Stanton novellas in the e-book format only. We'll see.
I have several reasons for my decision and I'll note them all. The first and foremost reason is that writing has been taking up far too much of my time. On top of that, as an independent author I must do my own marketing and promotion for each book I write. This part of the writing business never stops. The combination of each of these important functions means long hours in front of a computer screen while other matters of importance are neglected.
I understand that there are many writers who make this sacrifice willingly, some for the monetary benefits and all because they enjoy the creative process that writing is. I too love the thrill of finding friends and enemies in the characters I've created, or joining them on the page as we push through an adventure knowing the dangers but too reckless to care.
It is the magic of the story that brought me back time and time again. I originally planned on writing a book of short stories about growing up in the 1960s, stories based on my website of the same name. The book became The Boys Of Northwood. Then it was time to put a dream I once had on paper. The dream was of a beautiful girl who danced alone by the light of the Moon. The girl became Sarah, the place became the summer of love, and the novel became Sarah Of The Moon.
A short while after that I went through double bypass heart surgery, Afterwards I felt the need to gather up memories of my past, pieces of a time when I was young and fearless and my heart was as strong as steel. I sought out the letters I wrote to my wife Roni from Vietnam. She had safely stored away every letter I wrote. The hopes and fears of a 20 year old in a war-torn land were in those letters, as well as the love I had for a woman on the other side of the world. Letters From Long Binh: Memoirs of a Military Policeman in Vietnam was the result.
That could have been the end of it were it not for a crazy thought I had late one night while staring up at a starlit sky. What if there are other worlds, other universes, where carbon copies of us live. And what if, in the other universe, there might be some small glitches in the timeline of our lives. What if someone we lost in this world might be found in another. That very night I began to write Swan Loch.
And now the other reasons for my decision. I have become obsessive when it comes to my books. I get too discouraged when sales are down and too cocky when they're up. Worse yet, I have found that my skin is too thin when it comes to criticism. I know I'm not the only author who feels this way. No one likes being told their child might have to repeat a grade because his work just wasn't up to par. When this happens the tendency is to lash out, form your hands into fists and swing away. Shrug it off, we're told. Leave the bitterness and the anger behind. Move on. Easier said than done.
My writing brings in some money each month in the form of royalties from internet and retail sales. It is not nearly enough to support my family. Thankfully there is other income, but the fact remains that at one time I did think I may one day become rich and famous from writing. I have not given up on that goal. I am nothing if not a dreamer. But I know it is a fantasy most likely never to play out in my lifetime.
And so, soon, I will move on to other things. My video production business in healthy and strong, and a close friend wants me to join him in an internet music sales venture which holds promise if done properly.
I would like to think that my books will be the legacy I leave behind. I would hope they are passed down through the hands of my grandchildren to their children and beyond. I would hope my books will always find a home on a bright internet page or in a dark dusty corner of a small bookstore.
And I would like to think that Sarah will always dance by the light of a moon in a summer that has no end, only beginnings.

There was a time, not that long ago, when I gave serious thought to putting away my keyboard and moving on to ventures other than writing. I had become discouraged, not with the creative process, but with the marketing and promotion necessary to independent publishing. So much time, so little gain.
I also thought that perhaps I didn't have the thick skin needed to withstand criticism of my books. Like every author I know, I thought each and every one of my books were minor masterpieces, worthy of nothing but high praise. I was wrong, of course. My books, like many others, are flawed. I came to this conclusion not too long after the brashness of my dreams gave way to the harshness of reality.
Now, I am fine with the knowledge that some readers will love my books, some will like them, some will think they're nothing more than okay, and others will intensely dislike them. I also realize that I will most likely never get rich, or even make a decent living, writing novels. In such a competitive field, one must have great talent (and maybe a little luck) to rise above the masses and produce a best seller.
Yes, I've fallen back to earth with a thud. I rise a little bruised, but otherwise unharmed. I will continue to write because I enjoy it. To me, each book is an adventure. I rarely know where my characters will take me. Sometimes they even have the audacity to put me in situations of jeopardy and dare me to find a way out.
That's why I write, for the thrill of the journeys into the unknown.
This summer I am aboard a pirate ship on the Great Eastern Seas, on the brigantine The Scorpion, being chased by the ruthless pirate, Coronado. It's difficult to give up adventures such as these and I won't even try. One more book to write this year and hopefully three the year after.
For now I am content with a keyboard on my lap and a summer breeze at my back.
Let the pirate wars begin!

I came to the decision a while back that for my own piece of mind I would write as a hobby and not as a business.
Actually, that is the way I started out four years ago when I began writing The Boys Of Northwood. I wrote that book because I felt the need to put the experiences of my childhood on paper as a legacy of sorts for my grandchildren and future generations. I wanted to leave something behind, a small scrap of the person I once was.
As I worked my way through my childhood. I realized that writing was an excellent way to return to those days. I had found a time machine hidden on my computer's keyboard. Words, my words, that I created, suddenly took on a magical quality. They had the unique ability to take me to another time, another place. For the first time in my life, writing had enchanted me. I was hooked.
And so I moved on to my first fictional novel, Sarah Of The Moon. I had written the beginning and the end of the book many years before, problem was, I had no story in-between. So I made it up as I wrote, and as Sarah came to life on the pages, she took my hand. "Don't worry," she told me. "I remember the way it happened. I'll show you." Of course, that became another thrill, letting my characters lead me through the pages, trusting me to get it right.
I didn't stop there. My next book was Letters From Long Binh, true stories of my experiences in Vietnam, based on the letters that I wrote home to my girlfriend throughout the year of 1967. Afterward, the books came as quickly as ideas for stories came to me. I was having fun doing something I enjoyed, and here's the best part, I actually started making some money selling my books. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to give me the incentive to continue to create books and market them.
That became part of it; the marketing and promotion of my product. Selling my brand. If I didn't promote constantly I would have been swamped by the wave of new product available. Hundreds of new novels weekly. Thousands a month. I didn't think I would enjoy that part of it and was pleasantly surprised when I did. It became a challenge of sorts to experiment with different advertisers and social media to see what strategies stuck and which were a waste of time. Thankfully, at some point in the last two or three years I built a solid base of loyal readers who stuck with me because although they may not have liked a genre of a particular novel, they liked my style of writing enough to read the stories I wrote.
Like every aspiring author, I'd like to think that one day I'll be discovered. I'd like to think that one or more of my books will go virile and sell enough copies to be noticed by someone who could take the book to the next level. But although I'm a hopeless dreamer. I'm also realistic. Lightning may strike but more than likely it won't, and you know what, I can live with that because I write as a hobby. If I make money, fine. If I don't, that's fine too. I will write because I enjoy doing it, I enjoy the thrill of creating characters and worlds of fantasy. I enjoy creating a situation that looks hopeless but that my characters will somehow find a way to muddle through.
If or when the day comes that writing becomes a burden I will stop doing it and move on to another endeavor. Until then, more often than not you'll find me by my computer's keyboard indulging myself in a trip to the past or a fantasy in another place or time.
Life is short and I don't want my legacy to read: He tried. I want it to read: He succeeded.

1. WHAT AM I WORKING ON?

I just finished writing a novella about love and redemption entitled The Road To Yesterday. I am excited about this book because I found it somewhat similar to a love story I wrote three years ago, Sarah Of The Moon. Of course, being who I am, I just had a add a little mystery into the mix (and just a touch of the paranormal).
I hope to have the novella available in July, 2014.
Next on the agenda is the final chapter of the Pirate Wars Trilogy, Fire And Thunder. Then, It's back to a new Jake Stanton adventure.


2. HOW DOES MY WORK DIFFER FROM OTHERS OF ITS GENRE?

I'd like to think that my books are somewhat unique in the sense that I like to write characters that I become attached to (and, yes, that includes villains). I try to give my characters traits that I can relate to, and hopefully my readers will feel the same. I guess what I'm trying to say is that my books are character driven. I doubt that makes them unique, but hopefully it makes them interesting and readable. That's all I can ask for.

3. WHY DO I WRITE WHAT I DO?

I write in many different genres. My wife is constantly on my case about this. "Stick with one genre. Write serials. Develop a character and explore him or her in several books."
I'm sure she's right, and one day, probably in the near future, I'll do just that. Until then, my genre hopping. Sorry, but I need to get it out of my system.

4. HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS WORK?

I'm what's called a 'pantser'. I'll admit it. I write by the seat of my pants. I always, always, make up my stories as I go along. Often, I'll come across an image that I feel would make a great book cover, then I'll write a book around it. I did this with A Girl Of The Paper Sky and Morning Star.
For me, writing is an adventure. I step off a cliff and hope that my fall is a gentle one, or I write myself into a corner, with only words as my weapon of escape.
Adventures. You gotta love em.

5. AND THE OTHER PART OF THIS QUESTION, HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS NOT WORK?

I write in spurts, and only when I feel like it. As I've said in another blog, I write for the thrill of it. If it becomes a job, I'm outta there. Some days I'll write two, three thousand words, other days, none.
I will say this however, once I begin writing a new book and start to get into it, I usually write pretty steadily. I feel guilty if I don't.
So, in summary, I live to write, but only when the mood strikes.