So...

So it's clear that I haven't been here in a while. I've got good reasons for that. Not great reasons, mind you, but good enough for me not to feel awful about it.

I was blogging somewhere else. I'm not even sure what you'd call what I was doing over there. Blogging seems like something that happens on a regular basis. My writing over there wasn't all that regular at all. And it wasn't really blogging, that is, describing or commenting on things going on around me. It was mostly story-telling, with the occasional high-minded opinion riff on something considered 'important'.

That, and the book series I am working on didn't really need much of an update here, as not much has really gone on in the past three years. Part of that is my fault. Most of that is my fault. The other 3% is something like "the economy" and "life".

But here I am, renewed, ready, and refocused. You'll get a lot more from me now, as I've ceased all operations at the other site. Also, I'm doubling up my efforts on book publishing, and so I'll have things to report. Some of those reports will, more than likely, be laced with profanity-filled tirades on how slow things are going. But, if you can get past those posts, I'm sure you'll find lots of interesting other posts here. Some serious, some not-so-serious.

That's it. This is mostly an "I'm sorry". There, I said it. I'm sorry. I promise to do better next time. Can I go out and play now?

Wow....seriously?

It has been some time. No, it has been quite some time. I would say this is all due to a hectic life, but in this day and age, who doesn't have two or three of those? Frankly, there hasn't been much news, nor anything good to report on the book front. It still exists; it is still ongoing; book two is well underway; but there has been little reason to update/post/alter this site...until now, or almost now.

In a few short weeks, I plan to begin the slow, laborious process of self-publishing. Not because of defeat, mind you, but because I feel there are larger opportunities in the wide world of the public than there are in the small world of agents, editors, and publishing folks with far too little time to waste on newbies like me.

And that's OK. Systems are there to work for you. The fact that everyone with an 8o+ IQ and access to a computer has a book to sell adds significantly to the burden of this particular system. The fact that most of these books are sub-par helps bind the system down to a governmental crawl. So either you wait in line like everyone else, in hopes that the line you're in is the right one, or you simply choose to go it alone. I've never really been much of a queued person.

I realize I'm stepping into the netherworld of publishing, but I am not doing so without a clear conscience. There is an awful lot of work I must do -and be held accountable for- but I am willing to do it, if, in the end, my writing can speak for itself. All I want is a chance to be read, a chance to succeed, and a chance to fail. And if by my effort, I can make that a good and honest chance, then by blood, sweat, and tears, I'll do it.

So soul searching aside, prepare for a few updates to this site, including chapters, pictures, and information on where to grab a copy of the 1st installment of the Legends of Orbon series. With everything else up in the air, you can count on the adventure to begin here.

Long Time Gone...

For reasons too mundane and pathetic to go into here, I've been absent from my posting duties. I apologize for not providing any updates, but to my credit, there hasn't been much to update. I continue to write, edit, and submit, and thus the life of a writer-in-waiting ticks on. I'm working on the manuscript for book two, and as soon as I am comfortable, I will share a chapter or two.

I realize that I haven't shared much of book one, but that is soon to change; I am developing a section where you can read the first five chapters. The trick is to make it a little more attractive than simply print on the screen. Thanks to all of you who have been so patient...I hope it will be worth the wait.

Look for more in the near future, including content on the origins section. I've discovered some interesting histories behind the world of Orbon. Until then, keep reading and keep those fingers crossed.

Never satisfied...

Since putting the "final" period on the "final" draft, I have slowly become aware of an acute infection of "nonsatisfieditis". Its symptoms include but are not limited to: reviewing my manuscript repeatedly, finding it replete with 'errors', and constantly referring to it as my "freshman effort". I take this disease as a good sign; those who find no room for improvement usually have improvement renting out entire apartment complexes, waiting for its chance to sneak in.

Times like this remind me of my father's famous quote: "The closer you get to the king, the more warts you'll see." (I realize this isn't directly attributable to him, but since I heard it from dad's mouth first, I take it as gospel)

Now, I'm no king, and neither is my work, yet it is nice to know that the deeper you look, the more errors you are prone to find. I think the real trick is to know when you've dug deep enough to call it an acceptable book. Authors' opinions on this subject vary, but I maintain that you need only dig as deep as readers demand, which, unfortunately, is as deep as you can possibly stand without quitting altogether.

What dreams may come...

Two nights ago, amidst a fitful sleep in the quaint Wisconsin town of Lake Geneva, I dreamt I had signed with a literary agent. I will spare you the details of the whole dream, as there were the standard-issue monsters, slow motion scenes, and horrible dialogue, but for one ephemeral moment, all was well in Orbon.

...I walk into a room. The dim light and fancy furniture suggest its origins lie in the Victorian era. Lots of red and orange and candles and people fill my otherwise clouded view. A line forms in front of me, and I am suddenly carrying a packet of papers and forms. "Next!" and I am standing face to face with a balding, middle-aged gentleman and his young republican assistant. They both recognize me from my submission, and while I explain that I have no idea how they received my manuscript, the assistant politely begins a hushed conversation with the middle-aged man. An eternity slithers by. The young republican thanks me for my time, says they are not interested, but that the young woman over there might be. I turn and spot a 20something woman with reddish curly hair and black rimmed glasses sitting at a table near the farthest corner. She motions me over, and in the span of a brief interview, I am brought into the wonderful world of writer representation. Thirty minutes later, I am standing with my "signee class" (an older woman, a 30something blonde, and a mustached man). We are applauded by an unseen audience, and the lights go out.....

Obviously not true to life. Yet, as I reflect on it, I am reminded of my grade school days, getting picked over constantly for basketball, tackle-the-man, and baseball. For any young kid, those are watershed moments. I remember getting cut from the JV basketball team my sophomore year in high school; it was horrible. I fought back tears as I watched my friends suit up and head off to practice. I remember thinking, "When will it ever be my time?!"

Writing is a lot like that. You write and edit and write some more. You submit, spit, and polish all that you can. You research, print, and study the market over and over. Then, with a shaky hand, you open the mailbox and discover you didn't make the team. Your work isn't good enough. Better luck next manuscript. Better find a new job. Rinse, repeat.

Like the dream, some fall into the rainbow of fortune and streak off towards success. Others are met with closed doors, cold shoulders, and years of form-letter rejection. Some of these will make the signee class; some will not. The difference, I believe, lies in constancy, persevering until the bitter end. The belief that I will make it, that my stories are worth someone else's time, shall be the only explanation necessary when, 50 years from now, I am found shriveled and spent on the steps of Random House, clutching a freshly edited copy of the Orbon series.

So, let these dreams continue on into the night, and each morning I will awake and hope to find the reality much finer and the future much brighter.

Lunacy...

How can it be, in a city suffering so much, that New Orleans now has a gang problem? One reporter referred to it as "urban warfare". Another call the situation more dangerous than Baghdad.

I learned today that a good friend of mine is battling for his life and the lives of countless others in New Orleans even as I type this. He is under threat of gunfire, theft, starvation, dehydration, and physical abuse. He's been on the job since the hurricane struck, and he can see no relief in sight. Police officer you say? Fireman? National guardsman?

Try doctor.

At Kenner Memorial Hospital in downtown New Orleans, first year resident Andy Roddenberry is fighting to save lives. He and 5 other doctors are attempting to stabilize and triage over 1000 patients. Statistics alone suggest they cannot be effective for long. They have no power, no food, no water, no way to sterilize their equipment and no means to transport the most critical among the sick.

Efforts to drop medical supplies and nutritional aid were met by a hostile gang of thugs. Several of those lurking in and around the hospital are brandishing firearms out in the open. Threats have been made. By the grace of God, no threat has yet been carried out. Who is to say how long such a tenuous peace will last.

My suggestion is simple: send the national guard in. Better yet, send in some troops who have spent the last year of their lives fighting in Iraq. See what level of tolerance and patience they have for those who seek to force their own will among the helpless. What is taking days to accomplish peacefully would take only minutes to resolve. Patients could then be transferred, the hospital could be evacuated, the hungry could eat, the thirsty drink, and my friend, the hero in all of this, could come home.

For now, we pray and wait, in hopes that the swift hand of justice and the sweet hand of mercy reach down simultaneously for the stranded.

Not about me...

It's not about me. It seldom is. While this world spins on, my universe sits still, awaiting a nod from something bigger to tell me it's OK to go on complaining, ranting, and otherwise replacing the sun with my own ego. My first post was weeks in the making; a clear, concise, witty foray into the realm of cyberspace. Bells, whistles, and ten miles of URLs peppered the page from top to bottom.

Then along came Katrina.

Since that time, my life has diminished in importance with each new day. What passes for a hard time at the grocery store, a rough hour of traffic, a cold rejection of my manuscript pales in comparison to the complete and utter devastation seen along the Gulf Coast. Thousands dead. Millions displaced for years. Billions needed to scoop up the mess, the lives of an entire region. The thought of losing all I have in a single afternoon has woken me up nightly.

I watched a reporter on CNN interview a man who lost his wife, his home, and his belongings during the storm. His wife's last words to him were, "You can't hold on to me. Let me go. Take care of the kids." And then she was gone.

His story is just the beginning.

Tears are all I have for such disaster. I want to reach out and hug every one of them, and tell them it will be OK. But I can't. I want to coordinate a movement of a million citizens to march into that region and clean it up within a matter of weeks. But I can't. I want to part the waters, bring food to the hungry, water to the thirsty, life to the lifeless. But I can't. All I have are tears and a heart that aches with each passing image.

If you're like me, and you cannot see all ends, if you cannot get your hands around the scope of this tragedy, but you still want to help...you can.

First I would suggest a heavy dose of prayer. Give thanks for what you have, for it is in such dark times that our blessings shine brightest. Pray for the spirits of these people. Ask for miracles. As far as I know, the Almighty hasn't stopped dispensing them.

Second, and of equal importance, give what you can. Donate clothes, food, furniture, service, gas, water, blood, and cash. Find your local bloodbank and let them stick a needle in your arm. Dig into your sofas, your carseats, and your wallet and give to the hurricane relief efforts. Both the Red Cross and the Salvation Army have coordinated efforts going on right now. There are others. The point is to give.

Lastly, spread the word. This won't be the last catastrophe we face. Get to know your neighbor. Put together a survival kit. Take a CPR/first-aid class. Do what it takes to be prepared.

Future postings are promised to be more provacative, with insight into my life and my work. But for now and the foreseeable future, it's not about me.