Tag: writing

By Dennis R. Upkins

They say you can never go home again.  They also say home is where the heart is.

If both statements are simultaneously true, then perhaps it means that you can never return home if home is always with you. Perhaps periodically we could all use the reminder that home isn’t so much a location, but the cherished people and experiences that define us.

Said reminder came in the form of me reconnecting with my high school bestie Joshua after two decades. In doing so I’ve discovered how far I’ve come into my own. More than that, this Catholic Herald is reminded that not only is he highly favored, but since the beginning God has sent her best and brightest to bless him and his journey. Said reminders come in the form of a Starbucks date that I’m on at the time of penning this piece. Enjoying a Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino and the company of a handsome silver fox, I’m reminded to appreciate some of life’s true treasures.

In order to know where you’re going, you have to retrace your steps and remember where you’ve been, how far you’ve come, and what you’ve overcome. This also applies to one’s artistry. Which brings me to a little novella of mine entitled Stranger than Fiction. As my first professional published piece of fiction, Stranger than Fiction holds sacred space for me. Not only because of the story itself, but the story behind the story.

Strangely enough, Stranger than Fiction actually came to be as a result of a challenge from author Todd McCaffrey. Some years back I was at Dragon Con with a buddy who is a huge fan of the Dragonriders of Pern series. I was curious to learn more about the series and I’m always eager to learn about an artist’s creative process.

As the panel went on, I inquired about becoming an author and what advice Mr. McCaffrey would give. He inquired whether or not I’ve begun submitting my work to publishers. I confessed I hadn’t because I was working, in art school, and was waiting for a more opportune time to pursue writing.

That’s when he explained there is no convenient season. He encouraged me to go home and start writing. He challenged me to write a short story in two to three months and begin submitting it to publishers. What I remember most is that he spoke positively with conviction and certainty that I would be published and he would hear about it, and he was so happy to see a young author at the beginning of his career.

The result of that challenge was Stranger than Fiction. Submitting the story to various markets wasn’t without its challenges. While I received the usual rejection letters, the worst came from a specific publication’s editorial assistant. Insulting both the story and my skills as a writer, the editorial assistant wanted to emphasize that this was one of the worst stories she read and I had no business being an author. Nevertheless I persisted and continued to submit my novella. My labor would ultimately pay off. Stranger than Fiction became my first official sale when it was originally released as an audio short for Sniplits. The novella would regularly be featured as story of the week during that website’s seven-year run.

More than that, I was compensated for more than twice the amount a certain other publication would have paid me. More than that, said publication went out of business.

I returned to Dragon Con the following year and gave Mr. McCaffrey a copy of Stranger than Fiction, and thanked him for igniting the spark that launched my career as a speculative fiction author.

Last year I re-released Stranger than Fiction in print for the first time, and it’s been well received by a new audience and a surprising success. The experience taught me that while betting on yourself is a scary risk, it can also result in achieving the impossible.

Achieving the impossible feels like home.

By J.L. Mulvihill

One night I had a strange, terrifying but magical dream. That dream turned into a 180,000-word story. Eventually it was cut down drastically and became my first novel, The Lost Daughter of Easa. I had no idea what I was doing except writing a story that I wanted to share with others.  Once I finished the novel, I had to figure out what to do with it.

I remember I was at work one day and was getting coffee in the kitchen when I saw an ad in the paper for a convention that offered workshops for writers. The conference was called MidSouthCon and was only for a weekend so I convinced my family we should go. It was the most amazing thing I had ever done. While my family went to do all the fun things they had at the convention, I went to every single writing panel I could squeeze into my schedule. I remember I was up late and exhausted, but I was determined to learn the business of writing inside and out.

With the things I learned at that convention and with writing that novel I found a link to another world. Of course, that world was always there, always looming in the back of my mind drifting in and out of my thoughts, but it was never really something I understood when I was younger.

As a child I read a lot for escapism. I didn’t have a very nice childhood, but I found that I could climb a tree with a book and run away with the characters in the story. My mind didn’t stop there though, because something else was going on in my head. Stories of my own were formulating and I found that if I didn’t have anything to read, I could escape into a story of my own making. As I grew older, I started writing these stories down along with poetry and songs. The silly thing is that I should have realized then that I was a writer, but I just didn’t get the hint.

The novel Lost Daughter of Easa was published in 2011 and had its debut at DragonCon that year where it sold out. I was riding on cloud nine and was ready to continue the story. However, I moved on to another project for a few years and wrote another adventure, all along knowing that Elsie’s story wasn’t finished.  When I finally had time to sit down and continue writing Elsie’s story, I found it easy falling back into her world. The next novel in the series, for I now realized that this would eventually become a series, was called Return to Easa.

I was still working a full-time job and raising a family with my husband, but all the while I remained connected to that link in my mind. I never let go of the storyteller inside, but instead tempered her and kept at an even pace. I managed to write five other novels over the years to a total of seven while still working. I also wrote short stories and had them published as well.

In all this time I have never let Elsie Lind go; she has always been with me. I don’t think it is because it was my first novel, but more than that I am not done telling her story. There also might be a bit of me and my feelings and life in that story as well. Of course, all my stories have a little something of me in them – after all, you do write what you know. I am still writing the Elsie Lind Chronicles, not just to share her story, but to offer a world to escape to for my readers as I had done when I was young.

Though the novel was labeled young adult, I never started writing the story as a YA novel; it just kind of came out that way. I did, however, create the character in such a way that readers could identify with her. She does not start out as anyone very special, but she eventually finds her own potential and strengths within her to become a strong young woman. That part was intentional, because I believe we have within us the strength and power to overcome the obstacles life throws in our way.

In the beginning of the novel, Elsie Lind falls through a giant spider web that is a portal to another world. This was something I often fantasized about when I was a child, kind of like Alice in Wonderland. I wanted to go to another world to escape the life I was in, and I believed that if I could just find that portal, I could change everything in my life. I did find that portal, sort of, when I write my stories, because I go into that world I am writing about in my mind. As any good writer will tell you, I live it, breathe it, I feel it.

When Elsie wakes up in the other world, she has amnesia. I wrote this because what I had hoped was that a person could forget the bad things in their life and start fresh and maybe be a new person, start a new life. This experiment, however, enlightened me. I found that as I wrote the story, Elsie still had the thoughts and feelings inside, and she could not understand where they came from. Her emotions from past “baggage” if you will, were still guiding her and she could not grow until she faced these emotions. She had to find out who she was and where she came from in order to change the bad feelings and emotions within and become a better person. Elsie is still working on this, and I probably am too.

I think perhaps all my characters in all my novels are the kind that most kids and even adults identify with. It’s an understanding of growth and it is a form of therapy. I always encourage anyone who is going through, or has gone through stressful times to write, even if you’re not writing a novel just write your feelings because it really does help. I feel so grateful to be able to share my stories and get the therapy I need at the same time.

People always ask me what research I do for my books. Since The Elsie Lind Chronicles are fantasy novels, it is a bit difficult to research a made-up world, but not impossible.  Even though it’s a fantasy world it needs to be believable. I like to research historical elements such as castles, swords, battle skills, clothing and things like that. I also research folklore, especially Scandinavian folklore that really seems to fit into my world beautifully. I have my own private collection of books on these subject matters and use them often. If there is something I do not have, I tend to go to a library or bookstore to find what I need. I am not against modern technology, and I will do some research on Google, but I prefer to use books so that I can be accurate.

The Lost Daughter of Easa will always have a special place in my heart, and I do hope to continue the story until there is no more to tell. Right now, I am writing full-time, so I will have lots of time to spend with Elsie Lind in her world. I hope that if you who are reading this now, you might give The Lost Daughter of Easa a try. See if you don’t manage to escape if only for a little while.

If you are a writer, give your characters the chance to speak to you. Let them in your head, feel their pain and accomplishments because really, they are a part of you. Share your story, because I promise you someone out there will identify with you and will appreciate the story you have written.

By Elizabeth Lynn Blackson

I need to tell you a secret: I am a fraud. I’m a complete fake. I don’t have a degree in English. I have no piece of paper declaring myself competent. Nothing.

I’m no author.

That’s the voice of my harshest critic: me.

Stephen King has been quoted as saying “If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.”

Damn. That quote is a powerful tool against my raging Imposter Syndrome, and frankly, it’s something I occasionally dearly need to hear.

There is this long, terrifying space in the process of writing. Not the slap-dash first draft. Not the hours of honing, or reading and rereading, looking to spackle plot holes closed. Not going through dialogue, looking for opportunities to strengthen character through their voice. Not researching absurd facts, like whether a Glock 17 has a last-round hold-open on the slide.

When you buff and polish, and format and publish and then…

Then you wait. And you hope for positive feedback. And you get… not much. Sometimes none. If you’re lucky enough to have a few reliable beta readers, whatever momentum you got from their enthusiastic cheering fades, and you wait.

I finished an entire trilogy of urban fantasy/horror novels collectively known as “The Suffering Sequence.” And then…

Nothing.

I don’t know how to market. Maybe worse, I do not wish to learn. I HATE the face-forward portion of this process. If I felt fake calling myself an author, I feel doubly so trying to be my own hype-woman. “Read my stuff. I’m amazing.”

I hate the ‘elevator pitch’ and the ‘back cover blurb.’ I hate selling myself as an author, but unless I plan to magically find funds to hire someone else to do it, I’m… stuck.

I’ve written over a million words of fiction: seven entire novels, co-authored two other novels, only four of which ever saw the light of day. I’ve DNFed several more novels around the halfway mark. I have written three other novellas, which are frankly fan-fic, but (I feel) important building blocks to longer works. I have also written a fair bit of short fiction, enough at least for several collections.

Minus one novel written with Scrivener, all of them have been created in simple word processing programs. I’m writing this using Google Docs, which is what I used to write the entire “Suffering Sequence” trilogy.

I have had issues with finding cover artists, editors, publishers, and at every turn it’s felt like the world conspired against me to place barriers to completion. Add frustration, impatience, and lack of funds to the Imposter Syndrome.

In the early 90’s, I was working with a friend on small press comics. While sitting at a booth, selling our wares, there was another artist next to us, and we struck up a conversation. The topic wandered to the parts of the process that are in our control, and the difficulty of the whole process. He said, paraphrased, that it was a lot of effort even to make garbage. That notion has stuck with me. Even in the age of print on demand, creating a finished book is a lot of work.

After having a cover artist’s delay in getting his assignment completed, I became gun-shy of farming out ANY part of the process.

That’s when I remembered something that I frequently shove aside in the mad dash toward monetization of any skill: I make art. I write. I create fonts. I draw and I paint.

I remembered that even if I was reduced to a physical spiral-bound notepad and Bic pen, I would still write and draw.

I painted the cover image of my latest collection with poster paint from Dollar General. I might complain mightily, but I still create. It seems to be an innate part of me, and budget constraints are only limiter as to what tools I use.

When I pulled my head out of the mire of depression, I remembered I was an artist.

ELIZABETH LYNN BLACKSON grew up in a small town in Eastern Ohio, living on a steady diet of comic books, horror movies, and Stephen King novels, while playing D&D and listening to heavy metal. It twisted her into the maniacal creature you now see before you. While certain she was going to be a comic artist, life pulled her in a different direction, and she ended up in the St. Louis metro area, where she lives with her hubby and two cats. Check out her work on the Literary Underworld!

By Kathy L. Brown

The Story of Us

Unless we are some sort of Zen master of mindfulness, for good or ill most of us walk around all day immersed in the story in our head. We converse with ourselves or imaginary people. We react to events, parse their meaning, and fit them into patterns of our own creation. Each of us stars in our own story for an audience of one.

The late neurologist Oliver Sacks has written extensively on the subject. We seem to be hardwired to find patterns and impose sense on this narrative we call life. We unconsciously amend the objective facts to make a “better” story: More dramatic, more interesting, or just to “earn the ending.” Events really can’t be random and meaningless, right? And that pattern-finding instinct comes into play as we see images in random patterns, from clouds to grilled tortillas.

We Love Some Oxytocin

Human brains produce oxytocin, aka “cuddle hormone,” when we feel trusted or receive a kindness. It increases our empathic abilities–insight into other people’s emotional states–and thus makes cooperation more likely. (Fun fact: Oxytocin triggers the let-down reflex for nursing mother’s milk flow.)

Dr. Paul Zak’s brain chemistry research at Claremont Graduate University took blood from test subjects before and after they heard a narrative. Character-driven stories were associated with increased oxytocin levels. And more oxytocin is associated with more cooperation. Researchers have found stories—”experiential products”—provide happiness, just like real-life experiences.

“Collaborate or Die”

Proto- and early humans had to get it together, literally, or die. An individual naked ape had little chance in the wild. One thesis of social development cites the power of empathy—internalizing another creature’s observed experience and reacting to it as one’s own.

This instinct lead to banding together and cooperative behavior. It helped all member of the group get “on the same page,” as it were. Early cave paintings hint at an oral tradition of storytelling that harnessed the group’s experience: A powerful bonding tool.

The Power of Story

As biologist Nathan Lents points out, “We cannot feel empathy for data.” A character-driven, emotional rich narrative is remembered more accurately later and is more likely to change behavior. Marketers and educators tap this aspect of human psychology. When I was in graduate school, I used a case study for a presentation on health behavior principles. My patient had worked hard as a coal miner all his life. He’d played hard, too. He loved the nightlife, beer, and cigarettes. When we meet, he had end-stage lung disease. Medicines were barely helpful, and the disease would slowly but inevitably destroy his lungs, each breath a labored gasp. But then, he was put on the wait list for lung transplant.

See what I did there? This expository piece turned into a story about a poor dude who couldn’t breathe. Maybe it’s a little more interesting now, as the oxytocin-driven empathy kicks in.

Because story links directly with our emotions, the connection is stronger and faster. The facts don’t have to convince us of the superiority of a particular brand of chewing gum: when we see a sweet, one-minute story about a man, his growing daughter, and the bond between them symbolized by a chewing-gum wrapper collection, we not only want gum, we also want the “gum experience” of love and family devotion.

This blog was originally published on 6/7/2019 at The Storytelling Blog.

Kathy L. Brown lives in St. Louis, Mo. and writes speculative fiction with a historical twist. Her hometown and its history inspire her fiction. When she’s not thinking about how haunted everything is, she enjoys hiking, crafts, and cooking for her family. Montag Press published the first novel in her Sean Joye Investigations book series in 2021. Follow her social media platforms: Instagram at kathylbrownwrites, Facebook at kbKathylbrown, and Twitter at KL_Brown. The Storytelling Blog lives at kathylbrown.com.

By John McFarland

It was to be the trip of a lifetime. One of those ‘bucket list’ deals that retirees dream of. My wife Cindy’s ex daughter-in-law, Michelle, had always stayed close to Cindy through the years. And after years of hard work, elevating herself to comfortable circumstances, Michelle invited us to join her family on a tour of the UK.

Although Michelle’s family trip was only to encompass the UK, Cindy, always looking at the big picture, saw a larger opportunity. Having two publishers in Germany, Wandler-Verlag and Zagava, and an illustrator in Seville, Spain, she planned that we could get a Europass and see the Continent by rail after our hosts went home. These were exciting prospects, and it occurred to me that there was yet another literature-related possibility open to us before we left England for the train tour.

I had become facebook friends with Ramsey Campbell perhaps three years before. He was always the first person to wish me happy birthday every year, and I enjoyed reading his regular-bloke posts about partying with his friends, cinema, horror, and The Three Stooges. He was and is an avid assembler of 1000 piece picture puzzles and loves a good glass of cheer. We had a sort of connection through the person of the iconic T.E.D. Klein.

The very first fiction I ever wrote was a tale called One Happy Family. Ted was the wunderkind editor of The Twilight Zone Magazine in those days and he accepted that story and published it in October 1983 issue. Subsequent stories I submitted to him didn’t fare so well, but Ted always explain in detail and with much kindness, what he felt was lacking in them. I reconnected with Ted when my first story collection appeared in 2020 and he was graciously supportive and gave me very positive blurbs. He even sent a collection of essays he had recently published, as a gift.

As it turns out, Ted was equally encouraging to Ramsey when he first came on the scene with his novel The Doll Who Ate His Mother, also in the early ‘80’s. They have been friends ever since. Ramsey was impressed when I was honored to be included in a two author chapbook with Ted issued by Wandler-Verlag.

I messaged Ramsey through Facebook that we were going to be in the UK in late August. I asked if he were going to be available then and if we could meet. His response was ‘Let’s have dinner.’ We selected a Turkish restaurant Ramsey and his wife Jenny had wanted to try in Wallasey Village, across the Mersey River from Liverpool. The restaurant was just a few blocks from their home. Ramsey made reservations for four for the evening of August 25.

Cindy has never been a fan of horror. She felt ill-equipped to meet an author whom I had told her was a celebrity. “How famous is he?” she asked me.

“Maybe not quite as well-known as Stephen King, but close to that.”

I told her I was a little apprehensive too. I had never met, face-to-face, a writer in that hierarchy and though I had read three of Ramsey’s novels and many of his short stories, I didn’t consider myself qualified to speak authoritatively about his work.

Cindy and I got to the restaurant first. It was a nice neighborhood place, but completely empty, but for us. We were seated in a booth in the front window. Remembering Ramsey’s love of jigsaw puzzles, I had bought him a gift of a thousand-piece puzzle of horror movie posters over the years. For good measure, I threw in copies of my two story collections.

After about a ten minute wait, an Uber pulled up outside and Ramsey and Jenny made their way out of it. “Here they are,” I told Cindy. I stood to greet them, hoping the coming conversation would not lag and would take on a life of its own.

It took about three seconds to see that Ramsey was the same fellow in person as he is online. His left arm was in a sling. He said he had taken a fall a few weeks before and broken it. “Lucky it wasn’t my writing arm,” he said, as he had just started another new novel. Jenny apologized for looking tired but said she was just preparing for a weekend babysitting her rambunctious grandsons. “But first things first,” Ramsey said. “What are we drinking?”

The first of several bottles of Pinot Grigio was brought to the table and we made short work of it. Cindy need not have been concerned about her conversational skills as we spoke of non-horror books, wines, grandkids, travel, sightseeing (Ramsey and Jenny had just returned from visiting a son in Singapore) and pets. We ordered our food and everyone shared whatever was on their plates. More wine came and Ramsey entertained us with magic tricks and tales of such notables as Robert Aickman and Ted Klein. And always an occasional Three Stooges reference.

I gave Ramsey his gift bag. He was delighted with the puzzle and seemed genuinely grateful for my books. “Did you sign them?” he asked. I had thought he might resent the presumption. But, not at all.

For four hours we talked, ate and drank our wine. Jenny said more than once she was really enjoying herself and she hoped we would stay in touch. I called the waiter over and he took four photos of us together. We had the restaurant to ourselves the entire evening. At ten o’clock I paid the bill and offered to share an Uber with our guests.

I had to help Ramsey to his feet. I think his injury had taken something out of him. The four of us waited on a deserted street for our ride. When it came I helped Ramsey into the car and in five minutes we were at their home on a comfortable, ivy-draped residential street nearby.  Everyone hugged everyone and Jenny repeated she wanted to stay in touch. Ramsey seconded this and I could see they had really taken to Cindy. Me too, apparently.

I didn’t initiate this memorable evening with any plot or plan, but as it turns out, Ramsey really did read my books and loved them. He gave me several blurbs to use in the future. More than I ever expected. I just wanted the chance to meet him and talk writing. And, as it turns out, Wandler-Verlag will be publishing another chapbook next year, featuring Ramsey and myself.

I still hear from him regularly. And many of the messages, though not all, begin or end with some reference to The Three Stooges.

JOHN MCFARLAND’S first novel, The Black Garden, was published in 2010, and the story continues with the recent Mother of Centuries. His work has appeared in The Twilight Zone Magazine, Eldritch Tales, National Lampoon, River Styx, Tornado Alley and the anthology A Treasury of American Horror Stories, which also included stories by Stephen King, Richard Matheson and H.P. Lovecraft. He has written extensively on historical and arts-related subjects and has been a guest lecturer in fiction at Washington University in St. Louis. He is a lifelong Bigfoot enthusiast, and Annette: A Big Hairy Mom is his first novel for young readers.