Wednesday, October 30, 2013

First Story Editor's Meeting

Tonight was the first meeting of the story editors (my two girls) for our bit of fan fiction called "The Last of War" that we will get started during the madness known as National Novel Writing Month (or nanowrimo, for short).  

"The Last of War" is a story about one of our favorite comic book heroes, Wonder Woman.  That's right, it's a Wonder Woman story.  Don't judge.  

From my perspective, she is one of the most intriguing characters around given her roots in Greek mythology.  Yet, few comic writers and artists really find the core of who Diana is and fewer still give her a really good adventure complete with super villians, larger-than-life monsters and epic battles where she lead and inspire others in the midst of battle.  

My two girls and I really feel there should be a movie or three made about Wonder Woman that would have all of this in it.  Since none is in the works, I thought we would have fun and make our own.

So, the girls are the story editors and I am the head writer.  We had our first meeting, tonight.  I showed them my first set of notecards for the story (it's a fancy app for the iPad that works really well).  As I laid out the story, they then tell me if they "got" it and then they offer their suggestions and changes.  

I'm excited just because this is a story I've seen play out in my head so often, I feel like I know every part of it.  It will feel good to get it out, finally.

The first bit is a prelude I call "The Lost Letter", which introduces a lot of the Greek heroes who are in the background, and whose legacy continues through Diana aka Wonder Woman. 

Next up, the last of the Olympians is freed by an Atlantian Queen and a horde of zombie warriors.  Good times!

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

New

I guess this has become a thing now...

Last year, I engaged in a crazy thirty days of writing frenzy along with a few hundred thousand of my closest friends, and I actually got a novel written thanks to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  

Now that I've fiuled "Blood Iron Cross" under "do something with this some day!", I've decided that I like writing very much.  I would like to do some more of it in hopes of one day doing it well.  So, instead of giving this blog the name of one novel, I've changed it to encompass all and future creative ventures.  "Camp Wanderlust" is... an interesting title (at least, to me).

The title may seem odd, so a word of explaination:  You see, I used to keep notebooks full of moody and dark poetry and some story ideas, and the title of my favorite one was "Wanderlust."  This is because I had terrible wanderlust, wandering all over the woods near my home, and all about.  I always felt driven to see what was over the next ridge from Ridge Road.  That inspired the poetry and story ideas, so, "Wanderlust" seemed like a good name for my blog.  Alas, many others thought the same, so it was quite unavailable for a blog title.  Also, Project: Wanderlust was taken.  So, why not go to camp?  After all, this is a bit of a retreat... a vacation, right?

Well, really what this IS is a caffinated frenzy that you layer onto your already zany life with responsibilities to job, children and wife that are still going to be there through these thirty days in November when you will be writing a novel with hundreds of thousands of other people who support each other online and in gatherings called "Write-ins" (this, by the way, is a run-on sentence, and a writing no-no most of the time... but, sometimes they can be fun).


So... care to join/pray for/heckle me as I dive into NaNoWriMo 2013? If you are participating, find BlueJago if you need a writing buddy.

I'll share more of this year's project, soon.  The only thing I'll say is that my two children have agreed to be my assistant editors this year.

Cheers!

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Day 29 - Winner!




 It turns out my final word count was 55735.  And thus ends my month of insanity.  It was a crazy, caffeine infused, literary blitz.  And its not done.

I've learned a lot of things over the past month.  Chief among the lessons is WRITING IS A HABIT.  Once you are in the groove, you have to stay there and keep slugging away. 

Next up: I have a number of professional projects I've put on the back burner.  Of course, the Christmas season means a lot of writing if you are a pastor, so there's that, too.  Come to think of it, I guess I'm kind of used to the kind of insanity it takes to crank out a NaNo project.  So, I just have to think of extending the insanity by a few more months of my life if I want to keep up this new habit. 

So, its not pretty.  I'm not sure I will find the time to polish it off (I hope so, I kind of got attached to the characters).  But, its one idea that is not keeping me up at night, any more.  Here is a final excerpt from the end of the novel, and the end of Daniel's quest for answers.  Thank you, everyone, for your support!

The metal hinges gave an audible squeak in protest as they were opened. Bertha went in first, with her flashlight darting around, trying to find the dimensions of the room. She gasped, realizing how close the two walls on either side of her were, and then she nearly pitched forward before realizing that there were a few steps down. She walked in a few steps. What was ahead of her was a narrow corridor with just enough room for one person to get by. On either side of the corridor, there were small shelves of votive candles.
Daniel found some matches at the first station, and he decided to light some of the candles as they went. “Why not?,” the thought, “they can be for our family, the FBI agents and the others who had to die for whatever it is that we are about to find.”
At the fourth shelf, they were about twenty feet back. A shadowy figure at the end of the corridor made Bertha gasp, and fall back a step. Daniel dropped the match he was holding, and swung his flashlight to the end of the corridor. It was a horse’s head in front of them. It seemed to be coming out of the stone wall ahead of them. On top of the horse statue was a rider, with his arm extended to the side. At the end of the arm, a sword. As the flashlight shone on the statue, it glimmered. There were milky white gemstones randomly inserted all over the rider and his horse.
That statue of a rider was at the end of the corridor. When they got to it, they found the corridor bent to the left, in the direction the sword was pointing. It only went a short way until another rider was in front of them, this time a side profile was coming out from the wall, and this sword was pointed forward. The light of their torches glistened on red gemstones this time.
“Ah,” Daniel grunted.
“What is it?”
“I think I know… this is from the Bible.”
“Which part?”
“Revelation. The end. Well… and a section of Zachariah too…”
“Daniel…”, Bertha knew she had to cut the professor off before he launched into a Bible Study.
“Sorry. Habit,” he said. “It’s the four horsemen. Revelation six. First, the white rider that conquers. Second, is the red rider, for war.”
Bertha got to the red horse, and shone her light down the next corridor that bent to her right.
“I’m guessing that next came the black rider?”
Her light shone ahead on a figure coming out of the wall to her left, and pointing his sword to the right, down the next corridor. He had black gemstones that looked like opals dotting his statue.
The next bend was to the left, again. And here, the statue that was carved into the wall was a full side profile of a rider with no gemstones dotting it. It looked as if it were whitewashed. The rider’s head bend down. The sword was sheathed.
“Its the pale rider. Death.” Daniel said, solemnly.
The bend of the pale rider’s head indicated the direction they were to go. They made their way to the end of the last corridor.


Monday, November 26, 2012

Day 26 Limping Across The Finish

Cover for "Blood Iron Cross" by Michi Hitchcock.
    Well, I just wrote the last three chapters in a fit of caffeine and madness.  Final word count = 53889. 
It ain't over until you upload your story, but I'm still amazed I got to 50,000 words after just deciding to do this on November 1. 
    I'm hoping that sometime over the next two days, I'll be able to let my so-called "inner editor" out for some play time.  Maybe fill in some of the plot holes.  No matter what shape it is in, I'll upload Thursday so I can celebrate over the weekend.
     What an experience!  The biggest thing I learned is that I can do it. And, guess, what? Its actually a lot of fun!
     I'm not sure who would want to read a murder/mystery, gothic horror, historic fiction kind of story, but if you are, I'll see if I can put it in some sort of downloadable format. 
      Look for a final excerpt toward the end of the week in celebration of completing NaNoWriMo!
 
Oh, and did you notice the new graphic?  Many, many thanks to Michi Hitchcock, who designed a cool novel cover for me. 

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Day 20 And Choppin' Wood

It has not been the most exciting week of writing since my last post. 

But, here, having the goal of 50,000 words and the deadline coming up at the end of the month is what pushes me to write - even if it is just a little bit, each day.  Paraphrasing a Maddanism (John Madden, football commentator - he had a handful of quirky sayings that those of us who have spent any time playing the Madden football video game have memorized): "Some words, are better than none words."  Madden used "yards", but you get the idea.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I've found it to be completely addictive.  Being able to get some of the scenes in my head out and give them some life of their own is such a thing.  I completely get the NaNo philosophy that the biggest thing is to get the story out.  You can edit later.

In the olden days, you had to spend your spare time chopping wood for the winter.  It was a tedious task, to be sure.  But the family survived on doing some chopping each day.  Chop, chop, chop!

I'd say that right now, I'm pretty much through the chopping part.  In fact, I think that right now, I am in the grip of a full on obsession.  I just passed the 40k word mark and the end of the novel is in sight.  Its like a fever dream.  Every time I close my eyes, I'm seeing the movie of my novel end, and now I really want to close the deal.

Maybe I'll finish early and have time to fix the fact that one of my characters has died three different ways and at three different times in the story? I hope so. 

Thanks for praying for me and encouraging me through this! Happy Thanksgiving!


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Day 13 - Describing Is Fun

I've been thinking about what I am learning this month by writing my first novel for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  One of the things about writing fiction is describing the environment and getting the reader to see what is in your head.  I've read from other writers that this is a balancing act.  Too much, and you are boring the reader.  Too little and you are confusing the reader.

Below is a paragraph where I could have gotten really bogged down in the describing.  The characters are walking through Glen Echo Park in Maryland, which is a party for the eyes with all the Art Deco buildings painted in vivid colors.  Instead of getting overwrought, I decided to just have fun with it.  See what you think... (remember - writing quickly, no editor = NaNoWriMo):

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For, Professor Kremmin and Agent Moran, it was like passing through a doorway into a completely different world. They walked up the path deeper into park, Nellie felt that she would not be at all surprised to suddenly be walking on Yellow Brick Road and coming upon Munchkin Land in the Wizard of Oz. She could not help but stare at first large building they came to, which was in the middle of the park. It looked like someone had dumped a giant scoop of rainbow sherbet onto the pavement. The lime green, raspberry red and lemony yellow colors all cascaded in stripes down the dome, which stopped at a series of small diamond shaped windows going around the ring, and then the colors picked up again with a different roof that was pitched at more of an angle. All around the circle house, the pitched roof protected a series of doors and windows that continued the sherbet colored pattern. The house stood like peacock proudly displaying its bright feathers. For Agent Moran, it offered a much needed diversion from the intensity of the last few weeks. 

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Excerpt from Confession, Part One

13 Oktober, Year of our Lord 1886

Dr. Henry James Kremmin, formally Heinrich Jacob von Kremmin to
The Very Rev. Dr. Joseph Augustus Bommenhauser

Greetings:

It has been a sincere pleasure working with you these past seventeen years and with the Most Rev. Martin J. Henni building our orphanage and our university dedicated to the blessed Saint Boniface. I hope and pray earnestly that with my family fortune depleted, save for what I need to provide for my wife and children, some ghosts of the past may find final rest - a small price to pay!  As my family travels west to begin a new life, I wish you to pray for us.  Too many specters haunt my dreams.  There are too many dark memories of what had taken place where our university now sits.  I like to think that we came to this place of hell, but are now leaving it in your hands, re-consecrated and newly hallowed ground.  It is no longer Hell, but rather a Pleasant Prairie near Lake Michigan.
There is only one thing that remains - that you hear my earnest confession revealing all the facts of what has led us to this time and place. The sins that were committed were of the most heinous sort, and I played no small part in the whole tragic opera. I only ask that when the curtain closes, you take this testimony of mine to the hallowed spot they will lay your body. There it must remain until our Lord comes to judge, and may He be merciful to me, wretched creature that I am.
Father, forgive me, for I have gravely sinned. Here is my confession:

It was the year 1851. At the tender age of thirteen, I had already begun my pre-medical studies in my native Prussia. Our names were different then, and we were part of a prominent family that supplied much of the Prussian army, at the time. The members of my family were among the Kaiser’s most trusted advisers and my father was, in fact, his personal and trusted doctor.
My father seemed to me a good man, but I did not know at the time of his penchant for experimental science. He had a secret laboratory where he would conduct the most unholy procedures upon all manner of beasts, hoping to extract from them something that would add to our humanity. My father would whisper in the ear of the Kaiser, promising a sort of tonic that could enhance the soldiers of his army - perhaps giving them increased strength or aggression on the battle field. I found out later that my father had indeed distilled such a tonic, and he experimented first with members of our own family. The results were catastrophic. The madness that descended upon our entire house was swift and vengeful. When all looked hopeless and irreversible, my father stole away with me in the middle of the night. Reports later came to us that the keep was to be found with the blood of our family covering the walls as the people therein let loose all their basest desires in one night’s orgy of blood and insanity. The few that were left by the time the dawn’s light had broken the next morning, were dispatched by the army soldiers that had come to investigate. My father and I had already fled at that point.  As we left in haste, the only indication that anything was amiss were the screams I heard behind us as left.
 With his forces depleted and shaken, the Kaiser thought it best to cut short his first invasion of Denmark that was underway and peace came following the first Silesian War of Prussia. I mention this only because it gives me cold comfort that something good could come from the depths of such bottomless evil.
We came first to America by the mighty river, the Mississippi, and sailed northward from Louisiana to St. Louis and then to Davenport and Rockford. Going from place to place, my father would find work plying his medical profession, with me as his assistant. We traveled further north and east, and came to the state of Wisconsin and friends of our family who had started a small medical college near Lake Michigan. My father, Carl Augustus, had this all planned out in advance, apparently. Our family friends had possession of a portion of our family's wealth as well as some of my father's equipment, wwhich he had the foresight to send ahead of him. We retrieved these and helped to found the medical college they were building near a way station near Milwaukee. My father became the school’s first headmaster and I completed my training.
Several years later, the United States was at war with itself. Along with some of the other young men at the college, I became enamored with the cause of the northern states. I left my father and our family fortune to pursue what I felt was the cause of freedom and justice. If I may be permitted a small boast,  I was found to have a taste for working under the terrible pressures of war.   I  first made my way back down to the Mississippi River and found myself aboard an Ironclad ship, the U.S.S. Essex. We had the advantage of the most modern armaments thanks to our benefactor and Captain, a man of means. It was after I had proven myself time and again, saving the lives of several sailors, that he truly thought of me as his son, and I thought him my father. I also made the fast acquaintance of two Lieutenants by the names of Osborn and Sullivan.
As our tour of duty ended in 1865, my comrade, Sullivan, fell ill with tuberculosis. We were wondering where to take him for treatment, and I thought of our medical college in Wisconsin. It would be a long journey, but the alternative would be to head to the west toward Arizona or California. Certainly the climate would be better suited to one ailing from the kind of condition that my friend, Sullivan had. Yet, I felt certain that my father and his fellow doctors at the college could help him.  This was confirmed in a correspondence I had where I had told him of our plight and was promptly invited back to my former home.  I felt like the prodigal son embraced by the father, again.
At the time, I did not know the full story, nor the full reason why my father and I came to the United States without the rest of our family. I believed him when he said we had fallen out with the Kaiser and had to make a new way in this new land. I further believed him when he told me that his experimentation was all for human advancement. 
We took the journey in June and then arrived in Oktober that same year of 1865. What I relate here I write with the utmost fear and trembling, and pray that God have mercy upon me and upon those poor, dear souls that had foolishly entrusted themselves to my father’s teaching. I dearly hope and pray that it was my father’s formulas that altered his brain. I further pray that the demon that I and my fellows confronted was not truly him, but some being that had taken possession and used his body to commit atrocities most foul along the lake of Gaston’s Pass.
The night we arrived, the night sky was clear and alight with so many bright stars. It was difficult to imagine anything amiss. The moon was bright and directly above us as our wagon slowly made its way through the winding trail in the woods along Gaston’s Pass. It was a narrow road that led to the lake and the one building that housed both the classrooms and dormitories of Milwaukee’s medical college. This was my home for several years, so to me all was as it should be. My companions, though were unsettled by the quiet ride where one could hear every clop of the horses and every creak of the wagon. I too thought it queer that there would not be more creatures roaming about on such a clear, moonlit night, but I put that thought aside. The air was bitter cold and almost winter like. If there had been any clouds in the sky, they might have stored the first snow of the year.
The college was built next to a small lake. As we approached the water, a fine mist ascending from it and rolled out a thin, ethereal carpet to greet us. We walked along the misty road until it bent upward along a hill and onto a stone bridge that took us over a small fishing creek that fed into the lake. It was here that I started to join the two men of action I called “friends” in their unease. The torches that normally lit the road were out. Were it not for the light of the full moon, we would have gotten out and walked to the bridge to ensure the horses did not accidentally stumble into the ravine.
I ordered our driver to stop, while Osborn and I got out to try and light the torches on the bridge. We were able to take a lit torch off of our carriage and Osborn, a muscular figure of a man, took off his bowler and overcoat to climb up the ten feet of square granite on the one corner to place the flame on top of the signal. He nearly singed his handlebar mustache as he clumsily kept his grip around the cold, stone pillar while foisting the torch up and over on top of the bowl of oil that pooled at the top of the pillar. As it lit, I said a small prayer that there was enough oil from the previous night.
I was not idle during the time that my companion was demonstrating his climbing prowess. I am pleased to say that I located a long tree branch that could be converted into a torch and thereby replace the lamplighter’s normal lucifer, a tall lighting torch that was taken around by the groundskeepers at dusk.
When we had lit the last torch on the bridge, I began to feel slightly more assured, taking confidence in their warmth and glow. My thoughts turned now to getting my poor, tuberculosis ridden friend, Sullivan, next to the warmth of the main sitting area of the college. As I climbed back into the coach, and just before giving the driver the signal to move forward, we heard a savage and vengeful scream set upon the chill, mid-autumn air.  That is precisely when the madness began.

Author's Note: This text was written in a flurry of madness as I speed through my first National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) novel.  It has not had the benefit of a good proofreading, much less an editor.  You are more than welcome to comment and suggest improvements, which may or may not be implemented depending on how close to the November 29 deadline I get! Thank you for reading!