Self publishing

I’m taking the dive into self publishing. I got myself set up with a pseudonym earlier this year and I have been reading books on self-publishing like a fucking nut. I picked a genre and I got a website and I got accounts with all the right places and I’m about 60% done with my short story.

Holy cat balls, Batman, just 60% with a short story? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Well, lots of things, but not this. I wrote several stories (see all the badass shit on this blog!) but I felt they weren’t good enough to sell at $2.99 at 1000 words. I want to give some more value and amp that bitch up to 6000-8000 words. That’s actually a bit longer than the genre demands, but when I write, I do some stuff, like, you know, shit that happens and the sub-plots weave into the main plot and I need room to develop characters so you believe their motivations and actions and all that malarkey.

I worked “malarkey” into that paragraph to see if you’re still paying attention or if I lost you already. You’re such a fucker.

But, back to the point, I’ve got the thing plotted, I’ve got characters with backgrounds rich enough for me to get into their heads and really believe their motivations, and I’ve got 60% of it written. Well, about 2/3, so that’s 66.6666% if you’re the type, and I am, so let’s leave it at that. You’re so pushy.

I think it’s a huge accomplishment. I want to have it up on Amazon before Thanksgiving. I’m feeling some pressure but, fuck my ass, it’s NaNoWriMo so why the fuck not? What better time?

You know what THEY say (and you should always be wary of a nebulous formation of people) – THEY say that you should just write and get it out there. Lather, rinse, repeat. So that’s what I’m going to do. If it sucks, well, at least I did more than 90% of you bitches ever did, so there’s that. I’m better than the 20 readers of this blog, lulz.

The deets… using Scrivener for Windows, which lacks a bunch of features, fuck you very much, Literature and Latte. Using that really slowed me down but the actual creation of the .mobi for Amazon will be much faster in future writing because I’ll have gotten all the niggling little doodads beat into submission.

I resisted and it’s got a learning curve, but Scrivener is where it’s at. Spend it to make it, right? And fake it ’til you make it, too, right? So… spend it ’til you fake it? Wait, that’s not right.

Okay, I’ve got a story to finish, then edit, then tweak in Scriv, then tweak some more, then go to sleep and wake up realizing why my story isn’t working, fix that, edit a zillion bits, then, well, at that point it’s done and it will be live and I will sit there refreshing Amazon like a freak and I know nothing will happen for many months, so I will immediately begin work on the next story.

Remember, no matter what happens, you learned all you need to know in Kindergarten when you did the rounds of Row Row Row Your Boat… life is but a dream.

Five Sentence Fiction – Falling

Five Sentence Fiction – Falling

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Brad dressed to the nines and kissed his wife and kids goodbye, just like always.

Brad drove the fuck out of that Mercedes, his golden hair blowing in the wind, looking like hot shit, just like always.

Brad checked out the tits and ass of all the women at work with a grin, just like always.

Brad berated himself and cried in his car at lunch, hiding his red eyes behind his Aviators, just like always.

Brad finished the job, hid the weapon in the secret compartment, and pushed the painĀ deep down inside, just like always.

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Author’s notes

“You don’t know if they have crippling debt, you don’t know anything,” she said to me one day after I asked how the fuck some of my coworkers afford giant houses and new cars.

She was right – you don’t know. Maybe they secretly hate themselves and their lives. Maybe they want to get in their cars in the morning and just never take that exit off the highway, just keep driving, going where the road takes ‘em.

Maybe they have dark secrets they’re hiding, compensating for, and you shouldn’t dig too deep, lest you find demons better left undisturbed.

(did you see that? My Author’s Notes was also a FSF. Watch the fuck out, I’ve gone meta on your ass)

Five Sentence Fiction – The List

Five Sentence Fiction – The List, or, “Horizon”

The List

Buy a pack of squares on my way to the apartment.
Execute the agreements.
Close blinds, tape mouth, handcuff.
Shoot him once; remember gloves.
Kill the dog.

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Author’s Notes

My train of thought… horizons are a visual anomaly, something that’s not real, an illusion. People buy into illusions, and then I came up with all sorts of ideas and started about 5 small stories but nothing grabbed my attention. Then I thought that money is really just an illusion, fiat currency, that has no value of its own, which led me to Ponzi schemes and a well-known case from the 1980’s called the BBC, or Billionaire Boys Club.

The BBC had cons inside of cons, and, at the trial, this list of things to do came out – the leader of the BBC had decided to murder someone and had seven frickin’ pages of things to do.

Big Black, a little known noise-rock band from Chicago (and also one of my favorite Steve Albini bands), wrote a song about it called, “Things To Do Today” that added the “buy a pack of squares” line. Being pretty naive, I had to look up what that meant (it’s old slang for cigarettes).

This five sentence fiction is based on that court trial and that list of things to do.

Five Sentence Fiction – Hunger

Five Sentence Fiction – Hunger

*warning: explicit content (violence, no nudity)

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He pulled the knife out of her side; the sound of metal on bone satisfied him. She looked at him and back at the growing stain, then fell to her knees with a gasp.

“Don’t FUCK with me,” he emphasized *fuck* as he kicked her down with his size 14 boot. Stepping over her, he put his foot on her forearm and pulled the trinket from her weakening fingers. “You wanted to know how bad I wanted it,” he said, panting and pushing sweaty hair out of his face, inspecting his prize, “I would do much more than this.”

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Author’s Notes

I wrote two stories quickly but they weren’t grabbing my attention, so I decided to go straight to the action, and here’s how it spilled out of my brain. Mostly. Okay, I did edit. A little. But then I was all, “Hey, if you’re not pissing somebody off, you’re not trying hard enough,” and left the violence and swearing in it.

Five Sentence Fiction – Who’s on First?

Five sentence fiction – Confusion, or Who’s on First?

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“Who’s on first?”

“Jeez, I don’t know why you think that old skit is funny.”

“I don’t know is on third base!”

“I’m out… see you tomorrow, Phil.”

“Tomorrow is the pitcher!”

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Author’s notes

Comically confusing, the Who’s on First skit is a classic. If you’ve never heard it, go to YouTube now and watch it.

So my twist here is a person (most likely a kid) sees the skit and keeps using lines from the routine in everyday conversation, annoying the hell out of everyone around him. I could see my 9-year-old doing this.

Five Sentence Fiction – Wheels

Five Sentence Fiction – Wheels

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It wasn’t for him to know, really. He fished it up out of the river of thought and, shocked, just held it for what seemed like 10 minutes. Blank stare. Obsessing. “No, nobody can know,” he said and snuffed it out.

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Author’s notes

Yup, I know, wheels turning in your brain, it’s passe, it’s trite, and I should kick my own ass for it. Too bad. I just wanted to write something today since I haven’t written in so long. Was on sabbatical. It was glorious, bitches!

Five Sentence Fiction – Innocence, Part II

Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction – Innocence

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Part II (Part I)

The sulfur sparked and crackled as the match lit. Without breaking eye contact, Dave’s hand paused and he smiled as the match fell.

I took a deep breath as I watched it hit the floor, then looked back at Dave with a knowing half smile. The smell of propane was the additive methanethiol, but without the propane.

The match burned out, I broadened my grin and said, “I WILL die today, but not here, not now.”

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Author’s Notes

The smell of propane wasn’t really propane, it was just the additive that’s gives propane its smell (propane has no smell of its own). What seemed dangerous was innocent, and we see that a lot in life.

This is a continuation of the thriller from the previous five sentence fiction, “Doors.” I’m trying to see if I can serialize a story in five sentence increments while keeping it interesting AND using random prompts!

flash fiction. thoughts on writing.