On The Dark Tower Book 1: The Gunslinger

If y'all haven't realized by now, I'm an avid Stephen King fan. My fandom began in high school when I picked up my mom's discarded copy of Dreamcatcher. It didn't take long for me to become hooked. By the time I finished the book, I wanted more. Over the years I've coll
ected and read several of Mr. King's books, but I never wanted to delve into The Dark Tower series because, whenever I heard about it, or read synopsis' of it, I was like, I don't give a shit about this "Gunslinger" or "The Man in Black." What do I care about two dudes chasing each other through the desert trying to reach some mystical tower? I don't care! Which is why I never bothered to pick up these books and just held fast with his other library of fiction. I've always been content with all the other works, and never wanted to explore his Magnum Opus. I guess I was just being a fiction snob.

Well, if you're not living under a rock, you may have heard that a movie is being made about The Dark Tower. As a King fan, I feel obligated to see this movie, whether it's shit or not. Most of the films based on his books are straight up garbage. Probably some of my favorites are the aforementioned Dreamcatcher, Stand By Me, Misery. I also enjoy Pet Semetary despite the fact that it's an awful, festering turd of a movie. So, The Dark Tower movie is supposed to be out this winter, I figured it's high time that I haul ass and get to reading these books so I can be critical and compare the movie to the books. I'm sure filmmakers being as they are will try to stretch out this series, it's eight books in total, so they may turn this in to eight separate movies. If that's the case, then I've already got the first book down and I'm ready to watch this flick.

As I began this book, my initial thoughts were holy shit this is boring, I wish I was reading anything else besides this. To me, King's writing style in this book is not very reminiscent of the majority of his other work, but maybe that's the whole idea. Maybe that's why he's a writing master. The book started out with Roland, the Gunslinger in some desolate town, probably looking for a rest after chasing Walter, The Man in Black. The time isn't really specified in the story line, it seems to be some sort of alternate reality, such that, our reality for example, exists, but Roland has no knowledge of it. While he's on the hunt for Walter, he sees mirages and experiences mind tricks sent to him by Walter. In this dusty little town, he meets a woman, naturally. She owns one of the little taverns. She tells him about the town loony toon who's trying to push her crazy religion on everyone. Roland and the tavern woman begin humping, he gets more information about Walter out of her after each hump session. He suspects this woman is placed before him as an obstacle, that the whole little town is placed before him as an obstacle. Crazy church lady is holding service a few days later and is spewing nonsense about Roland being an evil sorcerer and he needs to be stopped. The townspeople become zombies, essentially and Roland has to blow everyone away, including his hump buddy.

Through the story, we flip flop back and forth between now and Roland's childhood. He was brought up to be a gunslinger by his teacher who is a total dip shit and treats the kids like shit. Eventually, when Roland reaches the age of 14, he decides it's time for the student to become the teacher and challenges his teacher to a fight to the death. Roland has a pet hawk named David that he's going to use as his weapon. The teacher uses a staff. When they arrive to fight, Roland commands David to attack the teacher. He does so, clawing at him with his talons and ripping his eyes out with his beak. It's some pretty graphic business. Teach and Roland tussle, Teach inevitably kills David with his staff, which I found to be the saddest part of the whole book, thank you. Teach gives up and gives Roland the key to the gun cabinet so he can take his father's guns and frig off. And.. we're here with the Gunslinger today.

He moves on to another sleepy town where he encounters a youngish boy, Jake. Jake is apparently from our reality, he talks about living in a city and bus lines, the whole nine, and Roland has no idea what the hell he's talking about. It's implied that Jake may be an apparition, but he sure as hell seems pretty real. Roland agrees to let Jake come with him since he is on his own, and we basically follow them through the desert for the rest of the book until they make it to a cave where Walter is apparently hiding. In the cave they are attacked by some random creatures. and after fighting them off once, the creatures return and Jake inevitably falls down a crevasse and is seemingly worm food. Roland pays no mind and continues on to Walter. He meets with him and one would expect them to start duking it out, but they just hang out, have a fire and have some nice conversation. Walter says he has no intentions of killing Roland, but warns him a drawing is taking place, and Roland should be prepared. The next book in the series is aptly named "The Drawing of the Three" so... a little foreshadowing, eh?

My take on it is... I really had no idea what the hell was going on the entire time. The writing was obviously great, but I'm glad it was a shorter book. I'm sure it was just meant to be an introduction to the key characters and to set the basis for the entire adventure. Last night, as I was finishing the book, I found my mind wandering to different books in my "to-read queue." In any case, I'll be starting book two tomorrow, maybe that shit will make more sense to me.

On A Month Deep Into 2015

Well... now that we've got that nasty bitch called January out of the way, why don't we breeze through February and March while we're at it too?

To quote Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day, winter in the Midwest and Northeast really will be cold, it's going be grey, and it's going to last you the rest of your life. At least... that's what it feels like when you're ass deep in it.

Then again, without the shitty Michigan winters, how can one truly enjoy the majestic pleasures of the summer and fall. You know, the nice four months, maybe five of warm weather you get to enjoy before you totally freeze your ass off for the rest of the year. Without one extreme, you really can't enjoy the other.

In any case, I've held true to my promise to myself. I sat my bony ass down in that chair and started my new project. It happened one day after work when I happened to have an hour or so to myself. No one was home, the house was quiet, I thought.. I... I might get to write right now. By golly, I'm taking advantage of this. I eagerly climbed the stairs and walked into my office that is still lined with boxes despite having moved in last May. I turned on my computer, opened the word processor, and looked at that blank white screen, that blinking cursor taunting me again. I felt a rush of fear, starting over again. Will it be any good? Will I see this one through to fruition? Will I write what I really want to write? Should I be worried if people will judge me? Piss on it, I thought, and started typing.

I'll be honest. I know this will be a book of short stories. Probably four good length ones in total. Aside from having a few quick ideas of how to start them, I really have no idea how any of the stories will turn out. I don't know the characters, I don't know the story lines, I'm really just swinging blindly in the dark. I know I want the stories to be real, to be visceral, gritty. I want to impose some sort of shock value, I want the reader to really imagine what it might feel like if the story on the page were real. Of course, don't all writers want that? Maybe... or maybe some of them just want to make boat loads of money and have their crummy stories being made into crummier movies. I won't lie, I'd love to make boat loads of money on my stories and have my best selling book made into a blockbuster movie, but I really don't think that's in the cards. I really just want to write to get people's imaginations churning.

While it will be slow going, I'm thrilled to be back at it again. It's somewhat invigorating to be at the beginning again. To go through the whole process. I'm looking forward to going through the finished project piece by piece, to edit, get the copyright information, register it, design the cover, put it out into the world. I think this one I'll work a little harder on advertising, I feel like this one might really be something. Or maybe it will be drivel, something only useful in starting your campfire. Time will tell.

On Inspiration

Should it surprise you that I've been running my mouth about getting back to work on my writing, and I haven't done shit about it? I know it doesn't surprise me. I come up with new excuses every day for not sitting down in the chair and starting the new project.

• I sit at a computer all day at work
• I have to wait until G-Money goes to bed to maybe get an hour of work in. By then, I'd rather watch Mad Men (which I'm addicted to and will probably be addressed in another post.)
• Gah! I just want to relax by reading a book (I'm gaining a small stack of "to read" books that I'm anxiously wanting to burn through)
• I want to go to sleep
• It's pointless to sit in the chair because I'll just watch the clock until I decide it's time to go to bed.

The thing is. I'm working everything out in my head. I know I'm doing a book of short stories. I know I want it to be dark. Like, twisted, haunt your dreams kind of dark. I suppose I'm apprehensive about how far I can really go without having people think I'm some sort of crazed lunatic writing about what I really think. Well, let's be honest, whenever someone writes something, there's always an element of truth in the writing, a little part of that person mixed in with the characters. In any case, I don't want people looking at me stranger than they already do. Ah, I kid. I'm at a point in my life where I shouldn't care about what people think. I mean, anyone who has given birth knows your dignity and caring what people think go right out the window since you've got a team of people all up in your business.

This is another excuse I tell myself. I'm withholding writing what I really want because I don't want to expose any sort of vulnerability. On the other hand, it might be fun to keep people wondering about me. There's two sides to every person. Their mask, which they wear for everyone around them, and what's underneath the mask, their true selves.

On the plus side, I can pacify myself by saying that I'm constantly pulling ideas from everyone and everywhere. Sometimes it's nice to be that quiet person lurking in the corner observing instead of being in the center of it. It really makes for great material.

On "That Writing Itch"

Lately I've had thoughts swirling through my head to write. To write something, to write anything. If y'all remember, I was working on another manuscript before I became knocked up with G-Money. Of course, I thought what I was writing was a huge, flaming turd, but rumor has it, that all writers feel that way about their work.

This itch has returned with a vengeance. It's uncontrollable, it's a tick, I'm jonesin'. Yet, I've done nothing about it. Why? I'll blame it on the kid. I'll say, between working full time and trying to give G-Money a happy childhood, there's just no time for writing. Go ahead, you can call bullshit. It's probably true. If I was a total die-hard, my ass would be in the chair after the boy goes to bed. I'd spend an hour or so after his bedtime and before mine feeding my addiction, hunched over the computer desk, staring at the white screen, blinking cursor, thinking of some sort of twisted shit to write.

Do you want to know what I do instead? I chill for five minutes and enjoy the silence and wind down from the tornado that boy is. I let the dog out, and stand out on the deck, listening to crickets and bullfrogs. I pick up the myriad of toys he's strewn all over the house. I tell the cat to shut his fat mouth because he's not eating AGAIN. I plop down on my bed and start reading some quality fiction and escape for a half hour or so before I pass out. Basically, I'm making up excuses not to park my ass in the chair and write.

Lately, I've been thinking about revamping "Stress Test" so it's not so cagey. I've been thinking about rerouting the whole plot, but then, it would cease to be its former self. I think part of the reason I didn't go hard into promoting that book is because, I didn't feel like it was my best work, but it was the best that that story was going to get, at that time. But now, a few years later, maybe I have more to offer to the story. I think revamping the former work is also giving me an excuse not to work on my current "sitting in the drawer" manuscript.

The bottom line is, no matter what else I'm doing with my life, deep down, I've still got the urge to write. Even though, I don't do it nearly as much as I should, (or at all right now for that matter.) It's been a constant for two decades, and I'm sure it will never amount to anything, but at least it will be out there.

On Getting Published

I finally finished writing, editing, formatting, double checking, and then checking again and declared my book finished. I decided to toss it out into the pond to see if there were any bites before trying to really sell the thing. I published it on the Kindle platform, and also on Smashwords, which will allow it to be purchased or downloaded virtually anywhere. Yes, I've sold a few copies (to loyal friends) who have told me that so far they like it, which is always great to hear. My mother, read it cover to cover in one day and then proceeded to call me and tell me how fabulous it was (but she is way biased.) It's enough to make me think, I should keep going at this writing thing, keep doing it. Maybe one day, I'll make something out of myself and I won't be stuck on cubicle square for the rest of my working life, which let's be honest, is my main goal, to get out of here and do something I truly love. Last week I started work on a second book. I'm already at the first big conflict scene, I've yet to start writing it, because I don't know exactly how I want it to go yet. I do have a good feeling about this second book though. It's going to be darker than the first, with more of a thriller feel to it. It's just rough, working all day, looking at a screen, and then coming home and working for a few more hours, staring at a screen. Hopefully one day, I can sustain on royalties, and maybe a part time job to get by, allowing me to write more, when I'm fresher. Or maybe I'd just be a slacker in the nice weather and go hang out at the park instead of working. Of course, there's no excuse for not working while at the park, there's always longhand, or a laptop, etc. Anyway, even though the sales aren't coming in at the moment, it's still exciting to have something I wrote out in the world. It's out there to reach people, if they so want to be reached by this book. I'm just hoping it's entertaining to those who read it.