Tuesday 29 November 2011

In the Beginning...

I've embarked on quite the journey. I've been through a lot since I released The Path of the Sword. I'm a pretty private kind of person so not much of what I've been doing gets posted here--which, in retrospect, you're probably grateful for. I mean, who wants to hear about my work day? Really? I suppose if you had a case of insomnia I could help you out. Or if you were suffering from a rough case of "good mood" I have just the cure.

But I'm digressing. I haven't even gotten to the point and I'm already digressing. This bodes well.

With the holiday season at hand, I find I'm reminiscing about things past; between memories of my daughter taking her first steps and my son hurling his very dirty diaper across his bedroom (that was a good day), I somehow managed to think about how I got on this whole writing kick.

First, a little background. I'm a reader. I've always been a reader. I don't think I've gone anywhere without a book since I was ten. But writing...not so much. You see, I was a COMPUTER GUY. I didn't have time to write stories. I was busy writing code.

But about a decade ago, I got an idea for a story. I was excited by it so, naturally, I sat down to write it. It was the first thing I really tried to write--besides creative writing assignments in high school that is. I wrote approximately ten pages--the prologue and the first chapter. Then I read it. Then, horrified by the atrocity I had committed to computer screen, I repeatedly slammed the delete key until all trace of what I had done was gone forever.

It was bad, is what I'm saying. It was eye-gougingly bad. It was...well I think there are statutes in the Geneva convention that make what I had done a crime against humanity.

Resigned, I decided I would--could--never try again.

Yeah. Okay.

About three years ago, an image popped into my head. Clear as day. It was the climax to The Path of the Sword. I don't know where it came from but, by golly, it was compelling. I dared not ruin it by actually writing it, but I thought about it. 

Over the next few weeks, more images came to my head, surrounding the original climactic scene like a posse and I couldn't shake them. Those scenes stuck to me like glue. It got so bad, I started telling my lovely Cori about them. I told her over and over again about the scenes that played out in my head (but did not dare write) and she listened. At first, she listened because she thought it sounded neat. Then, after a week or two, she listened because it was polite. After a month or so, I think she listened only because she loves me just that much.

I was annoying, is what I'm saying. I never shut up about it. I actually had the whole damned thing in my head from start to finish and she heard it all. Over and over again. And soon her smile started to seem forced. If you've ever seen someone smiling while their jaw muscles are clenching repeatedly, you know what smile I'm talking about.

Well, one day, I was talking about it again. Yes, imagine that. Somewhere in the middle of my monologue, Cori sighed deeply and loudly. She leaned forward and placed her hands on my cheeks. She smiled. It was a radiant smile, the kind of smile that stops hearts and turns knees to water. She looked deep into my eyes, and she said, "Sweetie, I love you. More than anything. But please, p*** or get off the pot."

"Huh?" I stammered as my head tried to wrap itself around the incongruity of her words and her smile.

"Either write the thing or shut up about it."

I don't really know why, but it was as if those words were a kind of...mitigation, maybe a pardon for my previous atrocity. I could write it--no one had to be exposed to it if it sucked.

After I finished, Cori read it. She knew the story, of course. I'd told her often enough. But she wanted to read it. I spent the next two days cringing, just waiting for her to tell me what I already knew: "Sweetie, you know I love you. But..."

When she put the last page down, she looked at me and said, "Sweetie, you know I love you. But...How long do you expect me to wait for the second part?"

"Huh?" I stammered.

"This was awesome. I want the next one."

"Huh?" I stammered (She does that to me a lot).

And here we are. The Path of the Sword is out and readers seem to generally enjoy it (though I've taken the criticisms to heart: from now on, I'm going to ask a professional editor to tear my work apart). Blood of War is out and, again, readers seem to generally enjoy it. I'm writing book 3 of Rites of Ascension (title still pending). I have a half dozen other ideas that I want to get to. I have this blog (that I fully admit is not updated nearly enough but, come on! You don't want to know how my son and daughter can get into a screaming match over a sticker book!)

Looks like I'll be writing for a while. Who'd a thunk it?

Thanks everyone.