Tag Archives: writing process. my bad side

My Bad Chance

Posted on by

A number of years back, an influential agent took interest in novel, My Bad Side. He had his reader review the opening 50 pages and gave me advice on changes to make, which I did. I received a follow-up on moving the back story to a later stage. I questioned this idea, explaining the benefit of where it was. That was it. I was out.

A year or so later, I pitched him my new book, Anori. “Not for me.” The one time an agent had taken an interest in my work, a one-night stand as it was, I hadn’t done as I was told and was cancelled. I’ve thought back to this moment often and wondered what might have happened if I had complied. What success would I have reaped? If only, if only…

Today, hundreds of indifferent rejection emails later, I feel something coming, some long-awaited breakthrough, not with them as much as me. I’ve made it somewhere, not a revelation as much as a state of mind, I suppose. Probably the booze but more of a clean sure hike up, getting to where I can see where I am. Which is here. Nowhere else but that.

My latest opus, The Vanishing Pill, will be ready in the spring.

My Small Quest for Immortality

Posted on by

In Until the End of Time, Brian Greene states that our only possibility of eternal life is through The creative mind, able to roam freely through imagined worlds, exploring the immortal, meandering through eternity, and meditating on why we might seek or disdain or fear endless time. (380)

God knows that I have striven for immortality in my writing. (I might even settle on one published work!) I have rummaged through my head and flailed away with anything I could find. My family’s distant interest in me has been a source of bitter inspiration. My father’s certitude of always doing the right thing has been a touchstone and albatross. I have pissed off many a person with my righteous thoughts. My terror of the darkness and deep waters has held me back as has my reticence and distrust of people.

I have channeled much of this into Dee Sinclair, a 30-something former sex worker who owns an exotic pet and who appears in four of my books, including My Bad Side and The Cx Trilogy.

Her mother was dead. Her sister was dead. Nani was dead. Everyone was gone. And she was alone. That was how she was used to it being. Alone. She just wanted this corner, Apollo with her, just Apollo, a place she could pull her knees into her chest and be quiet. That’s all she wanted. (Anori)

I deeply admire Dee for her courage and singular focus, for her intense devotion and fury, for her willingness to carry on, knowing that life is only there to disappoint. I desperately need to get her out into the world, to have her thoughts published, so that an audience might understand and care. She must be heard. She is my one and true child.

“my bad side”: Three Versions of an Opening

Posted on by

I continue to work on the opening to my novel, my bad side. I have the original, written three years ago, Version One:  2012-10-11 00.26.33I liked my face in the cab window, fading in and out with the shadows, my eyes there, my mouth, and then all of me, my neck and chest, my bra strap just there and then  gone and just the buildings, the slumped scaffolding and empty street. There was a kind of liquid sound, almost like rain, inside me, a fluid crinkling in my brain, chewing into my ears and down my neck..Crystal said she had brain cancer. She was always saying things like that, determined to be the loneliest, the purest of all. I’d have to call her when I got home.

Two years later, I put together Version Two: IMAG1953I watched my face fade in and out against the shadows and buildings, my eyes and mouth, and then all of me, my neck and chest, my bra strap suddenly there and then gone into the scaffolding and lights, and then a police car, its blue and white lights swimming back and forth, and an officer stretched out against the passenger side, his right leg angled into the road. The cab turned, and my face was in the window again, the flat stone of Battery Tunnel and then the gravel and bent-over plastic fences in front of my building. “$9.40.”

And now, I have a combination of Versions One & Two (without references to Crystal or the police): Version Three: IMAG1915I liked my face in the window, fading in and out with the shadows, my eyes there, my mouth, and then all of me, my neck and chest, and then everything gone, just the buildings, the slumped scaffolding and empty street, Bowling Green locked and empty. The cab rattled heavily over a rutted grate as I watched a line of light glide across my arms, jump down and vanish in a flash across my dress. I was home.