Let me sleep so my teeth don't grind

Grind - Alice In Chains

I was asked by a friend tonight if I'll keep up my webcomic (found here for the one or two of you who still don't know about it by now) after I'm a famous writer. That's a good question, and one without an easy answer. Like so many things I do, it's yet one more strain on my time that takes away from writing, or family, or editing, or sleep.

But is it really just a lark? A hobby? Or is it something more important than that?

I've learned a whole lot about storytelling from producing this strip. I've learned how to carry a story arc through a series of adventures and misadventures. I've learned how to be funny in only four panels (which is honestly pretty difficult - I know I fall flat at times, but I've also had people comment that they've spat mouthfuls of beverage across their screens/keyboards, so I must be doing something right from time to time). I've learned how to let dialogue carry a story, and the usefulness of the "Beat," or silent panel. Like anything else, comedy is all in the timing, even when it's written.

I've nearly quit the webcomic half a dozen times over the past three years for various reasons, any of which would be a perfectly legitimate reason to pack up my toys and go home. However, I've ultimately decided each time to continue with it, and that often brings a fresh perspective and new plotlines to explore.

So will I continue with it when I'm famous? Honestly, I don't know. I'd like to think I'll still have stories to tell in my little plastic soap opera. I've heard that once you're published, your non-writing time spent publicizing your writing tends to crowd out most other things in your life. But I've invested a lot of time into these characters, and have a lot of regular readers invested in them as well, and I'd hate to disappoint my fanbase.

There's a saying that when there's another mouth to feed, you just scramble the eggs, mash the potatoes, and add water to the soup. I suppose if that means my time will be watery soup, then so be it.

50k

Smoothie Song - Nickel Creek

Normally I use a lyric to title posts, but this is a lovely bluegrass instrumental that puts me in a happy mood. And it's a good time to be happy, because I went over 50,000 words in tonight. If this was November, I'd be crowing about hitting the mark for a 6th year running, but it's July and this is my untimed summer novel. It might have been another Centum Dies Libri like Deep Six was, but I started on March 23, and it's been 106 days and counting, so I'm off that pace by quite a bit. On the other hand, I'm very happy with the progress I am making. In the hour-by-hour format of each chapter, I've covered from 8 AM to 8 PM. In the 9:00 hour, the power goes out, and from that point forward many things change for my characters over the course of a very long night punctuated by love and loss, death and destruction, friends and fire, victims and violence, and all the alliteration you could allow.

It's going to be a fun ride to the end.

Baby Silvertooth, she grins and grins

Feed The Tree - Belly

Tor Books.

Baen Books.

Wish me luck. My agent has submitted Deep Six (and, ergo, the entire Just Cause Universe series) to editors at both publishers. If I'm extremely fortunate, both publishers will make an offer, which means that we go to an auction and they bid for the rights. I'd be ecstatic if just one of them takes it. Honestly, so long as my work winds up on bookstore shelves, I'd be okay with the publishing equivalent of the Mrs. Grace L. Ferguson Airline and Storm Door Company (tip of the hat to Bob Newhart for that one).

But I'd prefer a big publisher. Who wouldn't, in this industry?

Anyway, it could be anywhere from a month to a year (or *gulp* even longer) before anybody gets to my stuff. I'm hopeful that we might have an answer by mid-Fall.

In other news, I've decided on a title and genre for my 2009 NaNoWriMo book. I'm not giving away details (those of you who've talked with me outside of the blogosphere certainly know more about it), but the book will be called Blood on the Ice and in a genre I'm calling Urban Fantasy Hockey.

Yeah, it'll be funny.

Each one's life a novel no-one else has read

Entre Nous - Rush

I'm down a phone again. My second warranty replacement Blackberry failed after I had it just over a week. That makes three bad phones in six months. I'd be pissed if I had time, but I'm so busy writing Blackout that I just keep right on trucking. To that end, I figured I'd share some excerpts from the third chapter with you. Enjoy!

The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. A few people looked up at the costumed heroes with interest. “Hi, everyone,” said Faith. “Ground floor, please.” They rode downward in silence until one woman asked hesitantly if she could have their autographs. Before the elevator finished its descent, Faith and Irlene had both signed several autographs.

“Is it always like this?” Irlene whispered as they crossed the lobby.

“Sometimes. Being in Just Cause makes you a celebrity, like if you were in a band.”

“Wow,” breathed Irlene. “I never thought that being a superhero would make me famous. Will I get to be on TV and in the papers?”

“Probably,” said Faith. She worked hard to keep her private life out of the media. At the end of the day, she wanted to be able to enjoy a quiet dinner with Bobby in a restaurant somewhere. They stepped out into the bright sunshine that peeked down between the other skyscrapers to illuminate the plaza.

“So what do we do?”

“Mostly we just be seen,” said Faith. “We’re a visual deterrent to street crime.”

“Street crime? We don’t go after parahuman villains?” Irlene stared unabashedly at the passing New Yorkers who took in the colorfully-attired women with typical aplomb.

Faith laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, Irlene, but Just Cause hasn’t run across any parapowered criminals since early ’75.” She bent in and whispered conspiratorially. “We think we might have got them all.”

Irlene’s eyes widened behind her pink mask. “Really?”

Faith shrugged. “No way to tell for sure until someone new surfaces, but we’ve tracked down all the parahuman offenders we know of.”

============================

It hulked in a back corner of the yard, surrounded by numerous wrecks which Harlan had moved with the ingenious crane arrangement he’d built from more scrap parts. Anyone who didn’t know what it was would have only seen what looked like two semi truck cabs stacked on top of each other with some parts sticking out at random. But Harlan knew better.

He’d built a suit.

Not just any suit, either. This one was big. It crouched on four heavy hydraulic legs powered by the Diesel engine in the lower truck cab. When he powered them up, the rig would raise itself up to a fearsome height, nearly fifteen feet tall. The suit’s feet were padded with numerous layers of rubber, carefully cut and fitted from rotting tires. The upper cab boasted four arms, designed not for any purpose except destruction. Two housed mobile versions of the belt-fed bolt guns, one of which had killed the vagrant. Another carried a powerful flamethrower with a large tank of pressurized fuel. The last held a huge circular saw blade. Harlan had found it in a disused corner of the junkyard. It must have belonged to a timber mill at some point, but now it ran on Diesel power from the upper cab. Heavy armor plating protected the engines and hydraulics, and the pilot’s cabin at the very top of the suit was armored like a pillbox.

He had no name for the suit. He didn’t even know exactly why he’d built it, except he was compelled to. When he dreamed, gears and pistons and hoses filled his thoughts. The only time he truly felt good about himself—happy, even—was when he was working on the suit. He felt almost like it was an extension of himself, like he was building a second skin to go outside of his own.

He’d never switched it on, but he knew it would work flawlessly, as did everything he ever designed and built. When that day finally came, he’d crawl into the machine’s belly and become a part of it, and he would feel complete for the first time in his life.

============================

“Where do you want to head first?” asked Tommy.

“Central Park,” said Javier without hesitation. “Then I don’t care.” He whooped and leaped between the steel louvers into the open air beyond. A moment later, his boot rockets flared and he began a spiraling descent toward a more reasonable altitude. Tommy followed him out, letting the winds buoy him after his patrol partner.

Javier – as Javelin – flew fast enough that Tommy had to summon a minor gale to catch up to him. The Puerto Rican man headed for Central Park like he was possessed.

“Did we get a call already?” Tommy shouted over the rushing wind. Most of the team had to use walkie-talkies, something Tommy found awkward and distracting while airborne, but Javier’s radio was built right into his helmet.

Javier didn’t immediately reply. They cruised lengthwise along the southern edge of the giant park. People on the paths looked up as the heroes flew past. Many of them smiled and waved. Tommy waved back; Just Cause was as popular as ever. “There!” called Javier and pointed. Tommy saw a small group of four young black men turn to flee toward some trees. “Cut ‘em off, Tommy!”

The winds blew fierce around Tommy as he swooped in to block the four men. One of them pulled a cheap pistol from his waistband. A concentrated burst of air sent it flying into the underbrush and left the man wringing his hand in pain. They turned to flee from Tommy and Javier dropped down in front of them. He fired a particle beam blast into the ground, leaving behind ashes and charred dirt.

=========================

Shane glanced at her as he changed lanes to avoid a stalled box truck. Horns and some angry shouts filtered into the cab. “You could always crash at my place. I mean, you know, on the couch,” he added quickly as she stiffened.

“Your roommate won’t mind?” she asked, feeling her cheeks grow hot. The power hidden inside her growled like a living thing, begging to be let out to play for awhile. She concentrated on keeping it controlled, telling herself that this man was not trying to hurt her the way Donny had.

“I barely see him. When he’s not in school, he’s working. He won’t mind.”

“I’ll think about it.” He smiled for a moment before leaning on the horn at a lady in a big Dodge station wagon who wouldn’t be denied her lane change. “Learn how to drive, you asshole!” he yelled out the window. She shook her fist at him.

It was such a cliché New York moment that Gretchen broke out in giggles.

Shane chuckled and took a crumpled cigarette pack from the clutter on his dashboard. “Smoke?” he asked as he thumbed out a Camel and stuck it between his lips.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

He paused with his lighter halfway to his mouth. “Oh. Uh, do you mind if I do?”

She shrugged. “There’s so much gunk in the air here, I don’t think I’d notice.”

Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?

Mona Lisa - Seal

Thanks to Rachel for this tip. John Scalzi (a far more successful writer than I) has an excellent blog post here about why most new novelists are thirtysomethings like me instead of twentysomethings like in most other artistic fields. Go read it now, and then come back soon for more of my irregularly-scheduled blogging (and, quite possibly, more excerpts from Blackout (still hating the title, but whatcha gonna do? (hey look, nested parentheses! It's like I'm using OpenOffice Calc.!))).

Straight up to my bedroom we go

Sugarfoot - Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears

In case you haven't figured it out by now, the titles of my blog posts are ripped from the lyrics of the songs I post. Why? I dunno ...

Three of you (which, near as I can figure, represents approximately 60% of my current readership) asked me questions, so here are my answers to Ask a Writer:

Julie asks:

So I'm interested in know how you feel about publishing now that you have an agent? Where are you in the submission process, and if you've discussed future project with your agent, or if she doesn't like an idea for a future project, do you still plan to write it? For example, the vampires on Ice? Why yes, I can write one hell of a run-on sentence...

I feel that publishing moves at approximately the speed of stop, which is just under the speed of slow. Publishing will drive you crazy if you're impatient for success (which certainly doesn't describe ME, does it?). As far as I know, my agent has not yet submitted any of my work to any editors. If she has, I'm not aware of it. The last we spoke, she said she was still researching which editors to reach out toward. I have not discussed in great detail any future projects with her at this time, although I have sent her a list of proposed novels to fall within the Just Cause universe. At the moment, I'm going to write whatever the hell I feel like writing, because I have nobody with a checkbook suggesting otherwise.

The Charming Hedonist asks:

Does it ever feel like a job to you now that you must write and meet deadlines?

Long story short, no. Nobody is giving me any deadlines, and I'm generally much harder on myself about production than anyone else will be (hel-LO? 5-time NaNoWriMo winner?). Regardless, even if a publisher with money practically falling out of its ass sets me a deadline to write the next book in a series (for example), I'm STILL getting PAID to WRITE, which is the entire reason I'm doing all this.

Pamela asks:

Anyway, knowing that you "have to write".... does it make it less exciting?

Nope. I HAVE to write, whether or not someone's signing me the checks. If I don't write, I'll go crazy. That's why I've been writing for free for so long - because it keeps the demons at bay.

Thanks for your questions! Tune in again soon...

Okay, three, two, one, let's jam!

Tank! Live* - The Seatbelts

It's been awhile since I've done one of these, but since I'm feeling a lot more like a writer these days (on account of I'm writing daily and really cranking out the word mileage on Blackout), I'm ready to take your questions. So once again, it's time to Ask a Writer. If you have questions you'd like me to answer for you, related to my work, the craft in general, or even (to some extent) completely unrelated to writing*, leave them in the comments and I will answer them in a subsequent post.

*I reserve the right to laugh at you like a donkey and ignore your foolish question if I feel it to be too ridiculous or pedantic.