Weekly

In 2015 my writing advanced centered on monthly word count goals. Some months, however, my goal was accomplished by super cramming in the final week. I never bought a desktop calendar this year on which to track my goals. Results are down accordingly.

This year I was swamped with multiple demands, some of my own choosing such as my garden. Others not of my choosing, such as our dog’s serious medical condition which appears to have been resolved. But the writing has progress, most notably in short stories.

I have decided weekly goals are a much more reasonable approach. They will keep me consistent to the task. The books will come out when they come out.

One element of my development as a writer in which I have not behaved weakly in the least is in my reading. Reading the works of the many taking advantage of this grand age of self-publishing, or not, I have become extremely confident in my own writing. That is if I had a good team of editors. I want to give my readers the best product possible. But that takes money, and we don’t have much.

I take delight only in that I am not seeing anything written as I write. It all looks very generic to me. Perhaps it is because I am not putting together storylines. I am creating real lives and worlds for my characters, better than my own.

I hear you chuckle. “Come on Phillip, many of your characters have truly dismal lives.”

Exactly what are you trying to say?

Wolves

Here it is. My promised mid-month sampler, though a day late. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

“Wolves”

Cold. Jim Townsend's hands were cold. His feet were cold. His body chilled to the bone. The once raging fire had done little to change the cold he felt seeping beyond himself to his very soul.

Around him the wind howled. The overcast hung low in a dark dirty lead blanket of cloud hanging is if held in threat by a dark spirit of dread. A dull glow of light trapped between cloud and an endless blanket of snow left no shadow, no trace of the ever present danger in the cold dark night.

"Nobody knows the trouble..." Jim's muttered song faded. To lean back from the fire broke his teeth into an uncontrollable chatter, causing his body to break into endless shivers. He pulled his arms tight to his sides, careful not to disturb the brace of pistols tucked tight to his buckskins under the folds of his fur overcoat. Huddled low to the ground, low to the fire now degraded into a bed of red hot glowing embers. The temptation of sleep near smothered Jim's fear of death.  His eyes stared upon the embers longing after the heat; a warm bed. Ice from his matted beard dripped down upon his knees then froze. A wool blanket, edges flapping in the wind, was draped tight over his fur covered head.

"Cold" he chattered out loud, then waited for his confession to make a difference. It didn't. His eyes wandered over fresh white snow, the tree line beyond floated mirage like, one hundred yards distant. A dense stand of pine at his back to break the wind Jim waited.

"They're coming." the words shouted forced Jim's blanked mind alive. He knew he should not have built the fire. Driven him beyond reason by the cold.

"They're coming." his hand gingerly worked its way under his coat to an interior pocket. He worked his choppers from his hand and dipped into the pocket retrieving a pinch of pemmican. His fingers flew to his mouth. His lips wrapped up the morsel. The dried bison meat and suet struck his tongue, livened his senses and brightened his mind. His hand flashed back into his coat. Another pinch, this had a berry. The salt and bitter with the oily leathery chew distracted him from the cold. His mind set upon his dilemma.

"They're coming." as he took one last pinch. The howl of a distant wolf filled the air.

He felt his pocket. A half of fist of pemmican was all, and a sliver of portable soup. That and a small bag of rice. But he had lost his kit, and his long gun, in his last confrontation. It was a good twenty miles to the fort through drifts of ten foot and more. Jim shifted upon the log upon which he sat. he felt his infantry axe in his belt.

"If it were only wolves." Jim huffed with disdain as several more joined their companion in a midnight howl. "I never disparaged any man, injun or otherwise in my life." he howled without contrition to the wind, "God, forgive for me these heathen savages, for til my last dying breath I shall not." For a moment Jim believed a response was imminent. Then nothing.

Head bowed and eyes clenched tight Jim prayed, "God give me strength though I don't see how it will do no good."

Jim tried to recollect the number of days and nights that had passed, but he could not. His pursuers rational drifted inconceivable beyond him. 'Only a pure evil could drive such creatures.' he convinced himself, 'they are surely beyond redemption.'

Jim dropped his head and growled, as now God responded powerfully in his heart, revealing the inconceivable rational behind Jim's own motivations before the eyes of his Creator. The same Creator of those seeking his unholy demise, of  whom God would happily redeem if they would only chose.

"Is torment and disaster my only share," Jim lashed out before his God, "not only in mind and body, but to the depths of my very heart and soul. Is this all You have to reveal to me? What of my next life?" he lamented unto death.

The wolves howled in response. Their chorus sounding now from not far beyond the tree line.

"They're coming."

Still Writing

What more can I say. There will be a mid-month snippet from one of my new short stories.

Looking over my goal sheet for 2016 I am a bit behind; about three months in my writing goals. Ike, our dog, suffered from severe seizures. He would have a dozen or more a day. Taking him to vets and researching solutions, along with good old fashion worry, hit us hard focus wise and financially. Our goals suffered. Ike is seizure free and it is costing us twice as much to feed him.

Sat down with my wife to discuss our goals and general family management. She scoffed at the idea that I could ever make money writing. Not that she is capable of knowing if my writing is any good, she is Japanese and far from a native speaker of English, she just doesn’t believe I can do it.

Alone again… naturally. It is why I never read acknowledgements in books anymore. The list of people the author is grateful to for their support I find discouraging. Sometimes it goes on and on and on and on…

To get two books to an editor by the end of the month should get things moving. So I will shoot for three books. I just have to transcribe them.

Listening to “A Way with Words” on the radio the other day, they spoke of the ‘terrible twos’ for a writer. It is where your ideas are clear but when you look at what you wrote there is a wide disconnect. It is what I am finding in some of my notebooks which is why I am having difficulty in transcribing my works.

I will be putting together a package deal after I get out my next two books. Thank you for reading.

Another Story

Sorry my post is late this month. I have not given up.

I have another story to add to my next book of short stories; “More Struggles”. It just came into my mind, as do all my stories.

“So. Phillip, You’re behind in your goals again aren’t you? Now you think this ‘new story’ stuff should excuse your procrastinations.” you scold.

I understand your pain but the work is still moving forward and that is what is important right now. Moving. It is difficult to build and then keep momentum with our all consuming weekend schedule. Church takes most of our Sunday.

But here are the stories/Chapters as they stand now.

1. “A Hunting We Will Go.”  Keep the kleenex close.
2. “Beyond the Pale”  “You did not go there?” Oh yes I did.
3. “Natural Law”   or “How to Earn Extra Credit”
4. “The Charter”  Will leave your mouth agape in...
5. “Story Time”  Cute.
6. “The Dream”  “I can’t wait for your next book.” you will be saying to yourself.
7. “Wolves”  “Didn’t see that coming.” you will huff.

Stories yet to be transcribed:

• “Life on the Farm”
• “Partisans of the Blue; The Dauntless Recruits” The first of three.

Stories in the making:

• “Chuck Hammer Rebooted; Loyalty’s Fertile Soil”
• “Partisans of the Blue; #2

More on November 1st and a mid-November excerpt unless I experience a significant disruption in my life. I promise.

September Goal

Yes. I will have my next book of short stories completely transcribed, the equivalent of a second draft, this month. A couple of those stories will be further along than others. I will then seek out some professional feedback; October at the latest. Perhaps I will include some of my longer works if I get them into the word processor.

As I have mentioned before, committing to a platform for writers, such as Reedsy, can enable one to push on. It is like a tiny little ‘voice in the ear support group’ when there is no one else to support you.

Finding good writing, very finely written sentences, is also enlightening. It is why a writer will read. On our limited budget I have been suffering through some not so great books.

I found one book with exquisite sentences that was a joy and an inspiration to read. I found this book through Bookplex. I write many reviews. I hope my input is appreciated. (see my book reviews tab) For a few reviews I have been paid, not only in some token dollars but in the opportunity to read a higher quality of writing. I choose only the books from Bookplex that interest me and they in turn just want the straight truth, your honest opinion. I am looking forward to the day when I can find a book I can really tear apart and then …get paid for doing it.

The pay isn’t much but if you are reading anyway it is a good way to get a few bucks here and there.

Big decision. The short story “Beyond the Pale” will be completed for my next volume of short stories. Because of the dark and controversial nature of the story, complete in my head before I began to write anything, I was contemplating not finishing it at all. What change my mind? A news broadcast, which covered certain recent events in Turkey, sealed the deal. I was overwhelmed with the conviction that I must complete this story.

The opening to “Beyond the Pale” is a few posts back on this blog. (it is a first draft so excuse the errors) Does revealing why I will now complete this story give you any clues as to the crime of Captain John Orr. Does the fact that his wife’s name is Dorothy and his lawyer's name Alice give you any clues as to the nature of the tale?

To Write

To write. As we head into one of the last straight a ways of our life, to write is about all I have left to provide for any future that begins to resemble the achievement of a dream. At least in a financial sense. The economy, this depression we’ve been in, along with good old fashioned bigotry has left us getting by, just.

To write. I am confident, if not in our economic future then, certainly in providing for our retirement; maybe. On the verge of putting out a slew of stories we’ll see if I can stand up to muster; get some professional editing and marketing, always expecting the best. Then again that cost money just to get it all moving.

“Money talks, …but it don’t sing and dance and it don’t walk”

To write, one of many tasks before me. The determination for this new month is to write something everyday, if only to transcribe my notebooks to Word.

To write. I have a house to restore, a garden to tend to, a life of faith with disciplines joyfully taken up, a small business to run, a profession I continuously attempt to re launch and the various ins and outs of life, such as eating, to maintain. Still if I can write everyday the depth of my existing, yet to be published, work shall begin to blossom forth.

To write. Getting it done. Setting the goals and accomplishing them is important. But there is something that all achievers, self help and motivational speakers profess as centrally crucial. That is the individuals you have around you; individuals that spur you on to greatness.

There lies the most daunting of works before me; to build a support community. Too many around me, and in my profession of architecture, perceive any success I may achieve as a threat, and too few are willing to stand up for me in the many struggles of my life. I always expect great things from myself, unfortunately I may be the only one.

The consideration I show others, the love of enemy and putting the well-being of others before my own, are hidden from view; outweighed by the short comings and the tragedies of my life, many of which I have just begun to unravel. Sometimes none of it makes sense. But I can always write.

And sometimes I like to draw.

Software

Ugh. Am I late again with my monthly post. The holiday filled my mind with plans.

I found this software site promotion, for Shaxpir, posted on my Facebook page. A word processing program designed just for writers? Well, it cost a monthly subscription fee, admits to software bugs still being worked out on in its own blog, and I cannot find any review or critique of their product by anyone other than themselves. I did an Internet search. I checked the C/Net app on my Roku. There just isn’t an objective review of their product out there.

Shaxpir sounds like a great idea. It is a software I was hoping the Reedsy’s platform would eventually morph into. I don’t like working with Microsoft Office 20 whatever something version I have. I have an older Office 98 which I find much more navigable; I can find the functions I want easily without searching through every command bar. Makes you wonder, with the dawn of self publishing, why Microsoft Office does not have a writer’s mode, where only features designed to help in the production of a book would be front and center in an easily understood format. They are focused on a bigger market I guess, catering to the business world.

The most needed element of software for writers is the ability to track the personal traits of your characters. A central file, usually a sheet of paper for me, to keep track of physical attributes, so the character's eye color doesn’t change scene by scene, their personal histories and any other quirks you give your characters to make them unique and interesting among the sea of character you may be developing. From my casually perusing of Shaxpir they are well aware of the importance of such a feature and make a  point of highlighting it.

I would love to try such a platform but have my reservations for this first attempt to cater to the writer in us all. I also question the wisdom of intellectual property still to be published being held in the cloud or developed on the Internet in any way.

Further looking into Bookplex, I see that they have an offers page with a list of free e-books. Have you ever searched Amazon for a book, their free promotions, and found it difficult to get a list of only the free promotions? You’ll find a nice limited selection at the link above.

July 12th is fast approaching for all you Amazon Prime members.

My focus at this point is to meet my next collection of short stories deadline, while advancing my other works, each a bit. As the book of short stories begins to coalesce I will push for the completion of my other works one by one as I advance the next epic Chuck Hammer, a true  saga.

Software such as Shaxpir would be an immense help with such a large spectrum of characters making up the Lunar Colony that is the scene for the Chuck Hammer sequel. This is a jump to a trilogy that will end on Mars. I may go back in short story or novella format (or graphic novel) to fill in Chuck Hammer’s earlier years.

Thank you for reading. I am not sure if I will have a mid-month clip from one of my stories. After publishing the next book of short stories I plan to sell my first three published works as a set: a real bargain. A novella and novel will quickly follow. The first step in a serious marketing strategy.

Beyond the Pale

From my upcoming book of short stories; "More Struggles". First draft.

I hate. I hate today like no other. I hate that weak minded vindictive fools could possibly stand in judgement of me; John Orr. I'm a man in my prime. I was in full stride to success, a captain, respected and accomplished in the eyes of all. I had friends.

Sure, I'm not the most attractive guy. My hair has never done what I wanted, but it's blond. My well rounded face is cursed with a bony brow and large nose. Still, my chiseled jaw and solid chin combine for a look that makes anyone think twice before taking me on. Then again, my 250 lb classic V shaped frame may have something to do with that. My hands are thick and calloused. My legs solid as tree trunks.

Forget that. I'm damn attractive and any woman would die to be at my side. "Ha!"

I worked hard my entire life; fought for everything I have. Yet, if not tomorrow, soon all my outstanding physical attributes will lie still and ineffectual. So I've heard. My body will eventually rot away, soon to be forgotten forever.

I am Captain John Orr: killer, mass murderer, psychopath. Sure, the verdict isn't in, but I'm not contesting my crimes. I have no regrets over the lives I've taken. I'd do it again.

"Beyond the pale. Crimes beyond the pale." That's what that fool of a judge has been say'n since the trial began. I can't imagine impartiality has ever been his strong suit.

Who knows, they may come for me tonight, in the dark, unwilling to wait for the scales of justice to balance. They only await a verdict to validate my crimes before all the world before they make their move. But haven't they got that already? The whole world agrees. It's all over every news service. Why should they wait any longer? Why should I care anymore?

After I'm dead, only the virtuous acts that may have momentarily graced my life, along with my many sins, will comport my future state of being. How can I deny the justice in that?

Does the cell door really sound that loud from the inside? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? The clunking of key and lock; is it simply the abhorrence of captivity that magnifies such sounds to excruciating volumes? The noise of my door opening reverberates hollow off the walls of my cell?

"Get up Orr." Sergeant Archibald Gatsby barks in his bland unconcerned mid-western grumble.

"It's a bit early, isn't it?" I ask. The sergeant stands tall before me, his shoulders slightly hunched with age. I've known the man some fifteen years. He puts his Teutonic ancestors to shame in both build and valor. His age wrinkled face only makes his hard angular features all that more fearsome. "Are they that anxious to get rid of me?"

"You have a visitor." Gatsby answers his eyes uncharacteristically show slight signs of heartache.

Two measly examples of the county's finest step in after him, one an Asian of some sort and the other black. The two young officer's eyes widen at the sight of me. Their faces droop into an embarrassing stupor. 'If only they could see themselves.'

I'm sitting on the edge of my bunk. I leap up and take one, just one, quick lurch of a step forward. "Who are these newbies?" I sneer as the two young officers duck back out the doorway. One fumbles for his nightstick. The other drops the shackles, my shackles, in a clatter of steel upon the concrete floor of the detention facility.

"Leave them alone Orr." Gatsby sighs.

"You're not afraid of me Gatsby, are you?" I muse as I size up the two deputies.

"I've seen too much to be afraid of much of anything." He tries to convince me.

"You mean you're too old to care anymore." I huff back.

"You might have something there." Gatsby admits folding his arms across his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall.

The two deputies re-present themselves in defiant posture. I stare them down. Their mouths open but the audible part of their words escape them.

Legs shoulder width apart. Hands out in front." Gatsby orders as if talking to himself.

The deputies proceed in their duties with obvious trepidation. Funny the things that will make you smile.

"If they take any longer with my jewelry here visiting hours will be over." I scoff at the jittery deputies as they try for the third time to secure my chains. The cold of the waist chain chills my skin through my one piece orange fashion wear.

"She'll wait." Gatsby slides a cutting look my direction.

'Note to self; I hate Gatsby.' as I feel my gut knot.

I hate shackles. I hate the shackle shuffle, yet I shuffle down the corridor. It looks like you're trying too hard to try to just plain walk, so I shuffle. My head high shoulders back I shuffle. I shuffle like no one's shuffled before. I man can feel proud over something like that.

Gatsby throws open the interview room door and steps back with a smirk.

I shuffle around into the doorway, "Hey there doll." I smile wondering if she will ever understand. I am her husband after all. I tried to tell her, but here she is again. You'd think she understand by now with her fragrant soft flowing ivory skin, ...voluptuous breasts. I see them covered only in her long brown waves of hair, her brown eyes gazing upon me in heavenly glow.

"Sit down." Gatsby shatters my dream.

I sit, leering at a memory. "Really?" I confront Gatsby as he looks to secure my chains to the table.

"Really."

I let him chain me down. "Now get lost." I rip.

"Just holler if you need me Dorthy." Gatsby consoles as he steps out.

"Thank you Archie." Dorthy answers in the soft sweetness of denial. She sits still and silent her tender gaze attempting to lock upon mine, but I wont let it. Gatsby closes the door.

I look up at the camera in the ceiling. "Just can't stay away, can you doll."

What are Captain Orr's crimes? You'll have to buy the upcoming book to find out. I hope to be releasing this collection of six short stories in September.

Another Deadline Missed

Yes, this post is late. I will have a mid-month snippet from one of my most recent short stories; promise.

A book of short stories, “More Struggles” is in the works as I work to get a novel, “Partisan of the Blue; The Dauntless Recruits”, and a novelette, “Life on the Farm”, revised and ready for some editing. “More Struggles” will include at least six short stories; “Natural Law” and “Beyond the Pale” to name two that are in the works.

Also the epic Chuck Hammer novel advances bit by bit. I will have two teaser excerpts in “More Struggles”.

The garden has distracted me, but I am writing quite a bit now. After touting Reedsy my internet page advertisement side bars have been filled with adds for Kirkus; another company I have mentioned before. This company, Bookplex, came up on my Facebook page and it explains a lot about the similar sounding reviews I find when searching for a good book for free via Amazon Prime.

As of now, Reedsy helps motivate me to write. They offer a free platform with potential editors for hire right at my finger tips, for when I get that far. It is almost like having a team behind you without having a team.

I read many an acknowledgement by self-published authors on how many people helped them with their book. Unfortunately they must often be getting the wrong kind of help. For example, I read a pretty good story by Marco Kloos. It is a bit simple in its first person narrative but very intriguing. I was enjoying the book until it suddenly became a whole lot of telling rather than showing. I still liked the book and may try another when my favorite sci-fi series leaves me waiting for the next release.

On the other hand, Ryk Brown released the first in his second set of fifteen stories in his sci-fi series. I found a marked improvement in his telling rather than showing and it makes the book even more enjoyable than the others. Perhaps he added to or changed part of his team.

So, I learn as I read and write and though I am behind schedule, my books will be better for it.

I will post the opening for “Beyond the Pale” on June 15th. I will complete this short story but am questioning whether I will publish it.

Does missing deadlines make me a real writer?

Ghost Stories

Am I writing a ghost story or two? You’ll have to wait and see. Reedsy just announced that their service package now includes ghost writers. Is Reedsy the Amazon or Google of the self-publishing world; that company that can innovate beyond its’ predecessors? Hard to say. It may be the haven determined self-publishers are looking for as the gold rush of self-publishing implodes upon itself.

Do I need a ghost writer? Or do I need a good team of editors and a mentor that can push me on? At my age, experience and rate of production the idea of a ghost writer is far from repulsive.

No, I don’t want to put out formula work. I want to stand out as a writer. However, would it be easier, quicker, for a ghost writer to rewrite my refined drafts, or easier and quicker to work with a team of editors? I imagine there would be a lot more back and forth with a team of editors.

Then, who am I as a writer? Can I write any small work on my own without a discernable difference in refinement being noticeable. I actually would rather hire a ghost writer to co-write in that case. That, to make it clear the variances that may present in my works.

I will definitely look into the idea. Three completely drafts of various lengths and an epic novel under development mean little if I can’t get them out; and I aint get’n any younger. For now ‘Ike’ our dog is taking all our money.

Never fear. The creative juices are flowing again. Stories are arising in my brain looking for a way out. This is the year that will determine if I can make anything of being an author, in part or full.

Thank you for reading.

The Call of the Wild - Death and Taxes

Nature themes; a theme for my written works better suited to my world view? but what can one do as he watches the world go crazy around him? Perhaps retreat into nature and focus on the wonders of nature, life and death, and delve into its’ mysteries with pen and notebook.

But to what end? Am I even going to be around that much longer? And how? Money; everything requires money and the tax man takes it all.

Spring draws my attentions to tasks of a physical nature. The yard, the garden and dreaming of actually exercising regularly. Even those tasks suffer however when the tax man comes calling.

My ambition wanes, not only when I do not have a positive cash flow, but especially when every penny we earn for the next month, including those earned the previous three months, is earmarked for the tax man; income tax, sales tax and don’t forget the Winter utility bills and a quarterly water bill that has increased 700% since we purchased our house.

Then the brakes on our car went bad. A mucked up caliper stealing our MPG and wearing down the pad and disk with a speed few would be quick enough to respond so as to minimize the destructive force assailing our mode of transportation.

One of these days Microsoft may create a solution to Googles operating changes so that Windows Live Writer will once again work with Blogger. Until then the dated Blogger platform stifles my blogging creativity.

Have you recognized that my blog post is late this month? Yet the writing edges forward, bit by bit.

Much more to come soon.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring.

Hope

Hope springs eternal. At times however, that spring is but a trickle. I must apologize that I have not been as vigorous in my writing as I should have been. Over a month ago my external hard drive, upon which all my work transcribed to Word rested, went missing. I searched everywhere; despair and hope battling, wearing on my heart and soul.

I said to myself, “You’ve only lost about 50,000 words. Your completed works are already published. Most of your pictures of note are on the cloud via blog posts.”

So I went to Reedsy. I started putting down my latest short story on their platform. “I’ll just fight through it. Reedsy may be a better place to record and track my work. The editors are right there. It will work out better.”

Then, the other day, I slid my laptop into my soft sided briefcase designed for laptops and such. Smack. It would not drop clear into the bag. “Did I put the camera in the bag?” I pondered. I reached in and there it was. Leaning out from behind a sleeve that lines the main pocket; my external hard drive. After being lost for over a month I found it.

Found it?

Problem. I had pulled everything out of my bag five times over in my previous searches. I had run my hands into and over every pocket sleeve and surface multiple times. It was not in the bag. My wife did not put it in the bag. She had done a bit of searching herself.

The external hard drive was pin protected and the files required a password to open.

So how did it get there? Where had it been and how did it get back? Does it have retractable legs?… Have you see the latest and greatest robot on the web? I would be nicer to him if I were the guy testing Mr. Robot out.

I have meant for the longest time to edit, make an addition not a correction, to a previous post long past. It is the post where I described how a small action camera I had set up disappeared. That camera reappeared two months after that post. It also materialized in a place I had searched many times over; a tiny basket in which I kept its’ USB cord.

So I was initially inspired when I found the hard drive. My writing surged but not for long. Missing money, a dog, extremely active, that we find cowering in a corner when we come home on some nights, and other unusual events and conversations with my family have worn heavily on me over the years. What is going? Why, apparently, will does this not end by force of my goodwill, forgiveness and long suffering? Does goodness hold no weight in this world?

Now I question if I should even try to access the drive.

I told the story of my external hard drive to my brother this Saturday and his response was, “I have nothing to do with it.” and went on as if it had been merely misplaced.

I have good reason to suspect my family, the rationalizations and supposed justifications for their actions too dark to detail here.

Of course I may be, have been, under John Doe investigations for the last decade or longer. I recently have been treated strangely at our bank. My neighbors have been shunning me for the last two years. I got shocked perplexed looks from some in my social endeavors. My “No Sanction” blog has become increasingly political.

Bottom line, this stalking has taken a greater toll on my wellbeing and productivity than I had previously realized. I am having trouble sleeping and feel exhausted the moment I sit down to write. Are lawyers my only recourse? I have a good idea of where to start. Of course they would need to know where the money is; their fee.

Money; it makes all the difference. I chase industry in my life not money. Industry is a goal, an attribute, hard found when one exists in a void, without a catalyst, such as a job, to facilitate its’ development. Self driven, under duress I must regroup and set my mind back to my schedule and strive once more to produce something I believe of value not just to myself but to the larger society.

Perhaps someday the products of my heart, mind, soul and body will be of value to someone. As of now “I have no money.”

“What did you say?” (It is from a song, sorry)

Thank you for reading. God Bless.

2016

It is a new year. My goals have changed. The drafts are piling up and hey need to be put into the computer and edited. New word counts are impractical as a goal, particularly as they dominate the final week of every month; bringing a halt to the myriad aspects of my life with all their implied duties.

The schedule will be the focus this year; making better use of my time. To finish the Second Chuck Hammer, the first of the pioneers trilogy, is another goal. I also committed myself to three new short stories and hopefully more.

To publish the first in “The Partisans of the Blue” trilogy as well as “Life on the Farm” are high on my list of goals. If I cannot complete them this year I must hang my head in shame.

This new focus should allow me to post mid month snippets on from my work on this blog.

I have set no goals in regards to poetry, though… you never know how the spirit will move. I hope to attend a writer’s conference this year. My wife and I have had few to none in the way of vacations for many a year. It will be an appreciated break from the mundane. Here is an article, a bit old, listing writer’s conferences.

I will still track my new word count as it is important to keep account of true vs. perceived results.

Happy Writing, …or reading.