As a writer you'd think I'd write more in a blog. But I just seem to fail in this respect. But I've also never been very good at keeping a journal either.
I'm supposed to do this more.
I'm suppose to build up a "following" so people will buy my book(s) and attend my plays.
So... I guess I'll just keep trying.
Did I mention I have a book?
This is August. And August now means playwright challenge. That is: 31 Plays In 31 Days. For the month of August I have committed to writing a play a day for each month of August. Thirty-on plays. Fortunately they don't have to be 31 full-length plays. Can you imagine? I can't. Minimum of one page, that's the expectation. Though, I've never written a one-page play. All of the plays I wrote in last year's challenge were three pages to ten pages. Probably averaging around 6 pages. But I didn't do the math, so don't hold me to it.
Today being the 9th of August were almost a third of the way through. I've already written today's play, titled "Bite The Bullet." I've added it below. It's short - three pages - and rough. But that's the idea. Write them now and go back later and build on the ones that seem the most interesting.
So, enjoy. Oh, and go buy my book. I mentioned I had a book, yes?

Bite The Bullet                                                                                                  Earl T. Roske

Balle:      Male, 30s to 50s.

Kugel:    Male, 30s to 50s.

(Lights up. Balle and Kugel are sitting on a bench. They are dressed in slacks and shirts, no jackets. Kugel fidgets uncomfortably.)

                                                                              KUGEL

I feel sick. Don’t you feel sick?

                                                                              BALLE

No. I’m good.

                                                                              KUGEL

Good? I don’t know how you can feel good. Any moment I might throw up.

                                                                              BALLE

That’s a common enough reaction.

                                                                              KUGEL

Oh? And you would know this because...?

                                                                              BALLE

I’ve heard about it. Second hand admittedly, but it seems like a natural reaction.

                                                                              KUGEL

But you don’t feel this way.

                                                                              BALLE

No.... No I don’t. I guess I’ve heard enough talk about it that I’m sort of prepared. And I’ve witnessed a few.

                                                                              KUGEL

You. You have?

                                                                              BALLE

Yeah....

                                                                              KUGEL

I’ve never had the desire to witness an execution by firing squad.

                                                                              BALLE

I didn’t say I wanted to see them. Sometimes you don’t have a choice.

                                                                              KUGEL

And to think some people willingly attend. They know someone is going to get shot by a half dozen rifles and that’s exactly why they attend.

                                                                              BALLE

They attend for different reasons. I’m sure that some enjoy the violence. But others might attend to witness justice being carried out.

                                                                              KUGEL

                                                                              (Sarcasm)

Justice.

                                                                              BALLE

Hey, we may not like it but this is how things go. We drew the short straw and so now it’s time to suck it up.

                                                                              KUGEL

Well maybe it’s easy for you to deal with this but look at me. I’m shaking, I’m nervous. I couldn’t sleep last night and barely ate this morning. I don’t want to go out there.

                                                                              BALLE

No one ever wants to go out there. It’s not meant to be a pleasure trip down the canal. It’s a sanctioned act of violence by the government that rules us all. Were are all just tokens on a game board. And some of us get sacrificed for - at least I hope it’s for - the greater good.

                                                                              KUGEL

I just can’t believe this is happening to me, that’s all.

                                                                              BALLE

It’s not the kind of thing you can solve on a normal day let alone after a night of restless sleep and on an empty stomach. You’re just going to have to step out there, toes on the line, and accept it.

                                                                              KUGEL

What of my family?

                                                                              BALLE

What of them? They’ll have to accept this, too. Perhaps, one day, there won’t be a need for all this violence and they’ll find better ways to met out punishment. We won’t be around to see it, but future generations might.

                                                                              KUGEL

You think it’ll take that long for change to occur?

                                                                              BALLE

Change is like the ocean beating at the shore. Over time it will carve away the land and create a new coastline. And that’s what countries are like. Well... of course there are the cataclysmic changes, like earthquakes. But they aren’t as common.

                                                                              KUGEL

We could use an earthquake now.

                                                                              BALLE

It’d still be too late for us.

                                                                              KUGEL

I really never thought I’d be in this situation. I thought being in an office would protect me. And then they came in, not even a knock on the door, and just handed me the envelope and walked away. I wished I’d called in sick that day.

                                                                              BALLE

They would have come to your home then. There is no escaping it when your name comes up.

                                                                              (Beat)

Look, I can only share the advice I’ve been told, but here’s what you can try. When it’s your turn, keep your chin up but don’t look at the crowd. Look through them, think of something pleasant - a picnic with your wife and children, or some dream vacation you’d always wished you’d taken. You have one responsibility out there. Attend to it and no other.

                                                                              KUGEL

Don’t look at the crowd. Focus on what I have to do. Be absolutely hilarious if I tripped walking out there.

                                                                              BALLE

Then don’t trip. Don’t give the crowd something to laugh at you about.

                                                                              (Beat)

You doing better?

                                                                              KUGEL

Yes. No. Yes. There’s nothing for it but to go through with it. I just wish I could be braver. Or just brave.

                                                                              BALLE

Well, if it’s of any consolation, I’m sure the prisoner is feeling the same way.

                                                                              KUGEL

At least for him this’ll be over. I’ll have to live with my actions.

                                                                              BALLE

At least we only have to do it once.

                                                                              KUGEL

So they promise.

                                                                              (A bell rings in the distance.)

                                                                              BALLE

It’s time. Ready for this.

                                                                              KUGEL

I’ll probably never be ready for this.

                                                                              BALLE

And that might be the best thing about you. Come on, jackets.

                                                                              (They pick up and put on their military jackets.)

                                                                              BALLE (Cont.)

Don’t forget your rifle.

                                                                              KUGEL

                                                                              (Picking up his rifle.)

And give the crowd something to laugh at. No way.

                                                                              BALLE

There’s the spirit. Aim true.

                                                                              (The form up, rifles on their shoulders.)

                                                                              KUGEL

Aim true.

                                                                              (They march off stage.)

                                                                              (Lights down.)

Read a preview of a new novel I'm currently working on.

Thought I'd try something different.
Apparently on Createspace.com you can post a preview of a piece you are working on. So I've posted the first one and a half chapters of a new novel. It's tentatively called The Butterflies of Novjaro, but that might actually become the series title. Anyway, here's the link to the first bits. The post is a rough first draft but you can give it a rating if you are intrigued.
Go here: http://www.createspace.com/Preview/1123254
That's it for now.

Tale Of The Music-Thief finally emerges. Spelling errors optional. Or not.

So, for ever now, I've been meaning and trying to get my first book - self-published - out the door and on the digital shelves. That time has finally come. But, it's been a bit frustrating. My biggest issue? Spelling errors. Yeah, you'd think in this digital age there'd be no spelling errors left. I am here to tell you, however, that they manage to sneak in anyways.
Did you know that the word facer is not really incorrect? It's in the dictionary. You remember those, yes? Thick books, dense with words. So when I meant to type face and got facer, I was none the wiser on the Word spell check. Oddly enough, her on this blog, as I write, it does show up as an incorrect spelling. A better dictionary does not make for a better document? I don't know. Then, don't forget there, they're, and their. There are others, you've probably been there yourself.
But finally the book is out. I'd clicked "publish" in Createspace, uploaded to Smashwords and Barnes & Nobles' PubIt! Then I did Kindle - the only one that does its own spell check - and.... spelling errors. How could I have missed those!?
Back to document, fix the errors, update the relevant files (I make one for each of the sites I upload to.), and republish them to their relevant sites.
And breath.
All done, I hope. But the gremlins may have other surprises for me.

Here's the cover:

Here's where it's available as of the moment:
Smashwords
Kindle @ Amazon

I hope you take a chance and I hope you read it.

Humble pie served with 50,000 words.

And so today I have reached the NaNoWriMo benchmark of 50,000 words.

I've known about NaNoWriMo for some years but never bothered to participate. To those who I pompously said I didn't need some silly annual rite to get me to write, I apologize. There is something to be said for participating in an endeavor such as NaNoWriMo. Most importantly it gets a rough draft down on paper - or in a computer file - where it belongs, as apposed to the inside of your skull where it's not doing any good.
But I wouldn't have tried NaNoWriMo if I hadn't done something else first. In August of this year I participated in 31 Plays In 31 Days. I did this because I am acquainted with the people who put it together. And I like to support my acquaintances and friends. From that I came away with 31 play ideas, one of which is already going to be part of a 10-minute play production in May. (More on that another time.)
That month got a lot of good ideas on down on paper/computer where I could do more with them. It really pushed the little grey cells. I was glad to have participated and continued to work on some of the play ideas I'd developed as I also struggled with working on a second novel manuscript.
I was having a tough time making the novel move out of my skull and into my computer. And then I hit a long stride where I didn't write anything. I needed a kick start.
That's when I remembered NaNoWriMo. I knew about it, heard about it, and had been encouraged to join in the year before to which I disdainfully excused my self. I am a fool.
I did it this year, the proof's above. And my novel's far from complete, they haven't even dug the canal to save the butterfly colony on the planet Navjaro and there's still the stampede that threatens the human colony town of Unua Patrio to deal with. (I am such a tease!) But I have the first 50,000 words. I have the beginning and I'm over the hump and the adventure is racing downhill from here.
And none of this would be here on my computer if I hadn't signed up for NaNoWriMo.
I've done it before, written a complete manuscript (90,000+ words), without the assistance of a project like 31 Plays In 31 Days or NaNoWriMo. But by participating in them I have more material now then I would have if I hadn't. That makes all the difference.

Even one line in a rejection can be useful.

I hate being rejected. Everyone does. Well, there are those that get their kicks that way. However, it's made me uncomfortable ever since I first asked a girl to dance at the teen center. But as a writer I've grown to expect rejection. You submit and submit and you get rejected and rejected. At first it's painful, then it hurts, and then it's just annoying. Occasionally it's helpful.

I'm currently submitting queries to agents for my first book. I've gotten tons of "no thanks" rejections. But three of them were different from the rest. One of them said that they thought my protagonist was a strong character. That's good to know, I read that as me being on the right track. The other two weren't drawn in from the first chapter. I read that as saying my first chapter isn't strong enough. There's something wrong with it, go fix it. Helpful comments that give me something to work with. Just a line here and a line there and I have some idea how my manuscript is being perceived.

So, yes, I did rewrite the first chapter. Now it's time to send it out again and see if other agents have something to say. Hopefully one of them will say, "We'll take it!"

Creating Motivation

Well, I've been absent from my own world it seems. I've been struggling with writing. Not that I've nothing to write, but I've had a hard time getting myself to just sit at the keyboard and write. In August I'd done the 31 Plays In 31 Days and wrote every day, building some really good bones for future short plays and hopefully even a one-act. I'm going to self-publish what I did in August through CreateSpace in the next couple of months. No one will read this, so it doesn't matter.
So with the last two months being a struggle to commit myself to writing I have taken the great leap to join in on NaNoWriMo. Yep, I'm committing to writing a novel in a month. And it's not something I've worked on before that I'll be perfecting. No, it's an idea I've had for a while, started as a first person short story, and thought there was enough in the idea that it could be an 80,000 word novel, if I would just write it. And so I am. So, two days in and I've written 4700 words. They are hoping to get people to a 50,000 total but I'll need to find another 30,000 words in me somewhere. Once done I'll need to rewrite. Probably extensively, but at least I'll have something to work on and hopefully the momentum will carry me forward into the following months. We've a baby on the way, so that'll make things interesting.

Anyway, just checking in. Though no one's here. I like an empty room. So uncluttered. :)

The enemy within

So.... I want to write. I think about it a lot: the lines I'm going to type, the new story I'm going to outline, the play I'm going to work on. Then I don't. Lately it's not been the usual, "oh, I'll do the dishes and then write." No, it's been more of a sitting down at the computer, writing a couple lines and then, "ugh, I can't," and walking away. Or just sitting and reading news and following my nose through links, anywhere, as long as I don't have to write. It's not writer's block. It's something insidious. It's me. And I fight it day after day and this is the worst it's been. Maybe writing this will help. I know I've been slowly, slowly, editing a short story.
Is it fear? Fear of what? Succeeding? Failing? I know that I have good ideas, they just need to get out of my brain and onto paper. Maybe I need a change of scenery.
Whatever it is, it's happening and I'll need to find a way to work past it.
In the mean time, here's a couple pages of a short story, sort of a sci-fi dystopian future with a dash of Cthulhu mythos added in - though that last part might not be apparent in the first few pages. Enjoy. Comment. (Though, I am here alone. Here the echo? I do.)

The Thing In The Net

by

Earl T. Roske

     Casey and I had been best friends as long as we could remember. I became a reporter. Casey became an electrician. Not because he dreamed to be one as young boy but because early mandatory career path evaluation by the state determined that this was the job where he could best serve the homeland. Perhaps if Casey’d been allowed to choose his own career path the horror he accidently unleashed in his lab would never have happened. Perhaps he’d still be alive today. And perhaps our world would not be in the path of the danger looming invisibly ahead.

     Not everyone was misplaced by the mandated career path evaluation. Since I’d begun to write as a child I’d fallen in love with it. So when the state determined I could best be of service as a reporter I hadn’t felt any sense of loss. I’d get to write for a living.

     Others, those who felt they’d been improperly categorized like Casey trudged along in jobs that gave them no sense of purpose or direction. This was the will of the homeland, however, and it was not to be question.

     People like Casey had to find other ways to fill the void in their lives that comes from having the wrong job. The state wasn’t about to let anyone change careers. The state, with all of its psychological science, doesn’t make mistakes. All of us knew better than to question that fact. But the state did encourage creativity. Poetry, theatre, art films, painting, sculpture, even macramé, just so long as the art didn’t question the methods or intentions of the homeland.

     I knew that Casey had creative talent beyond solving complex physics equations he found in the physics journals and writing elaborate computer programs. However, I’d never have guessed him for a sculptor. But as I stood in the gallery, not just looking at the weird forms he’d molded with his own hands, but listening to the people talking about his work in words I’d only seen in the art columns of the paper…. I was impressed, hough I’d never admit that to him.

     “Chunky!” I heard the nickname I’d earned in middle school. High school swim team and track team had removed the source of the nickname, but the name never left.

     “Everyone here for the free snacks?” I asked Casey as he excused himself from some adoring fans and weaved his way through the crowd to me.

     “Could be,” he said.

     Casey looked nervous as well as pleased with the attendance and attention. And there was something else.

     “What’s going on?”

     “Art exhibit,” he said.

     “I can see that. But you’re holding something back.”

     “I’ll tell you later. Come look.”

     And Casey, the suddenly popular sculptor, took me on a quick tour of his art.

     The sculptures were not your traditional torsos or heads of beautiful or famous people. They weren’t detailed depictions of animals or trees. They didn’t – and this seemed a bit crazy at the time – they didn’t even seem to be of this world. They looked like someone had taken several earthly species and put them in a bag and then shook them together, pouring the new and the strange out onto the table.

     “I know limited recreational use is legal, Casey, but have you exceeded the max on your ration card?”

     Casey laughed. It was the kind of laugh when someone realizes you don’t get the joke. “No drugs. None. Messes with my math.”

     “This isn’t math,” I said. I pointed at the sculpture that looked like a bumble bee with a scorpion’s tail and bat wings done in leopard print. “This is ….”

     “It’s crazy.”

     “It’s not even remotely anti-system. Which is a good thing. If the censor-committees even thought for a moment… that’d be bad.”

     “You couldn’t find any thing here that speaks against the state.” His words were said with confidence.

     We’d moved on to a sculpture that might have been a spider. If a spider mated with a caterpillar that’d previously been crossed with a beetle.

     “This isn’t an interpretation of the state’s fear of movement towards change?” I’d meant it in good humor jest, temporarily forgetting that there is no humor when it comes to the state’s opinion of itself.

     There was a immediate bubble of silence in the vicinity of my gaff. Everyone looked at everyone and only when it was clear that no one was a state agent and the exhibit wasn’t going to be crashed did the conversations slowly ramp up.

     “Sorry,” I said.

     Casey moved closer and I expected a rabid earful for my foolishly flippant comment. Something I would have deserved. Instead, he wanted to know one thing. “Do you really think my work could be considered a threat to the state?”

     “No,” I said. “I just had a stupid attack.”

     “You’re sure?”

     “About the stupid attack?”

     “We both agree on that,” he said and stepped back, smiling. “The other.”

     “I don’t think you have anything to fear. I’m not even sure how to interpret them,” I said as I watched many people stop and stare at Casey’s work before moving on with many backward glances. Some laughed and made jokes, many looked uncomfortable, and a few were intrigued enough to buy one of his misshapen sculptures.

     “Maybe they aren’t supposed to be anything but what they are?”

     “What? Like alien bugs?”

     “Do you think you can keep a secret?”

     What was that about? We’d been keeping secrets for each other since elementary school. I know I’d tripped up with my crack about the state. I’ve seen editors make the same mistake in meetings. Of course, they’ve disappeared as well.

     “Despite my stupid attack just now, you know I can keep a secret.”

     “Show’s over at midnight. Come back then. I’ve got something you need to see.”