Friday, August 26, 2016

Open Book Discussion - Why do you post Chapter by Chapter?

Why do you post Chapter by Chapter? 

Open Book Discussion

 Hello all.

With having just started to try to dig back into writing, I had a very interesting question directed to me that I wanted to take a minute to answer. The question, simply put, is, "Why do you post Chapter by Chapter?"

Now, what the person in question was actually referring to was questioning why I was seemingly posting what might turn out to be an entire novel, chapter by chapter, on a free blog. "Don't you want to publish?" they questioned me next. "Why would anyone buy a book if they can just read it piece by piece on your blog?"

So, for anyone wondering the why or for anyone who is currently or considering doing the same thing, here are the reasons that I openly post chapters to what might later be published.

1) Every chapter posted is a first draft

That's right. Every chapter, when it is posted, is fresh from the kiln. While I do go over it briefly to try to weed out glaring typos, grammatical errors, and just generally bad writing, the product being posted is brand new. If I ever do make a book of whatever it is I'm posting, there's a high likelyhood that an editor will have gone through it with a big, nasty red pen to clean up my mess and make each chapter less fluff and more actual literature. Hell, some chapters and bits posted may never even be SEEN in a respective book if my editor has anything to do with it.

2) The Storyteller Syndrome

At the end of the day, I write because I like to tell stories. Some of them are just my imagination running wild and HAVING to get it out of my head somehow. However, a large chunk of the stories I write are me simply enjoying the act of weaving a tale. If it were in person, I'd be fueled just by watching my listeners' and readers' faces. But, since it's not, I like to read the comments. They help me get a feel for if I'm heading in the direction I want to and if people are inherently interested in what is being written. Even if I'm terrible at responding to most comments, I can promise you that I read every one ever posted.

3) Tell your friends
In exchange for me telling you a story and receiving your criticisms, I consider my services bought and paid for with my initial audience. For those people that consistently show up, read my works, tell me their thoughts, and just generally keep an eye on what I'm doing, I don't expect to ever make a dime. I don't expect to EVER sell any book I ever create out of any work I ever do to my main readers on my blog. Simply put...why would they? They've already seen the work from conception (literally, first drafts, like I said) to completion. Why would they want to spend money except to cross compare what I did to what my editors slashed out or had me add? Most wouldn't care. What is more likely to happen, however, is when a book comes out, those individuals that like my work might share that information with friends and family and spread to those people who don't follow me and might be more inclined to pick a book up off the shelf.
4) Removal of Extra content
Finally, if any particular work were to be made into a published story or piece, you'll notice that it will magically disappear from the site. The reason for this should be obvious. My editor has finally just killed me for my inadequacies and is removing my stain from this Earth. Please. She's a monster. I have the door locked but it will only hold for so long...

In all seriousness, any works that do end up being published are simply removed for the same train of logic as Number 3. The people who have been with me all this time have already been reading my work. They are more than likely not going to be interested in picking up a copy of something they've followed from conception, except perhaps for posterity sake. Instead, it's encouraging those individuals who are only just finding out about a piece to go to their local bookstore or website to grab themselves a copy and find out for themselves. I.e., to the original point of the person in question, I'm not just leaving free content to read piece by piece was the book comes out.

All in all, I hope this was an interesting little peak into the logic of the work that I post. Nothing groundbreaking I'm sure, but since I've gotten the question a few times now (obviously the more recent being the prompt), I decided to just post it for all to see. Of course, if you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to let me know. As mentioned before, I'm fueled by commentary, whether they are love or hate. :)
Have a wonderful day everyone.

Robert Bennett

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Smithy - Chap 3 - 08.24.16

   It seemed to Tristan that he had only just closed his eyes when he was woken by a knock on the door. Looking around, he realized that the night had already given way to morning. His entire body was stiff and hurt so severely that he could barely push himself up.
    With a tired and pained groan, he called out, “Come in.”
    The little wooden door opened and Ailla stuck her head inside, adorned with her mop of red and curly hair and bright, emerald green eyes.
    “Well Hello there,” she said with a soft smile. Stepping inside, she closed the door softly behind her before settling upon the bed. “Hagon tells me you had one of your attacks last night.”
    Tristan’s cheeks flushed with something between anger and embarrassment and he felt himself drawing his knees up to his chest. The attacks had been getting worse and, while none of them truly understood what was happening, it only made him feel worse to be singled out this way. Not to mention, he didn’t like the idea of Hagon swapping stories, even if it was with Ailla.
    “Oh stop.” She said, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve known each other since we were babes. You’ve nothing to be blushing over.”
    “I know.” Tristan said weakly, trying to unclench his body which was unconsciously going into the fetal position. “I just don’t know what to do.”
    Ailla nodded. They’d had these conversations a few times now and it was no mystery that Tristan was feeling more and more depressed. Each time he became a little more hopeless.
    “You already know the answer.” She said, still trying to keep that same smile as she spoke.
    “Whitecrest.” He said almost under his breath.
    Ailla nodded once more, this time in agreement.
    “I just don’t know...” he continued. “What if something happens on the trip there? What if the magisters aren’t able to find whatever’s wrong and they just tell me that they don’t know how to help?”
    “And what if the magisters have a fix that they can whip up in a matter of seconds while you’re sitting here moping in your bedroom?”
    Tristan didn’t answer right away. He looked from Ailla to the sparse decorations of his little room. The walls were hard wood. Barren except for a pair of tongs and a hammer he had hung on either side of his window. His clothes were tightly packed away in a small chest at the foot of his bed. It struck him for some reason that his room was basically empty. He never felt the desire to decorate.
    “You’re right, Ailla.” He said as he drew his attention back to her. “Of course you’re right. It’s just…”
    She reached over and gingerly lifted his chin with one finger so that they might look each other in the eyes.
    “I know, love. But Whitecrest is only a couple days travel. We can get you in and out and back here before you know it.”
    Looking into those emerald green eyes, Tristan couldn’t help but feel a little better. He’d known Ailla almost all of their lives and there was always something that made his heart soften and his worries calm. He’d considered more than once attempting to court her, but he never had the heart to go through with it.
    “Alright.” He said, agreeing with her once again.
    They sat in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. That soft smile never left her face. The longer he looked, the more his own lips curled into a smile to match her own. Finally, he let out a long sigh.
    “You’re right, you’re right.” Tristan said with a nod.
    “Of course I am.”
    “Of course you are.” He echoed with a soft chuckle.
    Ailla raised an eyebrow and tilted her head playfully. “Are we going somewhere with this or…?”
    “Breakfast?” he asked quickly.
    “Do you want breakfast?”
    “First you compliment me, next you feed me. If you’re not careful, I might not leave.” She said slipping off his bed and helping him up as well.
    Tristan’s smile got bigger at the thought, but he said nothing further as he followed her to the kitchen. Instead, he elected to listen as she made small talk, telling him about her morning, about meeting Hagon, and about Hagon recanting the tale of the night before. It still irked him to think that he was a topic of gossip, but couldn’t help but feel better that Ailla had come to wake him. Somehow, it made the sun shine just a little brighter.

(Sorry that I've been gone recently, but simply haven't had much inspiration to continue anything I care to post. With any luck, this is a bit of a spark enough to get the ball rolling again. Hope everyone is doing well. :) )

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Smithy - Chap. 2 - 07.09.16

    Tristan could hear something. His name? No, it had to be the sound of his heart. His heart was so loud! He was dying. He had to be dying, if he wasn’t dead already. The world was already black, it was only a matter of time til the beating stopped and then…
    His eyes snapped open with a start to see Hagon kneeling over him. The sight of his mentor reassured him, but his breathing was coming in rapid gasps. Surely his heart would give out any moment. It was only a matter of time.
    “Easy, boy. Easy.” Hagon said, cupping his hand under the back of Tristan’s head. “Breathe slower.”
    The world around him was spinning, blackness playing on the edges of his vision.
    “I…I…I ca-ca-ca-…”
    “Yes, you can, boy. Close your eyes and hold your breath. You know that’s helped before.”
    Hagon’s hand came across his face with enough force that Tristan was shocked he didn’t black out again. He felt his chest tighten threateningly and a shock jolted through his body, but nothing came of it.
    “Don’t tell me ‘no’. Now hold your breath, boy. Then breathe deep!”
    Tristan felt his chest convulsing and his breathing becoming even more erratic as he thought about holding his breath. He was probably speeding up his own demise. What if he didn’t take another breath? What if he killed himself trying to…
    Another slap, this time even harder.
    Tristan almost sobbed as he sucked on the air. His hands and feet were tingling as if a thousand needles were playing across his skin. They were cold and clammy, soaked with sweat. Mustering all his might, he drew in a breath and held it.
    “Good. Long as you can and then slow back out.” Hagon said, his voice softening.
    Tristan coughed and sputtered after a second, choking on the very air his body screamed for. But he did it again, this time with a bit more control. A little slower. A little deeper. Hagon said nothing more as he watched.
    Each breath was better. The deep breaths made his head spin even worse, but they made the tingling in his hands stop and his heart too began to slow in his chest. Minutes dropped away as Tristan tried his best just to focus on controlling his breathing.
    After a long while, the feeling of dread started to fade.
    “You alright?” Hagon asked finally, staring down at him with concern in his eyes.
    “I-I…Yea…” Tristan said with a weak nod, his mind still focused on trying to control his breath.
    “That’s the third one this week.” Hagon said matter of factly. “They’re getting worse.”
    Tristan nodded again but said nothing.
    For the last few months, Tristan had been struck by ‘attacks’ as they called them. Without real warning, he would be gripped by unprovoked terror. They struck hard and fast and were absolutely debilitating, leaving Tristan gasping for air and feeling like his heart was going to explode. Some were longer than others, but they always passed leaving him feeling exhausted but no real worse for wear.
    The first time it had happened, Hagon had thought that his apprentice was dying. Now, he more readily recognized what was happening even when Tristan couldn’t. Often, it was Hagon who helped to bring Tristan’s mind back from the brink of fear and madness.
    Like many times before, Hagon pulled him up out of the mud that was forming beneath his sweat soaked body.
    “We need to do something about this, boy. We’ve already tried the village doctor. You need to travel to Whitecrest. They’ve got specialists. Magisters.”
    Tristan couldn’t bring himself to look at Hagon but nodded in agreement. They’d had the conversation more times than he could count since he had gone to the village doctor three months ago. The doctor could find no reason for the attacks, implying perhaps that Tristan had been cursed or angered some magical being since he showed no sign of severe injury or disease. The response had rightfully angered them both, but Tristan had never had the will to keep searching for an answer.
    “I know.” Tristan said weakly, his voice shaking and quiet.
    Hagon stared at him for a long time. It only made Tristan feel more weak and small in comparison to his mentor’s hard gaze and imposing figure in the darkness.
    “Tomorrow. For now, bed.”
    Tristan didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength. Instead, he trudged his way inside with Hagon in tow to make sure he didn’t collapse again. Once he was safely to the little room he called his own, Tristan fell to his bed and closed his eyes. He was still focusing on controlling his breathing when he passed into an uneasy and restless sleep.

Monday, July 4, 2016

Your own Worst Enemy - 07.04.16

Hello Lovelies.

Today I wanted to talk about one of the major blocks you will run into when it comes to writing. Many people out there like to write about a number of different factors. Some popular ones include: how you must ALWAYS write to avoid writer's block, write what you know, how you must write for yourself like no one is looking, etc. However, today I'd like to talk about some problems with these foundations. Additionally, I'd like to address accepting what AND how you want to write as well as simply letting yourself do so.

To explain, one of the things that I often see is encouragement to young writers to constantly write. Write like you're going to die tomorrow. Never let the words stop pouring from the tap! If you make sure to write a thousand words a day, you'll be a published author by next week! But where is the reality in that? Inspiration and motivation aren't an ever flowing stream and, much like water from a well, will simply run dry. That's not to say that a well stays empty forever, but having the understanding enough to LOOK into the well first to see if there's water sounds like a pretty good start.

So, first and foremost, if you're sitting at home stressing about writing your next thousand words, I have a recommendation. Don't. Take a moment. Take a breath. Get a coffee. Go for a walk. Talk to friends. The wellspring of writing is fed by the waters of life and experience and if you simply whittle away in front of a keyboard aching to be a writer than it's unlikely you will get anywhere if you have nothing to draw upon. No water equals no well. No motivation or experience equals weak, if any, writing. Let yourself live. Let yourself breathe.

That brings nicely into another core rule: "write what you know". Now, some people understand this and some people don't, but the idea behind "writing what you know" refers to the idea of drawing upon your own experiences, as mentioned above. Some people take this very literally, thinking that in order to be able to write about a racecar driver, they must race themselves to "get into the character's head". Other people understand this to be a much more metaphysical concept. "I have felt heartbreak and therefore will share a story about having one's heart broken," this writer might say to a friend. But hereso again, we must examine the wellspring of experience.

Maybe your own life was pretty easy? A mom, a dad, a dog and a car. A good job later in life and a significant other that treated you well. Happy friends and happy life. Nothing noteworthy whatsoever. What do you draw upon? At the end of the day, writing what you know is a recommendation based on the idea that experience and tragedy breeds the ability to tell a good tale. And they aren't wrong. Those with experience have EXPERIENCE that others don't.

BUT, what this concept ignores is the power of imagination. It ignores that most writers are what they are because they are so very thirsty, not just to share their experiences but to experience more. They want to see and do and know things that they've never done. To use the well analogy again: trying to limit yourself solely to your own experience is like having a well full of water and only allowing yourself one glass of that water. It may be sweet and tasty, but it's limited. Let yourself dream. Let yourself imagine. Explore worlds and realms and feelings you never thought possible. If you don't like the taste of the water, dump it out and try a fresh glass.

The last bit is probably the most subjective. "Write like no one is watching." This idea comes from the fact that many people feel judged when they write. They often believe that their work has little to no merit and sharing it will result in mockery of the work they've done. They worry that people will discount their tiring hours of labor and everything they hope to achieve. Therefore, many writers feel very nervous about sharing or the idea that their work will be shared. This is well and good, but discounts one major problem: some writers are simply motivated by the opportunity to share.

Ironically, this one really rings home for me. Anytime I've been encouraged to "just write" I generally ignore the recommendation simply because it won't have an audience. Authors like myself are fueled by the commentary. By the criticisms and praise. By the good and the bad. This is one of the truest examples of "no one size fits all". Some authors do well never sharing their works. Others will be unable to get off the ground because they need the motivation and the criticism and the compliments to validate what they are doing. So, if you find yourself writing at home and questioning "Why am I doing this?" that very well may be your answer. You might need to switch it up so you can make SURE you have an audience versus the other way around.

Last, but not least, this brings us to the point that isn't spoken about so often: accepting what and how you write. Every author is different. Everyone has different needs and wants, motivations and experience, goals and end games. For some, they are satisfied by scribbling away in a basement with a journal. For others, their ego-maniacs with blogs telling others what to do. But for many, it's somewhere in between, and trying to force yourself into any one role based on any one expectation can easily be one of the most damning things you do to yourself. For many of us, the very act of writing is a learned process that we use for our own gains to share our experiences. We take what was given to us and make it our own while simultaneously making it like those writers and books we look up to. We ache to make a place in the world through the unique alteration of 26 letters that every other writer has used.

But, many of us limit ourselves based on the ideas of what should or shouldn't be written. Perhaps you are a science fiction enthusiast with an ache to write some romance? Do you go for it or simply wait because you're busy and it's not your normal genre. Perhaps, as noted earlier, you are motivated by being able to write for others, but something occurs to you that you aren't able to share. Do you write or let the feeling pass? Maybe you're just a giant, dirty pervert who likes penning down your most horrible fantasies yet you never, ever want to share it. Do you keep those thoughts in your head or put them down to enjoy later?

It doesn't matter what YOUR answer is, so long as there is an answer. One huge writing block that often doesn't get addressed is simply the fact of accepting the feelings you get and writing what and how you want. Don't be forced to follow a code and don't ignore your desires because they are outside of the norm. Some of your greatest ideas can come simply by playing with something you don't often touch. Maybe you want to create something completely different and just haven't had the heart to admit it yet.

Writing is expression. Whether that's an expression of yourself or an expression for others to see, denying any given facet of it will limit you the same as removing one's arm. You may be able to function without it, you may not, but you will not function the same as if you had both arms.

With that said, go out that and do what you want. There are rules to live by, but writing isn't one of them. Use them as a guide. Use them to help. But never use them to limit your own love and creativity. Let them drive you forward, never backwards. While you might trip or stumble, you will never fall.