A thrilling new-to-me writer

I know quite a bit of time has slipped by since I last posted, when I promised to give my take on the book THINGS HAVE ONLY GOTTEN WORSE SINCE WE LAST SPOKE, AND OTHER MISFORTUNES, by Eric LaRocca.

Part of that has been just plain old procrastination, a particular skill I have spent years developing. The other part is that I've been a little unsure how to describe this work.

First, it's not a novel, but a collection – a novella, a longish short story, then a small short story. I enjoyed this particular aspect of the book, or collection, simply because it's so rare today. In the modern book world, at least among the big boys of the traditional publishing world (and the wanna-be big boys), it's uncommon to see a book published that doesn't hit the prescribed word length for a novel. That length is different in the different genres – horror is generally around 80,000 words, I believe – but long gone are the days when a novella, or a novella with a couple of short stories, were regular finds at a book store.

So I was immediately drawn to this one as a simple nod to my younger days, when I would pick up these types of books at stores or library sales.

Now for the content.

Wow.

The first tale, the novella “Things Have Only Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke,” is one of the most exciting macabre stories I've ready in years! (And I never, ever do exclamation points – at the paper where I'm editor, I've always told my writers they are allowed one exclamation point a year, and even then they better be ready to justify it when I ask).

There is a Six Sense-level ending to this one.

The story is engaging, set back in the early days of the internet when folks could communicate with one another through rudimentary chat services. That's what's going on here, when two women meet by chance in the virtual world. One of them, a needy and lonely individual named Agnes, has resorted to selling a family heirloom, an apple peeler, to raise some much-needed money to pay her bills.

She comes across Zoe, a woman of means who is interested in the peeler. She appears to be a kind-hearted soul, going so far as to tell Agnes to keep the peeler – which has great sentimental value to Agnes -- while at the same time extending financial support to Agnes. From there grows a tangled, increasingly perverse relationship that eventually ends with...well, I won't spoil the work, because this is absolutely stunning at the end. Like the aforementioned Six Sense movie, the final line just stopped me in my tracks. It's the kind of ending I didn't see coming yet when it happened in the instant I finished reading, I could see every clue, every marker pointing to how this was going to play out – things that I should have picked up earlier.

I didn't, and that's because LaRocca does an exceptional job of story telling, building characters and weaving their lives together in a way that draws the reader in, yet doesn't give away too much. This one story made the entire book worth it.

The second tale, “The Enchantment,” is centered on a couple grieving the loss of their son, at some point in the not-too-distant future when science has supposedly proven, beyond any doubt, there is no after-life: Whatever we get here on earth is the whole ball of wax.

As part of their grieving process, the couple takes a position on a resort island as caretakers during the off season. Not long after everyone else packs up and leaves, a stranger – a young man not much older than their late son – shows up, and their life is thrown into turmoil. Soon enough, they begin to learn that science may not be right, and the afterlife may not be all they had hoped.

For me, this story was a study in story-telling. It was an extremely well written tale, an engaging story with building conflict that kept me turning the pages. For my money, the ending left me a little flat, but that was just me – most reviews I've read rave about this one as much as first story.

The third tale, “You'll Find It's Like That All Over,” was a fun little examination of the dangers of being too polite just for the sake of being polite (or maybe just for the sake of appearances), and the dangers of getting caught up in an escalating series of bets by the protagonist, known simply as Mr. Fowler. He finds what appears to be the fragment of a bone in his yard, which leads him to his neighbor's house, Mr. Perlzig. The neighbor turns out to be a master manipulator, who leads Mr. Fowler down a path of increasingly lucrative, but dangerous, bets. I won't tell you how this ends, but I will say there is a guillotine put to use before the story concludes.

All in all, this was an enjoyable book. The second and third tales were good reads, but that first one was fantastic. As if you couldn't already figure this one out, I would recommend you grab a copy of this and get to reading!

Ten days a vegan

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about switching to a whole food,plant-based diet – more easily written as a vegan diet. There is a difference, however. While both eschew (I feel so smart using that word!) any animal products, vegans can quiet easily eat a lot of processed junk food without violating the idea of being a vegan.

A whole food plant-based diet? That's one which primarily stays away from processed food. There's a lot of cooking, using seasonings and spices, fresh ingredients, not to mention a lot of salads and fruit.

Big change from a guy who can polish off a dozen tacos, or down a whole pizza, not to mention being able to pack away a couple of pounds of hot wings (or more) in a single sitting.

When I mentioned here I'd be doing this, I promised some updates, so here it is.

Week one was a disaster. Monday and Tuesday were great, but then we had some things going on at work, top guy from our regional production department in town, so my boss decided that would be a good day to buy lunch for the three of us while we met.

Lunch came from The Loaded Goat – yes, if you're an Andy Griffith fan, you know that phrase. The Loaded Goat has the best hamburgers around – big, thick, juicy, with the most incredible taste. (The restaurant also made the best catfish sandwich I've ever eaten, but that was a few years ago. I don't believe that's on their menu now).

I resisted going for a burger, or even a chicken sandwich, instead opting for a Beyond Burger. I don't know what they did, but man, that was the best Beyond Burger I've ever eaten. Whoever is cooking at The Loaded Goat has it going on.

But, the burger came on a slightly greasy bun, with a big mound of fries, and before all was said and done, I knew I'd messed up.

Still, I tried to stay on the straight and narrow the rest of the day and night, but the next day was even worse. Along with another meeting, we had some training with my newsroom staff, and my boss decided to get pizza for everyone. I appreciated the fact that one of the pizzas was spinach and mushroom, but still it had plenty of cheese and what I'm sure was a fat-filled, wholly unhealthy crust, and that was the final straw. I blew the rest of the week.

But the following Monday, ten days ago as I publish this blog, I made another run at it. Ten days later, I can say I've had no animal products, and I've eaten loads of salads, fruit, and some amazing food my wife and I have cooked from various plant-based recipes. The food is so good I almost don't miss meat or cheese at all.

After the first week, I'd dropped 13.6 pounds as well.

As I mentioned in that first blog, I've been down this road before, many times, so there's not a lot to get excited about just yet. But I'm definitely going the right direction with my eating, and I'm hitting the gym pretty regularly, too, so all is good in the land of veganism for now.

For my next blog, I'll go back to reviewing one of my recent reads – THINGS HAVE GOTTEN WORSE SINCE WE LAST SPOKE, AND OTHER TALES by Eric LaRocca. I'll leave this little tidbit – this book blew me away more than anything I've read in a long time.

More later.

A Big Shelf, Old Books, And Stolling Down Memory Lane

I'm a firm believer in the concept of e-books, and it's always grated on my nerves when people say “Well, that's not a real book.” To me, a book is the story, the writing, the creativity, not the medium through which that story is delivered.

Having said that, there still is no substitute for what a physical book can offer at times. Earlier today I found myself with a bit of unexpected time on my hands, so my wife and I decided to clean out this massive, floor-to-ceiling shelf that was overrun with books and papers and loads of photos and a couple of big basketball trophies from my coaching days, along with a load of toys at the bottom belonging to our granddaughter.

The shelf is quite an item itself from long ago days – my wife and I, along with a since-departed friend, built the shelf way back, well, gosh, it had to be within the first year or two of our marriage, which would make it 30+ years old. It's made of heavy, solid wood, and the shelves are double depth, meaning we can put two rows of books on each shelf.

We've lived in our present house for 12 years, and I'm guessing quite a few of the books on that shelf were dumped there the week we moved in, just to get them out of the way, and that's where they've remained, gradually hidden by more papers and books and assorted stuff.

We attacked the shelf, which ended up being quite the stroll down memory lane.

I came across a copy of one of my favorite novels – HARVEST HOME, by Thomas Tryon. I remember first seeing the movie adaptation of this novel right around the time I turned 15 and absolutely loving the mini-series (though I've never seen it as a rerun or VHS or on any streaming service). A few years later, on my first reporter job in the town of Appomattox, I snapped up a copy at a used book library sale and devoured the book over the next couple of days.

I found a long-lost copy of the anthology THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE: HORROR IN RURAL AMERICA, published in 2009. I doubt any of you have ever heard of that, but one of my tales, “For Want of a Ghost,” found its way into the pages. Certainly not my best effort, but one I had fun writing years ago when I was living in the tiniest of towns that inspired the story. (When I say tiny, I mean the town population jumped by a hearty 0.8 percent when my family took up residence there).

I also came across these two gems:

I got both of those books, along with a DARK SHADOWS novel I seem to have lost, when I was in second grade. I still remember how giddy I was scooping those up from the table – it was my first time at a book fair at the Mount Pleasant Elementary School Library, and we all got to pick a book to take home and keep. Because I had won a reading contest, I got to select two more. While everyone else was grabbing up SEE SPOT RUN books and racing car books, I snatched up these two, along with the DARK SHADOWS LOOK.

I still recall the look on the face of Mrs. Prilliman, our school librarian. She asked me over and over if I was sure, if I really wanted those? She opened them up to show me there were no pics, just pages of dry, gray copy.

I was certain of my choices. Even if I couldn't quite read those books then, I knew somehow, that in a few short years I'd be able to read every story. And I did, a few times over. Finding these today brought me, if only for a moment, some of that childhood excitement I felt as a kid, reading scary stories or watching scary movies.

Yet another great find was this little hardbound chapbook titled THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE. There was only one work inside – NARRATIVE OF A. GORDON PYM – which is supposedly Poe's only full novel.

Way back in my college days, one of my best friends – Jeff Moore, from Delaware – saw this at a yard sale and snagged it for me for something like a quarter. Regrettably, I lost touch with Jeff over the years, and I really thought this book was lost as well. I don't know much about it, it had no copyright or publication date on the title page. It carries the words “The Richmond Edition In 10 Volumes,” and at the bottom is printed “New York John Hovendon 156 Fifth Avenue.”

I can say I'm the only person on Earth who has read this copy cover to cover – when I first read the work, back in my college days, many of the pages were uncut – meaning the printer had not properly separated and cut the pages on the press. It would have been physically impossible for anyone to have read this copy without first slicing the pages apart – which I did.

Finding this brought back a little of the excitement I felt upon reading this so many decades ago. Even more, it reminded me of Jeff and our friendship and all the good times we shared in college, both of us in drama classes, sharing our writing work with one another, just being college kids searching for their place in the world.

There were a few other pleasant surprises hidden in the old shelf – an anthology called PRIME EVIL with some big-time names (Stephen King, Clive Barker, Peter Straus, Ramsey Campbell, among others) and NIGHT VISIONS DEAD IMAGE, another anthology of horror. I picked up these many years ago – in the 1980s, when I was still a bit bright-eyed, the world was still new to me, and I thought I'd one day become a full-time horror writer, taking long walks while working out stories in my head, spending the rest of my time smoking a pipe, banging out tales that would thrill the world.

Unearthing these books – these physical, paper and hard cover editions – brought back a lot of memories. Mostly good, some bitter-sweet, but all part of my life.

And I have a couple of hours with a few old books to thank for that walk down memory lane.

The Hollow Kind

No, that title isn't some clever headline I came up with to entice you to read my blog, although I do hope it had that effect.

THE HOLLOW KIND is the name of a novel by Andy Davidson. 

In my plan to catch up with the modern literary world since I more or less stopped writing (and reading) horror fiction more than a decade ago, I picked up a copy of THE HOLLOW KIND.

I don't know that I could have made a better choice.

I'm really bad with labels, but everyone tells me this is Southern Gothic Horror. Whatever it is, THE HOLLOW KIND is an excellent, engrossing horror tale, one of those novels that builds the suspense, the sense of dread and doom, as an evil slowly encircles the main characters, Nellie Gardener and her 11-year-old son, Max.

The two have come to an old family homestead in deep, hot, humid Georgia, she inherited from her grandfather. August Redfern. (Okay, maybe the book doesn't talk about the heat and humidity quite that much, those are just my memories of Georgia).

The homestead sits on 1,000 acres of mostly forested land, grown over with pines that spurred her grandfather to sink his lot into the land in the early 20^th century, hoping to become rich running a turpentine mill. For Nellie, the land and the remnants of the mill are of little consequence, other than it offers a refuge, a place she fled, with Max in tow, running from an abusive husband.

As the two work to spruce up the place, odd events begin to happen – events that soon slip from strange to dangerous to downright evil.

That evil inhabits the land, is an entity of its own, a creature of sorts which brought tragedy, repeatedly, to Nellie's family two generations earlier and set her grandfather on a course of battling that evil, alone, for decades. He had come there to marry and make his fortune – and it was within his grasp, but the land, the evil there, asked a price that was far too great for August to pay, thus he and his family fell victim to that evil, repeatedly.

Andy Davidson, the writer of this novel, deftly handles drifting back and forth between Nellie's time, in 1989, and her grandfather's time, which began at the farm in 1917 and moves well into the 20^th century, until Nellie meets the odd, lonely, possibly delusional man in the 1970s whcn she is a teenager dealing with the grief of losing her mother. While she and August were together a short time, a bond grew between them that remained, resulting in the old man leaving the house and land to her upon his death.

While that seemed like a blessing at the time, the house and land bring with it a curse, one that seems to inflict maximum damage and tragedy upon whoever it targets.

I've always admired writers who could switch back and forth between time periods, telling what is essentially two separate stories tied together by bloodlines and the evil that haunts the family grounds. Davidson does an excellent job with this. 

I think I read, or perhaps heard him on a podcast saying he had initially written the book as two separate tales – one telling the story of August Redfern and his years on the homestead, then segueing into Nellie's 1989 to pick up the story. Eventually, he – or maybe his editor – decided the story should be melded together, flipping back and forth. Whoa – mad respect to the writer for being able to essentially tear down the two stories and then put them back together as one larger work.

In any event, this was a fine horror novel, one I'd suggest to anyone who enjoys slowburn thrillrs which effectively build, piece by piece, to a satifsying climax, rather than rushing through to get to the end. In addition to the supernatural evil Nellie and Max face, there's plenty of small Southern town evil as well – a nasty local distant relative who has decided he will take that land at any cost, along with a few men with violent and bad intent way back in August Redfern's day. Davidson does a good job of blending all the story lines together in a novel that will keep you reading long after you should have gone to bed (or left for work) – a real page-turner.

12 Weeks a Vegan?

Little more than a week ago, I restarted this blog after a nearly decade-long absence, to share with whoever might want to follow along, my path toward returning to the writing life.

Today I'll share a new path I'm looking to follow as well -- converting to a fully whole food plant-based eating plan. 

This is far from the first time I've set out to lose some weight and get healthy -- I've spent most of the past 30+ years in a perpetual, and losing, battle against really bad eating and health practices. This is not even the first time I've blogged about it (Some of you may remember my old blog, A Fat Boy's Story). That time, with the Fat Boy blog, I chronicled my loss of something like 40 pounds,  over the course of a couple of months, but eventually fell off that wagon.

A couple of years ago, my youngest son and youngest daughter and I joined in with the local wellness center in doing the 12-week Body for Life program. None of use really adhered to the diet portion of the plan, thus I only lost about 25 pounds, but holy cow, the workout portion of the plan was incredible -- by the end, I was doing multiple sets of 100-pound dumbbell presses, at 6 to 8 reps each, and seeing similar gains in all lifts. My son and daughter were seeing big-time results as well. But being as dedicated as BFL takes is a hard task to do indefinitely (not to mention a car vs. tree incident left me with a permanent shoulder injury that's ended my big-lift days when it comes to any sort of bench pressing).

Since then, I've mostly been eating exceptionally poorly (hot wings or tacos at midnight, anyone?) while remaining in a high-stress job field (with more stress and fewer rewards every day). I have continued weight training, mostly, but with no cardio. 

Every once in a great while, I've switched to a plant-based eating plan. For so many years I said that's something I'd never, ever try. I love my hot wings, tacos, pizza, burgers, steak, fried chicken, pork barbecue, eggs, sausage...need I go on? At family gatherings or work functions, when everyone is going for dessert, I'm going back for more of the meat (or the mashed potatoes with gravy, or the cheesy potatoes dripping in butter). Even when going to see a movie with my wife, I'm thinking as much about how each cinema makes its popcorn, how much butter I can soak it in, as I am which movie I want to see.

Nevertheless, the science is clear -- if you're looking for optimal health, if you're looking to hopefully extend your life to a good many years with a generally high-quality of life, a plant-based diet gives you the best chance.

In my own experience. when giving it a shot, I find the weight comes off quickly, all the health markers (blood pressure, blood sugar, cholesterol, etc) respond quite well and quickly. But I never stick with it long -- maybe a week, or two, maybe a month if I'm lucky.

So here's the deal: For the next 12 weeks, I want to commit to a plant-based, whole food diet. That means not just the absence of animal products, but staying largely away from processed food as well. Making my own stuff, in the kitchen.

I know there will probably be a day here or there where I may end up violating the plant-based plan -- maybe some family gatherings with big meals, or some work-related events. Outside of that, we'll see just what sort of changes I can experience, if I can manage to stay on the straight and narrow. And for anyone who is interested, I'll keep you updated here.

Note: Feel free to share your own experiences, if you wish, with plant-based diets, weight loss, exercise, etc., in the comments. I'm always looking to see how others have been successful.

My Reading List: The Look-Alike, by Erica Spindler

In my last post, I told you part of my return to writing fiction was to read a few modern novels in my chosen genres -- crime thrillers and horror.

I did a bit of internet sleuthing, came across the name Erica Spindler as a best-selling crime thriller writer, and I picked up one of her more recent novels -- The Look-Alike. I'm glad I chose this one to read.

Before I go any further, I'll just say I never know exactly how to go about reviewing a book. I keep thinking of my elementary or middle school days, trying to write a book report that's supposed to give the essence of the story without actually reproducing the story. And now, as an adult, I'm keenly aware that no one wants any spoilers to a book review, so I'm going to be pretty brief. 

The main character in the novel, Sienna Scott, is returning home after a ten-year absence, when her father sent her away to help her recover from being traumatized from being the closest thing to a witness that was available to a cold, bloody murder in her town. A murder that claimed the life of a young lady who looked much like Sienna.

Now, she's returned -- confidant, grown up, ready to restart her life in her hometown while perhaps starting a new business venture. There's plenty of baggage to return to, with a mother suffering from a mental illness and a brother who is not quite all that he seems to be. Add to that the fact that more and more clues seem to indicate perhaps she was the original target (and may yet be targeted by the killer) a new love-interest who my turn out to be the murderer, as well as a law enforcement officer who worked the original murder case exhibiting an unhealthy interest in Sienna, and you have a really well-constructed who-done-it thriller.

One of the things I appreciate about this story is how, at times, the author can flip back and forth, between present-day and a decade earlier, when the murder took place. I find it a challenge, as a writer, to bounce back and forth like this, telling a story from two different time periods, but Spindler does it well.

Another aspect of this novel I appreciate is how Sienna's mother is dealing with a mental illness -- how it affects the mom's life, and even more how it is always a dark presence affecting the lives of all of the family. Spindler adds this as an integral plot point, one that becomes important to the story, and shows in a realistic way how mental illness affects the entire family, without being a contrived plot point.

All in all, this was an enjoyable book (though I'm still a little flummoxed over the fate of a rotisserie chicken that seemed to be shoved aside and forgotten at one point -- rotisserie chickens are not to be trifled with or forgotten in my book). I will definitely be picking up and reading more by Erica Spindler.

As for horror fans, I'll next be talking about The Hollow Kind by Andy Davidson. Until then, as always, thanks for stopping by and reading.

Like a slow, lumbering vampire rising from a damp, moldy grave...I'm back!

For those of you who have been anxiously awaiting my return, counting the days until my next blog, that day has finally arrived – just eight years, 11 months and five days since my last posting.

No, I haven't struck it rich, written a series of best-sellers and gone off to some secret mountain hideaway. I've just been muddling along – working, getting older, getting fatter, and every once in a great while still reading and writing a bit.

Let me qualify that. I'm still editor of a small daily (well, we're supposed to call it a daily, with three print days a week and two additional e-editions each week, down from the heady days of big print editions 7 days a week), and I'm editor of a now-quarterly magazine (devoted to all things Mayberry!). So I get plenty of writing done as a journalist, and more than my share of reading with editing articles, reading wire copy, proofing pages, writing headlines, etc.

But I suppose the demands of life, along with a lack of focus on my part, has resulted in me drifting away from what I always really wanted – to write fiction. I've continued writing over these past 9 or so years – more than 400 short stories and novellas and even four full-length novels, none under my own name or my chosen pen names. They are essentially ghost-written contract pieces. They make some decent side money for the amount of time and effort, so I've done that periodically over the years.

But the real writing I always aspired to? The horror, the suspense and crime thrillers and the spooky children's tales?

They kind of fell by the wayside. But I always intended to get back to them – next week, next month, maybe next year. Some day.

In recent months various events have reminded me that time just keeps marching along, and it's far too easy to let the things one really wants to do get shoved aside for the things that have to be done, or that are easier to do. Then, suddenly, you wake up one day and it's too late – you've missed your chance, or you're no longer able to do what you've always wanted. Some day never came.

No, that hasn't yet happened to me, but I've seen it far too often over the past year – people felled by illness or accident, people no longer able to do what they love (or in the worst cases, no longer with us at all).

So a few weeks ago I decided it was now or never – time to get back to doing what I love (even if there are times I hate it while in the midst of it – but isn't that the quandary of writing?)

Rather than just jump in and start trying to write short stories or novels again, I figured I'd go back and read a few novels I enjoyed, get back into enjoying fiction and, as a writer, seeing what works and what doesn't, how good writing and story telling is constructed.

So, the first thing I did was pick up a few novels by one of my all-time favorite writers, the late Robert B. Parker. If you don't recognize the name, perhaps you know his chief characters – he originated and wrote several dozen of the Spenser novels; originated and wrote the Jesse Stone novels (perhaps my favorite series), and he wrote a handful of Sunny Randall novels. The Randall novels are of particular interest to me, because I have the rough outline of a couple of thriller novels that feature a female lead/crime solver who is neither cop nor detective, so I figured I'd just jump in and read a few of those before writing.

I read through Family Honor and Perish Twice. Both are excellent books – I know Hemingway is known for his sparse, direct plot-driven works, but sometimes Parker makes Hemingway look almost verbose, even Dickensonian, by comparison. I don't know that I've read a writer who can tell and show more, who can convey more emotions and actions, with so few words as Parker. His works make for quick, enjoyable reads, as well as a great study in story telling.

While I was reading these two novels, I also began listening to interviews with writers, watching Vlogs and listening to podcasts. The world of publishing has changed dramatically over the past decade (and just for the record, I'm pursuing traditionally published success at present, not self-publishing).

Heck, it's an entirely new world since I was actively writing and trying to get my work published, so I figured I could spend my daily commute learning from podcasts rather than listening to music. One of those is a podcast and Youtube video series from Alexa Donne. She has a ton of videos about writing and the writing life. Most are, unfortunately three or more years old, but she is updating the series every once in a great while.

One thing she said that was so startlingly simple yet was something I had not considered was this: If you want to publish in a given genre, read what is hot right now. Read the top selling books.

Duh. She is absolutely right, yet I was still caught up in reading older books, with characters and settings I was more familiar with. So I have now set off on a quest to read modern thrillers, horror, and supernatural fiction.

I'll keep you all posted on my progress, on my modern reading selection as well as posting updates on my writing. I may even be asking for a bit of help, asking for test readers for some of my upcoming fiction.

My first two sojourns into reading more modern top-selling work was The Look Alike by Erica Spindler and The Hollow Kind by Andy Davidson. And let me tell you...well, let me tell you about those in my next blog!

For now, thanks for reading, and hopefully I'll have much more to share with you in coming weeks and months about my own writing.

A golden age for writers, so why all the literary disdain?

Writers are a funny lot.

Most of you who know me know I've been writing in one form or another virtually my entire life. As a second grader I tried to write a story following the adventures of Billy the Fish, who was accidentally dropped from an aquarium into a creek and eventually made his way through rivers all the way to the ocean, and I've been putting together stories – fiction and otherwise – on paper and on computer screens ever since.

As I grew into early adulthood, and had fallen head-over-heels in love with creepy and dark fiction, I got it in my head I might one day turn into the next Stephen King. Of course, I was clueless as to how much work, talent, raw drive, work, determination, discipline, did I mention hard work, and yes even some luck, was needed to get anything into publication, much less reach the lofty perch shared by King and others of his stature.

Unlike others I've known over the years who have pursued their writing goals while holding day jobs in construction, teaching, retail, customer service, the law, or any number of other employment fields, I've written for a living. I've spent most of my adult life in the newspaper field, reporting, editing, managing. For a couple of years I left newspapering but kept writing nonfiction, penning articles for business magazines, education publications, and a few other specialty markets.

Along the way I have quit writing fiction, given it up for good, swearing never to go back. I've done that numerous times, sometimes out of frustration with the impossibly slow pace of magazines who purported to be professional but might take months to get back to you on a submission (if they ever did). Other times I felt I was wasting time, that even with publication the pay was pathetically low – the most I ever made from a piece of fiction someone else published was a couple of $150 pieces. Sometimes I had to quit because there simply wasn't enough of me to go around – as the sole bread winner in the house, with a big family (5 kids), my first priority was keeping us housed, clothed and fed, even if that meant working two jobs while freelancing for non-fiction publications on the side (kinda like holding a third job).

Still, I'd always come back, drawn to writing.

I've hooked up with a few writer groups over the years, and I've had the great fortune to be around those who were serious about the craft, who pursued writing doggedly, as if their lives depended on it. Some of those folks are now editors and publishers, mostly with small or specialty presses, others have gone on to see some success as writers, one or two who even now support themselves fully with significant contracts writing novels for one of the Big Five publishing houses.

There were days many of us would commiserate together, bemoaning the state of writing – particularly in the horror field – where it seemed unless you were related to a magazine owner or book publishing official, seeing your own work in publication was as likely as a trip to the moon. A number experienced what appeared to be near-misses, when an agent or Big Five publisher would show interest, string you along, then back away. I had my own experience along these lines a few years back when a couple of agents showed quite a bit of interest in a series of middle-grade books. Alas, it came to naught.

So it's puzzling to me to see some of those very same people, or others like them, be so openly critical of writers now making decent to good money through their own publishing efforts, assailing those indie writers as if they were some sort of affront to Western civilization.

Most of you probably have a Kindle or some similar e-reading device. Amazon is the big kahuna in this field, and definitely the pace setter, introducing technology that allows writers to easily upload and publish their works in e-format, and making it just as easy for readers to access that work, giving readers novels and other works at a fraction of the cost the Big Five boys charge while allowing writers to make significantly more on each purchase than one of the old Big Five publishers would have paid.

In the old days, most novelists with contracts through one of the Big Five publishers (then Big Six) were lucky if they made $5,000 in a year. More often than not the quality of a given submission to an agent or publisher had little to do with whether it saw publication. The marketing folks weighed in on whether a piece was easily marketable according to their guidelines. That was the chief, overriding concern for the so-called gatekeepers of the literary world.

In this new e-reader world a bit of democracy enters the equation. Anyone can write a novel and sell it through Amazon.

I know quite a few who have been doing this for a few years now, some making a few hundred dollars a month, some a few thousand, and I know a handful who are making six-figure annual incomes from their writing. I happen to know one fella who's annual income has inched higher than that.

Here's the part I don't get. Some of my old writer friends, and a few other writers I've come across, seem to really have a problem with those making a good living at independent writing/publishing. They spend their time pooh-poohing that success, saying these people aren't "real writers" (whatever the heck that means). When confronted with the success stories of those who are making good money at their craft, the response is often accusing those indie writers of somehow exploiting the system, discovering a publishing formula that generates money, but isn't real writing.

Sorry folks, but the writers I know making a nice living at this are exploiting one simple formula: They work damn hard (if you'll pardon my French). While some old-school legacy writers sit around, gazing at their navals, wasting time telling everyone how excruciating it is to produce a thousand words a day in a couple of hours of anguished writing, these folks spend their time working – sitting in front of a computer four, eight, even twelve hours a day, producing reams of copy. I know one individual who produces a novel every five to six weeks because he parks his butt in the chair and writes for hours upon hours upon hours every week.

And that, my friends, is the key. Hard work, long-term commitment (it doesn’t happen overnight), combined with a bit of marketing savvy (which is NOT rocket science, anyone can learn and do a little marketing), and a commitment to professionalism in your work. Yes, luck plays into it, and can be the difference between someone pulling down a six-figure income vs. making ten or twelve thousand as a nice little supplemental income.

Yet there are some in the writing field who simply won't accept that, who refuse to believe indie writers are "real writers," and who take every opportunity to bash those in the indie field.

I don't understand it. As I said, writers can be a funny lot. And sometimes a bit petty.

For me, I'd love to get a big-money offer from one of the Big Five publishers. I'd love to walk into a book store and see my work on the shelves there. I don't harbor any ill will toward those who have achieved that. But, I have to say I'm just fine doing indie thing.

My question to other writers is, why aren't you?

More change -- the kids are coming home!

Since I restarted this blog talking about all the changes that had occurred in my life over the past 18 months, I'll continue that with a new one. My oldest daughter, the one who married and moved away last September, is coming back home!

Well, sort of.

They had to move out of state because her husband, who I'll call Andrew for the purposes of this blog, still had one semester of college to finish. My daughter, who I'll call Erica, has two years of school left, but she put that on hold so he could finish up and then, hopefully, get a job teaching. She had already been accepted at a university about 45 minutes down the road from here (after doing community college for her first two years of college), so they were fairly limited in where they could go.

The teaching thing hasn't worked out yet for Andrew, but yesterday he was offered a position with a media company in the same city where she will be going to college! Better yet, that puts them 45 minutes from us to the west, and 45 minutes from the rest of my family (mom, sisters and their families) to the east. She and Andrew will be smack-dab in the middle of us all!

Good for all of us – though she and Andrew might get tired of us after a while, I don't know.

The challenge of it all is the timeframe. He starts his new job in twelve days. That's right, less than two weeks. They have no apartment, they live three-and-a-half hours' drive away, and they both work, so it's not as if the two of them have nothing but free time between now and then. There's also the issue of furniture, but we'll figure that one out as we go.

Just as soon as I tell you all I'm back, ready to start publishing a few pieces under my own name again, I find I'm going to be a busy little bee over the next few weeks, doing a lot of traveling down there and back, helping them get set up, helping them move – all built around my day job.

It's a good challenge to have, though, and I can't tell you how ecstatic I am they will be moving this close.

And, since I wasn't blogging last year when the two of them were married, and I am talking about them now, I'm going to share a couple of wedding photos. The first is my wife and I escorting the lovely bride toward the ceremony and her waiting husband-to-be. The second pic is my mom with the two of them, and the third one is the happy couple. And yes, the dude is that tall – he's 6'7" (but he still can't take me on the basketball court. Just don't tell him I said that.)

Until next time (I'll post again this weekend), happy trails!