Fantastical Philosophical Fiction: converting vast amounts of ordinary and phenomenal imagination into conceivable, genuine sagacity, while constantly searching for peculiar originality within the abyss of dreams.
Welcome to earth, it's for Amusement Only.
The mantras often repeated to new writers:
Keep writing to get better, write as often as you can, and go to
seminars and learn from the professionals.
I do not disagree. Traditional methods are good, but in the end, you should do what makes you happy.
I was once an athlete and a coach, so I understand that practice makes perfect.
But, my rebellious, stubborn brain rejects all forms of conventional wisdom
when the quest for originality is at stake.
When I first started writing, I wrote down all the wild and crazy stories that swirled inside me. I am now
the proud father to stacks of worthless dribble scribbles that will never see the light of day. Flat, sour, and boring oozed from my fingers tips. These
days, I write stuff down if the idea is worthy and if I’m in the mood. Quality
over quantity is my new mantra, but just in case the quality sucks, I know a guy who
can get me in as a dishwasher.
Better to be a nuisance than live unoriginal and anonymous.
I have become a binge writer; 12 to
20 hour stretches. Coffee . . . lots of coffee. Sleep 3-4 hours then back
to it, but only if I have enough colorful fabric to continue constructing the fantastical tale.
Things that do not make me happy
Synopsis: I'd rather slit my than write a synopsis.
Query letters: I’d rather have a
dentist stick 100 needles into the roof of my mouth instead of trying to
concoct the perfect query letter.
Back of the book blurb: eating raw
onions with rotten eggs sounds more appealing.
Equally unpleasant things to me are
Bran Muffins, Cell Phones, Jelly Fish, Socks, and February.
Frustration is my warm blanket,
melancholy my daily bread, and guilt-tormented regret is the cup from which I
drink. I am surrounded by parasite-enablers, enthusiastic persuaders, and
unscrupulous, blood-sucking vampires who only want my money.
The monster underneath the bed is my fear of failure, the goblin in the closet is my ugly, uncle Marvin,
and the setting sun is the signal for the nocturnal nightmares to begin serenading me
Nevertheless, discomposed feelings
and trepidation's are counterfeit and unfounded, because we all have boundless
potential and infinite possibilities. And, always have a backup plan, I hear dishwashers make good money these days.
Is it wrong that I have to beg family members to read my books?
Be a Blue Shadow of Optimism this week
and triumph over the Dark Shadow of Pessimism.
Spreading the Love to Switzerland,
Netherlands, Romania, Brazil, France, Ireland, United Arab Emirates, Portugal, and