I hate it...

I hate it when a book just ends—like, just stops, and you have to wait until the next book to hopefully get a solid conclusion.


But after the second book… in let’s say a 4 book series, you find the second book just stops, no conclusion at all, no satisfying end of any kind, no-doubt you’re going to have to wait clear to the end of the last book to hopefully receive the ending that made reading 4 books worthwhile.

No matter what, I feel it is vital to give the reader a bone and end the book in some way… have some closer and then open the dramatic beginning for the next book, what’s so wrong with that?

The more series I read the more I see this happening, I don’t care what the reason is, give me something at the end so I feel I spent my time doing something constructive… who wants to wait until the next book just to get some small piece of closer or satisfaction.

Am I alone here? What do you think? ... What else really bugs you about—whatever?

Thx for any comment you might leave!!

Yo...

Thx for stopping by... my answers are in ( )

If you ever… I mean, when you get published—who will be the first or most important person you give the first copy to? (That’s a hard one, probably my dad, since my wife will have read it before it goes to the publisher.)


What is your preference… past or present tense? In reading or writing. (past tense for me in both, but I can handle it in what I read if the story works.)

Read any good books lately? (Stephen King’s Cell... the hunger games 1 through 2, can't remeber her name and too lazy to get up and check.)

It’s been awhile

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It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything, the main reason is I have been spinning my wheels. The worst part about revising your work is the feeling of work sets in hard and heavy. It’s like reading the same book, or watching the same movie over and over, or it’s like going to work doing the same thing every day and not getting the joy of creating something new and fresh.


I really appreciate all your support; it has helped me more than I can say.

I am making progress; it’s just slow and tedious.

The only way to learn is by doing, hopefully it will show in my final draft… which seems a life time away.

It’s sad when you would rather mow the lawn than write.

I need to find a way to make revision fun. During the first draft I could pump out 10 to 15 pages easily, now it might take a whole night to do one page of revision.

Don’t want to sound like a wimp, it just helps to get it out.

I know you all know what I am talking about.

Thx for any comment you might leave, your advice lifts me up.

Cover to cover.

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I just finished reading my book from cover to cover. I skipped a lot a things that needed fixing, I just wanted to get a sense for what I have done, where it was going, how I got there, did it move, did it feel and most of all was it worth trying to fix.

Without a doubt I feel it is worth trying to make flow and fit together to make an adequate book. For awhile there I was thinking it wasn’t worth the effort. I was worried I was letting the love for my story and characters were holding me to a failed idea.

Thankfully now I see I need to fully invest myself in this book. I see it is what I wanted it to be—I just need to trim the edges and eliminate the parasites dragging my story down.

I was very surprised to read some of the material I have composed, it was quite well, and is proof the muse does exist. I couldn’t compose stuff like that on my own. When I get in the zone it’s this out of body experience, where I experience a journey from who knows where.

I love seeing the story as I write, I just hate trying to weed out the normally me parts.

Thx so much for your comments, your help has led me down a road to where I see my goal clearly. A place where I know i belong.

Soon I’ll be starting the dreaded synopsis. It’s pretty sad when you have to sell a 300+ page book in three paragraphs.

I am afraid my learning curve just hit a big bend.

thx for any comment you might leave...

Story…

I find I struggle to write about story, the mundane part that exists between action, the part that connects the reader to the characters, the part that must be interesting and detrimental to world building, to give the reader a true sense of being there.

It’s a riddle I hope to unlock, without it my book is doomed to fail.

While reading my book I realize there has to be more than action and strife, there must be more, something subtle to draw the reader in.

I always thought I was doing that, but it seems I was just filling space until the next action scene.

How do you write about life, things your characters do while growing individually and collectively at the same time?

This might be a question no one can answer for me, but any thoughts might help me see the light.

I feel growth as a group of characters is vital to my story… hell for that matter any story really.

The little things like school, chores, work or anything like that I fail to make it interesting. These things must be there so the reader wants to be a part of it—live it—imagine it.

Like the harry potter books, Hogwarts was the main reason readers loved those books… well in my mind at least. It was a place we all could connect with and wish we could live it… everyone who was a fan thought about going to a magical school—our minds were filled with possibilities.

I hope I can find away to make it work, or my debut as an aspiring author will be short lived.

Finally

Finally I have found my muse…

I took many hours composing horrible if not putrid prose, but I think I have overcome this for now.

I forgot how wonderful it is to write when the words flow and the story jumps from your mind in waves of splendor. Where you are a mere conduit for two mediums to transfer data, ending in a wondrous moment in time, where you start to believe in prophesy.

I hope this problem is gone for good, thou I doubt it. One thing I have learned is writing opens up our deepest fears, and tears at our soul. I begin to wonder at what point I will accept my writing for what it is and set my mind free to explore writing at its core, without fear, self-doubt, apprehension or any negative side effects.

If that day ever comes true… I don’t know if I could handle it.



Thx for all your support. I hope you never experience anything closely resembling this in your life.

All aboard for the emotional roller coaster that is writing…

Feelings

I am feeling lost every time I try and write... this is a different feeling than the ones I have had before.

Everything feels weak. I tried not to write for a week, and it has hurt rather than helped.

It’s hard to describe, it’s like trying to cook but everything looks horrible and tastes even worse. I've always been able to see the silver lining in what I do, but I just can't seem to get the groove back.


Maybe I am just trying too hard. Maybe I should rest longer than a week.

Or maybe I should do just the opposite and just write my way out.

I have felt lost before and even felt like a hack… but I always got joy from writing even if I felt it didn’t work.

Rest assured I will never quit, but I hope this ends soon.

I really don’t know if I am asking anything specific—more or less I guess I am just sharing, praying for a sign… a glimmer… anything to jump start my brain back to the love of writing regardless of the outcome.

Sorry if you read this all and had to endure it. This is not who I am… maybe that’s why it digs so deep. I have never felt self-doubt about anything (other than about my writing)—now I am swimming in it.

Thx

Redo

Ok, this probably isn't perfect but it felt better to me... at least good enough I can move on with my story. If you read my last one plz tell me what you think.


I never realized I am such a needy person. With your help maybe I can see the flaws in my work and move past them.
Thx again...





The wagon came to a halt. Tristan opened his eyes surprised he was able to fall asleep. The ride was very uncomfortable, and seemed to last a lifetime. He crawled out aching all over. He stretched and turned. One glimpse of the massive castle cleared his mind and rid his body of pain.


He leaned back so far trying to see the many turrets and balconies, he about tipped over backwards. The thousands of windows shimmered in the setting sun; the white granite structure seemed to glow. Just standing in the shadow of this mammoth structure made him fell insignificant. Massive doublewide wooden doors were larger than any doors he had ever seen, a six horse team pulling a wagon could pass through easily. If gods lived on earth this would be their home, Tristan thought.

Turning in a circle he took in every detail around the castle, he couldn’t stop smiling it was an amazing sight to behold. The round base of the castle had a massive cobblestone road surrounding it, the endless line of wagons and thousands student milling around fit with plenty of room to spare. Countless streets took off in every direction like spokes a wagon wheel.

He counted six armories, seven blacksmith shops, more horse paddocks that he could count. He tried to look at it all but it was quite overwhelming, there were seamstress shops, cooking pits, archery shops, candle makers, mason workshops. He marveled in the sounds echoing around him. The clopping hooves mixed with the tinking of chisels and the hammering of steel.

He felt stupid realizing this was a huge city not just a training center. This place dwarfed the forts he had grown up in. He tried to envision how many forts would fit in this city; it boggled the mind, his best guess maybe one hundred or even more.

The city was very clean and the smell of it was intoxicating. Tristan took a deep breath drinking in the aroma of roasting meat mingled with leather highlighted with the sweet scent of flowers, the slight hint of pine from the surrounding mountains swirled all the smells together making his mouth water.

Tristan was amazed by all the massive torches on buildings and down roads illuminating every nook and cranny. Ornate brass fittings decorated every building giving the real sense of wealth. It was a wondrous place to be, he thought. Tall archer towers poked above the roof tops of smaller structures in every direction he looked.

A loud voice snapped him back to reality. “Line up men” yelled a large boy standing in front of his wagon wearing a black leather suit.

 
 
Thx for any comment you might leave, your advice will not be wasted or over looked.

Disconnected

Lately I have second guessed everything I have written. I want to know it this description is too much. Also can you see it, when you read it does it come across right?

This is a key setting in my story and I want to get it right, and any advice will help. Thx

Don't be afraid to leave negative comments... I can take it--any comment is better than no comment.






The wagon came to a halt. Tristan opened his eyes feeling stiff and sore. Pale sunlight and the orange glow of torches filled his vision. The group of students climbed out and stretched their legs. Tristan looked around in awe. Turning in a circle he took in every detail, he couldn’t stop smiling it was an amazing sight to behold. The first thing to grab his attention was the massive tubular castle that seemed to stretch to the heavens. He leaned his head back so far trying to see the many turrets and balconies, he about tipped over backwards. The thousands of windows shimmered in the setting sun; the white granite structure seemed to glow. Massive doublewide wooden doors were larger than any doors he had ever seen, a six horse team pulling a wagon could pass through easily. If gods lived on earth this would be their home, Tristan thought.

The round base of the castle had a massive cobblestone road surrounding it, the endless line of wagons and thousands student milling around fit with plenty of room to spare. Countless streets took off in every direction like spokes a wagon wheel. He counted six armories, seven blacksmith shops, more horse paddocks that he could count. He tried to look at it all but it was quite overwhelming, there were seamstress shops, cooking pits, archery shops, candle makers, mason workshops. He marveled in the sounds echoing around him. The clopping hooves mixed with the tinking of chisels and the hammering of steel. He realized this was a huge city not just a training center. This place dwarfed the forts he had grown up in. He tried to envision how many forts would fit in this city; it boggled the mind, his best guess maybe one hundred or even more. The city was very clean and the smell of it was intoxicating, roasting of meat mingled with the smell of leather and sweet scent of flowers swirled through the light pine scented breeze. Massive torches on buildings and down roads illuminated every nook and cranny. Ornate brass fittings decorated every building giving the real sense of wealth. It was a wondrous place to be, he thought. Tall archer towers poked above the roof tops of smaller structures in every direction he looked.

A loud voice snapped him back to reality. “Line up men” yelled a large boy standing in front of his wagon wearing a black leather suit.



thx for any comment you might leave...

Just wrote this... what ya think?

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I have no doubt I have some grammar problems. But when you read this do you get a sense of it? Thx.


Removed.......Thx for the comments.