I mentioned previously that I know my writing needs a lot of work. Well one of the best pieces of advice I've received so far in my writing is this. Show Don't Tell. Throughout most of my first draft I found I had such a vivid image in my mind and I wanted to convey exactly what I saw happening. Of course, words can only describe so much. If you want an example of the limitations of language, try to write an instruction set on how to tie your shoes. Once you think you have it, give it to someone else to follow exactly how it is written. Trust me, it get's annoying fast. English just doesn't have the words of expressions to capture every type of motion. I found myself going into extreme detail and using redundancies simply to tell the reader how someone jumped.

In order to avoid this, you may have to make some sacrifices. I know I did. Sure it might not seem as epic to you, but if done correctly, your reader can fill in the gaps with their own imagination. Here's my crappy example.

In my first draft I wrote...
Lee playfully whirled the weapons in a windmill pattern about him before planting the tips into the dirt in front of him. 

After reading it I switched to...
His swords danced teasingly about before resting just in front of him. 

The second could be interpreted in many ways and I am no longer telling the reader exactly what he did. I certainly find it more appealing as a reader but I think it still has room for improvement. If you are a new writer watch out for sentences like the first one. I know I have a lot of editing to do now because I was too focused on explaining a perfect image instead of leaving it for the reader to see themselves.



I've also recently made a decision to begin a new project and to post my new story instead of chapters from my manuscript. My reasoning is that I want to develop my skills on a smaller project before really going at the story I've had in my head for so long. Truth is, I'm ready to fail but I don't want to drag my main story down with me because it's too good of an idea for me to slander. So here is the first bit from my new story.

Chapter 1:

Another muggy night felt all the more stifling sitting next to a vent of steam rising up from the sewers. The few lit lamps caught the low haze to give the whole street a dull glow. Theo drew a pack from inside his jacket and smacked out a cig. While he smoked, he gazed hollowly at the twisting wisps of smoke that rose from the ember.

A rap of knuckles tapped on the doorframe behind him. “Another night they won’t show?”

“They’ll show,” he answered. Another long drag served to calm his nerves. “New gangs rely on mind games to give them an advantage.”

“Do you think-“

“No Marc and neither should you.” He tapped ashes off his smoke just inches from Marc’s shoes; a clear signal to get lost.

Theo tried and failed to get back into his earlier state of mind while listening to the fading footsteps. Before Marc interrupted him he had felt like the only person in the city. To his right, an empty street stretched beyond his vision. The misshapen houses were all shuttered and locked tight as well as could be. Any self-aware resident knew what went down at this time of night.

To his left, the wall cut perpendicular to the street, capping it off a few yards after it passed his stoop. No barbed wire adorned the top, no guards patrolled its length, and no law prevented him from scaling it. Still, it was amazing the psychological effect a ten foot wall could have. Pristine lights of every color shown down over the barrier from arching condos and offices. Although it was clear that the far side was inhabited, on this night there were no sounds echoing through the humid air.

His cigarette neared its end. Rather than saver the last few puffs, he flicked the butt towards a mucky pothole and was rewarded with the slightest splash when it hit his mark. He felt ready now, ready to defend his turf for the third time in a month. It seemed about time for them to make their appearance. He would know, they were using his favorite technique.

A quick bout of shadow boxing raised his heart rate to where he knew it needed to be. Someone inside must have noticed him judging by the sounds now coming through the door-less entry. Hearing his platoon gear up gave him chills. The kind of chills he used to get stepping onto the canvass before thousands of cheering fans. Except things were far more feral now. No referee or clock would stop the fight and rules were a thing of the past. What better way to test his skills though? When he finally made his comeback he would be unstoppable. No coddled rich brat could stand up to fists that fought for survival instead of a trophy. 

My goal for this blog is to track my progress towards becoming a published author. It's a dream I'm sure millions have had before and I'm competing with so many brighter, smarter, and more creative people that it's rather depressing to think about. How does a kid fresh out of college with an Engineering degree break his way into the twisted world of publishing? Well, from what I've read on the always reliable interwebs, a big initial step is to gain a following. I'm still figuring that part out but for starters I know I need to put myself out there.

I'm not that good at writing but no one I know is willing to tell me that. All I've ever received were compliments and encouragement telling me that I'm a prodigy, that I simply must keep writing. I've won meaningless awards in high school for my writing, which only served to inflate my expectations. Now that I've written my first full manuscript I realized far too late that I had it all wrong. Truth is, my writing is pretty crap and I've fallen into every pitfall that a first-time novelist must be wary of. 

Despite it all, coming to this realization now may be my saving grace. I'm seeking help wherever I can find it in youtube videos, online magazine articles, and blogposts. I even started listening to the self publishing podcast at work. All the tools are out there for me as they are for you as well. The tough part is taking the plunge and truly going for it. So there you have it. I'm no one special, I don't have a degree involving writing, and I barely have time to write at the end of a working day. What I do have is a story that I wish to tell, and I wish to tell it well. If no one wants to read it that's fine. I just need to tell it on the chance that there's someone out there that's dying to hear it.

This has probably been done a thousand times before, but I plan on releasing bits of my unedited manuscript (well, one edit but I haven't grasped real editing yet) to go along with my progress. Feedback is always welcome especially if it's critical. Formatting is kind of a pain but I'll try to figure something out.

Chapter 1: Landings

 A small boat collided with the sandy shore of what was once called Australia. The weary inhabitants showed little emotion as their dreary eyes gazed upon the sparse landscape that was awaiting them.

“Get up out of my boat now, ya here?” the rower of the small landing craft told them. At that the travelers began dubiously exiting the craft by sliding over the sides into the shallows.  They sloshed ashore, most with heads hung, dragging with them what little they possessed. The lucky ones had ragged backpacks filled with a few days’ worth of stale biscuits they had pilfered from the main ships galley. Others were so unfortunate they had not even shoes to protect their feet from the burning sands. What they all had in common was the roots of their current calamity. Their ruling faction had lost the war to protect their homeland. Fear of becoming slave laborers doomed to serve their victorious masters had driven them to distant, nearly unreachable shores. Hope for them was that 8,000 miles of ocean proved too much for the enemy to traverse, at least until they had lived out their lives to fulfillment. For them, this land, as rough and ill-tempered as it was, remained the final refuge to anyone affected by the creeping advance of the Golden King and his armies.

“Hurry it up will ya!” cried out the rower for a second time, “I gotta make two more trips!”

“Could you point us towards the nearest town, sir?” asked a middle aged woman from the shore. Her eyes were dark and sunken; her hair frizzed and poking out in all directions from what could have been a handkerchief. In her arms she clutched a child weakly against her chest. At her request, others around her made to listen for a reply in the hopes they could glean some free information.

“How should I know?” replied the rower quite grumpily. “I ain’t getting paid to know nothing bout these parts. We drop yar sorry arses off here and that’s it!” he spat into the water as the last straggler plopped into the surf. With the last of his burdens gone, the rower immediately took back to his task and worked his boat around to head towards the main vessel.

Anchored far offshore was the ship that had borne the nearly fifty refugees and crew across the Pacific Ocean. Once, long, long ago, it had been burdened with hundreds of cargo containers. By right it had no business floating this length of time after its prime; however with much luck, time and ingenuity, a few men had kept it serving its purpose. Rust covered most of its hull which had been replaced or patched countless times. Most impressive were the colossal sails that had to be erected to power the beast with the fickle wind as the only viable fuel source available to it. Even with the ship gutted, leaving nearly little but a shell, it still could not manage much speed. Thus, the trip had taken nearly three months to complete factoring in navigational errors. Such a long trip, none of the refugees had ever been on. Coupling that with the price of the trip charged by the crew, it was no surprise that in their current state, few could bear even a weak smile when they finally saw land.

After a second arduous journey to shore and back, the small craft bumped into the corroded hull of the ship to pick up the last load of passengers. 

“Ya’ve seen how it’s done with the last lot!” the rower called out to the people hovering over the rail. “Get yerselves down the ladder an into the boat! If ye fall in the water, I ain’t gonna help yer wet arse into my boat, so don’t screw up!” he tied the craft to a rope, tethering it to the bobbing main vessel and a rope ladder was flung down the side from above. Above, the people looked around amongst themselves searching for a volunteer to take the hazardous climb first. When most had stepped back from the rail, a suitor finally came forward.

To outsiders he appeared to be an average young man, no more than 20 years of age. He wore a typical brown, scruffy smock covering an old gray shirt with matching leggings. His ash brown hair had been bleached in some spots into lighter, almost blonde color by weeks of exposure to the sun on deck. Few had seen much of this boy during the journey and he had purposely kept interactions with others to a minimum. From an outsider’s prospective, what set him apart from the group was twofold.  Slung over his back and secured with a thick, knotted rope was a long cloth covered object. With each step he took a clink of what sounded to be metal hitting metal emanated from under the cloth. Second to his unique possession, and what set him apart most, was the expression on his face. Just by looking at his eyes one could see that he was neither somber nor fatigued. In place of the uncertainty and the loss that unified the rest of the group, this boy had confidence and a look of new beginnings in his deep blue-grey eyes. Even more telling was the smirk he had managed when he stepped through the small crowd. Once at the rail he leaned over and called down to the rower who had sat back with his arms crossed waiting for someone to climb down.

“Hey! Is it alright if I just jump down?” he asked in a manner that surprised all who heard.  “I think it’d be a lot easier and quicker that way.” His voice was light and his tone upbeat. It sounded quite like he was addressing a friend or a colleague of his.

The rower was caught off-guard by not only the question, but the boys’ manner of asking. “…Huh..? Wha…? Jump from..? NO OF COURSE N..!” yelled the rower, but his pause had been taken the wrong way. To the absolute shock of everyone on the ship, and the absolute horror of the rower, the boy was already airborne after leaping the rail and now plummeting the nearly forty feet to the small boat below.