My Boys

Owen is receiving 1st communion today. He's nearly five feet tall (at age seven) and scored four goals in his soccer game this morning (a come from behind win). He now owns a suit, his first. He has three neckties, all clip-on. Thank Zeus.

Max turns five today. He still has one missing tooth, chipped and pulled when he was two. He can stand on his head and do a cherry drop in gymnastics. I've baked three birthday cakes in the past two weeks.

I looked at some old pictures the other day and realized how fast they grow up.

I love these guys, even when they're knuckleheads.

They're inspirations. In fact, I've dedicated The Saints are Dead to them.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Five Question Friday: J.M. Zambrano

What do you think makes a good story?

Unforgettable, sometimes quirky, characters and a plot that leaves something to the imagination of the reader. Reading should not be solely a spectator sport.

What would be the ideal meal for one of your favorite characters?

Jessica Edwards of The Trophy Hunter would choose a bloody rare steak with Darren Rogart as a side dish.

If I could read a diary of one of your characters, what would I learn about him/her?

Morgan Bayfield of Pool of Lies would reveal in her teenage diary how she felt when she had to choose between following her heart and protecting her lover.

Cats or dogs? Why?

Dogs are loyal, even when abused. Cats are independent and require that their loyalty be earned. I choose cats, though I also love dogs.

What is on the floor of your bedroom?

Well-worn carpet, potted plants, a cat box and a trail of cat litter. Must vacuum soon!

http://www.jmzambrano.com

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JMZambrano

http://www.amazon.com/J.-M.-Zambrano/e/B004DWQV0O

The Value of Failure: by the Numbers

Duotrope's Digest tells me I have had 436 short story/poetry rejections in the past four years.

I have (at least) another 100 rejections from agents for the three books I queried the traditional way: Last Days of the Springdale Saints, The House Eaters, and Rock Gods and Scary Monsters.

536 doesn't even touch the real number. Some markets aren't listed on Duotrope. Sometimes I don't report rejections or submissions.

I received well over 50 rejections before I sold my first short story, "A Fresh Coat of Paint" to Big Pulp. That story was rejected 3 times before being accepted.

The point of these numbers? Lessons. Every one of them. I learned through each and every tiny failure.

By my records, which I think are complete, I have had 153 stories accepted for publication. A handful of these are reprints. Five markets died before an accepted story was published. Several stories are waiting for publication. I was paid, at least a token amount, for 102 of those stories, ranging anywhere from $1 to $150.

Lessons. Every one.

I'm glad I started self-publishing my work in e-book format. I think it's the right thing to do--for me, for now. If I would have started in 2007... Failure. Not the good, lesson-learning failure.

Just failure.

My writing has grown because of every stumble and fall and failed story. There's no other way to become a better writer.

How do you feel about failure?

WIP Wednesday: Tales of WIPs Past, Present, and Future

Hellnotes posted a great review of Shock Totem #3, and I'm thrilled to say the reviewer liked my story. "Wanting It" had a long and winding road before acceptance. For example: Ken Wood (editorial genius) and I exchanged several emails about what the narrator would call his butt. Anyway, the reviewer (Dave) had this to say:

"Facing facts leads to an emotional hurt that lyrically lingers in this lovely and haunting story."

Read the rest, here.

I'm working on Borrowed Saints (letting Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead cool before another editing round). Parts of the book are much better than I remember:

She held the razor up to the mirror. The black mouth of the mirror girl opened, anticipating.

Phoebe blinked.

Make it pretty.

So, yes, there's a fair bit of cutting in the book. And voices. And ghosts. Oh my.

It's Alive! (The House Eaters)

What he said. And by "It" I mean The House Eaters and by "Alive" I mean back in print.

Available through Createspace now for $6.99.

(Amazon and other retailers will take a few days to update).

Of course, you can still pick up a $0.99 ebook for Kindle, at Smashwords, or through Barnes & Noble for the Nook.

Great Books: Of Mice and Men

I love teaching Steinbeck's short novel (go ahead, call it a novella) of friendship and dreams during the Great Depression. Students tend to love it, too--at least those who read it.

And at just under 30, 000 words*, most students will give it a try.

Steinbeck's language is beautiful but straight-forward, his dialogue and voice spot on. Of Mice and Men is a great vehicle for teaching characterization, foreshadowing, and theme.

I love this book, and I'm fortunate to have the opportunity to read it every year.

*How would Steinbeck have pitched a 30K novel in today's publishing world? Would he have self-published on Kindle because the big 6 were looking for 100K novels? Sorry--couldn't help myself. But just think of the gap in American literature if Of Mice and Men never saw print.

What I Should Have Done Six Months Ago

Fair warning: It's one of those "Big Experiment" posts.

I should have started this "indie publishing" thing six months ago. Am I going to retire soon? No, not at $0.35 a book, but my sales are definitely growing month to month. And when I write "sales" what I really mean is "potential readers". This week alone, I've seen more sales than the entire month of March. The Bottom Feeders continues to be my bestselling book, with 22 copies and counting out the virtual door. Notice: I'm not selling a ridiculous amount of any one book, but several are selling modestly well. Each book is a potential reader--note I use the word potential. Do you read everything you buy?

Will the trend continue? I hope so. It's a pretty steep curve.

Scott Nicholson, an indie author who has traveled the "traditionally-published path" and man for whom I have a great deal of respect, recently posted a blog entry Marketing is Not Selling. Read it and the companion piece on IndieReader. My favorite bit: "...I am not screaming "Buy my book." I'd rather you feed your family, or buy some seeds, or donate to your favorite local charity. That's what I do when you buy my book."

Feed your family.

For the first time I feel like I might be able to actually contribute to my family through writing rather than taking away. Think about it: years spent banging at the keyboard when I could have been doing something else. I've taken myself away from my family for my fictional worlds. It isn't as simple as that, but the kernel of truth is there.

Look in the mirror, Aaron: You are not evil because you want to be compensated for your time and effort. Got it? Good.

Yes, I've been releasing e-books faster than Jerry puts the smack-down on Tom. I have a pool of over 100 published short stories, some of them smelly as last week's garbage (don't worry about seeing them again) and several unpublished shorts which were "that close". Why let them fester on my hard drive? It's taken me years to arrive at this point. Years and thousands upon thousands of words.

After my current round of edits on The Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead, I'm going to put the finishing touches on Borrowed Saints for a May release. I'm toying with the idea of writing a House Eaters sequel this summer.

The bottom line: I want to be read. I might be able to spread some good fortune to my family. Sounds like goals are meeting reality, right?

I just wish I would have started six months ago.

What are you waiting for?

Five Question Friday: Christopher M. Divver

Five questions with Christopher M. Divver...

What do you think makes a good story?

Anything that keeps my interest. I read mostly any genre but the one thing I despise, the one thing that makes me put the book down and never pick it up again is a poorly written plot. The story must keep my interest and I must have some type of connection, in some form or fashion, to the characters. I need to care what happens to them, good or bad, or it's just not worth my time.

What is the hardest part of being a writer?

Rejection. The time and the energy involved in putting together a manuscript is almost immeasurable. To some it's truly a blood, sweat and tears kinda thing, and to have that rejected, by an agent in a query letter or by an unknown reviewer can be emotionally overwhelming. Every writer, myself included, thinks theirs is the "greatest story ever told," but the real test comes when people you don't know read it. That is a writer's only true barometer, and sometimes the truth hurts.

Is the book always better than the movie?

Absolutely. A movie has a time limit, and not just because of production scheduling, but simply because of the average person's attention span. Three hours is the limit to which a person will willingly sit still and watch anything! So movie's are restricted to how much plot, conflict and resolution they can produce in under three hours, whereas a book can be nearly endless i.e. War and Peace. Pulp writer's have much more leeway when it comes to character development than screen writer's do.

What is your perfect Sunday?

A blue sky, perhaps with a spotty puffy white cloud or two; warm, but not hot with a calm, gentle breeze. My wife and I together, along a trail shrouded in thick trees and vegetation. A deer, a few yards off, chews a leaf, ignoring us as we pass. Miles later the trail bends and the trees suddenly open to a rocky outcropping along the edge of the mountain and there, laid out for miles beneath us, is the valley. We sit along the edge, share a bottle of water and a light snack and silently take in the splendor, each of us wishing it wouldn't end.

What is on the floor of your bedroom?

Carpet, eggshell colored, once plush and vibrant now well worn. A cat or two napping in the warmth of the sun that covers most of the bedroom and an article or three of clothing, mine, that my wife politely asks me to pick up but I say to her "the floor is the largest shelf in the house," and smile.

Check out Time in a Bottle at Amazon.com.

What I Mean When I Say "Tired"

I'm feeling a little stress. We all do from time to time. Mine is usually brought on by my own hand, that is I cause stress for myself.

Undue stress, for the most part. I'm tired of it.

I've never really wanted to consider myself a "type-A" personality, but there you have it. (please oh please let me be an A- at least)

Stress makes for lousy writing sessions. Stress makes for neurotic checking of email and Kindle sales and publishing contracts and email and Twitter and email (did I mention email?). Stress makes for lack of sleep. Lack of sleep makes for tired. Tired makes for a cranky Aaron.

So what do you do? How do you manage stress in your life?

WIP Wednesday: Juggling & Big Experiment Update

From my "notes" on my iPod (where I leave myself late night "to dos"):

guest blog
XXXX's book
finish war story
finish zombie piece and revise
prep Saints for May release
finalize House Eaters print
revise flash and send

My goal today is to knock out XXXX's book (a beta read--I'm 70% done), the guest blog, and finalize The House Eaters for print. I'd love to finish the "war" story. It's been fun:

By some accident of God, I survived the first assault.

See. Fun.

The big experiment update? I've sold 50+ e-books this month (50 on the Kindle and another 5 or so via Smashwords). A bit of a milestone for me.

Onwards and upwards!

Playing Hooky

I'm not sure the phrase "playing hooky" is universal in other English-speaking cultures. Around here it means I'm skipping school.

And I am--so I can go to school with my son. They have a wonderful program at Sunset Hill Elementary called "Watch D.O.G.S." and I'm the D.O.G.S. today. (Dads of Great Students) Of course, I'm not typing this at Owen's school; I'm having lunch at home during a break. What I've learned today:

1. Reading is everything in an elementary
2. Recess is still fun, but chaotic (and not nearly long enough)
3. I'm really proud of my kid

Owen even devoured his broccoli first at lunch. I wouldn't have had the willpower. (My sugar cookies would have been gone in five seconds.)

Enjoy your Tuesdays (or Wednesday for those of you down under).

On Second Reads

Do you read a story/novel more than once?

I'm a chronic re-reader. Some books, like Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, I've read three or more times. Of course others, Of Mice and Men, I've taught for ten years or more. I almost have that poor little book memorized.

Sometimes the re-read doesn't carry the same impact as the first time. I couldn't sleep last Friday night, and so pulled one of my H.P. Lovecraft collections off the shelf and tackled "The Rats in the Walls" for the third time. It is a brilliant story, wonderfully set up and paced. But--and here's the spoiler alert--upon my second and third reads, when the protagonist and his compatriots open the secret staircase and descend into the "grotto of twilit horrors" it didn't have the same effect as it did upon first reading.

I felt a tad sad. The first time I read "The Rats in the Walls" I felt a sense of discovery and revulsion upon making the discovery. Knowing "what was coming" softened the blow. The overwhelming sense of dread and terror just wasn't there.

Are there types of stories which fair better upon re-reading? How so?

#samplesunday The House Eaters

Chapter One - The House Eaters

I found the half-devoured house on our first afternoon in Broughton’s Hollow.

Dad and Mom were busy unpacking, Tabby was in her room being a moody fourteen-year-old, and I was bored. It was day one in Nowhere, Kansas, and my skull was already starting to ache. Okay, the place was officially called Evergreen Estates, and it was a new development, one of those places where people come in and smash old houses or bulldoze nature to make room for new construction. But Dad called the place Broughton’s Hollow because that was the name of the town when he was a kid. He grew up in nearby Springdale, the little town where I’d be a senior in the fall.

I figured the initials B.H. fit the place pretty well. B.H. as in black hole. As in goodbye social life, sorry to see you go, but Nick is stuck in Kansas, and no tornado is going to ferry his sorry butt to Oz.

Officially, we moved because of Mom. Not because she wanted to; she was a city girl, St. Louis born and raised. No, we moved because Mom lost her job with Sprint. Dad was an English teacher, and they couldn’t afford our place in Kansas City. Tabby’s hospital bills still hung over the family, and the ’rents even had not-so-secret conversations about how a move might help her. I overheard them talking about it on more than one occasion even though it was hush-hush. Besides, the new house was cheap. “A steal,” Dad said.

Broughton’s Hollow—Evergreen Estates. Whatever. It was nothing like K.C.

So while everyone was unpacking, I decided to go for a run. After a long day, I was stiff, and I figured I could work in a few laps before dinner. Hitting a pool would be nicer—more my style, but then again anything would be nicer than moving two weeks before my senior year. Who knew if there was a decent lap pool within fifty miles? Evergreen was a new development, just about ten houses—all on a couple newly paved streets. I counted when we pulled in that morning. I wasn’t really paying too much attention, of course. I also had the whole “teenage resistance” thing going on, or so said Mom.

The streets were paved with varying degrees of success. The new streets, like ours, were smooth and black. The county roads and streets that held remnants of older houses surviving from Dad’s childhood lay in cracked stretches, with weeds and grass poking through the gashes. I ran down one of those roads, away from the development, following the county highway around low hills that sort of sheltered the Hollow. My long legs took the broken road in easy strides while I scanned the horizon. Kansas was flat, but mostly out west. In the northeast, little towns like Broughton’s Hollow were tucked away between hills and stands of cottonwood trees, lost amongst green smudges that marked rivers or streams.

I rounded a turn, and something hit me, landed in my gut with the force of a ball of ice. Even though it was July, I shivered. The sun was in hiding all day, resting behind a healthy layer of rain clouds, so it was colder than usual. But that wasn’t it.

I didn’t shiver because of the cold. There, in front of me, burrowed in the side of one of these low hills, rested the ruins of an old house, almost twice the size of our new place. A monster lurking in the shadows. It was a predator, an abomination—the outside walls were mostly smashed, almost peeled off, from a little tower that rose in the middle to the sprawling foundation. The roof was intact, but splinters of graying wood from the torn up siding jutted toward me like broken teeth. The sun peeked out just enough to ignite the front of the House before vanishing into the granite sky and bits of glass glinted like flickering eyes.

For a moment, the House was alive.

I was distracted while running, trying to ignore the stiffness in my legs and thinking about how much suckage I’d have to contend with at Springdale High, but then the House leapt out of nowhere, kind of like it was waiting in the shadows of the hill. With a quick glance to each side, I noticed I was a couple hundred yards from the edge of the development. My brain overcrowded with the feeling that the House was watching me.

I hurried back home. My feet pounded against the ground, and my heart clanged away inside my chest as I ran as fast as I could for the first hundred yards. My paced slowed, and I was almost fully thawed by the time I rounded the last of the highway and saw the old man standing on our porch, talking to Mom.

Instant freeze again.

Want some more? The House Eaters is on sale for a buck at Amazon.com and Smashwords.com.

Five Question Friday: Sean P. Bridges

Five questions with Sean P. Bridges...

What do you think makes a good story?

A story that makes the reader want to continue to turn the page. You have to craft a plot that's interesting and moving. If you can keep a reader curious enough to keep going, you're doing your job.

Is the book always better than the movie?

Not always, my favorite example is the graphic novel, A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE. I think the screenwriters took the basic concept and crafted a much more interesting story than the author of the original material.

What is the hardest part of being a writer?

To keep moving forward. Sometimes there's a lot of interest or heat around you, and it's easy to keep going. Other times, you're on your own, and you question if it's worth it to keep striving. I think it's the hardest part for any creative individual chasing any creative desire.

What is the last book you read?

HIGH COTTON, by Joe R. Lansdale. He's a tough, no holds barred writer, and some of his material is gritty and hard to get through, but you have to find out how things are going to end. Just an amazing writer.

What do you keep in the dashboard of your car?

The car manual for my Jeep, a couple fuses, tire pressure gauge, and I have a photo of Morgan Freeman, taken at his club in Clarksdale, Mississippi. So whenever I open the glove box, I always say hi to Morgan.

Roll the Die on Amazon and Smashwords.

Now for Something Really Scary...

Um... I'm not taking advice from a dinosaur. Those suckers are extinct.

WIP Wednesday: Weeding the Word Garden

I'm slashing and hacking through the latest Sons of Chaos novella. The first half--el stinko. I've spent plenty of time and ink getting it close to "okay". The second half, mostly action, chase scenes, and killing monsters, is much tighter. I'm also about halfway through a beta read of a rather strange novella for a delightfully strange writer.

But am I writing?

Yes. A little. I've taken characters and situation from one of my previously published stories and started to expand (it might grow up to be a novella some day). The first line:

Jack’s dreams brought monsters of steel and rubber and glass, hulking things which screamed and cried frigid tears.

Today's writing prompt: You hit your head while running through the woods. When you wake, you are tied down and surrounded by a group of woodland creatures discussing ways in which to kill you...

Top Five Frankenstein's Monsters

I haven't done a top five in quite some time. It's not much of a secret I love Frankenstein and his monster. Here are my favorite from film and TV:

#5: Fred Gwynne as Herman Munster - Scary? No. But Herman was made of awesome.


#4: Robert De Niro - Branagh's movie has flaws, but when De Niro ripped out Elizabeth's heart, mine almost stopped.


#3: David Prowse - Prowse is best know for his role as Darth Vader (the body not the voice) in the original Star Wars trilogy. But he gets the bump above the others because he played two very different monsters, from the hunk in The Horror of Frankenstein (1970) and the furry beastie in Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell (1974), both from Hammer.



#2: Christopher Lee - Lee would win every monster contest if it wasn't for Karloff and Lugosi. His staggering monster from 1957's Curse of Frankenstein (Hammer) was truly grotesque.


#1: Boris Karloff - My first love. Could there be any other #1?


Who is your favorite monster?

What to Do When Your Publisher Dies

My Friday morning started with a deluge of emails from the Virtual Tales authors' group. Two of the four board members had resigned. My contract was declared "NULL and VOID". A year ago, I would have been devastated. The House Eaters has traveled a rough road. I thought it would be the book to land an agent--in fact, it came close. But that was a long time ago.

The world of publishing has seen many changes since then.

Instead of being paralyzed with frustration, I went into action. With my rights returned, I released The House Eaters this weekend for Kindle with a new cover. Smashwords and POD versions are forthcoming. For now, I'm offering the Kindle edition for the low price of 99 cents--a temporary sale for the re-release.

I love this book, and I hope many more people have the chance to love it, too.

Devastated? No. Not anymore.

I'm empowered.

The Saints are Dead

I'll tackle the debacle regarding The House Eaters on Monday, today belongs to The Saints are Dead.

Pre-orders are up through Aqueous Press and if you order during the month of April, you can enter a sweet contest (in which everyone who pre-orders wins a prize).

I love this book. I've worked ridiculously hard on this book (and the editor has, too). Some of my favorite stories are included ("Gary Sump's Hidden City," "Dancing Lessons," "The World in Rubber, Soft and Malleable," "Reciprocity" the entire list is here). I love those freakin' stories and I want you to love them, too.

So I'm offering an incentive to pony up for a copy.

Here are the rules:

If you pre-order The Saints are Dead (or order if it goes live before April 30th) , please forward me a copy of the receipt (or a snippet at least--I don't need all the financial details) and I'll put your name in a drawing (actually I'll add it five times). Each pre-order will also receive a free story in his/her mailbox, a previously unpublished story. Now that's exciting, right? But you must send me an email to enter: aaron.polson[at]gmail.com I promise not to spam you. Scout's honor.

You may also enter the drawing with a tweet (just be sure to direct folks to the pre-order url: http://aqueousbooks.com/publications.htm) or a mention on a blog/facebook. Make sure to tag me or use the @aaronpolson handle on Twitter and I'll find your entry.

1st prize: American Fantastic Tales edited by Peter Straub (slightly used but in pristine condition--I received a second set when I subscribed to the Library of America)

2nd prize: Mr. Gaunt and Other Uneasy Encounters by John Langan

3rd prize: Northern Haunts edited by Tim Deal (paperback--and signed by yours truly if you like)

Entries are welcome from around the world.

You have until April 30th.

I thank you and my stories thank you.

Five Question Friday: Edward W. Robertson

Five questions with Edward W. Robertson...

Is the book always better than the movie?

Yes, with the exception of the Godfather Corollary. And the Jaws Exemption. And the Bladerunner "Not Exactly Better, But Probably as Good in Different Ways" Theorem (still under argument: The Lord of the Rings). Generally, though, even when a movie is extremely well adapted, it can't include all the dimensions that made a book great. Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly is remarkably faithful to its source and nails Dick's sensibility, but it's still not quite as satisfying as the book.

Never mind stuff like Never Let Me Go. The movie does its best to get Ishiguro across, but the book is so definitely a book that trying to translate it into the language of cinema is the act of a crazy person. It's like trying to transfer Jello to Tupperware via mallet.

If aliens landed in front of you and, in exchange for anything you desire, offered you any job on their planet, what would you choose?

Food critic. Assuming these aliens have discovered the eldritch secret of vodka--I'm no fool. I know there will be some dishes I can't swallow with an unaddled mind. But yeah, alien food. You'd never get bored.

Cats or dogs? Why?

I used to be a cat person. I like that they don't listen to anyone and will scratch you if you pet them in the wrong place. Cats have a good sense of identity. You have to respect that.

I still like cats, but lately, I've been warming up to small dogs--I just brought one home from the pound last week. He's baffling. Every morning, he drags his blankets out of his crate, then steals the bath mat from in front of the shower. So far, I am unable to deduce his motivations. He's not chewing on them. He's not using them as a depositing pad for substances that properly belong on the neighbor's lawn. He's just rearranging the room according to some internal mutty feng shui. I like that I can't understand him.

If you couldn't write, how would you spend the time you now use for writing?

Practicing more kung fu. And searching for a job. Possibly as a stuntman or a Jet Li-defeater, if I had that much time to practice.

If you couldn't drive a car, how would you get from place to place?

I don't like driving, actually. (Wisely, I just moved to the LA area.) I'll do it, but if I can walk, I will, whatever the weather. I was special buddies with the subway when I lived in New York. I've taken the bus/train in LA a few times and enjoyed it much more than driving: no worries about traffic or those dorks who apparently started driving before the invention of the turn signal.

I take a note pad with me and write. A 90-minute bus trip into the city proper isn't a pain when you arrive in Beverly Hills with a couple new pages in hand. Sometimes I'll wish the ride were still going.

Edward W. Robertson's books available on Kindle.

Website.