Excerpt: FREEBORN

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Movement ripped Katia out of her imaginings. A man in a baggy shirt passed her bench. Even though the day was cool, large patches of sweat darkened his armpits. He couldn’t hold his head still. He kept checking over his shoulder. Frightened. Infected.

“You see him, Katia?”

“Yeah. He’s got to be a mark.”

“I agree. You ready to snag him?”

“I am.”

“Be careful.”

Katia stood, leaning on her cane. She broke into a quick hobble to close the gap between them. The infected man glanced back at her. Picked up his pace. Forget the cane! Just get to him before he reaches the scanner.

Katia stood upright, and shifted her weight to take off in a sprint. Adam yelled in her head, “Katia, abort! Candystripers!”

A pair of figures flashed past her. They corralled the man an instant later. He tried to run, but one of the assassins landed a roundhouse kick to his gut, slamming the man to the concrete.

“Stay down, parasite!”

“Haha! Look at him. All infected and bleeding from the mouth.”

The man writhed on the cement. Clutching his belly. Gasping.

“Pl—please,” he begged between inhales. “Don’t k—kill me.”

“Katia! Get out of there!”

But she couldn’t move. She was transfixed. Had to watch. Stay within earshot.

The Candystripers circled the man.

“Let’s see,” said one of the assassins. “I’m gonna bet he’s…eight days infected.”

“No way!” said the other. “More than that. A lot more. I’m gonna go with fourteen days.”

“You’re hyped up on Ambrosia! No way he’s been hiding for that long.” He kicked the man in the ribs. “Have you, parasite?”

“I’ll bet you fifty debits. Whoever’s closest without going over: wins.”

“You got it, chump! Check him.”

The high-bidder pulled out a portable detector. The low-bidder lifted the man’s shirt with the toe of his shoe. His partner slammed the needle into the man’s stomach. A moan. A red light.

A holo-screen projected into the air. The high-bidder read off the stats. “Felix-2190. Crop 03. Infected. Sixteen days. Ha! I told you!”

“Lucky guess,” said the loser. He pointed his gun. Fired two quick shots. One to the man’s infected gut. One to his head.

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait until those assholes get infected.”

***

Publisher’s Feedback: Capritare

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I haven’t sent out any queries for Capritare in over two months. In fact, with the new novel in the works, I haven’t referred back to my submission tracking sheet in a long while. Today, I received this unexpected letter from a publisher. It is–by far–the most indepth bit of feedback I have received.

Mr. Hargis,

Thank you very much for the chance to read CAPRITARE. We have reviewed the manuscript, and your story has promise, though could benefit from some additional work. I was very interested by the world you created and the core of the story. If you’re interested in revising the manuscript to resubmit, I’d be happy to reconsider it.

Some of the thoughts I had while reading:

  • By dropping us in the story with no lead-up, I was too fish-out-of-water in order to get a footing in the narrative. Since the story is about Capritare’s journey, start at the beginning and let us discover existence in this new world alongside him.
  • Too often I was confused by the names of people, places, and things, unsure of what was actually going on. You can smooth over the culture shock with a light description of things before naming them, so the reader has a more concrete idea of what the object is.
  • On the other hand, the lofty descriptions got away from me too easily. Your primary target audience for YA should be 15-20, with a secondary of 13-15 (20+ is good for YA, but something that comes naturally). I’m not saying to dumb down the narrative, but streamlining would go a long way to hitting the buttons you want with your intended audience. Try to strike a balance if at all possible.

While your submission isn’t quite right for [NAME] Publishing at the moment, you do have promising talent as a writer, and we would be interested to see more of your work in the future.

So, there are some good comments in there, as well as some great suggestions. These statements echo what many of my readers have noted. I want to keep the LitFic feel, so I believe that taking it out of the realm of teen readers is my best bet. Capritare was my first novel, and provided a huge amount of learning and experimentation for me. So, the question is: to do a major edit? Or lose the YA tag and self-publish?

FREEBORN is written in a much more ‘commercial’ style, so it has become my new arrow pointed at the mainstream market. Capritare may have to hang in the background and serve as my ‘loss-leader’.

Decisions, decisions…

Balance: Checkbooks, Unicycles and Novel Drafting

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When the checkbook shows $2,000 more than the bank’s number, [I suppose] it’s time to balance it out to find the discrepancies. I was only two months behind when I sat down to match up the deposits and debits yesterday. The main concern was that someone else had been tapping into the funds.

I ordered a new batch of checks three weeks ago. They never arrived in the mail. Last week, I followed up with the bank. They couldn’t track the shipment, but went ahead and issued a stop payment on those check numbers, and then reissued a new batch of checks.

After an hour of highlighting, locating math errors, and adding debits that never made it into the register–I got the account balanced. The finding: no thievery was involved. In the midst of a busy schedule, I had simply forgotten to enter five [rather large] debits. These weren’t like $5.19 for Subway or $20.00 cash back from the grocery store. They were hefty payments for welding work, glass stock, and an online mortgage payment. Oops.

With my novel Freeborn, I have been balancing things as I go. From the outset, I have been ever-conscious of wordcount by chapter, an undulating pace of compressed action offset with more fluid descriptions, and editing each chapter before moving on to the next.

I spent way too much time going back in to edit my first and second novels. It was rather like trying to juggle the checkbook, bank statement, and a highlighter while riding a unicycle. This time around, I set a goal at the beginning of the process to take care of things as I went–to keep it balanced along the way. And this go around is more akin to taking a leisurely ride through the park on a two-wheeler instead.

So, no one stole my money. I received my new checks. Both my bank account and Freeborn are sitting pretty–balanced to the penny.

Transmission

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I have been away for a bit. My trip to Massachusetts was a mix of ups and downs. On the way there–with a van and attached trailer full of stock–the transmission went out. Outstanding. My partner and I were in the middle of nowhere in the lower tier of NY state. We crested a hill with that Ford pulling for all she is worth. Then as we rolled over the apex, the engine sounded really strange. I coasted down the hill, and when I pressed that little skinny pedal to ascend the next incline–nothing,

We pulled over with semis speeding past us. And, of course, it was raining. My partner called his insurance company’s roadside assistance to schedule a tow. The rep’s advice: “Since I am in Ohio and you are in New York, I really can’t help you. I would suggest you hitchhike to the next exit and try to get help there.”

Really? Hitchhike?

Next, I called AAA. Here’s the help I received:

“Your policy only covers your vehicle–not the trailer.”

“So, we are just supposed to leave it on the side of the interstate with all our stuff in it?”

“Your policy does not cover the trailer.”

“You’re really not helping me at all. I’m really in a tough spot: I have a deadline I’m trying to meet, my van is busted, and I do not want to leave a trailer full of expensive items randomly perched on an incline on the side of the interstate.”

“When the towtruck arrives, you can ask them for a quote to tow the trailer.”

“How far away is the towing company?”

“Twenty miles.”

Thanks. That’s a lot of help. Wait for them to travel across the wilderness, and when the guy finally makes it here, I’ll ask him about towing the van back the full twenty miles, and then, while I’m trying to locate a transmission shop, go back and pick up the trailer for another hour (at least) roundtrip.

So how did it turn out? We ditched all the amazing advice and helpfulness, and forced the van along at 30 mph in the shoulder for six miles to the next exit. I quess we could have hitchhiked instead–an Amish horse and buggy passed us in town, afterall. ‘Town’ may be the wrong term. Perhaps ‘village’ would be more accurate. The fellow at the only garage added some transmission fluid. Ummm, no help, but thanks for the thought. He suggested we drive to the next town over. “It’s bigger–only twenty miles away. Just take it slow.”

Like we had a choice.

We made it to Jamestown, rented a U-Haul, swapped out the goods, located a transmission shop, and snuck the van in at 4:55pm. No rush at all–we still had five minutes to spare before he closed for the day. The mechanic estimated that he would have the van ready for us five days later on Friday. That was perfect since we were planning to continue on to our destination to set-up at the antique show and would be returning the following Monday.

During the show, the call came. “It looks like I won’t be able to even start working on the transmission until Monday.” Excellent. We would love to stretch the nightmare out even further. I mean, you only had a full week to take care of it. Why should a transmission shop owner in Podunk, NY rush to get a pair of stranded, weary travellers back on the road? It’s not like we are now paying a daily rate for both a U-Haul truck and trailer. It’s not like we are being charge seventy-nine cents per mile. We would love to add the cost of a new transmission and lodging in Nowhere, USA to the expenses.

Then, another call. “Well, it looks like I mightget it done by Tuesday close-of-business.”

[Insert more sarcasm here].

 The show was a success. Normally, we would be home Sunday night. That plan was thwarted so we had two options. Cry and moan and whine about it, or squeeze some juice out of the situation and make some lemonade. We chose the latter. We took our time loading up and stayed an extra night in Massachusetts. On the way back, we hit some sweet antique shops we would never stop at if we didn’t have days to spare. Oh, and–maybe–we stopped at a casino and hit the blackjack tables. Maybe… We intentionally paid more than we normally would for a hotel so we could score one with an indoor pool. Lemonade.

During dinner Monday night, the mechanic called to tell us that the van was repaired and ready to go. Sweet. Finally. We enjoyed some swimming and a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed as opposed to the slowly deflating air mattress we spent the prvious week sleeping on. On Tuesday morning, everything went uber-smoothly as we picked up the van, moved the contents from the U-Haul into it, hooked up the trailer and headed home with a sparkling new transmission.

So, what does this story have to do with ‘Writing”? Nothing really. It’s just one of those things I needed to put down in black-and-white so I can look back on it in a year. In the meantime, I’m hoping to incorporate hitchhiking into my work-in-progress. Plus, I found a new go-to plotline when I need some added tension in a scene: Worthless advice from those who should have the answers. In my this little autobiographical excerpt of mine, this led to taking charge and figuring things out without the help of the great and powerful Oz. And the MC made it out all the better for the experience.

I am a mechanical idiot. I’m not into hot rods, or motorcycles, or guns, or any of that butch, manly stuff. I like thinking and poetry. I like weird movies and dying my hair. I’m good at creating things. I can cut stuff up, reassemble it, and make something new and beautiful from the parts. I once tried to change the oil in my old Jeep Comanche. Took me like 6 hours of sweating, cussing, and ruining a pair of cooking tongs from the kitchen…Forget that shade-tree-mechanic crap. I gladly pay the $20 to keep my non-butch self out from under a vehicle.

Excerpt: FREEBORN

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I’m heading out this morning to lovely Massachusetts. That’s great because I can use a getaway from the midwest, but the downside is I’ll be internet-free for a week. Off the grid. Unplugged from the matrix. In a sense, I am leaving the virtual world in the rearview mirror as well.

The upside: I’ll get a good amount of time to write and edit while I’m gone.

Since I’m rushing out in ten minutes and won’t be posting for awhile, I figured I’d pop up the first 250 words of Freeborn before I go. It’s still rough & all that.

***

Katia shuffled down the busy sidewalk, hunching over her cane. Mindful of the surveillance cameras, she periodically stopped to adjust the scarf securing her gray wig. Though her disguise was fake, her Infection was real.
Every face that passed wore a government-issued prevention mask. The virus did not discriminate, but attacked the elderly, children, women, and men alike. None were immune. Even though Katia had taken every precaution, the sickness had wormed its way into her blood. The parasite now squirmed in her gut.
A pair of heavily armed Doctors blocked her direct route to the building. One tiny prick from one of their portable infection detectors would unravel her disguise. They often slammed the infected to the ground—just for kicks—before hauling them off to a quarantine center. That was the Doctors’ role: enforce the laws of the Surgeon General, mess with the rabble, keep the streets clear of the infected, and toy with them along the way.
Katia held her breath and shuffled behind the Doctors. Their voices turned towards her as she passed, but they didn’t address her as she mounted the steps to the ten-story structure. Like many other corporate buildings, this one had been converted to housing in order to accommodate the soaring population caused by the Infection.
The rebel in Suite 940 was Katia’s last hope. While most referred to the woman as a witch, she called herself Ilythia. The rumors claimed she could help the infected through the horrific final stages.
***

‘See’ you all soon. Get enough Internet usage in for the both of us.

Fog

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When I was a kid, waiting for the bus in the morning, I would see the denser fog farther down our street. So I’d run down to it so I could see what it was like in that thick, cloudy part. But–every time–when I made it to the patch, it looked exactly like the place I had started. Only then, that old spot was thicker. Of course, I understand the whole thing now, but back then I was perplexed.

In elementary school, I had nappy hair, too-big adult teeth in my child mouth, and tons of freckles. My mama called me “Benjie”–a shortend version of my middle name. Of course, when the “Benji” movies came out, this wasn’t such a good thing…I switched schools a lot because we moved around so much. With a new community, house and school in 4th grade, I reinvented myself as “John”. I’ve had a few other reinventions since then. Lucas isn’t even officially my name, but it’s what I currently go by.

Update: Backspace Logline Contest

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I won the Backspace Agent Author Seminar Logline Contest ! More specifically, I won the prong of the contest that had to do more with marketing ability than writing skill. In my opinion, a win is a win!

The authors of the three Facebook contest entries that receive the most combined “likes” and comments will each win a signed and personalized copy of literary agent Donald Maass’s two essential how-to guides, WRITING THE BREAKOUT NOVEL and THE FIRE IN FICTION!

I received a combined total of 39 likes and comments. So here is a hearty Thank You to all you flesh-and-blood–as well as virtual–friends who supported the effort. Here is the entry submitted for a ‘fictional’ novel.

Backspace|SEMINAR Logline Contest Entry #17 – INFECTION: After two hundred years of mass sterilization and cloning, a super-virus attacks the world population. No one is immune. The elderly, toddlers, women–and even men: everyone is infected with the dreaded Pregnancy. J.L.H. – Bucyrus, Ohio

For those of you that keep updated with my writing endeavors, this plotline should sound very familiar. The idea began its life as a short story entitled “Infection”. When I originally penned the concept, my goal was to keep it under 1,000 words. Mission accomplished. Then, like a lot of authors’ creations, the story took on a life of its own.

And that, my friends, is how FREEBORN the novel came into being.

I’ll have two brand-spanking new, signed books in my hands in a couple weeks. If anyone wants to take a look at them–just let me know. I’m a giver.

FREEBORN: Authonomy Ranking

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I am crazy-swamped with a combo of writing and preparation for a huge antique show in Brimfield, MA next week. Nevertheless, I wanted to drop in a quick post regarding FREEBORN’s status on Authonomy.

It has been gaining backers at a good pace–better than Capritare managed in its early days. Being a fan of spreadsheets and graphs, this shows FREEBORN’s progress so far:

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The trendline shows that it will hit the number one spot on 5/5. Yeah right! Apparently Excel has no idea that its projection algorithm has nothing to do with the reality of Authonomy’s ranking melee.

Yesterday, it was rated as the 13th hottest book of the week. Not too shabby.

Check out the first 14 Chapters of Freeborn here: http://www.authonomy.com/books/43469/freeborn/ And if you’re game, sign up for a !FREE! account, and put FREEBORN on your virtual shelf. Katia, Adam, Aeiou, and I would surely appreciate it.

The cake is a lie. I remember when I spent HOURS each day reading & critting on Authonomy. None of it was selfless. The hope was that the ‘favor’ would be returned. Yes, the feedback was helpful; but the ultimate goal was to move up in the rankings and ‘make the desk’. How fucking lame. The promise of a sorry-excuse-for-a-review for all the groveling, scratching, and climbing? What a timesuck. I rarely go on there now. Just once in a while to check in on my firends in the AWB forum. Beyond that, I have Twitter as my preferred method of timesuck. 😉 

Beta Comments: FREEBORN

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Holy FREEBORN, Batman!

Apologies for neglecting the blog posting over the last couple days. I have been churning out a chapter a day on FREEBORN. So far, I have been receiving amazing feedback from my betas. There have been a few minor issues I have corrected, but no major flaws.

Tonight, I received this as portion of some feedback from Tamara Hickman  http://tamarahickman.wordpress.com/ based on the first seven chapters. Of course, I took out the few ‘suggestions’ and just left in the positives for public consumption. 🙂

HOLY CRAP, MAN! Where is the rest? I need it!

I was sucked in, and couldn’t stop reading. There are large sections with no notes, and those are probably the places where I was completely enthralled by the story. If something jarred me out of the story, I noted it.

All of my preconceptions about this story are gone. I didn’t think that I could enjoy the story as much as I did. I love the characters, and their interactions with each other are fluid. The dialogue is sharp, and I can see distinct personalities in almost all of your characters. The introduction of the infected candystriper is genius, and I can’t wait to see how it plays out.

Your story is extremely dynamic, and there is never a moment where the friction/action/conflict stops. There is always something going on, driving the story, and I could tell that right away when it forced me to stay up until 1:04am, reading to the very last word. And then I wanted to cry when there was no more. =)

Holy Handgrenades, Bat Man! Hurry up and finish this book so I can get my claws on it!

Poem: So She Sings

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Sarasvati: Hindu goddess of words

 

Snow shafts like ‘shroom stems
Shift slow so sleet stings
Slipshod shaped shadows
Slice straight through sun strings

Slung south since smooth skin
Sail silent sea springs
Side-saddle soldiers
Swing swords so steel stings

Sticks, stones, scabs, sutures
Sewn shut yet sap seeps
Sleep softly, soundly
Sweet song her soul sings

Sweet song her souls sings