This tunnel could almost be pulled right out of the pages of Shadow Spinner.
Do you want to go there?
(If I remember, next week, I'll show you the other side.)
Showing posts with label tunnel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tunnel. Show all posts
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Almost... (pictures I like)
This tunnel could almost be pulled right out of the pages of Shadow Spinner.
Do you want to go there?
(If I remember, next week, I'll show you the other side.)
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Friday, February 10, 2012
Not Just For Kids
One of the things I worry most about as a writer is being pegged as a writer of kids' books. Unless that's all you want to do, it can be a huge ball and chain. Once you get that label, if you try to break away and do something else, everyone gets mad at you. Like you can't possibly do anything else. My goal with The House on the Corner was not to write a book for kids but to write a book that was accessible to kids. Yes, I want kids to read it, but I also want adults to read it. In this, I was, actually, striving for something along the lines of Harry Potter or The Chronicles of Narnia (although, really, Lewis was writing for kids, but I think he surpassed himself).
In truth, what I was striving for was something more along the lines of Animaniacs (the greatest cartoon EVER!) or Looney Toons. Kids love that stuff, but you can't really appreciate them until you grow up and see the entire other level of humor. I'm not saying I achieved anything along the lines of either of these shows, but, still, it's the kind of thing I was going for.
So... if I don't want to get labeled an author of kids' books, why did I write a book that lends itself to that? Well, the answer is really simple, actually: I didn't want to have to tell my kids they couldn't read it. That can be a huge motivator. So what you get is The House on the Corner and, now, the Tib "stories."
But the truth is that the "real" stories in my head, the "big" ones, are not for kids at all. Not that I want to belittle what's going on in House or Tib, because I don't view those as "small" stories, but one of the things in my head would fall under epic fantasy (I think), and that makes me think "big." The other deals with... well, big issues, I guess. Not growing up type issue, like House, but society issues.
Anyway...
My original idea when I started all of this writing business was that I was going to start out by writing short stories. That idea didn't live very long as fell into House pretty soon after that. I did, however, start one short story (this is was nearly 3 years ago). Yes, I did say "start," because I never finished that first story. Well, that is, until now.
It's interesting to me in that that story started out as just this isolated little thing. It came out of the idea of what we can do with words to other people (but I don't want to say more than that, because, really, more than that would give the story away). Later, much later, I sat down and wrote "The Tunnel" (The Tunnel being part 1 of Tib, for those of you that haven't been following). As I was writing it, I realized that these two stories were linked, and a much larger world started growing in my head (yeah, it's kind of painful, and there are all sorts of operations (usually involving keyboards and the banging of heads) required to get things like that out once they've started growing).
The problem here is that that first short story, that one I started so long ago, well, it's not for kids. I will just happen to fail to mention it to my kids even though they're reading all about Tib. They'll just have to wait till they're older to find out how all of that came about. Okay, well, maybe my oldest will get to read it, but it's really going to depend upon his ability to keep his mouth shut to the other two. I don't think I would think about things like this at all if I mostly dealt with high schoolers (I was reading things much more mature than this when I was in high school), but, no, I teach creative writing to middle schoolers and spend lots of time in elementary school classes, and I have to worry about parents letting their kids read this story without looking at it first for no other reason than that I wrote it and their kids love The House on the Corner. [Yes, I'm going to be spending a lot of time telling parents at my kids' school "make sure you read this before you let your kids read it (because a lot of them have Kindles or access to one).]
And, now, finally, to the point:
This post was supposed to be the announcement of the release of a new story, but, alas, I'm not quite finished with it and getting it all set up on the Kindle. Things have just been too busy, lately, but I should have it ready by sometime early next week, so I'm going to go ahead and debut the cover today.
First, though, for those of you who have been following the adventures of Tib (if you can call them adventures), this is sort of a prologue to all of that. Or an origin story. But not really. At any rate, it is the story that gave birth (no pun intended (yes, you'll have to read it to understand that)) to the world that Tib lives in. The title is "The Evil That Men Do," and it will be available exclusively on the Kindle sometime soon.
The inestimable Rusty Webb is, once again, responsible for the cover, and I really love it.
And because I'm such a nice guy, I'm going to give you a look at some of the other designs that were part of the process.
My wife (and, I think, Rusty's wife) liked this one best, and, while I really like the silver, it doesn't evoke the moth and flame image the way the other cover does.
And because I think this next image is really cool, even if it doesn't work for what I was going for, here's one other "work in progress" piece:
If you don't already follow Rusty, click that link I left up there, and go do that!
Look for (actually, I'll tell you when) "The Evil That Men Do" to be available for the Kindle sometime in the coming for the LOW, LOW price of only $0.99!!!
Also, remember, the sale on The House on the Corner is ending today. Tomorrow, I'll set the prices back to what they're listed at on my House page, but, for today, you can still get it for the LOW, LOW price of only $0.99!!! And, hey, you can't beat 2-for-1 on signed copies of the physical book! Okay, well, that's not precisely true, because you could beat it, but I can't. Sorry, folks, that as low as I can make it go, so buy your copies while you have the chance, and give one as a gift!
In truth, what I was striving for was something more along the lines of Animaniacs (the greatest cartoon EVER!) or Looney Toons. Kids love that stuff, but you can't really appreciate them until you grow up and see the entire other level of humor. I'm not saying I achieved anything along the lines of either of these shows, but, still, it's the kind of thing I was going for.
So... if I don't want to get labeled an author of kids' books, why did I write a book that lends itself to that? Well, the answer is really simple, actually: I didn't want to have to tell my kids they couldn't read it. That can be a huge motivator. So what you get is The House on the Corner and, now, the Tib "stories."
But the truth is that the "real" stories in my head, the "big" ones, are not for kids at all. Not that I want to belittle what's going on in House or Tib, because I don't view those as "small" stories, but one of the things in my head would fall under epic fantasy (I think), and that makes me think "big." The other deals with... well, big issues, I guess. Not growing up type issue, like House, but society issues.
Anyway...
My original idea when I started all of this writing business was that I was going to start out by writing short stories. That idea didn't live very long as fell into House pretty soon after that. I did, however, start one short story (this is was nearly 3 years ago). Yes, I did say "start," because I never finished that first story. Well, that is, until now.
It's interesting to me in that that story started out as just this isolated little thing. It came out of the idea of what we can do with words to other people (but I don't want to say more than that, because, really, more than that would give the story away). Later, much later, I sat down and wrote "The Tunnel" (The Tunnel being part 1 of Tib, for those of you that haven't been following). As I was writing it, I realized that these two stories were linked, and a much larger world started growing in my head (yeah, it's kind of painful, and there are all sorts of operations (usually involving keyboards and the banging of heads) required to get things like that out once they've started growing).
The problem here is that that first short story, that one I started so long ago, well, it's not for kids. I will just happen to fail to mention it to my kids even though they're reading all about Tib. They'll just have to wait till they're older to find out how all of that came about. Okay, well, maybe my oldest will get to read it, but it's really going to depend upon his ability to keep his mouth shut to the other two. I don't think I would think about things like this at all if I mostly dealt with high schoolers (I was reading things much more mature than this when I was in high school), but, no, I teach creative writing to middle schoolers and spend lots of time in elementary school classes, and I have to worry about parents letting their kids read this story without looking at it first for no other reason than that I wrote it and their kids love The House on the Corner. [Yes, I'm going to be spending a lot of time telling parents at my kids' school "make sure you read this before you let your kids read it (because a lot of them have Kindles or access to one).]
And, now, finally, to the point:
This post was supposed to be the announcement of the release of a new story, but, alas, I'm not quite finished with it and getting it all set up on the Kindle. Things have just been too busy, lately, but I should have it ready by sometime early next week, so I'm going to go ahead and debut the cover today.
First, though, for those of you who have been following the adventures of Tib (if you can call them adventures), this is sort of a prologue to all of that. Or an origin story. But not really. At any rate, it is the story that gave birth (no pun intended (yes, you'll have to read it to understand that)) to the world that Tib lives in. The title is "The Evil That Men Do," and it will be available exclusively on the Kindle sometime soon.
The inestimable Rusty Webb is, once again, responsible for the cover, and I really love it.
And because I think this next image is really cool, even if it doesn't work for what I was going for, here's one other "work in progress" piece:
Look for (actually, I'll tell you when) "The Evil That Men Do" to be available for the Kindle sometime in the coming for the LOW, LOW price of only $0.99!!!
Also, remember, the sale on The House on the Corner is ending today. Tomorrow, I'll set the prices back to what they're listed at on my House page, but, for today, you can still get it for the LOW, LOW price of only $0.99!!! And, hey, you can't beat 2-for-1 on signed copies of the physical book! Okay, well, that's not precisely true, because you could beat it, but I can't. Sorry, folks, that as low as I can make it go, so buy your copies while you have the chance, and give one as a gift!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
My Mocha Life
Okay, not really, but it's probably the title I should have gone with. Oh, let me explain:
Today is the day I update the next Tib story, which I have done. Go read it! Here's a link just in case you can't manage to get your mouse up to the tabby thing: The Kitchen Table.
Quite a while ago, I wrote the second chapter of Tib from a different perspective. It was a writing exercise for a writing group and went along with some theme or other (although, I can't remember what that theme was), and I had "The Tunnel" written already, so I thought I would just continue that story by jumping to Tib's mom. As I was writing it, I figured out that I didn't want any of the story from Tib's mom's perspective. I'd stick to either Tib or the man with no eyes. However, I finished the story anyway. So, as an extra special treat for one day only (okay, that's not precisely the truth), you get to see both versions of the second chapter of Tib. Tib's version (the real version) is up in the Tib tab. His mother's version is below. Read them both, and let me know what you think!
She sat at the table cradling the less than warm coffee mug in her hands wondering what had happened to her life. Where had it gone? She decided it was the like the mocha she was holding, the mocha that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get to compare in the least to the ones the café in town made, slowly losing its heat. From moment to moment, you couldn’t tell the difference, but, if you weren’t paying attention, you’d suddenly find it was cold. You could reheat it, but, really, it would never be the same. Like fried foods. That was her life. Lukewarm going to cold. And she had never noticed it happening.
She remembered being beautiful. She remembered when men would fight over her. Literally. She hadn’t appreciated that, at the time. Had hardly noticed it. Had not realized what her life was then. And she remembered when it had changed. Michael. Devilishly handsome and not far removed from the devil himself, though she hadn’t known that at the time. Not that he was bad, that wasn’t it. But, if the devil had started as an angel, Michael was… Well, he wasn’t far removed.
He had taken her old life and given her something else in return. Neither of them had known it, at the time. If only…
She sighed heavily. If only she had left well enough alone and not insisted on the truth. She had come to the conclusion, since then, that truth was overrated. But, really, how was she to know? It’s not like there was some kind of handbook with a warning, “Hey, your lover is more than human; leave well enough alone. Don’t ask questions.” But she had asked questions. Over and over and over again until he had finally told her. And it had cost her her life.
And given her a new one. Two new ones, in fact, although neither of them had known that, at the time. At the time… But, really, would she have done anything different even if she had known she was pregnant? She had spent the last decade trying to tell herself that that was so, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew then just like she still knew, now, that she could not have gone on with Michael not knowing anything about him. She would have lost him with or without the truth from him. Still… Why had he told her? He could have just disappeared and left her wondering what had happened to him. It would have hurt her, yes, but, at least, that was something she could have recovered from. She had never recovered from the knowledge he had given her.
And here she was contemplating how in the world she was going to pass that knowledge on to her son. She didn’t want to do it, which was why he was about to turn 11 and knew nothing of his father. But he was about to turn 11, and he had to know. Had to be prepared. 11... She still didn’t understand why 11 was so important, but she knew there was truth in it. Could feel it.
As if thoughts of him had summoned him, the screen door squeaked open and slammed followed by the house rattling slam of the front door. That, of course, was followed by the crash of his backpack as he tossed it into the chair in the hallway, and the chair slammed into the table next to it. No matter how many times she told him not to throw his backpack. Sigh.
“Tib? Tib is that you?” She wondered for a moment why she asked that question everyday when he came in. It’s not like it was going to be anyone else, and there was the backpack. Really. If it was someone else, would there really be the backpack? But she compulsively asked. Everyday. She wondered, not for the first time, if that was because Michael had broken some ability in her to trust reality.
“Yes, Mom! It’s me! Who else would it be?” Just like everyday. Well, except those days when he said, “No, Mom! I’m someone else!” But today wasn’t one of those days. He sounded as if he had had a bad time coming through the tunnel, today. Not that he didn’t always have a bad time, but some days were worse than others. She didn’t understand that; it was just a tunnel!
She heard him start up the stairs, “Tib, come here, please!”
“Aw, Mom! What? I don’t want to do my homework, right now!”
“You know the rules; homework, first! But this isn’t about homework. Just come here!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
He still wasn’t coming back down the stairs… She sighed and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the repetitiveness of this scenario, “I didn’t say you did anything! Just come here!”
His footsteps fell more heavily on the stairs than they really needed to as he came stomping his way back down. Any chance to actively demonstrate his disapproval, after all.
“What, Mom?” as he came into the kitchen. Her mocha was completely cold, now, but she didn’t notice as she took a small sip.
“Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Mom…! I have things to do!”
She snorted without meaning to, “Video games are hardly something you need to do.”
Tiberius just glowered at her the way he did when he had no response to her. Generally, because it was hard to argue against the truth. Even when you didn’t like it. Something she knew well.
She stared back at him, finally saying, “I said ‘sit down.’”
Tib dropped into a chair as if he was a marionette that had just had his strings cut. She sighed again. Every time he did that, she had visions of the chair collapsing under him, impaling him on the wooden pin cushion it became in her mind as it broke apart. She shook her head and sighed, again, but held back her normal response. She had other things to talk about.
She looked down into her coffee mug, only just now realizing that her mocha had lost all of its heat. Not even half gone. She frowned at it, got up, and dumped it in the sink. From behind her, Tib said, “Well?”
She turned around and looked at him, leaning against the edge of the counter, “You turn 11, next week.”
He shrugged, “Yeah, so… It’s just another birthday. It’s not like I get to have a party or anything.” He said that with such bitterness, and she wept on the inside. Sometimes… sometimes keeping him safe just cost too much.
“I know… I’m sorry…” She stopped short of trying to explain it all to him, again, since there had never really been any explanation to go with that. She sighed. Again. She looked Tib in the eyes, “It’s time you knew about your father.”
Today is the day I update the next Tib story, which I have done. Go read it! Here's a link just in case you can't manage to get your mouse up to the tabby thing: The Kitchen Table.
Quite a while ago, I wrote the second chapter of Tib from a different perspective. It was a writing exercise for a writing group and went along with some theme or other (although, I can't remember what that theme was), and I had "The Tunnel" written already, so I thought I would just continue that story by jumping to Tib's mom. As I was writing it, I figured out that I didn't want any of the story from Tib's mom's perspective. I'd stick to either Tib or the man with no eyes. However, I finished the story anyway. So, as an extra special treat for one day only (okay, that's not precisely the truth), you get to see both versions of the second chapter of Tib. Tib's version (the real version) is up in the Tib tab. His mother's version is below. Read them both, and let me know what you think!
Life Is a Mocha
She remembered being beautiful. She remembered when men would fight over her. Literally. She hadn’t appreciated that, at the time. Had hardly noticed it. Had not realized what her life was then. And she remembered when it had changed. Michael. Devilishly handsome and not far removed from the devil himself, though she hadn’t known that at the time. Not that he was bad, that wasn’t it. But, if the devil had started as an angel, Michael was… Well, he wasn’t far removed.
He had taken her old life and given her something else in return. Neither of them had known it, at the time. If only…
She sighed heavily. If only she had left well enough alone and not insisted on the truth. She had come to the conclusion, since then, that truth was overrated. But, really, how was she to know? It’s not like there was some kind of handbook with a warning, “Hey, your lover is more than human; leave well enough alone. Don’t ask questions.” But she had asked questions. Over and over and over again until he had finally told her. And it had cost her her life.
And given her a new one. Two new ones, in fact, although neither of them had known that, at the time. At the time… But, really, would she have done anything different even if she had known she was pregnant? She had spent the last decade trying to tell herself that that was so, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew then just like she still knew, now, that she could not have gone on with Michael not knowing anything about him. She would have lost him with or without the truth from him. Still… Why had he told her? He could have just disappeared and left her wondering what had happened to him. It would have hurt her, yes, but, at least, that was something she could have recovered from. She had never recovered from the knowledge he had given her.
And here she was contemplating how in the world she was going to pass that knowledge on to her son. She didn’t want to do it, which was why he was about to turn 11 and knew nothing of his father. But he was about to turn 11, and he had to know. Had to be prepared. 11... She still didn’t understand why 11 was so important, but she knew there was truth in it. Could feel it.
As if thoughts of him had summoned him, the screen door squeaked open and slammed followed by the house rattling slam of the front door. That, of course, was followed by the crash of his backpack as he tossed it into the chair in the hallway, and the chair slammed into the table next to it. No matter how many times she told him not to throw his backpack. Sigh.
“Tib? Tib is that you?” She wondered for a moment why she asked that question everyday when he came in. It’s not like it was going to be anyone else, and there was the backpack. Really. If it was someone else, would there really be the backpack? But she compulsively asked. Everyday. She wondered, not for the first time, if that was because Michael had broken some ability in her to trust reality.
“Yes, Mom! It’s me! Who else would it be?” Just like everyday. Well, except those days when he said, “No, Mom! I’m someone else!” But today wasn’t one of those days. He sounded as if he had had a bad time coming through the tunnel, today. Not that he didn’t always have a bad time, but some days were worse than others. She didn’t understand that; it was just a tunnel!
She heard him start up the stairs, “Tib, come here, please!”
“Aw, Mom! What? I don’t want to do my homework, right now!”
“You know the rules; homework, first! But this isn’t about homework. Just come here!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
He still wasn’t coming back down the stairs… She sighed and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the repetitiveness of this scenario, “I didn’t say you did anything! Just come here!”
His footsteps fell more heavily on the stairs than they really needed to as he came stomping his way back down. Any chance to actively demonstrate his disapproval, after all.
“What, Mom?” as he came into the kitchen. Her mocha was completely cold, now, but she didn’t notice as she took a small sip.
“Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Mom…! I have things to do!”
She snorted without meaning to, “Video games are hardly something you need to do.”
Tiberius just glowered at her the way he did when he had no response to her. Generally, because it was hard to argue against the truth. Even when you didn’t like it. Something she knew well.
She stared back at him, finally saying, “I said ‘sit down.’”
Tib dropped into a chair as if he was a marionette that had just had his strings cut. She sighed again. Every time he did that, she had visions of the chair collapsing under him, impaling him on the wooden pin cushion it became in her mind as it broke apart. She shook her head and sighed, again, but held back her normal response. She had other things to talk about.
She looked down into her coffee mug, only just now realizing that her mocha had lost all of its heat. Not even half gone. She frowned at it, got up, and dumped it in the sink. From behind her, Tib said, “Well?”
She turned around and looked at him, leaning against the edge of the counter, “You turn 11, next week.”
He shrugged, “Yeah, so… It’s just another birthday. It’s not like I get to have a party or anything.” He said that with such bitterness, and she wept on the inside. Sometimes… sometimes keeping him safe just cost too much.
“I know… I’m sorry…” She stopped short of trying to explain it all to him, again, since there had never really been any explanation to go with that. She sighed. Again. She looked Tib in the eyes, “It’s time you knew about your father.”
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