You're so neglected these days. As neglected as the police in a Martin Scorsese movie! As neglected as the laws of gravity in Independence Day! As neglected as Beatles fans during the Yoko period!
You have my apologies. Your creator's been busy.
Pulled near perfect PSAT and exam scores, thank you. Still editing the novel, still writing short stories. Trying to get articles published so I may have some creditability when the time comes to court an agent. Maybe court isn't the best word to use here...
Tack on guitar and piano lessons, academic team, and the bevvy of other interests that require tending. How can I watch movies, read, and play video games when I've got articles to write! Applies in reverse order as well. How can I write articles on this stuff when I haven't yet done it?
While I'm untangling myself from this paradoxical cycle, feel free to check out some other projects I'm working on:
Presented in Cinemascope! -- Reviews, previews, and little-known-facts about classic and modern cinema. Have a favorite movie? If I mention it, I assure you that you'll learn something new about it.
Our Blog is in Another Castle! -- All of the hottest news and rumors of the video game industry, plus tons of articles on the classics! Top tens, reviews, previews, retrospectives, trivia, and even some parental guides. Consider me an expert on the topic, parents. Feel free to toss me an email regarding a game your child wants. I'll give you the whole story.
On top if this, my novel is inching closer to complete completion. I'm hoping to finish the editing process by summer break.
I've been preparing a few articles for humor site Cracked. Not sure how that'll work out, but I'll be sure to keep y'all updated.
So where does this blog fit? What's its purpose? Well, it's my personal blog. I'll talk about myself as well as share my thoughts on writing.
Oh, by the way, I turned sixteen. Guess I have to change my banner.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, September 4, 2010
New blog news + a shiny new novel excerpt!
Summer came and went. Rather than spending more time writing without the burden of homework and tests, I actually wrote less. A good 20,000 words of the novel, but still less than when in school! Somebody explain that to me.
On second thought, don't. I know exactly why. Summer brought out the lazy schmuck within me. Now that school has arrived and AP classes are kicking my rear, I'm banishing that guy to the farthest corners of my mind.
I've been busy as of late, beginning with the new blog.
Presented in Cinemascope! is my latest project. You may not know this, reader, but I consider myself a knowledgeable film buff. My brain is loaded to the point of bulging with movie trivia and opinions on films, actors, directors, and those dusty LaserDiscs in your closet. From the Universal horror gems to today's summer CGI-fests, I'll be talking about them all. Please support!
Next on today's platter, my novel. As you may know, I finished the first draft a few months ago. It was the first time I've ever seen a single story all the way through. I let it sit for a few weeks so that I may come back to it with a fresh perspective. As I read it in its entirety on the first day of summer break, I laughed, cried, whooped with joy, cursed, and couldn't believe my eyes. Mom heard, "Great execution!" come from my room as often as "What is this piddle?!" There were certainly flaws, but overall I couldn't have been happier.
I began the second revision at the start of summer. I'm halfway in and going strong. Many changes were made, all certainly for the better. "To a world of gods and monsters!" is the tagline I've chosen. You might recognize it as a line from Bride of Frankenstein, 1935.
I'll end this post with an excerpt. You're at least a little curious, right? Our scene picks up immediately after main character Atticus the Sixth (who is plagued by a voice in his head) is pulled into the river by a demonic pony. He thinks he is going to drown or, worse, have his soul devoured, but just as his oxygen runs out and his eyes close, they open again. The water is gone. He finds himself in a vacant music store. Well, almost vacant. A shadowy man sits in a recliner in the middle of the store, strumming away on a guitar.
CHAPTER 9 - The Man in My Head Knows How to Rock
Have you ever been so dumbstruck and in such immense disbelief, that you can’t speak? I opened my mouth but only rapid breaths came out.
“Please, have a seat,” said the voice. Er, the man.
He snapped his fingers and a recliner appeared. I plopped into it, still on a quest to find my voice. Where are we? Who are you? Am I dead? Am I insane? A frenzy of questions swam through mind like pestered sharks.
“I can see you’re mute in surprise. No biggie," he said. "Let your fingers do the talking."
“Huh?” I finally managed.
He snapped his fingers again and a guitar unhooked itself from the wall. It floated toward me as if it were possessed by some musically inclined specter. As it gently landed in my grip, I gasped. A 1979 Gibson “Flying V” with a custom silver finish. The one with sound that can’t be written in onomatopoeia form. It was the guitar from my dreams, and this was the man who played alongside me.
“Who are you?” I instinctively wrapped my fingers around the neck and strummed a chord.
“A minor. Nice choice,” said the man. He played a bone-chilling riff, his fingers dancing over the neck with pristine grace. This guy was good. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that yet.”
He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Wavy blonde hair jutted out from underneath the brim of his bucket hat. He might’ve been wearing a hoodie, but I wasn’t sure. Like in my dream, he was only a black silhouette unless I squinted hard, and even then I couldn’t make out his facial features.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“My sanctuary.” He reached over and poked me on the forehead. “Your subconscious.”
“If you’re the voice in my head,” I said, “that means you’ve been here since I was a little kid. You’re hitching a ride in my brain?”
“More or less, yeah.”
Uneasiness settled over me. I felt violated. There was a spectator to all the embarrassing moments of my life? All those times I thought I was alone, I wasn’t?
“You should leave,” I barked.
“We meet face-to-face for the first time and that’s the greeting I get?” laughed the man. “Haven’t you ever heard of Greek hospitality?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of breaking and entering?” I countered, setting aside the guitar.
“Hey, I’m here for a reason.”
“Oh, this ought to be good." I crossed my arms. "For what reason could you possibly be here?”
“So that we may vanquish demons. Remember the Fucanglong dragon fiasco? That was just a taste of my power. Now I’m lending you the whole thing. The real deal. The power of a god.”
Before I could speak, he vanished. A glistening handle appeared in my hand. From it sprouted a gleaming silver blade. This sword had appeared in my hand in front of the hospital. I had swung, eyes closed in fear, and saved Lee by slicing off a Chinese dragon’s tongue.
That’s right, said the voice, emanating from the sword. Now it’s going to defeat a blood-thirsty bronco.
The recliner began to melt away from beneath me. The instruments faded from the walls more and more with each blink of my eyes. Within seconds the music store was gone all together. I stood in a world of stark white nothingness, but I didn’t feel alone. The sword sent shock-waves of power throughout my body. I closed my eyes, a determined smile creeping across my face.
It was time to vanquish a demon.
I opened my eyes and quickly felt the sting of river water. Inches from my face were two crimson eyes and a muzzle full of sharp teeth.
---
Hope you enjoyed, folks! It probably makes zero sense, so perhaps I'll give you a summary someday. Please don't hesitate to visit Presented in Cinemascope! and offer support. Have a wonderful day.
Alex Gartner
On second thought, don't. I know exactly why. Summer brought out the lazy schmuck within me. Now that school has arrived and AP classes are kicking my rear, I'm banishing that guy to the farthest corners of my mind.
I've been busy as of late, beginning with the new blog.
Presented in Cinemascope! is my latest project. You may not know this, reader, but I consider myself a knowledgeable film buff. My brain is loaded to the point of bulging with movie trivia and opinions on films, actors, directors, and those dusty LaserDiscs in your closet. From the Universal horror gems to today's summer CGI-fests, I'll be talking about them all. Please support!
Next on today's platter, my novel. As you may know, I finished the first draft a few months ago. It was the first time I've ever seen a single story all the way through. I let it sit for a few weeks so that I may come back to it with a fresh perspective. As I read it in its entirety on the first day of summer break, I laughed, cried, whooped with joy, cursed, and couldn't believe my eyes. Mom heard, "Great execution!" come from my room as often as "What is this piddle?!" There were certainly flaws, but overall I couldn't have been happier.
I began the second revision at the start of summer. I'm halfway in and going strong. Many changes were made, all certainly for the better. "To a world of gods and monsters!" is the tagline I've chosen. You might recognize it as a line from Bride of Frankenstein, 1935.
I'll end this post with an excerpt. You're at least a little curious, right? Our scene picks up immediately after main character Atticus the Sixth (who is plagued by a voice in his head) is pulled into the river by a demonic pony. He thinks he is going to drown or, worse, have his soul devoured, but just as his oxygen runs out and his eyes close, they open again. The water is gone. He finds himself in a vacant music store. Well, almost vacant. A shadowy man sits in a recliner in the middle of the store, strumming away on a guitar.
CHAPTER 9 - The Man in My Head Knows How to Rock
Have you ever been so dumbstruck and in such immense disbelief, that you can’t speak? I opened my mouth but only rapid breaths came out.
“Please, have a seat,” said the voice. Er, the man.
He snapped his fingers and a recliner appeared. I plopped into it, still on a quest to find my voice. Where are we? Who are you? Am I dead? Am I insane? A frenzy of questions swam through mind like pestered sharks.
“I can see you’re mute in surprise. No biggie," he said. "Let your fingers do the talking."
“Huh?” I finally managed.
He snapped his fingers again and a guitar unhooked itself from the wall. It floated toward me as if it were possessed by some musically inclined specter. As it gently landed in my grip, I gasped. A 1979 Gibson “Flying V” with a custom silver finish. The one with sound that can’t be written in onomatopoeia form. It was the guitar from my dreams, and this was the man who played alongside me.
“Who are you?” I instinctively wrapped my fingers around the neck and strummed a chord.
“A minor. Nice choice,” said the man. He played a bone-chilling riff, his fingers dancing over the neck with pristine grace. This guy was good. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that yet.”
He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Wavy blonde hair jutted out from underneath the brim of his bucket hat. He might’ve been wearing a hoodie, but I wasn’t sure. Like in my dream, he was only a black silhouette unless I squinted hard, and even then I couldn’t make out his facial features.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“My sanctuary.” He reached over and poked me on the forehead. “Your subconscious.”
“If you’re the voice in my head,” I said, “that means you’ve been here since I was a little kid. You’re hitching a ride in my brain?”
“More or less, yeah.”
Uneasiness settled over me. I felt violated. There was a spectator to all the embarrassing moments of my life? All those times I thought I was alone, I wasn’t?
“You should leave,” I barked.
“We meet face-to-face for the first time and that’s the greeting I get?” laughed the man. “Haven’t you ever heard of Greek hospitality?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of breaking and entering?” I countered, setting aside the guitar.
“Hey, I’m here for a reason.”
“Oh, this ought to be good." I crossed my arms. "For what reason could you possibly be here?”
“So that we may vanquish demons. Remember the Fucanglong dragon fiasco? That was just a taste of my power. Now I’m lending you the whole thing. The real deal. The power of a god.”
Before I could speak, he vanished. A glistening handle appeared in my hand. From it sprouted a gleaming silver blade. This sword had appeared in my hand in front of the hospital. I had swung, eyes closed in fear, and saved Lee by slicing off a Chinese dragon’s tongue.
That’s right, said the voice, emanating from the sword. Now it’s going to defeat a blood-thirsty bronco.
The recliner began to melt away from beneath me. The instruments faded from the walls more and more with each blink of my eyes. Within seconds the music store was gone all together. I stood in a world of stark white nothingness, but I didn’t feel alone. The sword sent shock-waves of power throughout my body. I closed my eyes, a determined smile creeping across my face.
It was time to vanquish a demon.
I opened my eyes and quickly felt the sting of river water. Inches from my face were two crimson eyes and a muzzle full of sharp teeth.
---
Hope you enjoyed, folks! It probably makes zero sense, so perhaps I'll give you a summary someday. Please don't hesitate to visit Presented in Cinemascope! and offer support. Have a wonderful day.
Alex Gartner
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Music as Inspiration
On a stormy night in 1995, a baby's crying can be heard. It floats through the halls and drifts under the crack of the door.
The father's eyes snap open. He stands, limbs groaning and creaking. Although he grumbles all the way, his expression softens at the sight of the baby. So small, so helpless. Such a miracle of life.
"A long, long time ago," he sings, his voice melodic and somnolent. "I can still remember how that music used to make me smile..."
He rocks the crib with gentle hands. The crying ceases. The baby falls into a deep slumber before the song is over.
"...And them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye." He pauses to kiss the baby on the forehead and his voice becomes a mere whisper. "Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die...'"
I was that baby. My father and mother used to sing to me all the time, and I credit them for my love of music. Their songs left an impact on me that I'll never forget. I dip into the deepest recesses of my mind and draw these memories as inspiration for my writings. But in what ways do the melodies of my youth and today inspire?
It’s quite simply, really. Music is an art form, just like writing. And the similarities don’t end there. Both require planning and a poetic use of language and vocabulary. Like a good song, a good story has rhythm. Like the big finish of any symphony, a story has a climax. And like a true mellifluous masterpiece, a story leaves you with a satisfied feeling.
I remember Dad singing one song in particular: American Pie by Don McLean. I loved it when I was a baby and I love it still. Like a fine wine, the eight-minute, thirty-three-second aria has aged well. It still blows my mind, and I’ve heard it a collective thousand times over the years. It’s more than just a song. It’s an anthem to music lovers everywhere.
American Pie has some of the most abstract, imaginative lyrics ever written. In this respect, it’s similar to famous poetry. If you will, breathe in this excerpt:
" And in the streets, the children screamed.
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son and the holy ghost.
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died. "
It gives me chills. The greatest thing about this song is that it brings poetic words to an audience with no interest in poetry. By setting his epic to music, McLean made it more accessible. We can all learn from his masterful writing. Musicians, poets, novelists, journalists. Anyone with a love of writing and the craft.
Tune in next time for a list of my top five favorite songs. We'll get a peak at another McLean masterpiece and sample some Counting Crows, too. And an ode to Howard Hughes? You'll have to follow my blog to learn more.
Alex Gartner
If you've never heard American Pie, what're you waiting for?
The father's eyes snap open. He stands, limbs groaning and creaking. Although he grumbles all the way, his expression softens at the sight of the baby. So small, so helpless. Such a miracle of life.
"A long, long time ago," he sings, his voice melodic and somnolent. "I can still remember how that music used to make me smile..."
He rocks the crib with gentle hands. The crying ceases. The baby falls into a deep slumber before the song is over.
"...And them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye." He pauses to kiss the baby on the forehead and his voice becomes a mere whisper. "Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die...'"
I was that baby. My father and mother used to sing to me all the time, and I credit them for my love of music. Their songs left an impact on me that I'll never forget. I dip into the deepest recesses of my mind and draw these memories as inspiration for my writings. But in what ways do the melodies of my youth and today inspire?
It’s quite simply, really. Music is an art form, just like writing. And the similarities don’t end there. Both require planning and a poetic use of language and vocabulary. Like a good song, a good story has rhythm. Like the big finish of any symphony, a story has a climax. And like a true mellifluous masterpiece, a story leaves you with a satisfied feeling.
I remember Dad singing one song in particular: American Pie by Don McLean. I loved it when I was a baby and I love it still. Like a fine wine, the eight-minute, thirty-three-second aria has aged well. It still blows my mind, and I’ve heard it a collective thousand times over the years. It’s more than just a song. It’s an anthem to music lovers everywhere.
American Pie has some of the most abstract, imaginative lyrics ever written. In this respect, it’s similar to famous poetry. If you will, breathe in this excerpt:
" And in the streets, the children screamed.
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son and the holy ghost.
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died. "
It gives me chills. The greatest thing about this song is that it brings poetic words to an audience with no interest in poetry. By setting his epic to music, McLean made it more accessible. We can all learn from his masterful writing. Musicians, poets, novelists, journalists. Anyone with a love of writing and the craft.
Tune in next time for a list of my top five favorite songs. We'll get a peak at another McLean masterpiece and sample some Counting Crows, too. And an ode to Howard Hughes? You'll have to follow my blog to learn more.
Alex Gartner
If you've never heard American Pie, what're you waiting for?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Eight Things Every Aspiring Author Should Have
The first draft of my first novel is complete. I am excited beyond words! It is a feeling I want to share with other aspiring authors. I want them to experience it for themselves. And so, as a gift from me to you, I've written eight things all aspiring authors should have.
Keep in mind that this is an article from the perspective of a fifteen-year-old writer who desires more fame than his knowledge can back up. You've been warned. Take my advice with mountainous piles of salt.
Perseverance
Perhaps the most obvious quality a wannabe-novelist needs. How can one have his/her name slapped on the cover of a best-seller when he/she couldn't finish a book if his/her life depended on it? Plans and plot outlines can only take you so far. It's determination that gets the book written and edited to be sent to agents.
A Critique Group
Find a group of experienced authors and share your story. Critiquers will be stern and truthful without breaking your heart. They expect the same from you, and you should treat them and their work with respect. By doing this, you not only make critique partners, but also friends. Strong bonds are formed when both people share a common interest.
A Fanbase
“I wrote a whopping 2,500 words last night,” says the aspiring author.
“Cool! Did your main character find the Staff of Diligence yet?”
This sounds a bit strange, but bear with me. One’s perseverance can only carry him/her so far. You need people who take an interest in what you’re doing. It provides a strong sense of fulfillment when you call a buddy in the middle of the night and yell, “I just finished my novel!” It provides an even stronger sense of fulfillment when they answer, “Awesome! When can I read the final draft?” You get the idea. By talking about your story, you stay on track and constantly rekindle the desire you had when you first decided to write it. It’s conversations like the one above that make an author feel he/she is doing something useful with their time.
Careful Planning
I did not plan very much. I knew the ending and I knew the beginning. The middle was all written off of the top of my head. Thus the whole novel suffered. Before your fingers strike the keyboard or your pen touches the pad, plan! Write character sketches, question your antagonist’s motives, question your main character’s motives, flesh out the setting with sketches and world-building activities, write from another character’s perspective, and, for the love of corn, plan each chapter with care!
A Love of Reading
Have a scene in mind? Can’t seem to bring it from your brain to the computer screen? Close the laptop and pick up a book. Read, study other writers (who, mind you, are more successful than you at the moment), and analyze how that author makes his/her scenes work. Read as much as you can and if you truly think about each writer’s work, you’ll slowly become an expert.
Knowledge of the Craft
You don’t need to know how to spell. We have spell-checker for just that reason. However, you do need to know how to write. If you can’t learn from reading other novels of the same genre, there are hundreds of alternatives. Take English classes and pay close attention, attend keynotes and book signings, or buy English Grammar for Dummies and read up. There are plenty of ways to learn. All one needs is the drive.
Ties with All Forms of Media
This one isn’t a necessity, but it does help. All writers need inspiration. Ideas don’t just come to one in his/her sleep. They must seek those ideas out with a resolute curiosity. Inspiration can be drawn from anything. Music, movies, news reports. Or more abstract means that require a bit of thinking to form a complete idea. Construction sites, a busy intersection, a man who drops his cellphone on the subway, a calender with a picture of a different flower for each month. If this sounds ridiculous to you, that’s okay. You’re brain responds well to the straightforward ideas of the music and media. I could go both ways: I was heavily inspired by the song “American Pie” by Don McLean. I was just as much inspired by the dense forests behind my house.
Confidence
Our worst critics are in our head. Self-explanatory.
And there you have it. My list is complete. Questions, comments, concerns? Leave them and I'll happily respond.
Alex Gartner
Keep in mind that this is an article from the perspective of a fifteen-year-old writer who desires more fame than his knowledge can back up. You've been warned. Take my advice with mountainous piles of salt.
Perseverance
Perhaps the most obvious quality a wannabe-novelist needs. How can one have his/her name slapped on the cover of a best-seller when he/she couldn't finish a book if his/her life depended on it? Plans and plot outlines can only take you so far. It's determination that gets the book written and edited to be sent to agents.
A Critique Group
Find a group of experienced authors and share your story. Critiquers will be stern and truthful without breaking your heart. They expect the same from you, and you should treat them and their work with respect. By doing this, you not only make critique partners, but also friends. Strong bonds are formed when both people share a common interest.
A Fanbase
“I wrote a whopping 2,500 words last night,” says the aspiring author.
“Cool! Did your main character find the Staff of Diligence yet?”
This sounds a bit strange, but bear with me. One’s perseverance can only carry him/her so far. You need people who take an interest in what you’re doing. It provides a strong sense of fulfillment when you call a buddy in the middle of the night and yell, “I just finished my novel!” It provides an even stronger sense of fulfillment when they answer, “Awesome! When can I read the final draft?” You get the idea. By talking about your story, you stay on track and constantly rekindle the desire you had when you first decided to write it. It’s conversations like the one above that make an author feel he/she is doing something useful with their time.
Careful Planning
I did not plan very much. I knew the ending and I knew the beginning. The middle was all written off of the top of my head. Thus the whole novel suffered. Before your fingers strike the keyboard or your pen touches the pad, plan! Write character sketches, question your antagonist’s motives, question your main character’s motives, flesh out the setting with sketches and world-building activities, write from another character’s perspective, and, for the love of corn, plan each chapter with care!
A Love of Reading
Have a scene in mind? Can’t seem to bring it from your brain to the computer screen? Close the laptop and pick up a book. Read, study other writers (who, mind you, are more successful than you at the moment), and analyze how that author makes his/her scenes work. Read as much as you can and if you truly think about each writer’s work, you’ll slowly become an expert.
Knowledge of the Craft
You don’t need to know how to spell. We have spell-checker for just that reason. However, you do need to know how to write. If you can’t learn from reading other novels of the same genre, there are hundreds of alternatives. Take English classes and pay close attention, attend keynotes and book signings, or buy English Grammar for Dummies and read up. There are plenty of ways to learn. All one needs is the drive.
Ties with All Forms of Media
This one isn’t a necessity, but it does help. All writers need inspiration. Ideas don’t just come to one in his/her sleep. They must seek those ideas out with a resolute curiosity. Inspiration can be drawn from anything. Music, movies, news reports. Or more abstract means that require a bit of thinking to form a complete idea. Construction sites, a busy intersection, a man who drops his cellphone on the subway, a calender with a picture of a different flower for each month. If this sounds ridiculous to you, that’s okay. You’re brain responds well to the straightforward ideas of the music and media. I could go both ways: I was heavily inspired by the song “American Pie” by Don McLean. I was just as much inspired by the dense forests behind my house.
Confidence
Our worst critics are in our head. Self-explanatory.
And there you have it. My list is complete. Questions, comments, concerns? Leave them and I'll happily respond.
Alex Gartner
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