My late night message, unedited

Ever notice how when you’re tired, or drunk, you say things you probably normally wouldn’t say?

Well, last night, while exhausted, I spoke a bit more honestly than I normally do on my facebook page. And since I figure most of the folks following this blog don’t see my facebook pages — and since I always wish my favorite authors would share more of their lives with nobodies like me — I thought I’d share the post here.

So, here she be. Just one long comment, hastily thrown together after about a sixteen-hour work day — something I’ve done way too much the past seven years, but hope to steer away from.

The post:

Danah and I just finished up our deadline, which was a bear because we had a special section that doubled our work. And though I’m exhausted, I’m super pumped because today I verbally closed the largest single sale The Observer has ever had. Should get the formal insertion order tomorrow, but still… Wow. Been a hard climb. Bout didn’t get up several times through the past seven years. Had the shit kicked out of me too many times to count. Been counted out by the critics too many times to even remember. But I’m getting stronger and rejuvenated, and I’m looking forward to finally slowing down some this year, getting some time off, and spoiling my wife. Life’s a marathon and if you’re in front coasting right now, thinking how easy it is, just remember not to mock that person you’re about to lap. Turns out, they may sleep less and run more and you might just be begging them for a job someday. That might be years from now, but it’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. Guess I’m not 27 anymore. Guess The Observer’s not a joke anymore. Guess it’s true that the rewards of a journey are at the end, not at the beginning. Guess it’s true that God has your back more often than not. That you can be stupid and get in overhead, but with some serious prayers and some serious hard work and some serious readjustment in your life (yes, living broke), you can dig your way out. You can go from being the guy everyone thinks is a joke and feels a bit sorry for to the guy that quite a few folks envy. But like some fools have said, “I got lucky.” Sure, that’s right. Just don’t say that to my face if we happen to be in a parking lot and I happen to be in a bad mood. I’ll straight knock your teeth down your throat. I’ve born some scars these past seven years. And I’ve taken a lot of shit. So to all my critics, doubters, and haters, I’ll say what Tim Tebow says… “Preciate that.”

P.S. I continue to get many of the same questions about my book, so I’m going to start including this at the bottom of my future posts. First, if you want to buy my ebook, Little Man, and the Dixon County War, it’s here. You can read a long sample of the book if you’re on the fence about whether you’re interested or not.

Second, some have said, “I’d love to buy it, but I don’t have a Kindle.” Well, you don’t need one. There’s a free reading application that will let you read my book and thousands of others on your computer. That link is here. (I warn you though, that’s a very addictive program to have… The price, selection, and convenience of an online bookstore will win you over quickly.)

Living life without a cuttting-edge rifle

As I’ve publicized wider and wider my desire to get some of my novels published, I’ve gotten lots of questions about how all this may go down from friends who didn’t know about this aspect of my life.

Many say they’ve thought about writing a book and seem to hope I just recently had the same idea and made it happen. Well, unfortunately that’s not how it happened.

I started writing fiction when I was 13. I vividly remember the exact place where I sat and how awesome it felt to leave the boredom of my room and enter a world more than a hundred years in the past. A world where Native Americans in the West were threatened by the encroachment of settlers.

And for 18, incredible pages, I scribbled with a pencil exactly how I fearlessly fought these white SOBs, who were killing buffalo and taking my land. Yeah, I was using a cutting-edge rifle that gave me an edge — and probably never truly fell into Native American hands — but it didn’t matter.

I was no longer the little boy who worried constantly about being bullied and dreamed too much while sitting in his room. I was suddenly a proud warrior wreaking havoc and easily picking up women.

And I’ve pretty much never stopped writing. I soon started a book after the Native American novel that’s about wolves in the wild. In it, a young pup works to earn respect and grow into the pack leader. It reads quite similar to “Call of the Wild,” a favorite of mine when I was a kid, but it again served to teach me some of the trade.

So when I hear people say they’ve been want to write a novel, I hesitate. I don’t want to discourage them, but but this shit isn’t easy. And even after 20 years and more than 40 projects — most unfinished — I still struggle to write. When you’re new, the words fly. You’re a genius.

Heh. Back when I was 21 or 22, I got a call back from an agent on a novel I’d finished, and when he asked me to rework part of it and make a change, I scoffed and literally said “no.” I had such confidence that my book was a work of art and perfect that I was completely inflexible.

Now, how stupid was that? But, when you’re that young and confident, the writing’s easy. It’s also mostly shit.

And so as you get better, you get more and more critical, and suddenly you can’t stand your writing. And novels that once seemed fun to tackle seem daunting and unimpressive as you finish them.

This is a hard stage to push through — even for successful authors.

So, while I joke about making it big on my blog and to my friends, that’s almost always far from the realty.

You only have to read Robin Mellom’s story to know how difficult the road will almost certainly continue to be. (Her story is all to familiar to those of us who’ve been laboring for decades to catch a break.)

But even though the chance of earning a living from writing fiction is somewhere between slim and none, that won’t ever stop me. One, I’m still that young 13-year-old dreamer. And two, I’d write all I’ve written and 10x more for nary a dime. Because when you’re writing, you’re alive. And if you’re a writer and you’re not writing, you’re miserable. You’re testy and antsy and your wife wants to kill you.

Worst of all, you’re probably desperately needing to escape this brutal world we live in and enter a world where life makes sense and happy endings generally happen. Where a man wins the woman — in the end — and nabs the bad guy, too.

So, since this is real life, I know the path to success in the fiction world will hardly prove easy. It probably will never prove rewarding. But that won’t keep me from continuing this odyssey.

It’s just too bad I can’t instantly pick up a cutting-edge rifle in real life. Or be about a foot taller. : )

Worrying about complete silliness… Or, am I?

I’m sure you’ve heard of the term of putting the cart before the horse.

Well, this sounds stupid, but for the better part of the last six months after I completed my most recent Western novel, one of my worst fears has been getting asked by an interviewer, “Who are your favorite writers?”

Or, “What writers had the biggest influence on you?”

Or, “Name a couple of the greatest writers in your opinion?”

Now, maybe I’m just sweating this because I’m the one used to asking all the questions.

But still, how do you answer those questions? I could just blow them off, I guess, but as someone who’s read so much and been influenced by so many, how do you narrow it down?

And honestly, there are a lot of successful authors who’ve sold millions that I think can’t write worth a shit. But, can you say that when you’re new? And should you? I’m guessing the right answer’s “no,” but I’m guessing threatening to pistol whip Patton probably isn’t something you should do either, so I’m liable to step in it on this line of questioning, as well. And with the internets, it’ll be out there forever, so I’ll be pretty much doomed. A nobody writer squashed by a somebody writer who’s richer than shit and has all kinds of connections — but still can’t write.

Anyway, any advice from my millions of readers would be great on the top questions…

And any tips on not worrying about this prior to being published would be welcome as well. I think I’m definitely putting the cart before the horse on this one.