Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Some days (not sure why), I don't wanna listen to "music". At first, I tried nature sounds, like rain and thunder.
But I'll stick with this White Noise stuff. Makes writing easier. Interesting!
Monday, October 24, 2011
And that right there is not only the key to a terrifying game, but the big difference between Japanese and American horror. The Japanese understand that the key to effective horror is to utilize the idea of "weird" to create an original experience. Familiarity is a killer. Familiarity is boring.
The game, or movie, becomes predictable = no fear. You want the audience to have no idea what's going on, what to expect. So what keeps them playing? After much thought, I figured it out: Give answers, yes...but the answers must also present more questions. It's never-ending. Therefore, in theory, the suspense, the horror, should last until the end of the movie/game.
Look at popular American, supernatural horror films. Which ones work? Aside from The Ring (which is a remake of Ringu), for me anyway, I'd say none work. US ghost movies and games fear being too weird, too confusing. Everything has to be spelled out, and that's a no-no in my book of horror.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Why? Oh, the usual: Doubt, mainly. Doubting what? The future. Life. Where am I going? What's my destiny? Blah blah blahs. Typical human stuff.
We all go through depression; but I guess it's a problem once it stops you from doing "normal", everyday things. Not that I do that many things anyway. Aside from my night job, I don't go out. EVER. Seems like a waste of time, going out. I have to write. Have to make something of myself. Be a success. Be somebody. Leave something important behind when I'm gone. Time, time, time....I'm officially a recluse. Just wanna write. Write what I enjoy and hope that it catches on and rings a bell with a few people. Get out of this damn place. Kalihi. Just move faraway. Make a new life. A better one. So as you can see, time is very important to me. I don't have time for depression. I can't be sleeping all day. I must continue my work.
Anyways, I'm ranting again....
I've been taking Niacin (vitamin b-3), flushing out toxins -- literally getting flushed red -- and it seems to be helping. Other supplements I've been taking are L-Argentine (helps rid the body of ammonia), Epimedium (Aphrodisiac), Fish Oil (Omega-3), caffeine, and a multivitamin. Much of these can be found in foods, but seeing how I don't eat properly, pills will have to do.
As for "Cutthroat Heroes", I'm almost done with it. Due to my depressing procrastination, the book's kinda been hanging in limbo, and, sadly, getting stale in my mind. But I'll finish it. Still good....
Can't wait to start on something fresh. "Weredolphin" sounds fun!
Well, off to check on my baked chicken!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Still, the Kindle is King.
iPads, though....I guess they ARE wayyy more popular than nooky Nooks. Hmmmm....Maybe a change in my marketing strategy is in order? Somehow?
And by "marketing", I mean next to zero. (Or maybe more like one percent effort. (That's still good. (Better than nothing.))) Jesus, you can scream to the world that your book is out, but if no one is looking for it, you'll just end up pissing people off. Well...better to be pissed off than pissed on. Har har har. Fap fap fap.
But that's the thing, isn't it? Don't spend thousands of dollars on ads and stuff. I know I hate it when I see a person's book/banner on my favorite website. It's like someone sticking their baby-maker in my eye. Stop it! Do not pass go! Rage! (flips over table)
Instead, I try to use the stealth method...going to forums relative to the genre I write in and leaving meaningful posts, being a part of the community. Ahh! More of a, "Hey, by the way, I have a book you might like". Way better than, "BUY MY BOOK! Arrrrrgggghhh!"
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
I was watching some YouTube video on the great film composer Hans Zimmer (Gladiator, The Dark Knight, Inception), and he was giving the interviewer a tour of his studio/thinking room.
He had the place built. There were guitars all over the place, bookshelves filled with compositions, computers with music programs, and a big TV to score his music to. (And no window, far as I could tell.) This room is a film composer's dream.
So I was thinking...if I had a room (a dream room to think, work, and be at peace in), what would it look like?
Books. All over the place. Philosophy books, fiction books, anatomy books, history books. I'm getting goosebumps just writing about this. I mean, the very idea that I can walk up and read about topics that entertain me....That's awesome. My own library.
And I thought, "Writing books is, without a doubt, my calling in life."
I wasn't just imagining a room; I was imagining my damn Life.
It's not like I visualized my dream room to be filled with musical instruments (then you should be a musician), or video games (then you should make video games), or movies (then you should go into filmmaking). Nope. I see books.
I think this is a great exercise, especially if you're not sure what you want to do as a career, or, if you're like me, you want to do everything under the sun but only want to choose ONE. Your true calling in life. Your career....
Give it a try, imagine that room, and make it a reality. Discover your dream job. Go for it. Put all your chips in. Do it. Work at it. Make the time. Keep working at it. Energy goes where attention goes. Start now!
Friday, October 7, 2011
So I'll just boil all I wrote into this: Man...you go through some tough days.
I mean, Jesus Christ...you can feel your Heart fist-fighting with your Brain sometimes.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
(1st draft. Excuse the typos, if any.)
The first thing I did was drink. I got hammered drunk, and then I ran into the woods and wept and screamed. Neighbors were far off, so they didn't matter.
“Whyyyyy!?!?!” I screamed. “Phil! My love!!! Whyyyyyy??? Come back! Come back! OH-GOD! HELP ME!!!!”
A plane flew over the trees – one of those fat jets. I yelled at it – yelled through its loud engines.
“He left me! Left meeeeeeeeeee!”
I leaned against a tree, blowing my nose on a leaf. My throat hurt. I was spitting blood. Good! I liked seeing my blood. I deserved to bleed. To hurt. I messed up real bad. I messed up the one relationship that mattered in my life. I should have loved him hard enough. Should have kept my problems to myself. Should have made him happier. Of course! Made perfect sense....
I ran through more trees, breaking through some branches, finding myself at the edge of the mountain. I could see the city lights below me, and I threw my empty beer bottles at all those happy people scattered all over Honolulu. I screamed as loud as I could, cried as loud as I could. I felt like a crazy person, but damn if each scream helped a little. I drank some more, then some more. I didn't want to think, or feel, or whatever. I wanted to pass out. Pass out in the woods – in nature like the animal that I was. The world spun, and I fell down on the wet grass. Something told me to open my eyes.
Fran was standing above me.
“I win,” she was saying. “I have him. I have HIM.”
And then I jumped up and took a swing at her, but she vanished. Jesus! I was losing my mind. Get a grip, girl. Get a grip. Is it wrong to wish your sister dead? Your own flesh & blood? Did the quality of her meat really matter??? The world would've been a better, much more peaceful place if they just got rid of all the evil people, that's what I thought. Electrocute them! Do us good souls a favor....Make them go away. That included my sister, too – get rid of her. Kill her. Make her go away.
She was always the bad egg.
When Mom gave birth, Fran came out in a black sack made of skin. When they cut the thing open, smoke came out, and all the doctors said it smelled like someone blew out a matchstick. As a baby, she cried all the time. Alllll the time. Drove us nuts. My mom turned to the drink; and dad turned to the drugs. Right then, even at that young age, I thought, My life will be so much better with this thing gone. No?
Then Fran grew up. Then her jelousy showed. Did she go into her ugly duckling rant? Don't feel too special. She says that to everyone. She always complained that I was prettier. Total confusion. I never understood what she was talking about. Honestly, she looked attractive enough to me. If boys didn't look at her, it's because she never looked at them.
She always walked with her head down, hair over her eyes...always wore these long “church dresses” from the 1800's that never showed any skin. There was a time when I tried to dress her up, but she just stared at herself in the mirror for a long time. Then she through a piggy bank at her reflection, and glass flew everywhere, all in my hair, in my mouth, all over my room. I started yelling at her, shaking her, asking her why she did it – why she would do such a crazy thing. Fran just laughed. She said she felt better. I kept trying to help her – kept trying to make her prettier by painting her face, cleaning her up, dousing her with the finest perfumes. She'd always burn the clothes in the bathtub and wash off what she called “that darn stink water”. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with, but what the hell. I wanted to help her. She was my sister. I even tried to get her to join me in cheerleading. Of course, the very idea made her puke. She gripped her stomach and went all over my feet. She then ran all through the school, crying, to the girls' bathroom...busted all the mirrors with a sock full of quarters. She told the police that the girl in the mirrors wouldn't stop laughing at her. One cop said he found a doll's head in the toilet, its eyes colored black with a marker.
Another time, again in school, I walked into the bathroom and saw Fran on the sink, real close to the mirror with a switchblade to her face. She was cutting herself...said it made her look better. I slapped the thing away and tackled her to the floor and called for help. Mom and Dad said that our great grandmother did the exact same thing. She was the same way.
In time, with Fran, that turned into gross insanity. Fran felt the world was against her. I know this, because I used to hear her screaming in her room, “THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME!” There would always be these banging sounds, eating sounds, tearing sounds, whining sounds. I started fearing for my safety. One time, I walked into her room and saw pictures of dead animals and people – pages ripped from magazines – all over her bedroom walls.
I told my mom, and Fran got a good beating for it.
Maybe that's when she started really hating me.
I was gonna call it a romantic fantasy, but after reading the below, I guess I can't:
According to the Romance Writers of America, the main plot of a romance novel must revolve around the two people as they develop romantic love for each other and work to build a relationship together. Both the conflict and the climax of the novel should be directly related to that core theme of developing a romantic relationship although the novel can also contain subplots that do not specifically relate to the main characters' romantic love. Furthermore, a romance novel must have an "emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending." Others, including Leslie Gelbman, a president of the Berkley Group, define the genre more simply, stating only that a romance must make the "romantic relationship between the hero and the heroine ... the core of the book." In general, romance novels reward characters who are good people and penalize those who are evil, and a couple who fights for and believes in their relationship will likely be rewarded with unconditional love. Bestselling author Nora Roberts sums up the genre, saying "The books are about the celebration of falling in love and emotion and commitment, and all of those things we really want." Women's fiction (including chick lit) is not directly a subcategory of the romance novel genre, because in women's fiction the heroine's relationship with her family or friends may be equally as important as her relationship with the hero.Some romance novel authors and readers believe the genre has additional restrictions, from plot considerations such as the protagonists meeting early on in the story, to avoiding themes such as adultery. Other disagreements have centered on the firm requirement for a happy ending, or the place of same-sex relationships within the genre. Some readers admit stories without a happy ending, if the focus of the story is on the romantic love between the two main characters (e.g. Romeo and Juliet). Others believe the definition should be more strictly worded to include only heterosexual pairing. While the majority of romance novels meet the stricter criteria, there are also many books that are widely considered to be romance novels that deviate from these rules. Therefore, the general definition, as embraced by the RWA and publishers, includes only the focus on a developing romantic relationship and an optimistic ending.
So according to this, Cutthroat Heroes does not fit into the romance catagory. It'll just be a comedy fantasy. Hmph.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
"Write the types of books you like to read. I offer my readers a fun, breezy read. If I can give them some chuckles and hold their interest for a few hours, I feel I've earned my 99 cents. I know I'm on the right track if I laugh out loud when I'm writing a scene."
Now here's a man that's so humble, he doesn't even consider himself a "real" author. But I think he IS. That very thing he said (see above) is what I believe writers should live and die by.
Write for the people. Your audience. Show them a good time!
Heck, I'm gonna follow his footsteps and make my books more accessible by lowering them to 99 cents. I want to build my audience. I wanna connect with people that enjoy my stuff -- show them a fun time.
Besides. It's lonely being a recluse, lol.