Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost...."

For seven months now, I've been a lucky man. Since my wife became a travel nurse in August 2016, the two of us, along with our two-year-old black lab/wirehaired terrier mutt, Otis, have been able to explore much of the western United States in the name of work, getting food and rent paid for and seeing sights we might never see again.

Finding home in Idaho
Wife and dog in the Sawtooth Mtns of Idaho
So far we have traveled from our original home in the high mountains of Colorado to the lonesome wilderness of central Idaho across the wasteland of central Nevada to the lush redwood forests of Northern California. We have seen snow-capped peaks with serrated skylines, and clear mountain lakes where the reflection and realty are so identical you could flip a photo upside down and hardly tell the difference. We basked in endless sands on beaches at the precipice of the great Pacific, and climbed the rugged bark of the world's tallest trees. It has been a remarkable journey, and it isn't over yet.

The Stagnant Mire

For years prior to setting out on the soul-searching adventure (what we have dubbed "The Search for Home") we plowed through the typical grind of normal life: 9 to 5 jobs, 40-hour work weeks, repetition devolving to stagnation, months of endless grind looking forward to too-brief four-day vacations.

One day, we woke up simultaneously and proclaimed in harmony it was no longer working. We loved the place where we lived. We didn't love the framework of life we had constructed within it. Before we could settle down, buy a house, start a family, our itchy feet burned to travel.

 So we set out, and as of yet we haven't looked back.

As a writer, everything seems like a story. And so far this personal story is one of the most engaging in my 33 years on this wet rock dubbed Earth. Our current chapter in this story, however, has come to an end.

An Even Bigger Chapter Follows….

Rugged shores of Northern California
Alaska. It's called the Final Frontier. 663,000 square miles of rugged wilderness, sky-prodding mountains, calving glaciers, hungry brown bears, and land as unexplored as perhaps anywhere else in North America. This is what awaits.

For the next year at least we will be in Seward, Alaska, an oceanside hamlet of 2,800 people, encircled by snow-tipped battlements and crenellated glaciers. A place where there are often more whales than people, and the bald eagles are bold enough to grab a careless pet right off your front porch. In the summer there is direct light at midnight and in the winter there might be no sun at all. It's a dramatic change and, hopefully, a fitting climax for this journey to find the place we will one day call home.

The Journey is the Destination

It is 1,718 miles as the condor flies from where I sit right now to where I will be in three weeks. The journey north looms. For two weeks we’ll wend a circuitous route up the West Coast, probing the sights of Oregon and Washington, until we board a drive-on ferry in Bellingham, WA. Four days on a boat will land us on the frozen North Shore at last.

In other words, blog followers, friends and family, I will be experiencing a media blackout for at least three weeks, perhaps longer. But don't count me as lost. I haven't given up writing or blogging. I'm not sick or in trouble. I'm merely back on the road again.

The journey must continue and I promise, barring some unforeseen trouble, I will be back.

A little travelin' music to fit the mood:

------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. I blog about all sorts of crazy, slightly educational, somewhat entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

find us on facebook

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions


Monday, April 10, 2017

Wondrous Things Uncovered While Moving

Ah yes, moving again (I'll explain why we move so much in an upcoming blog post.) Moving ranks right up there with root canals and bankruptcy for most enjoyable life experiences. Seriously, have you ever heard anyone actually say (and not ironically) I love moving!

Despite the many aspects about moving pretty much guaranteed to ruin your week (aching back, gaps in internet service, fights your wife over the book collection you're not willing to shrink down), there is at least one that can actually be sort of fun: re-discovering all of the weird and crazy forgotten stuff that was buried at the bottom of your closets, the drawers you never open, underneath the bed and in the back of your garage.

Here are a few wondrous things I found while moving:

An essay from seventh grade
No, I'm not a hoarder. My problem is more like a mysterious strain of communicable laziness. Not sure who I caught it from. Who can say why I thought this C- paper was important to keep or how it has escaped detection/purging through at least five different moves over the years. I didn't put much into it then and I can't get through the first paragraph without at least three facepalms now. Seriously, does my writing still sound like that?

Enough dog hair to make a blanket
Hey daddy, my shedding isn't a problem. Aren't I cute when
I read a book?
Otis, my black-lab/wirehaired terrier rescue mutt, sheds like a sheep. We could seriously be missing out on a potential income source in outsourcing his wool to some weaving loom. His coat is thick and seems to shed/replenish at a supernatural rate. Most disturbing is all of the places it turns up like in the bathroom (a place he never goes since he fears baths like Hell itself), in my desk drawers, in the back of the freezer. What? The back of the freezer? Yep...somehow.

My lost cell phone!
I remember clearly the night of panic when this old flip phone disappeared. The tearing apart of everything (so I thought) in the desperate search to find it. The week of terror being cut off from the rest of the world. There are places in my house I probably searched a dozen times. The one place I guess I neglected was the one place it actually was.

That damn James Joyce novel I keep threatening to read
Why? Why do I keep hauling it around and saying I'm going to read it? I'm pretty sure I've taken on the first five pages at least a dozen times. You'd think I'd give up and just donate it to the library.

A dirty sock?
Hmm... Haven't worn that style in about a decade. Let's see...still fits! Guess I'll throw it back into the mix.

A heart-wrenching love letter 
Woe is me! And I always felt so torn up wondering why she never responded. Probably because it was here, underneath a stack of worthless scrap paper all this time. Let me just read a little...oh, God, I was actually planning on giving that to her?

A moldy...what is that anyway?
It must have been a lonely 2 am forgotten snack. Now it's a lump of greenish-blue something or other. Actually, the sciency side of me is strangely intrigued. I king of wish I had a microscope.

A stack of 50 cds
Cds were annoyingly scratchable but I kind of miss the
rainbows that reflect off them
An amazing collection of handpicked music. Sadly, I actually don't own a cd player anymore. So what's in it? Some mixed cds. The complete Beatles collection. Every Rolling Stones album ever made. The Who. Johnny Cash. Miles Davis. Nirvana. Wow! I used to have such great taste in music. When did I become so boring?

My first novel
Love it. Hate it. Ten years ago I had the epiphany I was going to be a novelist and I hammered this 150,000 word mess out in 2 months. Love it for inspiring me. Hate it because it is actually really terrible.

Usually I'd probably pick a near-drowning experience over a move, but it can actually be strangely interesting too. It's like opening a time capsule into your own life. The longer you have been at a place the more irritating the move yet the more intriguing the capsule. You go further and further into you past as you rifle through the detritus of your house. In the deepest corners you might find some laughs, some tears, something smelly. 

Ah crap, which box did I pack my clean clothes in again?
-------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

find us on facebook

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

Friday, April 7, 2017

Hugh Howey's Wool: Proof that the Indie Model Can Work

A few weeks ago the hunt for a new book commenced. 

The preceding months I'd been slaying fiction like a mighty dragon hunter, seeking novels and their treasure troves and taking them down with heroic abandon. I justified the ever-mounting expense to my wife by claiming that the mountain of paperback corpses piling up in our house was the product of crucial "research." (Mostly, however, I have come to suspect she's the damsel every hero actually needs: one not in distress but who accepts her hero's foibles out of the genuine goodness of her heart.) I harbor closely guarded and grandiose illusions (delusions?) of myself as a fiction writer, and every fiction writer worth his salt knows the best way to hone his craft is to study examples of those who've mastered it already.

I needed a new book to slay. I wanted to find a new writer I'd never read, but I also wanted something current to help me decipher the trends in speculative fiction and unlock the mystery of the modern audience.

Wool by Hugh Howey
Amazon scores: 12,970 reviews
5 star- 75%; 1 star- 2 %
Thus after a tedious scouring of the dark wilderness of Wikipedia, Amazon, and Goodreads, I stumbled at last upon my next worthy adversary: Wool.

What made Wool so intriguing was not just that it had an astonishing 12,000 customer reviews on Amazon (the vast majority of which were 4-star and above), or that it had made the NYT bestseller list and was optioned for an upcoming movie. What interested me most was that, at least during its rise to glory, Wool was a self-published novel. 

My attitude towards self-publishing so far has been mixed to cynical. Constantly harangued on Twitter by writers not so different than myself trying to sell me their self-published books, I find myself often utilizing the “look inside” feature on Amazon to scrutinize the first pages of these numerous suitors. Occasionally, I’ve found some interesting enough to load onto my kindle. However, though it pains me to say it, the results have almost always been grim. But with 12,000 reviews and a heap of accolades, it seemed Wool might be the indie champion to defy my conclusion that self-published novels, for all their good intentions, are simply inferior.

The Novel

For those, like me, who are latecomers to the Wool phenomenon, let me provide a brief synopsis. Wool takes place in a dystopian future where an unspecified apocalyptic event has rendered the atmosphere fatally toxic. The world of Wool, therefore, is a massive underground complex known as the “silo” that winds hundreds of levels into the ground. Every birth in the silo requires a death, and when such a chance arrives, couples must enter a lottery for permission to conceive a child.

While this premise was not unbelievably original, when taken with the novel's stunning success, I was intrigued enough to give the world of Wool a fair chance.

THE GOOD

The Beginning 
One of the biggest faults I’ve noticed in many self-published novels is a beginning that fails to “hook." My recent investigation into what makes a first paragraph effective suggested that readers respond to the engagement of emotion and the raising of questions the reader has to have answered. In this difficult task, Wool performs exceptionally.

The first line of Wool reads: “The children were playing as Holston climbed to his death.” Immediately, I wanted to know how and why this character was going to die, and why there were children "playing" in proximity to an unfolding tragedy. This first line had the type of emotional/question-raising intrigue I had found so effective in other books. 

But a novel cannot hang on the anchor of a strong first line or even a first paragraph no matter how well-written. A good novel sets the stakes high and doesn’t disappoint.

The first chapter of Wool paints a vivid portrait of this underground world. The description is believably textured and engaging. The world-building, even in this confined setting, feels painstakingly vast.

Howey increases the intrigue with the introduction of the silo's system of capital punishment where the condemned are sent on a one-way voyage to “clean” the digital sensors above ground in the toxic air so the people below can view a clear projection of the outside world on a massive screen in the cafeteria. Why the cleaners never fail to complete this task despite knowing they will only survive long enough to finish the job before succumbing to an agonizing death is one of the foremost questions of the beginning of the novel. And why do the silo's citizens, who treat these cleanings as a sort of holiday, invest so much in a projection of the burnt, broken and lifeless world littered with the corpses of all those who have been "put to cleaning"?

Pushing forward, Howey reveals that Holston’s wife had decided abruptly three years before the novel's outset to voluntarily clean, a form of suicide her reasons for which she never adequately explained. For three years Holston watched the projection, fixating on the crumpled form of his deceased wife, before deciding to follow. 

It becomes obvious there is something amiss about all of this. Something not quite honest about either the digital projection, the cleaning process, or the silo itself. 

Good Characters
Good novels, even some of the best, don't sound particularly original when you distill their plots to a handful of sentences such as you might find on the back cover or underneath the title on Amazon. What makes a novel great is most often the strength of its characters. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is just a mediocre James Patterson knock off without the intrigue of Lisbeth Salander. The Hunger Games sounds much like Ender's Game without the fully fleshed enigma that is Katniss Everdeen. In this once again Wool delivers.

Juliette in Wool
Juliette is the heroine of the dystopian world of Wool
The pecking order of the silo is apparent: the grunts are tucked away at the bottom; the important people live near the top. The novel's principal heroine, Juliette, works in Mechanical, the department on the silo's lowest level. Juliette is underpaid and under-appreciated, but she is hard working, humble, intelligent and charismatic enough to generate a loyal following among her co-workers. She possesses an uncanny sense on what works and knows exactly how to fix what doesn’t. While this, at first, applies to the mechanical workings that keep the power, water and food systems of the silo running, it is later revealed that this is also a metaphor for her comprehension of just about everything. In other words Juliette is a tough, badass chick brimming with charisma and intelligence and you cant help but cheer for her all the way to the end.

Pacing
Wool is a novel that keeps the pages flowing. Never is there a section that lags enough to hamper the story's flow. Even expository sections are engagingly executed. The novel doesn't lean too heavily on bang-bang action, though there is a generous serving of that too. Wool is constructed on interesting philosophical underpinnings that transcend mere action and suspense. 

Dystopia as a Cracked Mirror
One of the joys of good dystopia is what we can learn about our own world. As a projection of a possible future that reflects our cultural trajectory, dystopia reveals the potential consequences of modern actions when taken to their logical conclusions. In Wool, the silo is a microcosm for today's Earth. Howey harbors deep convictions about corruption, classism, the warping/withholding of knowledge and science, and the value of honest interpersonal connection and deep familial bonds. None of this, however, is forced on the novel so that it impedes the story but rather flows with and sharpens the plot at every step.

THE BAD

Plot Holes
There were a few plot holes in Wool that distracted from my suspension of disbelief. The absence of an elevator in the silo seemed distinctly implausible. The vast number of stairs required to march from the top to bottom (or visa versa) is a major obstacle routinely examined but never explained. I suppose the cause could be the scarcity of electric power, or perhaps some conscious decision of the silo’s creators to maintain its clear hierarchy. To me, however, it seemed that an elevator or lift of some form would be essential to this type of construct and the lack of one felt simply ludicrous.

Crumbles into Action Thriller
I’m a sucker for adventure over action. In the first 2/3rds of the novel the driving force tension centers on unlocking mysteries, exploring this strangely unique world, and trying to uncover who is behind the apparent corruption. This was far more interesting than the last third where battle sequences, action, and fighting become paramount.

CONCLUSION
Ultimately, Wool is a worthy page turner and a fine example of dystopian, post-apocalyptic science fiction. The strength of the characters, particularly Juliette, as well as the intriguing world building is more than enough to overcome the plot holes and its eventual and unavoidable devloution into an action thriller. The book is a fast and engaging read and even though it is somewhat long (over 500 pages) I reached the end wishing for more. 

Out of five stars I would rate Wool a strong four
-----------------------------------------------------------------

I am in-debted to my readers. Without people to endure the words on my pages, I will vanish like the dodo. If you liked this post, feel free to comment below. If you didn't like it, feel free to comment below. I'll be your friend forever if you consider signing up for my weekly newsletter. You'll get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these numerous books I've been working on, I might send out an email letting you know about that, but that's it! In the meantime thanks for reading.

find us on facebook

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions


Saturday, April 1, 2017

Ten Signs You've Taken Your Writing Obsession Too Far

Every writer knows the blessing (or curse, more accurately) of writing. The superpowers of world creation. The pure joy of instant escapism into a world completely under your control. The exhilaration of being puppet master for both your characters and readers. The vicarious ecstasy of slipping into the role of both handsome hero and clever villain.

But like anything, even writing, needs to be dosed in moderation. Here are ten signs you’ve taken it too far:

1. You accidentally call your wife by the name of your novel’s heroine. 
Depending on the particular circumstances of the mistake, this could be a marriage breaker.

2. You are still in your pajamas at 5 pm on your day off. 
Just one more chapter turned into five more hours.

3. You dream a brilliant plot and scramble out of bed at 2 am to write the outline. 
Usually doesn’t sound as good in the morning as it did in the middle of the night.

4. Your friends have stopped calling and it took you three months to notice. 
The only friends you need are in Middle Earth anyway.

5. You conflated your boss with your story’s villain. 
Oh well, the character was probably based on him, wasn't he?

6. You have more empty coffee mugs on your desk than rejection letters. 
And there are a lot of those.

7. You work on three manuscripts, four short stories, a platform, a query letter, an author bio, a front cover, and a blog all in one day.
And somehow you still find time to read fifty pages of the latest fantasy epic from your favorite author.

8. Your book budget is nearly as high as your rent.
writers, writing and written
Yes this is actually my keyboard. Good thing I don't need to
look at it to see where A, S and E are....
And you still refuse to get rid of your old books. It's okay, Gollum, I know they're precious.

9. You correct the grammar of the local newspaper.
Where do they get these hack writers, anyway?

10. You’ve typed so much you can no longer read the letters on your laptop’s keyboard. 
Yeah, A, S, E, and O are all invisible on mine, and C, D, and L are close behind.

Don’t worry, quirky, obsessed writer you. You are not alone. Maybe someday it will pay off. Or not, in which case you better enjoy it.


I am in-debted to my readers. Without people to endure the words on my pages, I will vanish like the dodo. If you liked this post, feel free to comment below. If you didn't like it, feel free to comment below. I'll be your friend forever if you consider signing up for my weekly newsletter. You'll get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these numerous books I've been working on, I might send out an email letting you know about that, but that's it! In the meantime thanks for reading.

find us on facebook

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions