The Confabulator Cafe

Author: jcampbell

  • NaNoWriMo Week 2: Keep it Rolling

    I am a panster. I say that often, and I say it with pride. Most of my literary heroes, such as Bradbury and King, are pantsers. I write from the seat of my pants, and often I have no idea where it will take me. This year breaks with my past process because my NaNoWriMo novella is inspired by a short story that I had already written. I withdrew it from an anthology short-list in order to take a chance expanding the narrative into a longer work.

    I have a short outline, created from the sequence of the story, with a few bullet points added in for scenes I felt I would need to write in. In reality, I have yet to use it. I’ve discovered new things about my character and the things that happened to them. I have yet to feel lost or confused or frustrated. The writing is going well, yet in large bursting chunks. I don’t think I have written a word outside of the sanctioned write-ins.

    There are just too many things to do. Last week I read The Turn of the Screw, analyzed Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, read the 1818 text of Frankenstein, and began a unit on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. This week will involve an essay on ambiguity in The Turn of the Screw, reading Dracula, and various discussions involving both. If your eyes have glazed over, trust me, I am with you. I also worked three evenings this week, in addition to my normal day-job schedule, and submitted a third-person bio for a short story titled “Flute of the Dead,” which will be appearing in Bete Noire Magazine very soon. Yet, the hardest part has been shutting off my narrative for Mama’s Little Boy while working on my literary criticism. When I am working on a piece, it sneaks into my head at weird, random times, which can be distracting when trying to closely read other works of Gothic fiction.

    That being said, I’m not too far behind the 50,000 pace, and am in good shape for my targeted 25,000. Most importantly, I am enjoying the writing, and have never gone to the keyboard with any sense of dread, outside of the normal dread that comes with being a working horror writer, anyway. I’ve been having a lot of fun. It’s been good to see so many friends and so much interest from the Lawrence community. A special thanks should be made to the Lawrence Public Library and the Lawrence Journal World, both of which have brought us a lot of good exposure this year.

    It’s been a good month so far. I can’t want to see what the next week brings.

    NaNoWriMo Progress: 12,608 words.

  • Attack of the NaNo Machines

    November is a pretty special time in our household. November means NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This month, I will see a lot of friends, and spend a lot of time working on the first draft of a new novel.

    This year will be a little interesting. I am a dedicated pantser. I don’t go into most projects with any sort of plan. I have a concept and generally an opening line, but that is about it. This year, I’ve decided to expand a previous short story.

    I wrote “Mama’s Little Boy” based on a news report I read about a guy who kept his dead mother in the attic. He didn’t tell anyone she died because he wanted to keep collecting her social security check. It was one of those cases where real life was just as twisted anything I could come up with on my own.

    I was pretty happy with the short story, overall, but several people mentioned in a writing workshop that they wanted to know more about the story. I decided to expand the original short story into a novella. The interesting part about this is that by using my original short story as source material, I am basically using an outline, which is a first for me outside of screenwriting, and makes me more than a little nervous.

    I’ve expanded the story significantly, and changed toe structure of the story. So far, I am a little over 6,000 words in, and I am relatively happy with it. By the end of the month, hopefully I will have a serviceable first draft that will amount to something after the re-writes. Given that I am still working on my Master’s degree this November, my plan is to end with a novella of around 25,000 words.

    After graduation, I am going to get some of these novels re-written and see what happens. First, however, I need to finish this draft of Mama’s Little Boy, and make it through this November with both an original novella and an A in my classes.

    NaNoWriMo Progress: 6338 words and counting.

  • Alan Ryker’s Nightmare Man (Book Review)

    18297261In Alan Ryker’s Nightmare Man, Jessie, a young collections agent and would-be artist deals with his night terrors, in which he is haunted by dreams of the shadowy Nightmare Man. Jessie’s disorder has become dangerous to his family, as it sends him on sleeping rampages throughout the house as he attempts physical battle with his dream monster.

    His marriage and job in jeopardy, Jessie seeks medical help and finds himself in experimental trials for a new drug to combat his night terrors, and eliminate the Nightmare Man. But when his son begins his own night terrors, Jessie is forced to ask if the Nightmare Man is only in his head, or is something much worse.

    I really like Alan Ryker’s writing style. He has a conversational tone that puts you at ease, which makes the escalating tension all the greater. In this case, I also felt a personal connection with Jessie, the protagonist. Jessie was an aspiring comic book artist until the birth of his son forced him to take a job that would pay the bills rather than pursue the art he loved. A little known fact is that I was an initially an art major in college and spent most of my childhood drawing comic books. While I have mentioned that in passing on various blogs, it’s not well known that I have issues with parasomnia, the family of sleep disorders that includes night terrors.

    I don’t have the issue quite to the level of Jessie, and I wouldn’t consider myself dangerous, but people sleeping in the same bed have been punched, choked, kicked, or groped. In one particular incident, I apparently attempted to bite my ex-wife. I’ve always said that the best horror takes your fears and turns the volume up to eleven.  As such, I found myself relating well to Jessie. But even without my personal attachment, it is easy to connect to Ryker’s protagonist. Notice, I didn’t say “like.” There are things not to like about Jessie, as he is a fully drawn character with some definite flaws. I won’t get into them here, because some of them are important to the story, as Ryker explores the relationship between our personal identities and our life choices.

    The horror in this novella is not overdone or over-complicated; it is fairly simple and is done very well. At under 100 pages, it is a quick read with a lot going for it. If you like horror novellas, DarkFuse is a good place to start, and Ryker is one of their best.

  • The Red Tree by Caitlin Kiernan (Book Review)

    The Red TreeThe Red Tree is the story of Sarah Crowe, a writer who rents a rural Rhode Island house. Sarah is running from a lot of things: her career, her agent, the book she can’t seem to write, and her girlfriend Amanda’s suicide. There, in the cellar of the stifling old house, she finds typewriter and an old manuscript. Titled The Red Tree, the manuscript is the historical work of the house’s former tenant, an academic who hung himself with an extension cord before completing his work. His subject is the ancient red oak near the house, and the tragedies that seem to surround it. Sarah becomes obsessed with the manuscript, as well as with Constance, the young artist who rents the attic.

    Kiernan writes a line in this book talking about the old horror versus the new horror. The old horror, specifically Algernon Blackwood, whom she mentions by name, was largely atmospheric, defined almost as much by what you weren’t shown. The new horror, blatantly influenced by horror cinema, often shows you everything. Blood splatters as monsters crawl, saliva dripping from their teeth. As a result, a lot of horror writers are torn between two worlds of the Gothic, the new and the old.
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  • My Mistakes

    I bang my head against the fuselage as I board the plane, reminding me that I am probably making a mistake.

    “Oh, didn’t see that comin’, did ya?” says a short, pudgy flight attendant. She laughs. Her permed red hair jiggles. Her chubby cheeks squeeze her eyes closed. She looks like a less-charming Edie McClurg, the secretary from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I caddied for Edie once.

    I grin and don’t say anything. If there is one thing I’ve learned in my twenty years of Hollywood, it’s that no one wants to hear it unless you are famous. I’m no one. I work my way towards my seat, clutching my leather journal, the only thing I am taking onto the plane. The overhead bins are too small for standard carry-on baggage. In a stroke of airline industry genius, they slapped a carry-on sticker on the side, and then checked it with the rest of my luggage.

    My seat looks out the window, over the wing. I have barely sat down when I am introduced to my neighbor, a man of roughly three hundred pounds whose ass oozes over the seat. His love handles engulf the armrests, slowly devouring them like The Blob. I wedge my hand into God knows what fold, searching for the other end of my seat belt. Where is Steve McQueen when you need him? Steve shook my hand once. I told him I hoped I was half as successful as he was. He said, “Kid, I hope you are half as successful as me, too.” (more…)

  • Quote Me On That

    “Quotes are nothing but inspiration for the uninspired.” – Richard Kemph, writer and retired British military Commander.

    I love quotes. If you have followed this site from the beginning, you might remember that my posts always began with a quote. I would find some insightful nugget that illustrated my point and tag it to the top of the page. There is something spectacular about a good quote. They seem to transcend time and genre.

    That being said, you might be surprised that I don’t keep track of them. I don’t write down lines that struck me as interesting. I don’t note interesting quotes I find. I enjoy them for the minutes, and then I kick them loose. If I am looking for a quote on a specific topic, I use it and send it on its way. When reading, I rarely underline or make notes unless I will be doing literary criticism on that particular work.

    Quotes might be useful, but in the hierarchy of creative inspiration, they rank pretty low. They are just sort of a fun afterthought, like the mint at the bottom of the Sonic bag. It’s like finding a penny on the ground. Its a nice surprise, but it has to be pretty shiny for me to pick up.

    The way I see it, I absorb everything I read on either a conscious or subconscious level. Whether I actively remember it or not, it is drifting around my head, adding to the creative mix, waiting for its moment. For example, I recently read Cover by Jack Ketchum. I adore Jack Ketchum’s work. His stories are haunting, but quite honestly I couldn’t remember a single phrase from the story. I remembered the book. I remembered a strong emotional connection. I didn’t remember a single line of actual writing.

    Part of that is Ketchum’s writing style. He never gets in the way of his characters, letting them take the stage while never drawing attention to himself. It’s a spectacular talent, and there are lots of writers who don’t have it. You are sucked into the story to such a depth that it stops being sentences on paper. Ketchum is capable of good one-liners. Looking up his quotes, you have such lines as “Black coffee’s a lot like whiskey, you know? All devil and no trimmin’s. Always liked my sins pure and take it as it comes” (from Off Season). Or, “As though all the world were a bad joke and she was the only one around who knew the punchline” (from The Girl Next Door, along with its haunting opening line “You think you know about pain?”)

    When I have a truly good connection to a book, I don’t have the time to write down an interesting quote, anymore than the guy wearing the clown-wig and foam hands in the endzone has time to write down Tom Brady’s yards per attempt. I have to get to the next page, and anything that slows me down is my enemy.

    I write the same way that I read, at a breakneck pace, as if typing under a million words a minute will let the demons catch me. I write with emotion-filled desperation. I don’t worry about being clever. I leave that for rewrites. Quotes, while fun, are just a small part of my emotional gasoline. I wander into the fumes, strike a match, and just hope make it out alive.

     

  • TAG

    EXHIBIT A. Transcription of Subject’s Yellow Post-It Notes

    Dear Tag,

    I bought a ficus. I thought it might cheer things up around here. Please remember to water it. I cleaned up the spilled beer in the refrigerator. Please be more careful. It got on the strawberries.

     

    Theodore,

    The ficus is dead. Not sure what happened, but that thing is shit brown and crispy. I puked behind the couch. Couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I must be coming down with something. We’re out of beer.

    (more…)

  • Strange New Directions: The Importance of Research

    If fiction is the doorway to new and exciting worlds, then research is the door frame. No one ever notices it. They concentrate on the brass handle, the polished hinges, and the flawless paint, such a deep midnight blue that you expect to see constellations of stars bursting from the glossy surface. No one notices the door frame, but it supports the whole thing. It allows the doorway to exist.

    The simplest research is never noticed, unless you get it wrong. Small details that may not seem important can damage the illusion of reality. I read a book recently where a character slept with a gun under her pillow, specifically a Glock, with her finger “curled” around the trigger and the safety on. This was an important prop interaction because it showed severe contrast and character change from when compared to a similar bedtime scene early on in the story. There is just one problem. There aren’t any external safeties on a Glock. The slightest jerk in her sleep and the girl would have blown her brains all over her Aunt’s comforter set. (more…)

  • Last Dance

    This story was originally written for the Story-In-A-Bag contest at ConQuest 45, where it won the Professional Horror category. Unfortunately, being a science fiction and fantasy convention, I was the only entry in that division, but hey, I’ll take the win.

    tumblr_mfpm9irOo51qa6xg1o1_500Cold air blew in the open window, and time stood still as Becky, Janet, David, and I sat circling a Ouija board on the rough, industrial carpet floor of the Clarke County Community Center business office. The metronomic ticking of the Roman-numeraled wall clock ground to a halt. A tie-dye lava lamp sitting half-buried in sloppy stacks of receipts and accounting ledgers froze, its bulbous contents suspended in a glowing blue state of stasis.

    “What the Hell just happened?” I said, glaring at my lifelong best friend Becky.

    (more…)

  • A View from a Park Bench

    bw4Imagine a story as a living, breathing planet. A lot of people live on it, and each one has his or her own perception of life. Everyone sees everything differently. In theory, every story has just as many perspectives. How do you know which one is important?

    There are a lot of things to consider, but when writing a first draft considerations are meaningless. Sitting at a keyboard to write a story is a lot like sitting on a bench in Central Park. Lots of people walk by without giving you the slightest bit of attention. Depending on your methodology, you either wait for someone to sit down and start a conversation, or you scream profanities at them like a nut-job. I know people who sit down to write, and if it isn’t coming that day, they get back up and go do laundry. I am on the opposite end of the spectrum. My park scenario is chasing people down, screaming “You can’t get away from me!”

    Whoever I manage to tackle becomes my perspective. Like most predators, I tend to pick off the weak. My characters generally have a multitude of issues. They are fragile, emotionally and sometimes physically. I hold them down and make them cry. A lot of times, that means that the point-of-view of my first draft is decided for me. It belongs to whoever wanders too close to my particular park bench.

    After the first draft is finished, I have to start worrying about actual technique and theory. My story may or may not be best served by the perspective I have discovered. In “Flute of the Dead,” which will be appearing in Bete Noire Magazine’s anniversary issue this coming Halloween, I follow Len, a tribal musician, in his exodus from his home as he flees cannibalistic invaders. In the original story,  Len died about three pages in. The story revolved around his 8 year-old sister. After the first draft, I completed a major reconstruction of the story, which included the deletion of my original protagonist.

    There is no loyalty in fiction. Writing is a solitary profession. Editing is a cruel business. You write from your heart, pouring your soul onto paper. You edit with your brain. Every element has to carry its own weight. Those that don’t must be cut, no matter how beautiful or clever they seem.

    Things like POV and perspective are tools for the creation of art. It is my duty as a writer to use those tools as efficiently as possible. Sometimes, as with “Flute of the Dead,” that means drastic restructuring of story elements, eliminating characters and scenes, creating new ones in their place, and various other modifications.

    The goal is strengthen the story as much as possible. Trial and error will help me to do that. Ultimately, it fortifies both my story and my career. The important thing is to find a voice and hold it down long enough to get the story out, but still be willing to tackle the next guy if need be.