Blog Archives

I Am The World’s Worst Writer And I Totally Suck

I go through crippling periods of self-doubt when it comes to my writing.  Luckily, at the moment, I am not in one of those trenches of despair where every word I type including “Sincerely, Aravan” looks ungainly and wrong.  Bad word choice.  Probably spelled wrong even though there isn’t another way to spell it.  Tone is flat, metaphors lame, characters boring, setting insipid, point pointless, and everything I’ve ever written should probably just be gathered and burned so I can crawl into the supply closet of some abandoned factory somewhere and never have to reveal my stupid face to the world.

Other days, I feel even worse.

If you’re a writer, or have ever written, or ever plan on writing so much as an email in the future, then I hope you go through this feeling of utter self-loathing several times in your life.  Why?  Because I am a small bitter person who takes some measure of meager self-satisfaction from the joint suffering of others and will take whatever mean-spirited path I need to in order to make myself feel better.  But also because I think it makes you a better writer in the long run. Read the rest of this entry

My Name is Aravan. I Use Bad Grammar.

I am a writer, and I have sinned.  I have committed grievous and continuous offenses to all forms of correct English grammar, and I approach the altar as a supplicant, begging forgiveness.  I have let my participles dangle obscenely.  I use Inappropriate Capitalization.  Fragments.  Sentences have been written passively.  I have even succumbed to the strange thrill of writing increasingly complex and hard-to-understand run-on sentences because I love the strange but unmistakable air of someone who’s really trying to hard to say something all in one breath so that it seems like the sentence itself is generating its own sense of manic energy and continues on long after it shouldn’t and would make Ernest Hemingway roll over in his grave if he could manage it.  So I bow before thee, gods of the grammatically correct, and beg your forgiveness.  I have done well with the basic essentials of grammar, I swear, like correct punctuation and sentence structure and things like that, and my spelling tends to be good, so there’s still hope, isn’t there?  I present myself to you humbly and beg and plead for leniency and I promise that I’ll never –

You know what?  Fuck that. Read the rest of this entry

My Speech to Aspiring Writers Everywhere

There’s never been a better time to be a writer.  Seriously.

Imagine being back in the Middle Ages.  If you had a story you wanted to write down and share to the world, you’d have to join a monastery, learn how to read and write, spend the next 30 years of your life transcribing the Bible, sneak small bits of paper into your monastic cell so that you could scratch your tale furtively by the light of the one candle you’re allotted per month.  You might finish it before you’ve gone blind, only to discover that no one could read it except your fellow monks, at which point you get burned at the stake for heresy or witchcraft or Overwarm Genitals or whatever else was a burnin’ offense back then.  Oh, and if you’re female, then I am fairly certain expressing the desire to learn to write to begin with was grounds for getting burnt as a witch right off the bat.  Not a good time to be a writer. Read the rest of this entry

Writers as Critics

I’m a writer.  I make stuff up and write it down for embarrassingly small sums of money.  I don’t write for the money, of course; I write because I like to do it, and sometimes stories nag me until I write them down, at which point they leave me alone and we never have to meet again (Now, I would be happier to do it for regrettably HUGE sums of money, but I guess that’ll happen along anytime now).  I generally like what I write, although there are parts that I hate immensely and other parts that seem to me like a real writer wrote them, one I’ve never met but enjoy reading.  Seriously, sometimes it’s like a stranger wrote something and dumped it in my manuscript.  That’s a great feeling.

However, liking what I write doesn’t make it good, so like any other writer not completely ashamed of what he’s produced I give my work to others to critique.  Sometimes I post it on a forum in a writer’s group, sometimes give it to non-writing friends, other times to writer friends.  I hope for honest feedback and seem to get it (though how would I know).  Since I’m an independent author, I don’t have actual editors to peruse my work, so most of the time it’s fellow writers who give the feedback.

This is great.  It can also be absolutely horrible. Read the rest of this entry

Homages – Friends as Novel Characters

The impetus that finally pushed me to write a novel consisted of a combination of two things.  The first was the incredibly vivid Zombie Dreams I’ve had over the years.  These dreams are full Technicolor and Stereoscope dreams, with jump cuts and multiple camera angles, where I might be a spectator, actor, or disembodied witness, but always vaguely aware that I’m watching a dream and ready to fill my role as either zombie killer or victim or hard-running candyass.  I love these dreams, and have never thought it right to call them nightmares – I may get creeped out, but I don’t necessarily want to wake up from them.

The Zombie Dreams laid the foundation.  The second push came from a daydream I had, where my friends and family were villagers in a medieval town that was overrun by zombies and eaten in a very gory and glorious fashion.

I’m a swell friend, eh? Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 12 Excerpt from The Storm of Northreach

Another unedited sneak peek at my current project.  This time, a new character!  Excitement!  Thrills!  CRAVAT-ADJUSTING!  Are you not entertained?!

The man with the golden key frowned as he examined the intricate gears and mechanisms inches from his nose.  His eyes narrowed behind the glass of his gold-rimmed spectacles as they searched for anything out of place in the workings of the Gnarri-made machine.  He eyed the coils and cogs and gears, making sure no tooth looked worn or scratched or pitted and that every pin and post was straight and sturdy.  Only then did he place the thin key inside its dedicated slot.  His fingers, though thick, manipulated the thin metal gently, almost lovingly, and a faint smile lifted the thin lips that normally rested in a sedate and calm downturn. Read the rest of this entry

Foraying into the Twitterverse

I just re-read my blog entry from June 2009, The Future of Twitter.  In that post, I did my usual round of horrible and smug predictions for the future (honestly, I think the only thing I can predict with any accuracy is the Redskins’ future.  And that generally isn’t pretty), culminating in the belief that once Corporate America realizes the usefulness of the service (mini-press conferences on demand) that it will earn a place with staying power.  I was, of course, wrong about a lot of things – including my assertion that I would never be on it (fool!).  I also used the word celebutard a lot for some reason.  I must have been vexed at one for some reason.  Probably Ashton Kutcher.  Isn’t it quaint that back in ’09 you used to hear about him?  God that was CENTURIES ago. Read the rest of this entry

Struggling

I’m struggling today to do just about everything.  I’m struggling with forcing myself to work.  I’m struggling with making myself write (although I did pen a little addition to “The Space“, a small scene which has wedged itself into my brain and refused to let up until I wrote it down, so I did and will be updating the story as it’s posted here just after I finish this).  Hell, I struggled putting up a blog post.  I wanted to put something up (probably related to some interesting programs I watched looking at the Old Testament through the eyes of a military historian which absolutely fascinates me, but evidently couldn’t be less interesting to everyone I’ve tried to talk to about it over the last few days), but struggled with what to say and how to say and if I’d offend anyone with it and wondering why I care about that at all and blah blah blah.  Instead I’ll just write what I’ve been thinking half-heartedly about this morning. Read the rest of this entry

The Space: A Short Story (Updated)

This idea popped into my head between last night and this morning.  I talked it over with Lady Aravan to nail down the idea, and wrote it today.  Hope you like it.

***

Ralph Ebbets gripped the phone tightly in his damp fist, hating the whining edge that crept into his voice.  “Honey, I packed my lunch today, and – “

His wife’s voice cut him off sharply.  “Oh, heaven’s sake, Ralph,” and he hated the way she used his name as a contemptuous weapon, against which he could raise no protest for it was but his name, “your son is going back to school today and he wants to have lunch with his father before he leaves.  Can’t you change your precious routine for one day?” Read the rest of this entry

Excerpt: Prologue to The Storm of Northreach

Before I finished the end, I looped back to the beginning.

***

The tree branch digging into his buttocks was uncomfortable, but Ajen was barely conscious of that now.  He had planned to give Alys a little scare when she arrived for their tryst on Dane’s Knoll by climbing up the massive silver-barked tree that rose from it.  When she arrived, he was going to let her mill about the trunk for a time, let her build up a good bit of worry, then leap down and surprise her.  He’d anticipated getting a good slap out of it, but she’d be grateful for arms to wrap around her and make her feelings of fright go away. Read the rest of this entry