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WHAMMO Moments

September 18, 2011 4 comments

I suspect no one who is reading my blog thinks writing a book is easy, much less an epic heroic fantasy. I remember thinking I would write Creed of Kings in 6 months while having a full-time job! Can you believe that? I assumed it would be difficult, like running a marathon. Confident in my creativity and inspiration I fiddled around with an idea and started.  Some 300,000 words later…well, you get the idea.

If I wasn’t such a perfectionist, I’d have a pile of rejection letters. I fear failure so much that I never surrendered to the common naiveté of so many wannabe writers. Learning the art is a continuing process. I didn’t slap things together and mail it off to an agent/publisher and cross my fingers. My tombstone will say, “Here lies a writer, whose manuscript just kept getting better, and better, and better…”

I’ve had many breakthroughs. I’ve shed a lot of skin, dropped many illusions, lost and gained confidence. I’ve charged the hill more times than I care to remember. One truly has to love this to bloody ones head tirelessly against the wall. I don’t want to settle out of court. I want to win under the harsh blazing sun. I want what I write to stand in that glare and not only survive but thrive in your heart!

I have 9 followers on this blog now and many who travel in from twitter, Facebook, and various other avenues. I owe to you and all the potential readers to deliver the absolute best that I can. But, before you, there is me. It has to rock my own world. If it’s not obvious, I am a harsh critic of my own work. There are many moments that make me smile in the saga I’m writing. I imagine those moments like Christmas gifts under your tree waiting and waiting for the opening. Until I see you smiling in my dream I will keep up the mission.

I know that I have lots of good parts, but I had not made the plot points and paradigms shifts as stark as they needed to bewhen I got to the end of the Creed of Kings in May of this year. I started revising. I thought I was on the final lap, but in an epic this huge there is necessary back story. One character had an odyssey in his past. As I revised, his back story grew and got better. It was too big and weighing down the story much like the student pictured.

The story has to be told. I’m the only one who can tell it. Given the nature of today’s e-publishing revolution it is highly advantages to have multiple (well done!) books available online.  That was the WHAMMO moment.

WHAMMO moments happen in books, movies, life, and the evolution of a striving writer. I realized I had two books on the verge of completion. I unraveled the back story from the main character in Creed and brought it out as its own unique stand alone story. Now, I basically have one book done that needs revisions and I have another book nearing first draft status. Furthermore, looking at things this way, I see a potential for one or two other books (these books are in my head now) prior to the trilogy Creed of Kings, which is already highly realized.

However, I still need to finish…something! I’ve put so much on the line. Walking away from a successful sales career, and I have a lot less than I’m used to now, for about 4 years now, all so I can pursue this life long dream. But, it’s now or never. Come hell or high water I will have a first draft complete within the next 100 days of my current unnamed project. 2012 will be the year! I’m aiming to release two major works within 6 months.

 

Cowboys and Whores and Feminism

Where is my John Wayne / Where is my prairie song
Where is my happy ending / Where have all the cowboys gone

-Paula Cole, from “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?”

Feminism! That’s what happened to your cowboy.

Many innocent men took the pink spear point of this ill-contrived mythology. It’s been poisoning cultural water since 70s, so women and children have suffered horrendously, too. Like us all, Paula Cole was incubated, birthed, and nurtured under this myth’s sky, but since she is female she’s been isolated and probably clueless as to why few men can sing her prairie song.  The contemporary feminist is less content with her life than her sisters of yesteryear are (this is a fact!), but she is addicted to narcissism, preening in the mirror or posing for a sexy facebook pic because that’s what really matters…and the bling.

One of the major underpinnings of modern feminism is a belief that a woman is just like a man, emotionally and mentally, that roles are fictional and imposed due to cultural imprints alone. “Equality” is gained by freeing the female from “misconceptions” of a repressive past such as fetus, family, and husband. She has exchanged them for a pet, plants, and career. Thus, many of the smartest, most educated women in the western world became moral idiots and now reap what Gloria Steinem sowed, which, among other things, has produced more grandparents than grandchildren. This version of feminism seeded mainly in the sixties in the universities. It graduated, branching into the culture and has matured completely. One can see it almost everywhere. Indoctrinated, bright women articulate a message very well to multitudes of little girls and teens robbing them of common sense. They play the pied piper hypnotizing the world, leading their victims sweetly to death of values, causing social instability, marriage and families crumble under their “liberated” feet.

In a way, they are right, that men and women are the same; each gender is polluted by feminism. Both are the same in their inability to teach young people how to grow up. If this was Athens,  Socrates would be a pimp and Athena a whore. We are, and are going to be, reaping madness in – historically speaking – a very short time, perhaps tomorrow.

Years ago, I heard a foretelling movie line from a guy. It stuck out as if mustard spilled on screen. The female was seducing him as he was growing ….a conscience. He said, “I’m getting tired of casual sex.” A throwaway line I never forgot. Women wanted to be like us and we got tired of it, because the emptiness of casual anything is, not what real men really want. But, we are raising boys with a loaded trigger happy penis to walk and live among these “women” who behave like…whores. It’s not odd for the girl to bring the condom on a date. Girls in the mall dress like hookers I saw in the 80s. Boys can’t be mature men. These boys take advantage of these “whores” and then are burned themselves when they decide they are getting tired of casual sex. But, these boys don’t know how to grow up. The step toward morality is an evanescent urge. There’s not a real Socrates in the meta-fiction reality in which a boy now thrives; no one to teach him or show the way but idealized “liberal” and postmodern men standing as a passive posing proxies on concert stages and action movies. These idols have little wisdom and what passes for real wisdom is a caricature. Boy’s “mature” or “earn stripes” by becoming more debauched. They get the now cliché tattoo, shut down morally, and brood emotionally—the appearance of tough—isolating in the iPod or game from the chance of real intimacy with a real female. If chance presents itself, a boy can’t grasp an opportunity if a grown up girl comes walking by. He fears her. I can’t talk to her. She is a wild creature from another world. The indoctrinated girl cannot seize the real man; instead, she attracts a passive worshipful wimp when she unfurls her alien expectations. Perhaps I was one these boys for a portion of my life in the Matrix. It was in the air I breathed. But, even my male drives couldn’t and can’t overwhelm my hope for true love with one real woman unencumbered by the false enlightenment of Gloria Steinem. Just as a career, a pet and a potted plant can’t really meet a forty year old woman’s innate longing for home and hearth, I can’t really abide a narcissistic woman but the garden of life is full of these flowers. They are so popular, even potential impersonates them.

It’s hard to find something as self sabotaging as modern feminism. It destroys the little girl, the teenage girl, the young woman and makes the elder woman a hag. That’s what happen to the cowboy and the prairie song, exchanged for a career, a cute pink car, and a pet. No raise will hug the feminist deep in the night and a pet won’t open the door or say ‘I love you’, and buy flowers – just because.

So what are many boys singing? Deep inside I think they are singing something like Switchfoot:

We were meant for so much more

Not such a happy ending.

 

National Suicide Prevention

August 3, 2011 1 comment

Deprive people, movements, and nations of nutrients both psychological and spiritual, send them into existence with the thin gruel of a world lacking truth and love, they will be committing suicide like Britain. Instead they smoke a pack of “No Truth”, drink a pint of “Uncertainty” and snort lines of “Existential Hopelessness” ….to stave off the pain coping with a reality they choose to ignore or just a psych bullet to the brain.

Look at secular Rock and Roll. It is not immortal. Sorry Ozzy, girl-pants-boy is participating in the self annihilation of his host, Rock and Roll, his sucking it dead dry with his postmodern quasi-angst. Just go listen to the current batch of so called Rock music. It’s not me being an old fuddy-duddy. I drive around and tune in. I explore music. I should probably grow up. There’s an oasis here and there. Mostly, the limp angst I hear in rock music today is inarticulate drivel at best because emotions are seemingly incomprehensible to the band’s lyricist, products of our headless culture. Today’s emo-rock comes off sounding like an immature little boy with a mans voice. Sounds like he is in his highchair pissed at the world because mommy took his Xbox. So now, he’s got bed-head, he’s smoking a joint and wearing girl pants. Wow, how different, what a rebel! Just turn up it loud, they’ll equate volume with authenticity.

Guess what else isn’t immune to suicide, that self destruction in London we see: The USA. Most of us think we can leave our nation untended, like a natural garden, and it’ll just keeping growing and going like the sun and seasons. To protect civilization’s vitality most just rattle off slogans, stupid slogans like “Make love not war” or “Think globally, act locally” or slap on a bumper sticker that says “COEXIST” or “Free Tibet”. We embrace the platitudes of tolerance, repeat things like “There are no absolutes”. Our civil world might make you feel good about yourself but crumble while you feel good basking in your enlightenment or bemoan someone’s so called narrow-mindedness. A large section of our cultural understanding, tolerance, and open-mindedness went to Sweden because it was upset with mommy and daddy, smoked a joint and decided America was a blight on the world because maryjane’s not legal. Grow the *eff up! Can you think of something original for a change? I’ve heard that since the 70s in unison watched my world go mad. I believed the hooey in my youthful naivete. The USA has bedhead and is wearing girl pants. Children are inconvenient and out of style. We aren’t growing in any vital area.

The USA is dead unless we  start a suicide prevention center.

Note: Eff – My ‘word’ for the F-bomb.

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