My Own Pace

I originally published this in 2012. It felt relevant today with the Olympics ending so I'm posting again. 

In another life, at another time, I was a runner—a sprinter. I ran the 100m, the 200m, and the 400m. My favorite race was the 200m; however, my best race was the 400m.

The guys I raced typically competed in the same events, and they were faster than me in the quick sprints. In the 100m, they beat me easily. I didn’t have the takeoff speed needed to excel in that race and, usually, I was speeding up at the finish line. In the 200m, we were more equally matched. I would start off slower than them and then make up what I had lost in the turn around the home stretch. One particular race we had a five way tie for the win. The photo finish was incredible. It looked like one runner with several arms and legs flailing from their torso.

Then there was the 400m. Imagine sprinting for a quarter mile and you can imagine my chagrin every time I lined up for that race. It was about 50 seconds of speed and several hours of misery afterward. To this day, I cringe at the memories of the pain that came after the finish line. Win or no, that race was torture!

Most of the 400m runners didn’t understand that the race required strategy. From the gun, they would give everything they had, sprinting as fast as they could around the track. At the end of 200m, they would hit a “wall” and lose all the advantage they had built up. By 300m, there was nothing left for those racers but burning lungs and regret about entering the race in the first place. Not me. I sprinted at full speed for the first 100m and then slowed down and “coasted” along the straightaway. That may sound strange to you, considering this was a sprint, but that was the plan. My abilities required a different strategy than my competition. I ran at my own pace.

At 200m, I turned on my wheels. Giving everything I had again felt like a brand new race. I easily passed one or two runners before the end of the curve and slowly gained ground on the other 3 during the last 100m. By the finish, I was hurting (oh, you can’t imagine the pain), and either won the race or came in second. I never finished third.

I share this story because life is a lot like the 400m. Most people will try sprinting as fast as they can, attempting to run through life at the same speed as the person next to them. Some will keep up for a while, but then their lack of preparation, planning, or ability catches up to them and they hit the “wall,” unable to advance at the swift speeds of which they began. Soon they are passed by and left to struggle just to finish. Those people become forgettable and often change goals and ambitions.

I admit: falling into last place for that second 200m was torture. I imagined horrible things that people in the stadium must have been thinking as they watched me run. To them, I was the loser at that point. To fall behind so early must have meant that I was slow or unqualified for the event. Why had I even entered? After a couple races, however, the 400m became mine. Why? Because I ran at my own pace.

I encourage you all to take note of what you can do. know your abilities. Be aware of your strengths and your weaknesses. Be honest with yourself and proceed through life at a pace that you determine, not your competition. Set a strategy and stick to it. When you reach your goal, the race will have been yours to claim.

~ Jamie

Writing...The Long Walk

You know the book. Stephen King’s first novel, later published under the name Richard Bachman. The contestants walk at four mph until there’s only one left. The winner gets anything he wants. The losers…well, they don’t keep walking.

Today I’m feeling like a walker.

I remember when I first started blogging; I was so fresh, so eager, so excited. I set up a Twitter account. I started sharing my thoughts. And followers came. I reached out to other bloggers, unsullied writers seeking the same interaction. We were a collection word walkers, some farther along the trail than others, all seeking to stay ahead of the pace and claim the ultimate prize. We entered contests and shared stories. I emailed a few almost daily we shared passages and encouragement.

That was two years ago.

Today I still love writing. I enjoy blogging. I enjoy twitter. Many of the other writers are gone, though. Some announced their lives had changed and they wouldn’t be updating any social networks regularly, only to slowly fade away; others posted great writing advice one day, then nothing…silence.

And I’m still writing.

It feels different. Quiet. Maybe I took a wrong turn and am on a different road. Perhaps everyone left me in the dust and I’m a straggler. I don’t know. But like the book where the walking never seems to end, here I am. Still writing, still walking. I read somewhere that a professional author is an amateur that didn’t quit. I’m not quitting. I love writing too much. That’s why I’m here.

If you are out there writing and creating—I salute you. We share the same road. You, like me, are a walker. You’re still there, dreaming and working toward the future. 

Habits and Routine

Recently I reached the planned half-way point in book 4 (tentatively titled In Forgotten Dreams). The chapter was intense and, I must say, an emotional drain on me. Needing a break, I started thinking about my writing. A few questions on my mind were: Is my writing schedule productive? Am I wasting time? What should I be doing different? Am I going too slow?
Over the past few years I've developed a particular writing schedule. For the most part it goes something like this: January - March = write a rough draft. March - August = edit and revise previous works and current work. Brainstorm. Read. September = more brainstorming. More reading. October - December = plotting and outlining future works. Read. Almost every night, once the kids are in bed, I grab my tablet and start working. Usually I get in an hour or two of work, and I never stop until reaching 1,000 words written or a full chapter edited.
Everyone has their own routine and we all work at our own pace. This one has worked for me. It's the habit I've settled in to and I'm comfortable with it.
While pondering the above mentioned questions, I decided to open the file for book 3 (Under Darkened Skies). My planned release is this summer and I wanted to gauge how much work remained. Keep in mind, I completed the rough draft for that book almost a year ago. Since then, I've done two or three draft revisions. The last time I looked at that book was in December. Wow, does it need work! The writing isn't bad, and the story starts off with a bang, but there were obvious needs that stood out in the manuscript. I filled some holes and reworked a couple things in the first two chapters before putting the book away again.
The lesson for me: it appears that my habits and routine work. I strongly believe that had I rushed through the book to get it finished I would have missed the opportunity to make it stronger. Writers always say that it's best to get away and detach from your work, that way you'll return with an objective point of view. They're right. In this digital age it's relatively easy to push out a piece of fiction that meets a word count for a novel without actually giving the work and the author the opportunity to mature. That's too bad.
As I mentioned before, everyone has their own routine and pace. This one works for me; it probably won't work for most. I'm not the type of author who can crank out four books or even a dozen books per year. If you are that type of author, I applaud you. If you're not, I understand.
So Under Darkened Skies is coming. It's maturing and growing stronger. It's on schedule. After that, In Forgotten Dreams will be here. Somewhere along the way, my secret zombie novel will show up. Until then, I'll keep writing and getting better.

Happy reading.

~Jamie

Fitting In

I’m not a social butterfly. Nope. Never have been. Probably never will be. If there’s an event happening, chances are I’m off in a corner somewhere away from the excitement. I don’t need attention, I don’t want attention, and I certainly don’t go looking for attention. This should not be taken to mean that I don’t like people or I’m anti-social. I’m really quite friendly. I’m also comfortable in my own skin.

When I was in fourth grade, a substitute teacher was giving us a lesson about fitting in. “How many of you would like to be constantly teased?” she asked.

I raised my hand. I had been teased for as long as I could remember. To me, it was part of life. When I grew up, Jamie was not a common name for boys.

The substitute called on me and asked again, “You wouldn’t mind if everyone teased you?”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t bother me,” I answered.

Trying to prove a point, the teacher told everyone in the class that they could tease me during the next recess. She might have thought I playing the role of the class clown and would back down, or she might have thought I would come sulking back from recess, sorry for my answer. (Of course, in today’s world, she’d be fired for what she did before the school day was done.) Regardless of her reason, she did it. She told the class to tease me during the next recess. They teased as best they could. I was called every name imaginable. I was chased and laughed at and had fingers pointed at me. Guess what? Recess ended, the teasing ended, and life went on. I didn’t cry, or sulk, or write everyone’s name down to seek revenge later in life. I took my lumps and moved on. (One girl tried teasing me after recess and I did get angry then because that wasn’t in the rules the teacher had given.) After that day, I don’t remember being teased again. Ever.

My point to this is that all of us are different for a reason. I think of the human race as a giant puzzle. We’re all pieces of that puzzle: some might have a straight edge or two; others none; while all have unique shapes that vary in subtle ways. We each have varying needs and wants and likes and appearances. And there’s a place for all of us in the puzzle—that’s what fitting in means. Alone, each piece is only part of the big picture, and without every piece, the puzzle isn’t complete.

Being a non-social type of person, I am inspired by stories of those who stand up to bullying and teasing. It’s hard to deal with such abuse and even harder to face it with strength. There’s no place for cruelty toward others in this world, and I believe that those who overcome such things are the champions of humanity.

Sometimes I’m good with words; I don’t think I was today. I just want people to know that humankind is better than those who choose to not let people fit in.

Never Gives Up

Today's special post is courtesy of an email my 10 year old daughter sent me this morning. It's all the inspiration I'll ever need.

My Dad

       My dad can feel the motivating thought of pursuing his dream. He will always be my father, he will always be a very creative writer. He has his own qualities that make him who he is right now. 

     I look up to him as my role model. He knows that he has a daughter that understands him. He has a family that loves him.

     His mind has a way of expressing his feelings and never gives up.  

 

 

Out of Focus

I’ve had a condition the past few days that has left everything blurry. My eyes hurt, my eyelids are swollen, and the world seems farther away. It’s awful. To compound the matter, there doesn’t seem to be a cure for my ailment. Like the common cold, my condition has to “run its course,” which means I may have to deal with this some more. Oh, the misfortune!

I jest a bit because it’s the only recourse I have against the cruel odds that have found me this season. The events of this winter late have changed me a bit. Normally headstrong and dynamically alert, I feel scattered and out of focus. I’m not the “me” I’m used to seeing. During these times, I’m left to wonder if I’m being punished somehow. Or even tested. Perhaps this is a mean joke and somewhere there’s a camera recording my misery. Or, most likely even, it’s just life.

Certainly it’s the latter. The events that tug on a person’s soul are the flavor of life. Without them, the better moments wouldn’t feel so wonderful. We need the bad just as much as we need the good. I’m convinced of that. There’s good fortune on the horizon, though I cannot see it yet. I know it is coming and I want to keep moving forward to reach it. We have everything to look forward to, even if life seems out of focus right now. Work hard, believe, and good things will come to you.

~ Jamie

Make it so

Look under the cover of a great novel and its pages will pull you into another world. There, you’ll experience a fantastic story that changes you forever. Filled with magic, mystery, suspense, action, and love, each carefully scripted phrase will linger in the back of your mind and influence your actions back in the real world.

The real world. Well that sounds boring, doesn’t it? After chasing an imaginative adventure, who wants to drum out their heartbeats in a somewhat boring reality? I do.

Life isn’t dull. I believe there’s a connection between the things we can imagine and the things we can experience. The challenge is discovering what is possible and having the courage to make it so. That part isn’t easy.

In my first post on this blog, I opened with a phrase about crawling out of the Snake River. That day was one of many great adventures of my younger life. As the reality of what I had just survived sank into my system, I promised myself that I would write about it in a book. I never did.

Although I had almost died that day, it turns out that I feared sharing the story more than experiencing the terror of the event. Most people have it the other way around. A part of me wishes I could have been so lucky. Death, it seemed, wanted me badly. As life progressed, my collection of extraordinary experiences grew at such a pace that I was no longer surprised when I faced a mortal challenge. I always survived, though not always unharmed. The old saying is that one could fill a book with everything they’ve lived through. I could fill several.

Still, I never acted on my intentions to write the book. Over time, death grew bored of me and my adventurous reality faded into the expected life of someone who had stopped following their dreams. I had forgotten what adventure was and stopped using my imagination. I even stopped searching for it in books.

The title of this post is “Make it so.” I love the line from Star Trek because it tells us everything we should know about imagination. Don’t just dream about great things; make them happen; search for them. I feel like I’m living again and rebuilding the connection between what I can imagine and what I can experience. I hope you will do the same.

What if I Never Try?

I’m usually a positive person. I smile. I wave back to people. I don’t speak ill of anyone. I open doors for strangers. I’m hopeful about what could be when I’m daydreaming. That’s most of the time

Every so often, a little bit of self-doubt creeps into my being and ruins my day. While my intentions are to pursue constructive thoughts, that menacing demon takes over and makes me feel like I’m not good enough. “Everyone else is better than you,” that creature tells me. “You’re wasting your time. Hard work leads only to exhaustion.” The longer the thoughts linger in my mind, the more negative they become. Finally, these two damaging words enter my mind: “Give up.”

I wish I were making this up; I wish this were just a story. Sadly, it isn’t. This happens repeatedly. Over and over, the doubt returns and forces its way into my consciousness. It’s not often, but it doesn’t have to be—once the words enter my mind, the damage is done. I start believing my thoughts and sink into despair…

Fortunately, that’s the point where my inspiration comes to rescue me. “I’m the worst,” I tell myself, “so I need to work harder. If I’m wasting my time, well, at least I’m committed to something. Give up? Never. If I’m worth this much trouble to discourage, then I’m worth equal that in promise.” Like the sunrise after a starless night, my own words rescue me from hopeless abandonment. I start to believe. 

As my spirit lifts and my confidence regains its tread, I remind myself that no one knows what they can achieve unless they try. I’ve had my share of failures. That doesn’t mean I’m worthless. It means that I was willing to try. If I never try, then I’ll never know. And it’s in the unknown where fear resides.

Whatever you seek, whatever you do, please keep working hard at it. There’s satisfaction in the effort, no matter what happens in the end.

I Finished...For Now



I started writing book two on January 1^st. I finished the first draft on June 18^th. It feels good to be done, sort of. I remember the same milestone when I finished my first book. I jumped up and down and waved my arms. “I’m done!” I yelled. “I’m going to be published.”

I’ve learned a few things since then. One lesson is that the work is just beginning. The hardest part of the novel is just waiting for me. It’s there at Chapter One, daring me to proceed. Be patient, my little novel, I’ll get back to you, soon.

I’ve put away book two for at least three weeks. I’m stepping away, allowing myself some distance before diving in again. In the meantime, I’ll add a few scenes to On Fallen Wings and make some additional adjustments before querying again next week. I’ll outline book three and do some needed research for the series. I’ll also prepare to move my family. That’s a longer story than my book—I won’t bore you with details.

 My writing goal while working a first draft is 1,000 words daily. I met that goal, easily. I know, I know, it’s been more than 82 days since I started this book. (Draft one is 82,000 words.) I didn’t write every day. I wrote five days a week and took February off completely. Skipped a week in March, and wrote maybe 5 days total in June. I met the goal. Once the laptop opened, it didn’t close again until the master file grew by 1,000 words.

My revision goal for draft two is 10 pages per day. I’ll meet that goal. How do I know? I did it with my first book and On Fallen Wings. After that, each revision gets one day per chapter. There will be many revisions.

So, in a tiny way, I’m celebrating. Yay. I’m also very busy. That’s a good thing. I’m refreshed from vacation and full of ideas and motivation.

Writing a book is hard. It takes dedication. It takes practice. It takes sacrifice. Not everyone can say they’ve written a novel, though most people will tell you they’d like to try. I applaud any author, published or not, simply because of the effort that goes into the process. When you reach a writing milestone, celebrate for a moment, then go back to work. There’s always another story to tell.

Time. Where Does It Go?

During the hustle and bustle of everyday living, it’s easy to lose yourself in the milliard of tasks that require your attention. Housework, yard work, family, friends, kids, work, sports, school, hobbies, commutes, networking, television, Internet, community work, religion, sleep, food, exercise, and writing all vie for the precious moments that make up your day. Meeting the demands of life can sometimes feel overwhelming. It’s easy to feel like you’re falling behind, almost moving in slow motion, in a world that spins at incredible speeds.

You’re not alone. Most of us feel that way. Here’s a few gems that I’ve collected over the years that help me keep pace.

• Make a list. If you don’t identify what you want/need to do, you’ll never effectively complete any of it.
• Prioritize. Identify the most important things that must be done.
• Schedule. Pick a time to do each task and write it down. I use a daily, weekly, and a monthly schedule.
• Budget. If you need to spend all day keeping track of Twitter updates, then you’re wasting the day. Allow yourself a set amount of time for each activity.
• Take a break. Schedule time to relax. Even batteries run out of energy.
• Cut. Yes, I said it. Not everything can/must be done every day. Choose what can be done tomorrow and do it then.
• Bend. Interruptions are a part of life. Plan on them by giving yourself flexibility in your schedule.
• Know your limits. A gallon of milk will never fit in a 12-ounce glass.
• Establish a routine. Keeping up with important aspects of your schedule becomes easier once a routine is followed.
• Hold yourself accountable. What happens if you don't do something? Is there a consequence? Know what it is and avoid it.
• Ask for help. It's possible to commit yourself to more than you can handle. When you do, ask others to share your burdens. You'll be surprised where the help comes from.

The Power of a Re-Write

You toil over the words, analyze them, revise them, plot, ponder, say them aloud, and even dream about them. Admiring the best that your creative genius has to offer, you sit back and stare at the screen. Perfect.

With pride, you offer your page for expected approval from a trusted reviewer. Maybe it’s a relative, perhaps a critique partner; it could even be an unknown reader from across the globe. You expect them to tell you, “It’s a masterpiece.”

It isn’t. There are flaws, unanswered questions, poor grammar, errors in continuity, misused words, and weak flow.

Your face warms and the air thins around you. What happened? Did they read the same words you had written? They must be mistaken. Obviously, they have different tastes and don’t understand genius. Relax. Absorb some oxygen. Sit down. They are right.While tastes differ and personal opinions vary at levels that stretch the universe, there’s one constant in our arena:

Poor writing is poor writing.

I’d like to tell you that I’m an expert, with years of publishing behind me, and numerous books quantifying my experiences. Truthfully, I am a novice; I haven’t published an utterance and I’ve never spoken to a published author. I know the strength of words, and can tell you with certainty:

There’s power in a re-write.

Step away from what you’ve written and UNDERSTAND what your readers are telling you—take notes if you must. Then dig inside yourself for the inspiration to apply that to your revision. Re-write and then do it again. Print the pages or view them in another format. Look for everything you can to gain a fresh perspective. Sometimes it even helps to have someone else read the words to you. Oh, the horror; you’ll discover the flaws that by the nature of your abilities should not have been. Re-write.

Eventually, YOUR WORDS will form the POWERFUL MASTERPIECE you imagined.

How Long Will Your Creations Last?

As a youth, I spent many Saturdays exploring mountains and deserts with my friends.

Climbing cliffs, running from snakes, and hiking to hidden valleys and waterfalls was exciting, but nothing matched the fantastic discovery of petroglyphs. When I reflect back on those unique images and symbols carved into stone, I can’t help but relate them to my own endeavors as a writer.

Surviving the test of time.

The etchings are worn, some of them barely visible, and are clearly the work of someone from long ago. Despite time and the effects of nature, the results of that individual’s efforts are endearing. For a hundred miles in every direction, there’s only a handful of such creations. I can’t imagine that, in the day the petroglyphs were created, there were only one or two people willing to tell their story. Where are those other tales? The time it took to create a lasting image, I think, is the answer. Someone went through painstaking effort, spending days, weeks, or months, to show us the world through his or her eyes. It’s possible that others, with good intention, scratched a story into a leather hide or painted descriptions with brightly colored berries. Over time, their stories disappeared.

Sometimes artists are snared by the brilliance of popular fancy.

Because a theme or topic is selling hot, we are tempted to follow along and join the money grab. There’s nothing wrong if our created stories mirror what’s popular; I think that’s a dream scenario for any artist. If we don’t offer what people will buy, then we’ll never sell anything. On the other hand, what if the hearts of our stories are painted with the colors of the moment, instead of etched deeply into stone? Will those creations last?

One year from now, five years, and even fifty years from now, will your work stand the test of time? Have you perfected your craft through painstaking effort? Is your creation unique? I ask these questions because I hope I’m doing the right things to make my stories last.