FYI: Word Count Guidelines for Different Genres.

There were some comments raised that my manuscript may be too long, since it comes in at about 96k words and may be ONE reason my queries are rejected. IT MADE ME THINK!  I had spoken with some agents prior regarding word count, and from several sources I had heard at least 75k words. So I did a little more digging, and I post this just for your information.

Keep in mind, THEY ARE JUST GUIDELINES!! There are exceptions to the rules, but if you keep getting rejected, it may be one of the reasons.

This is taken from litreactor.com in a Q&A session with a literary agent.

Adult Fiction:

Anything above 70k but less than 115k (science fiction and fantasy tend to run up around 100k-115k words). The sweet spot for adult is about 90k. 

Middle Grade:

With fun, lighthearted, simple middle grade you’ll want to stay around the 20k-30k word count range. The average middle grade is 30k-40k. Upper middle grade can hit in the 50k word count range (possibly longer, if it's something really special).

Young Adult:

Young adult fiction allows for a lot of flexibility in word count. And as you’ve probably guessed… it is sitting pretty right in between middle grade and adult. YA manuscripts can have a word count anywhere from 55k to 90k.  

Picture Books:

Picture books are generally less than 1000 words. About 500-700 words is perfect. 

Also remember (because there are a bunch of new novel imprints opening their doors), a novella is 40k or less.

Pro tip: Try not to completely tether yourself to word counts. Let your writing take you where you need to go. But use good intuition and follow some of the rules.

I hope that clears up some questions! For me personally, since I am coming in at 96k for YA, I may be pushing the range a bit, so I'll see if there's something else I can take out to put it closer to 90k.  

Let me know if you've heard differently! Thanks!

UPDATED! A New Hope, A New Query Letter...

After posting my query letter, I received some comments that it may be pushing it in terms of length and amount of paragraphs, probably a borderline synopsis if anything. Thank you for the feedback!!!

With that, I decided to put my thinking cap on and consolidate things a little more. Overall I think we have a pretty good outcome - not too long, not too short, just "Goldilocks" sweet!

Please let me know what you think! I appreciated the comments last time.

Dear AGENT XXXXX:

  First of all, I wanted to thank you in advance for your hard work and the time you put in for aspiring authors, despite having an incredibly busy schedule.  On your bio, you have said you are seeking XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX, and for those reasons I feel my manuscript would be a terrific fit for your representation!  I am Unbroken is a YA fiction, most relevant to the paranormal fantasy genre. It currently totals 96,000 words. Those readers enjoying such titles as Alice in Zombieland or The Vampire Diaries will readily identify with its style of writing. 

    Sixteen-year-old Gavin Ashmore had always suspected his family was different, maybe even insane to the point of hearing voices and seeing “ghosts.”  But lifelong loner Gavin doesn’t believe, won’t believe any of it. All of that begins to change after the plane crash however. Gavin begins to see and hear things, just like his family he thought was so crazy.  Because of that ability, he learns that an ancient spirit named Cain has been searching for Gavin, and now that he turned sixteen, Gavin becomes vulnerable to Cain. Gavin learns he is one of many in a long line of Ashmore's that has received the title of Unbroken, the curse bearers. This curse is what keeps Cain stuck between the living and dead worlds, thus imprisoning him in a nearly impenetrable cell.  As with anything, there is still one provision to break Cain free, and that lies within the very heart of Gavin Ashmore.

   To survive, Gavin must learn to fight Cain. He can only do it with the help of his own guardian angel, Alina, a beautiful dark-haired Italian teen who lived centuries ago. As he trains however, Gavin learns he has his own unique ability to manipulate spirits, a talent only one other in history has possessed - Cain. Gavin himself must decide if he will destroy Cain or take his place as one of the most powerful beings on the planet. 

    In trade, I am a dentist, but my heart has always been in writing. I have published several articles in various dental journals, and have even won scholarships by writing essays. I also maintain a blog called “Christian Quits His Day Job,” which describes my process as a writer. However, I am seeking to do more with my passion of writing, and so I turn to you for your help to make this dream come true.

   Thank you so much for your time, which I know is precious. While I have included a sample of the first 5 pages, a partial or full manuscript is ready at your request.

More Rejections = More Query Letter Revisions!

So following a string of about 20 rejections with no requests at all, I figured it was time to go through and revamp things a little more. Since I posted my last query letter, I've since defined what makes my story unique. I also realized that most agents receive thousands of queries, hence the delay in getting back to you.

The hardest part of being a writer is not getting feedback I think.

If not, you go on in your merry way, thinking you've written the best thing on the planet, and it's the agents' problems they aren't taking your manuscript and sending it to every publisher in the world. I decided though if after twenty query rejections, I would go back and revise.

Again, I had to find what was unique about my YA paranormal fantasy when it's a tough sell. Thanks to some already established authors, they helped me to see that my conflict and world building is what makes my book unique.

So I focused on that (It took lots of thinking and deleting) but I really enjoy the final product. I post it here not necessarily for your criticism (though it's always welcome) but more so for your feedback and progress..

Here it is:

Dear AGENT XXXXX:

   First of all, I wanted to thank you in advance for your hard work and the time you put in for aspiring authors, despite having an incredibly busy schedule.  On your bio, you have said you are seeking XXXXXXXXXXXX, and for those reasons I feel my manuscript would be a terrific fit for your representation!

   I am Unbroken is a YA fiction, most relevant to the paranormal fantasy genre. It currently totals 97,000 words. Those readers enjoying such titles as Alice in Zombieland or The Vampire Diaries will readily identify with its style of writing. 

    Sixteen-year-old Gavin Ashmore had always suspected his family was different, maybe even insane to the point of hearing voices and seeing “ghosts.”  His own father had even walked out on the family in a fit of paranoia when Gavin was younger, insisting that someone was after him, putting their whole family in danger.

    But lifelong loner Gavin doesn’t believe, won’t believe any of it. He has other mundane teenage drama to deal with – his politician step-father, the class bullies, and rolling his eyes as the cheerleaders “LOL” with each other.  That’s why he takes it upon himself to wish for a different life on his sixteenth birthday.

    But Gavin wasn’t prepared for how different his life was about to become after the plane crash.

    Following the accident, Gavin begins to see and hear things, just like his family he thought was so crazy.  Because of that ability, he learns that an ancient spirit named Cain has been searching for Gavin, and now that he turned sixteen, Gavin becomes vulnerable to Cain. Gavin learns he is one of many in a long line of Ashmore's that has received the title of Unbroken, the curse bearers. This curse acts as collateral to keep Cain stuck between the living and dead worlds, thus imprisoning him in a nearly impenetrable cell.  As with anything, there is still one provision to break Cain free, and that lies within the very heart of Gavin Ashmore.

   To survive, Gavin must learn to fight Cain. He can only do it with the help of his own guardian angel, Alina, a beautiful dark-haired Italian teen who lived centuries ago. As he trains however, Gavin learns he has his own unique ability to manipulate spirits, a talent only one other in history has possessed - Cain. Gavin himself must decide if he will destroy Cain or take his place as one of the most powerful beings on the planet. 

    In trade, I am a dentist, but my heart has always been in writing. I have published several articles in various dental journals, and have even won scholarships by writing essays. I also maintain a blog called “Christian Quits His Day Job,” which describes my process as a writer. However, I am seeking to do more with my passion of writing, and so I turn to you for your help to make this dream come true.

   Thank you so much for your time, which I know is precious. While I have included a sample of the first 5 pages, a partial or full manuscript is ready at your request. 

A Challenge about Finding Inspiration...from The Write Shadow.

A slow Monday at work turned into an hour long writing session thanks to The Write Shadow (http://www.jessicaschmeidler.com/)

In her post, "Finding Inspiration," she sent the following challenge, and I quote:

"Where do you find your inspiration as a writer? Are you inspired by bits and pieces of life, snippets from books? Do you see where an author could have taken a book and then go write the book you wish you would have read?

One of the most unusual places that I’ve found inspiration to write a few years ago was from a text that was forwarded to me.

I had a creative writing teacher that once said any good writer should be able to take three lines and make three pages or to take three minutes and create three chapters. Is that necessary? Of course not, but at the same time, whether it’s ideal or not, it’s a fun submersion versus pacing exercise.

Even though this is something I wrote a few years back, I thought I’d share it again, along with the text (at the bottom of the story, so you don’t get a huge spoiler alert before you start reading). I’ll leave my own short text-like story underneath, as well. Write a short story inspired by the “text” and then link it below in the comments.

For you: “Here’s a story I thought u would like: A cashier once asked her boss how she could get a promotion. They said she already had. When she didn’t understand, they brought out her file. They said her position as a cashier had been her promotion.”

Since I had some time, I thought I'd take up the challenge since it feels like ages since I've written something creative. Bottom line is, I'd recommend the same for any reader out there! It was totally worth it and fun to write on a topic! Plus, it helped me practice my pacing, voice, and storytelling elements. Thanks for the challenge!

Here is my submission below:


THE PROMOTION

Jamie glanced up at the calendar anxiously, seeing the bold number two coinciding with the word May at the top.

Today was the day…

She looked down at her watch while standing at her yellowing cash register. Jon, the manager at Ted’s Quik Mart would be in soon.

She had woken up determined. Before the sun was even up, Jamie had been practicing her speech, pacing back and forth in her studio apartment where she lived in downtown harlem. Sure enough her cranky old neighbor from down below had issued a complaint. But she didn’t care. Jamie was focused on her prize, and she needed it to move out of the dungy old place.

A ringing bell sound from somewhere in the back declared Jon’s arrival. He had his usual routine of arrival. He would place his crusty sandwich in the mini fridge while humming to himself, check his voicemail which never had any calls, and after about ten minutes of rummaging through his bag, he would appear at the front.

Today marked the fifth year she had been working at Ted’s. She was 22 now, and hoping to save up some kind of money to finally start her own retail clothing business. Jamie believed in what people called the Great American Dream, and she knew she could make it big if she only had some capital. 

A grumble from the large, sweaty man stole her attention away.

“Oh hi,” Jamie said in a mousy voice. “G-Good morning sir.”

Jon looked back at Jamie in a suspicious way. “Mornin,’ and who you callin’ sir? This ain’t no military institution. You actin’ funny today girl. Go make yourself useful and stock the shelves on aisle six.”

“Uh, yes sir…I mean Jon.”

Jamie was a bit deflated after her initial approach was derailed like a bullet train. But she was still determined. Today was the day…

Jamie busied herself, putting the cans of green beans, corn and beets in pristine order, with each label facing perfectly out as she had always been instructed. 

Though there were five employees here, there was little doubt that Jamie would be up for the assistant manager vacancy left when the other had moved out of town. 

Later in the morning, when the initial rush had skidded to a halt, Jamie found herself fidgeting with her dark hair while standing in Jon’s office.

“Jon,” she began, subconsciously glancing at the cat desk calendar. “I have worked here for five years now…”

“And you have been one of my star employees girl,” Jon replied, wiping his forehead of sweat. “Our store is one of the best in the region - mostly because of me no doubt – but I’m sure a little credit could go your way.”

Jamie swallowed back on the pride that had begun welling up. “Exactly…and I was wondering if –“

“If you could go serve that customer up front?” Jon replied, taking a bite out of his Hostess cake.

Frustration was brewing as Jamie smirked back at Jon. “Of course boss. I’ll get right to it.”

So the rest of the day went with Jamie. Every time she’d make an attempt at talking with her boss, there was an excuse from Jon. In the end, she had cleaned the bathrooms twice, rearranged the magazines three times, mopped the floor four times, and had no lunch break to top it all off.

With shoulders shrugging after a hard day’s work, the sun long gone down now, she picked up her things and took one last look at the clock. Midnight…

I thought today would be the day.

Though Jon had left during most of the day, he had come back at night to ensure everything went well with closing. He sat back in his chair, munching on a moon pie.

“Night Jon,” she said, sulking. “See you tomorrow for another day.”

Jon sat up in his old chair, eliciting a tired creak from it. “Now hold it right there Jamie,” he said as his expression morphed. “What’s got you down sugar?”

Feeling a tightening grip in her throat, Jamie let a tear well up in one of her eyes. “I just-“ She started, and choked back the pride, anger, and frustration that had brewed all day. “I just wanted to talk to you about what I can do to get the promotion…you know, to the assistant manager position.”

Jon cleared his throat, nodding. “Oh that,” he said. “I knew you’d bring that one up…I just figured I’d keep you busy enough to make you forget. Well you ain’t gettin’ it, so just move on.”

Jamie clenched her fists tight. “But Jon, I work hard, I’m on time every day, I’ve done everything you’ve asked and no customer has ever complained -“

“Now I don’t wanna hear it honey,” Jon replied. “I wanna tell you somethin,’ you know about your promotion.”

All Jamie could do was purse her lips and nod.

Jon stood now, easily a foot taller than Jamie and three times as wide. “Did I ever tell you about how I became manager here?”

“No…” Jamie wanted to say that she didn’t really care, but just tilted her head.

“I was homeless, in a real bad spot in life,” Jon said, shaking his head. “I was way past rock bottom, almost threw myself down at the river bottom actually.”

Jamie’s expression had begun to soften as she listened.

“Fifteen years ago today actually, I was on my way down to the Hudson to kill myself. Done with life…it had nothin’ to offer a vagrant man like myself.”

Jamie wiped her tear from the corner of her eye, unsure now if it was from hearing his story or from her feelings earlier.

“I walked right by this store on my way from the alley, and there was Ted Crockett himself, standing in the doorway. He asks, ‘Son, you fixing to do somethin’ bad tonight?’ And all I could do was tell him I was headin’ to end my life, that I’d gotten in too deep and needed an end.”

“And then?” Jamie replied.

“He asks me if I’d like a promotion then. And I just looked at him all dumbfounded and flabbergasted and such, like what is this kook talkin’ bout? But he says I need a promotion in life, a promotion from bein’ homeless, a promotion from headin’ down the dark path.”

“Oh,” Jamie replied, though it was she could muster. She eyed her sandals in understanding.

“So here I am thanks to that promotion. I have a woman, two kids, and a nice apartment down on one thirty eighth. I couldn’t ask for anything else. Livin’ the dream, for reals though.”

Jamie knew that building, and knew it wasn’t in much better shape than her own, but to him it had been a “dream.”

Jon continued now, a tear rolling down his own cheek. “You already got that promotion honey…it didn’t take rock bottom to get you there. You got that promotion that saved you from that life on the streets, and I hope you know that.”

Jamie reached around and gave the large man a hug, though her hands only reached part way onto his shoulders.

“Okay,” Jamie replied, her face wet. “I know that…my business can wait…thanks for the promotion Jon.”

Jamie reached down and grabbed her things, looking back at Jon who was now wiping his nose with the same sweat handkerchief .

“That’s what I wanted to hear honey,” Jon replied. “That’s what I wanted…now I’ll need you to be in here tomorrow an extra half hour early.”

“But-“ Jamie started.

Jon smiled, a large, somewhat toothless grin. “Tomorrow you start as my assistant manager, and I have a lot of work cut out for you.”

Jamie shouted, making Jon trip over his desk chair. Another half hug was thrown over Jon.

Jon cleared his throat one more time and said, “But never forget your first promotion honey.”

Let me know if you did it! What you think about it, or what you think about the story! Thanks for reading!

-C

Making the Cut. Being a Little Heartless. #AmEditing

Thanks to a recent pitch/query contest (Pitch2Pub16), I came to the sad realization that although I had written a solid first chapter in terms of grammar, punctuation, and content, there was something lacking. The aforementioned contest requested authors to send in the first five pages of our manuscripts, only then did I realize something...

My first five pages were not attention-getting. They were not engrossing. There was only one word for those pages, and that was EXPOSITION. 

All I was doing was detailing character relationships, setting up for the inciting incident, which evidently took more than five pages.

At first I was frustrated that all I could send were 5 pages. I thought, if only I could send the whole first chapter, or even three chapters, then they would see. 

But then it hit me. With today's fast-paced, gotta-have-it-now generation of millennials, that is exactly what's required.

I once heard that a website has 1.54 seconds to draw a visitor in. I suppose now that applies to our novels, only we have 5 pages to make an impact, to place the inciting action, to spin an attention-getter so sweet, it won't just be swiped left and put into the "delete" pile.

I realize this may not apply to all audiences, but for YA, it no doubt applies, and I'm sure it'll only get worse with time.

So, I cut the whole first chapter...

Highlight.

Delete.

It felt a little like this at first:

Maybe I lost a little piece of my soul when I cut those 3,000 words. But it feels right.

See the following two examples of my first three pages:

BEFORE: 

From somewhere close by a rooster was crowing…

A big white chicken morphed into my dream and suddenly I was a farmer being chased by a big white, fluffy chicken.  Something just didn’t click.

“Gavin…” An airy voice called out from some distant land.

With a sleep-numbed hand I plopped it onto the source of the rooster crowing. My phone must have been crowing all morning – the battery was already down to half.

“Gavin,” the voice called again softly. “Wake up…it’s your birthday…”

March 7^th.

And then it hit me just as a wave of chocolate permeated my senses – snapping me awake like smelling salts. I creaked open one of my eyes to the hilarious sight of my mom holding a flaming cupcake.

One step closer to eighteen – it couldn’t come soon enough…

“Mom,” I muttered, half-embarrassed, half-grateful. “We don’t have to do this you know…I am sixteen after all…most kids my age have already gotten pregnant and gone on MTV…”

“Well,” my mom replied, rubbing my hair in a maternal sort of way. “You will do neither of those while I’m around…especially the MTV thing…it’s too cliché these days...”

I couldn’t keep the smile from creasing my face. Though she was my mom, it always seemed like our relationship was much more mature than that.

“You got it Sue,” I conceded, leaning up halfway out of my knotted Pac-Man bedspread.  She always hated when I called her that. “Shall we get this over with then, a happy birthday song or fireworks or something?”

The wax had already spread across where the frosting should have been, leaving only a tiny stubble burning.

“Not before your wish mister! And you know my first name…it’s M-O-M…I gave up my real name when you came into the picture…”

“Sure thing M-O-M” I replied smugly. The only reply was a sudden pillow to the face.

I wish today would be different…

I repeated it, what must have been a million times in my head, because I wanted it so badly to be true. Ever since my dad left, and my step dad stepped into the picture, my life had taken a turn for the mundane and torturous.

And with a quick processional happy birthday song, I blew out the candles, engraving my wish in my mind.  With a quick curtsy, my mom ran out of the room, yelling for me to get ready since I was late already.

I scooped up one of my red band tees tossed over the bed post, and smoothed my shaggy dark hair while examining myself in the mirror. I looked deeply into the green eyes that stared back at me.

I wish today would be different…

Strike one to my wish came as I was walking down the hallway toward the stairs, when suddenly a jabbing pain came out of nowhere. That could only mean one thing.

“Happy birthday d-bag!” Connor Sherman called out as he threw a high velocity punch into my arm.  Connor stood slightly taller than me, either because of his blond, poofy hair or his stuck-up-in-the-air nose.  But he was the spitting image of my step dad Tom.

“Thanks Con-stipated,” I called out – it was the only thing I could come up with at the time. “And good luck scoring a point tonight in the big game…I think you’ll need it…”

I couldn’t wipe the smugness off my face as I met his fierce glare threatening me – though it startled me when walking into the kitchen the same exact loathing stare sat across from me behind the morning newspaper.

“You’re late…” Tom growled, returning to the headlines. “You think it’s your birthday or something princess…”

AFTER:

I choked against the thick smoke filling the air.

            Desperately glancing left and right, the only thing I noticed was the sheer panic on the other seven passengers in the tiny plane.

            I was going to die.

            I willed my eyelids shut, aware of a horrible noise filling the air. The smell of gasoline and something burning made a pungent combination in my nose.

             Muffled sobs came from a couple nearby that had been holding hands a second ago. Shouting from one of the businessmen was being directed at one of the flight attendants. And that annoying noise kept ringing in my ears.

            It was as if someone had taken the fastest roller coaster in the world and placed it on top of Mount Everest. My stomach felt as if it were sitting on the ceiling by now. The plunging motion was sickening and exhilarating at the same time.

            In my last moments before I would completely black out, a million questions formed in my mind…

            Why had I agreed to go on this stupid tiny plane my stepdad had arranged?

            What would it be like to die? Would I even notice it? Or was there nothing after?

Where was the pilot now if he was even still alive? I should’ve known he would kill us, acting so weird before the flight.

And what in the world was that stupid noise?

            And then it hit me, right before I succumbed to the engulfing darkness. That noise was me. Unaware I was screaming at the top of my lungs, my disembodied self finally came to the realization. Fear had taken hold.

            Another loud crash as something mechanical failed and stole my nerves away.

            More screaming.

            More crying.

            More shouting.

            The choking had become unbearable. The steep motion was overwhelming now. 

            A wave of something like relief and fear washed over me as the shouting, crying, and screaming suddenly died down.

            I would die soon also.

            I tried to gasp one last breath out, but it was stifled. Rolling my eyes back into my skull, darkness swallowed me whole.

            The last thing I could hear was one more deafening crash.

            Then...

Nothing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A faint light danced in front of my face. I would’ve reached out and grabbed it had I some kind of an arm to get it. It felt like my consciousness had somehow continued living somewhere between life and death. I just was. Time had no meaning – I could’ve been staring at this thing for the past century and I would’ve had no idea.

Though the light was dim at first, it was almost blinding now, even though I had no eyes to actually see the thing. 

The light exploded in the darkness where I now existed, only to be replaced suddenly by a figure - a girl in fact.

She must have been an angel, because she was singly the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. In stark contrast to the chaotic rush before the darkness, she stood calmly looking down at me. Her skin was porcelain white, while her hair sat in tight, jet-black ringlets on her head. Her eyes were the purest blue that could have been created. Flowing white wisps surrounded her as her dress enveloped her body.  On her face, she wore an expression of pity.

I tried to reach an arm up to her, but it felt at the moment like I was just an observer, not an actor in the play. She spoke, almost singing as she did so. Though she looked in my direction, it didn’t seem like she was speaking to me, but to some invisible force.

It sounded like some kind of Latin to me. “Sanetus.”

She repeated it over again, as she reached out her gentle fingers. A glowing ball of light appeared at the tip of her index finger, and she immediately placed it where my forehead should have been.

She spoke again, “You must not die Gavin Ashmore…you are the one…I know it.”

I bolted up in what must have been a body bag.

It took a loss to figure out where I needed to go. Countless rejections prior to this point, I am now hopeful this will add the needed flash to engage my agent/editor/reader and move to the next level. It's hard to edit, remove whole chapters, but sometimes it is just what is needed to make the story go from well-written mediocrity to nail-biting insatiable, must-read literature.

Join me this week and cut out some fluff!

I would love your comments, please DM me or mention me @CHSmithAuthor

As always, thank you for reading. 

The NEW First Chapter of I Am Unbroken.

As with any book, it is a living, breathing creature, and it's always changing. After submitting to some editor contests, and reading through my own work, I feel as though I put too much background information.  So, in effect, I've rewritten the first three chapters to better reflect what readers demand these days.

AND I FEEL GREAT ABOUT IT! 

Please read it and let me know what you think (Twitter DM or comment here) I would love to hear your feedback!

The Otherworld Series Book 1: I Am Unbroken

A Novel By

Christian Smith

PART 1 -- LIFE

Chapter 1 – Turbulence

            I choked against the thick smoke filling the air.

            Desperately glancing left and right, the only thing I noticed was the sheer panic on the other seven passengers in the tiny plane.

            I was going to die.

            I willed my eyelids shut, aware of a horrible noise filling the air. The smell of gasoline and something burning made a pungent combination in my nose.

             Muffled sobs came from a couple nearby that had been holding hands a second ago. Shouting from one of the businessmen was being directed at one of the flight attendants. And that annoying noise kept ringing in my ears.

            It was as if someone had taken the fastest roller coaster in the world and placed it on top of Mount Everest. My stomach felt as if it were sitting on the ceiling by now. The plunging motion was sickening and exhilarating at the same time.

            In my last moments before I would completely black out, a million questions formed in my mind…

            Why had I agreed to go on this stupid tiny plane my stepdad had arranged?

            What would it be like to die? Would I even notice it? Or was there nothing after?

Where was the pilot now if he was even still alive? I should’ve known he would kill us, acting so weird before the flight.

And what in the world was that stupid noise?

            And then it hit me, right before I succumbed to the engulfing darkness. That noise was me. Unaware I was screaming at the top of my lungs, my disembodied self finally came to the realization. Fear had taken hold.

            Another loud crash as something mechanical failed and stole my nerves away.

            More screaming.

            More crying.

            More shouting.

            The choking had become unbearable. The steep motion was overwhelming now. 

            A wave of something like relief and fear washed over me as the shouting, crying, and screaming suddenly died down.

            I would die soon also.

            I tried to gasp one last breath out, but it was stifled. Rolling my eyes back into my skull, darkness swallowed me whole.

            The last thing I could hear was one more deafening crash.

            Then...

Nothing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A faint light danced in front of my face. I would’ve reached out and grabbed it had I some kind of an arm to get it. It felt like my consciousness had somehow continued living somewhere between life and death. I just was. Time had no meaning – I could’ve been staring at this thing for the past century and I would’ve had no idea.

Though the light was dim at first, it was almost blinding now, even though I had no eyes to actually see the thing. 

The light exploded in the darkness where I now existed, only to be replaced suddenly by a figure - a girl in fact.

She must have been an angel, because she was singly the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. In stark contrast to the chaotic rush before the darkness, she stood calmly looking down at me. Her skin was porcelain white, while her hair sat in tight, jet-black ringlets on her head. Her eyes were the purest blue that could have been created. Flowing white wisps surrounded her as her dress enveloped her body.  On her face, she wore an expression of pity.

I tried to reach an arm up to her, but it felt at the moment like I was just an observer, not an actor in the play. She spoke, almost singing as she did so. Though she looked in my direction, it didn’t seem like she was speaking to me, but to some invisible force.

It sounded like some kind of Latin to me. “Sanetus.”

She repeated it over again, as she reached out her gentle fingers. A glowing ball of light appeared at the tip of her index finger, and she immediately placed it where my forehead should have been.

She spoke again, “You must not die Gavin Ashmore…you are the one…I know it.”

I bolted up in what must have been a body bag.

What Heaven is for Me

I would like to say that I've been so busy writing or editing or working with my agent/editor that I haven't had time for blogging, but to be completely transparent, I have been in a slump. Every time I log in to the computer, I think, "I need to go through this part of my manuscript" or "I should write a blog post about this," but I haven't had the strength nor determination to do so. To be quite honest, I've not only hit a writer's block, but a whole mountain. 

It's hard not to see your novel progressing anywhere.

It's hard to receive rejections time and time again, wondering if your writing is inadequate, or if the agent really isn't interested in your story.

Either way, I decided to write about something that makes me happy. Because that's one of the primary roles of writing, to bring joy.

I wanted to write about what Heaven is for me. 

Heaven is hearing the tiny pitter-pattering of footsteps early in the morning, just as the sun begins to peek through the shades, only to follow with my little girl rubbing her tired eyes and smiling to me as she comes into my room.

Heaven is a quiet night with my wife, talking, dreaming, or reminiscing about our travels together. Sharing a brownie, watching a movie and laughing together, or even just doing our own things but being in the same room together.

Heaven is the dream that one day I will get the call that I have an agent, someone who will fight tooth and nail for the story I am just as passionate about.

Heaven is sitting down in a Barnes and Noble, sipping some Starbucks while picking up whatever book grabs my attention nearby. Just the mere idea and act of having the time to do such a thing is a dream of the past.

Heaven is coming home to receive a dowsing of tiny hugs and kisses from the ones I love most. Even after the most tiring, most demanding day of work, anything bad that had happened in the day is instantly left at the door.

Heaven is watering my garden, watching the green little sprouts grow into giant fruit-producing plants and then eating the harvest.

Heaven is the peace that comes when everything in my life is just right, and I know that God is happy with me.

Finally, Heaven is being able to sit down and just write. About anything.

Have a great day, and do some writing if it has been a while.

-C

Adult Novel with a Former Businessman Turned Conman with a Splash of Romance. White Collar with You've Got Mail.

I was just messing around yesterday, as I like to write first chapters of new ideas that tickle my fancy. Let me know what you think of this story. Do you want to know more? Should I keep going? Eh, eh?

Chapter One -

Rain pitter-pattered against a tiny glass window somewhere in New York.

Patrick Birch sat alone in his studio apartment just off Crown Heights in Northeast Brooklyn.

Doing nothing again, thought Patrick, as he readjusted the rabbit ears on top of his TV. Patrick didn’t even jump at the sound of sirens that had just started blaring outside his window. Another night of furious yelling and rap music had begun to replace the reassuring sound of crickets that used to fill the summer air.

Instead of cherry blossoms and rose petals, the air in his apartment was filled with a mixture of marijuana smell and fast food from the surrounding apartments.

Instead of a monthly salary, a generous 401K, and benefits, Patrick now relied on that once-a-month deposit from welfare and insurance from the state. Heaven forbid I should have to go to the doctor, Patrick thought, having just caught reception of the local Fox News.

Patrick held his breath, inhaling a deep breath of perfume a la McDonald’s Fries, and gently let the antenna go. There were still a few lines running through the picture, but that was as good as it got around here these days.

Examining the living room-kitchen-bedroom combo where Patrick spent most of his days, a visitor would only spot a patched-up recliner and a counter full of various Ramen noodle boxes and old fast food bags.

If there were a bottom, Patrick had not only hit it, but had been camping out at it for two years now.

Gone was the colonial-style mansion in upstate New York. Gone were the days of meeting with clients and eating lunches that were more than his monthly pension. Gone were the days with her. Patrick almost cringed at the thought of her. He quickly shifted his weight back into his chair, because it would only bring pain.

The last time Patrick had thought of his ex-wife was six months ago, and that was completely unintentional and unavoidable. He had seen her in Queens, wearing her Chanel bag, and her Loubuitin pumps, using the money from the divorce no doubt.

That was reason enough to never leave the apartment ever again.

Patrick took a fork of salty noodles to his mouth and narrowed his eyes on the News lady. A brunette by the name of Hope Anders, she was easy on the eyes and ears, and had become the sole feature of his nightly entertainment.

Suddenly, the square box at the corner of the screen shifted to a picture of one of the most talked-about women in New York as of late. She was far out of Patrick’s league, a beautiful brunette with not only looks, but massive amounts of power, which had only grown in the past week.

The newly-widowed Allison Barnett had just become one of the most powerful figures in New York industry. Her former husband was none other than the CEO of Golden Bank Investing Group, or GoBIG as it was colloquially known.

Hope Anders reported from the TV, “Following the sudden passing of her late husband, Ms. Barnett received word from her husband’s attorney she was to step down from her position on the board to become the newly-appointed CEO of the investment giant.”

A recorded feed earlier from the day showed Allison Barnett walking out of an office building in Lower Manhattan, shielding her face from either the sun or the horde of reporters surrounding her with a bombardment of questions. Her only two words as she looked into the camera was a somber, “No comment, thank you.”

It was either sadness or fear that trembled from her voice, but it was enough to cause a sting in Patrick’s heart. He took another mouthful of noodles and pushed the Styrofoam cup up to his face to drink the broth. Liquid that smelled of chicken splashed onto the beard that had grown over Patrick’s face in recent years.

He stood up, peeking out the blinds at the flashing lights that seemed like strobe lights in his tiny apartment.

He missed his old life, to say otherwise would be a lie to himself. He missed the fancy dinners, the shiny new toys, and the power – Oh, the power – as Chief Editor of the publishing company Simon & Schuster, he had power to grant life or death to not only books, but also his employees. The world was at his knees for a time.

Then the divorce happened. And everything, even his job, was stolen from Patrick.

Patrick smirked to himself as he stood by the last vestige of his past life, a small crate full of some of his favorite books he had come across during his fifteen year tenure at Simon & Schuster.

He let himself graze the bindings of the ten or so books that had made his own bestseller list. A murder mystery involving set in Victorian England, a science fiction book about time traveling. His head was full of so many stories from the past years, some good, some not so good, but between watching the news lady and trimming his nails immaculately, there wasn’t much else to entertain Peter.

So, he would replay the stories he knew so well in his head.

As he turned his head, Patrick’s finger fell on the last book on the right, one that he hadn’t thought about in a long time. With a hesitant look, he had an idea either so brilliant or so ridiculous, it didn’t matter anymore.

A hardback book with a red cover showed on the binding the title, The Con Man’s Woman.

Hmmmm, Patrick hummed to himself.

What if?

Maybe there was a way to have my life back…

Patrick turned back to the television where Hope Anders was wrapping up her coverage on Allison Barnett, speaking about the volatile stocks of GoBIG.

The irony hit Patrick that hope was exactly what he was looking for, and this woman newscaster had just given that to him.

Patrick looked up at the tiny round mirror that hung crookedly on the wall. He smiled to himself, a face he no longer recognized, shrouded by dark facial hair and years of hygienic neglect.

He almost laughed out loud at the brazenness of his idea. But what was there to lose?

He could almost taste the fine wine, the hundred dollar steaks, and that power that never satiated but always teased like a cruel mistress.

It would be his again…

Patrick was going to con Allison Barnett.

The Writing Life Cycle for Me a la GIF format

Hello everybody!

In conjunction with last week's GIF ensemble, I thought it would be appropriate to illustrate my process as a writer! I'm sure you can all relate! 

Hope you enjoy it! #CurethecaseoftheMondays

You're at work or playing with the kids, and then it happens...It all starts out with an idea so brilliant (at least to you) you HAVE to write it down.

You mull it over for a while the temptation grows...

thinking should I? Can I really write a novel? Little old me?

And then you convince yourself that yes...YOU can write the next great American novel!

In the beginning...

After about two hours of this.

You do this...

And this...

UNTIL...(something clicks)

And the MOJO magically starts flowing.

BUT then it suddenly stops. The dreaded MENTAL BLOCK be like:

And YOU be like:

Until you see or hear that one thing that inspires you to keep going:

And you FINALLY break the block with the BEST IDEA EVER.

Then you be all like:

Every now and then you catch a typo that makes you smirk to yourself..like the time you wrote "..and he took out his large ballpoint penis," INSTEAD of "..and he took out his large ballpoint pens," Oops.

Then, you put the last period and write "THE END." You utter  two words...

What you expect finishing your manuscript will be like:

What it really ends up being like...

Happy Monday! Write something great this week!

#writerslife #Iamawriter

-C