Day 4: Does Word Count Count for Much?

I finished one story. Three more to go. I already had it mostly finished and still have a lot of editing done, but I’m happy where it finished. The hardest part of any story is finishing. You know at the end of a long novel and you want to know what happens to the characters after the story finishes? That is doubly true for authors. In the same way that people don’t die after they finish a competition, that’s just one part of their life, so a story is with a character.

The final word count is just under 14,000. I was aiming for an even fifteen but I’m not concerned. I never know how much an edit will take out or put back into the story.

Out of curiosity I searched to see how many words an average short story had. The range was huge anywhere between one sentence (I’m not kidding) and 50,000 words. It is quite a large range, so how long should mine be? After reading a couple of websites it was obvious there were two schools of thought. An idealistic one is, “write as long as it takes to tell the story well,” and fifty words shouldn’t make the difference between a great story and a poor one, but it could. I disagree. It has always been helpful to have a goal. It is a framework. But the truth is limitations are good for writers. Twitter is good for writers.

Image via CrunchBase

Some time ago, my girlfriend was having a hard time writing poetry. I told her to write a Shakespearean sonnet. So, even though almost all of her poetry had been free verse she had a wonderful time writing to a specific format, word count, and everything else that goes into a sonnet.

Limits unleash creativity.

So put up some walls and then break them down later. Keep trucking.

Onto a story about Kiwis!

Day 1: Tension

As I’ve started on this project I am going to be okay when I don’t meet my goals. Last night I didn’t meet my goal for the day (2000 words). I got close but not quite there. And today I have two or three hours that I’ve set aside to be able to write. Most people don’t have contacts inside of the publishing world. I have five. Hopefully this next week I’ll be meeting with one of them who has published  almost a dozen books. We will see what she says.

Carving out time is probably the hardest thing to do. I have an infinite amount of things to do and a finite time in which to do them. Eternity is written on the hearts of men. I am no different. My limitations rear their heads all of the time. I wanted to work out today, I don’t think it is going to happen but the afternoon is kind of up in the air. I wanted to sleep too. Instead, I’m going to brew a pot of coffee and slug it out. Fifteen steps from me are four people who are good friends and I’m typing. I hope they understand.

This morning, before 10am I wrote nearly four pages and have the first story edited. It’s about fourteen thousand words in total. An earlier draft is on this blog, I might take it down, we’ll see.

Tension is always in the air. One of the themes of the book will be tension. The tension between changing seasons. The tension between relationships and friendships. Between family. People constantly battle themselves, battle with God. Anyone who isn’t fighting to live isn’t really living. American’s fight against apathy, boredom, and wasting time. Even though we don’t fight against flesh and blood, we fight against spirits, powers, and principalities.

Our fight is primarily with ourselves. If you are reading this, you have internet access. Probably a house. And food every day. You are richer that 90% of the entire world.

What are you gonna do about it?

What am I?

Day 0: One Step

The Journey Begins.

Up to this point, this blog has been for the purposes of posting fiction. It recently occurred to me that it wasn’t working very well. People who love fiction don’t read blogs, they read books.

When people read blogs, they want posts that are shorter than 1000 words, almost always. So I cut my stories into fifteen pieces so that nothing would be longer than it should have. But that doesn’t work because the story was written to be read in one go. Then what?

This last week, twice, someone has brought up the idea of e-publishing. Throw traditional publishing out the window and do it yourself. There are some things that are great about traditional publishing but there are some pretty terrible things as well. The company take more than half of the profit, since they’re taking the risk. But where does that leave the writer? It leaves him or her with an advance and not much more.

It seems that there are two significant downsides to publishing yourself. One, no marketing until you make it big (but that seems unlikely) and two no one to hold your hand as you go through it. The writer is the one who has to figure editing out for the most part but those are the only real downsides and who cares about money. If you’re only into writing for the money, then you aren’t going to make it. Period. People who think that writing is the best way to make money are more miserable than McDonald’s employees in NYC.

So where does that leave me? Where does that leave this blog?

Probably where most blogs end up. Not fiction but still interested in something. I’ll still post some fiction here but mostly it’ll be my journey in pursuing God and writing and life. I’ve got some good ideas for a book. Well two projects that I’ve been working on for some time. One of them will be a compilation of short stories. My goal is to publish that in ninety days. Well, 90 days. Either way we’ll see. Another is one that I’ve been working on for a year, on and off. One thing I will try to do is post every day about it. I’m not going to beat myself up over it if I don’t but it will almost be a journal but not quite. I like journey better.

God has been doing amazing things in my heart and I feel peace about this. As things come up, I’ll write about them. It seems like every celebrity and college age kid is talking about sexuality. That has been on my heart too. I’ve also got some ideas about manhood that my fingers have been itching to get to.

Peace
-Paul

BLOG IDEAS (Photo credit: owenwbrown)

Words. Words. Words.

So here I am, changing my blog’s name again. For those of you who periodically check it because it is a favorite, you’ll have to change that. If you only ever look at my blog because of the link on facebook, then you won’t have to change anything, it’ll still post and even mostly look the same.

When I changed it at the beginning of the year it was for the express purpose of not explaining my blog’s name any longer. Daniel’sfictionbypaul. Self explanatory, right? Mostly, I don’t mind explaining why I’ve adopted the name Paul but. But. But I don’t just write fiction…so what then how do I explain that. I’ve really enjoyed writing about ethics. I had a lot of good response. Even when I talked about swearing people became interested. My love will always be for fiction, but I’ve had a lot of interesting dialogue about essays I’ve written.

So to those of you who read what I have to write.

Thank you.

Mastered: Year 6, Day 1

“You have to stop!” Delia shouted, pounding on the glass.

The doctor looked at her questioningly but stopped the electro-therapy. Later, when Ash was stable, he asked, “That was the last chance to bring him out of his coma. He’s been there for far too long. Insurance is out.”
“I know.” Delia replied, hands in her lap. Though they had stopped hours ago, the tear marks were on her face. She knew what was coming next.
“I don’t want to give you hope, just to take it away but, there is a minute chance that pulling him off life support will wake him.”
“Okay. I just know that he wouldn’t want to live in anywhere he couldn’t move. I know you were doing your best doctor.”
“Do you want to call any friends over to be with you while we try one last time? Or would you prefer to be alone with him?”
“I’ll just be alone with him,” she said.

The doctor left while she said goodbye to Ash. His body had deteriorated while he lay in the bed for so long. His hair was matted. Tubes ran in and out of his body. She had hoped so much that this would be different from her husband. “Oh Ash,” she said, stroking his hair. “I love you so much. I’m so proud of you, no matter what.” She sat in the bed next to him where she had spent so much of her time over the last years. She sobbed quietly until the doctor came back in.

“Delia, are you ready?”

She nodded.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then nearly stopped. And  then Ash opened his eyes. For the third time in the last five years he opened his eyes.

“Mom?”
“Ash? Honey?”
“Where am I? Where’s Pikachu?”  Ash looked around wildly.
“Baby? What who’s that. What’s that?” Tears of joy streamed down her face.

Ash was so confused. There was no way that everything could have been explained to him in that moment. But enough was. He remembered everything that had happened and realized. All the hope and pain and hurt were worthless. His dream had been so fantastical. The care he had spent on the people and Pokémon was all wasted. Realizing that the only real thing he had experienced in the last five years were those two dreams crushed him.

His heart left him.

“I’m so sorry mom. I love you so much.” He said, hardly able to meet her eyes. Tears freely flowed.
“Ash it’s okay. Its okay, you’re here now.”
“No mom, I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Baby, its okay its okay. You’re safe now.”
“No mom.”

And he grabbed her hand. The heart monitor slowed again and she understood. She held his hand, even as he let go of life.

But spring is the most beautiful time of the year. The deaths we die give way to new life, for, how can a seed be born unless it dies?

Mastered: Year 5, Day 79

After having beaten the Elite Four he was invited to a competition. That was several weeks ago. The last twenty-four hours had been such a gauntlet. He was so tired. His legs ached, seeming to give out. Brock and Misty were not with him. Trainers only. It had started with three or four of them willing to brave the storm.

Photo credit by isdrake

Mewtwo had taken them captive. On one side stood reality, the Pokémon whom he had grown to love and care for. On the other were Mewtwo’s clones. As high of level as you can imagine for any Pokémon. By now the concrete floors were cracked. The walls were pock-marked from  attacks. War-zone didn’t do it justice. If he didn’t do anything all would be lost. But then Mew came. Mewtwo’s anger was not in any way lessened. Instead it intensified.

Every Pokémon that he could have relied on over the last five years would die if Ash didn’t do anything.  Mew and Mewtwo were gearing up for another barrage. His last chance awaited him. He sprinted into the middle; he had to save everything he loved and cared for.

But they didn’t stop. Their attacks kept on. Ash felt warmth from his right hand and cold from his left. He watched his hands turn to stone. It kept traveling up his arms towards his heart. His heart was beating in his ears. He fell to his knees. Everything was turning to stone. He looked up, Pikachu was running towards him screaming. All he wanted to say was, “I love you,” but the words caught in his mouth.

Mastered: Year 1, Day 10

“Did the…therapy… work?” Maria asked.

The doctor shook his head, “His brain activity is extremely high. There’s a good chance that it will. Time will tell.

What could be wrong with me that things like this keeps happening. Delia put her head in her hands. Why did everything happen this way? Jim was such a good husband. He cared so deeply for me. If he had been given more time he would have been a great dad. She remembered being taken to the battle station. He shouldn’t have died. Not while we were holding hands. The bedside was identical. How many nights have I spent by a bedside holding on?

Her makeup had long been washed away with tears. The doctor shuffled out while she wept, drowning in sadness.

Mastered: Year 1, Day 6

“Delia?” A man with a walrus mustache came into the room. His dress shoes clacked on the metal floors. As he reached the end of the bed, he picked up a chart at the end of Ash’s bed.
“Yes doctor? Is my son okay?”
“He is stable and there is brain activity, there’s hope, but the chances of him getting out of himself by himself are slim.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She hadn’t rested well since the accident. Some years ago, when Ash was five, his father died in the line of duty. Though they had emerged victorious, it had taken a huge toll on the men and women lost in battle. She had struggled financially ever since.

“What can we do?”

Photo Credit by Erika Bachiochi

Mastered: Year 4, Day 27

Ash swung the doors open. Warmth flooded out of the double doors. After making it through the caves, in the first town they were informed about Team Rocket’s doings. It had been a wild machination but had failed in light of Ash’s powerful team. It could be seen as a distraction but it had bolstered Ash’s confidence.

Red mottled carpet covered the floor. Bricks of black white framed the store front for a place to buy any number of healing .

A bald man sat in front of a shop, sipping on tea. His face had the consistency of worn leather. A small Abra sat next to him.

“Brock, Misty,” he said, looking to each of them, “this is where we part. Thanks so much for training with me. I’m gonna miss you two desperately. I’ll call you when I’m on the other side.”
“Good luck Ash!” Brock said, smiling and shaking his hand.
“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Misty said, hugging Ash around his neck.

They parted ways leaving Ash in the foyer. While Ash waited for the nurse to heal his Pokémon he sat down across from the old man.

“Are you ready?” He asked Ash.
“What?”
“Are you ready for the Elite Four?”
“Yeah! I’m super excited. The team I’ve got is really good and—“
“Not your Pokémon, of course they are ready. Are you?”

Ash looked at him again. There was something knowing in his dark brown eyes. Ash furrowed his brow and focused on the problem. Am I ready? I never even thought of that question…do I even have to do this? Why do I even care so much? Why did I even care so much to begin with, regardless of what I want now?

“If you aren’t I can teleport you back to your home. Or rather my little buddy here can,” he said patting the Abra on the head.
“I am ready. I’ve been preparing for this since I can remember. I would have lied to my friends and myself if I didn’t do this. Thank you though, sir,” Ash said.
“If you’re certain, good luck.”
“I am. Thank you.”

The nurse called his name, “Ash? Your Pokémon are ready.”

Ash grabbed his Pokémon and made his way towards the double doors. They were made of oak and were cool to the touch. Even the brass handles betrayed nothing of the warmth of this side of the doors. I wonder what I’m getting myself into.

As he stepped into the room he stepped from carpet to grass, that was springy underneath his feet.

Truly, this was an experience in and of itself.

Photo Credit by maiyue

Mastered: Year 3, Day 20

PhotoCredit by Superboll

Ash led their small party, though often Brock and Misty offered their advice. They had been in the caves for over forty-eight hours. Ash’s pokemon ferried them across lakes and over dark passages. Pikachu had an ability to light up certain parts of the air, the light seemed to have no source but throbbed in intensity.

“We should turn back.” Ash said.
“Turn back where?” Misty said, “Wait, we’re following you and you don’t even know why you’re here! What is wrong with you! Why are you here?”
“I don’t know!” He shouted back.
“You don’t know?! As soon as we’re out of here I’m out.”
“No! I do . This is what I’ve always wanted. Without even knowing it. I”ve promised each Pokemon I’ve sought out. They are no longer animals…they’re friends.”

Other than this conversation they didn’t speak much. They made a fire at evening but the only thing they ate was slightly stale bread and tea for dinner.

“Ash?” His mother called. Her skin seemed to be made of paper. Her face was blotched from crying. Gray fire seemed to streak through her hair. It was all Ash could do to embrace her and comfort her.

“Mom?”
“Ash, I’m so proud of you. I love you, keep trying.”

She then took his hand and led him left, right and down a long path and showed him the exit to the cave.

When Ash woke up, he cleaned up quickly and led them out. Because they had been so long in the caves, all sense of time had been lost. As they exited the cave the darkness that had been pressing down upon him, upon them, lightened. The stars no longer seemed like far away pinpricks of light but instead of holes through a sheet of darkness. Ash could only imagine what light source would be able to shine through that amount of darkness.

Photo Credit by Superboll