Halloween! (A Warning to the Unserious!)

'Tis the end of Octember and the spooks are about, so it seems the thing to do is to wax poetic on the Halloween and Samhain themes.

For the quick studies among us, I offer these "cheat sheets":

Some Halloween history   and    Some Samhain history

On the personal side, I haven't cared much for the day. Love the season, but not the rituals. I've never been a ritual kind of guy. But I have history on my side...my backside, thankfully.

First Halloween I remember (didn't know about Samhain then) was in a distant realm where costumes were crafted by hand. I perfected the robot by combining several boxes, a larger one for the body, a smaller one for the head, still others for feet. Arms and legs remained sheathed in cloth. In the second grade I won a prize for having the best costume. What was special about the robot costume was that the non-steam-powered device was also an early form of the personal computer. If someone were to write out a question and introduce the slip of paper through the designated slot in the body of the robot, the robot would [eventually] produce a verbal answer to the question. The robot proved to be 90% accurate, which pre-Windows, was a remarkable feat.


Then came other costumes full of commercial interests: characters from TV shows, classical monsters, space aliens (the fierce and loathsome kind, not ET), and finally the minimalist kind of costume. Minimalist? You know the type: you put on a clean shirt and glasses and say you are dressed as a "nerd". Later, as an adult, I graced one-maybe-two adult Halloween parties where others went full out as sexy witches and vampire studs. I was still dressed as a nerd--still long before nerds were cool.

I often went trick or treating with my cousin, but our chief goal was less about collecting candy than harassing his sisters. Gradually, we forgot the costumes and ran wild through the night, sending rolls of toilet paper up into the trees of houses where girls who did not like him lived. We could, by then, buy our own candy--and we did. Then the reverse happened.  We became candy givers! Definitely less fun. Ah, I have not given out candy for many years now. You see, congruent with my emerging adulthood came the cultural shift away from children ringing doorbells and begging for treats. Too dangerous now--pins in candy, creepy pedophiles, whatever.

Well, it was never really about the candy or the costumes, anyway, I soon learned while hanging out with people who called themselves witches.  Real witches. Though they dressed like "ordinary" people, they had many of the same beliefs I held at that time. None of us threatened people nor begged for snacks. A few preferred to dress in black year-round, and all wore the pentacle around their necks or emblazoned on their black t-shirts. All in all a friendly, charming bunch of social rebels whose chief activity was "raising awareness" of their existence, then complaining that everyone disrespected them.

Other cultures celebrate death and welcome back the dead at this time of the year. That's fine with me. I've had it both ways--err, well, perhaps not both ways in the way you might be thinking. Someday I will, of course. No, what I meant was the fun side and the serious side of the day. Now, however, it seems like just another commercial venture: Halloween "memorabilia" is presented in stores hours after Labor Day has ended. I can deal with fake cobwebs and spiders and bats, even a few talking skulls or laughing zombie heads, but let's be real.

Death ain't so great. That's what I was told by a rather decayed ancestor of mine who happened to pop up in the middle of the night beside my bed--a day early, no less--just to warn me that one of these Halloween nights I might not be around to celebrate much of anything. I said, in my sleepy voice, "Fair enough."

The laughter that followed my ancestor out through the cracks in the walls was unnerving enough to get me up out of bed. I had to splash cold water on my face and awaken fully, just to be sure I was still alive. Shaking my head in front of the mirror with all the lights on, I knew it had not been a dream.

So, carefully, I made my way back to bed yet lay awake for hours, unable to close my eyes, afraid of the next snap, crack, squeak, creak, breath, or sigh--most of them, thankfully, coming from my neighbors arriving home late when the bars finally closed.

And the dawn sprite told me to go to sleep; my time has not come.

Censorship and a confusion of sexy words!

Once upon a time happens every half-year or so, it seems, when book retailers suddenly act insane and throw out a lot of books and their authors for no sensible reason. Panic attack!

Once again someone complaining about a self-published book of erotica caused a panic in the industry. The result? Of course the book in question was burned. Then other books of erotica were tossed. Then any book that was self-published was given the heave-ho. The "reasoning" seemed to be that because erotica is generally self-published that by association all self-published books are suspect. After all, there are no purveyors of "good taste" to filter the good erotica from the back alley variety.

• You can read about the scandal here.   
• And here (Telegraph.UK).   
• And on a lovely blog post.

Naturally, there was an uproar by self-published authors of all genre, not only erotica. Unfair, they claimed, that all self-published books were taken down from online retailers Kobo and W.H. Smith in the U.K. Sales are hard enough to come by without such negative publicity and removal from the sales venue, even if, as the retail entities were quick to explain, the books would eventually be made available again "as soon as possible." We know how that goes.

Sure, this could be seen as "par for the course"; we've been through this kind of mass censorship before. A few of my colleagues declare this is not censorship because retailers can sell whatever they wish to sell, and no one is forced to sell someone else's book, erotica or any other genre. That's true; they are in business, after all. And yet, "censorship" comes not in some political definition but as more common sense jargon. Those retailers chose to make products unavailable for sale based on a hot, rushed decision made from scantily clad evidence related to a particular slutty book. (So the story goes....)

They have that right, yet I would still call it censorship because their actions were because of the content of those books, hence touching upon freedom of speech--which, of course, has never really existed except in some limited, brief conditions. They determined that others should not have access to that content. Someone deciding that someone else cannot have something made by a further someone is censorship, regardless whether a government entity is responsible for it or a business. Said another way:

Joe won't let Mary read the book Terry wrote because Joe thinks the book is not suitable for Mary. Joe does not allow Mary, therefore, to judge Terry's book for herself. Thus, Mary does not get the experience of reading the book and Terry does not get the benefit of compensation for writing the book. Joe, however, gets the satisfaction of affecting control over both Mary's pleasure and Terry's livelihood. In the end, only Joe gets off cleanly...though in a dirty way.

Well, I was not personally inconvenienced by this latest incident. And it did not seem to raise as much of a storm as the previous episode did. Perhaps we self- and indie-published authors take it as the cost of doing business. The rush to judgment, casting the widest possible net to catch any and all who may have slipped in a clever double entendre or an innocent first kiss or the simple delight of a bodice-ripped heroines pining for manly men in Romance novels is the offending act. I noted in subsequent discussions online that erotica written by better known authors (e.g., E. L. James) and published by traditional publishers (the popular Fifty Shades series) was not thrown out.

That certainly smells like a double standard. Is traditionally published erotica more (or less) sexy than self-published erotica? Which is more dangerous? Are the fantasies of midnight novelists somehow less wholesome than those of 24/7 erotica authors who are promoted onto bestseller lists by big company marketing departments? And in the final analysis, isn't all erotica the same? Aren't there only a few basic moves and all the rest mere variations on what seems, practiced over millennia, to work best? Granted, there are "how-to" books which may offer some tricks and gimmicks to dress up the behavior of the undressed. Even so, one aroused person's trick is another aroused person's fetish. Right?

I've even dabbled in some nasty bits, but I tend to "keep it real"--plausible, that is. Nothing that is physically challenging for the more idealistic acrobats of the bedroom--or, as the case might be, in a janitor's closet in a foodcourt restroom in a shopping mall...or whatever.* I tried using metaphors in my romantic adventure novel, AFTER ILIUM, but nobody figured out what was going on. Not good erotica, I suppose. Here's a sample from the big sex scene:

He continued collecting souvenirs as she directed him southward, showing him a lush garden of delicious, juicy fruit to sample, even daring him to taste the puckered kumquat. The festive banquet of Eden spread before him! Drowning in the sea of pleasure, she sighed, like the wind in the sails, and encouraged him to gather all the treasures that he could. He responded by lapping furiously at the fountain of youth, growing not younger but older, gaining maturity. And when he feared he might finally be satiated, she called for him to return to port, to push hard into the harbor until his vessel was fully docked and his wares completely unloaded. (p. 41)

It's all sailing terminology! What is so objectionable about that? Docking...harbor...unloading ware...?

So, in the end, everything remains the same: business as usual: you get what you pay for. Unless someone decides it's not worth your money. Granted, there are subjects, especially in erotica, which make me uncomfortable or disgusts me. I have a threshold. So I don't read them. I don't buy them. But I'm not about to set up a wall to keep people out. Their business is none of my business. Unless...?

On the other hand, I trust people--I want to trust that people are reasonable, that they don't like certain "filth" (rape, incest, abuse, etc., as alleged by the complaint) because of a desire to act out what they read, that they are not likely to be as bad as characters in fiction might be. Faith in humanity. Yes, we've been fooled before by people committing heinous crimes, but we must hold fast to the basic belief in the rightness of the majority of our neighbors. Or we stop being human. End of lecture.

Now, everyone please turn to Porn #69 in your hymnals....

*Did not really happen!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Art of Observation: Denouement

Remember a short time ago when I was hanging out at the mall and observing people? (It was here.) Yes, strange habit. Most mall-goers ignored me and pretended I did not exist. That was fine, as I also did not engage them in any sort of meaningful activities. However, I dared return to that mall recently and--shades of "OMG"--there was that same couple I saw previously: the ones shopping for a ring at the jewelry store. What're the odds?

They appeared rather different now. Cordial; friendly enough though not exactly loving. No longer holding hands, no longer smiling, they seemed to be undertaking a task that was required of them yet neither wished to do. Returning a ring? Perhaps. Selecting something more modest? Good chance of that. Or simply indulging in the nostalgia of the moment--an awkward return to a moment already lived yet kept on the periphery of consciousness. Who can say for sure?

It's possible, I guessed, that they had had difficulties since my last observation, and I could imagine serious discussions about the nature of society and society's expectations of them, as a couple and as individuals--and reasons society should care which path they took.

But life is that way, sometimes: we do what we do, not knowing if it is the right thing or the best thing to do. Then, only after doing it, when we can turn and look back over our shoulder and measure the path we have strode upon as straight or ragged, curvaceous or zigzagging in such lovely, looping trajectories, or as unyielding as a ruler can we determine whether we have moved forward, forward in some moral sense. Or not.

So they stood against the counter once more, sales person smiling and bowing and waiting for his commission, while they were making up their minds. As though minds could ever be arranged or rearranged into something that made sense. People do what they do, naturally, and most acts are inexplicable, easily condemned to categories and classification or piles of judgment and social media's 'liking' quirks. Nothing real is but an illusion except to those who live it.

In the end they seemed pleased with the result. A balance had been achieved, it seemed. Each could take a fresh breath and go on without baggage or burden, stepping lively once more. Not, however, in lockstep. I could only wish them well and imagine in my ultra-romantic and idealistic way that they would remain friends. At least that. Because friendship in any hue is tough to find and even harder to make last.

(Not the couple I observed. These two seem happy.)

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Got Author Bling?

I've been noticing--because I am a professional observer of life, though semi-retired--that being the author of literary fiction or science fiction is not the best way to be noticed. That is, if one wishes to be noticed, of course. I always had the idea that by merely arranging words on a sheet of paper, the world would beat a path to my door, demanding more. That was my childhood dream--after deciding against being a magician. After football player and Classical music composer....

No, it seems if I want the world's attention, I'm going about it all wrong. I need to stop writing silly stories and get on the reality bandwagon. Plenty of Reality shows out there, of course, when when the first one, Survivor, appeared I really believed the poor participants would be savaged and left rotting in the jungle. But no, it was just a "crummy" game show--to borrow the phraseology of Ralphie in A Christmas Story.

Now we have the ol' song 'n' dance shows, where if you were an alien visitor from planet Xanax you might presume that those kind of talents were most valued of all. Or, in the pejorative sense, the ol' song 'n' dance was meant to distract the audience from the deception going on. Hmm, perhaps there may be something to the reality show phenomena. But I digress...which is also a song 'n' dance simulation.

What I would like to propose is a reality show--game show, if you must--based on the fine art of writing. Instead of a new act to perform each week, contestants would prepare a new story (or poem) to present to an audience of literary aficionados. The audience would vote on the best story. I realize this would be difficult to judge, writing being such a subjective thing. But they have Country and Hip-Hop and Rock competing against each other, so why not Romance versus Paranormal versus Crime Thriller? Judge them on plot, characterization, twists, and spelling.

That way, authors could once again stand tall and be somebody. Authors would be praised and become role models! Kids would want to grow up to write. Authors would be on TV and strut down the streets with their entourages and fight with paparazzi. They could show off their swag and jiggling their bling, and be part of the glitterati. Remember when an author could be pulled aside at a cocktail party for a good quote or some juicy gossip about characters in a sequel? For that matter, remember cocktail parties?

Another variation could be poetry. Much like comedy improv, a contestant would be given a topic and a poetic form and be required to produce a poem on the spot, or with some brief time to prepare. Take the limerick, for instance. Of course, the natural evolution of the poetry contest would be something akin to a slam poetry reading. Or, taken further, we find ourselves in a rap-off, two rappers competing against each other for the best rap lines. And there would be singing and then dancing and then bling....

Well, it seemed a good idea while I thought of it. But given that I thought of it, it was doomed from the start. Therefore, I need not worry about becoming a Renaissance rapper. I don't know where to shop for bling, anyway. And I only have swag when I swagger down the dock on Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day.

Bling for Writers

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Noodles. There; I said it.

I wasn't planning to blog today, it being the last day of September. I thought I'd save my post for October but, hey, I've got time. I just don't have anything worth blogging about. That might be perfect, however.

It has been one of those strange weeks and weekends where nothing really bad has happened yet there is a sensation of malaise surrounding me, as though the world has ended and I do not know it yet. Last to know; everyone points at me and laughs. Oh, well.

So let's both take a break today and simply wish each other well and pray that my twisted mind does not explode too soon, at least not in crowded spaces or during lunch time. The rest is just noodles.

See you on the other side of tomorrow, whenever that shall be!


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Art of Observation

I'm a writer. That's not just a fanciful moniker of wannabe-ness. I write. I'm not an "aspiring" writer. I've got the manuscripts to prove it. I do, however, take a humble stand now and then by saying I fancy myself a writer. But I do qualify: I'm closing in on 800,000 words (novels, novellas, and short stories). Or I could call myself an "author"; that just takes having what you write published. Today, anybody can do that, of course. Even so, they must be written before they can be published. Quality, value, worth are other blog posts, however.

A large part of what I do with writing is not writing. It's observation, consideration, reflection, and analysis. Why do people do what they do? So I do not mind waiting in waiting rooms. I can occupy my time and my mind by inventing scenarios for the people I see. Malls are also great for this sordid activity. I'm not saying that's where I get my story ideas, just that it's a good place to develop this useful skill. And I've been developing it over the course of my life. To some, that makes me creepy. To others, I'm a harmless dreamer. I prefer 'Observer of Life.' I was recently promoted to First-Class, by the way.

So suppose there's this guy who is a little bit like me. That is, he is older, lives alone, has a decent job but is not really satisfied, likes to indulge himself with writing stories, and is starting to calculate that there may not be too much time left to start his life over again--as he has done before. Then he meets somebody quite by accident, someone who is so completely wrong for him--or more accurately, perhaps, he is so completely wrong for her. Nevertheless there is a click, a connection. It's all online so far, so there are only the words passing back and forth.

At first, it's quite innocent. Lots of humor. Facebook. Twitter. Emails. Texting jokes. Kidding around. It's fun; something to break the monotony of the week. The next step is to meet--in a public place because you know what the odds are that this is going to involve a creepy person. Coffee in a bookstore. You know, the latte experience. Laughter ensues. It's even more fun in person. No risk, no pressure, it's just for laughs. It's good to crack that weekend open.

Let's say the two of them feel that looks do not matter, that age difference isn't an issue, that no future needs to concern them. It's just for now. If it's good, why ruin it by pushing for more? However, little by little, it happens. There are dates. Dinners, movies, walks, talks. He makes dinner for her. She makes her specialty dishes for him. The evenings run late, slip into sleepovers. Nothing inappropriate. Just friends hanging out, getting sleeping, and the couch is right there. And then a mysterious thing happens: affection.

The sense of humor is now accompanied by a hand on the shoulder, in the small of the back. A one-armed hug. A friendship hug of full arms. The peck of a cheek. Peck of a cheek and a full hug. A quick lips on lips kiss. Longer kisses. There's a sudden realization that it's no longer just having fun for now. Enjoyment for now becomes a desire to continue the enjoyment. What's the harm in making plans? thinking of a future together? If they like all of it, why panic and fear it will go away? Tie it down, make it fixed.

The weekend trip, simply a sightseeing adventure, becomes an open door. A shared room becomes a shared bed, and a relationship is born. Not the exchanging of texts. Not the occasional invitation to attend church together, grab a lunch, or hang out with a couple of DVDs. Now something is serious. Soon a routine develops, brief loving moments mixed between job duties and other obligations. Why worry about the future? Because someone wants to be sure everything will continue as it is. They might as well make it official, as much time as they spend together, as much contact as they engage in, as much affection as they share. It's all good.

That's always the next step, isn't it? First, simply like a message: I like what he says, writes. Second, like the person: I get along with him. Third, let that person into your life: We get along just fine. Four, time together increases: I really like being with him. Five, affection increases: We've started kissing and other things. Six, something more than like but less than love ties them together: I like having him always there for me. Then come obligations--meetings, connections, each other's friends, the families, the jobs, the keys to each other's places although more and more time is spent together at one or the other residence. Then the big, special weekend: a preview of life together. Intimacy. The serious talks--no longer jokes via text message--but the push for more, and the making permanent of the more.

And a stroll through the mall pauses at the jewelry shop and just having fun for now becomes are you serious? Playing along, pretending, wishful thinking, dreaming. You know the type. There's reality for the realist. There's a virtual reality for those who play around the edges of reality. And then there is pure fantasy: things that will not ever happen yet we like to imagine what if they did? Is it a game or is it a dream? So they play the game, believing in the dream. There is, indeed, one ring to rule them all. And that is magic in the first degree. Nothing can take back that moment, that feeling, when the future coalesces from the mist and becomes concrete.

But concrete is hard and inflexible and it's scary. Too many thoughts of falling and cracking a head open against the stone. Fear unfolds. Doubt forms. Everything adds up, overwhelms, disturbs day and night, and finally erupts in the classic medium of text: "Sorry. I just can't do it. Goodbye." And winter arrives early, blows cold, freezes reality into some kind of hoarfrost statue of Defeat personified. It's not just fun for now any more. It's now, but without the fun.

What to do with a ring that's been officially sized for one particular finger in the universe? Save it for a rainy day? Go Prince Charming-like in search of another finger to fit the ring, another Cinderella fairy tale? Or get on that phone and beg, beg, beg? No, that's not actually, umm, dignified, so don't. Wait. Could do that. Life goes up and down, everyone knows. This is down. Next comes up. The Earth still spins, the sun shines, the night comes and goes. But it's not fun at all, even just for now.

"If you wanna meet at church I can buy you lunch after" reads the text message early one Sunday morning after a sleepless night full of ogres and goblins speaking in iambic pentameter. Lightning is not so quick, comets too slow, sunshine a mere flicker as the future suddenly explodes. There is nothing quite like sitting on a hard pew next to the lady bearing the naked ring finger, listening to the words of instruction from one who has been there, chiding one to keep it fun, that life is not meant to be a drudge, not intended to be hard, though drudgery and hardship do come, will always come, to those who fear having fun for now.

She's in a flowery dress as fresh as springtime; he's in a suit, serious for once, as they walk around the lake. Warm sun, cool breeze, and somewhere along the shore, where the trees offer shade, there is a pause for explanation. If not now, when? If not just for fun, then what else? If not you and me, him and her, them, if not us then who? who else? who else is there for you and me, him and her, them? Hand in hand, an examination of fingers, perfect for bearing symbols of significance--symbols that mean more than what anyone can say, and less. There is no symbol required to just have fun for now, they seem to understand. Let "for now" go on forever. Let "having fun" be whatever touches them, ties them together, ensures their continued enjoyment. Or, as sometimes is done, let the enjoyment be simply joy.

Usually at this point, I'll get up and go on my way. We all have errands to do, places to be. A writer is no different. We always wonder how things got to be that way, who these people are, and what happens next. You can answer that yourself. Grab some paper, power up your word processor, or flick on a digital voice recorder, and let everything go....



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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Having Dreams about the Reality of Dreams

Some bloggers blog about life in their lives. Amazing lives they lead, where everything goes right or everything is a maze of frustration and confusion. Blogs about the writing life, the editing life, the life of the well-published author-about-town, the hell of grammar and the pit of typo sins. Blogs about dogs, cats, rabbits, zombies, vampires, and tacos. Blogs advertising pet projects, pets, or projects related to advertising. Or blogs doing double-duty as typing exercises. And then there are blogs which purport to offer wisdom, trendy trends for trendsetters, or fashionable fashion advice. Or blogs in which the blogger attempts with all sincerity to demonstrate just how utterly clever he/she can be with wordplay, rhetoric, and the dance of fingers lightly across a keyboard. The possibilities are endless.

An artist's [mis]conception of an interdimensional doorway.
Actual tangential doorways are not generally visible.

And then there is the Dream Land, a topic for which many have confessed confusion, consternation, or constipation. It is perhaps my fault. I have walked the fence between keeping it mysterious and letting it all hang out. Well, I don't like being kept in the dark past dawn, either. So allow me to answer your questions and alleviate any fears you may have by attempting to incorporate all current blog themes into a single post. (By the way, the Earth is not scheduled for destruction any time soon, so you have plenty of days and weeks to read all of your favorite books!)

Is the Dream Land a story of people who dream?

Kinda, in a way, it is. People do dream and they often remember them when re-entering a conscious state. Sometimes people are driven to act or refrain from acting based on what occurred in that dream. Thus, the aspect of dreams and dreaming referenced in The Dream Land  is no greater than that of real life. Said another way, "In space, no one can hear you dreaming!"

Is the Dream Land a science fiction novel?

Because humans function better when items are classified, I have been compelled to likewise assign a category to this book. Therefore, a long list of characteristics have been compiled from its pages and then cross-referenced with the ten most typical texts of the genre. A positive correlation of 72% was found. Thus, most people most of the time would consider The Dream Land to be a science fiction novel.

Is the Dream Land an epic fantasy tale?

There are some readers, well versed in the fantasy literature, and others who are well-versed in the science fiction literature who have doubts about its classification. The degree of science embodied in its pages is less than many other works labeled as science fiction. For that reason, the Dream Land could be labeled as epic fantasy. Given the scope of two worlds and the universe between them, given the range of years covered, and given the size of the refrigerator used by the cast and crew, it certainly could be called 'epic' and 'fantasy'.

Is the Dream Land an example of Steampunk culture?

As the adventures occur in settings of a global society prior to modern science, much of the cityscapes and transportation devices are typical of those in Steampunk literature. There are airships, for example; yet designs for jet aircraft exist but are deemed too harmful to the environment to be allowed into production. The architecture reflects a more decadent world view. The citizens are equally conscientious of fashions which, to the eyes of many readers, resemble those of Steampunk culture.

Is the Dream Land a scientific manual on interdimensional travel?

In some ways it is. There are descriptions of entrance and exit, a listing of symptoms of "voyager" disorder, and certain specifications on quantum physics. However, these items were recorded by lay people and so do not hold up to the rigor of scientific inquiry. In fact, the principle recorder, while an avid voyager himself and trained in physics, prefers to focus on the human effects of interdimensional travel rather than the causes and connections.

Is the Dream Land a memoir of a select few interdimensional voyagers?

It certainly could be considered that way. The volume includes descriptions of many encounters a few voyagers experienced during their careers as interdimensional voyagers. However, no attempt has been made to be all-inclusive or to present the information in any organized manner other than to mention the highlights of major trips. The details are left to the reader's imagination and scientific record in local archives.

Is the Dream Land something scribbled on a legal pad in the dark upon awakening from a nocturnal drama?

Critics have made the claim that the Dream Land is something less than literary. The most critical of these reviewers accuse the authors and other contributors of engineering a hoax whereby readers may believe they too can travel interdimensionally via "tangential" transfer points. The science supports the possibility but also the rarity of such locations. Those interested in interdimensional travel are urged to contact one of the participants via the Tangential Books link in the book. In addition, plans are underway to produce a stage play enabling an audience to experience the interdimensional travel tangentially through song and dance.

Is the Dream Land real?

Even the ephemeral is real. In as much as a thought is a biological activity where electrical pulses leap from neuron to neuron, a place based on a dream state may be presumed to be un-real. Yet in its state of un-reality it is itself a real entity. In other words, the abstraction of the dream is marked as a noun, a thing of invisible existence rather than mere rhetorical hyperbole. The idea of a dream is real; hence the dream itself is real. Reality is based not solely upon the physical tangibility of a thing. Furthermore, one person's dream may yet be another person's reality, and vice-versa.

Is reality a dream or is dream a version of reality?

Yes.


Those who wish to know more are encouraged to study further and make inquiries of the main text via Amazon.com and other fine interdimensional nodes.

Disclaimer: The interdimensional travel you undertake is subject to your own intelligent choices; participants in The Dream Land project accept no responsibility or liability for what may occur by following what may on surface seem to be viable instructions for interdimensional travel yet which are actually limited to a traditional form of literary entertainment intended for the couch-bound or various electronic readership devices. If success should occur, handle with utmost caution.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

How much is your happiness worth?

Believe me, I understand. A blog post devoted to, shall we say, "advertising" is not the most attractive place to spend a few minutes while wasting some time at work or school. (Neither is writing such a blog.) However, it needed to be done. The book is out, available within some time zones and under the more favorable stars. I simply wish for my wonderful friends, followers, and [dare I say] fans to know of its existence. That's enough.

I love to write. [Let me start again:] I love to write what I choose to write. I don't mean professional documents (as I occasionally do now) nor academic essays and research papers (as I did not too long ago), or any other obligations of the literary sort. No, I mean fiction writing. The world of make-believe. I suppose that love comes from a long-standing disappointment with the status quo. Of course, it's not all utopia and unicorns in what I write, either, but at least the chaos, the misery, the betrayal and backstabbing are of my choosing.

And so I wile away my days (this past summer was a great pile of such days!--ooo, did I make a rhyme?) at the keyboard of life, type type typing the days into the molds I have created for them. And they (the days made of words which are symbols that represent the meanings of life) go on to form the walls and roofs and patios of Lego-like worlds in primary colors. That's how it is done. Waxing poetic on a Monday morning is winning, isn't it?

Long story short--if you've read this far--I love to write stories about people in odd situations and I love seeing how they get out of those situations. I'm the kind of writer who does not outline, does not plan ahead (not in any more detailed sense than a general story arc), and so as I write the story unfolds to me just as it will unfold to the reader. I like being surprised as much as readers are (I guess). Often I don't like what my characters have planned, what they try to do or get away with, and just as often they don't find my plans for them to be very appealing. Such is the conflicts between the real and the fictional.

Long story even shorter: I love to create these stories and more than anything else (anything but writing them) is my delight at readers experiencing these stories and enjoying them. That's my greatest thrill: to have a readers say (or post, comment, etc.) what they took from the story about, say, the human condition, or what he/she liked about these stories. I'll even take a "didn't like" comment with a half-grin. We can't get it all right all the time, eh?

So the bottom line is that I let people know when and where something is available so they may get as much enjoyment reading (indeed "experiencing"!) what I have created as I have gotten in creating it. I expect us both to be pleased.

And then there is the matter of money. Some people write to make money. I have not yet found a list of those people. Instead, I think most writers write for love of writing, as I do. But there is the need for food, printer ink, books for research, etc. that requires us to beg for some kind of compensation just to keep up the brain cells for the next round of creation. Starving artists do not actually create very good art; their minds are starved.

And as for paperback books, even set at the lowest possible price that, say, Amazon.com will allow, my take is only about one or two dollars per book, hardly a king's ransom. The ebooks for Kindle actually provide a slightly better percentage to the author. However, many readers prefer the touch, the feel, of woodchips in their hands. I do; call me old fashioned. Either way, it all begins with the quirky spark of gray matter inside an artist's brain, something which is truly priceless. How can one put a price sticker on an idea, even a fictional story about people who do not exist and therefore serve no purpose in life, contribute nothing to society, and ultimately are forgotten? Difficult to calculate. Even so....

I'd do it anyway (write), as I stated above, because I love to create new worlds and odd situations and see how it all plays out. If I share that entertainment with someone, isn't it fair I get something back in exchange? A "thank you" is a good start. An obsessive urge to possess the next creation of mine is also good. A meal ticket for the school cafeteria of your choice is often an acceptable donation. It's up to you. What is your happiness worth?

Mine is worth $1.29--give or take a few pennies.


And if you do not mind any little pluggettes, please allow me to mention some entertainments are available for you....

THE DREAM LAND Trilogy 

(Book I in paperback, or ebook; 

Book II as ebook , paperback coming soon; 

Book III coming soon as ebook then paperback)

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Dream Land Trilogy is Launched

Exciting things happening in the Dream Land this week!

Thanks to all of you and your support! I could not have made this dream of mine into some kind of extremely twisted reality were it not for the encouragement, criticism, more criticism, some words of affection, and the occasional box of cookies. Here, at long last, is the real deal: the paperback edition of THE DREAM LAND Book I: Long Distance Voyager (or simply "The Dream Land").

In other Dream Land news:

Finished the final edit of Book III Diaspora to my satisfaction. Started my own "fan fiction" about what happens next to a side character, Dale T. Wilson, a retired detective. That will be great fun to occupy my autumn writing sprints.

Republished (so to speak) Book II Dreams of Future's Past for Kindle. I just uploaded the newer cover. That's all. The text remains the same. Book II will get the paperback treatment next, say, by December.

Republished Book I Long Distance Voyager for Kindle. Changed to newest cover...which matches the paperback's cover. Uploaded the paperback version's text, also, which includes a few corrected typos found in proofreading the "proof" copy sent to me. I also added a blurb about Book II.

And last but certainly not the least in any way, shape, or form...

Publication of the paperback edition of THE DREAM LAND (Book I: Long Distance Voyager) through my good buddies at Myrddin Publishing (in association with my own house Tangential Books). It looks great and reads great. I've read through it about a hundred times across many years and many editions yet I still laugh at the same places I should and cry at the same places where I should. I get excited in the fight scenes and get funky during the love scenes.

THE DREAM LAND Book I Long Distance Voyager in paperback, available just about now....

Already available at Amazon in the UK!

Here's the Amazon USA link (looks like Ammy is discounting it a bit, being a new book)

Available at Amazon in Europe (France, Germany, Italy, Spain), India, and Japan, too. But in English, of course. Oh, and in Canada, too!


As a run-up to this paperback launch, I've been splattering the internet with Dream Land memes. Have you seen one yet? Here's one of my favorites:

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Is it Sci-Fi Romance or Romantic Sci-Fi? (I'll never tell.)

When I first awoke to life, I checked out books of science-fiction stories from the library: Ben Bova, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Andre Norton, Clifford Simak, Ray Bradbury, and Robert Silverberg's multi-author anthologies--and through them pursuing other stories by the authors in them. Mostly they involved space exploration, the problems of spacecraft in space or the dangers or delights of the surface of newly discovered worlds beyond Earth. (My first sci-fi story was called "Pseudospace"--basically a rip-off of the psychedelic ending of the film 2001: A Space Odyssey--two astronauts go insane because of their stressful experience in deep space.)

Nothing I read in those days dealt much with Earth or its future and certainly not much with the psychological and sociological impacts on the characters because of their line of work. (Some dealt with political issues by using a non-contemporary setting, I know; hence the point of the story was to illustrate a political conundrum, a what-if situation as warning not to go down that path, rather than a story, say, purely as entertainment.) There was seldom a romantic angle to the stories, and if even a hint of romance were to be detected by me, it was something innocent like the love of one scientist for the work of another scientist who happened to be of the opposite sex. I was, of course, an adolescent.


Then came the second awakening: Michael Moorcock, Roger Zelazny, Damon Knight, Robert Heinlein, Philip K. Dick, Frank Herbert, and more serious Robert Silverberg. These authors wrote more along the traditional line of what might be called fantasy rather than the more science-oriented sci-fi genre (in my opinion; don't get feisty now). They still evoked for me worlds of fascinating possibilities. I also liked sci-fi's ancient cousin: the Conan the Barbarian subgenre, as well as "sword and sorcery" books and films in general. Sure, they rescued the girl, but not really for love in most cases but simply to get a reward from her father, the king.

My own writing began as imitations of these authors. My protagonists were copies of Zelazny's Prince Corwin from Nine Princes in Amber and the rest of the Amber series, or with not much redressing Sam from Lord of Light. Little by little, I injected some of my own personality. (And still later, well into adulthood and hammered into submission in an MFA program, I allowed my protagonists to diverge from being mere clones of myself, acting as I would, speaking and thinking and moralizing as I would, to be their own independent entities.)

One thing that these later stories and novels had was more of what I might call here "romance," for lack of a better word. Romance is a problematic word because of its multiple uses. With a capital R it properly refers to those geographical areas of Europe (mostly) that were influenced by Roman civilization, including the language of Latin. Romance languages are those which emerged from Latin. In common parlance, if we speak of "romance" or something being "romantic" most of us will be meaning that it has aspects of or connections to something amorous, something of the heart, something related to relationships between people. A "romance" is a love affair, right?

Actually "romance" in the literary sense is a type of story in which a hero goes on a journey of some kind, seeking the ever unobtainable treasure (whether gold or wisdom)--sometimes intending to bring it back to impress his love-interest, sometimes keeping it for himself, for its own intrinsic worth. It's easy to see how this form lent itself to "modern" romance by the way the hero sacrifices himself for his lady, brings her something of value, and receives for it her love or other precious things [sexy details omitted]. Chivalry!

The Romance genre is one that celebrates stories about relationships. Boy meets girl, stuff happens, more stuff happens and, as the genre goes, they live happily ever after. (I've been told that if they do not live happily ever after, it cannot be Romance, as far as the genre is concerned; hence, I have coined the term, or am trying to, anti-romance: just like a romance but things do not work out in the end. In that sense of not working out, we have the Classic definition of a tragedy: the hero falls...or at least fails to get the treasure. In one of my favorite anti-romances, A Beautiful Chill, the girl grows throughout the novel and moves on to a better life, leaving the guy back where he started with not so much as a lesson learned.)


In my so-called MFA program, a university curriculum I entered with the idea of becoming a better writer (and, in a practical sense, to become "licensed" to teach creative writing), characterization trumped plot. In my reading of science-fiction and fantasy, the story line was most important, the characters secondary, just fleshy bits to carry along the action--and I wrote my stories that way: cardboard characters whose purpose was not to be interesting in themselves but to move the interesting sequence of action along. The one thing I did learn in this program was the significance of creating and developing interesting characters; that is, fully-fleshed out people with their own quirks and foibles, ambitions and fears, motivations based on psychological complexes and subject to the vagaries of their environment; in other words, a virtual person as real as you or me. A well-crafted character will often disagree with the author and sometimes refuse to go on with what the character might deem a silly plot turn.

Yes, I am coming full circle. There is method to my madness. I wrote stories that developed characters. I wrote novels of relationships. None of them had settings of other worlds or outer space or the far future. Then I did. Because I thought to myself one day, feet up, sipping a mint julep, pondering the meaning of fictional life: why can't there be serious relationships banging around inside a story of people traveling to another planet? or living in the future? or acting in a utopian or dystopian setting? I was intrigued by the relationship in 1984 as much as the political memes. What would it be like if I were Winston Smith and I met Julia? In Lord of Light, Sam has several affairs, an aspect of his persona which impacts what he does or what he tries to do. Especially in films, the recent John Carter ["Princess of Mars"] film being a handy example, producers must have a relationship in the story to attract viewers. If John Carter, Earthman, were saving an old king instead of a beautiful princess, I dare say the film wouldn't have been made.

Perhaps this is a simplistic explanation, but it is only a blog-length dissertation, after all. I do not intend to cover the whole of the history of the genre. Plenty of those out there already. However, I am about to argue for acceptance of good ol' relationship stories within the settings of good ol' sci-fi or fantasy stories--rather than the separation of the two. It's already occurred, some may rebut. And yet, it still seems to me that "science-fiction" and "fantasy" mean the story is about the strange, unusual, or exotic setting and all the wondrous things that happen as a result of the story being set there, more so than what the people there are doing with each other.

So...here it comes...the advertisement.... Not really, but it makes a convenient example with which to close this commentary:

In THE DREAM LAND trilogy, the relationship between high school sweethearts Sebastian and Gina, a couple of science geeks who discover an invisible doorway to another world, is always front and center. They cross paths often, keeping tabs on each other, discussing relationships each has with third parties, yet they still remain "soul mates" throughout their lives. Oh, did I mention much of these novels are set on another planet accessed through an interdimensional doorway located in an abandoned quarry on the east side of Kansas City, Missouri, USA? Probably not; but did I need to? The story is, after all, what happens to these two people--not so much how wonderful this other world is.

So is this trilogy a romance set in a strange locale or a sci-fi story with a central romance? Does it matter? I think it matters--but only for marketing purposes because, like it or not, readers will choose it based on this question: Is it a sci-fi tale or a romance story? Readers need clarity, it seems, godlove'em.

That is the "beauty" of The Dream Land trilogy: it works equally well as either, and yet genre-mashing makes it better! Thanks for reading to the end. I wish you a fabulous rest of the day and a better than average week ahead. Read something out of your usual genre this week; an author somewhere will thank you.

THE DREAM LAND TRILOGY:
I. Long Distance Voyager - available now as ebook; coming soon in paperback
II. Dreams of Future's Past - available now as ebook; will be in paperback 
III. Diaspora - completed; coming soon as ebook, later as paperback


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Last Sentences are Doomed!

Last time, I discussed the greater importance of the second and third sentences in writing a story or novel, especially how it was necessary for them to work together. Then I went off on an editing binge and nearly forgot I had a blog to tend to. So, as promised, in today's blog I shall discuss the last sentence of a story or novel.

It is quite well enough to write (or read) through a novel, absorbing all of the plot points, enjoying the characters and their foibles, and riding Freytag's pyramid to a believable yet strangely unexpected climax. The denouement brings us down rather gently as we come to understand everything that has transpired and the final piece of the puzzle is put in place. Done. What more is there to write/read? THE END works well.

But wait! Back up. What about the final sentence? How about the final paragraph?

In my reading experience, I find the novel actually ends about a page or so before that last paragraph. All the threads are wrapped up, the action is done, everybody is happy--except the butler who did it and was found out. Then the writer has an incredible urge to explain it all. The usual method is to try to put a hashtag on the theme of the novel, accentuating how the plot points supported that theme. Or, the writer might elect to go big time and shoot for universal truth between the end of the action and the The End.

Secret: When I browse for books, I check the back blurb, then the first page, then the last page. It's not that I want to see how it ends (what the action is). Rather, I want to see how the writer ends the novel. Does he/she simply cut off the action and leave characters and readers with a shock? Does he/she suggest what will happen next, after you close the book? Is there a pretense to universal truth?

Universal truth endings are the ones we tend to remember years later, of course, but they are so difficult to pull off well. It's worth trying, of course. The thing to remember is that last sentences, indeed final paragraphs, depend on everything that has come before; they do not carry much meaning as solitary sentences.

Here's a short list from a "top 10" best last sentences list:

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

One of the most famous last lines, this definitely ventures into universal truth status. The novel itself becomes in hindsight a long illustration of this single idea. It's almost as though Scott thought of the universal truth first and sought to create a story that would illustrate how we strive so hard to return to the pleasantries of the past and fool ourselves that we can...and so on. (If I knew nothing of the author or novel, reading that last sentence would compel me to buy the book.)

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

"He loved Big Brother."

By this point in the novel, I have no doubt that Winston Smith did love Big Brother. It is a summary statement, which acts as punctuation on the idea. The implication is that everyone will love Big Brother; it's only a matter of time. Universal truth? Given our society today, it may be considered such. (If I knew nothing about this novel, that final line would have me wondering 'Who is Big Brother?'--which could push me to buy the book.)

Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

"I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be."

Quite a plain sentence, and one that makes little impression without having read everything that came before. The effect, however, is a trailing off into "whatever" the next phase would be. Considering that the novel revolves around a group of friends whose lives are destined to end as organ donors and death, the lovely protagonist can only ponder when her time comes. (Again, if I knew nothing of the novel, that final sentence would not likely cause me to buy the book; I did buy the book, but only after seeing the film version--in which that final scene was so evocatively portrayed.)

(If you crave more, check out this list from the American Book Review. Beware, there is a Swedish film by the name The Last Sentence, too. Plenty of examples in your nearest bookstore or library.)

A lot of books end with a sentence that makes me go "Hmmph! That's it?" Others, however, leave me contemplating the idea for a long time after. As a writer, I work hard to create the perfect final sentence--or paragraph. I want to strive for universal truth but often settle for a "story" truth: the grand vision that we arrive at by the end of the novel.

The universal truth ending seems more appropriate, and therefore more often used, in literary fiction. Those of us who write science-fiction or other genre would beg to differ as we believe there are universal truths to be found in everything we do: even in the more comedic or farcical writing.

For example, in my literary anti-romance, A BEAUTIFUL CHILL (coming soon), a kind of boy meets girl, they try to make it work, girl leaves boy story, the last sentence is meant to suggest how the boy will perceive of this adventure long after the novel has ended:

Her image was already branded into his brain. Like a tattoo, he decided. Like a tattoo that would never be finished.

In my other literary novel, AFTER ILIUM, which follows the misadventures of a young man obsessed with the Trojan War, the ending comes from the works of Homer--which I though a clever method for concluding the tale:

Alex stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, just like he once had done on the cruise ship crossing the Aegean Sea. This time, instead of a wine-dark sea, he surveyed the dry California chaparral on the distant yellow slopes. He held his jaw steady, as tears crept down his cheek, recalling the torn hills of Ilium, and all of the days that fell after—remembering, whispering: Sing to me of the man, O Muse, the man of twists and turns, driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy....

There are two exceptions to the final sentence pattern:

1. When a book ends with an epilogue, the final sentence/paragraph "rules" don't apply. Instead, the whole epilogue, often chapter-length, acts as an extended last sentence. However, given its length, it usually falls short of being a great ending. (I am guilty of using epilogues in THE DREAM LAND Trilogy, but mostly because I am setting up the subsequent book.)

2. When a book is in a series, the final sentence/paragraph lends itself less to leaving a reader with a greater sense of truth than setting up the next book (see #1 above). As such, that final sentence becomes a bridge, and serves as a bridge rather than a full stop, here we are at last, now what do you think kind of ending.

Here are the final sentences for each book in THE DREAM LAND Trilogy, just for your amusement and in the interest of full disclosure:

THE DREAM LAND Book I: Long Distance Voyager (in the epilogue)

After that restful pause he would realize that living in a gilded cage was better than having no cage at all.

THE DREAM LAND Book II: Dreams of Future's Past (in the epilogue)

Then she smiled warmly and said in perfect, beautiful English: “You should never have killed me.”

THE DREAM LAND Book III: Diaspora (not a true epilogue but an "addendum"; read it and you'll see how it fits)

[9.9] Someone will hear this. Maybe someday. Until then, let me say I love you. I love you all. Be good to each other. It’s a long journey we have to take. [end of transmission]

So how will you end your book? What universal truth will you share? How does your story illustrate that universal truth? Or is it simply the end of the action and that's that. Give readers a little more: a hint of what lies beyond; a smudge of delight; a slow burn that creeps us for the next few weeks; a clever or humorous remark that leaves us laughing (not good for tragedies, of course); or a preponderance of pontification that pounds us into a proper pose...and probably will produce a pestilence upon thy posterior.

Ok, that last sentence is not a good example of how to end a novel. But this is a blog post, so I can end it however I wish. There are no rules. So I shall end this post by wishing you a marvelous week!


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Second to None! On subsequent sentences and where they go when ignored.

I actually hate the number 8. A couple birthdays aside, August is my least favorite month. I'm not fond of "L8R" either. There's just something about that smugness it carries. Round at the top, round at the bottom, perfectly even, 4+4, or its "oh so" clever 2+2+2+2 business. So here it is, that dreaded month: the end of summer, the start back to school, the hottest time of the year, the days when dogs eat grass (I've heard it said). At this point, there is no more "endless summer".

And all I can think to do as my first August blog is to share some sentences of no particular import. On a recent trip, I had hours of driving to contemplate the opening sentences of THE DREAM LAND trilogy. Now that Book III is complete and being edited, I must return to that weak spot I've always had: the opening sentence.

Countless author blogs have reported on the necessity of a great first sentence, as though that alone tells potential readers (bookstore browsers, etc.) all they need to know about the book. Alternatively, an old literature professor--the one who actually taught me something useful (as a writer, not as an English professor)--said that a good author will teach the reader how to read the text in the first few pages. Pages! Not one all-important sentence. (Also, note the word 'teach'; thus, it's not 'You stay in your world and try to understand this text'; 'No, you must come into my world, the world of the text, but fear not for I shall guide you....')

Well, I subscribe to the latter notion. If a potential reader will not read the second sentence or others beyond the first, perhaps that reader should stick to graphic novels or Twitter. Not to be disrespectful to a majority of our finer readers, for an opening sentence is still important to setting the story in many ways; however, like much of literature, an opening sentence is intended not to stand alone but to lead to the next sentence, and that second sentence to lead to the third, and so on. It's a whole industry, not a sample bite in a grocery store. Have some patience, dear reader!

To that end (er...beginning, whatever), I look strongly at the second and third sentences and note how they proceed from the opening sentence. That shows me flow. More often than not, there will be a joke or some clever juxtaposition that strikes interest in the reader...several sentences down from that first word of that first sentence. The images, the word play, the introduction of a character or setting...the accumulation of ideas...is what catches the interest of the reader [I suggest].

By way of example, I offer the opening paragraph of each of the three volumes of THE DREAM LAND Trilogy, for your amusement today:

THE DREAMLAND Book I “Long Distance Voyager”

“I was face up in a vast snowfield, sun on my face, and all around me were hundreds of half-buried skeletons. The yellow sun was glaring off the snow, blinding me, and the blue sun was winking at me from the horizon, but all I could think of was ‘I’m freezing to death!’ They took my greatcoat, and I didn’t have any boots. In fact, I couldn’t feel my legs below the knees. I wanted to check them, but I was too frozen to move. I wanted to cry out for help but I was afraid of calling the ones who did this to me. I kept thinking ‘It’s all a mistake’ and ‘I don’t belong here.’ Then I looked up at a small branch stretching over me. I followed the branch to its end and there was a single drop of thaw hovering there. It was about to fall. I watched it for a moment—then it fell! Straight down to my legs! It hit my legs—which were frozen solid—and they shattered into a million splinters! There was nothing left but stumps! And I cried my brains out in pain—but there was no pain because everything was frozen! And I was wondering how the hell I was going to get home without my legs.”

This monologue is intended to come out all in a rush to create a tossing of imagery fast and furious, to create a composite image of a scene...a dire, wintry situation...which may or may not be resolved in the next paragraph.

THE DREAMLAND Book II “Dreams of Future’s Past”

The yellow sun was beginning to warm the room, the misty, frayed globe high enough that he knew dawn was coming to an end. The blue sun was still below the horizon.

One paragraph, short and sweet. All seems fine in the first sentence. The second, however, adds a twist which is scientifically designed to pique a reader's curiosity.

THE DREAM LAND Book III “Diaspora”

He felt the sand scratching his face before he opened his eyes. A faint dream hovered wallflower-like at the edge of his dance card, afraid to let itself go and twirl about the floor no matter who might be watching. Letting the image sail away on a breeze, he pushed out his legs, stretched his arms up, bent his neck—and in every movement felt pain shoot through his body like lightning, like fire and ice. He stopped, grimacing against Fate once more, like some old habit his mother had scolded him for. When his eyes opened he saw what he had expected to see, yet the sight of the desert landscape, red and brown below the emerald sky, seemed to catch him by surprise.

Textures is the theme of this opening paragraph: imagine yourself waking up in the desert. And realizing your Fate is not quite as you expected it to be. You are in trouble!

So there you have it: examples of second (and third, etc.) sentences flowing from first sentences. I hope now that everyone will henceforth pay more attention to those sentences who do not come in first but still try so very hard!

Next time: The importance of a mind-blowing final sentence.

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.