It Doesn't Pay to Be Creative

I released my new book yesterday.

I SAID "I RELEASED MY NEW BOOK YESTERDAY!"

The response? A resounding yawn from the world. That's a tough thing to stomach. In the course of 24 hours, the book has sold precisely zero copies. Why does this matter? Well, if you're not a writer, it probably doesn't, but if you are a writer, you'll probably understand what I'm talking about when I say, "It doesn't pay to be creative."

Now writing pays in more ways than one. There's the personal satisfaction of creating a story, having the dedication to see it through, and then birthing your brainchild to the world. That's great, and for many people that is enough. Sometimes you sell copies of your books and that pays too. If you want that second bit of satisfaction, the one that pays the bills, you might not want to spend your time creating something new.

My latest book is my best-written book, as far as I can tell. My other books include two zombie novels as part of a series, a vampire tale that's bloody and weird, and a book that is a collection of movie reviews and drinking games. They are not creative. They were written by a person, me, that was trying to play it safe. They sold some copies, got some reviews, and were generally liked. They didn't take the world by storm, but there was interest, and that was enough for me.

For my fifth book, I decided to go a completely different route. I wanted to do something new. I wanted to do something that no one had ever seen before... and I did. The sad part is that no one besides me has ever read the damn story. Why?

There are a variety of reasons that I can think of, but the main reason is that it is something that has never been seen before. The story is a work of fiction that I consider horror. It takes place in a pre-Colombian America and features all Native American characters. The characters struggle in a world where violence and survival are everyday worries.

Most people would probably call the story fantasy... because there are monsters and stuff. But for me, I always assumed that horror had no time period. If it were a realistic world, it didn't matter what time period the story took place in, that story would be considered horror. The Enemies of Our Ancestors is such a tale. It uses real locations, realistic tribes, and throws in a little bit of its own mythology, but the world is still our world.

The fact that the cast of characters is comprised of only Native Americans tends to force it into the fantasy genre as well... because, well, most people consider Native Americans extinct in real life anyway. I don't. I am Native American. To me, The Enemies of Our Ancestors is the same as if a European dude set a horror story in 1700's London. Would people call that a fantasy tale? Probably not. Just because the history of Native Americans is not documented does not make anything written about them fantasy.

With all of that being said, now we come to the huge problem of being creative. You can't sell the damn thing. I spent a good amount of time shopping the book to agents. The overwhelming response was "It's good, but I can't sell it." There's no market for this. "What?" a bewildered writer might ask. You're telling me that because it hasn't been done before, it can't be sold? It crosses genres and it's pretty difficult to define, so there's no way to sell it? Pshh.

Eventually I said, "Screw the agents," as I frequently do, and went out to publish the damn thing on my own, because I'm super impatient and want to get back to the business of actually writing. "I'll show you!" I thought. People are dying for new, standalone novels that offer something new, something out of the ordinary. It turns out that all those agents were right. New and creative ideas, no matter how well they are written, die as soon as they are removed from the vine. Without publicity, campaigning, or some way to raise the awareness of your product, no casual reader is likely every to search for "Native American dark fantasy horror" when trying to find a book to read.

But here's the sick part. The other day, I was involved in a discussion in a horror writer's group about why everyone is writing zombies and post-apoc novels. The fact is that they sell. Motherfuckers type the word "zombie" into search bars, and your book will pop up. You will sell copies.

Now... as an artist, this is a disheartening thing. No one should only want to write about zombies for the rest of their life, especially if they are actually a writer and not just some hack following trends. But, then there is that money thing. Covers cost money. Books cost time, which according to rich, white businessman everywhere, is also money.

"What am I to do?" I ask myself. I guess I'll just keep plugging away, toiling in anonymity, throwing money and time into my writing while waiting to see what sticks. I can only hope that somewhere, someone becomes so starved for something unique and original that they stumble across my blog or my novel. Or maybe, one day, someone randomly does a search for "Native American dark fantasy horror."

Of course, I may just be super-impatient and the book will eventually find its audience. In the meantime, I better get started on that third part of my zombie series. Oh yeah... if you're interested, and would like to reward creativity while scoring a rad book, click the link below to buy The Enemies of Our Ancestors. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcome.

Click here to buy The Enemies of Our Ancestors

To Write a Series or a Standalone?

For many of us writers, trying to decide what to write is the hardest decision we face. A story pops up into your head, maybe you plan it out or maybe you just roll the idea around in your head. In the end, you have to decide what the end goal of that story is... and frequently, it comes down to this: "Is there enough here for a series, and is a series the best way to present this concept?"

            I myself have had this dilemma many times. Any story I can come up with invariably grows legs in my mind. What may start out as a simple story about a Native American saving his tribe from destruction can easily turn into a fully fleshed out world with multiple societies and a cast of hundreds, each character offering up an opportunity for more storytelling. To date, I have never had a story end at a point where I truly felt the story was over. It's not because I'm bad at crafting an ending. It's more of a result of the fact that, short of killing all of your characters off, life goes on. Though the book is over, the characters in my stories, who have become almost real in my own mind, continue their lives even after the monster is dead. Knowing when to continue and when to stop is one of the hardest aspects of writing, especially when you grow to love your characters.

            It is at this time, that the author must ask themselves, "Is there another story here?" Do readers want to see these characters pick up the pieces and dive into another situation that is probably going to be very similar to the one they just navigated. But most of all, they must ask themselves, "Do I want to be trapped under the weight of my own creation."

            Ask George R.R. Martin if he isn't a little bit sick of being the Game of Thrones guy. Ask the now-dead Robert Jordan if maybe he wished he had ended his story just a little sooner than he did. A series is a prospect of never-ending joy and income... but you have to have an end to it. If you don't have any idea where the story is going or how it's going to end, then it's best to treat every story as a standalone novel, with the potential for expansion if you really desire it.

            Let's take a look at why someone would choose to write a series. First off, and this is no small reason, there is the income potential. While a standalone novel takes time and needs love and exposure to grow, a series sort of builds on itself. Fans of the first book are likely to buy the second book, and perhaps even heckle the author until they produce the next installment. So, the longer your series goes, the more money you get out of it. With a standalone novel, you get what you get up front, and hope that the book finds its audience, which it well might if you catch some good word of mouth, seek out reviews, and constantly whore your novel like it's the next coming of the Bible. Of course, that approach takes a lot of time and effort away from what you probably want to be doing, which is writing more stories.

            The second reason to gum up the world with a series is one that I hear often. "Publishers are more likely to be interested in a series." I have no idea where this idea came from, but it couldn't be further from the truth. Publishers are interested in good stories that are well-written, whether it's a part of a series really has no bearing on if they are going to like it or not. Exhibit A: My own series of zombie novels, "This Rotten World." While it was written well and definitely enjoyable to read, the book sort of left off on a cliffhanger-ish type of ending, meaning that it had an ending that didn't conform to a traditional plot structure. Despite the fact that it was good, publishers took a pass on it because of this fact. (Later on, I published part two and realized that if I had sandwiched part one with part two that I would have exactly what a publisher wanted as far as a potential series might go. But it was too late; I had already self-published, and there are not very many publishers out there who are worth a damn who even consider publishing work that has already been self-published.) Though it was good, thought it was a series, they still passed on it because they didn't judge it as a good story.

            The only other reason to write a series is because your stories are so convoluted and involved that it's simply not feasible to put it all into one gigantic tome. To this I say, "Get over yourself." Learn to edit and cut out all that extra crap that you think is so cool, but which readers actually find boring. I'm looking at you "dream sequence" people and you people that feel like you must spend a whole page describing outfits and heraldry. If, after you've stepped back from your own butchery of your story, you find that it is still much too large for a single book, then by all means, start a series, but make sure you know where it's going to end. Do not go into a series without a clear-cut ending. I can count the number of series that I've read that have concluded in a satisfactory fashion on one hand. Why? Because the authors made it up as they went. You must have an end-goal to be working towards, and then get there in a reasonable amount of time. Also, just a personal pet-peeve, if you kill someone, make sure they are dead. Don't bring back characters later and ask us to believe that they magically survived an explosion that destroyed a whole building but not the character in question. Don't lead your audience on in the name of the dollar. Besides, if you do this there's a chance you might die and never finish your story, as so many authors before have... which is what I like to call karmic justice. The number one commandment of writing is "Thou shalt not rip off your readers."

            For myself, I find that I am enjoying alternating between writing episodes in my zombie series and then writing standalone novels with series potential. Alternating allows me to write about new things so that I don't get tired of writing the same story over and over. It also allows me to take advantage of that burning moment when a new idea pops into my head. For those whose sole intent is to write a series, I often wonder if they are just doing the same thing over and over because they don't actually have any new ideas. 

            In addition, alternating novels allows you to give your series more thought between installments. Sometimes space is a great thing. Anyone that's been married for any stretch of time knows this. Giving yourself some space and breathing room from your series does a couple of things. It gives you perspective and allows you to mull over the story, trying on different endings and scenarios. The pressure of continuing the story is never there. When you go back to it, you'll feel fresh and invigorated, and you'll come up with a better product as a result.

            In the end, I suppose all I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't feel compelled to write a series, especially not if it's going to hurt your writing. Though elitists like to say, "It's not all about the money," for some of us it is. You have to live to write. With that realization in mind, in order to make a living off writing, you have to do what best complements your abilities, series or not. For me, that means I wrote zombie stuff, followed by original novels with series potential, and then back to more zombie stuff. There are also some screenplays mixed in there, but that is a story for another day. 

If you liked the article, considering checking out the newest book in my zombie series, This Rotten World.

Click the link to go there. It's free for amazon prime members: http://www.amazon.com/This-Rotten-World-Fall-Down-ebook/dp/B00Y5X8H62/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1432924759&sr=8-2&keywords=this+rotten+world

Mom... Where Are You?

Mom... where are you?

They call,

4 in the morning,

my head spins from dream sickness.

Jacy?

Your mom has died.

Oh... oh... oh...

They hang up.

I roll over and try to go back to sleep.

It doesn't happen.

I'm glad it doesn't.

Out back, I smoke a cigarette

Unconscious,

My wife next to me,

Tears leaking from my eyes,

extensions of my love.

Oh... oh... oh...

Lying in bed,

colon cut,

uterus gone,

bladder cut,

stomach tube to feed,

pain the order of the day,

Oh... oh... oh...

She's gone now.

That hurts.

That hurts real bad.

These words,

so incapable,

incapable of communicating.

I'd pull it down,

the world,

burn it to the ground,

stomping through the ashes,

laughing,

swearing,

destroying,

for the chance to say goodbye.

Goodbye, Mom.

I know you loved my with all your heart,

every cell,

the cancer never touched that.

I'll Get There One Day

I'll Get There One Day

Poetry is those thoughts you can't say,

Those things you reserve for maudlin times,

When the booze cruises through your veins,

And you allow yourself to feel.

I listened as my grandfather talked.

Clark Martin, in his cups, on the frontside of a doctor's appointment.

His tone let me now that this was real.

This was important.

This was the end.

Sitting at a cheap-ass, white kitchen table,

smeared with ash and food,

not wiped off because of failing eyes.

Beer filled the glass,

oval shapes magnifying the amber liquid,

seeping into his failing body.

This was communion,

one generation saying goodbye to the latest.

This was my grandfather dying,

unable to say it,

he showed it to me.

He filled me with tales of his youth, imparting all that he could,

out of love,

out of fear,

out of respect.

He had the same from me.

The beer disappeared,

but the words solidified.

Seventy years of thoughts, all distilled into one evening

for a kid that had not yet hit twenty-one.

My girlfriend called, friends called, the night called,

but I knew I had to stay,

out of love,

out of fear,

out of respect.

In his eyes, I could see...

I could see that he wanted to stay,

that he wanted to say, "Fuck that doctor's appointment. We got shit to do."

But he went...

and he was gone...

in a month...

I'm still recovering from that... don't know that I ever will.

Poetry Is...

Poetry Is...

Poetry is those thoughts you can't say,

Those things you reserve for maudlin times,

When the booze cruises through your veins,

And you allow yourself to feel.

Feel the shame

the hate

the loss

the sadness.

Talk about your trees,

Talk about your rainbows,

Talk about your smiles and your love,

Masturbate on your own eyes.

That ain't poetry.

Poetry is the opposite.

The self-loathing,

The thought that you could have done something,

Or done something more.

Poetry is pain wordified,

Turned into communication.

Poetry is tears translated.

I feel it, burning, hidden, denied.

The words I couldn't say

become my muscles,

striate my heart,

consume me,

and lead me to the end.

I pick them up and carry them on my back,

like we all do,

another in a long stream of things that we all feel.

I am not special,

Never was,

Never will be.

Unique... a misnomer

These are only the things in my heart,

Poetry their only commodity.

Hidden behind the lies I tell to myself to others.

The lies we all tell,

A oneness crafted from loss.

This is poetry.

Vocab's Top Ten Moments at MovieCynics: #5 Press Screenings

For anyone out there that wants to consider yourself a movie reviewer (Remember, only pretentious dizzlebags call themselves film critics.), you really can't call yourself one until you've made your way past the pearly gates... in this case, you get your name on the list to get invited to press screenings.

            Now for those of you out there who are trying to rightfully earn the vaunted title of movie reviewer, let me dispel some of the myths out there about press screenings. First off, no matter how hard you work, Hollywood isn't going to come kissing your ass and saying, "Hey... you want access to these press screenings?" This is just never going to happen. If Hollywood were this innovative and forward thinking, then they wouldn't be making a fourth sequel in the Big Momma's House franchise or rebooting crap like Three Men and a Baby. (These things haven't happened, but just you wait. The Vocabulariast is one-part a-hole and three-parts prophet.)

            They are never going to notice you. In fact, I'm pretty sure Hollywood would be just fine not having any reviewers at all. This is why they guard their information so dearly. You see, getting on the list is near impossible... why? The information is guarded. Most of the movie critics I've met that actually attend these screenings are huge self-absorbed nerds with poor hygiene and inferiority complexes. Or they are the opposite... self-aggrandized metrosexuals who can't help but look at the world down their noses. Neither of these types of people are going to give you the information you need to get your little foot in the door.

            How did I score my proverbial golden ticket? Well, two things worked in my favor. #1... reviewing movies doesn't pay you jack. #2... I was making enough money to hire writers. This led to me posting ads on craigslist for writers, and I stumbled across this old burnout dude who had actually been writing reviews for years. Now, the fact that he had been doing this for years, and still needed the extra income my little website would provide ought to tell you something about this racket.

            I met him for a beer, we decided the gig wouldn't be right for either of us, and then we started to shoot the shit. As we talked, the subject of screenings came up, and lo and behold, this guy had the information I needed... namely, the contact information for a super-secret P.R. company that ran all of the screenings. All I had to do was contact this P.R. company and get my name on the list, and I would have access to Sony's screening reps, along with a couple of the other major film companies.

            Of course, in order to get the information, I had to swear myself to secrecy and keep his name out of it. Or was it her? I'm not saying. Smokescreen, bitches. Eventually, this kind dude shoots me the contact information, and I was on easy street from there.

            Actually, though it seemed that simple, I had to provide proof of my site's viability, its lofty traffic numbers, and give them my real name. Who the hell uses their real name? That's like asking to for a picture of my gear. Rude.

            My first free screening was awesome. Not because the movie was great or anything, but because it was confirmation that I had finally broken through. I was a movie reviewer... like legit. When I talked about my gig with others, I could say things like, "Yeah, I make some money, get free DVD's, and get into press screenings."

            The first free screening was for The Thing prequel, and I checked it out at Lloyd Center in Portland. The sucky thing about being allowed to get into press screenings is that you half to show up 45 minutes early if you want to guarantee yourself a seat. Then you check in with the P.R. rep, cross your fingers and hope they don't send you packing because they've never heard of you, and then you sit in your seat and avoid talking to all of the other critics. I'm not joking. They avoid each other like the plague. I get it. They were all pretty lame.

            I still remember how awesome I felt sitting in the back row as The Thing prequel began to play. Not even the abysmal CGI could bring me down. When the credits rolled, I popped up out of my seat, and went home, yawning because it was fucking late. The damn screening didn't start until 7 o'clock. After a full day's work, two hours of literally just waiting around outside the theater, and another hour of waiting inside the theater, I was pretty exhausted.

            That's the thing with these screenings. They set up so many arbitrary rules, that at any one time, you may only see a handful of critics at a movie. Let me give you an example. For genre films that people are generally excited to see, screenings were invariably at 7 o'clock, and you had to get there early because they were going to flood the theater with a group of theatergoers that I like to call "the free people." These people are loud, obnoxious, fairly trashy, and only really concerned with getting something for free. They talk loudly, buy one big tub of popcorn and share it around while drinking from free water cups. They all know each other because this is the only way they ever see movies. It doesn't matter what movie it is either. If it's free, they're ass in seat. The shit these people say is the type of stuff that you would collate into some lame post on Buzzfeed titled: 25 Dumb as Fuck Things Heard in a Movie Theater.

            So you get there. Sometimes you have to bag up your cell phone, sometimes you don't. You sit around for an hour, and then a horde of braying jackasses starts rushing into the theater and filling your mind with dumb. By the time the movie is over, you're so annoyed by their constant rustling and incessant gabbing that you can't help but think of newer, better ways to kill people.

            Then there is the glorious 12 o'clock showing. These were actually a better experience, but they were also totally awkward. These showings were generally reserved for "serious" movies, the type of movies that the movie studios thought were actually good. Rather than sit a bunch of dumbasses around you, they limited these screenings to movie reviewers only. Not so bad, right?

            Wrong. These movies were screened at 12 o'clock on a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, when most movie critics are actually working at their real jobs. If you wanted to attend one of these screenings, you had to pretty much skip out on work.

            Free screenings are not all they're cracked up to be. If you crack down and get thirsty or hungry, which is highly likely considering the amount of time you'll be waiting around, then you've defeated the whole purpose of the experience. One medium popcorn will make it just like you paid for the damn movie. You can't even get a jump on "non-movie reviewer" reviewers because you can't post your review until the movie is actually in theaters. Meanwhile Joe BlogJob can pirate a damn movie off the internet and have his review up two weeks before yours, thus securing valuable priority in Google's ridiculous search engines. I know... I used to do this.

            Still, I relish that first screening. To work so hard and finally attain one of the goals you set out for yourself is always a rewarding experience, even if you have to sit among a bunch of smelly trolls and people who steal soap and lotion from hotel rooms, which they probably won on a radio contest anyway.

How I Lost My Movie Critic Status

            Over the years, as I stopped making money off of MovieCynics, and began to care less and less about seeing movies. I just sort of stopped going to these screenings. They kept inviting me, but the idea of seeing something like The Grand Budapest Hotel... even for free, simply doesn't appeal to me anymore.

            My last screening came on the week before The Boxtrolls was released. We were getting ready to have our Portland screening of All Hell Breaks Loose in a couple of weeks, so I thought I'd just stroll over to the theater at noon, hand out some fliers to the "professionals," get some free publicity, and watch The Boxtrolls. It was actually a pretty good movie, but that's not the point.

            Once I got there, I was racked with nerves. Here were people I had seen off and on at various screenings for the last five years... and yet, I had never said a word to them, and they had never said a word to me. At a noon screening, when all the seats were open, critics would stroll in and sit generally about as far apart from anyone else as they could. These were not socialites.

            Anyway, as the critics would come strolling in (These were indeed critics, in every sense of the word.), I would hand them a flier, explain who I was, and see if I could score some much needed publicity for All Hell Breaks Loose.

            I've never seen such an awkward collection of people in my life. And suddenly, it dawned on me how Michael Cera had become so popular despite making movies that have no redeeming quality whatsoever. These movie reviewers were all bloated, hipster versions of Michael Cera. Of course they would love his movies. It was if I had walked into a mental asylum full of drooling idiots. Half of these mongos could barely put together a comprehensive sentence, despite my disarming charisma and easygoing charm.

            Of course, being the only not-white movie critic in the entire city might have had a hand in that as well. Half the people looked like they locked into a fight or flight situation as soon as they figured out I was addressing them. These are not the group of people anyone should be taking movie advice from. Every time I see that Rob Lowe commercial with the shy-pissers in it, I think of movie critics.

            Anyway, I hand out all of my fliers, the film rolls, and I get my ass out of there. After that, the invites stop coming. I can only guess, but I'm fairly sure one of these anti-social, bush-league, basement dwellers must have reported me for spreading my wares... and to top it all off, not a single one of these people bothered to spread the word about All Hell Breaks Loose. But you know what? I'm glad I no longer get invited to press screenings of I, Frankenstein or anything featuring Jesse Eisenberg. All is good.

You made it to the popcorn!