Today 's the Day

It's happening, it's actually happening -

as of today, my first published Story Desert Falcon will be available from Dreamspinner Press.

The Falcon Is Rising - may he soar high! 


Befitting the occasion, Desert Falcon is also a free book giveaway at reviewsbyjessewave this week. Drop by and check it out!

Waiting for Release

Well, release isn't actually right since it's not me personally who's  going to be released. My story is; my very first piece of writing will be published by Dreamspinner Press by March 16th, 2011.
Yet, waiting for this to happen still feels like a weight on me. Unfortunately, however urgently I wait won't make the day arrive sooner... *grins*

From what I've heard, the REALLY hard part comes after the release. Waiting for the reviews. Sucking up the bad ones. Jumping from joy at the good ones. Sitting in the corner, biting my nails, hoping that someone, ANYONE will review my story AT ALL, since this means that someone actually read it...
Going to learn how all this feels. I'm looking forward to it in a way...but wanting to hide in a corner at the same time.
Valium, anyone?
However, here it is:

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2222

For whom are you writing?

I used to think I wrote for myself, just to please me. But even when I still did and had no hope anyone would ever be interested in the outpour of my imagination, I knew I was deceiving myself. Stories have been told from the beginning of time, but always TO someone. What good would it be if all those words just disappeared into nothingness? Once upon a time I used to tell stories to myself. They're gone now, those tales, and sometimes I miss them deeply, remembering parts of them but not all. Like a piece of music you've heard, you recall a couple of notes, some chords, and you know you liked that song, but for the life of you you can't sing it anymore.
I don't want my words lost once I'm gone. They may be meaningless for the greater whole, and they may not move a lot, but they're mine.
So now, after I've found someone liked my story enough to buy it, someone thought my story worth of distributing farther? I'm pleased, and a little awed. The other night I woke up thinking: "I've written a book. An entire book. Wow!"

Not that this is a big deal to those out there who wrote ten, or fifty. But even Stephen King, even Josh Lanyon, even Karl May or Edgar Wallace or any other of those awesomely prolific writers out there must have been at that point where I'm now.


I don't want to write for myself anymore. I write for those who like it.  Now I'm going to have to face the next step, Rejection.
Over time, I've met people on the 'net whose opinion I value greatly, people who I consider "friends" of sorts. It's them I write for, and if they find something wrong with my writing, they tell me so politely and reasonably and I'll take their critic for what it is, constructive, and try to do better by them. But what about strangers?

It's that thing with separating the writing from the person. With any kind of work, really. If you do something you like, produce something you're proud of, and then find your work rejected by strangers, it's hard not to take this personally. As a reviewer, and a writer, I think I know the difference, and still I catch myself tripping over that issue. For example, I reviewed a book a while ago which I didn't like, for whatever reason. I tried to explain in my review why this particular book didn't work for me, and that the review reflected but my opinion. Later, though I found out the author in question talked down on me as a person. Not my review, not my opinion, me. Hello? You don't know me, and I don't know you. I might or might not like you as a person, and still criticise your work if you asked me to and I found something to criticise. I found myself scowling a that author for that, and yes, I found myself consequently prejudiced about his writing. Id' be likewise wary if someone praised me as a person only because I loved his writing and said so in a review. I'm not my writing, and neither are you. So if someone can't discern between me and my writing or, even worse, between himself and his writing, I can't help wondering what this person's problem is. People can say about my writing whatever they want, maybe they're right, maybe not, as long as they leave my person out of it. That's what I think.
I try, at least. Remains to be seen how cool I can be when the first reviews on Desert Falcon come in...
Perhaps I'll indeed be sitting alongside Amy and Marie in the Crazy Tree, needy to feel loved by strangers who I don't care at all for otherwise through them loving my writing, or likewise feeling devastated and unloved if people give me a piece of their disapproving mind. I pray I'll be able to discern....

It's happening!

My first short story, Desert Falcon, has entered the editing queue. Boy, am I nervous!

Out there

When I first met Hunter, he was carrying a Saker falcon on his fist through JFK airport's International Terminal arrival hall. He was lost, and yet he didn' t look it, winding through the crowd, heedless of the strange looks he got. I watched him as the authorities in the body of PAPD officer Mark Bowman stopped him, and I watched him sizing the officer up, picking up his scent and deciding to give it a try. I coudn't fight back silent amusement when I saw the poor officer's reaction as Hunter worked his magic with quiet self - confidence and zenlike serenity. It made me wonder what could make a man like this lose his cool, and why it was Mark, of all people, would be the one to make him. And this lead to wondering how a man like Hunter could have become that way in the first place, what it might have taken to build those many layers of stillness around a burning hot, untiring core.
This was when Hunter stepped forward to tell me his story. I only needed to write it down.

The result became a short story, DESERT FALCON.
I liked it. Actually, I liked it a lot.  I let a few people read the story, and guess what? They liked it, too.
So I decided to give it a try. Do you know what happened?


Make an educated guess, as the angels suggests to the dead man with the coffee maker in the commercial.