I know it been a while since my last blog entry but the missing time was not waisted. Thats a lie or at least mostyl a lie. Here lately the kindling has ignighted and searing my rear end. In this Dreamtimereaders World, I'm judging a writing contest right now. I have currently poured over 3 entries so far. My eyes want to pop out of this thick skull and over half of those precious brain cells must have killed over. Lets keep praying that my lungs don't keel over for smoking like a coal train. Hey, I like to mulitask.
There have been a lot of lessons learned over the course of this weekend. I never realize that the only thing that sticks out after four hours of reading on a someone elses document that hasn't been critiqued is I/he/she/I/me/they/he/I ext... I would like to encourage everyone to learn how to use a comma's and conjunctions please. The worst problem came mostely as I was reading. What was held in the pages of those documents had been my own mistakes glaring back at me.
Any writer who has ever finished a document is familiar with that feeling of bounding joy because this is your crowning acheivement. So you ask that all knowing and all seeing inner self, "What do I do next?" The answer is so obvious because hey, what else do you do. Its time to publish. This option is so easy to do with online self pub. "NO ITS NOT READY!" If you though the hardest part was getting 20 to 50,000 words from your head to the computer screen, your wrong as I have found out. The real time consuming work is the edits.
My respect for writers has doubled as I try to add up the countless hours spent on one document. Until the craft has been perfected, an authour could easily spend double the amount of time pouring over edits; this is in comparison to how long it took to write the original. An author may never be comensated in royalties. Thats the risk of this trade. Only a small percent become famous like Stephen King. The only reason we keep at it is because we love to do it.
During the two years that I've been a part of a writing group, my knolwedge and writing skills have grown. I don't show much of it because its not perfect yet and I'm lazy. Still, this contest has motivated me to pull out one of those dust laden documents and get to work. I've still got a long way to go before reaching perfect and it won't be easy. I've come a long way from that first typed line which read" Helios's head hit the floor with a resounding whoosh." Lately I've been thinking about carving those words in ceedar and hanging it in my future office to remind me how far I've come.
Helios and the Legend of the Nomiwatta has been shortened to simply Helios.With that said, I would like to present to you a sneek peak not only of the edited version of that first line but also the first couple paragraphs.
Helios/L. E. Leonard/Young Adult
“It happened again, the same dream that has been so difficult to describe. It usually happens when I’m sick or worn out. When the dream comes, I never want it to end and can’t grasp what it means. I am there but my body isn’t. I’m not contained by anything yet there is a substance everywhere and it engulfs everything. A multitude of bubbles force their way up to a yet unknown destination. What purpose does this serve? Where am I? Who am I really? I am alone but not alone. I have comfort and peace. I’m protected. Is this that yet uncharted sky above revealing its secrets or is it contained within the land of Needham? Is it a bad omen? The images are unclear. An amazing sight to behold, but how to tell you about it would seem almost physically impossible. What does this mean?”
The somber gaze of the Draconian Constellation and full yellow moon lasted an eternity for young Helios Reed. “Time to get up Helios” halted those few and precious moments of sleep. Iosha Reed’s voice called from somewhere underneath his cozy loft and sent the teenager’s body crashing to the floor. Even though his aged wooden cot adorned with almond sheepskin was only an elbow’s length from the floor, his survival instinct did not react. Helios fell onto the rough spruce timbers and managed to scrape and elbow on the way down. The growing frown froze then reversed, revealing a smile. None of this would quell his intense enthusiasm, for this day was special. It only took a moment to beat the dust from his clothes and scratch those curly locks into place. After a quick yawn, Helios was now ready to leave the loft and tackle the morning chores.
Mother Iosha was in the kitchen. As Helios walked in, blistery steam rose from the hot wok on the corner stove. Mother stood by the old whiskey barrel filled with water washing tarantulas. Mom’s savory chicken spice sat quietly on our antique bar beside the battered wood stove. Helios was handed a bowl containing a second batch of twice washed creepers to season and fry. “We can’t waste any time this morning. I want the day’s income gathered by noon at the very latest.” The tired crease in Iosha’s weary eye softened. “Happy birthday son!” Marking the occasion, the first batch of tarantulas began to pop in the hot grease. “What are your plans for tonight?”