Friday, May 30, 2008

MY BOOK IS LISTED ONLINE

Finally, after a long wait, my book is listed on Amazon.com and Target.com. Others will follow, in the near future.
Just a quick note. Sleepy Town is now available through Amazon.com and Target.com. (Web site listed below this email.)

This is a new listing for both web stores.

You are not obligated to order from Amazon. I just wanted you to see that it is finally out.

When I have the book, (I have some ordered.) my local store THINK TOYS will have a book signing. I will let you know, just in case you would like to drop by. I will have Zander there that day signing the book, also.

I have been asked to be on a radio broadcast that will be June 23rd. (World-Wide) I will give you more information, later.

I am already starting to line-up visits to local schools for the fall. (This will be a blast!)

I have been asked about visiting two local colleges and talking to the Children's Lit Classes about writing and illustrating a book.

The local tv station is interested in knowing more.

I hope to visit my local Public Library and have a "Sleepytown Day." More information later.

Please, go to my "artnbooks" (See my links.)site and check out the additions. I am not finished, but it looks good.

There are so many possiblities! I am very excited about a chance for me to promote reading, writing, and art. That is what I want to do. I WANT CHILDREN TO GET EXCITED ABOUT BOOKS AND ART!!!

I would love to start a local painting class, but I can not afford the expensive rental charges for a place. They want an arm and a leg, and I need all of mine. LOL

Pray that God opens a door. Right now, I will take a window.

Thank You for reading about my excitement over my book.

Oops, I almost missed telling you. I sent off a short story that hopefully will be selected for a collection this fall. Cross your fingers.

More excitement: I was rejected by a magazine. Why am I excited? The editor said that it was a good story. He said that he enjoyed reading it. He said that it takes talent to write a good story. (THIS MEANS A BUNCH TO ME.) It is not quite winning the Lottery, but close. Not really!

ON TOP OF THAT: He said that he hoped that I would send other submissions. THAT IS HUGE!!!

I included this good note because I know that ALL OF YOU understand how huge this is for me.

It was a horror story. I have sent it out, again, to another magazine. Who knows, this one might say "YES!"

"I would rather shoot at something and miss, than never shoot at all." -Randy

Please do not see this as a BRAG. I hate braggers! I am sharing a blessing.

MORE LATER!!!

Have a great summer.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/098179016X/ref=cm_cr_thx_view

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Does your story smell?

I read something today that made me think. I know, I know, I say so much without thinking, this is bound to be interesting.

Consider the sensory details in your work. Studies have shown that the sense of smell is one of our most emotionally evocative senses.

As a writer, are you just a sightseer or do your stories smell as well?


That was it! A study showed that the sense of smell has an emotional effect on us as people. I said people because it would be of non-effect to robots.

This started me to thinking about the sense of smell.

I know a guy whose mother kept one of her husband's shirts with her in the bed. She missed the smell. He saw his mom go to bed each night, clutching the shirt. It was almost like a security blanket, only with a shirt. It was a reminder.

The guy hated to see his mom do that, but he never bothered her about it. I am glad that he did not say anything. She ws dealing with the hurt her way.

I can understand this.

Smells get to us, be they good or bad. I know that I am really affected by smells early in the morning, after taking a shower. If I come into contact with a good smell, well and good. if I come into contact with a bad smell, it can make my stomach turn.

Oops, sorry. For those of you who just felt your stomach lurch because of what I said, I am sorry. I did not mean to do that, but see, smells get to us.

I am going to try to work harder and incorporate more smell into my stories.

You might laugh at this, but I wish I could invent "smell-a-vision." It would be so cool to be able to watch a cooking show and smell the food. That would be awesome. It would also be dangerous.

I could see the headlines now: MAN CHOKES TO DEATH ON TV.

Keep writing, but remember to write with your nose!

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

My Epiphany

Definition: A sudden striking understanding of something.

I read something the other day that totally changed my way of thinking concerning publishers and sending off manuscripts. I know that this will not be earth shattering, but it made me think in a way that I had not been thinking. I know, I know, you are going to probably laugh at me and call me something under your breath.


I was reading something by a publisher. She said something that totally turned my world around. I am not going to quote her exactly, but I am going to let you in on my epiphany.

She said that when she reads a manuscript she is "looking for a reason to reject it."


I know that you did not feel the earth move under your feet. I know that the walls did not tumble down. I know that you did not stand at your computer and say "YES!" (If you did, go take your temperature. You might be sick.)

It did make me look at my writing differently.

With this said, please, forgive me if I share a good thing for myself. I had some feedback from a publisher recently that said some good things.

Look, I am sure that you already know that if a publisher takes the time to comment back, that is very good.

I sent a short story to a magazine. It was a horror story for a horror magazine. The editor of the magazine read the story and sent me several comments.

Below, I will copy and paste his comments:

Thank you for your submission, unfortunately we will not be able to use the material offered. I enjoyed reading your story, but it is not quite right for us.

We wish you good luck in placing your story elsewhere, and I hope that you will consider sending further submissions for us to consider.

It's a good story, please do not give up. It takes talent to write a good story. (He said that it was a good story and that it takes talent to write a good story. This is awesome. It took me a minute to understand what he said to me. He was saying, "You have talent.")

Keep writing and keep submitting stories, we would be happy to see more of your work, and although we have not used the piece you sent us you should have a look at it, see if you can improve on it and submit it to another publication as it might be more suitable for them. (Okay, this is his nice way of saying, "Don't send the same story back to us." When a publisher comments back that is a "good thing." Chalk it up to something good and go forward. I did change a couple of things and I sent the story to another magazine.)

Good luck and thanks for submitting your work.

It's difficult to say what we're looking for, it's no specific thing. A story needs to stand out, it must have something outstanding, be it style, plot, or character. A story that makes you feel something is very rare.

Good luck!

Yep! The above stuff was what the publisher said to me concerning my submission.

I included it today because it speaks to all of us. Look at what the publisher said about submissions. They are looking for something that stands out, with style, plot, or character. They want a story that makes you feel something.

Interesting stuff!

So, I sent the story to another magazine. I will wait and see what they say. I do know that since I got a good word from one publisher does not mean that I will automatically get a good word from another publisher. It does give me hope.

He liked my story and enjoyed reading it.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Something part 5

I really do not think that the coach meant anything bad by what he had done.

Some people are motivated by the negative. I am not. I have a hard time, when someone is critical. I would have a hard time, if a coach were to chew me out for something.

I grew up with a screamer. If DHR had been around during my childhood, they would have probably taken me out of my home at times.

Hey, sometimes, I wanted to take myself out of the house.

After the PE event, I went home and told my mom and dad about it. I did not want to at first, but I finally told them what had happened. They did not want to make a scene. They did not want to cause trouble, so they wanted me to talk to the counselor about switching from PE to something else.

I switched from PE to library assistant. It got me out of the gym and into something that was easier for me to do, physically.

Since I liked books, this was perfect for me. I got along very well with the librarian.

I wanted to play football so badly. I mean, honest, I wanted to play on the football team. I could not. If I had turned my ankle, it would have torn everything loose that was in my foot. It would have destroyed it all. So, I was not allowed to play.

One of the coaches knew how much I wanted to play, and he asked if I wanted to be the manager and help them at practice and go to the games. I was so excited. I went home and told my mom about it. She said, "NO!" My heart sunk. I was so upset. I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a part fo the team. This was a way that I could do it, but my mom said, "NO!"

She was the boss in the family. Dad did everything to please her. He gave her everything she wanted. She was the first child of ten and dad spoiled her. Being spoiled is not always a bad thing. It depends on how you let it affect you.

As to having friends, I had one guy that I was really close to as a friend in high school. His name was Eugene, but his friends called him "Bo." He was a great guy. I have no idea what happened to him. I have not seen him since graduation.

My mom would not let me go to anyone's house. I was not allowed to have friends over. I had no friends. I did not hang out with friends. I did not go swimming with friends. I did not go to the movies with friends. I had no friends outside of school.

During my senior year, I started working a job at the public library. I was a "Page." That meant that I shelved books and straightened shelves. I did work the circulation desk some and check in and out books. I worked for $1.00 an hour. How crazy is that. I worked 100 hours a month and got paid once a month.

I worked at the library for ten years. I stayed on after graduation and became a department head eventually. Some days, I think about it and I wish I were still there. I loved being around the books. I did have a lot of fun working at the library. Maybe one day I will tell you about all the crazy stuff that we did there.

I am sure that I am not the only one, nor will I be the last, but some bad things happened to me around age 10 and 11. It was not my fault. Hopefully, I am a better person for having some difficult times and surviving.

I made some bad choices. I chose some stupid things to do. I also did not do some things that I could have done. So goes a person's life. We all do things and we have our reasons. We all have outcomes.

My leg and foot are still the same. I do not feel it. I can not feel my foot. My leg gets as cold as ice in the winter. You would not believe how cold it gets. it is what I deal with.

Sometimes, I hurt, but I never say anything about it. I never wanted to be a complainer. I wanted to be strong. I do think about the years ahead and wonder if I will always be able to walk, like I do now? Will I need a cane? Will I have a problem walking up and down stairs. I get tired. If I go to an amusement park and walk all day, it hurts me the next day. So is my life. This is what I have and I make it.

You, the reader, have your own thing in your life. It might not be the saem as mine, but it gets you down sometimes. You have to learn to deal with something that I do not have to deal with. I want to encourage you to make something special of your life.

Do the impossible. Shoot for the stars.

Remember: If you miss, at least you will land among the stars.

I walk with a limp because of polio. I have a reason to limp and I live with it every day of my life. I have to deal with it. I still want to be normal. I want to walk barefoot. I want to run barefoot on the sand. I do believe in God. I believe that he cares about us.

I trust Him to work in me.

One day, in heaven, they say we will have a new body. I can not imagine what it would be like to look down and see a normal developed leg and foot. I think that I would yell and run and jump and play.

I do hope that I get to run barefoot on the sand. I pray that God has a strip of water bordered by sand. I want to run and leave my footprints in the sand.

I want to finally be able to run barefoot from the sand into the water and feel it splash all up my body and know that I will not trip and fall. That would be nice.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Something Part 4

If you are still with me, this will come to an end, eventually. I promise. I would like to hear from someone and know that it mattered.

When I got through the surgeries in jr. high school, I was able to start wearing low-top shoes and get rid of the brace. Why? I did not have any control over my foot, normally. When I took a step, it flopped. I could not move it. I could not hold it up. So, it flopped.

That is also why I could not run barefoot. If I tried to run barefoot, I would trip over my foot and toes and fall. Worse than that, I had two steel pins in my big toe. They had to break it and reset it and put the pins in it. (I still have them.)

When I tried to run, if I tripped on my foot and my toe bent under my foot, it hurt like nothing you have ever had before. It would bring tears to my eyes.

After the surgeries, I had a steel block in my foot that made my foot stay out, when I walk. It does not flop. I can actually walk barefoot. I can not run barefoot. That will never happen.

The surgeries gave me enough control that the brace was not needed anymore. I was free.

I started 9th grade being able to wear regular shoes like everyone else. This was great. it made me look like everyone else, even if I was still different. That was important to me.

You have to know that I will always have a reminder of having a handicap in my life. My left foot is around a size 9 and my right foot is around a size 12. That would make my left foot pretty short. All of my life, I have had to stuff the toes, or wear two socks, or make some kind of adjustment to be able to wear shoes. Stores do not sale individual pairs for people like me. It would be nice.

When I wear shoes, the left one actually can be slipped on and off without undoing the string. I guess that makes all of my left shoes "slip-ons." LOL I never thought about that. Cool! I guess.

Entering my freshman year, I had to go to PE. You know the class. A bunch of guys in one room had to undress in front of everyone. I hated it. Why? My left leg did not develop from the knee down like my right leg. It is thin. I have one right leg that is chunky healthy like normal and then on my left I have pencil-leg.

You see, Polio attackes the muscles. Muscles do not grow properly. They do not develop properly. Oh, I am fortunate. I was affected by polio in the leg. Some people had to be on special machines. Some could not walk. Some could not do what I do.

Our PE teacher was the head football coach. He was all coach, too. We started each day with exercises in the gym. Again, it was a group thing, but every grade was together. I was in class with all grades including seniors.

I would make myself late so that I did not have to undress in front of anyone. I faked having to go to the bathroom or something. Most days it worked.

The coach had us do all kinds of things, but there was one thing that I could not do. I could not do push-ups. You know them. Every man knows them. This is the "true" test of a man.

I could not do them because I could not hold myself up on my toes. I could not. I can not. I will not ever be able to do it. I am physically unable to do it. My left foot and toes have no strength. They bend. They have no muscles to push.

Our coach thought that he would make the class laugh at me and that maybe I would be motivated to do the push-ups. He got eveyone's attention and said, "Look at young. He can't do a push-up. Come on Young." The class laughed.

He stood there with "missing fingers" and made the class laugh at me. I would have gotten into trouble, if I had made a joke of him and caused anyone to laugh. They laughed. I was humiliated.

I went home that day sick. The next day, my stomach hurt so badly that I did not want to go to school. I did not go to school. I did not want to go back to PE ever.

Did the coach know what he had done? Probably not. He crushed my heart and stepped on my soul.

It is not one of my fondest memories of my years in high school.

more later

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Something part 3

If I have not bored you to complete tears, I will continue the story.

I did not have to stay too long in the hospital. I had an advantage. I am paralized in my left leg from the knee down. I could not feel it. I did not have to take pain medication. That made it possible for me to go home earlier than most.

The day I left, the other guys in our room cried.

They also wanted my bed. They called it a lucky bed because I did not have to stay long. They wanted my bed so they would get to go home next.

I never saw them, again. They went their way and all. I never saw them, but I have never forgotten them. I have always wondered how they did and how their lives turned out.

I went home. I had a cast that went all the way from my foot up to my hip. I hated it. I had to use crutches. If you have ever used crutches, you will understand how horrid it was. I had to go to school with my cast and crutches.

Once, I was going up the stairs and I fell up the stairs. At least it was up and not down. I got a lot of funny looks. Would you believe that most students just watched me laying there on the floor. What is wrong with people?

By the way, I did have another surgery later. This was only the first surgery. I mentioned my brace. The good thing was knowing that these surgeries would lead to me being able to get rid of the high top shoes with braces and wear normal, low-top shoes.

I saved this until now.

I had to wear the brace attached to high-top shoes from a baby until later in junior high school.

Once a year, I had a "freedom day." I was taken to Birmingham to see my doctor and have the brace fitted to a new pair of shoes. It was only one day a year.

That meant that 364 days out of the year, I had to wear the brace. That one day I was free. I got to go around town without my brace.

That did not mean that I walked around. I got to ride in the car without my shoes. I did not have to have that brace stapped to my leg. I loved it.

For that one day a year, I looked down and the brace was gone. I had one free day! It made me want to cry, but I never talked about it. My mom and dad did not know how I felt inside. They did not know how much I wanted to just be normal. I did not want to be different. I did not want people to stare at me. I did not want children to look and wonder. I most assuridly did not want to wear shorts so that eveyone could see my brace.

Later that evening, we went back to the shoe-repair shop and my dad picked up my shoes. I had to try them on and let the guy see how they fit.

Then, I was stuck with my brace until a year later. This is why I was so excited about the surgeries. If everything went well, I would get to wear regular shoes.

I would get rid of the brace. (I don't know what happened to the brace. I do not know where it was put. If I knew, I would get it and hold it and probably cry.)

Someone asked me once about how I coped with the brace as a child. This might sound funny, but I told myself that I was like the tin man in The Wizard of Oz.

My brace would develop and squeek and I had to carry an oil can with me. if it started to squeek, I had to oil the bolts and connections and it would stop making a noise. I was like the "tin man."

Maybe a part of me lived in my own Land of Oz.

more later.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Something Part 2

I hope that I am not boring you. I have never gone into this much detail before about my life. Maybe it is time to cleanse or something.

Sometimes, in elementary school, I would do something really stupid. I would go out on the playground and crawl in behind a bush and sit.

I knew that no one wanted me to play on their team. Here, I was the king of my own domain. I was in control. I would often sit there the entire time, drawing with a stick in the dirt.

I had one major friend in elementary school. His name was Rocky. That is right, his name was actually Rocky. He was a cool kid.

He was a loner and we fit together. We hung around together. I thought he was the greatest guy.

Later, in elementary school, his parents moved to Texas. I never saw him, again. I have thought about him a thousand times or more. I have wondered about him. I was told several years ago that he went bad in some ways. I do not know this, first hand. I hope it was just talk.

I joined the band in elementary school. I wanted to play the drums, but the band class had an overflow of guys wanting to be drummers. I had to play the sax. It was almost as big as me. I did not get very far. My grades started to go down and my mom made me quit band. I never did learn how to play the sax.

In Junior High School, my doctor decided to operate on my foot. He was waiting until I reached a cetain stage in growth. He said that the procedure would affect my growth.

So, I was taken to the Crippled Children's Hospital for surgery. I was in a ward. That meant that there were four beds in the room. I had the bed closest to the door. In the far left corner, next to the window was a guy named Jerry. he had been there for a while. Then, across from me, near the other door was a kid named Carl. The fourth bed was empty.

My parents visited me every day.

Jerry never had a visitor. We were on the third floor, I think. He was very sad. His mom would come to the parking lot, but she would never come up to the room. He would open the window and yell down at her.

"Mom, won't you come up and see me? He would yell. "Why won't you, mom?" He cried. He cried a lot.

Sometimes, I closed my eyes and ears to keep from listening to him yell down to his mom. It made me sad. Maybe she was having a hard time dealing with a son that had something wrong with him. She never came up.

Once, Jerry was caught trying to go down the stairs in his wheel chair. They brought him back. We laughed about it.

Then, they brought in Carl. He had something around his neck. It was some kind of brace. He had worn it for I do not know how long. All he wanted was to get his hair cut. The doctor had told them to not cut his hair until the brace comes off. I will never forget the day they took him down to surgery. He just wanted to get his hair cut.

They told him that if everything was okay that he would wake up and find the collar gone. He was so excited.

They took him away. He was put to sleep. When they brought him back to the room, he still had the brace on his neck. It did not seem fair. He just wanted a hair cut.

I kept looking over at him, waiting for him to wake up. Finally, he began to move a little. He was alone. No one was there with him. His parents were not there. No one was there to comfort him and tell him that he would be alright.

I watched him reach up and feel of the collar. He began to cry. I said something to him, but he turned toward the wall and sobbed. He did not cry; he sobbed.

His entire body shook. It was sad.

It was like that at the Crippled Children's Hospital. You had good days and you had bad days. The bad days were no fun at all.

We played pool from our wheel chairs. They had a lower table that guys in wheel chairs could reach. It was fun. We tried to escape from our room and go to the recreation room as much as possible. Sometimes, they would track us down and make us go back to your room.

more later.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Something That I Have Never Done Before

If you have read my bio, you know that I was born with POLIO.

I have never taken the time to do what I am going to do here. I am going to start with my birth and tell you what it was like, growing up "wanting to be normal."

First, I want to let you know that I am not an only child. I do have "one" older brother, but he is the perfect child. He never does anything wrong. I, on the other hand, do not do that much that is right. He was and is the favorite child. (Was then, is now.)

Basically, my brother hated my guts. He is seven years older. We never felt like brothers growing up together. I was just the younger brother. I was some mosquito that needed to be swatted. Several times, he did swat me.

I know that I will not be able to put everything in one blog. I will do my best to include what you might find interesting.

I was born premature. I weighed 4 lbs. and 10 and 1/2 oz. I was so sick that the doctor sat beside my bed all night. I was not expected to live. My doctor was a woman named Dr. Luthor. She was as "rough as a cob," but she cared about my life.

It did not take long, after being a new-born that the baby doctors noiced that something was not right with my left leg. They did not know what was wrong, but they wanted to do something about it. So, they put a cast on my leg.

They did not know of anything else to do. They did what they figured was best. They did not know that I had polio. No one knew that I was paralized from the knee down. My leg was in a cast. You could not observe the foot and leg.

That first year, my parents said that they literally shook down a baby bed. At night, I would not go to sleep without someone shaking the bed or something. Don't blame me, I did not start it. They did. I just wanted them to keep doing it. They spoiled me to wanting it every time that I needed to go to sleep.

They managed to stick out a leg at night and shake the bed until I fell asleep. They said that the bed came apart and colapsed one day. I was not in it at the time.

I was taken to Birmingham, Alabama to a special doctor. He was Dr. Vesley. I still remember him. I remember him measuring my leg and looking at my foot. He was the doctor that prescribed a brace for me.

I did not tell you, but the cast that I wore made my big toe grow crooked. It was cramped in the cast and the cast did not grow along with my foot and leg. Later, I had to have surgery to break the toe and reset it. I will tell you about that later.

Before having the brace, I tried to walk. I did not have any control over my foot. It turned outward and was dragged along at the end of my left leg. I could not run. If i tried to run, I would trip over my own foot and fall.

The brace was attached to my high-top shoes and fastened around my leg, just below the knee. It was heavy and it made my leg sweat under the band at the top of the race where it was strapped around my leg. I would have to stop, stick my finger between the leg and brace and circle around in order to get some air to my leg.

I had to wear that brace from sun-up to sun-down. I did not have to wear it in the bed, but I had to have it to walk. I could not get up and run bare-foot. I wanted to run bare-foot. I wanted to be "normal." I wanted to be able to run and play like the "normal" kids.

I hated to wear shorts. My mom made me, but I hated it. Sometimes, I would hide in the closet to try and keep her from putting shorts on me. Shorts did not cover up the brace. Everyone could see it. I looked like everyone else, until they looked at my leg. Sometimes, I would go around the corner of the house and cry. I felt like I was the only little boy in the world that felt like some kind of freak. I hated the brace. I hated wearing shorts. I hated being different.

Once, there were family members at the house and mom decided they were going to go down town. The car only held so many people. She told me that I could not go that there was not enough room in the car. I had to stay home while they went to town. I was brave. I watched them drive away. Then, I went to the side of the house and cried.

I sat there not fully understanding why I did not get to go. To me, it all went back to my leg and foot. If I were "normal," I would have gotten to go. It was my falt. It was my leg and foot. I cried.

I never told anyone how I felt. I never admitted to the feelings that were building inside of me. I thought about hurting myself. I was angry at myself, then I wanted to do something to make mom regret leaving me at home. I wanted to run away. I even looked at a coke bottle and thought about eating glass, but I hated pain and the sight of blood.

You have to understand. I was a child. I did not understand it all. I was trying to figure out my view of the world and from here, it looked pretty bad.

On top of this, I developed a habit that is still with me today. We had family or people drop in often at our house. They always seemed to come around dinner time. Of course, we had to share our food. If there was not a lot of food, you might actually have to share what you have on your plate, or portions were cut down really low. I hated it.

It did not take long for me to figure out that if I had bitten off of everything no one wanted it. If I had a sandwich that was cut in half, it was subject to abduction by a visiting family member or guest. I could have a half of a sandwich taken off of my plate and shared. I began to take a couple of bites out of one half, lay it down, and start to eat the other half. If I had already bitten into the halfs, no one wanted them. It worked.

I learned at an early age that if I wanted to protect my food, I had to eat some of everything at the start. I could not leave anything untouched. I know that it is weird, but it sticks with me to this day.

If I have a sandwich that is cut into two halves. I take a bite out of one, lay it down, and eat the other half. That way, no one will come in and take my food.

Also, I forgot to mention. I was warped by this in my childhood. As a result, I can not stand anyone to touch my food or reach into my plate. Honest, I get so mad when someone wants to reach in my plate. If I tell someone to try something, that is different.

When I started first grade, I wore my brace, of course. It was not too bad. I had on long pants and no one could see it. I liked the classroom best. I did not look forward to going to the playground that much. In the classroom, I looked like everyone else. Sitting in my desk, I was "normal." No one mad fun of me. I could compete on the same level as everyone else. It was math, reading, language, history, and show and tell.

Every day, I was reminded of my leg and foot, when we went to the play ground. I remember how it felt, to be chosen last for games.

I wanted to play ball so much, but I was horrid at running. I could not help it. I did my best. The teacher always chose the "jock" of the class to be the team captain. He was a favorite of the class. He was strong and he could run fast. But, he did not want the guy with a limp on his team.

I remember the look on the faces as the team captains were choosing sides. They sometimes avoided my eyes as they looked at all of us lined-up and waiting for selection.

"I'll take..." they chose back and forth. Guess who was always last? Me! On top of it, I saw the look in the eyes. I saw the disgust. I saw the shoulders. I heard the sigh, just before a reluctant, "Okay...Young."

I was always last.

more later

Thursday, May 15, 2008

The "write way to write"

Most of my life, I have wanted to write a novel.

Yes, I write children's stories and picture books. Yes, I write poetry. Yes, I illustrate my own children's books. But, deep down inside I have always wanted to write a novel.

Today, I make a promise to myself to begin the process.

I am going to write that novel. Everyone has to start somewhere, and I choose to start today. I am going to commit to writing "three pages" a day. That does not mean that I can not write more. It does mean that I commit to three pages. If I have a good day and I go beyond three pages, that is fine.

That does not give me an excuse to be a "slacker" the next day.

I commit to three pages a day.

Why am I starting my novel so late in my writing years? I kept putting it off until I felt right, or had some inspiration. It has not come.

If I keep waiting, it will never come.

How in "tarnation" could a person manage to write three pages a day? Sit down and write without stopping.

If you have read some of my earlier posts, you know that I have always suggested that you write without consulting the dictionary or any aide.

Just write and write. If you notice something that needs correcting, mark it in some way and go back later.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

I was born a rambling man

Ever have one of those days when your mind wonders? Ever have a day when you find it hard settling on any one thing? I am at that point right now, today. Read my ramblings and drop me a note. Hey, I would love to hear from you.

I work at a high school in Special Ed. I like it, well enough, but at this time of year, I get drained. Students are frustrated. Some have wasted time and they need to pass. Teachers are on that stead track, trying to get everything in that should be done. It is a race to the finish. As for money, I am an aide. That does not bring in a lot of money, but money is not everything.

It would be fun to have money and do special things with it. That would be a blast. Of course, being an author is not making me rich. Well, I take that back. I am rich. Many people do not get to enjoy something that they love and share it with others. I get to do that with writing. As stated before, I do not claim to be an expert.

Someone once said that an expert is a drop of water under pressure. In that case, I am a drop of water under pressure.

I have just written two short stories. One is a vampire story and the other is a horror story. I know, I know what some are thinking, "But, you write children's books." I know and maybe this is my way of going the other direction and taking a sabbatical or something. (Only this leave does not have pay that comes along with it.)

I want to start a web page, but I can not put a lot of money into it. It has to be pretty cheap. I am not a cheap guy, but I just do not have a lot of money to spend. I am looking for something inexpensive. Got any ideas?

I want something that I can arrange things on it and all. I do not want it to be a stamped image of a web page. I want it to be original.

I walked around the corner the other day and saw two 9th grade students kissing. It did not register, for a while. I guess I was stunned that they did not care what they were doing. I had books in my hand. I had to help a student, and I just did not have the time to say anything. I thought, "Watch next time and say something." I did not have time right then. Plus, the bell rung and they were off like a flash.

There is a student here that it in the 10th grade. She writes. I let her read my vampire story and she said, "You sound like an emo." I laughed. That was so funny. I did not mind. I have been around young people for so long, I forget that I am not one of them, I think.

More later...the bell just did its thing.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Official Release of SleepyTown

This is the week that SleepyTown is released.

I have been waiting and waiting. I can hardly wait to have a copy in my hot little hands.

Here is the official message from my publisher.

I got this last Friday. "Sleepytown is officially through the system and will be officially out next week but you can order now."

YEA! I am so excited to have the book coming out.

If any of you readers are teachers, please drop me a message, and I will be more than happy to email you a booklet that I put together for teachers. It has teacher ideas to use with SleepyTown. You will love it and enjoy using many of them.

In the near future, there will be some "give-a-ways" concerning SleepyTown. There will also be coloring pages. Thank You for taking to time to read my blog. This is an exciting day.

Laterz. Randy

Friday, May 9, 2008

Sure-fire-ways to plan a Short Story

I sound like I know it all. I do not. I do not claim to know it all.

I am learning as I go along. Maybe one day, I will have enough info to put in a book and make millions off of it.

Alrighty, I am living in my own dream world.

1. Write the story straight out. Do not worry about grammar and spelling and mechanics. Get it down on paper. Actually, you can write a small story and then expand it later. Go for the bones and add meat later.

2. Start small. Make the beginning short and to the point. Since it is a short story, you do not have time to develope anything over chapters and chapters. The beginning is like an appitiser at dinner.

3. Make the middle part the meaty part. This is where you provide the main course. This is the Good Stuff of the story.

4. Your ending should come fast and be short. Do not draw the ending out for most of the story. When the end comes, end it. This is the dessert. After a good long meal, the dessert only takes a few bites.

Ask yourself the following questions:

1. What does the main character want? Why?What is the problem?

2. Does the story have a beginning, a middle, and an end?

3. Can you rewrite it or do you have an emotional attachment?

Some people find it helpful to write it and then shelve it for a few days. Then, get it out and read it. If it thrills you, after a rest, go for it.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Is your Short Story screaming and yelling, “I want to be a NOVEL?”

Many people believe that the best approach for a novel is to write it as a short story first. Then, you can look at it and ask yourself if it is truly bigger than a short story. If the small plant takes over the house, then maybe you needed to plant it in a bigger pot.


Here are sure-fire-ways to evaluate that short story and see if it needs to be a BIGGIE.

Is your idea unique?

Have you seen this over and over and over? Is it trite? Is the idea like the bread you purchased a week ago, STALE? You MUST tell the story in a way that it reads like something absolutely fresh and new. Make the story original. In fact, all stories are basically the same ideas being tossed like limp lettuce in the salad bowl. You have to add something to make the salad unique.

Is the short story an over-grown nail?


If the story is too long, you have to clip it or add to it. Have you ever had an overgrown toe nail? Ouch! Those babies can hurt like, you know what. You have to trim them down and shape them. Ahhhhhh! Remember the relief of a perfectly manicured nail. If the story is growing out of the box, you have to get a bigger box. Make the short story a novel.

How many people can you fit into one phone booth?

If the characters in your story are multiplying like rabbits, you need to write the novel. Only so many people can fit in that phone booth, or that ‘beetle.” Too many people, mean more space for them to develop.

What is this that I see before me? I have thee not, yet I see the still!

I make myself sick being dramatic some days. This is proof that I have had too much chocolate. If you can not develop the idea in 8,000 words or so, it needs to be a novel. If, after 8,000 words you still have not landed the plane, write a novel.

Does the alarm clock keep going off every time you hit snooze?

Short means what it says, short. If your story has left the building, then maybe you need to turn it into a novel. Short stories cover hours and days. Novels cover years and adventures.

Aunt Grace said, “You should write a book."

The other say, I wrote a short story about a vampire. My daughter read it and said, “I wish this was a book. I would read it.” If someone says this would make a great novel. Think about it. They might be right.
Do you wish the neighbor next door would move or what?

If you could live with the characters in the story for years, write a novel.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

How Do I Know That My Short Story Deserves To Be A Novel?

This is not an original idea.

I got this one from Robert McKee. It comes from his book, Story: Substance, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting.

This is his test for testing a new plot.

Next time you are out with friends, ask them if you can share an idea for a story.

When they say "Yes," start at the begining and start telling the story. When you get about halfway, excuse yourself suddenly and go to the bathroom, gift shop, or phone.

Give it a five minutes or so. When you return, join the table and talk normal. Do not mention the half told story. Talk about something else. Act like you have totally forgotten that you were telling something before leaving the table.

If your friends can not stand it and they ask you to continue, take this as a good sign.

This could mean that you have an idea that others would enjoy.

On the other hand, if your friends never mention your story, do not take it to heart.

Do not take it personal, but rethink your story.

Remember how relieved you are when someone is talking and talking about something and they get inerrupted? If it this way with the story, leave it as a short story.

Monday, May 5, 2008

What's Your Story?

Wanted: Young Authors age 12 - 17 for a book to be released worldwide.

If you know of anyone in the age group of 12 - 17 that writes Poetry, Fiction, Non-Fiction, or creates Art, please get them into contact with me.

All young writers and artist ages 12 - 17 are invited to submit work for a collection that will be titled: "What's Your Story?"

Cost per Submission: NOTHING

Categories: Poetry, Fiction, Non-Fiction, Cover Art, and Inside Art.

Poetry: No more than 5 poems. Any genre.

Fiction: No more than 5 stories up to 2,000 words each. Any genre.

Non-Fiction: No more than 5 stories up to 2,000 words each. Any genre.

Art: Any genre.

All profits from the sale of this title will be donated to the READING IS FUNDAMENTAL Organization.

DEADLINE: June 15, 2008

Work should be submitted as a Word Document.

Times Roman 12 point.

Double Spaced.

Contact me to make a submission. THIS IS WITH A PUBLISHING COMPANY.

I will give you the needed information.

You can register here for FREE and leave me a message.

Thank You!