Watch this space

Or not. Whatever.

But, I am thinking about restarting this blog, provided there is anyone still out there. So, check back if you are so inclined. I might actually write something.

Finally, some good news

I'm proud and humbled to announce that I have signed with literary agent Laney Katz Becker from Lippincott, Massie, McQuilkin Inc. in New York City.

Laney is one of the most-sought agents in the world, and is known throughout the publishing industry for discovering debut authors and propelling them to best-seller status. She has been my "dream agent" for a long, long time. It's truly an honor to now have her guiding my new career.

I know I've been ignoring my blog the past year or so, but I've spent that time polishing and revising my manuscript, The Final Victim. I got really tired of coming on here and whining, when I really should have been rolling up my sleeves and working toward my goal.

Thanks to EVERYONE who helped me with beta reading and general support during the last couple of years. I have some minor clean-up work to do on the book in the next week and then Laney will begin preparations to pitch the book to publishing houses.

This is one of the best days of my life, and I am celebrating with a good cigar and some tunes on Spotify. GOOD AND LOUD. And then it's back to work ...

Who are you? Einstein?

"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." -- Albert Einstein, 1879.

Just a reminder

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore Roosevelt

Merry Christmas. Or whatever ...

OK. I'm going to be politically incorrect here and wish everyone a very Merry Christmas!

However.

For those of you who do not celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays!

For those of you who do not recognize the holiday season, Happy Weekend!

For those of you do not recognize weekends, Happy Saturday!

For those of you who ...

Well, you get the idea. From my family to yours, Happy Whatever!

Technology in fiction

The following is a rough draft of a piece I previously submitted to a national writing magazine. While they ultimately rejected it after much hemming and hawing, I decided to post it here because I think the subject is interesting. I'd like to hear how you use (or don't use) technology in your fiction and how it's changed how you structure a story.

Ready? Here we go:

In his 1977 classic horror novel “The Shining,” Stephen King used a family’s isolation in a snowed-in Colorado hotel to create spine-tingling tension and a creeping sense of impending doom. And brother, did it work. Let’s face it, being alone is scary. That’s why it’s been a common theme in fiction for decades.

My, how times have changed. Today, it seems we’re never quite alone. Blame it on technology, which has changed our lives in ways we couldn’t have imagined just a decade ago. Think about it. Facebook tells us our sister is having a latte at Starbucks, our mother is playing Café World, and our boss is looking for us. Want to know what everyone from the president to Lindsay Lohan is doing right this second? Check Twitter.

A recent CNN poll shows a whopping 92 percent of Americans now have access to the Internet. More than 95 percent have a cell phone and 53 percent own a smart phone. All these doodads are not only changing the way we live our lives, but the way we’re reading and writing fiction.

Technology can be an extremely useful tool for authors. But it has to be used correctly, or it can end up creating more problems than solutions. Let’s look at a few ways to use (or not use) technology in your novel.

Isolation. Like King’s snowed-in family in “The Shining,” isolation is an effective way to create suspense. But with today’s technology, it’s hard to get your characters really alone and off the grid. Short of dispatching your hero to the Sahara Desert, the best way to achieve this is to find a clever way to either disable their gadgets or put them in a place where electronics won’t function. Bestselling author Chevy Stevens pulls this off in her new thriller, “Never Knowing,” by having her main character’s fiancé travel periodically to a remote wilderness lodge to conduct tours. It works, and more importantly, it’s believable since that’s what the fiancé does for a living.

Can you hear me now? One of the best ways to add tension to your novel is creating situations where the characters don’t know where their loved one is, or what they are doing. Young adult author Kirsten Hubbard, in her debut novel, “Like Mandarin,” weaves an affecting tale of two high school girls and their burgeoning friendship. Part of the book’s tension comes when the two girls go days without seeing each other, leaving Grace, the main character, to wonder if there’s a problem with her beloved Mandarin. The novel is set in the present, and Hubbard pulls it off by leaving technology out of the book altogether. If they had cell phones, they would’ve been texting constantly and the novel would have lost much of its emotional firepower.

Out of touch. Conversely, one way of using technology to create tension is to have someone who is usually in touch suddenly go missing. There are few things more ominous than being unable to reach a loved one who is always available by cell phone. Used sparingly, this device can be highly effective.

Don’t date your work. We often feel the need to cram our work full of the coolest high-tech gadgets available. Really, who wants to appear 3G in a 4G world? But be careful. Technology moves so fast that what’s cool this week can be a dinosaur by next Friday. Imagine the poor writer who, three years ago, started her Great American Novel about a murder mystery revolving around a relationship on MySpace. Oops. Remember, a great song is a great song, no matter how old it is, but a flip phone is just plain silly in this day and age.

Avoid contrivance. No one needs to be told that readers today are savvier than ever. One too many contrived plot devices and they’ll drop your book like it’s on fire. Think twice before conveniently disabling a character’s cell phone just when he needs it most or taking down the Internet right before she can read that all-important email. Be wary of the high-tech deus ex machina. If you must remove technology in order to make your work more suspenseful, do it in a way that’s believable. Your readers will thank you for the extra effort.

What’s in a name? Quite a bit, it turns out. Avoid using too many brands, which can be off-putting to some readers. Instead of saying a character has a BlackBerry, use smart phone. Skype can become video chatting. Use e-reader rather than a specific device. General terms come across as less elitist and can be especially useful if the brand is outdated before your book is published.

Ever-evolving technology has clearly altered the fiction landscape. Used intelligently, technology can add tension and atmosphere to any manuscript. Use it poorly and your work can fall flatter than unleavened bread. Remember, the Internet isn’t just a place for writers to waste time. It’s a wonderful research tool if used wisely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hot game of Angry Birds waiting for me.

A name change, and a new query

The query below is something I wrote this afternoon. It represents, I believe, the fourth or fifth iteration of the query for my second novel, previously titled, EMPTY SPACES, and now retitled, RUNNING ON EMPTY.

At least, it will be titled that until I change my mind again. I'm fickle. What can I say?

Anyhoo.... The query is rough and not yet polished. But I thought I would toss it up here to get some early feedback. Let me know what you think, although as always please try to be nice. And if you can't be nice, at least be specific.

And also, as always, thank you!


Here goes:


Dear agent,

Grant Bachman is an ordinary junior college teacher, the kind of guy who says “excuse me” when he sneezes alone. When an armed student opens fire on an otherwise gorgeous New England morning, Grant is forced to use a fellow teacher’s desk-drawer pistol to stop him.

Once the smoke clears, Grant assumes the worst is over. He’s wrong.

Over the next five days Grant encounters an assortment of characters, all of whom will alter his life’s trajectory. Among them are a beguiling lost girl with the morals of a feral cat, a therapist offering the sweet hope of a restored life, his own self-absorbed wife whose affair with a roguish young cop is reaching critical mass, a pack of reporters hungry for a hero to tear apart, and a straight-arrow police sergeant hell-bent on solving an unspeakable crime.

When Grant’s estranged wife finds the school shooter’s cell phone hidden in her husband’s car and turns it over to her crazy boyfriend, the finger of blame turns toward Grant Bachman. With his lost girl tagging along, Grant finds himself on the run from the police, his wife, his therapist, and his old life. Now he must find the truth before his pursuers find him.

My novel, RUNNING ON EMPTY, is a fast-paced suspense/thriller complete at 91,000 words.

As a newspaper reporter, columnist, and editor, I’ve received more than a dozen national, regional, and state awards from the Associated Press and the Illinois Press Association for writing and reporting.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Query for Empty Spaces

After much internal debate, I've decided to post my newly written query for Empty Spaces. Remember, it's a first draft. I wrote it this weekend.

I'm not sure what I'm looking for, other than whether you think this is a book you'd like to read.

So. Feel free to weigh in. And thanks in advance for any help and or suggestions you might have.


Dear [agent],

There are crimes of passion. There are crimes of necessity. There are crimes of convenience.

And sometimes, they’re one and the same.

On a bright August morning, freshman Justin King pulls an assault rifle out of his backpack and opens fire at Eugene Community College, killing 54 students and teachers before he’s shot and killed by popular history professor Grant Bachman. As the citizens of Eugene, New Hampshire, struggle to comprehend the tragedy, the nation’s media descend like vultures.

Hours after the shooting, Grant finds himself drawn to fellow survivor Annie DeWitt, a beautiful 18-year-old lost girl who drowns her past in vodka, and dreams of a future singing on American Idol. Together, they cope with their trauma using drugs, alcohol, and an escalating series of suicidal thrills.

The day after the shooting, straight-arrow police Sgt. Rocco Beaupre makes a shocking discovery: Thousands of dollars worth of illegal drugs are missing from the department’s evidence room. Even worse, an assault rifle is unaccounted for.

When Grant, hailed as a hero by the media, is accused of beating his unfaithful wife, he’s briefly jailed. When he finds evidence that seems to link Annie to the shooter, he confronts her. And when Justin King’s missing cell phone is found in Grant’s car, both teacher and student run.

Over the course of five violent days, Grant and Rocco independently piece together a puzzle of passion, necessity, and convenience that grows more ominous with each passing minute. As Grant works to clear his name and determine Annie’s involvement, he discovers that in Eugene, no one is who they seem, and nothing is as it appears.

My first novel, EMPTY SPACES, is a 91,000-word suspense/thriller.

As a newspaper reporter, columnist, and editor, I’ve received more than a dozen national, regional, and state awards from the Associated Press and the Illinois Press Association for writing and reporting. I’ve also managed a federal Congressional campaign, helped build a school in a tiny Mayan village in the Yucatan Peninsula, and spent two months living in the coastal jungles of South America while searching for sunken Spanish galleons. In my spare time, I sleep.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Terry Towery
[personal information redacted]

Help

I have a quick question, one that was brought up to me by a trusted friend and beta reader.

When you hear the title, Empty Spaces, what do you think of?

Does it remind you of the Pink Floyd song?

A chick lit book?

A book about home redecorating?

Something else?

I'm seriously considering a title change for my new novel.

Anyone?

Empty Spaces is done!

I finished my second novel Thursday night. It clocks in at a sleek 90k and should fall in the suspense/thriller category. At least, I think it does. Genre identification has never been my strong suit.

I have a couple of people who have already generously offered to beta read it, but if there's anyone out there who would like a good laugh, er, read, let me know and I'll ship it to you. Just shoot me an email at terry.towery@gmail.com.

It's edgy and R-rated in spots (as was the first one, despite it's Christian themes). There's no religion in this one, if that kind of stuff turns you off. But there IS lots of violence, so beware.

Anyway, let me know. For now, preseason football is calling my name.

I'm a whore

Okay, before anyone gets all up my grill for the title of this post, I'd like you to know that the word "whore" appears in the Christian bible 59 times!

Okay. I just made that up. I really have no idea how many times the word appears, but I know it does. A lot.

So anyway, about that "I'm a whore" thing.

Most of you know I wrote a novel, called The Devil You Don't Know. It's pretty good, I've been told. It took me three years to write and revise it. Three complete revisions, actually. It's been professionally edited. Not once, but twice.

It has garnered attention from some of the top literary agents in New York, two of whom told me I was among the best debut writers they had stumbled across. The managing editor of Writer's Digest Magazine critiqued the manuscript and pronounced it one the best he'd read. I've had requests from agents, but no offers.

I don't say these things to brag. These are facts.

I am almost done with my second novel, which I believe is exponentially better than the first. It's certainly more commercially viable.

And therein lies the problem with TDYDK.

It's a pseudo-Christian/mainstream thriller. It doesn't preach (much). It has very adult themes, including rape, pornography, alcoholism and promiscuity. See, what I wanted to do was rewrite the Bible the way Stephen King rewrote Stoker's Dracula.

I wondered what would happen if the Bible IS true. And what would happen if things predicted in the Bible started to happen today? In this secular world. To real people, not cardboard cutouts from poorly written Christian novels.

You know, it sounded like one hell of an idea back in college, when I thought of it after a long night of booze and dope.

And it turned out to be a damned good story. One person who read it said it reminded them of a weird cross between Stephen King and Saint Paul. I took it as a compliment.

Sadly there is no market for such a hybrid in today's fiction market, I have been told. I wish I had a dollar for every agent and/or person in the business who has told me privately that they loved it, but just knew in their heart that they couldn't sell it because of its "Christian stuff."

To which I say: Bullshit.

Has anyone ever read King's The Stand? That book has more religious imagery in it than mine does. Really. I mean, if you sub the name God for Mother Abigail and the name Satan for Randall Flagg, you have The Book of Revelations. Classic Good versus Evil.

I don't recall that causing any sales problems for Mr. King. Do you?

All of which brings me to my point (and yes, I can hear your sigh of relief out there!).

You see, I'm sitting on TDYDK. It's gathering electronic dust on my computer -- still edited, sleek and ready to be read and enjoyed.

So. Do I leave it there and call it a practice book?

Do I start another round of queries (I've sent 29 so far; most were unanswered)?

Or do I find a way to publish the damned thing myself?

For some reason self-publishing (or e-publishing, or Indie publishing. Are they all the same? Hell, I don't even know) scares me to death. For several reasons.

1. It looks like a lot of work.

2. It requires me to do all the PR work. I don't HAVE that many friends and I hate to pimp myself on Twitter and Facebook (although I will if I have to. See the title of this post).

3. I don't want to screw up any chance I have to traditionally publish the new book, or any future books.

Because as much as I love writing fiction, I also want to make money at it. There. I said it. I am a literary whore. I don't do this for the hell of it. I do it because I believe I have something to say, and because I want people to read what I write. And pay for it.

I write this with no apologies. I mean, you CAN be an artist and make money at it. Just ask JK Rowling. Or Stephen King. Or Amanda Hocking. Or (cringe) Dan Brown.

I'm not saying I'm in their league (well, except for .... oh never mind). You get my point.

So I'm writing this to get your opinions. I know they will be all over the place. I know that some have tested the self-pub waters and found them to their liking. Others, I suspect, have the same fears I have.

So if you were me, what would you do?

So why am I angry?

First off, let me assure you I haven't run off to some Pacific island. Nor have I been in prison.

No, I have been writing my second novel. Every single day. When I wrote TDYDK, I didn't have a blog. I started it once I was revising, and it was easy to find time in the day to knock off a post several times a week.

But since I'm writing hot, the very idea of stopping for the day only to come here and write even more is, well, exhausting. Not to mention that it feels like I'm wasting words that would be put to better use in my manuscript.

So, sorry about the lack of posts. I do love you guys. :)

The other thing, and it's perhaps more perplexing, is that I have been in a state of low-level anger for months. It's not something I can explain, at least not well. But it has something to do with writing. And publishing. And agents. You know, that kind of stuff. Writer stuff.

Part of it is me being a baby. I worked my butt off for three years on my first book and, with a few exceptions, it garnered no interest from agents. In fact, more than three-fourths of the queries I sent were never answered.

Now, I know that's the way things are in today's publishing world. A no answer means no. But really, how hard is it to set up an auto-reply? Just so we know that we're not shouting down a bottomless pit.

I can think of two writers who have blown up big-time on the Internet in the recent past. One guy went down on, I think, Nathan Bransford's blog. And man, it wasn't pretty. The dude went bonkers and when he exploded, he likely took his career down with him.

Another woman went batshit crazy about a review of her self-published book, and wound up calling her readers all kinds of profane names. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I've heard nothing from her since then, either.

Lesson learned. So each time I call up this blog to write something, I think about how angry I've been and I just close it. Why make things worse than they already are?

But still. I have my moments. Moments like yesterday when I not only want to never write another word, but want to BREAK MY FUCKING COMPUTER too. Really.

And I'm not sure why. I suspect I'm afraid. I'm afraid this next book will sink, too, like its predecessor. I'm afraid I'm wasting my time, chasing a dream that will constantly elude me, no matter how hard I try to catch it.

But I keep at it. I keep writing. I keep reading and studying my craft in an effort to get better. To get published. Because to quit now seems even more unthinkable than keeping going.

So why am I so angry?

How about you guys? Anyone thinking about giving up? Are you angry at the current state of publishing? Are you afraid? Talk to me, people.

And let's all have a nice day.

Can real writers hate writing?

I mentioned in my previous post that I sometimes hate writing, but love "having written."

I seem to have broken some kind of sacred rule.

One commenter pointed out that those who don't love every minute of writing eventually give up. A few people in real life who read the post said the same thing to me. I know that many writing books, especially those by Anne Lamott and Stephen King, extol the virtues of the process itself, while downplaying the publication part.

Look, I've been a professional writer my entire adult life. I've had hundreds of thousands of words published in newspapers and magazines. Writing is all I've ever done. Frankly, it's probably all I can do, since I've yet to discover any additional skills.

I've also been working out at the gym for most of my adult life, as well. I do it five times a week, and I'm there for two hours (although some of that time is spent relaxing in the steam room. If you haven't tried it, don't knock it!). Many people would call me obsessed with exercise. And maybe I am.

I know that I love feeling fit and looking my best. I know that it's good for my body and my soul. And it works wonders for my creativity.

But here's a dirty little secret: I hate exercising, but I love having exercised.

Most days, I literally drag my sorry butt to the gym when I would really rather be snug in my warm bed with a cup of coffee, watching Morning Joe on MSNBC. In fact, I often spend much of the morning trying to talk myself out of actually working out, when all the while my body is already going through the motions.

For me, that's what it takes to do it with any regularity. Sure, there are days when something clicks and suddenly I'm in the groove -- in that special zone where I feel the blood pumping and it's all good. But those times are few and far between. Most days, my muscles ache and my breath gets short and later, as I sit at my desk writing, my legs cramp up and my back hurts.

You see, for me, exercising sucks. It really does. I hate it most of the time.

But I cannot fathom my life without it. I would rather die than become inactive. And therein lies the dichotomy. I have a love/hate relationship with working out. I can't live without it, so I do it because I have to.

It's the same with writing.

Most days at my desk are spent grappling with words and phrases and just trying to fashion something coherent from the shit flowing from my brain. I agonize over my writing. I really do. Sure, it sometimes flows like a rain-swollen stream, but that's just not the way it is during the actual writing process. It takes work to make writing flow like that. And some days, I can pull it off.

Some days. But most days, I can't. And that's when I hate it.

Then the following day comes, when I read back over what I wrote the previous day and revise and revise and revise. And when it's just the way I want it, I sit back and smile. Because THAT'S when it feels good.

Of course, that feeling is short-lived, because then I must start the process all over again.

And I hate it. With a passion. But I cannot fathom my life without it.

How about you? Do you REALLY love the writing process? Or are you like me, and struggle to get it just so before you can finally exhale and move on?

The tipping point?

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I could tell you I'm sorry for not blogging in so long, but that would be a lie. Instead of blogging, I've been struggling just to keep writing. It's not been easy, since life has decided to turn nasty the past few weeks.

I can't go into detail, but suffice it to say that things have been somewhat intense lately. I hate when things get all life-and-death, you know? Add in the fact that I've been really struggling with this whole "I'm a writer" thing, and you've got, well, me.

Several times over the past couple of weeks, I've started to write a blog post and it was so depressing that I deleted it. I'm honestly tired of feeling sorry for myself and sharing it here for the whole world to see. It gets old.

I realize I am at a critical juncture in my "career." A tipping point. This would be the time when most sane people would pack it in and get a real job. I'm close to doing just that. But I've forced myself to sit down and write on my new manuscript anyway, even when I would rather chew off my own leg than do just that.

God, it's hard sometimes. I suspect that for some of us, sitting at our computers typing away on some piece of work that will likely die on the vine anyway is our own peculiar brand of insanity.

Goddamn it. I want to write and publish a novel.

There. I said it. I want to write and publish a novel. Or twenty. I really, really do. It's been my dream since I was a teenager. I love writing (or, having written, actually). I used to think I was good at it. I'm not so sure these days.

Life and my own self-doubts just keep popping up, day after day.

So, I haven't been ignoring you, my friends. Instead, I've been dealing with some hard times and some killer self-doubts. But I'm still writing. Maybe not well, but writing nonetheless. And when I read my new book, I sometimes get that old feeling back. I find myself sometimes thinking, This thing is pretty good. In fact, it's damn good!

And these days, that's enough to bring me back to the computer the next day. Right now, it's all I have.

Epic writing week

Well, I found my mojo.

How, you ask? I merely rolled up my sleeves and started writing. And I didn't quit until my eyes glazed over.

Each day this week. Without fail. I didn't blog. I didn't read blogs. I stayed off Facebook and Twitter. I even managed to (mostly) avoid my baseball PS3 game. Oh, and even real baseball, except for night games.

Yesterday, for instance, I sat down to write a particularly big scene in Empty Spaces, one I had been looking forward to writing for quite some time. I had no idea how long it would be, I only knew I wanted to finish it in one sitting.

I did.

And it was 3,500 words long. I know that's a piece of cake for some writers to knock off in a day, but I tend to agonize over each and ever sentence -- even going back and rewriting after only a couple of paragraphs. So, it was a pretty big deal for me.

All told, I wrote a bit less than 10k words this week, bringing the manuscript up to 26k. Still a ways to go, sure, but I'm back into the story and it's starting to well up inside of me, like The Devil You Don't Know did when I was writing it every day.

I'm still a bit down, since I've heard nothing from any agents except one since the Writer's Digest conference in late January. That means I still have two partials and a full out, not to mention more than 20 queries. Some of the queries are several months old now, so I'm assuming a no on them. But many are less than a couple months old, so there's still hope.

And no, I haven't pulled the trigger on self-publishing yet. I'm not sure I ever will, to be honest. But I think it's wise to keep it as a fall-back right now for TDYDK.

I'm really sorry I've been absent on the Internets recently. I promise to post more here and hit all of your awesome blogs. Honestly. It just seemed important to me that I somehow climb back into the writing saddle and start riding again.

And, thank God, I did.

How was your writing week?

In search of my Mojo

I've so much to say, and yet I cannot for the life of me think of the words with which to express myself.

Sounds like a conundrum, doesn't it? Indeed, it is.

Most of you, being the wily writer-types you are, have no doubt noticed my absence here in Blogland. Believe it or not, I've missed you all. Really, I have.

It's just that, well, I've been lost lately.

I'm not going to start in on another whiny, self-absorbed post about how much it sucks to sit here waiting on something, anything, to happen in my quest toward publication. No, I'm as tired of writing that depressing crap as you are reading it.

Still. Something, it seems, has died within me the past few months. My desire? My willingness to continue slicing open a vein only to see the fruits of my labor wither and die while still on the vine? Am I giving up?

I don't know. I hope not.

I have a confession to make: I have been seriously considering e-publishing The Devil You Don't Know, despite having two partials and a full out to agents. Why, you ask. Because I no longer believe I will find an agent. Whether it's because the book sucks, or whether the subject matter is too offensive to non-spiritual people, I don't know.

But I've lost hope for the most part.

And that's making it doubly difficult to work on my new book, even though it's a million miles removed from its predecessor in subject matter and tone.

I'm reminded of an episode of Scrubs, the best TV show in history, in which J.D. has lost his Mojo, which although I can't prove it, I suspect is a metaphor for erectile dysfunction. (I could be so lucky as to only have a flaccid you-know-what to deal with!). Unlike poor J.D., my lost Mojo goes to the very heart of what I do, of what I am.

I seem to have lost the will to write.

OMG. I can't believe I just typed that. But, alas, it's true. At least, temporarily.

I've penned several blog posts over the past year and a half on writers who give up, and why they shouldn't. I can be one hell of a cheerleader when I want to be. Apparently, I can also be a hypocrite as well.

'Cause this little firefly is burning out. Big-time.

I've been on a sort of spiritual quest for the past four years or so, since leaving journalism. I met God in Alcoholics Anonymous and, whether you choose to believe or not, He saved my life.

So I've been searching for meaning, asking the Big Questions. I've been reading theology and philosophy books, talking to shrinks and ministers and drunks and poor people and Mayans. If I wasn't so dense, I'd swear I was turning into an intellectual.

I've come to believe we all have a purpose in life. Don't ask me to explain how I know that, I just do. I've always thought my purpose in life was to be a writer. And who knows? Maybe it is.

But right now, things seem a bit, well, murky.

Perhaps the God of AA can save me yet again, for it was in AA that I learned a valuable lesson: We cannot change our lives by thinking and talking about it, but only by acting upon it. By having faith in ourselves, we act. And change then follows.

In other words, I've reached that critical point in my writing career when I have to do what I least want to do: I must sit down and write. I must quit analyzing and talking and thinking ... and start doing.

Now excuse me while I go figure out this thorny plot of mine.

P.S. Damned if I didn't just write another annoying self-absorbed whiny post. Sorry. :)

The rumors of my death ...

... have been greatly exaggerated. No, seriously. I am alive. And well.

It's just that I was attending a spiritual retreat the past several days that included "unplugging" from all of the technology that we love, which also at times drives us completely bonkers.

But I'm back, relatively refreshed and ready to get back to writing and blogging. I'm sure you are thrilled. (ahem)

So. I will write a "real" blog post tomorrow. I received a couple of very cool blog awards during my hiatus and I shall acknowledge them properly.

That is all. :)

Back in the saddle

Here's a picture of some of us in Tres Reyes, Mexico, during our recent mission trip. I'm the doofus in the white tee-shirt and Cubs hat.

Sorry I've been absent for so long. When I returned last week from Mexico, I was beat. Turns out, the youngster was off school all week and the wife took some time off, too. So we kind of had a family vacation week.

It was good.

I won't bore you with the details of the mission trip, other than to say it was the best yet. We had an awesome time, got some really hard work done and spent one day at the Mexican Riviera, sitting alongside the ocean puffing on a Cuban cigar and sipping a latte.

It was good.

I did suffer a weird injury this time, one that caused a few moments of alarm. I was lifting buckets of rocks over my head and pouring them into a cement mixer (don't ask) when I felt something pop in my forearm. It didn't hurt at all, so I kept working. Truth be told, the buckets were far too heavy to be lifting over my head, and my knees were starting to buckle.

At that point, one of my friends took me by the arm and asked, "What happened to your arm?"

I looked down and gasped. The inside of my right forearm, literally from my wrist to my elbow, was hugely swollen. I had a lump the size of a tennis ball right in the middle and it was growing before my eyes. Now keep in mind we were in the jungle, an hour or two from the nearest clinic.

Luckily, one of the women with us is a registered nurse, so she came over and took a look at it.

"Oh my," she said, leading me over and making me sit down.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling the slightest twinge of alarm. I don't like it when nurses say "oh my."

"You're bleeding out," she said, feeling the arm. It now hurt like hell from the pressure. It turns out that the strain of lifting the five-gallon buckets of gravel somehow caused a blood vessel or artery to burst in my arm.

"Am I going to be OK?" I asked, only half serious and already feeling guilty about sitting down in the shade. It was only a little after 9 a.m. and we had a ton of work to do yet.

She looked at me. "I don't know."

That wasn't the answer I was looking for, of course. She wrapped it tightly and made me sit there for a while. Eventually, it stopped swelling and I went back to work.

Later, before I showered, I removed the heavy bandage. My arm was purple and green and swollen to twice its usual diameter. To make a long story short, it eventually turned into the biggest, nastiest bruise I have ever had, although it never did hurt.

To this day, nearly two weeks later, I can still see a huge yellow bruise on my arm.

Other than that, the trip was great. I'm hoping I can convince my wife to go with us next year. She's considering it, probably just so she can shut me up.

Now, I'm struggling mightily to get back into the grind of my new novel. I spent today re-reading it, since I had pretty much forgotten what the damned thing was about.

I really hope the passion comes back. I've been a bit depressed lately, mainly because I still have two partials and a full out -- not to mention a dozen queries -- and have heard nothing in the past month and a half. Grrrrrr. I really hate waiting.

Anyway, I'm back and plan on blogging more often. I'll probably keep the posts a bit shorter so I can blog more and still have valuable writing time left over.

How's it with you guys?

I'm back

I've returned from Mexico, alive and well. And really, really tired.

So I'm going to pass on blogging tonight, but I promise to update you all tomorrow. Hope things went well while I was gone.

Did I miss anything? Anyone get an agent? A book deal? Married? :)

Adios, amigos!

My plane leaves tomorrow morning at 6 for Atlanta and them on to Cancun, Mexico (weather permitting, of course). From there, fourteen of us will pile into two large trucks and/or vans and be driven several miles into the Yucatan to a small village called Leona Vicario.

We'll live there for the next week, in fairly primitive conditions. We travel an additional 100 miles or so inland to a tiny (and I mean tiny) Mayan village deep in the jungle called Tres Reyes (Three Kings in Spanish), where we will work with the Mayans finishing the little Sunday school we started four years ago. My middle son, Zach, went last year. But he's staying home this year because of his job. I know he wanted to go back, even though I suspect it was a hell of lot harder than he had anticipated. :)

The picture is of me (kneeling on the left) in Tres Reyes last year with my friend Jim Witmer and a young Mayan boy we called Pistol Pete (since we couldn't even begin to pronounce his real name). I can't wait to see little Pete this year.

This is my fourth consecutive trip and, as always, I'm both looking forward to it and dreading it.

I look forward to it because it is extremely rewarding work. The Mayans are very poor and live in appalling conditions. Despite a huge guilt complex (because I have it so good here), I fall in love with the villagers every year. Especially the children. They are the sweetest kids in the world.

I dread it because, well, let's face it: It's damned hot and hard work. We work hard in the hot Caribbean sun all day long. After a day or two, I always wonder just why in the hell I am there. Sometimes, we bicker. Sometimes, things get scary because of the drug cartels and the ever-present threat of violence and kidnapping (especially if you are American).

But in the end, I always end up having an awesome time, meet some incredibly special people and learn something about another culture that I didn't know before.

It's also, dare I say it, a very spiritual week. I always feel tired but mentally refreshed when I return, ready to get back to my writing and my exceptionally lucky existence.

I know I have been awful at blogging lately, and for that I apologize. I've been really sick with a nasty case of bronchitis (which is about 80 percent over finally), and I have been working hard on my novel. Now, I'm packing and spending some precious time with my family before I leave the house at 4 a.m. tomorrow for the drive to the airport.

So until me meet again sometime next weekend, please be well and write a lot. I hope you all find agents and multiple book deals when I'm gone. (Ack. I just thought of something. I won't have much Internet access, so I hope if I get any agent news, they don't give up on me. Oh well. I suppose that's a good problem to have, huh?)

Adios my writer friends.