WRITER'S BLOCK (DOES IT EXIST?)

I’ll put it right out there. For me, there’s no such things as writer’s block. I’m never at a loss for ideas or projects. There’s not a minute in the day that I don’t wish I could be making stuff up.

There are, however, lots of things that get in the way of my writing.

• WORK - I work in a bookstore. Very few writers actually make a living as a writer. With a 50 minute commute both ways to work and 9 hours there, that’s 10 hours and 40 minutes that I can’t write. Add onto that the fatigue after working retail, and it’s hard to get motivated to put the butt in the chair.

• PROCRASTINATION - Even though I’m thinking about my stories and characters constantly, I often make up excuses to avoid actually sitting down to do the work. Creating something from nothing isn’t easy. Oh, it’s easy when it’s knocking around in my mind. But translating that into screen time takes discipline.

• LIFE - The world doesn’t stop so that you can sit down and create. There are bills to pay, family to keep in touch with, groceries to buy, meals to cook, etc. Every minute spent on the daily grind of life steals time from writing.

So, those are the three main things that I have to contend with while I try to write. None of them are writer’s block. They’re all just adjustments. I don’t have the magic key to solving them. Instead, I get up each day and try to do better.

The most important thing for a successful writer to do is to not give up. If you didn’t write today, then write tomorrow. If your story got rejected, tighten it up and send it out again. If you don’t know where your story is going, set it aside and work on something new. But above all, don’t stop.

If you keep writing, you’ve done better than 90% of anyone who’s said they want to write. If you don’t write, 100% of the trash that gets published is better than your best intentions. Don’t compare your writing to anyone else. Write what makes you happy. If you keep working on it, there will be a reader for it. Hell, there may even be a market for it as well.

Tell me what you think. Do you believe in writer’s block? What keeps you from writing?

Thanks for reading. Have a great writing week.

-James

ORGANIZING A NOVEL

Since I write Historical Mysteries as well as horror, I belong to the class of fiction writers known as “plotters”. I want to have the framework in place before I let my detective work his way through the puzzle. I know where the beats need to hit and how the structure of the acts follows a classic detective narrative.

Now within that framework, my characters have full license to take me on surprising tangents and often do so without my knowing what they might say or do in a particular situation. So, in that part of the process, I become a bit of a “Pantser” (seat of your pants).

A couple of years ago, had the extreme privilege of spending a couple of hours with the late horror master, Dennis Etchison. Aside from being a little awestruck of being in the presence of a master story teller, it was a an unexpected pleasure to learn that we both received, “The Muse” in a similar way. We both described the experience of watching a movie play out in our minds and working like crazy to record those images on paper.

So, within the bare erector set of my novel, I record a movie that runs across the screen behind my eyes. As such, I’m never quite sure what my characters are going to say or do until it’s done.

I’ve attached a photo that shows a small part of the framework I use. I borrowed a lot of the elements from J.K. Rowling. With it, I’m able to know where each character is at any given time. Along with that paper, I also use Aeon Timeline 2.0 software to maintain a proper chronology. It syncs perfectly with my Scrivener writing program.

Please let me know what works for you in the comments. If you’re in the mood for a free scary story, check out my Southern Gothic Horror, Haunting Annabelle, over on Wattpad https://my.w.tt/YIQ0icvCJY.

Have a great week of writing and thanks for reading.

Time Off For Comic-Con

Last year, I attended my first Comic-Con. Thanks to a short story I published, I was granted a Professional badge. I went all four days, including preview night. At the end, I was exhausted and wondering if I wanted to ever do that craziness again.

This year, I mainly focused on making the most of Comic-Con as a professional. The panels I attended were mostly related to writing. I also allowed myself to relax and try not to do everything. I even took off Friday and didn’t go back on Sunday. As a result, I got more out of my effort this year.

Fiction writing is a lonely art. Most of my time is spent with the characters running around in my head or down some rabbit hole of research. It’s good for the filling of the creative well to get out amongst other creative people. Any time I attend a writers meeting or workshop, I come away reinvigorated and renewed in purpose.

I’m very much the introvert. However, I need to be around other writers from time to time. I need the encouragement and also to the reality check. My advice to all writers is to push yourself to break out of your shell for at least short bursts. Writers need the company of other writers. Only we understand the madness. And to those extroverts among us, please help us out and pull us into the conversation once in a while. We have much to say on the paper. It’s just hard to speak it.

Have a great writing week.

The Waiting Games

Writers are always waiting. We write. We edit. We submit. And then, we wait. Most of the time, we are disappointed in the answer. Writers get more rejections than a leper on Tinder. Yet, we wait because we hope. Stephen King said he had to buy a bigger nail to impale all of his rejection letters. JK Rowling was rejected by everyone and ended up at a publisher that had never had a hit novel.

Hope feeds the writer.

I currently have a fun short story up for submission at a forthcoming anthology. Publication there would be a big step in my writing career. And so I wait.

However, I keep busy. Every two days, I post another freshly edited chapter of my southern gothic novel, Haunting Annabelle, on Wattpad. Yesterday, I finished outlining the current historical mystery novel that I’m a quarter of the way finished.

This week’s writing will be shared with going to Comic-Con. The writing panels will give me fresh energy. It will help with the waiting.

Now, I have to go walk the dog. Even Stephen King has to do that.

SPENDING TIME ON WATTPAD

Not much of a weekly post, is it. As always, there’s a reason. I said a reason, not an excuse.

I’ve heard about Wattpad for a while. So, I decide to start posting an old novel, a chapter at a time. Since I did not plan on sending it to a publisher, I wanted to see what kind of reaction it would make with readers. If you have a minute, check it out at https://my.w.tt/nszV5BTZdY . It’s a Southern Gothic Horror novel that has witches, ghosts, and curses.

I have not given up on Poirot’s story. However, between the Wattpad posts and work on my current novel, it will simmer on the back burner.

Have a great week. Make sure you always carry a book.

Best,

James

The Paved Road To Hell

Ah, the best of intentions. Although I fell behind on my short story here, I’ve not been idle. This year, I finished a short story for an anthology entry and continued on my novel. I also edited an older novel and started posting it on Wattpad to see how it played with real readers. You can take a look at: https://www.wattpad.com/742736266-haunting-annabelle-a-southern-gothic-horror

I’m pretty close to sticking to my year’s goal of writing every day. Trying not to look back on the years I’ve been plugging away and not get a little discouraged is hard. Yet, to be honest, it’s only recently that I’ve worked hard at it. So, I’ll cut myself some slack as long as I keep moving forward.

I’ll not lead you on. The Poirot short story is not going to be weekly. There will still be parts added. However, I’m sticking to working on my novel. If you want a taste of my work, read the Wattpad posts. It’s an older work and I’ve gotten much better. Still, it has my basic style.

To my fellow writers, keep on truckin’. To the readers, keep on reading and buy your books at an Indie Bookstore.

THE PHANTOM OF THE WALDORF (part 3)

Twenty years ago, she would have been beautiful. However, having all that you want can ruin a person. It makes a man lazy. It can make a woman bitter. And Achille knew that bitter is never lovely.

“Please allow me to introduce Mr. Achille Poirot,” Creel said to Mrs. Edmonds’ back.

She turned and placed a long, black cigarette holder in her mouth. She inhaled deeply and made a cherry red “O” with her mouth and blew. The smoke drifted towards Achille but curved at the last minute and hit Creel square in the face. The manager scrunched his face and stifled a sneeze.

“Enchante’” Achille nodded his head an inch.

“Poirot,” she said. “I’ve heard of that name.”

Achille smiled.

“No doubt, you’ve heard of my famous brother, Hercule,” he said.

“Yes, that’s the one,” she waved her cigarette holder at him. “Funny little bald man with a queer walk.”

“Well, he inherited the brains and I the looks,” Achille said.

Edmonds took another drag on her cigarette and looked down her nose at him.

“Right,” she said as she exhaled.

“I’ve taken the liberty of asking Mr. Poirot to assist us with your missing jewel,” Creel stepped forward.

“Are you a detective like your brother?” she asked.

Achille gestured towards a sofa and chairs by the fireplace.

“May we sit down?” he asked.

She cinched the kimono tighter and floated over to the sofa. Tucking her legs beneath her, she leaned back against a large green pillow. The two men glanced at each other and took chairs across from the sofa.

“To answer your query,” Achille continued. “No, I’m not a professional detective.”

Creel leaned forward.

“However,” he interjected. “Mr. Poirot has been instrumental in helping the police solve several crimes since he’s made his home with us.”

“Have there been several crimes here at the Waldorf?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Creel waved his hands.

“No, no, no,” he stammered. “Mr. Poirot has solved many crimes outside of this hotel.”

“Well, there was the case of the young girl who was found dead at the hotel’s loading dock,” Achille said.

Creel gripped the chair’s arm. It gave a dull creak.

“She was murdered somewhere else and left there by a madman,” Creel said.

Edmonds leaned forward and picked up a gold cigarette case from the table. She removed the expired butt and replaced it with a fresh one. Achille noticed a maker’s mark on the slender white cigarette. It came from an exclusive tobacconist in London.

“So, you have madmen prowling about the grounds?” she smirked.

Creel’s cheeks reddened and beads of sweat formed a halo across his forehead.

“Madam, we are simply here to assist you in recovering your jewel,” Achille said. “Monsieur Creel is correct in stating that the Waldorf Astoria is not only the best hotel in New York City, it’s also the safest.”

“And yet,” she replied. “I’m missing a very large ruby.”

Achille tented his fingers.

“There’s nothing in this world that is flawless,” he said. “I will repair the hotel’s reputation and find your jewel.”

Edmonds narrowed her eyes and lit her cigarette.

“But first,” Achille continued. “You must leave.”

Creel hiccuped and dabbed his forehead with an already damp handkerchief. Mrs. Edmonds stopped in mid-inhale of her cigarette and coughed.

“What did you say?” she stood up.

“Yes, what?” Creel jumped up as well.

Achille sat and opened his hands, palm up.

“I must have complete, uninterrupted access to this suite to conduct a thorough investigation,” he said.

“And where am I to go?” she waved her cigarette around like a wand.

Achille stood and walked to the front door.

“Monsieur Creel will escort you to my apartment in the other tower here,” he said. “My valet will see to your every need.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and looked from Achille to Creel.

“Good lord Achille,” Creel said. “At least let Mrs. Edmonds get properly dressed.”

Achille bowed his head.

“Of course,” he said. “Please replace the fine Japanese silk with something more appropriate for the hallways.”

Within minutes, Creel was leading Mrs. Edmonds out of the suite. She passed Achille without glancing back.

“You’d better know what you’re doing,” Creel whispered as he passed Achille.

Achille closed the door behind them and turned to face the room.

“I know that you’re here mon ami,” he said. “It’s time for you to come out and play.”

THE PHANTOM OF THE WALDORF (part 2)

“What took you so long?” Creel asked.

He dabbed his high forehead with an already damp handkerchief and glanced around the hotel lobby. He saw at least two reporters sitting across from each other. They both tried to act like they were reading a paper and paying attention to the comings and goings of the busy hotel. However, their occasional scribbles on discretely tucked away notepads betrayed their intent.

“Well,” Achille smiled, “Good morning to you as well.”

Creel’s right eye twitched. It always did when he was nervous. Today, it appeared to Achille that the poor hotel manager attempted to send out his stress via Morse Code with that eye.

“I’m sorry Mr. Poirot,” Creel said. “We’ve never had a theft at the Waldorf Astoria under my watch. If you don’t nip it in the bud and find the thief, both the hotel’s and my reputation will be in tatters.”

Achille took Creel by the elbow and led him to the elevator.

“Take me to the room and we shall investigate without delay,” he said.

Creel’s shoulders visibly relaxed and the eye twitch slowed. As the polished metal doors of the elevator opened, Achille led the way and Creel followed like a puppy. The operator smiled and tipped his hat.

“Where to Mr. Poirot?” he asked.

Each word was punctuated by his chewing on a large stick of gum.

“The fifth floor,” Creel frowned and held out his hand.

Plucking the wrapper out of his pocket, the young man spit his gum into it and handing the wad to Creel. The manager held it in his palms like a bug and tipped it into the ashcan in the corner.

“Sorry Mr. Creel,” the operator mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”

Creel opened his mouth to reply and a bell dinged.

“Ah, we’ve arrived,” Achille said and walked into the hall.

With a quick disapproving glance at the operator, Creel followed.

“Tell me then what you know,” Achille gestured for the manager to lead the way.

Creel folded his arms and walked down the carpeted hall. Aside from a maid dusting a light fixture, they were alone.

“Mrs. Edmonds, wife of Henry Edmunds the financier, arrived yesterday afternoon,” Creel said. “She is staying with us for the weekend until she’ll catch a steamer on Monday to meet her husband in London.”

Creel paused as a door opened and a young couple burst out of their room. They both blushed as they saw the two men. The woman giggled and the man smiled as they hurried past.

“Newlyweds,” Achille smiled.

Creel cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he continued. “Although we have a top rated hotel safe, Mrs. Edmonds insisted that all of her jewelry be stored in her room. Of course, I readily agreed since the Waldorf is the safest hotel in all of New York.”

“And yet,” Achille interrupted. “Sometime during the night, her valuables went missing.”

“A valuable,” Creel corrected. “A rather large ruby necklace was missing from her valise this morning.”

Creel shook his head.

“Actually,” he corrected himself. “The whole necklace was not missing, only the 5 carat ruby stone.”

Achille stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Creel’s eye began to twitch again. “The diamond studded necklace was on the floor. Upon closer inspection , I could see that…”

He hesitated.

“Yes?” Achille prompted.

“I may be mistaken,” Creel continued. “However, it appeared that the silver setting had been chewed.”

“Chewed?” Achille asked. “The young man this morning said something about a ghost. Do spirits have teeth?”

Creel pulled out his handkerchief again.

“There’s no ghost,” he said. “It’s a silly rumor that’s circulating among the staff.”

“What would cause such a rumor?” Achille asked.

“Well,” Creel hesitated and the twitch increased. “Guests reported hearing a muffled howl during the night and scratching along the hallway.”

The manager stopped at the end of the hall.

“Please don’t mention anything about a ghost to Mrs. Edmonds,” he said as he knocked on the door.

Achille smiled.

“I deal only with the corporeal,” he said. “The spirits that I pursue are in beautiful glass bottles.”

Both men looked up as they heard a slight scratching in a vent above them. The suite door opened and they were greeted by a large bleach blond woman in a bright blue kimono.

“It’s about damn time,” she said and walked back into the room in a trail of cigarette smoke.

LIFE GETS IN THE WAY

So, the holidays arrived and with them my Mother. As such, there was writing, just none on this weekly post.

It’s a new year. Actually, it’s two months into a new year. However, I’ve settled myself the computer again in another attempt to get this website off of the launch pad. Up next, the continuing serial about Achille Poirot.

Thanks for stopping by. Leave a comment to help kick my writing butt into gear.

Best,

J.A. Jensen