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The Not-So-Big Reveal

Stack of Books

I’ve lived with this working title for a couple of days, now. I’ve let it rattle around in my head, done a little research into the phrase I want to use, and played with it in relation to the outline. I’m still happy with it, so I’m going to move forward with it. Even if it gets changed, it’s a good focal point.

It’s funny how it just came to me, bang! as a title for the book.

It was Sunday morning, and I was doing a clustering exercise. This exercise was an inverse cluster, where I leave the central idea blank and start with the surrounding topics. Inverse clusters are really helpful when I’m searching for something–an idea, a cohesive theme, etc. I’d done a couple on this book, prior to Sunday morning, and distilled some of the central themes for the book. That morning, I’d jotted down some of the basic elements of the plot, had surrounded the central circle with characters, objects, events, and then–like I said–Bang! I had my focal point.

I looked up at my wife, shared it with her, and she smiled (and not in her “That’s nice, dear,” way; this was an “Oh, yeah!” way).

So, now that I’m happy with it, I can tell you. Continue Reading »

By Any Other Name

Sometimes, it’s the little things.

We spent a lovely holiday weekend with our friends, Barb and J.C. Hendee, authors of The Noble Dead Saga (among other titles). They’re a couple of the lucky ones: bestselling authors who have had the wonderful opportunity to make their living writing books. Naturally, it has its trade-offs (all self-employment opportunities do), but it was great to spend time with them, talking about Things Writerly, and learning from tales from their lives as modern writers.

Barb Hendee has a new book out, first in a brand-new series, so if you like fantasy, exceptional character development, a tight plot, and a satisfying read, check out her The Mist-Torn Witches, available in paperback and on Kindle.

During our visit, I took advantage of the quiet mornings to do some clustering exercises for my new project, and in doing so, I discovered my working title! Continue Reading »

An Atheist in Paradise

[Crackle Crackle]

“Yes, Your Holiness. We’re receiving you.”

[Crackle Crackle]

“Please say again. All after ‘atheists can go to heaven.'”

Yesterday, while I was talking to my dad, the earth moved in California, a bridge on I-5 here in Washington crumbled and fell into the Skagit River, and NBC reported that Pope Francis said atheists can go to heaven.

It was a weird 35 minutes.

Thankfully, no damage was reported from the earthquake.

Thankfully, no one was killed in the bridge collapse, and the three people injured are all in stable condition or better.

Thankfully, the Pope’s announcement did not crack the Seventh Seal and usher in the Apocalypse. Continue Reading »

Vignette

Stack of BooksAlfie drove the black Audi up the hillside curves, through the grey dawn and springtime rain, stopping under the still-burning lamps of the Alta Mira. He got out and opened the passenger door.

She stepped out onto the quiet street, hair wild from the damp, portfolio of photos under her arm, and saw her ex standing at the curb across the street. Sleepy-eyed, disheveled, he looked as if he’d just wakened from a dream.

She smiled, and that was all it took. He stepped toward her.

“I miss you.”

She retreated, eyes glancing, smile snuffed like a candle. “Don’t go there, or I’ll be lost.”

Alfie interposed himself–her guardian, her protector, her armor–“Easy, mate.”

Her footsteps echoed on the brick pathway. The ex watched as she ran up to the hotel, to her dark room, her photos, and her memories.

“Leave her be,” Alfie said as he got her camera bags out of the trunk.

“For years now, everywhere I go, all I see is the light.”

Alfie’s chestnut hair gleamed with droplets of rain. He flashed white teeth in a devil’s smile as he shouldered the bags.”I know exactly what you mean.”

The ex frowned. “Where is she going next?”

“San Francisco. Then Portland.” Alfie walked across the street to the ex and extended his hand. “We won’t see you there, will we?”

The ex looked at the offered hand, then reached out as well. Alfie’s hand was strong, broad, and warm.

“No. You won’t see me.”

“Thanks, mate.” Alfie smiled again and winked. His leather soles scraped on the asphalt as he turned and walked to the hotel.

The ex watched him go, watched him toss his car keys to the valet, watched him go inside.

The ex sighed, smelling the fresh, rain-washed air. He put his hands to his face, scrubbed away his tears, and looked around at the newborn morning.

The light was beautiful.

———————————-

Product of inverse clustering, 23Apr13

Write If You Find Work

If you say the word “gullible” very slowly, it sounds like “oranges.”

Did you try? Did you even think about trying? Then I’ve got a guy who wants to meet you.

I heard about this guy over at Ms. Vivienne’s Process of Elimination blog, and I thought she was making it up.

She wasn’t.

His name is Braco. One name. Just “Braco.”

[Make sure you pronounce it correctly. Just as Sade throws in that lateral lisp and an “r”, this one-name wonder has a Slavic twist to his moniker. It’s pronounced “BRA-tzoh”…like matzoh with a bra.]

Anyway, Braco is a gazer.

Yup. He gazes. That’s his job. That’s his profession. That’s his calling.

And (for a nominal fee), Braco will gaze…at you.

Sorry. I just got all shivery there for a minute. Continue Reading »

Mahonia after rain….and we’re stopping.

When I was a boy, I walked to school. From Greenfield Avenue down the Miracle Mile, onto 4th Street, stop for a moment under the vent at Bordenave’s Bakery to take in the scent of fresh sourdough, then on to H St, 5th Ave, and West End Elementary. It was just under a mile, but it seemed a long way to my 5th grade legs.

When I graduated to 7th grade I switched to Davidson Middle School, down on Woodland Avenue. It was twice as far (a mile and a half away), but I walked there, too. My parents didn’t know that I walked all that way; not until one day, halfway through the 8th grade when I came home soaked to the skin, having gotten caught in the rain. All that time, they thought I had been taking the bus. Continue Reading »

Kurt R.A. GiambastianiRenowned author Dan Brown has a new book, and it is therefore open season for critics, professional and amateur alike.

But I’m going to leave that to others, especially Michael Deacon of the Daily Telegraph, who did it better than anyone in his pastiche of the Brownian “style.” Really, go read it, but don’t drink coffee while you do so. And don’t pass by the top comments, either, one of which gives us the neologism “blort”–the perfect one-word replacement for “spit take.” If you have time, also check out the Telegraph’s “20 Worst Sentences from Dan Brown.”

The pastiche is easily the funniest piece this side of Chuck Lorre’s vanity cards. Reading it aloud reminded me of similar sessions with “The Eye of Argon” and Atlanta Nights by Travis Tea. (If you’ve never heard of the latter, let me know and I’ll let you in on the history.) The “20 Worst” will make you simultaneously laugh and cry that such sentences make it into a bestselling novel.

But as I said, I’m not going to dogpile on renowned author Dan Brown. Why? Continue Reading »