The Sweet Dreams Series is coming in 2018...and other mad musings...
So here we are again, nearing the end of September, and a lot has occurred in the world since then. I'm probably going to "meander," as my old friend Diana Emmons often liked to say, as there's so much to say.
Where to begin? Well, how about this...
About a week ago, I had a meeting with Larry Knorr, the publisher of Sunbury Press Books. He's published "A Moment in the Sun" and my latest, "Live from the Cafe."
And...wait for it...
You see the two I have out, along with "Parasite Girls," on Amazon/Smashwords.
The recent trip to Maine was a needed thing. My book tour was a success: although I didn't sell in Boston at the Diesel Cafe, I'm thrilled to have been there, to see friends, and to get back into a city I miss.
The ride to Maine, then...again, seeing family, old friends, unwinding, and figuring out where I'm at. I have to be practical, and know that going back to Maine for "retirement" (or any place else) is not going to happen until we make the move.
I met with Larry, and here is the bare bones of what I can tell you: Sunbury is going to be spinning off its titles into specific imprints. I will be on the fiction imprint, Brown Posey Press. This will occur in the coming months.
My hope is to do well with the books, and especially, "Live..." -- in October, fellow Sunbury mate Joe Harvey and I will be at the KSRA event in Hershey, and we'll also be with Larry and the gang at the York Book Expo, which is always a big deal.
Selling, but networking, and more, let's hope this all augers well for the winter.
I've been writing a new manuscript, "The Feels," and like any rough draft, it feels...rough, very rough, not good. It's a young adult story about coming of age, but really about being in search of your identity, by searching yourself. We'll follow one young woman's journey from present to past and back again, as she tries to figure out who she is, not who she is supposed to be.
But down the road a ways. We must talk about the big one...
In 2018, Larry has shown confidence in me by giving the go-ahead for the first of the long-awaited, oft-rewritten "Sweet Dreams Series."
Okay, you say, gimme the elevator pitch. Here it is:
"The Sweet Dreams Series is the story of Aki, a Japanese girl gifted with the ability to time travel. A chance meeting leads to a retired blues musician, who teaches Aki's brother guitar, and becomes her mentor. Through a series of misadventures in time, Aki travels through the world of the blues, finds her own voice, and learns of the power of music."
Well, that's kind of it. I have a lot of work to do to get this story off the ground, and I need all the help I can get. The story will follow Aki and her family through their lives, and we'll learn of the dual life Aki leads, to become who she will be, and also to protect and safeguard the secret she carries.
These are the things I write about. This is what I've been working toward for nearly eleven years, and this is going to be a ride!
Now, these other things...I find it a strange world to live in right now, but not one I'm surprised by. I watch so many, concerned about things that are really quite pointless. I see friends show they may not really be friends, by the stupid issues that we let divide us, because we can neither hear nor listen. We hate irrationally, hurl abuse at one another, and don't stop to think what we are doing to ourselves, and each other.
Places lie in ruin due to natural disasters, wars, and madness...yet we're all up in arms over a football player who took a knee last year to spotlight racial injustice. He's not even in the league anymore, but because others believe that the issue is not the flag, the anthem or false patriotism, but a serious gap in our human race that too many refuse to admit exists, and will not talk about it.
There's a, "We ain't there, so we don't care" attitude about too many things.
I think we are on the verge of living a dystopian novel. This nation has to live it for a while, before we realize what we did to it.
Yes. WE did this; we acted, or didn't act. I often think nothing's changed at all, but it could. I watch too many people live in the 1950's, and I heard a wonderful term, but it's not a good term:
"Hopeless Nostalgia."
I love that term, but I despise those who live in it. There are no good old days. The good times are all gone, to paraphrase Rodney Crowell and those who helped write a song called "When the Blue Hour Comes."
Those who indulge the most sniff, snort and whine about the current generation, the Millennials. We know who we're talking about, the one who had everything given them for years, and they kept on taking. Many did not pass the torch, they tried to hang on, keep the power for themselves, and only delegate to the children they indoctrinated and trusted.
The bottom-feeding creatures have arisen from the dirt they were raised in, and their crawl across the asphalt desert is one that is depressing to watch. Those who are dying see death as a race to see who can do the most drugs, consume the most food, and yes, die with the most toys arrayed about their deathbed.
It's not leaving one's body for the next stage of life, but a slow, tasty suicide.
I am going to be 52 in November. I don't feel old, not really. The little things that nag at my frame are minor discomforts, but no more. Yes, I'm still haunted by anxiety, by depression, by the madness I've put on myself, but I have survived the worst.
And I see only the Best ahead for me. These last years are the good years. I will not steal from another, deny a young one an opportunity, step on the backs of others for something that probably is not mine.
I'll make my own road, and step on it. I am not a quitter. My goals are not set in stone, and I stay in broadcasting, because I still love it, it is still money, and I am a stubborn son of a bitch.
To get called that by the president, I'll bet #7 takes that as a compliment, because it go his attention, and stoked even more fear that guy's mind and soul.
Cling to the end, by your fingernails, and your death will be slow, painful, and horrifying. You don't want it. You don't need that.
I plan to live till I die, but I hope when I get to that end, I see my writing and my works lined up. If not fully published, I want the line set, and I hope to see where they are, and I hope to hear and see the reactions of those I touched.
That's better than fucking money, dude.
One of the reasons I don't blog much is because I work, I write, I refine, I edit, and I keep working. It keeps me alive.
I hope you will find a little life in the old dog, who hasn't had enough of a good thing. I hope you'll like what I write, and what I do.
I don't give a shit your politics or your religion. Or anything else. I may not agree, and some of my views may offend you and even infuriate you. More I think, from just not understanding it, but that's cool.
Unless you threaten me, attack me in some way or do some atrocious act, I'm not going to stop being your friend. Unless of course...you make it clear I am not now, nor ever were your friend.
I well remember one thing: 15, thinking I had friends, and then the very next day, feeling (no, it happened) that suddenly none of those people were my friends. They never were.
That's a pretty devastating feeling, and one that is magnified by youth, inexperience, and age.
Over and done with. You can look back, but hey, Baby Boomers...stop living there. Hopeless Nostalgia. Ain't worth it.
What's worth it is right fucking now. No old stories, make new ones, write new ones, be the ball.
Peace, Out.
