Writing to have a slow conversation with myself

So, A Place For Everything, is available on Amazon.com as a ePub for the kindle. It's a fun story and I hope you take the opportunity to buy and read it. And comment on it and rate it. And tell your friends to do all of the above. :)

Went camping this last weekend for a few days in Yosemite. Didn't bring a computer, but I did bring notebooks for various stories and plays I'm working on. I'm  not sure how other writers work, but for me - these days - I don't often write the actual play or story in a notebook and then transfer to the computer. What I do is use the notebook to have a discussion with myself. I may write dialogue or bits of description that I'll put in the actual piece, but mostly it's description and questions and answers to other questions. Writing all that down, rather than just thinking about it and then typing the story or play has a purpose. Again,  this is about me. My mind shoots all over the place. When I'm writing, I have to slow down a bit so the thoughts are a bit more complete when they reach the page. Also, the faster I think and write, the sloppier my writing gets - to the point I can't even decipher it. So when that happens, it's a reminder to ease back on the brain throttle a bit.
When I return to the computer I do not slavishly refer to the notes I've written. Most of the time I never look at them except to find a name or a bit of interesting dialogue that I did want to include in a play or story. I recall the ideas I'd worked out and often now have a direction to go where I might not have had before. All that writing has fixed much of what I was thinking and then writing into my brain. So I don't need all that stuff I wrote. It's just part of my thinking process.
I do still write whole stories and plays in notebooks, but that's a different situation. And it's not what I did while camping. I often need more isolation - from all people - to write out by hand a story or play.
The thought or suggestion here is that if you are typing up a story or play and you get stuck, you might consider just writing a conversation between yourself and yourself. Writing by hand is slower even than typing. And slowing yourself down gives your brain time to better congeal your ideas.

And the link has been forged.

So now I have gone and added a link from my web site to this blog. The stampede of several feet may or may not happen. The curious will look. Fools.

I've spent part of the day reformatting a friend's book for CreateSpace. It's been a bit of a struggle, but I am learning a lot about formatting a book. That will come in handy when I actually get around to finish my "Raw Ingredients" book with my 31 plays from August. It's quite different formatting for CreateSpace compared to formatting for the Kindle eBook. Speaking of which. I almost have two more short stories ready for Amazon. I make my own "book" covers for the short stories. Some are better than others. I'm currently waiting for a person who's picture I've borrowed and altered to get back to me and let me know that they are okay with my using their picture. Since I can post images here, I'll show you the three story covers. I'll link the first one to it's location on Amazon, just for fun.

Amazon

  


You can read the first few hundred words of the first story here.

And I guess that's all for now. I need to work on my book, The Village In The Sky.

A secret corner of the web may be lost.

So it's taken me some time, but I have finally started a web site. I've had the domain name for years, but only recently have I built something on it besides my production resume. What amazed me the most was the cost of hosting a web site. I suppose 48 - 60 bucks a year isn't bad, but when you're unemployed and the web site is about promoting my writing work and not a store front, it just seems a tad over the top. But I found a place that does the hosting for free up to a  point. So that's what I'm doing. And, ta dum:

www.earltroske.com

There it is. My own name, too. I think I probably got lucky there.

So on the page is a picture:

I made the picture. I wanted something that looked sketched or water colored. But I can't do either so this is done on a program and I didn't try to be realistic or perfect. It's all that's on the front page because I think front pages should be simple. It says who I am and what you'll find there. Mouse over a book and you can get to the prose, plays, bio, resumes, and - gads - poems.

There's not much there now, but I'll just keep adding and adding. 

If you get there from here you can always come back to here and leave comments about the web page.

Oh, and I'll soon link to this blog from my webpage and this little private corner that we've been sharing, me and ... uh ... uh ... someone, will be filled with hundreds .. no, dozens ... no, a few more people who've come to gawk at the train wreck.

Since you're here, here's the first 1400 words from a book I'm working on called "The Village In The Sky."

Enjoy.

     Storm clouds with wings? Jan had to rub his eyes and look again to be sure.

He was up in the town's clock tower. It was a place he'd always been drawn to. But since the carnival and the ride in the hot air balloon he wanted to spend as much time as high as he could. The clock tower was the highest point in the town. In all that time he'd never seen such dark storm clouds. And he'd never, ever, seen clouds with wings.

     The clouds were oddly shaped and worthy of scrutiny all their own. The looked like black, furry, upside down raindrops, their narrow tips at the bottom. The addition of wings as black and as long as the clouds were tall was cause for even more wonder. And concern.

     The clock tower's early history had been as a watchtower for invaders and, according to some of the elder town folk, dragons. Jan had seen pictures of dragons in the books in the library. They looked nothing like the tall black clouds with wings.

     Looking down to the street a hundred feet below, Jan could see that other people of the town had seen the clouds approaching. They were slowly walking towards the end of town nearest the approaching clouds. His mother stepped out from the blacksmith shop that Jan's father operated. She looked to the clock tower and waved for Jan to join her.

     Jan waved and quickly began the descent from the tower to the park around the tower. He took the steps in great leaps. He jumped the last three stairs to each landing and then turned and jumped three more stairs to get halfway down to the next landing. There were twenty landings and it took him mere seconds to get to the door that opened onto the park with its green grass, the old well, and several shade trees. Benches beneath the trees were often filled with older towns people as they sat and chatted about the old days. But now the benches were empty.

     Running through the doorway, Jan continued across the cobblestone square that marked the center of the town and down the street to his mother who stood waiting outside the blacksmith shop.

     “Did you see the strange clouds, mother?”

     Jan's mother, Wiktoria, held out an arm and pulled Jan into a hug as he stopped by her side.

     “No,” she said. “But I did hear others talking about it as they walked past.”

     Pawel, Jan's father was away in the city, fixing the central clock. Besides being a blacksmith he was also a tinkerer and was capable of fixing almost anything. He built bicycles, fixed oil lamps and cuckoo clocks, made dining ware for families and sword for soldiers. His skills were well known and it was the city mayor, personally, who'd sent for Jan's father to come and fix their clock.

     “They're big, bigger than the balloon at the carnival.”

     Wiktoria smiled at Jan's description. Jan was always talking about the balloon and its mysterious source of hot air that had been kept in a special box, locked to prevent snooping.

     “That big?” she asked as they began to walk towards the edge of town. Other people joined them and Wiktoria nodded as they met on the street. She could handle some of the small smithy jobs as needed while Pawel was away. She was also adept with sewing needle and knitting needles, skills she'd passed on to Jan during the winter days when the snow was too deep to venture outdoors.

     “Yes! And they have wings.” Jan imitated the wings, holding his arms our and then moving them forward and backwards.

      “That's not how a bird flies,” he mother said.

     Jan almost stumbled as he caught the concerned look flash across his mother's face.

     “Maybe you should wait back in the shop,” she said.

     “Everyone's going to look,” Jan said. He pointed around to several mothers carrying baby's on their hips and chatting cheerfully as they walked out to see the strange clouds.

     “Well, all right,” Wiktoria conceded. “But if I tell you to run back to the shop, promise me you'll go.”

     “Why, momma? Do you think it's something bad?
     “Perhaps not,” she said. She ruffled his hair like she always did when she didn't want him to worry. She'd done the same thing when his father had left to fix the city clock two weeks ago. “But if they are storm clouds there may be lightening.”

     “Yes, that's true,” agreed Jan. He hoped there was. He like the flash of the lightening and the deep rumble of thunder that always followed.

     “Come along then.” Wiktoria took his hand in hers and they walked with the growing crowd to the edge of the town.

     A crowd, six rows deep, had gathered just past the inn that catered to the travelers that moved through the region. Even the servants of the inn had stepped away from their duties to watch the approaching clouds.

     “They are big.”

     Jan turned his attention back to his mother who was watching the approaching clouds. She shaded her eyes with one hand.

     “Did anyone bring a spyglass?” asked the town's mayor, Emeric.

     Around them people looked at each other and shrugged.

     “Should I go get father's?”

     “No, Jan, that won't be necessary.”

     “They're balloons,” someone said from the front of the crowd.

     The clouds had come close enough now that people could see that there were ten of them. But unlike the balloon that had offered rides at the carnival, these were not gaily stripped with vibrant colored cloth. These balloons were dark as coal and a cloud of black smoke hung around them even as they moved through the air. Little puffs of cloud trailed off behind them.

     “And those aren't wings,” Jan's mother said.

     “They're oars.” Jan looked at them with wonder.

The wings were oars. There blades were thick and ran the full length of the oar rib, ending just before the baskets of the balloons. The oars moved forward with the blades turned parallel with the ground and then turned as they were pulled back, catching the air and propelling the balloons forward.

     “They can move without wind,” Jan said. He had quickly realized the value of the oars. “They can probably move against the wind, like rowing a boat upstream.”

     “But why are they here?” asked the mayor. “And why are they so dirty?”

     “Dirty?” asked Jan.

     “There's color beneath the dirt.”

     “Soot,” said Jan's mother. “They're burning something that gives off lots of soot. When Pawel starts the forge in the mornings it gives off black smoke until the fire gets hot enough and the air flows through in the right proportions.”

     “Seems like a dirty way to travel,” said one of the mothers who was carrying her infant child on her hip. She twitched her hip to raise the child back to a more comfortable height.

     “That still doesn't tell me why they're here,” said the mayor. He began to push himself to the front of the crowd.

     The balloons were now close enough for Jan to see that the baskets were like small boats, long and narrow. There were two oars on each side and he could just barely discern several people on each oar working together to pull the giant blades forward and back.

     “Jan,” his mother said. Her voice was hushed and urgent. “Run back to the shop. Now.”

     “But mom,” he said. He knew he wasn't supposed to whine but he was fascinated by the balloons.

     “Don't argue, please go now.” She was pushing and he turned to do as she had bid him.

     There was a boom, almost like thunder, that made him turn back.

     “That's a cannon,” said the mayor.

     “Mother?”

     “Down!” someone in the crowd yelled.

      Jan was suddenly jerked to the ground by his mother. He rolled over to see an oversized grappling hook flying through the air. It passed over them with a whistle of air and crashed into the side of the inn.

     “Go! Go!” His mother was hauling him to his feet, pushing him before her.

It's not that there are too many projects. It's that I can't focus. Always been a problem. I'm working on a book. (Another one) A full length play. (More than half done) Several short stories. (In various states of completeness) And several short plays. (Rewrites) Oh, and editing a friend's book for self-publication and doing my own for my 31 Plays In 31 Days participation.

Anyway, that's how I keep lost.

I want to put more of my short stories on Amazon Kindle for people to buy, but 1) I have to finish them, and 2) I have to convince people they are worth the buying. I think a couple novellas and/or novellettes might help. We'll see.

Still alone here on this little patch of the internet. Some people have come here by accident I think, but they haven't left comments or disparaging remarks. Oh, well.

So I was thinking, after the completion of 31 Plays In 31 Days, that I'd print out the plays and then have that as a reference.
I'm already working on several of those plays, cleaning, expanding, developing them into ten-minute plays. Several others look like they could serve as the inspiration for a one-act play. Ironic, seeing as how they are about muses.
But the cost of printing and binding was over ten bucks. Which isn't much but for what you get, I was kind of, meh, on the whole thing.
Then I remembered Creatspace. That's Amazons self-publishing arm. I can build my own book, create my own cover, and if I use there IBSN numbers, there's no charge. The best thing, though, is that I can buy "author copies" for aproximately four bucks. With shipping it's still less than ten and it's a normal book size.
So that's what I'm going to do. I just have to figure out what format I want to use, format the document, put an introduction, and create a cover. All of which I should be able to do. But then it'll actually be available for purchase online. Which'll be weird since the plays aren't, in their current condition, polished. So I'll need to make sure that I have that explained on the back of the book, perhaps.
Presently I am going to title the book: Raw Ingredients. That's because they are raw and I'm already making new things from them. Here's the list of titles:

The Inventory

Play 01 – Beginnings

Play 02 – For Your Own Good

Play 03 – Boxes

Play 04 – Muse 911

Play 05 – You Are Here

Play 06 – DiaperTowel

Play 07 – Stranger Encounter

Play 08 – Bonding

Play 09 – Ice Water In The Balance

Play 10 – Wild Things

Play 11 – Training Day: Muse Style

Play 12 – Get In The Box

Play 13 – In Your Face

Play 14 – Bippity Boppity Nope

Play 15 – The Human Dilemma

Play 16 – Questions

Play 17 – Taking Control: Muse Style

Play 18 – R and R Incorporated

Play 19 – Coolness

Play 20 – Neutrality

Play 21 – My Kingdom

Play 22 – Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String

Play 23 – Onward

Play 24 – The Reception You Are Receiving

Play 25 – What's This Do

Play 26 – Big Bad World

Play 27 – If I Were To Repeat Myself

Play 28 – He's Touching You

Play 29 – The Birth of Art: Muse Style

Play 30 – Dumas' Invitation

Play 31 – On The Clock

Play 32 – Revolution: Muse Style

Again, if you found this page and got this far, drop a line.

Thanks.

Why planning ahead in playwriting makes sense.

Started working on a full-length play that I began a year ago. Currently it is called "Dr. Edgar's Brains." (Which I worry about since it might sound comical, but that's not the intent of the play.) The play is suppose to be a sci-fi/steampunk/horror sort of play. Dr. Edgar has managed to save his manipulative wife's brain - her body had some sort of illness that would have killed her young. As the play opens he's returned to his lab after a four day absence. He's brought along a housekeeper, Shelley, with the intent of removing her brain and putting his wife's, Lizzy's, brain in the body instead. And that's all I'll tell you there.

As I began working on the play this week I found myself a little lost in the second act. I'd written nine pages for the beginning of the act and three or four pages for the end of the act. The first act was almost complete and I was able to finish it - though it's only 45 pages of dialogue there's probably enough action to make it a fifty minute act.
The real problem was the second act. What had I intended when I stopped a year ago? I still knew the main story arc, but the little bits that made it make sense where somewhat absent. But there was a clue that I'd left myself without realizing it. The file with the first part of the act was labelled "Act II Scenes 1, 2, & 3." The file with the end of the act was labelled "Act II Scenes  17 & 18." So I'd obviously worked out scenes in the act. But where's the middle?
I didn't know right away I'd had the clue in front of me and so I moved slowly and unhappily forward, feeling my way along like I was in a darkened mansion, unsure what floor or what room I was in, fearful of stairs and open doorways. Only when I couldn't take the not knowing any longer did I realize that there was this clue of missing scenes. If I'd labeled scenes, I must have written down what I expected in them.
And there it was.
At the end of another file labelled "Act II notes" I found them. A numbered list of scenes with explanations of what was to happen.
Now I feel so much better, knowing where I wanted to go and it has worked to stir up old thoughts that hadn't been written down but lurked in my head. My goal is a complete first draft before the middle of this month. Now I feel the goal is approachable.

Oh, I noticed people have actually stumbled across this blog by accident or purposefully. Drop me a line and let me know why/how you came here. As a reward, here's the first few pages of "Dr. Edgar's Brains."

DR. EDGAR’S BRAINS                                                                                 by Earl T. Roske

(Lights up on a late 18^th century “Dr. Jekyll/Dr. Frankenstein" style laboratory. There is one entrance to the laboratory. That door has no knob and can only be opened via a metal plate on the floor and/or with a spring-back lever on the wall. There is one work bench down stage, at least one cabinet upstage, and a gurney off to one side. The upstage cabinet has a gramophone horn protruding from it's top. After a brief pause Dr. Edgar enters the room and hangs up his travel coat and puts on his lab coat.)

                                                                           LIZZY

                                                                           (Her voice comes from the gramophone.)

Allan? Is that you?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Opening up a lab book and starts making an entry.)

What? Oh. Yes. Of course it’s me.

                                                                           LIZZY

Well thank you for saying good evening.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (While making notes in lab book.)

It’s morning. Good morning, Lizzy, dear wife.

                                                                           LIZZY

Hmph. You’re back early.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Continues making notes in lab book.)

Late, actually. It’s been four days.

                                                                           LIZZY

Four …? But you said you’d only be gone three days…

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Still making notes in the lab book.)

Yes, dear. Truly sorry. Problems at the Society. Narrow minded old men.

                                                                           LIZZY

It seemed like you just left… But… four days? Am I going crazy?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Still making notes)

Again they refuse to publish my paper on appendage transplantation in The Proceedings.

                                                                           LIZZY

Allan.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Still making notes.)

How much proof do they need? An eight legged dog? Cowards.

                                                                           LIZZY

ALLAN!!

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Shutting the notebook)

Well, they are cowards, Lizzy. But after we’ve finished here, they won’t be able to deny my brilliance. Never.

                                                                           LIZZY

Allan! I’m talking to you!

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

I know dear. I can hear you. The new speaking trumpet sounds much more realistic.

                                                                           LIZZY

And I can hear you just as well. I can hear you not paying attention to me.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

Now that’s not fair. I have been listening to you.

                                                                           LIZZY

Once I shouted.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

I’m sorry, dear. I’m still flustered after my journey.

                                                                           LIZZY

Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You never listen to me.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

I do listen to you, darling. I was just distracted with thoughts from the journey.

                                                                           LIZZY

So you weren’t listening to me.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

I was listening to you, I was just putting down notes while you talked.

                                                                           LIZZY

Which isn’t listening to your wife. The woman you claim to love.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Investigating some of the accoutrements – bells, Jacob's ladder, dials – around the cabinet.)

I do love you, Lizzy. Always.

                                                                           LIZZY

I don’t believe you.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

Did you ring the bells?

                                                                           LIZZY

What?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

The Franklin bells. Have you tried ringing them?

                                                                           LIZZY

No.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

Lizzy. I explained how important this was. And to keep your brain active.

                                                                           LIZZY

How do you expect me to ring bells I can’t see? Or touch?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

There are wires. They connect you to the bells.

                                                                           LIZZY

So you say.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

Just like the Lyden jars were connected to the bells. Remember?

                                                                           LIZZY

No.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

In the old laboratory. I showed them to you.

                                                                           LIZZY

There was a lot of odd stuff in that place. How am I supposed to remember all that?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

But these were unique. Three suspended bells with suspended hammers between -- 

                                                                           LIZZY

 So that’s what this is really all about?

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

Yes, see, you do remember.

                                                                           LIZZY

All you care about are the bells.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

What? No! Of course not. There’s the dials you should be able to turn and the -- 

                                                                           LIZZY

Allan!

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

--  Jacob’s ladder…?

                                                                           LIZZY

I made a mistake.

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

About the bells?

                                                                           LIZZY

Damn your bells, Allan!

                                                                           DR. EDGAR

                                                                           (Shocked)

Lizzy!