The Confabulator Cafe

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  • Storms

    The small child curled tightly under his blanket as the storm raged. The thunder rattled his bedroom window, the lightning flashing so bright it penetrated his blanket and his closed eyelids. Downstairs another storm was picking up tempo, the roars of of the tempest underneath him making him huddle tighter, his arms futilely covering his ears.

    Outside, God showed his disdain for the boy’s room, fierce winds whipping the hard rain and hail against the side of his window. He knew the storm was trying to get in, that it would batter his window until the glass shattered. Then it would get him. The storm would reach in with its cold, wet arms and plunk him, fighting and screaming from his bed, dragging him into the dark. Only his blanket kept him safe.
    (more…)

  • Dancing and Feeling Good About Publishing

    "The politics of moving, aha - If this message's understood..."
    “The politics of moving, aha – If this message’s understood…”

    Recently I sent my novel to a publisher for consideration. I try not to think about it too much but I’ve got my fingers metaphorically crossed they’ll accept it. The key is to keep expectations low.

    However, I can’t not think about the future. It’s sort of what I do.

    To do that, I think about the past and what I thought the future would be. At some point I (and a lot of others) thought sure that the future would be filled with chrome and jetpacks and flying cars. Even silly things like The Jetsons gave us ideas, like video phones and the three-day work week.

    In every version of The Future, there were things that were a lot the same as they were then, or now, if you prefer. There’s always food, almost always entertainment of some sort and always relationships. There are always corporations, too.

    Since I’m a writer, the particular corporations I’m interested in today are the ones that publish stories, entertainments. Like the one I sent my novel to.

    In the last thirty years, entertainment has changed dramatically. Gone are the 12”, 33 1/3 Long Playing records of my youth in favor first of cassettes, then CDs and now digital formats like MP3. Gone are the four networks and their summer rerun schedules in favor of first VHS, then DVD and now cloud-based streaming on smaller screens. Not gone, but certainly less prevalent are the bound books made of paper that are migrating to a computer cloud where one can read but doesn’t necessarily own anything any more despite paying for the privilege.

    Books in particular come in multiple formats: paper, audio, digital. Some are from major publishers, some from smaller presses and a great many more are self-published. (more…)

  • Where’s My Sock?

    “Wait for it…wait for it…” Neb whispered in anticipation.

    “Damn it, Joel, why are your socks shoved into the cushions of the couch?” The woman made a disgusted sound and tossed the offending articles of clothing across the room.

    “I have no idea. It’s not like I put them there,” the man shouted back.

    Neb and the rest of us cracked up laughing – little Jol actually rolled around on the ground, he was laughing so hard. It was a pretty standard trick, as far as sock gremlin pranks go, but it was a classic, and always good for a laugh.

    (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…)

  • Books Are for Boring People, Not Ten Year Olds

    I’ve done research. I’ve spent hours in a library, flipping through books so dusty I couldn’t stop sneezing for weeks after touching them. I’ve gotten lost in the stacks of my University library, fearfully glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. The flickering lights and echoing silence of the building can’t help but make me feel like I’m trapped on the set of a horror film.

    I’ve done research. I’m familiar with what it takes. But that’s for writing boring papers. That sort of research is what you do when you have to worry about being factually correct.

    It isn’t the type of research that you do when you’re ten years old and you and your best friend decide you’re going to write a novel. (more…)

  • Soul Mate

    Dear P,

    I’ve never written a letter like this. Never really felt the need to, but what we have is special, and I want to put my feelings to paper, regardless of who may see it in the end.

    They will judge us, but I do not care. The things we have experienced together go beyond anything anyone has ever done for me, and I can honestly say that I would be lost without you. If there ever comes a time when we cannot be together in the way in which we have grown accustomed, my life will no longer be worth living, and I will gladly welcome its end.

    Whenever I see you, my day brightens. Even catching a glimpse of you sets my heart beating faster, and to be able to caress your soft, smooth skin is sweeter than any heaven I have ever imagined.

    Thinking about our special moments always brings a smile to my face. Like that time at the park when we spent all day outside together. We played so hard, and you were so sore the next day you could hardly move. But it was worth it, that feeling of freedom as the sun beat down on us and the warm summer air tickled our skin.

    We were careful that day and mostly kept to ourselves, but still that policeman saw us and tried to chase us away. I was scared as we hid behind the bushes, but you loved it. Your excitement was obvious, and I couldn’t wait to get you home.

    I remember, too, that night in the theater. We sat in back and were nearly caught in our moment of passion. I had grown bolder by then, less hesitant, and you never wavered for a moment. You were rock solid. I have always loved that about you.

    You never seem to shy away from the risks, and whenever I hold you, I feel confident and reassured. I have no doubt people will think I’m ridiculous, but you give me purpose and direction, and I never, ever want to let you go.

    A world without you in it would not be a place worth inhabiting. You are my all, my everything, and I put you above all others. You are the driving force in my life, and you have shaped me into the man I am today.

    You are my best friend, and I am so thankful that you are my penis.

    With all my deepest love,

    Me

  • Timber

    http://www.thetortoisetable.org.uk/common/files/catalogue/55/large/falseacacia%20_lr_nov092.jpgI held still.

    The forest all around me soughed with the gentle breeze and I closed my eyes and listened to the symphony of oaks and maples and larch and locust and poplar. Each leaf gave an individual sound, the wind breaking through the different shapes and sizes and positions. I understood the complexities of playing a clarinet or bassoon suddenly even though I’d never picked up a musical instrument in my life.

    Tools I understand. I’m a Builder. That’s why I was in the forest.

    *

    “You have to do this for me,” my brother said. He lay in a hospital bed dying of colon cancer. He was too young for this and younger than me. Life isn’t fair. “You have to.” His voice was not even a fourth what it had been when he was strong. Now it was reedy, full of too much air and almost hollow.

    He held on to my hand with a strength he’d always had but never showed.

    “I will, Ollie. I promise.” I hated this. I was crying and I didn’t want my little brother to see me crying. Our sister would have torn me up for showing emotion like that. Susan was a bitch but I loved her and Ollie more than almost anything. My own family were the only ones above them. I sniffed and stopped trying to hold back the tears.

    “I can’t go until you do, Jamie.” Ollie always had a penchant for gravitas and that’s what made him good at what he did. He could write copy like no one else and he had that shelf of awards to prove it.

    “I’ll go out there first thing in the morning,” I said. I sniffed again.

    Ollie nodded and let go of my hand. The drugs finally took him and let him rest.

    *

    Out in the hall I stopped to hug Ollie’s wife. We both cried and held tight to each other. In another world, I might have won her affection if I hadn’t met Marta around the same time. Charlene chose Ollie, picked him from all her suitors and made sure he knew just how much she loved him. Being a former Miss Texas USA, she attracted all sorts of men – and women – just by being in a room.

    “What does he want you to do?” She hadn’t put on any makeup and her face was blotchy from crying.

    “A small thing,” I said. I looked at the floor. “Tomorrow morning.”

    “Oh god.” Charlene wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Jesus.”

    I took a step back. “He’s sleeping now.”

    “You haven’t told me.”

    “What?” I shuffled to my left half a step.

    The glare she shot me withered away any resolve I might have had. Still, she didn’t need to know everything. I sighed.

    “There’s a tree out on our parents’ property. He wants me to use it in the house.”

    Her face melted from stern reproach to confusion. “I don’t understand.”

    “You don’t really have to, Char,” I said. “This is what he wants me to do for him.” (more…)

  • The Only Constant is Change

    As the old adage goes, the only thing constant in life is change. Everything in life changes, and people are always left struggling to catch up. The publishing industry is no exception to this rule.

    With the introduction of electronic books and the rise of self publishing via websites like Create Space, LuLu, and Smashwords, the shape of publishing as most writers knew it is morphing into something new and different. It’s becoming more of a “do it yourself” atmosphere, and I’m not sure how much that is affected by the up and coming generations’ sense of entitlement or if it’s just a sign of the times.

    Ebooks are attractive because there is very little cost to put out product, which means product costs less, so the consumer buys more. In theory.

    The old powerhouses are losing their solid hold. They have somewhat outdated business practices and are struggling to change, but it’s like a turtle with the world on its back – it takes time and huge effort to adjust course. Small presses are springing up everywhere, and because they are small and new, they can jump right into what seems to be working. (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…)

  • When I Do Research, I Try to Have Fun

    For many years, I didn’t write fiction that required a lot of research… on purpose. I wrote either short stories or fan fiction, and focused more on the characters and the situations than writing the sort of stories that needed research.

    I did the generic sort of stuff — checking Wikipedia for setting information, reading that one sex site everyone recommends for fan fiction writers — but until I started writing Real Adult Novels with Actual Stuff in them, I didn’t do a whole lot of factual research.

    I still haven’t done a ton. My NaNo’ing has left me in the habit of leaving notes and saving the research for stage two. I’ve only gotten one novel through that stage. There was a lot of boring research on diabetes and stuff. (I even called a medical professional friend!)

    However. There are a few memorable moments.

    (more…)