On To The Next Thing...

Grrr!

I haven't heard back regarding Udopia from either the Main Street Rag or any agents. Allegory Magazine hasn't said anything about "Tarantulas On Leashes." And still no word on what the folks at Manic D Press think about my poems.

It's been like, two weeks. What is wrong with this people? Have they no sense of urgency? Removing tongue from cheek, of course it's going to be a while. So what am I working on now?

Well...

I had planned on finishing No Strings Attached. I estimate I'm about 40,000 words away, which would be a couple of months of good, solid effort.

But then something else struck my fancy. I pulled the first novel I ever began out of mothballs and began re-working it. I'm intentionally being vague on the details because...no reason, really. Just deal with it.

When I first wrote it, I put each chapter in its own document. Therefore, I had no idea how long it was. The other week, I put everything together. It's 75,000 words. I always had thought I was about 2/3 to 3/4 done with the the story arc. Working the math, it would be around 100,000 words when done. But also, in looking at it, I saw it takes a while to "get going." The action really didn't start until the 45th page, out of 170. So I've been mercilessly hacking, and re-configuring some stuff (such as the age of my protagonist).

It's definitely a case of addition by subtraction. It's now down to 54,000 words. But the good stuff starts on page 22 of 164. The story really moves along better now. It's crisper.

As I mentioned, I want to keep a lot of the details close to me. But here's the prologue:

    I am a dream weaver. That is how I make money:
        I make dreams for other people.
      Not just any dreams.
          But good dreams.
        And not just any people.
             But weak people, scared people. Everyday people, normal people.
    People like your friends, co-workers, maybe even your wife.
        People who are so close to the edge in this increasingly frightening world, that their nightmares begin to interfere with their lives.
      Virtually stop them from functioning.
          Literally scare them out of their wits.
        But I help them through the night by sharing my dreams, a sort of mental tour guide, if you will.
              Dreams 'R Us.
    We go there together, bound by the thinnest of filaments, to the place where the line between reality and creation bends and gives ominously.
            I hold their hands as we dodge and outrun the monsters, demons, ghosts, and                         bogeymen.
    In the morning, they are reborn, happy, and ready to go on.
           All because of me and my dreams.
    But…
    Dreams sometimes can go astray, and when they do, that's what we call nightmares.

Signed, Sealed, DELIVERED!

It's done! Udopia, that is. I am thrilled to say that Udopia has been completed (first draft, of course; 39,200 words), edited (a big thanks to my friend Bill), and sent to the Main Street Rag, two days before the end of their open call for novellas. Their website says they hope to respond by the end of October. Wow!

I've also queried a few literary agents. It can't hurt to have a backup.

So cross your fingers and think good, literary thoughts on my behalf.

And how am I going to celebrate? By doing the dishes and a load of laundry. But after that, maybe I'll have some wine and ice cream.

Also, I'll take a look over the "how-to sections" of this blog site and see if there is a way I can post a document, such as the first chapter.  I know I could just paste it in, but I think it would be neater / cleaner if I could attach it as a doc.

Udopia, Finis! ...

...well, sort of.

I did finish my novella-in-progress Udopia this week. Of course, "finish" is a relative term. I have gotten the storyline from point A to point Z. The reality, though, is that point Z--the ending--has been done for quite some time. So it was a matter of connecting the beginning to the ending with...that plot garbage. But I now have done that.

It's 35,100 words, certain to grow despite the fact that I need to get out my machete and hack away at the dead wood.

Now begins the arduous but exhilarating task of going back to the beginning and:

1. Actually making sure that everything is complete...that is, replacing all those SOMETHINGs that I use as placeholders with real words;
2. Making sure everything flows; and
3. Double-checking to make sure the grammar is in order.

I have just over a month until my September 15 deadline to get it into the Main Street Rag. I think I can do it. Cross your fingers. Offer some encouragement. Threaten me.

"Udopia"

As much as I love writing for the simple pleasure of it, I always seem to do better when I have a deadline. It's probably a holdover from my newspaper days. As I have told people on many occasions, when I first started out, if I had to write two articles by Monday, my weekend was basically shot. But getting out of a council meeting at 10:00 p.m., and looking at a blinking cursor thinking, "As soon as I finish this, I can go to bed," will do wonders for your ability to knock it out.

And so I have given myself a new deadline. From a source I mentioned before, Poets & Writers, I found a publisher, Main Street Rag, which is looking for novellas in the range of 30-50,000 words. I've been kicking around an idea for literally years. I liked the concept, but somehow knew that I would be hard pressed to flesh it out to the 80-100,000 words typical of a novel. 

The title I settled on is Udopia. I think it is along the lines of Nineteen Eighty-Four. I don't wish to compare my work-in-progress to Orwell's classic, because that would be horribly vain. But like Nineteen Eighty-Four, it's  a cautionary tale about what can happen if we let our guard down, and give too much of ourselves to the government and, more critically, the Internet. I could not have written this ten years ago, because there was no Facebook, no Google, no geo-tracking, and no 9/11. But because of what I've read in the news, and because of what I've learned through my work as a privacy professional, I think I have some things to say.

Here is the opening:

    It's been a long day.  It's only. . .5:30, I think.  But it's just been a looong day. A long, trying day. One of those days. One of those days you just want to end. But I want to start. I need to start. I need to start now. Because there's a lot to say. And if I don't get started, I might not have time to finish.

    I wish I could call this a cautionary tale. But I can't. You can't think, "I’d better slow down before I get to that sharp bend in the road" while you're plunging off the cliff. You can’t think, “I wonder if there’s an undertow“ while being dragged beneath the waves and out to sea. And you can't think, "Maybe this isn’t the best place to seek shelter" while you're sitting in the lion's mouth.

    Near the town of Cairo, Illinois, the Ohio River meets up with the Mississippi River to form the “Lower Mississippi,” though those who live along it have another name, born of first-hand experience: the Mighty Mississippi. While neither river, on its own, would be called puny at any point north of Cairo, once the two join they form a nearly unstoppable force.

    What’s the point of my little lesson in geography?

    In the early years of this century two seemingly unrelated--and individually powerful—tides came together to create a different, though equally treacherous, unstoppable force. There was 9/11, and there was the Internet. Once they converged, no one could hold back the waters. Our world changed.
     So where do I begin?

    Most folks would say, “At the beginning, naturally.” But it’s not that simple. You see, to begin this story at the beginning really doesn't make sense, because the ending--or near the ending--is really where it all begins. The beginning is just, well, something that comes along in the middle.  And you can't begin in the middle, now can you?  If I began at the beginning, you'd get a good story, all right, but it wouldn't make too much sense.  Because the ending is really where it all begins.  And so if I began it at the beginning, you'd just be plain lost, because you'd miss the beginning.

    Or was that the ending?

    Am I rambling? Or would that be "wrambling," since I'm writing? I apologize. Like I said, long day.

    Let me just tell you how it ends, and you can judge for yourself.  At the "trial," they tried to paint me as a traitor. "How could he do what he did and claim he still loves America?" they asked, though it was more statement than question. And 24 empty eyes looked back at me, waiting for my response. I didn't answer. I didn't speak the truth, say what was on my mind: that I did what I did because I love America. Or at least the country that we once called America. It wouldn't have mattered. The judge, the prosecutor, and even the jury of my peers would have stared blankly at me, unable to decipher the words coming from my mouth. Words like “values” and “honor” and “freedom.” Especially freedom.

    And besides, what was I going to say?

    I am guilty.

   Of what? I guess that’s what I want to talk about.

   It all started, or should I say, ended, in a country that was called America. 

I imagine I'll post updates and progress in this space. I'd love to hear your comments. 

My deadline is September 15.