Tag Archives: writing

Not the right time for Reason No. 13

21 Jun


OK, so if I was following my normal sequence, this would be Reason No. 13 to read The House in the Old Wood. So I thought that instead of giving a 13th reason today, on a Friday of all things, I’d tell you how things are going with the next books in the series The Day Magic Died.

The second book, tentatively renamed Karia’s Path, is out to a few critical readers for their feedback. Depending on what they say, I may be able to move the release date for Book 2 up from October. I’d like to do that, if I can do so without rushing the book out before it’s ready.

By the way, why is it now Karia’s Path instead of Tsilinakaya’s Path? Well, it’s because of something important I’ve learned as a budding novelist: Big words like Tsilinakaya are awfully hard to fit on a cover. Profound, huh?

I am about one-third of the way through revisions on Book 3. I’m having to completely change the setting in which the majority of the book takes place — and that’s not simple. The setting has quite an influence on the story itself. It’s just that the setting for the book did not fit with the rest of the series. Maybe after it’s out and you’ve had a chance to read it, I can explain more.

That one may undergo a tentative name change too. In The Hall of the Prophetess, the word Prophetess is also going to be tough to fit on a cover well.

Oh, and, if I manage to move up the release date for Book 2, I’ll definitely be working toward moving up the release date for Book 3.

What I’d really like to do is release Book 2 in September and Book 3 in November. I should be able to update you on those plans in a week or two.

 

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Never fear. The end is in sight …

15 May

If I was thinking about buying the first book in a series, such as The House in the Woods, I’d at least wonder, “What’s up with the other books?”

And if it was from a first-time novelist who admitted he had trouble finishing things in the past, I might even wonder, “Will the ending to this series even be written?”

So I want to tell you that you can relax.

The story of The Day Magic Died is told in five books, and the next four have been at least drafted. (That means they’re all written, but are still works-in-progress.)

Book Two, tentatively titled Tsilinakaya’s Path, is on course to be available in October. This week I plan to read all the way through it again, primarily looking at the story elements. If all looks good, I’ll turn it over to a proofreader, and then to three people who are “critical readers” – you know, the kind who stop halfway through a poorly written novel because they spotted problems or errors. Continue reading →

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You gotta aim for something …

6 May

I started writing my series, The Day Magic Died, in November 2011.

It was far from the first book I had started. I’ve lost count of how many books I began writing. I always ran out of steam somewhere along the line. Mostly, I never knew where I was going, and therefore, how to get there.

That almost happened with this series.

Unlike anything I’ve ever attempted before, this book just seem to pour out of my fingertips. (Gosh, that sounds kind of gross. Or like it made an awful mess of my keyboard.)

But as it poured out, it became clear that I needed to aim it toward something.

So I wrote the ending.

With an ending in mind, I was able to keep on track. Well, sort of. Continue reading →

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Dedicated to my dad

4 May
My mom and dad

My mom and dad in New York in 1946, after their return from India

If not for my Dad, I may not be a writer today, and I doubt I ever would have written a novel.

My dad wanted to be a writer, but he grew up in the Great Depression. The Great Depression was followed by World War II. And when World War II ended, he had the beginnings of a family.

My dad had ended up in construction, and worked from early in the morning until early evening. Then he’d come home, eat, go to bed, and repeat. Six, sometimes seven days a week that was his routine.

But when I was in elementary school, he’d fit in a walk after dinner and before bed. And on those walks, he and I would tell stories to each other. I don’t remember a single one of them. I only remember that his seemed pretty good, and mine seemed rather lame. But swapping stories made me want to tell stories. Continue reading →

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