My Muse (Jeremy Brett's Sherlock Holmes) is my jockey and I'm the racehorse about to break down right at the finish line. However, I'm still amazed to report that we are both in the homestretch of getting the first draft completed. (Okay, technically it's not a first draft. I must have written Part I nearly 30 times. The book will have five parts and I'm over halfway completed Part V, so I'm still calling it a first draft. Don't argue with me. I'm writing.)
Getting the first draft done means (of course) that the book is not ready for prime time just yet. After the first draft is finished, I will then still need to:
Edit
Reformat the Microsoft Word document to whatever format Amazon handles
Edit it some more
Somehow figure out a cover image for the damn thing (!)
Edit is some more
Go through a final internal argument where I decide whether to go for "mere" ebook publishing or try to send the damn thing to a traditional publisher (and have it ignored for ten years)
Market it when it's published in whatever format it comes out as.
It's actually getting scary now. So far, no one has seen this manuscript except my Muse. Letting someone else read it means that someone could really hate it. Or, worse yet, I could place the book up on Amazon.com and sell not one friggin' copy. As Holmes is saying in this scene from The Second Stain, "Every man's hand is against us."
Well, now I know what I'll have nightmares about tonight.
The Sherlock Holmes book was chugging along pretty well until July 2, when my main client Yahoo Contributor Network suddenly announced that it will go out of business on July 31. It will start deleting all 1643 of my articles on July 30.
I also have about 1100 articles on Helium that will go dark in December when they officially go out of business. At least Helium gave their writers a six month warning.
YCN is now the third client of mine to go out of business this year. My industry (web content writing) seems to be completely screwed. I had hoped writing would be my final career -- what a dumb hope, huh?
The nice thing about the late YCN is that I could write about topics I had an interest in. Now it's back to writing about such scintillating topics as vaginal cosmetic surgery and how to choose a DUI lawyer.
The big problem is that the residual payments that I received help pay my ridiculously expensive health insurance premiums (I live in America, remember) and still take time out to work on the book. Remember, time I work on the book is time that I'm not getting paid. Odds are, I'll never make a single cent with this book, so I'm not sure if I can ever find the time to finish this damn thing, let alone try to edit it and flog it.
And yet my Muse is nagging me to finish this. Of course, he gets very quiet when I'm upset. He doesn't seem to understand the importance of getting my bills paid. He gets jealous so easily when I have other things on my mind except him. If he really wanted to be helpful, he'd get me publisher.
The first draft of the book is still chugging along. My Muse is getting more loquacious, but I really want to stop this book before or at 100,000 words. More than that and I think I'll tax even the most tolerant of a reader's patience.
One bit of Sherlock Holmes legal news to report: All of the Sherlock Holmes stories EXCEPT for The Case-book of Sherlock Holmes (the last one) have been declared part of the public domain. That's pretty good because the license fee from the Doyle estate starts at a minimum of $5000. Now, I can see the Doyle estate getting steamed over non-canonical Sherlock Holmes books that suck. Hell, even I wanted to sue the authors after I read these books. And that crap got published!
I'm debating whether to just go ahead and do an e-book or try to submit to a traditional publisher. The big problem is that my parents are in their 70s and I'm not too sure how long they have left. It'd be nice for them to read this thing before they die.
And yes, I know that 99.9% of all traditional publishers do not accept unsolicited manuscripts. However, these do:
So far I think my best bet is the e-book format. I have to wrap up this blog post, as my Muse is muttering again. Until then, here's a little video I put together during a brief spell of writer's block:
The book seems to be rolling along but I could use a vacation. It's now at about 70,000 words long. I've done some reformatting so hopefully that will translate well with Amazon Kindle's ebook download program. It's a bit daunting to face the end of this draft. After that is editing and then we're off to the races. I get to face mind-boggling choices like what to use for a cover and do I really need to add an acknowledgements page?
But what's been really tiring has been working with my Muse (pictured, left (actually, it's a picture of Jeremy Brett, but anyway...)). He's turned into a real slave-driver. He is still only revealing the story bit by bit instead of a whole grand overview. He does not always reveal the story while I'm at the keyboard. Sometimes he talks when I walk the dogs, do the washing up or when I'm trying to sleep. He especially likes the last option.
Successful writers like Stephen King advise writers to lay down the first draft as quickly as possible. My Muse is not so keen on that idea. He always wants me to go back and fix errors so sometimes I wind up writing a sentence three or four times before he grudgingly allows me to go on.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not "hearing voices." Yet his is quite insistent. I can see where the idea of demon possession came from.
And now he says that I've taken up too much time here and have to get back at it. See you when I see you.
And I'm happy to report that after 5 or 6 months, I've been able to dive back into my Sherlock Holmes manuscript. It's been so long since I've looked at it that I'd forgotten half of it. This time I reworked a chapter, fixed some plot problems and added two new chapters. I've also made a new file to reformat the manuscript so it can have page numbers, double-spacing, indentation and all of that happy crappy.
I have managed to give Peter Gabriel a cameo in the book, although I'm not sure about the legality of that. I think I'll just throw that out on the blogosphere and see if anyone from PG's camp screams obscenities at me. If they don't, I'm going to assume that I'm good to go.
Mom asked me an interesting question, "Is it any good?"
Now, how the heck am I supposed to answer that? The worst person to ask about the quality of a piece of art is the artist herself/himself. It's not like the artist can be coldly objective.
I finally got to see Peter Gabriel inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I'm surprised he bothered to show up (he didn't when his old group Genesis was inducted.) He even toted along Wife Number Two and Kids Three and Four for the ride. My Mom was impressed with PG's speech. She has never been impressed with his most laudable music, fantastic singing abilities or even with the dazzling videos of the 1980s and 1990s. But she liked this speech.
Mom told me, "Pretend Peter is talking to you about your book."
Um, cute idea, Mom, but no. His speech was clearly not intended for anyone trying to hammer out a first book. I've got to get back to work on the manuscript. Anyway, here's his speech, filmed by someone in the audience. The actual speech was much longer than what was shown on HBO, which heavily edited PG's segment.
It's still not going anywhere at a remarkable speed. I had hoped to have the first draft completed by May but that ain't gonna happen. So failing to accomplish this goal is yet another in a series of spectacular failures that make up my life.
The main wall I've hit with the book is the matter of money. My taxes were astronomical. I've working like a fiend in order to put some money in the bank so I can take some "time off" (ha ha) and work on the manuscript. The only problem is that on those days when I'm not writing for money, I'm absolutely shattered. On my "days off" I'm still working at taking care of the pets and my Mom. On my "days off" I usually have to:
Make all the meals
Drive Mom to her various doctor appointments
Do at least one load of laundry
Do the grocery shopping
Go to post office
Walk the dogs
Do the washing up
Clean up all the dog poop in the yard
Unclog the toilets
Etc.
I did manage to read Publishing E-books for Dummies and am not completely surprised that my hundreds of pages long uncompleted manuscript is all in the wrong format. Just makes me want to get stoned on Benadryl and curl up under the covers with a pile of books that other people somehow managed to get published.
I have not made any advances in my Sherlock Holmes book since I posted about my problems last month. (And, good golly, it wound up being the only blog post for March 2014.)
I did start reading Publishing Ebooks for Dummies, which I consider a good first step to get back on track, even if no one else does.
Problems have multiplied which has prevented me from continuing work on the manuscript, which include but unfortunately not limited to:
Deterioration of Mom's health. I'm spending more and more of my time needing to care for her -- which means I have less time to write. I have considered writing while she's asleep, but I have an unfortunate tendency to fall asleep at these times, too.
Deterioration of my mental health. Hey -- I spend my days watching my beloved mother fall apart. That plays hell with your headspace. Most days I just can't find a damn to give.
Deterioration of my bank account. The big problem is that when I write on the Sherlock Holmes manuscript, I am not writing for paying clients. Earlier this year, I devoted nearly two months to getting most of the first draft done. I still have been unable to make up for that time of not making any money.
I do intend to finish this book (someday) as my Muse seems to have returned from his winter break. For now, it's difficult to find the time to work on material that will not give me some moolah in less than a month's time. Unfortunately, that also means that I have less time to devote to this blog, since I do not make money off of it.
See you when I see you.
What About Peter Gabriel?
If you've come here looking for Peter Gabriel news, I apologize. PG is still planning on attending the ceremonies for his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Tickets are apparently still available for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony in New York City, but I have not been able to find prices, so I assume they are out of the financial reach of 99.9% of humanity. He wanted to donate the original Genesis costumes to the Hall of Fame, but as he'd ignored them since 1982, it's not so surprising for fans to discover that the costumes rotted away.
PG has also cryptically said that something is being planned to celebrate the release of The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, which was released in November of (gasp) 1974. Since PG cannot keep a promise to save his life, I really wouldn't bank on anything happening on this "celebration" except for a colorful post on PG's Facebook page.
The best way to find the latest PG news is to go to Google News and enter "peter gabriel" in the search bar.
In the meantime, here's a rather over the top trailer for the concert film of Back to Front:
How's the book going? Currently, it's not. Sometime in January I caught the flu and it just started to say bye-byes last week. In all of that time, I hadn't been able to take the dogs for a walk. (I can't remember how many storms we had in that time.) So, finally, last Monday, I got to take the dogs out on a walk.
It was great. It was invigorating. It was so gratifying to see the two wagging tails in front of me.
And then I hit the ice. I thought it was slush. It was solid ice. I fell flat on my back, skinned the palms of my hands and hit the back of my head. Welcome to Concussionville.
So working on the book was put on the shelf for another week.
I did try to write a chapter while in the first throes of the flu. Bad idea. I've taken a peek at that and now realize that all of it will have to be rewritten. Sherlock Holmes, the main character, suddenly turned into Hannibal Lecter (who is not a part of the book.) I really want this book to stay true to Holmes' character. This means lots of rewriting. Oh, joy.
Which I'm not looking forward to doing. And oh, hey -- there's yet another snowstorm on it's way, expected to hit late this afternoon.
Maybe I'll suddenly hear my Muse again in the spring. At the moment, I think he's in Cancun.
I'd spend some time to write about this, but I'm still recovering from the flu. As always, here is the photo I stick up here on this blog every 13 Feb. And no, I didn't send a gift this year. Hell, he's getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this year, so what else does he need? Obviously nothing I could provide.
On Monday, I went to my primary care doctor for my annual checkup. The waiting room was full of folks with the flu. By Wednesday, I had the flu and still have it. Apparently my muse fears that I am contagious and has stayed away most of the week. I was able to rewrite problematic parts of 2 chapters, but other than that, nada.
And I do really miss having my muse take up my head space. Life is definitely much better when I can write in the book. I do occasionally wonder if Sherlock Holmes somehow takes over my personality as I write. Actors sometimes get so deeply into their parts that their characters possess them. This happened to the best actor to ever portray Sherlock Holmes, Jeremy Brett. He would look into a mirror and wondered aloud why Jeremy Brett was looking back at him.
Quite frankly, I wouldn't mind being possessed if means that I could get the bills paid on time. It is possible that this book will never get published properly. So far, it looks like the best I can do is get it published as an e-book (which means I have to fork out a substantial amount of my non-existent money) and then if it sells a few thousand copies, bring it to the attention of publishing houses specializing in Sherlockian novels, like Titan Books.
And then again, there's the notion that I'll wind up like Emily Dickinson. Great poet -- but couldn't get a damn thing published until she was dead.
On that happy note, I wish you adieu until next time.
A month or so ago, I announced that I had started a book tentatively titled Not the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. It's clawing it's way out of me bit by bit. I'm losing weight which I assume is a good thing, since I was a fat cow before I started this book. I now have 13 chapters and a prologue, but I think the final chapter at the end of Part I is going to need a total rewrite. Oh, joy.
I've read so many books on how to write books that I thought I knew what I was doing. Now I don't harbor such illusions. I haven't a clue as to what I'm doing. For example, successful authors like Stephen King advise that writers write their complete first draft as quickly as they can, stick it in a drawer for two weeks, and THEN go back to fix any mistakes.
I just can't do that. Perhaps I'm too anal. I don't know. It's just that those mistakes get into my head and in front of my eyes and I can't write another damn word until I go back and fix the damn thing. This puts me behind schedule. I was hoping to finish the first draft by May, but that's probably not going to happen.
And then there's my muse. I've told you about my muse before. He's a cranky bastard. He hasn't a clue as to how a mystery book is to be written and he really doesn't give a damn. He won't keep regular hours and when he does it's usually from about 10 pm to 3 in the morning. Now, the way you are supposed to write a mystery book is to figure out the crime first (motive, whodunit and how he or she hides the facts) and then fill in the rest. So, you really need to write the story backwards.
However, that approach ain't flying with my muse. He wants to tell the story in the way he found out the facts. I also tell him that I need to somehow have time to write non-fiction articles and promote them online in order to make money so I afford to argue with my imaginary muse.
But if you start to argue, he goes away in a snit for three days. You just can't argue with a muse because you never win. No wonder I'm so damn tired all of the time.
I'm 44 years old. I've always wanted to have a book published. I think I even wanted that when I was in the womb. But wanting something and getting what you want are two entirely different things. I've tried writing many manuscripts and something always went wrong with every single one. My biological clock is ticking, except I want a book and not a baby.
The best part of writing is when you can hear the characters speak to you. The words appear on the page and you have barely any concept of writing or typing them. Hours fly by and you feel more and more awake as words go onto the page.
I have made money as a writer. I basically get paid to summarize very long chunks of information for the general public. Writing a novel is much different.
But it's much easier when you have a Muse. The Muse helps you complete the work. Although I am an atheist, I do believe I have a Muse. And he's a stern taskmaster. He starts talking about 8pm and won't shut up for another 10 hours, whether I need to sleep or not. He just talks and talks and if I'm sleepy enough I see him in my hypnagogic dreams. He sends me brief flashes of his story, like mailing me snapshots.
My Muse is Sherlock Holmes, but I'm only allowed to call him Mr. Holmes -- well, his parents named him Sherlock Holmes. This photo of Jeremy Brett is what my Muse looks like. He's a very hard man to ignore. He does, however, fall abruptly silent when something urgent happens in the house -- the dog needs to go outside, Mom needs her dinner or someone knocks at the door.
I've now completed a prologue and seven chapters. I'm doing it on Microsoft Word for now because that's the program I'm most used to. Right now, all of the chapters are in separate documents stored in a folder with the novel's working title, Not the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I suppose I'll have to format the whole thing differently if I want to publish it as an e-book or submit it to a traditional publishing house.
I just wish he'd change his working hours so I can work in the day and sleep at night. Oh well -- I guess no Muse is perfect.
I know, I know -- me and a million other people. If I had a dollar for every completed "novel" I ever wrote, I'd be on my way to being rich. Novels and me just don't get along, despite me being a writer. The Holy Grail of a writer is to get a book published but it always slips out of my grasp.
Most of my manuscripts wind up in the trash because they:
Were written when I was 12 and could only write Dr. Who fan fiction
Got set on fire by my ex
Really, really sucked.
Hopefully, this one won't suck. I hope to complete it someday (HA!) and get it published as an e-book. I'm not entirely sure how that works, but I can research that later. Right now I have to write the damn thing. So far I have a prologue and two chapters.
It's tentative title is Not the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The protagonist (who looks somewhat like Jeremy Brett, of course) is not really Sherlock Holmes, although he was saddled with the unfortunate name of Winston Churchill Sherlock Holmes. Not surprisingly, he and his friend (who insists on being called Watson) winds up in America as a homeless man walking the narrow line between the law and the downright illegal.
For years, my Mom has wanted me to write my autobiography, since I was homeless in England for five years and survived domestic abuse. I really can't write my autobiography because my past is just too damn painful to look at. I have, however, woven some autobiographical facts and anecdotes in the manuscript.
So I won't be blogging very much in the near future as I work on this mutha. I have no idea if I'll ever make any money from it, but so far it's helping lift me from my usual holiday depression jag.
And somewhere I'll work in Peter Gabriel. I haven't figured out how yet. Oh, by the way, PG will be entered into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in April 10. So far, PG has announced that he will attend. I think he forgot that he was touring in Europe then. This should be interesting.
Unless you live under a rock, you've certainly heard by now that Nelson Mandela died yesterday at the impressive age of 95. Although his death did not come as a huge shock (he was 95, after all) it still hurt to hear all the same. I feel sorry for those people who got to know him and will miss him keenly. One of those people is Peter Gabriel, whom I blog about quite a bit.
I believe firmly that heroes only exist in fiction. However, Mandela was closest to being a real hero than just about anyone else who really existed.
His heroic qualities were highlighted by the ability to forgive his enemies and to see the best in humanity. PG also tries to emulate these qualities (at least in public -- believe it or not, I'm not privy to his private life.) I have tried these qualities myself and must say that, although they are laudable, they are not realistic and have landed me in far more pain and problems than if I was as I am now.
The sad truth is that human beings are stupid, lazy sacks of shit that will always look out for their own interests over that of the common good. This is why the human rights movement will ultimately fail. Unless there is a fundamental change in how human beings actually are as opposed to what we hope they might be, our species is better off becoming extinct. Better off for the planet and for all of the other species on it, that is.
We hope human beings will be like dogs -- loyal, trusting and faithful. It's too bad people aren't dogs. We would all be much better off.
I haven't been blogging or writing much of anything since I got back from Leipzig in October for a good reason -- I haven't felt like it. Since Mom's health is progressively getting worse, I'm spending more time taking care of her and have less time for writing. For the moment, she's taking care of my bills (something I'm not proud of, but there you go).
I've been exceptionally tired since the Peter Gabriel concert. I think I somehow left part of myself at Leipzig Arena. I'm not sure what part. I look in the mirror and it doesn't look as if I'm missing anything. And yet when it comes to writing (which used to be my driving passion) I just don't give a damn anymore (outside of what I'm required to write for my established clients.)
I'll admit that we've had some bad times since I came back. We had a death in the family and a break-in. Mom was also diagnosed with yet another health problem that hasn't a cure (breast fibrosis blah blah blah). Add that to the collection.
I also turned 44. I spent most of the day getting molested by a horny pit bull. I found the old guy wandering around confused and idiot me took him while Mom called Animal Control. I had my period at the time and when the pit bull realized that he tried for hours to hump me. No wonder I have never been able to attract a good man. I only smell attractive to another species entirely.
Perhaps the part of me left behind was the last vestiges of hope that I was going to have a happy, fulfilling and successful life. Now I spend my time (in between migraines, that is -- no, Peter Gabriel's advice for my migraines did not work) taking care of my aging mother and reading the books that other people somehow managed to get published. I pet the dogs and wonder what the hell happened.
Now that I've completely depressed you, here's something to cheer you up. This is from the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain:
Today, 3 November, would have been actor Jeremy Brett's 80th birthday. Unfortunately he died in 1995 at the age of 59 from advanced cardiomyopathy. Brett, who's real name was Peter Jeremy William Huggins, played many roles in his remarkable lifetime, but was best known as the definitive Sherlock Holmes.
Brett also struggled with his heart disease (developed as a teenager) and with bipolar disorder (also called manic depression.) He also struggled with being Sherlock Holmes, which he called "the hardest role I've ever played." Despite numerous accolades and thousands of adoring fans, he never quite thought that he'd gotten the role right.
Brett also is one of the best imaginary boyfriends I've ever had. He never leaves the toilet seat up, never takes the last cookie and never bitches if I have a migraine. He's not as high maintenance as my other current imaginary boyfriends Peter Gabriel and Sherlock Holmes. PG is a lovely guy but easily distracted. And Mr. Holmes has a tendency to rabbit on a bit.
I first saw Brett as Mr. Holmes when I was a kid back around 1985. I thought he was Jeremy Irons. (C'mon, admit it -- they look somewhat alike.) I was also distracted by things like school, my parents' divorce and Peter Gabriel. It wasn't until this year that I finally realized that Jeremy Brett and Jeremy Irons were two different people. (Okay -- I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed.) And then I discovered that Brett had died. It was like finding someone and losing them all on the same day.
Soon after this I had a dream about talking to Jeremy Brett about what the afterlife is like. "Oh, it's brilliant!" he said in between puffs on his cigarette. "You live on in people's memories. Whenever they think about you, you're alive in their heads. It's wonderful. You get to meet so many people from all over the world and help them out just by showing up. Come to think of it, it's not too much different from my real life."
Wherever you are, Jeremy, I hope you have a happy and stress-free birthday.
It's been a busy time for Peter Gabriel the last week or so. He wrapped up his European leg of the Back to Front tour on the 25th. Plans are under way for another European tour in late April and May of 2014. So far, only four German dates have been announced (none for Leipzig, sadly), but I have not been able to find out when those tickets go on sale.
Peter also featured in a dynamite interview with The Guardian. Those familiar with Q magazine will be familiar with the style of short questions similar to the Q Questionnaire. PG did well filling his out in 1992, but he has really honed the art of the one-liner in 2013.
And then yesterday Lou Reed died. Reed was one of PG's close friends. Reed and Laurie Anderson helped PG get together plans for the Real World Experience Park which never came to fruition but was a good idea at the time. PG put up a touching farewell to Reed on his Facebook page today:
Oh Lou, where have you gone?
We have lost a great artist And I have lost my friend.
It was your words and your work with the Velvet Underground that inspired Vaclav Havel to name the Czech revolution, the Velvet Revolution. You brought a ...great novelist’s unswerving attention to the human psyche and soul and attached it to an electric guitar. That clarity and fierce honesty symbolized freedom, like nothing else.
You carried this honesty, purity and passion into whatever you did. Whether it was writers, amplifiers, artists, photography, tai chi, friendships, the glasses you designed or the journeys you had taken, anyone around you knew exactly what you were into; what you loved and hated.
You could be so difficult, narcissistic and intransigent, but anyone you allowed beyond that leather-jacketed protective and sometimes-poisonous veneer got to meet a special man that was sweet, tender and exceptionally loyal.
Watching you and Laurie finding each other was like watching teenage sweethearts. Everyone knew New York Lou, who could tell you all the ups and downs of the modern-day urban explorer, exploring drugs and sexual identity, but how many noticed the great romantic poet of the Power of the Heart that you wrote for Laurie. And what wry sharp intelligence you carried with you at all times, that could cut through any packaging and reveal the living and beating core.
It was always such a pleasure to eat and laugh with you and hear that high-pitched squeal of delight, echoing around the room and bursting out of nowhere.
Oh Lou, we’re going to miss you.
PG
Reed leaves behind his wife Laurie Anderson, thousands of grieving fans and really screwed up world.
I'm so tired and sore that I'm amazed that I'm able to type. But it was worth it! The Peter Gabriel Back to Front concert in Leipzig, Germany was INCREDIBLE -- even better than the show in Philadelphia last year. The lighting was better, some of the songs had better arrangements (especially "This is the Picture") and had the best intro I've heard so far for the PG classic "The Family and the Fishing Net."
I also got to meet PG again. I want to emphasize that I've happened to be very lucky. PG rarely meets his fans during the soundcheck because of time constraints. In the photo here, kindly taken by a Real World employee, you can see how stunned (and how fugly) I am. You can also see how well PG is. He looks much healthier than he did last year for the Philly gig. I guess that year-long vacation did him a world of good. I guess PG was right to go on that trip and I was wrong for bitching about his vacation. Dammit, PG -- stop being right.
I'll write a more detailed account/review of the soundcheck and concert later, when my fingers aren't so stiff, but for now I'll mention that PG gave me advice on how to treat my migraines. Later on, when the shock wore off, I nearly burst into tears from gratitude. I've had a lot of fantasies about PG since 1986 and I have to admit that talking about headaches and migraines with him was not one of them.
However, that one minute of him genuinely giving a damn means more to me than if he shagged me. Not that I'd say no if he asked (yeah -- like I have a shot) but it there's one thing I've learned in my mixed-up life is that having sex with someone does not equal giving a damn about that someone.
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