Posts from the Author -- On Giving Up

I almost gave up yesterday. 

Something strange happened. Between a sick kid, sick spouse, sick in-laws and a sick self, and then dealing with a lot of other life issues, I kinda sorta let myself NOT think about my story for a while. I had four days off of work, and they all went by in a blur of cartoons and trips to the grocery store where we didn't actually come home with anything to eat.

There was one day, though... Valentine's Day, which was amazing. I actually got to go out on a date with hubby, to a fantastic restaurant, and talk. Of course I talked about my novel, told him that I was struggling with the re-writes, and how, if I only had time, I could really do something special with this thing. And then the conversation went on to something else, and I just stopped thinking about my story.

Flash forward, two days later, and there I was still not thinking about it, and feeling pretty damn good with all that clean head space. I actually got to thinking about other stories, other projects, that I've been setting aside so I can work on the novel. I'd just gotten off the bus and was walking home (this is where I do my best story thinking), and I realized I had no idea where I'd left off my novel edits. I knew I had a big change that I need to go back and make, to fix a major mistake in character motivation. But, after that... total blank space in my head. White noise.

And, I thought, What if I just give up?

I could, you know. This thing is a bear, and I'm not even sure if it's a good bear or an interesting bear. Maybe this isn't the story that pans out and gets me published. Maybe I just need to let this one go...

Ah, that's better. 

For an entire day, I let go of the story, let the string on the balloon slip from my hand and fly off into the ether. Clean head space.

Today, while vacuuming (my second best place for story thinking), I knew where the problem was, and how to fix it. I knew where I was in the story, how much further I needed to go back, and what exactly I should change to make the whole thing that much better. Just like that, I'm back in the game.

One more scene is finished, now. One more step. I'm shuffling forward like a zombie on this story, but at least I'm moving.

And I'm going to finish this thing. Dammit.

All the advice to aspiring writers that I've read lately can be boiled down into two things:

1. If you want to be a writer, then write
and
2. Finish things


Good luck, little story,
LLH

Post from the Author -- Long Time, No Post

Greetings!

I know, it's been a long time.

I've been working.

There was that whole NaNoWriMo thing that took up my November (I'm a winner, by the way!). And then December, in which I spent much time not writing. Then I got caught with two books checked out from the library at the same time, and one due before I could finish, and I had to read like the wind...

Excuses, excuses.

At any rate, here's an update:

1. I've finished my Nano manuscript, tentatively titled, "The Devil You Know." It was a story about a woman... and now it's become apparent that it's far more interesting as a story about her father. That's where all the cool stuff happens! I've been caught in this trap before -- writing about characters talking about all the cool stuff that happened, and not actually writing the cool stuff. So, I'm still writing, still reworking, which is making the second draft a real bitch.

It gets boring in places. Neil Gaiman, via Twitter, once advised writers to ask themselves "what if...?", I've been what-ifing this novel, with really creative results!

2. I've discovered Scrivener. I'm using the trial. I'll most likely buy. It allows you break down your novel into well organized chapters (you can skip back and forth very easily). It also has a cork board where you can pin chapter summaries, etc etc. But what I really love is how it will format your book for you. Into whatever. You want an eBook to read on your Kindle? You've got it. I love it so much. Even if the second draft re-write is still hell, at least I have help.

3. I dug up my 2009 Nano novel, titled "Glory, Hallelujah." Not a great name for it, but holy crap is this thing amazing! I wrote this? In a month!!! I remember putting it away and barely touching it for rewrites. Good lord, it's good. Good characters, good story. Funny fun dialogue. I'm a freaking genius (not really)! Is THIS the book that I should shop around for an agent? If I can ever get through rewriting this Devil of a novel, I'll send Glory through the Scrivener process and see what happens.

Is it the time? Does it really take, like, six years for a novel to properly marinate? I tried reading last year's novel, "Wizards," again recently. Nope, still effing sick of those kids. Maybe they need 5 more year. Maybe they all need to graduate college first.

4. What do I do with all those damn short stories I wrote last year? They're all good; not great. I may self-publish them, just for a vanity run. I always tell myself this. They're all just for me, anyway, right?

Which brings me to...

5. I promise to have something put together this year. I have so many first drafts of things. Time to do something productive with something. I've got the talent. All I need is the freaking time.


Good luck, and may fortune await you in 2016,

LLH

"The Demented Non-Life of Jefferson Davis" -- Chapter Seventeen

Hello!

And here it is, the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the story. And now it is available to you, all of it, right in time for the start of NaNoWriMo.


I'm very excited for my "nano" project this year. A story that just popped into my head about a month ago, superseding every other story idea I'd been working on. And this one promises to be something special.

For my NanoPrep, I've actually been, um... *cough* writing ahead. And I'm glad I did. The first thing that happened was I ran into all sorts of issues surrounding what voice I wanted to use (first person? Third person? Omniscient or limited?) and present-vs.-future tense. Changing these details changed the story from a cutesy first-person adventure tail into something a little deeper. But you lose a very personal, emotional layer when you go Third. But you can't have it all.

Or can you!

Suddenly, my story has been jumping around. Diary entries. Newspaper clippings. Switching from present day to the past to visions to lessons... it's a beautiful mess. But, if I can do it correctly, it should all boil together perfectly into something better than I ever thought I could write. I'm being open-minded with this one. I am writing with abandon.

And, yes, I started early, because pretty much the whole last week of November is shot to hell by Thanksgiving and family obligations. So, yeah. Meh. I decided it's not "cheating" to start your Nano early... it's writing.

Cheers and good luck to you!
LLH




Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16 

"The Demented Non-Life of Jefferson Davis"

By L.L. Heberlein

(copyright 2015, all rights reserved)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

“George, I need a drink!” I said, sitting down at my favorite bar. George poured me a big mug of coffee, and then set the carafe down next to me.

“It’s on the house, Davis.”

John pushed the carafe toward me. “No no no!” he said. “We shall pay! For we have money to spend in this fine establishment!” He put a couple bills on the counter, paying for my coffee and his and Lucy’s drinks. The two of them didn’t hang out at Babbitt’s much – it is an underworld bar, and until lately they were both humans. But it was open all night, and we were in need of celebration. And drinks. And maybe even some therapy.

“So, John,” I said, staring at the bills in front of us. “What will you do with your share of the money?”

“Now that Barry is paid and the power’s back on?”

“Yeah,” I said, finishing off my cup and pouring another. “What’s up next.”

“Oh, I dunno,” John said. “I was thinking about maybe expanding the business. You know, maybe hiring on an employee or two. Maybe taking on a partner.” He winked at me. “You interested?”

“Me?” I took a swig and set my cup back down. “I don’t think I’m the guy you need. I’m not really much of a detective.”

“But you’re so good at finding trouble!” John laughed.

“And I nearly got you killed,” I said.

Lucy scowled. “You DID get him killed! It’s only because I ran into that animator…”

“How did you find that woman?” I asked. Lucy flicked my ear. “Yeah, I know. Her name is Thea.”

“You know, she just appeared, almost out of nowhere,” she said, taking another dainty sip of some pink cocktail. “I still don’t understand what she did.”

“You think I’ll decay like this?” John looked down at his hands. “Or you think the embalming fluid will keep me fresh forever?”

Lucy almost threw up her cocktail. “Let’s not think about it, shall we?”

“But I have to think about it, Luce! Look at me! I mean, what the hell am I? Zombie? Ghoul? How long do I have to live like this?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a long time,” I said. “Maybe not long at all. How long do any of us have? I can tell you one thing, though. Take good care of yourself. You never know what’ll happen to you if you get a body part ripped off.”

John went wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

I just shook my head and sipped at my coffee.

We had a nice, rather quiet rest of the evening at Babbitt’s. Lucy ordered some late-night dinner. John played pool with the vampire league, very impressed at how much better he played. For some reason, he said, his eyesight was now better than 20/20 and his muscles never fatigued. Could be he’s possessed by a demon, like me. I kept my mouth shut, though. It’s just not the sort of thing you talk about.

Me, I just watched them play pool and drank coffee. I wasn’t feeling like going home, for some reason. Maybe it was the mess I knew that waited there, or just the idea John had died, and now he was alive, and I still felt like I had to somehow explain myself to him. Whatever happened to him from here on out, I felt responsible, whether I was or not.

I thought about my chunk of the money. I thought about moving. Maybe Chicago.

Someone tapped my shoulder.

Schwartz… Eric. Dammit, I’ll never remember to get that straight. “Hello, Davis.” He was dressed down now, in a black T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. Must be off work, I figured.

“Hello, Eric.”

“You mind if I sit for a minute,” he asked, sliding onto the stool next to me. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “What’s on your mind.”

Eric looked straight ahead, toward the people playing pool, as he spoke. “I want you to come work for me.”

I swear, if I hadn’t just finished off the last of my cup, I would have spit coffee across the bar. “But you HATE me!” I said, before I could stop myself. “Sorry. Sorry. I mean, I’m sorry for being so honest, but… don’t you hate me?”

Eric smiled just a tiny crack of a smile. “I used to. You were really a pain in my ass for a while there. But the way you handled yourself tonight… holding your own against those big players… I’m not easily impressed, Davis, but I’ll say it. I was impressed.”

I tried to look stoic. It took everything I had not to smile at him. I stared, like him, straight ahead.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stuff like tonight,” he said. “Tracking down criminals, dealing with big players. You’ll have your own suite at Purgatory, and all the new suits you could want.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m staying in town,” I said. “I feel like I need to get out of here for a while. Shit around here just got really weird.”

He stood up. “Suit yourself,” Eric said. He reached into his pocket and brought out a business card. White with angel wings on one side, black with devil horns on the other. And a phone number. “Call if you change your mind.”

I watched him walk out of the bar without so much as a glance back at me. I turned the card over a few times. Purgatory. Me, working for Schwartz. Me, one of those black-suited cronies picking up after underworld messes.

Me, working with India. Again.

I could think of worse jobs. –

THE END

"The Demented Non-Life of Jefferson Davis" -- Chapter Sixteen

Turns out Communism was just a red herring...

The story is wrapping up, and questions get answered. Turns out, the butler did it. ;-)

I am aware of the failings of this story. For one, we have a pretty big character (the Blonde) who doesn't show up until almost the end. See, that's a story fail. We ought to have been introduced to her way earlier in the story. I attribute this failing to 1. inexperience as a writer and 2. writing this as a "pantser."

A pantser is a term used by my fellow NaNoWriMos to describe one who goes into the novel writing process without an outline--by the seat of their pants, so to speak. For this story, I had a rough idea of the story plot, based on  Dashiell Hammett's "The Maltese Falcon," and a few preexisting characters in my back pocket. And that's it. I just thought up a scene, wrote about it, and then thought up the next thing as I went along. It was a wonderful exercise in coming up with "story," but the end result is full of plot holes and story writing mistakes.

Right up their next to "don't show me a gun unless you're going to fire it," would be "don't introduce a pivotal character at the end of the book." I'm not talking about waiting to reveal a characters identity, or hiding the villain until we fight them in the dénouement-- I'm talking about the mistake of saying "the butler did it" on page 385, when we didn't even know there was a butler until page 350.

Ah, well. Live and learn. Write by your pants, and edit by the rules.

Good luck, WriMos!
LLH




Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15   

"The Demented Non-Life of Jefferson Davis"

By L.L. Heberlein

(copyright 2015, all rights reserved)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

“So, how long you think this will take?” John asked. He was laying down, eyes closed, mouth flapping. He wasn’t dead. Not yet.

My head snapped to McGuffin. “See,” he said. “I told you. You’re friend is possessed of some other source of animation. This stone does nothing.”

John sat up in his coffin, as if to demonstrate the point. “I guess that wasn’t it. Huh.” He started to climb back out.

“Wait, wait. Just hold on here a goddamn minute,” I said, still clutching tightly to the case full of money. “John, why aren’t you dead?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Cool we still get the money though, hu?” Then came that classic Horseface grin. “And I do me we, deadman! Cuz if you try to screw me out of my cut of the cash, I will find a way to end you!”

I shook my head, eyes wide, still disbelieving. “Here,” I said, handing him the case. “It’s all yours. You deserve it. But I still don’t get it. Why are you not dead?”

“IT WORKED!”

A lavender blur streaked passed me, slammed into John, and knocked them both into the coffin. The dais went tumbling, taking the coffin and the two huge floral arrangements with it. John and Lucy landed in a heap on top of the whole thing. Lucy began to sob.

“Oh, it worked! I didn’t believe it at first. I COULN’T believe it. But here you are!”

“Here I am,” John laughed. “And you want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“I hired an animator!” she said.

“A whose-it what-inator?” John said.

“An animator!” Lucy squealed. “She was just here! A darling blonde woman named Thea. Davis, you saw her. You were with her. Remember? I tried rolling my eyes at you because you were making time with my animator when she was busy working. She’s just incredible, isn’t she?”

“I did… what now?” I asked.

Lucy kissed John, and suddenly the talking was all over. There they were, a pile of gray and lavender on top of white flowers, making out. I scratched my head.

“Thea?” I asked. “I thought she worked here? She’s an animator? What’s an animator?”

No answers from the kissing couple.

McGuffin brushed past me. “If you will excuse me gentlemen, lady,” he said. “I will take my property and make my exit.”

“Now, hold on,” I said, taking him by the shoulder. “If the stone does nothing, then how come everybody wants it?”

He laughed. “Don’t you see? Everybody wants it, because everybody wants it,” he said. “That is it’s value.”

I shook my head. “I still don’t get it.”

“And I ask you, what value is a diamond, really? Or gold, for that matter. What value has a dollar bill, save that which we imbue it with?”

“So it’s valuable, because it’s valuable?”

“Yes,” McGuffin answered. “Quite so. Clara the would-be vampires offered me two million dollars for it.”

“But you didn’t accept her credit,” I said. “You didn’t take her money.”

“Oh I took it, alright,” McGuffin said. “Of course I took it. I am a dealer. I deal in any currency.”

“But you told her…”

“My dear boy,” McGuffin said. “If I’d allowed Clara access to the stone, she would have seen that it did nothing, and the stone would have become useless! Don’t you understand, it’s the mystique of the thing. I had to maintain the mystique.”

“So you set it up so she’d be attacked when she opened the box?” I asked. “You set her up?”

“Well, now, I didn’t say that.”

“And she knew you’d set her up, so she set me up?”

“That, I have no knowledge of.”

“So, wait. Let me get this straight. You offered to sell Clara the stone. She paid you two million, which you took. You shipped the stone here, complete with that booby-trap I encountered, to keep her from getting it. What’s more, you put some sort of spell on it, so she couldn’t get to it. Maybe a twenty-four hour holding spell? Or some daylight-only spell? Am I getting close?”

McGuffin shrugged. “I admit to nothing.”

“So I get there, because a ruckus, and the shipping center decides it’s a good idea to get rid of the thing, and delivers the package to my home, during daylight hours. Of course, I’m not there, but Horesface is!”

John stopped kissing Lucy for long enough to yell, “Hey!”

“Sorry, John,” I said. “Anyway, John gets the package, hides it away, and in walks Clara, in broad daylight, because she’s not really a vampire.”

“That, I swear, I was not aware of,” McGuffin said. “She must have possessed some powerful magic to fool me.”

“Which is probably why she was so interested in that stone,” I said. “Which she thought was some super-powerful magical item. Now, my question is, if you hadn’t intended on letting her have it, why did you agree to sell it to her?”

“Because that’s what he does.” Thea walked into the room. She brushed her blonde hair back over one shoulder and put her hands on her hips. The lizard-man stood next to her, arms crossed. “We’ve been tracking him for months now. He ships illegal merchandise, fake magical items, but never delivers. We’ve never been able to prove it, until now. We needed that stone as evidence!”

“And now, we have it!” lisped the lizard man. He snatched the stone from McGuffin’s hand and held it above his head. “Yesssssssssssss,” he said. “Finally, we have the evidencccccccccccce!”

“Wait, you?” I said. “You two are working together?”

McGuffin ran for the door. Thea moved fast. She swiped his leg. McGuffin landed on his belly. Thea jumped on top of him, grabbed his arms, and pinned them behind him. The lizard-man joined her, using a yellow zip-tie strip to bind his hands.

“This is beyond me,” I said, watching the lizard hand McGuffin over to Eric and his posse.

“Don’t worry,” Thea said, tossing her hair. “You didn’t mess things up too bad. Oh, you got in the way, and almost totally fucked up the plan. But you came through in the end.” She patted me on the ass. “And what a find end you have, too. Thanks for sharing!” She held out her hand for the lizard man. “Come on, darling. Let’s deliver the evidence, so we can go home.”

I watched the blonde witch-woman walk out of the room, hand-in-hand with the lizard.