Tag: writing

Yesterday, I finished the first draft of Underground, my modern retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone. Now, thanks to the magnificent generosity of Danish artist Elias Lewinsky I have a working cover. Please check out the most excellent website showing his and his partner’s photography at http://meyerandlewinsky.com/

Underground

James L. Wilber

I blame my brother. All the shit that went down. All the people that suffered. I never wanted any of that to happen. But to be perfectly honest, I have a hard time feeling sorry about it. Still, I blame Zeus. I know he planned the whole thing. It would be nice if someone told me why.

He had come down from Olympus for the first time in years. That should have been my first clue. I had taken him out to a club because that’s what you do in Necropolis. It’s all about the nightlife. We stood on a balcony overlooking the dance floor, drinks in our hands. Below us, the well-dressed partiers writhed to a languid tune. I lifted a knowing eyebrow at him and he smiled at what he surveyed. He never saw shit like that back home. Olympus was all about pubs and “ladies night” and drink until you puke. In Necropolis, we did things in style.

“You don’t fool me,” he said, his booming voice cutting through the music.

I turned around and leaned my back against the railing. “Oh?” I swished the ice around in my empty glass. No need to yell. Talking in the clubs is all about pitch. My voice always managed to slither under and through the throbbing bass.

“You hate this. It bores the fuck out of you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

e fuck are you talking about?”

But the bastard had already done it. He had planted the seed. Did I hate this place? This city? These people? Hate was a strong word. Bored, maybe. I had seen it all. Done it all. I had built this town to be my own personal playpen and now I was stuck in it. All the jaded pricks who lived here were obsessed with fashion, which included wearing a persona that pretend not to give a fuck about anything. They all went to great lengths to show each other how unimpressed they were. All of them were so wrapped up in the galleries and the clubs and the parties and their own fucking image. Not a single one of them noticed they weren’t actually living.

 Zeus turned to face me. He stood out with his cream colored shirt, grey hair and beard. No one in Necropolis would suffer a grey hair to go undyed. Keep young and beautiful, that’s their motto. I guess I should consider myself lucky. My black hair and beard are still natural, even though I’m the elder.

“It’s not an irreparable problem,” he said, looking me in the eye. “You just need to get out. Get away. Stop worrying so much about your job.”

“Yeah, well if I didn’t worry about this place no one else would.”

“Perhaps, but maybe it’s not a place that requires all that much worry.” He drained his drink and softened his tone. “Look, I’m not saying quit. Fuck knows I don’t want the job.”

That’s one thing about my family. You can’t count on them for shit. Just ask our parents.

“What I’m saying is, get out. Take a vacation. Take a trip to the wine country. See something else than this gloomy fucking place.”

Actually, I liked the weather down in the valley. Cold and dark suited me just fine. But getting out didn’t sound too bad. I did like wine.

“Gather up an entourage. Take a limo. Just a day trip. Get trashed. Here….”He handed me an old pack of cigarettes.

I peaked inside and saw three perfectly rolled Js. “I don’t need this. I got plenty of coke.”

I went to hand them back but he waved it away. “That’s the problem. You take all that shit that winds you up. You need to relax. I’m telling you, this is the good shit.”

I looked at the joints again. They were, of course, just joints. “What makes them so special?”

“It’s a special hybrid. It’s called narcissus. It chills you out but doesn’t make you sleepy. I know how you hate that.”

Sleep always reminded me of being dead.

“Plus, it’ll get your pecker up.” He winked as he said it.

That sealed the deal. Not that I cared for an aphrodisiac, I just thought it best to keep it out of his hands. The last thing my brother needed was another excuse for a hard-on.

PLEASE HELP!

My wonderful friend and partner, Shade OfRoses has just put out her first book on Amazon. It has hit #2 in Free Gay & Lesbian Horror Fiction. Getting good rankings on Amazon really helps independent writers get noticed. Can you get her to #1? All you have to do is DOWNLOAD HER BOOK FOR FREE!

And, you’ll like it.

And, you’ll want to leave a great review.

Happy Halloween!

Paul Vs. The Vampire

Meet Paul. He works at a hardware store, has a pimp for a roommate, and writes fantasy books in his spare time. 

Meet Eric. Eric is your average wealthy playboy vampire. 

They hook-up. Hilarity, death, and ice cream ensues. 

There may or may not be any ice cream. 

A snarky, titillating short story that will leave you craving more. Paul Vs. The Vampire knows it’s treading well-worn territory, but you can’t help but love the tour guide.

thewritingcafe:

Basics:

Sub-genres: 

  • Alien Invasion: Involves aliens who invade Earth (usually).
  • Alternate History: Just as the name suggests, this genre deals with alternate histories. This can include traveling back in time, changing something, and returning to the changed future (such as Back to the Future).
  • Apocalyptic/Post-apocalyptic: This genre deals with the “end of the world” or what happens after such an event.
  • Artificial Intelligence: Involves artificial intelligence, usually one that becomes more “human”.
  • Astronaut: Deals with astronauts, often those who run into aliens or other disasters in space. The characters often die or disappear.
  • Biopunk: This genre is about altering genetics and DNA. These stories often take place in the near-future in which humans have been altered or in which human experimentation is common.
  • Cyberpunk: Involves a cyberworld or A.I. and is often set in the near-future. Blade Runner is a good example.
  • Detective: A cross-over between detective fiction and science fiction.
  • Dystopian: Dystopians are often “false utopians”, but underneath there is suffering.
  • Environmental: This genre focuses on the environment and threats against it.
  • Generation Ship: In which a society lives entirely on a ship and has been there for generations. They often know nothing of outside worlds. The ship in Wall-E is an example.
  • Gothic Sci-fi: Science fiction with a horror element. Think Frankenstein.
  • Hard Sci-fi: This genre pays special attention to scientific detail and accuracy.
  • Humor: This genre is light and humorous.
  • Kaiju: This is a Japanese sub-genre that involves a large monster as the antagonist.
  • Lost Worlds: As the name suggests, this genre has lost worlds or mysterious places. Lost is a prime example.
  • Military Sci-fi: Self-explanatory. Deals with war and military elements in a science fiction setting.
  • Multiverse: Involves many universes.
  • Robot: Involves robots as the main focus of the story.
  • Soft Sci-fi: This sub-genre does not put too much emphasis on scientific accuracy or detail.
  • Space Opera: Features adventures in space, such as Star Wars.
  • Steampunk: Involves Victorian-like settings with high technology.
  • Superhuman: Involves making humans superhuman or giving them extra abilities.
  • Time Travel: Self-explanatory.
  • Utopian: The opposite of dystopian, though characters may still see problems with this type of society. Utopians are ideal societies.
  • Western Sci-fi: Science fiction with Western elements (as in the Wild West). An example is Firefly.

Word Counts:

  • Hard Sci-fi: 90k – 100k
  • Space Opera: 90k – 120k
  • General: 80k – 115k
  • Middle Grade Sci-fi: 30k – 75k

Setting:

  • Most sci-fi takes place in the future or the near-future. Where does yours take place? Why does it take place in that time period? Once you know when it takes place, figure out the society. You’ll need to know how society got to that point and why. Was there a war? Did one country become two because of that?
  • Other than the time period you’ll need the actual setting. Does it take place in space? On a planet? Where on that planet? Or does the setting change because of travel?

Science:

  • The less you know about science, the softer your sci-fi will be. Take what subject you know most about (biology, chemistry, ecology, etc.) and use that for most of the science stuff, as long as your confident in your knowledge. However, keep it general and broad.
  • Technology advances more and more each day, much more than it did one hundred years ago. Establish the technology of your world and how quickly it evolves. Decide what is common place and what is rather new. Do only certain people get certain technologies? Why?
  • With more advances in science comes better medicine and probably longer life. Think about how long your characters are likely to live and establish what medicines are available (like if there is a cure for cancer or if certain diseases have been completely wiped out).

More:

Reading:

This post is cool and it has some interesting and useful stuff. But I think it’s important for people who are just starting to know there are no rules. Write what you want. Write it the way you think it should be written. Yes, learn about grammar and style and how to use them and when not to use them. Be yourself. Tell YOUR stories.

Especially when it comes to “word count.” It’s totally artificial, created by publishers based on what they think people want. What people want is a good story. See the seventh rule of Write Club.

These are my rules not your rules. They may help you. Ignore them when they hinder you but think about them.

The first rule of Write Club is – You will write every day.

The second rule of Write Club is – You will write EVERY day.

Third rule is – Someone must edit your work, and you will listen to them.

Fourth rule – You will finish what you start.

Fifth rule – You will write one story at a time.

Sixth rule  – No passive, no weak verbs.

Seventh rule – Stories will go on as long as they have to.

And the eighth rule of the self-publisher’s Write Club – You will publish what you write.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

I wasn’t about to admit it to her, but she was right. Me, the guy who doles out the torture on the Fields of Punishment. Me, the guy who guards Tartarus, the place Zeus locked up our parents when he realized he couldn’t really kill them. Was afraid.

I had nothing to say to these people. My world was so much different than theirs. Where I come from parties are things where you hold chilled glasses of champagne, bitch about the newest fads, and snipe at those who annoy you. The people here were… genuine. They came because they wanted to, not because they thought they had to. They ate the crappy Jell-O salad and didn’t complain because they knew who made it. They told the same stories over and over and laughed anyway because those were their stories. They were honest and direct and they didn’t always agree but they never intentionally hurt one another. They were family.

How could I possibly be amongst them? They were afraid of me too. No one wanted to hang around an undertaker and constantly wonder if he was sizing them up for a coffin. I was a bull in a china shop. I had no idea how to relate to these people, how to avoid hurting their feelings. What would we talk about? The artists they never heard of, the shows they’ve never seen, or the restaurants they would never eat in? Would they be jealous? Think I was bragging? Think I’m a stuck up snob?

Better that I be me and they be them and I stay where I belong.

Hekate kept silent, obviously getting what she wanted. Getting me to think about it.

“Trust me, they don’t want me around,” I said as I downed the wine she’d given me and grimaced at the sweetness.

“Maybe that’s true, but she does.”

My eye twitched and that empty place in my heart, the one I thought Persephone had filled, tore open a little bit wider. “That’s where you’re wrong.” I thought I at least had the bitch on this point. “She doesn’t want me here. I can’t and she knows it. What she wants is me there and her life here.”

Persephone was the only woman I had ever met that understood the value of both lives. To have a family and a home, and yet to see the beauty in the skyline of Necropolis at night. She loved the flowers and the mountains and the blue sky. And she loved the thrumming electric lights and those who presented their essence on canvas and on the stage. She appreciated the fact that you had to be dead in some way, dead to your past, dead to society, to family, in order to truly let go and create art in its rawest form. She understood the ecstasy in losing yourself, to the dance, the drugs, the sex. Those things that your family couldn’t stand watching you do because they loved you and knew the risk. That you may never come back.

Which would Persephone choose? As I looked around at the smiling faces and felt the warmth coming from them and the joy in their company, I thought I knew the answer. I was fucked.

“She can’t have both,” I said.

– Hades, Underground

Underground is a modern retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone, part of the upcoming Mid-World Arts Christmas Collection

Truth

I would go on to say that this is becoming increasingly difficult due to the extreme consolidation of corporate of media. When the only concern is making money it’s much easier to sell people what they are comfortable with. 

Recently the co-founder of twitter, those folks bringing you the internet in safe 140 character bites, said that people don’t want innovation. They want easier ways to deliver more of the same.

This craptastic philosophy trickles down to the producers as well. With the internet making it so easy to publish, those who always wanted to share their shifter/vampire/fay-kin-barely-disguised-fanfic now flood the marketplace.

Yes, I am bitter. Because what I write is different, and challenging, and may just be what the audience needs, but is overlooked because of those traits.

In fact, when I do get an open and honest review (not just my friends helping me out) I always get praised for my quality, but slammed for being totally outside what they expected. I believe it is the corporate media that have set those expectations and deadened us to enjoying the undiscovered country.

GIVEAWAY – LAST DAY

I will email a FREE copy of My Babylon – Book Two: Rose to anyone who follows these instructions, reblogs the post, and drops their email address into my ask box. On September 23rd, 2013, I will also randomly pick one of the rebloggers and mail them a print copy of My Babylon Complete.

______________________________

 

I’m going to try this one more time. It seems I am on Amazon’s pay-no-mind list and it really sucks. As an indie author, I depend upon giving out free books to help introduce people to my work. The largest bookseller on the planet is Amazon and it would help me tremendously if they listed the first book in my series for free.

My Babylon – Book One: Body has been free other websites for some time now. Amazon claims that it will (sometimes) price match other stores. It’s the only way to get my book permanently free on Amazon. I’m going to try one more time to get them to do this for me.

PLEASE HELP – It will cost you noting and only take a minute.

Please go to my book’s page on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/My-Babylon-Book-Body-ebook/dp/B00CKH0Z4C

Find the link under PRODUCT DETAILS that says, “Tell us about a lower price.”

Click it, and let them know you found my book for $0.00 at one of the following websites.

Barnes & Noble

http://www.amazon.com/My-Babylon-Book-Body-ebook/dp/B00CKH0Z4C

Apple iBookstore

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/my-babylon-book-one-body/id683621286?mt=11

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/341265

Kobo

http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/my-babylon

If you want, tell them about all of them. But PLEASE reblog this and ask your followers to do the same. I will be eternally grateful and pray to my pagan gods to bless you with good books for the rest of your life. Hopefully, if we hit Amazon with a massive wave of price matching requests they’ll finally get the hint.

God of the Revels

The story I wrote for Masterpiece in a Day. The three elements that had to be included were: a boardwalk, a spotlight, and a police officer. 

God of the Revels

 By James L. Wilber

I am a blessing. I am a curse. When the dancers shake the streets of Rio in the light of the parade floats that look like fireworks in still-life, I am there. When the British tourist puts up his fists, fueled by too many beers sold cheap in plastic cups, I am there. On Bourbon Street when the girls “go wild” for trinkets and strings of beads, I am there. In Munich, when they go stumbling out of the tent to vomit in a trash barrel, and then stumble back for another stein, I am there.

But in the off season, I can usually be found on the Jersey shore, on the boardwalk. The party is a lot smaller but the pickings are easy. I’m the cute young guy, girlish, with my curly hair and long eyelashes. I’ve taken to wearing red cat-ears and a fuzzy tail. It helps me fit in with the kiddies who watch Japanese cartoons and play dress up, taking pills and dancing for hours while waving glow sticks in front of their eyes. It’s more fashionable than a fox-skin and the authorities looking for trouble-makers mark me as mostly harmless. Makes it easier for me when I top-off their soda bottles with vodka from my hip-flask which never seems to run out.

But this night, I bypass the usual crowd around the arcade and the teenagers outside the liquor store waiting for me to come along and buy them beer. This night is special. Nights like this have been special for thousands of years. Tonight I get a sacrifice.

In the old days, after all the grueling work of the harvest was done, as the sun set behind the mountains, they would lead a procession up the trails bearing torches and skeins of wine. They would light fires and drink and dance and lose their minds. When the madness overtook them, my satyrs and maenads emerged from the woods and joined the party, mixing with the people who had lost track of who was human and who was not. The satyrs picked out a young one, I prefer a boy, and fed him so much wine he didn’t know his name anymore. The party would get so loud and so wild that the spirits of the dead would come, lurking on the edge of the firelight, jealous of the living. Then the maenads took the boy beyond the ring of dancers, and bashed his head on a rock, offering the blood to the ghosts. Through its warmth the dead could feel again. In the morning, the revelers would find the boy and it would look like an accident, but the priests and the priestesses knew. The boy had been given to me.

Down the boardwalk I can see the spotlights rising into the air like they have at movie premiers, the big event. I follow them, slipping through the crowd of gawkers, right up to the barricade.

The man-child holds to the metal bar, still unsure. His white t-shirt wraps around his body, damp with sweat. He had come down to this end of the boardwalk, where the wooden platform rises high up over the rocky beach below, to test a theory.

If he died before losing his virginity, would he become an angel?

So he downed his entire stash and stepped over the rail, but he’s clinging to that thin ledge, waiting for the chemical courage to take effect.

He’d been standing there long enough for the police to cordon the place off, push-back the onlookers, set up the spotlights so that everyone could see.

As I press up against the blue saw-horse, wide eyed and bushy tailed, one of the policemen walks up to me, but I can tell right away he’s not really a policeman, there’s no swagger in his walk. He doesn’t need to intimidate anyone. The uniform makes it easier to get close to his work.

He gives me a knowing look, tinged with sadness. It says, “Did you sell it to him?”

Of course I did.

“Dion,” the not-policeman speaks. I’m lucky, my moniker can be shortened, even sounds like a modern name.

“Hey Thanatos.” He’s not so lucky, but I think even if there was a suitable abbreviation for his name no one would use it. The man gets respect.

“He’s one of yours?” His whole body sags when he says it. He hates his job.

“Sure thing.” My chipper response belies my troubled thoughts. I just don’t know if I’m enjoying this constant carnival anymore or not.

I look down, mulling it over for a second and as I do the crowd gives a collective gasp. I look up and the boy’s gone, disappeared into the inky blackness. The daemon of death is gone too, probably at this moment standing on the rocks, next to the broken remains, a hair’s breath away. He moves so fast he could have caught the boy before he landed. But he didn’t.

I turn and walk away, pushing through the bewildered mourners, back to the revels where I belong.