The Final Countdown

So...where do I go from here?

With every passing week, my editor sends me a handful of changes to make to each chapter. This is the final draft, and I am both excited and horrified. What do I do next with this piece of work that I spent more than a year writing? Self-publish? Maybe....I might just fail and have the written piece considered "damaged goods". If that happens, no publisher will ever touch it. I could reach out to publishers but it is so competitive that I may never hear back from them. It is a delicate balance between me taking the charge and at the same time giving them the chance to respond to me. Of course they might  not even like the concept or the novel. I might just hear "oh another sci-fi adventure....next!".

Right now I think I am going to actually sit back, relax for a bit. I know the bug to right will start itching again and that is when I will tackle finishing off The Onyx Tide and pick up working on The Vein Case (the sequel which is quietly waiting on Google Docs). As for publishing I suppose I will wait and see what happens with my marketing career. I know that in an ideal world I would be published, but advertising is a huge passion of mine as well so we'll see which careers kicks off. I am actually considering reaching out to companies and using it as part of my portfolio. Here's hoping they understand that the book is meant to be dark/twisted and it does not represent my mental state at all (hoorah!).

This is my last blog post for this assignment however I may start an official one that is not short story related. Thanks for anyone who read the blogs.

A Cup of Inspiration

"He studied the deepening twilight in that half-bored, half-distracted way he had." It was the middle of winter, a few years ago when I first read the prologue to George R.R Martin's Game of Thrones. Mind you this was actually before the entire thing kicked off...so you might call me a hispter in a sense. Please don't call me a hipster.

None the less, we aren't here today to decide who or what is that dreaded "h" word. I am here to type a bit about the inspiration I have when writing. I recall that when I first started writing The Onyx Tide (very first draft, long before the world was even taking shape) I had the desire to write something like George R.R Martin. I came to terms that I could not match what he had, but I knew that I wanted something like his world. The rich history, the characters that could be seen as real people, the magic, the suspense....as an avid reader, A Game of Thrones had everything I desired in a book. I can safely say that George R.R Martin was the reason I began to write The Onyx Tide.

My writing has shifted and morphed with every chapter I write. I found styles that I preferred and removed the detail that only seemed to work in A Song of Ice and Fire. For a while The Onyx Tide was a lot less Sci-Fi and a lot more horror/suspense (This still shows in the early chapters). So what changed? Why all of the sudden half-way through did I toss some of the over the top gore (it only has cameos from there on) and replaced it with more crazy sci-fi shenanigans? It is because I started watching Doctor Who. The show showed me how wacky you can actually get with science fiction and I had a desire to incorporate that with the Onyx Tide. On top of this, I started falling in love with Marvel's Multiverse and wanted to incorporate something similar. So, I found a way to add a multiverse in as well.

George R.R Martin started my writing, but Marvel and Doctor Who helped grease the wheels. I was really able to take a step forward by accepting inspiration and changing it to fit perfectly into my universe. I have no clue what my next major inspiration will be, but I look forward to it.

Death of the Family Dog

On paper everything seemed great. A city ruled by something that was basically a mafia. A crime family who held the life of many innocents in their hands. The premise of "The Family Dog" was to have a character (Connor)  have very little choice when it came to harming people. He either killed or would be killed. My original plan was for Connor to realize how much of the "family dog" he really was when the head of the family would order him to kill the child and many others. An internal struggle if you will. It was when I realized this struggle would be inside an empty shell that I had to scrap it. Connor wasn't a character yet and it would be forever to flesh him out for his actions to mean anything.

Why did I not finish the short story? I overshot my goal of what to do with it:

·        I wanted to create a strong bond between Connor and the strange fire child.

·        I wanted  Davin Forian to be introduced and his entire family to have a small role in Connor's fate.

·        Connor was supposed to be assigned to wiping out a large portion of the city.

·        The fire child would end up sacrificing himself to save Connor from Davin Forian.

·        Connor was meant to lead a rebellion against the last of the Forians.

These are just some of the things I wanted to do. I quickly realized that it would be impossible for me to make this goal of a cool little world into reality. In order for Connor's struggle, the fire child's death, and even Davin Forian's death to mean anything....I would basically have to write half a novel. It would take me at least 5 or 6 short stories just to get the character development in a place where these decisions would mean anything. In the end I had no choice but to scrap it and hold on to the concept for a better time. 

Short Stories Suck

I hate writing short stories.

I am now constantly asking myself why I decided to focus a blog around writing short stories. Sure it is an easy way to expand on a book's universe, but it also limits my writing. Each line becomes a fight for fewer words to make sure that I do not expand past two pages. I have to cut out details, character traits, and even some plot development just to make sure that only the important parts remain. It's like going to a fancy restaurant. Are they capable of giving you a full meal accompanied with a side and a main dish that overflows from your plate? Yes. Will they? No. They give you a puny piece of meat and call it a "steak." Sure it might explode with flavour in that one bite, but then it's gone. That's what I feel like when I look back at a short story. A steak that looks good at first glance, but leaves your hungry for more. The problem is, there is nothing more to eat because you can't afford to pay for two $200 "steaks." 

Writing a short story means limited detail, and not expanding on the universe in the way you had hoped. Why am I still writing short stories?

The Family Dog: Part 1

- The Family Dog: Part 1 -

7 Months After the Incident

"Forian is getting tired of waiting for your payment, Charla." Connor cracked his knuckles. He took a threatening step towards the woman who was pressed against the wall. They were down an alley, out of sight and out of earshot. No one would hear her pleas for help if things turned messy.

"I....I swear I have the money. Just some more time. More time is all I need." Charla did not take her eyes off of Connor's hands. She had heard the rumours of his strange capabilities.

Connor scoffed, "More time. More time. That's what everyone says. When you asked to live within the walls of Forian's city, did he ask for more time? No. He took you and your family in. He thought....no I thought that the rules were clear."

"They were. They were very clear," Charla stuttered.  Connor highly doubted that she was telling the truth. She could barely afford the clothes on her back let alone another night in the city.

The threatening man faked a grim look as he spoke a memorized script. "Upon entering Forian's city, you and all of your possessions automatically belong to the Forian family. In return for the protection that you are given, you will pay for your stay every two weeks. When you fail to pay," Connor said, carrying a grim look. "Forian sends me to collect." His index finger twitched as energy was pulled from the air. Blue sparks jumped along the palm as his hand. The elderly woman began to scream as Connor reached out towards her.

The wrinkled face lit up like a jack-o-lantern as the energy transferred from Connor's palm and moved under her skin. What was once pale flesh quickly darkened as Charla was cooked from the inside out from the blue light. A few seconds passed before the woman finally collapsed. Connor gave her corpse a firm kick and left the alley. Somebody would find her in a few days and maybe if they were nice they would bury her. They would not question her death. The burns were enough evidence that Forian had not been paid.

As Connor walked down the almost empty street of Forian's city, he was forced to remind himself how lucky he actually was. The crime lord Davin Forian was notorious for his cruelty. Connor was one of the few people out of the Forian blood line that was treated kindly. Connor snapped his thumb between his index finger and watched a teal coloured spark appear. His abilities were the only reason the Forians kept him around and let him live within the city for free.

When the Onyx Tide had struck, people were in a panic. Very few places in the world seemed safe and yet a single man turned an entire city into his possession. Giant pits were dug around the ten foot high steel walls that surrounded the town. Fires roared within the pits day and night. Dogs patrolled the perimeter as well. The Onyx Tide could not get in. Being a 'man of business', as Davin Forian always put it, he knew the value of what he had created. He let people stay behind the walls but they needed to give him something in return.

A large mansion overlooked the town at the northern end. It was the only structure that remained in one piece. The Forians ensured of that. There was no reason to maintain the rest of the city. They barely had more than one hundred people with them at one time. The residents were either smart enough to leave when they could no longer pay for their stay (and then die to the Onyx Tide that awaited them outside the walls), or Connor would have to get involved and make them pay. Their longest residence from any citizen was two months.

Connor smelled the fire before he could see it. The burning sensation filled his nose as he turned around down the final street. Dark plumes of smoke climbed from the base of the Forian house. Once green grass that surrounded the property was in flames. The front windows were shattered and angry searing fire exploded outwards. Connor paused for a moment, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. In the middle of all the chaos, surrounded by a ring of fire, was a small young boy. The fire did not touch him. Instead it seemed to bow away from the child.