Revising the Monstrous

Finally, I am able to focus on finishing revising and editing the third draft of Monstrous, my second horror novel. There is much happening in the world, between the pandemic, and the horrific civil-rights violations in the U.S. that have derailed my attention, but I am starting to manage more effectively amid this mass anxiety and tension. 

Completing this revision has been a long time coming, but I believe there is much good in my little book.

Well, maybe not so little. The work Monstrous stands at about 178,000 words or 800 pages, give or take last scenes I am adding and rewrites to the resolution. I consider it a little long. Originally, I had planned a shorter book than my debut horror novel Town & Train, published at about 129,000 words.

My partner has already gently joked that I have completely transformed into Professor Grady Tripp from Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys. Tripp cannot finish his second novel (at an unwieldy 2,611-pages!) and has fallen into a chronic pot-smoking habit. If you haven't read the novel or seen the Michael Douglas flick, I cannot recommend either enough. 

So my concern remains—at nearly 180,000 words, I think the manuscript is too much for everyone to beta-read. (A beta reader is someone who looks at a manuscript for the first time and then responds to the novelist's questions, and gives them advice on improving it.)  

The goal now is to reduce the book to a much tighter 150,000 words or less if possible. I'm looking at these revisions and it's a bit of a brain-bender, but I am hoping to do most of the revisions before June's end. Or as my publisher once told me about revisions to Train, it's not like I am writing it; I am unwriting it in a way.

So where and how to cut?

I have experienced certain epiphanies, after much struggling and wringing of hands.

Have no fear—my partner and publisher agree. The former has read the first few chapters, in various stages; the latter has seen none of it. They strongly advise cutting the first few chapters or backstory. 

So...I am working on that. All of my players are converging at a remote place, but they take about 200 pages, give or take, to get there. 

I have had to ask myself, then, does all of this backstory add to the current story? 

Keep in mind that I also have a repeating chorus of interludes throughout the novel, harkening back to an incident in 1989 that altered the key players for their rest of their lives, creating the protagonists, as well as changing someone into an antagonist who figures strongly in the story. If I am being vague, this is extremely deliberate—the art of not spoiling the broth before the reader enjoys it.

So, essentially, it makes more sense for the characters to converge at the present setting sooner, at the outset of the story. From there, I can tease out the interludes from '89 and any references to their travelling to the current setting. 

It's a horror yarn, but really the book is also about the past, how it shapes us, how we keep moving in our own journeys, and whether we carry the past with us or move forward. 

My players' time on the road and their interactions is, then, additional backstory. These are the proverbial darlings that I must kill.  

Aw, hells, so now I also understand that most of the protagonist's hitchhiking to the remote setting can be alluded to, not described chapter-by-chapter. In his  travels, my hero has some fine interactions with other characters and insights, but there is a significant loss of tension in these protracted scenes. 

Most of the other details the reader can deduce for themselves. Any backstories "from the road" I can work in. The more I consider this reduction, the more I think this editorial move only strengthens the narrative.

Sara Jasmine, for example, can allude to her interview at McGill University for an instructor position, or openly gay Dave can bemoan no longer speaking to his best buddy with whom he had a fling. And why did John Newman, now in his late thirties, hitchhike westward across the U.S. and eastward across Canada, staying off the grid all the while, as though the devil was at his heels? 

Stay tuned to find out, faithful reader. 

Carrying on, through back roads and dark highways, under the light of the moon.

Bad times, bad habits, dreams of writing

Photo of me with the first draft of Monstrous back in
 February 2017 when I thought posing with  the
book was a good idea just because I could.
My intentions were good...

Bad times and bad habits during this pandemic. Up late too much, distracting myself with bad habits and not just of the social-media-and Netflix-watching variety.

After three weeks, I finally started to crack, between working at home (or, as more often happens, attempting to work at home) on my federal government contract, the uncertainties of the pandemic caught up with me. So, anxious, depressed, frustrated and angry in turns at not knowing what is happening next week, next month—hell, even next year—I realized I am having trouble processing. Dealing. 

My partner ran the gamut of this emotion during the first two weeks (panic, anxiety, depression), while I held steadfast. I head steadfast until this past week, and the outbursts began—mainly anger and frustration and permutations of depression.

For late March I originally was slated to appear at writers' festival in New Orleans, followed by a five-day writers' retreat in High Cotton, Mississippi, with a literary mentor on-hand to guide me and three other writers in our current works-in-progress. Of course, this has all changed with the pandemic. My project? Completing the third draft of Monstrous, my second horror novel. Even as I write this lofty phrase, I know that I haven't rewritten a word of it in weeks. The closest I got was checking my notes (I have left myself of clear signposts and storybeats and observations that lead to the final page). That was last Saturday. Instead of getting charged up, I was utterly overwhelmed. I then returned to my notes later that night, in a stimulated haze, where I sat with my final scenes for the book and made cursory changes to some sentences in half-light at the kitchen counter.

What tipped me over this week was an offer to do a virtual reading of my novel for the festival that was cancelled. Seemed like a kind offer. It was. The only catch is that video recording program I wa supposed to use for the virtual reading would not load properly, and now all my visual-and-audio features are affected on various platforms. I had the displeasure of emailing the festival promoter to say that no, I  cannot find another program to record my reading, and good luck with the online reading. Quite a blow to me to have to do so, mainly because I have not done a reading of the novel in years, much less published any short fiction in six years. So, this inability to respond to the kind reading offer and having to turn it down has engorged my depression and shattered my reserves of calm and composure.

I know everyone is enduring similar problems, but my difficulties with my novel rewrite have been sporadic and building over the past year. So what to do now? Yelling, screaming, ranting and fuming has only gotten me so far. The pressure of trying adapt to a new normal in our household, trying to be several people at once - father to an eleven year old and productive employee - are at the very least difficult to bare and at their most obvious, impossible. You can't be a teacher and an employee. You can't be two people.

So as for my novel Monstrous, I am not even sure if I stand at a crossroads anymore. For crying out loud, I only need to rewrite some new scenes, rewrite the climax and denouement, and make some intricate-but-significant changes in the story itself. The book stands at about 700 pages in its current form. and most of it is quite good, in my opinion. I find myself falling asleep and finishing up the last scenes in my head before sleep overtakes me. I don't dream about the book, per se, but the characters and scenes reside in my imagination.

The manuscript in question in first draft form from February 2017.
Disclaimer: my desk is always this tidy. Why do you ask?

A Meditation in Moonlight

I stood in the backyard, with snow covering my boots up to the tops of my toes and I stared at the full moon, thinking. The moon, of course, held no answers, but has always been a good listener with pale features. It holds its secrets too, which I sometimes imagine I glean.

Twice I stood out there that late Saturday evening. And while I won't say exactly what I was doing out there (one deserves discretion), I will admit to pondering whether to reply to a missive from someone I hadn't expected to hear from but also, at the same time, thought I might.

It had been a while, so I gave the missive some thought, as well as the sender. My due thought was awash in lunar glow, plain as daylight and allowing flights of fancy and imagination, as usual (for me, anyway).

By the time of my second outing under the whitewashed moonglow, the backyard a brilliant shimmering sea around me, I made up my mind what to do. I would reply, which held certain risks, certain rewards (often confused). Now if only the bright disc, which had seen me through so much, could help me pick the right words. But it gave me the intent, and you cannot ask for more than that from the moon.

Hope, anew

I found hope again, for the third draft of my new horror novel. Clear and bright and as true as the longer February days.

Recently, I had my birthday and one of the few advantages of a February birthday is that I am reminded I am well-loved (and well-lusted after, arguably), nothing else is really happening this time of year and the days are getting longer by about 30 seconds each day.

I found hope, hope to get through the winter, and a good, solid plan to finish the third draft of Monstrous and, crucially, the support needed to do so. 

I'm looking at about five days' full work, between adding a couple of new scene, rewriting and sanding down other scenes, and mixing in the right elements throughout, along with a few significant changes in the earlier scenes.

And then everyone dies! Wait - that's Shakespearian tragedy, not my novel. (Or arguably Stephen King's The Stand). 

What is going to happen for Sergeant Ritchie O'Donnell, my gay cop from Town & Train?
What is the fate of Dave and Josh, my two university students, who are fleeing monsters?
Why is my drifter protagonist back from a cross-country trip, travelling off-the grid?
What makes some a sociopath? How does a protagonist become an antagonist?

Ed Piskor's X-Men: Grand Design Reviewed

Ed Piskor's X-Men: Grand Design #1 (collects volumes one and two of the single-issue series) is clearly a masterpiece with minor flaws. Piskor said in an April 3, 2018 interview with John Soltes of hollywoodsoapbox.com, that he pitched Grand Design to Marvel Comics as his take on the first 280 issues of X-Men, the run that he adored while growing up. As a result, the promo touts it as interweaving hundreds of The Uncanny X-Men series and other spin-offs, from issue #1 in 1963 through to the late 1960's (my educated guess, here). And Piskor delivers his love letter with sweeping writing, gorgeous art in an large, imminently enjoyable format.  

Writer-artist Piskor often uses single panels or multiple panels to depict major story arcs, subplots and character intros both small and large. Piskor is pithy, too, the art is fascinating and detailed and his summaries are minimal but successfully cover tentpole events for such as the childhoods of Erik Lehnsherr (aka Magneto), Charles Xavier (Professor X), Cain Marko (aka the Juggernaut) and smaller players such as Unus the Untouchable or Lawrence Trask and his father's creation of the Sentinels. Piskor affectionately details the minutiae of their character development and the burgeoning X-Men adventures.

Grand Design holds minor flaws, however. They are not in the execution or art or charming giant-sized presentation and the reprinting of Uncanny X-Men issue # 1 from 1963 (which is re-coloured by Piskor himself). The fault lies in the writing. Piskor shifts arbitrarily from an established past-tense narrative voice to a present-tense voice. An editor should have flagged these switchbacks, and kept the story in a past-tense or present-tense voice for consistency. The switching is jarring to the reader. Piskor also wants to bring all the threads together (perhaps as a reaction to the numerous subplots that famed X-Men-writer Chris Claremont later established on and never returned to). As a result, the creator retcons storylines such as the Phoenix Force, inserting it earlier in the X-Men chronology that it actually appeared in the canon. Fascinating bit of backwriting, that.

Still, Grand Design is charming and endearing, which one cannot say very often about modern comic books, with some exceptions. Piskor immerses the reader in the art and the sweep of the X-Men chronology. What Piskor can convey in a single word balloon is admirable such as Kazar, in the Savage Land, simply yelling the teen team, "Leave!" Another example includes the team gathering around the bed-ridden Professor X. The quintessential stuffed shirt, Scott Summers (aka Cyclops), says, "We've been keeping up with our Danger Room regime, sir." William replies, "Oh, Scott." There's much to love in Piskor's labour of love. (Full disclaimer: Any book that includes, in the cover flaps,  Uncanny X-Men covers spanning the past four decades has already earned my vote). I am very grateful to finally see what all the fuss is about, having read most of Piskor's Eisner-award-winning Hip Hop Family  Tree. 

A perfect example of Ed Piskor's fine artwork, pithiness and love for the characters.
And what's not to love? Piskor's affection is infectious.

Review: Lily Morton’s The Mysterious and Amazing Blue Billings

The Mysterious and Amazing Blue Billings is a charming, spooky and often funny horror/humor/romance hybrid. It's got two fellas, Levi Black, recovering from a bad break-up, and Blue Billings, the other, who runs a Ghost Walk in York.  Morton succeeds at establishing a haunting vibe, a gothic supernatural feel, plentiful humour, character rapport and sexy steaminess. Oh - and the novel includes Ghost Walks and Jack the Ripper Walks, of course.

It is my understanding that this is Lily Morton's first kick at horror (my partner highly recommended this book to me, being familiar with Morton's other romance titles) and I consider it a fine start. Morton avails well of herself in her heartbreak-and-horror debut, drawing on York's local history and architecture and colour, but it is her comic-strip-drawing Levi and the homeless rogue Blue who woo the reader and win over our sympathy. Morton's sensitivity in her portrayal-from describing Levi scratching the top of his head when he is thinking to Blue playing with his lip ring to depicting the pain and loss they have each experienced separately-imbues the protagonists with life.

As a horror author myself, I found many passages inspirational to my own work involving the spectral and the rapport between two characters (LGBTQ+ or otherwise) who just might become more than acquaintances. Horror is all about pitting loveable or sympathetic protagonists against the unknown and ensuring that they endure the human condition so that they are not mere ciphers for the author. This Morton seems to know instinctively, and demonstrate throughout The Mysterious and Amazing Blue Billings.

Morton has plenty of breathing room to turn this into the Black and Blue series, which I would eagerly follow. 

Highly recommended.

ChiZine Publications founders Sandra Kasturi and Brett Savory step down

In a stunning move for an independent Canadian publisher, but not an unexpected one, ChiZine Publications founders Sandra Kasturi and Brett Savory have stepped down.

Their statement on the the ChiZine site is here.

High Fever Books is doing an admirable job of keeping up with the stories that continue to come out from complainants. Kelsi Morris is the latest person to come forward with a story about bullying, uncomfortable rape jokes, and being on the inside of the machinations at ChiZine.

The link to High Fever Books' regularly updated blog is here.