Friday, March 25, 2016

Tense scene from "Reactivated"

Here's one from last year, a little something I wrote for Kindle Worlds: Reactivated, the first volume in a series. (Which means I really need to get off my ass and write the second story. :P)

A short excerpt:

"Okay, Marvin, try it now." Diamondback waited for a reply, but there was only silence in the maintenance bay. She waited a few more seconds for her coworker to try to start the engine, then she frowned and slid out from under the combat car. "Marvin?"
No answer.
She glanced around and couldn't find him. The bay was empty aside from the vehicles they were working on and the half-dozen cars and mini-tanks in the "waiting line" along the wall opposite the elevator doors.
Huh. She tried to shrug off the sudden unease that had begun creeping up her spine. Maybe he's in the bathroom again. He really needs to cut back on that wheat cereal he loves so much.
She slithered over to the workbench and packed up her tools. It was past lunchtime, anyway; if the car still wouldn't start, it could wait until afternoon. She headed for the nearest wash basin and cleaned the grime off all four hands. She stared into the mirror to check for smudges on her reptilian face and found none. Her scales glistened as she turned her head one way and then another. Red eyes with slit-shaped pupils gazed back at her through wire-frame glasses custom-built to fit her human-snake hybrid features, framed by shoulder-length, wavy black hair.
The people running the lab all those years ago had intended to use her as a weapon, but fortunately they hadn't been allowed to complete their plans, and she'd made her own purpose in life. And, for a living weapon, she'd been told many times that she was kind of cute. Or, in Marvin's case, "adorable." She laughed softly at the thought.
Once she'd dried off, she grabbed a clean towel and wiped the dust and dirt off her glasses. She returned to the car, inserted her torso through the open door, and pushed the ignition button.
The engine started right up and quickly settled into a soft whir. She grinned, let it run for a few more seconds, and shut it down.
"Like it's brand new. Damn, I'm good." She chuckled, slid around the front of the car and turned toward the restroom door on the opposite side of the shop. "Hey, Marvin! Been eating too much of your high-fiber cereal again? If you're not careful with that, you'll start passing wicker furniture."
Again, there was no answer. She let out a nervous chuckle and shrugged again before making her way back across the shop toward the elevator.
That was when she caught it in the corner of her eye – the unmistakable shape of a pair of legs sticking out from behind one of the other vehicles scheduled for minor repairs.
He didn't reply. Didn't even move.
A cold sensation surged through Diamondback's chest and for a moment she couldn't breathe.
"H–hey, Marvin, quit screwing around!" Even as the words left her mouth, she knew her friend wasn't just having a bit of fun at her expense. He had a sense of humor, alright, but in the four years she'd known him, he'd never pranked her or gone any further than a bit of verbal teasing every now and then.
Could he have hurt himself without me noticing? Knocked himself out, somehow? Could I have been so absorbed in working on that car … ?
Yet she knew that wasn't it. There were several things that could be happening now, but somehow … she knew.
She raced toward him, slid to a stop, and hovered over his body. His eyes stared up and to the right, at a spot near the corner of the shop. Holding her breath, Diamondback turned his head slowly and recoiled at the sight of the exit wound in the other side. She cried out and flung herself away from the body.
Get hold of yourself! Whoever did this is probably still here. She covered her mouth with her upper hands and fumbled in her pockets with her lower hands. She dug her comlink out of her cargo skirt and checked it to be sure it was turned on.
Then she froze.
Someone's behind me. She held her breath. Both hearts pounded hard enough to shake her whole body. Right behind me.
She exhaled slowly, silently, preparing herself to erupt into the speed-burst ability that had been built into her bioengineered body.
Movement … air shifting … something moving into position at the back of my head.
She boosted herself and her sense of time slowed down.
She whipped herself aside and spun a split-second before a suppressed pistol discharged. A muzzle flash expanded slowly and propelled a slug through the space her head had occupied less than a heartbeat before. She clamped her upper-right hand around his wrist, twisted it and yanked him forward, while at the same time bracing her upper-left hand on his shoulder and pushing him, and snapping her lower-left hand out to grab the Bowie knife from its sheath on his belt.
The man pivoted, wrenched his arm out of her grasp, and swung his gun around to point it at her face. She blocked it with both right arms and passed the knife from her lower-left hand to her upper.
His finger tightened on the trigger as she forced his arm upward, and he popped four rounds into the ceiling. She pulled him off-balance again and hilted the knife in the side of his neck. His fists clenched and his finger clamped down on the trigger, firing round after round into the ceiling and walls until the clip was spent.
He fell to his knees and slumped over sideways.
Hands trembling, Diamondback picked up his gun and searched the body for fresh clips. After finding three, she reloaded the gun and shoved the other two into her pocket. She glanced at poor Marvin and looked away quickly.
She took a slow breath, pulled herself together, and slithered over to the elevator.
She gasped and zipped into a U-turn. There was no one else in this small facility, so who the hell was in the elevator?
She glanced over her shoulder as she slid behind the biggest vehicle within reach, an armored van, and caught a glimpse of a huge rifle through the still-opening doors. She ducked out of sight, coiled her body up, gripped the pistol awkwardly in her inhuman hands, and tried not to hyperventilate.

Reactivated is available from Kindle Worlds for $1.99.

Other books and stories ...

Fifteen Minutes (Sequel to Load)
Game Over
Uncharted Territory (Sequel to Game Over, work-in-progress, free to read on Inkshares)

For free samples of my writing ...

Enemy of my Enemy

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Another one on writing action scenes

Here's something I've noticed from time to time when reading novels and short stories: scenes, sometimes entire chapters, which read as if they're outlines rather than fully fleshed-out narratives. There's a lot of "telling" rather than "showing" -- action or dialog that's kind of glossed over or summarized rather than allowed to play out like an actual conversation or action scene. One example that comes to mind immediately is Revelation, a Mass Effect novel by Drew Karpyshyn, which I finally got around to reading sometime last year. I'm a huge fan of the video game series, and he was the lead writer on the first game (and on the second, if I remember correctly), but the novels ... well, his writing style isn't bad, but from what I remember, there was a lot of exposition and I didn't find things like fight scenes as compelling as they could've been. There wasn't much in the way of details.

I started thinking about this (not for the first time) last night, and figured it'd make a good topic to explore here. I decided to focus on writing action/fight scenes, since that's kind of turned into my "thing" over the last few years. And I thought it'd just be fun ... and it'd give me an excuse to get off my ass and write something, which I haven't done much in the last couple of months. So what follows is a short (-ish) action sequence to help illustrate what I'm talking about. I came up with it off the top of my head late last night.

Since Valeria seems to have become my go-to character for stuff like this, it'll be a scene with her in an isolated outpost filled with civilians that's being attacked by a small merc squad. The basic situation is, the civilians are taking cover but she needs to minimize gunfire to keep any of them from being hit by a stray shot. Which means she needs to get in close so the mercs can't fire at her without hitting each other, and go hand-to-hand with them.

There'll be two versions, one a short paragraph that summarizes rather than letting it play out and reach a natural conclusion, and the other a fully fleshed-out scene. One tells you what happened, and the other shows you. One gets it over with quickly, and the other brings the character and the scene to life. (At least, I hope it does, heh.)

Of course, there's no single "right" approach, and no "wrong" approach, really. This is just my particular sense of what works better.

Having said that, let's get started.

Version 1:
The mercs marched out of the smoke. Valeria motioned for everyone else to stay hidden and keep their heads down before charging into the middle of the group. They tried to aim their guns at her, but she disarmed them and knocked them out with a flurry of punches and kicks. Once she was sure none of them would get back up, she called out to the civilians and waved her arm frantically at them, urging them to clear the room while they had time.

That works well enough to tell that part of the story, particularly in a short piece where you're limited to 7,000 words or fewer, and you need to pack a whole story into that small space. When you're writing a novel that'll be 100,000 words or more, though, you have room to cut loose and let the scene unfold and reach its conclusion at its own pace. I didn't intend for the fleshed-out version to go on as long as it did, but I admit I got carried away because I was having so much fun with it.

Version 2:

"I'm in the armory," Valeria said into her comm. "What's happening in there?"
"I can hear them outside the door," one of the trapped civilians replied, his voice quivering and his breathing rapid. "They're gonna start cutting through any moment!"
"Get behind the biggest shipping containers, stay out of sight, and keep quiet." Valeria rushed over to the racks lining the walls. She grabbed a Phalanx hand cannon and an M-76 Revenant assault rifle. She clipped them to her armor, hoping to avoid shooting with all the innocent bystanders around, but bringing them along just in case. She picked up extra thermal clips, an armor-piercing knife, and a variable-density baton, the latter two being a better fit to the strategy she'd decided on when the shit hit the fan.
A Scorpion heavy pistol caught her attention as she turned back to the doorway. Originally brought into service by the salarian Special Tasks Group, the gun's projectiles were essentially small sticky grenades rather than the standard, sand-grain-sized bullets used by most other guns. A new idea clicked into place in her head and she clipped the Scorpion to her left hip.
"I'm on my way." She closed the channel and sprinted through the corridors to the cargo bay. She reached the large chamber and found it half-filled with huge shipping containers and crates of varying sizes placed seemingly at random. In the corner of her left eye, she found a couple dozen people huddled behind one of the big containers.
An almost liquid-looking stream of sparks punched through the door on the far side of the bay as the mercs began cutting through. Valeria turned to the civvies, made a "kaboom" gesture with her hands, and then motioned for them to keep their heads down. She drew the Scorpion and charged across the bay. She ducked behind a large metal crate, peeked around and aimed at the center of the roughly circular chunk being cut out of the door. When the cutter had almost completed the circle, Val fired six grenades into it and returned the gun to her hip.
The cutter finished its work and the sparks vanished. Val ducked back behind the crate an instant before the grenades detonated. A sharp bang made her wince and the shockwave rattled her armor. She peeked out and found a hole in the door; the thick slab of metal had been popped out like a cork, landing outside rather than in the cargo bay.
Valeria rushed over to the door, keeping away from the opening for the moment, and scanned the area with her Omni-Tool. It detected seven lifeless bodies crushed beneath the chunk of the door, and four more live ones. Through the smoke, her helmet's audio receptors picked up coughing and confused shouting. Her Tool located each of the survivors and painted their outlines in her heads-up display. Two humans, an asari, and ...
Great. One of them is a krogan. This ought to be ... interesting. Still, there was one weak point she could attack if she could get close enough. What the hell. Got to get right in the middle of them anyway, so they can't start shooting without blowing each other away.
She took a slow breath, let it out, and charged through the hole. The asari was nearest. The merc spun around and brought her rifle up just as Val tackled her. She gripped the barrel, wrenched it upward, and twisted it until the trigger guard snapped her opponent's finger. The asari groaned through clenched teeth and let the gun drop. She shoved her other arm out, palm straight into Val's face, and her Omni-Tool interface appeared for a split-second -- before a blinding light overwhelmed her helmet's video sensors and then everything blacked out. Overload blast, Valeria guessed as she yanked her helmet off so she could see her enemies.
The asari clamped her good hand onto Val's right mandible and yanked. Fiery pain ripped through the side of her face and she screamed. Unable to back away without injuring herself even worse, she swung her helmet around and smashed it into the asari's nose. The other woman cried out and stumbled backward, releasing her grip on Val's mandible. Valeria launched at her, cocking the helmet back and slamming it into the merc's face again and again and then again. Finally, she wound up one more time and connected with the merc's jaw. After another loud grunt and the snap of bone cracking, the asari toppled over, groaned, and lay still.
Valeria took several gasping breaths and rushed the nearer human. He sidestepped her and lashed out with the stock of his rifle, but she blocked it and head-butted him, sending him staggering back into the six-wheeled vehicle they'd arrived in. She spun him around and clamped her arm around his neck, bearing down until he stopped thrashing and sank to the ground. She let him drop, sucked in another deep breath, and turned to locate the remaining two.
Something plowed into her from behind, hitting with the force of a speeding truck. The krogan, she realized as the whole world tilted and she found herself being ground into the pavement.
"Bitch!" He lifted her up, turned, and threw her into the side of their vehicle. The impact knocked the wind out of her and everything started to fade away. She shook her head and forced herself back upright just as the krogan lunged at her again. His huge hands clamped around her throat -- but she pulled her right hand back and jabbed her talon into his eye. He roared and staggered away, clamping his hand over his eye.
Valeria yanked her knife out, charged, and leaped into the air. The impact toppled him over and she wedged her knife under one of the plates on his head. She pistoned her palm into the handle, driving the business end deeper under the plate. He had just enough time to suck in a deep breath before she wrenched the knife upward, prying the plate up with a sickening, crunching-tearing sound. The krogan howled and thrashed hard enough to buck her loose and send her flying. She crashed into the ground with a sharp grunt. She pushed herself back up despite the pain throbbing through her back and face. The krogan continued screaming for a few more seconds before losing consciousness. Breathing heavily, Valeria turned to face the last merc.
His eyes were wide and some of the color had drained from his face, but he pulled himself together and fired off several shots. Valeria's shields flared with each impact as she rushed forward. He snarled a curse and backed around the rear end of the truck while continuing to fire. Val darted in front of it, putting the whole vehicle between her and the merc, and then leaped onto the hood. She crouched and then vaulted over the roof. The merc glanced up just in time to see her dropping toward him.
"Shit!" He raised his rifle and stepped back, but couldn't get out of the way. She slammed into him and both of them sprawled on the pavement. The rifle slipped from his hand and clattered across the ground. She rolled over and pushed herself up, but caught a faceful of his boot before she could get her bearings. The world spun around her and when it stopped, she was flat on her back.
The man's boots pounded the pavement twice, and then one slammed into the side of her head. She rolled away with a shriek, blinked and shook her head, and pushed herself back onto her hands and knees. Her vision cleared in time to catch a glimpse of him diving at her. The impact slammed her back to the ground with him on top of her. He cocked his fist back and launched it. She deflected it with her right arm, lashed out with her left, and poked him in the eyes. He screamed and snapped his head back to get out of her reach. She bolted upright and punched him in the throat. He gagged, flopped over on his side, and tried to crawl away.
Gasping for breath and aching, Valeria rolled him onto his back and drove her fist into his face. He tried to swing back at her, and she punched him again. He threw another feeble blow, but she swatted his fist away and pounded him three more times. He groaned, shook his head, and tried to scoot out from under her.
Oh, for ... Valeria grabbed the sides of his head, lifted, and then slammed the back of his skull into the pavement. He hunched forward as if trying to curl up, but she whacked his head into the ground again. This time he turned limp with one last moan. Valeria dragged herself off him, propped herself up on her left arm, and continued sucking in deep, gasping breaths. She took a quick look at the four mercs to be sure they were all out of commission.
Still breathing, but they won't be getting up for a while. With a relieved sigh, she flopped over on her back and gave herself a moment to recover before opening a comm channel to the civilians.
"I've cleared the road. Let's get the hell out of here while we still can."

Okay, then. Version 2, I think, is more effective at bringing the scene and its central character to life. It also has the added benefit of adding to the word count without going all purple-prose. I should add that the goal here isn't filler. Scenes like these shouldn't be extended past the point where they should come to their conclusion for the sake of padding out the word count. They'll become tedious or tiresome for the readers if the fight drags on too long. But if you let the scene play out rather than gloss it over, it'll paint a more vivid picture in the reader's imagination and at the same time push the book that much closer to the total word count you're aiming for.

And, for me at least, it's just a hell of a lot of fun.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Action-packed scene from "Chaser"

Getting back to promoting my recently-published novel, Chaser, after a long period of getting nothing done at all. So, here's a snippet of an action scene that takes place fairly early in the book.

We made it to the elevator at the end of the hall before the shit hit the fan. The doors parted just before we reached them, revealing four people in armor and helmets. They froze for an instant, probably not expecting to find us right in front of them. They recovered and aimed their guns at us.
I grabbed Sledge, yanked him back, and threw myself in front of him and my friends, whipping my wings out to block them from the goons' view. I snapped my Glock up to draw a bead on the point man's helmet.
In the corner of my eye, Otto's left hand shot out, palm held up toward the guys in the elevator. The air between his hand and the thugs rippled, and all four of them slammed into the wall like a freight train plowing into a stalled car. Bones crunched like a fistful of fresh celery stalks, the wall behind them cracked and bowed outward, and the men crumpled to the floor.
Sledge leaned around me and stared at them. He turned his wide eyes back to Otto. "That was awesome!"
"Well, the elevator's probably hosed." Shakira waved a hand at the back wall, which had a dent big enough to scrape the shaft on the way down, if not prevent the elevator from moving at all.
"Better not take any chances." I headed for the stairwell, opened the door and waited for everyone to dash through it.
"Some of 'em are probably on their way up the stairs," Shakira said as she passed me. She and Otto took the lead and I brought up the rear.
We kept quiet as we descended the stairs, all of us quite aware that our echoing voices would draw the attention of any assholes on the way up to us. We ran into them about halfway down--six more black armor-clad goons carrying machine guns, and this time we didn't catch them by surprise.
I pushed Sledge, Marissa and Seth to the floor and crouched in front of them, trying to protect them while at the same time making myself a smaller target. Even crouching, I was big enough to give them plenty of cover.
They stopped on the bottom of this flight of stairs and aimed up at us. Otto held his hands out again.
Shakira leaped off the top step and landed right on their heads. Only one of them had time to get off a shot, and it punched through her "skin" and bounced off her metal skeleton before she crashed down on him.
The man farthest from her managed to avoid the pile-up and pointed his gun at Otto. He pulled the trigger and a burst ripped out so fast that it sounded like paper tearing--only a hell of a lot louder, of course. The bullets perforated Otto's shirt, turning it into Swiss cheese in barely a second and drilling into the wall beside me.
Otto's shirt and pants appeared to slide down through his body, ending up in a pile on the stairs. "Damn it," he grumbled, floating up a few inches to get completely out of them. "I still haven't quite gotten the hang of that."
The thug's blank visor stared at him for a long moment as Shakira tossed one of the others over the rail, sending him tumbling to the ground floor. Otto raised his hand, making a sort of lifting gesture, and the guy launched into the underside of the stairs over our heads. After the impact, he went all ragdoll and dropped back to the floor. I took my gaze away from him just in time to see Shakira finish off the last of the goons with a punch that cracked his helmet like an egg. The rest of them were already sprawled at her feet.
"How the hell did you do that?" Marissa said as Otto picked up his pants and put them back on.
"Same way I put my arm through your body. The bullets passed right through me. Unfortunately, so did my clothes." He shrugged. "I've never managed to get it right--to let the bullets or whatever go through me, but solidify fast enough to keep my clothes on."
"Let's keep moving before more of 'em come up to see what's taking their buddies so long." Shakira took the lead again, and Otto grabbed his shirt and slipped it on as he caught up with her.
"Those were some pretty nice moves, Shakira," Seth muttered.
She winked. "Always bet on black"
We got to the ground floor, going around or stepping over the body of the guy Shakira had dumped over the rail, and paused at the door leading into the lobby.
Shakira watched the door for a few seconds, held up two fingers and pointed at the door. Swell. Two more of 'em, and they were right on the other side.
I nudged her shoulder and she moved out of my way. I raised my right foot and rammed it into the door, snapping the bolt and slamming it into the two goons. When it had opened wide enough, I squeezed through and found them sprawled on the far end of the lobby. The top hinge, I noticed as I ran over to them, had been torn clean off the frame. Oops. On top of everything else, I wouldn't be surprised if I got billed for the damage.
I grabbed one of the men and dragged him along as we headed for the exit. Once we were out of there, this motherfucker was gonna tell us who he and his buddies were. I wasn't gonna give him a choice.
The other one moaned, pushed himself up on one elbow, and reached out for his rifle.
Otto leaned over, pulled the guy's helmet off and touched his forehead. "Nighty-night, asshole." The guy grunted and slumped over.
I glanced at Shakira before reaching out to pull the door open. She shook her head.
"There's more of 'em out there, but not very close. We'll at least have a chance to get to your battle wagon."
I nodded and looked at my brother, Shadow, Seth, and Marissa. "Stay between us and the building." My van was parked in the near corner of the lot beside the building, so it could've been worse. At least we wouldn't have to cross the entire lot and add another ten seconds to the amount of time we'd have to try not to take a hail of bullets in the back.
We got about halfway there before Shakira looked off to the left and shouted, "Get down!" She gave my shoulder a push that sent me stumbling into my brother and friends. I threw my arms around them and lunged, carrying them several more steps before a shockwave knocked us flat. I rolled over and raised my gun, then froze at the sight in front of me: Shakira's torso, only a couple yards away, pulling itself away from what was left of the lower half of her body.
Shadow gasped and clamped her free hand over her mouth. Caboose's fur bristled and he hissed and squirmed, trying to slip out of her other hand. Shakira looked down at the mangled edge of her torso and her mouth dropped open. "Fuck!" Otto, laying face-down a few feet away from her, pushed himself up and shook his head. He turned, took one look at her, and let out an incoherent scream.
"Keep going!" I grabbed her arm and hoisted her onto my back. "Hang on!"
They bolted toward my van and Shakira put her arms around my neck. Otto and I planted ourselves between them and the half-dozen armored scumbags slowly approaching us, keeping their guns pointed straight at our chests. The one on the far right was holding a mini-rocket launcher. Shakira must've thrown herself into the rocket's path to prevent all of us from ending up splattered all over the side of the building.
"Don't move!" one of the men said, his voice amplified by his helmet mic.
Slowly, methodically, but very likely with my building rage showing clearly on my face, I checked the clip in my gun to be sure that it held armor piercing rounds, shoved it back in and strode toward the one who'd just spoken.
"Uh..." He exchanged quick glances with the others. "Don't! Stop right there!"
I didn't stop until I was close enough for the barrel of my gun to touch his faceplate. I had no idea why he didn't pull the trigger. Maybe he was just that scared. Or maybe he didn't have the stones for it. If you threaten someone and don't follow through when they ignore you, you lose any control you might've had over them.
"Run," I growled.
They looked at each other again.
"I said, run!"
Another second or two passed, then the leader shouted, "Blow this bitch's head off n--"
I didn't hesitate. One quick twitch of my talon and a stream of blood spurted from the back of his helmet. He dropped as if his strings had been cut. At the same moment, Otto used his mojo to yank the guns from the others' hands. They reached for the sidearms on their belts, but Otto took care of those, as well, leaving them standing there and staring at us.
I drew in a deep breath and roared, "Run!"
They stumbled back a few steps, flailing their arms, turned, and bolted. I had to fight the urge to shoot each of them in both ass cheeks before turning and sprinting back to my van. I handed Shakira off to Otto and he jumped into the back, joining the rest while I squeezed in behind the wheel and started the engine.
"Bloody hell," Marissa gasped, staring at Shakira. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"I've had worse, believe it or not." Shakira shook her head. "I just hope my insurance will cover this."
I winced. "Damn. I should've picked up that guy I was planning to question. We could've found out all their names. Then we'd know exactly who to bill for your new body."
"Eh, it's probably better this way. If those guys were just the first wave, you might've gotten blown away if you'd stopped to grab him."
"Maybe." I spotted one of our attackers getting back to his feet as I headed for the street, and swerved toward him. He heard the rumble of my engine and turned around, then backpedaled. I grinned and held up my middle talon just before his helmet cracked open on the grille and his body fell under the tires. Ka-thump, ka-thump. The van rocked up and down and side to side twice in rapid succession, and everyone braced their hands on the walls. There's something deeply satisfying about knowing that the last thing the fucker ever saw was me flipping him off.
Once we were on the street, I accelerated and shifted up, wondering if it was too early to sigh with relief.
Chaser is available on Amazon from Keith Publications. Take a look here for a five-star review along with an author Q&A.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Climbing back out of the hole

I need to apologize for vanishing for so long. The last six months or so have been ... "interesting." Events in those six months include, but are not limited to:

  • My car's engine blowing up, me being unable to get a $4,000 loan to replace it, having my hours at work cut to 7/week due to being unable to take deliveries without my car, not having enough money to make the next car payment, and having to let it be repossessed.
  • Needing to borrow money from family to keep paying the rent, and coming within five days of being evicted anyway.
  • The store where I work getting a company car and the manager letting me use it for deliveries in the nick of time.
  • Finally saving up enough money to buy a bike so I can at least get around without pestering people for rides.
  • The bike getting stolen while I was at work two weeks after I bought it, sending me back to getting rides to and from work.
  • Finally getting another bike at a discounted price because it had been returned ... and discovering that its front wheel is bent. Managed to get the wheel replaced, and the bike hasn't been stolen ... yet.
  • Nearly getting run over multiple times while biking to work and back home, the latest of which was a car speeding at 40 miles per hour and running a stop sign, and would've killed me if I hadn't spotted it in time. And the driver had the balls to yell "fuck you" at me when I got pissed off.
  • Immediately after that, the bike's chain pops off before I get home. I can't get it back on, so I walk home and take the wheel off in the morning to put the chain back on.
  • While biking to work yesterday, the chain pops off again. Need to screw around with the rear wheel again to try to tighten the chain enough for it to stay on. Might end up needing to take one of the links out.
  • Over the past few months, the store stays busy enough that I'm usually kept there three or four hours past the end of my shift, resulting in me getting home around midnight or later, going to bed, then repeating the cycle all over again. The extra money's great, it helps keep the rent paid, but the work-sleep-work cycle sucks time away from everything else, like writing and promoting my books.
  • Meanwhile, the Inkshares campaign for Project Revenant was a complete, total, miserable failure, because of course it was. Just like the same book's Kindle Scout campaign. A handful of people followed the book on Inkshares, but only four people preordered it. I needed 750 preorders just to get it published as an ebook ... and I got four. Granted, having no time for anything other than the job for the past few months kept me from campaigning effectively, but still.

As a result of all of this, particularly that last bit, I think I sank into a bit of a depression. Pretty much gave up on everything. Got almost nothing at all done, aside from the latest chapter of Harbinger, and that was a couple of months ago. Now I'm trying to pull myself together, get off my ass, and get back to writing and promoting ... as much as I can squeeze into what little free time I have, at least.

So ... what's the next step for Project Revenant? I honestly don't know. It took me twenty-five years to finally get one book published, and that hasn't opened any doors for me aside from one short story published in the Lucky Stars anthology I've talked about before. I'm really not thrilled with the thought of taking another twenty-five years to get a second book published, assuming it doesn't take even longer. I feel like I've let enough of my life slip through my fingers already. Maybe I'll give it one last polish and send it to a few publishers just to see what happens. Quite likely, I'll end up just putting it on Amazon, Smashwords, and Kobo, where maybe a few dozen copies will sell, and then it'll gather dust like all my other books.

I hope I don't sound overly negative or bitter. I probably do, though. I'm just kind of in a dark place right now. I go through phases like this, where nothing I try seems to work out, and I end up wondering why I wasted my life on a pipe dream. To be brutally honest, though ... if I'd stayed focused on a career goal and gotten a degree, I could've had a halfway decent, somewhat well-paying job, and not worried constantly whether I'm going to be able to pay the rent or have one more meal. But here I am, 42 years old and the only job I've been able to land is the kind of job you get right after you finish high school, making $5.00 per hour and completely destroying my car.

It's hard not to be a little bitter over that.

But I'll do what I've always done before ... pick myself up and keep trying. After all, I've invested too many years in this pipe dream to back out now. If I give up now, then the last twenty-five years really would be wasted.

So, for now, I'll do one last edit of Project Revenant and see how I feel about things once it's finished. I'll also keep working on Uncharted Territory whenever I can, as well as my other works in progress. And I'll be doing everything I can think of to promote Chaser.

And I'll just see how things go from here ....