My Hyper-Caffeinated Mind

 Hmm.  Just realized how that sounds...

Happy Halloween, everyone.  What costumes shall you be donning tonight? My daughter is very much still in her "Disney Princess" phase.  She had the choice of them all and chose Cinderella,  however, based on her fascination with Hallmark's "Halloween On Ice", I'm guessing next year's choice might have a little more teeth.

Speaking of teeth, Zack is - in true form - going as the "king of the jungle" tonight, as a big ole lion...

Although I have to admit, I liked last year's "Bam-Bam" costume a lot better.

Me? Sadly, no costume this year.  Took me too long to figure out how to manage it.  HOWEVER...I'll be collecting parts to my costume all through the off-season, and will be ready for next year.  In fact...I may just suit up for Horrorfind 2010's costume contest.  I mean, I'm no Mike Lombardo....

Posted by kevinlucia at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Yes.  You're allowed to wince at that one.

Sooo. 

Hmm. 

Awkward. 

Not to belabor the point, but over the past few years as I considered where I was going to land most of my writing - the secular/mainstream market (as mainstream as horror/dark fiction can be, that is) or the Christian/ Inspirational market, this, of course, was only one of MANY things I had to kick around in my head.  How was I going to write about humans, portray human nature in all of its beauty and ugliness, show all the grandeur and warts, if I always felt the pressure there were certain things "I couldn't write about", and that unless I wrote "this", "this", and left out "that" and "THOSE THINGS",  I wouldn't get published? 

For me PERSONALLY, (emphasis on the last), this runs contrary to everything I believe is fine and good and true about creative writing. Furthermore, as the last few years passed, I more and more considered myself - yes, I know, chuckle along with me - an "artist" rather than just a "writer".  If I believe I'm called as an artist to portray and comment upon the human experience in its entirety, then the more I labeled "off limits", the more I limited myself as an artist, and would limit the effectiveness of my expression to others.

Okay.  Great.  Fine.  NOW...how does that work?

Well, it's involved some good old fashioned experimentation.  Playing around.  What type of stories do I want to tell, how do I want to tell them? I've written a few different kinds of stories the last few years, and here's the thing: the minor reviews I've gotten and the comments people have given me have all reflected the same thing: it didn't matter if the story had lots of violence and blood, lots of swearing or no swearing, whether it was a thoughtful, atmospheric story or even slightly gross, drug use or lack thereof, chaste or with sexual innuendo...people still got what I was all about: choice, destiny, hope, love, Providence, redemption, internal conflict, doing the horrible and RIGHT thing, two steps forward ten back...and hope. Love.

It didn't matter the vehicle I chose. People GOT IT.  People got me and my values, without me ever having to state them all that overtly or explicitly, and THAT, to me: is art.  That's what I'm about, not what my work screams in your face...

..but what it whispers in your ear, long after you're done reading.  I was paid the highest compliment ever at Context 22, by my publisher when we were discovering how well the different voices of Hiram Grange are meshing, how they were all distinctive, yet coherent.  His comment to me, without any spoilers: "You managed to catch Hiram, in all his baggage: drug use, sex addictions, self-loathing and self-love, arrogance and disbelief...but you did it elegantly."

I swear, no matter what happens in the future, that'll be my all time favorite compliment for a long while.

Of course, I wasn't expecting to cross the "sex scene" bridge so soon. Innuendo, sure.  But sex? 

Whoa.

I was retooling my MA thesis in my head. Moving characters around into different spots, and enlarging some roles, until I suddenly realized...I need to write a sex scene.  Maybe more than one.

Uh.

Oh.

It's just what the story requires to make sense.  That's all.  So how am I going to approach it?

Like everything else.  Like I approached Hiram. With a sense of style.  Elegance.  Respect, for both the act itself AND the reader.  But most of all...

Truth.

And I'm okay with that.  Because people will still get what I'm about.  In teaching, I often use the phrase: "style is the verbal identity of the writer" (really, I ripped this off my principal, who teaches 12th AP English). Anyway, it means that no matter what I write: a scene of devotional prayer in a church, Holy Communion, or sex between two characters, I'll write it in a unique way that people will recognize as "Kevin Lucia", with MY VOICE, and they'll still get what I'm about.

Okay.

Great.

So, why do I still feel like it's the night before my first high school dance...

Posted by kevinlucia at 11:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As I've mentioned on several of my Facebook posts, I'm working on my MA thesis for Creative Writing - a novel, a Lovecraftian novel, of all things, and the novel pitch that I've been crafting for another publisher has strong Lovecraftian overtones as well, though that's going to be more of an ubran fantasy novel than anything else.  Regardless, I've been dipping deep into the world of Lovecraft, read a lot of his work, even done some research.  Not enough to be considered a Lovecraft scholar, but enough to be a bit worried - even a little daunted - at the prospect of invoking his name.

I love his mythos, both his and Derleth's.  I also love the concept - that all stories, myths, folk tales, and legends are connected by a common underpinning (as an English teacher, this speaks to me in volumes).  I'm less enthusiastic about his nihilistic, often inevitable "descent into madness because I can't comprehend the cosmic horror of it all", but I do - paradoxically enough - like the idea that there ARE things out there so alien and different we can never hope to understand them.  Kind of flies in the face of our "information glutted world". 

I'm nervous with what to do with Lovecraft, though.  I've read a lot of his and Derleth's original work, read the pastiches, the homages, and also even realized how much modern authors - Brian Keene, for one - has re-invoked Lovecraft in such new ways.   I feel that is the best place for Lovecraft today, but with a contemporary voice.

In part of my "research", I've been seeking out modern visions of Lovecraft.  Of course, I had to get "Lovecraft Unbound", edited by Ellen Datlow. It's been an awesome read, (review forthcoming), but probably the best guide I've come across so far was found in the author afterward of Laird Barron, after his story "Catch Hell":

"Lovecraft's visionary narratives interest me more as a doorway to exploring other modes of the weird and fantastic.." and, with my extension of his thought, the unexplainable? Inexplicable? Unknowable?

This is what I hope for in my MA thesis, (which I believe, if I don't screw it up too badly, will be picked up by the small press, so hopefully you'll be able to read it someday), that I invoke Lovecraft's cosmic horror, his creeping dread of incomprehensible things, but root it in very HUMAN terms: the loss of a child.  Actual, diagnosed mental illness.  On a greater scale: why must people die? Why must we - as humans - hurt? If I can channel Lovecraft and his mythos to tell THAT kind of story, then I think I might have something unique, maybe even special.

Or, if not, maybe I can at least produce a chilling pastiche that will be decently well-written and fun to read.  Either way, I'll be satisfied.  Hopefully, you'll get the chance to read it in the near future.

Posted by kevinlucia at 08:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Well.  Home sick.  Just like the good old days when I missed school as a kid, except instead of lounging on the couch in front of an old vaporizer that may or may not set the house on fire, nose slathered in Vicks vapor rub and sucking down gallons of 7 Up and Ginger Ale while I watched PBS, (that was the only channel with anything remotely fun on it during the day, out where I lived), I'm home chasing around two sick kids, keeping a balanced spreadsheet of which medicines I've administered to whom and when, as well as taking temperatures, (not mine), and covering bathroom duty.

Hm.  At least there's still Vicks vapor rub.

Anyway, it'll give me a chance to rhapsodize on my favorite time of year, both because of the season itself, and the holiday. First of all, I love fall.  Sure, one day may be nice, the other chilly, but I love the leaves as they turn, and honestly, Bradbury wasn't using empty imagery in describing fall.  It does smell different: all crisp apple cider, dried out leaves and pumpkin spice air.

And of course...there's Halloween.  Costumes.  Candy.  Trick or treating, and general spookiness. Some of my fondest memories revolve around Halloween, and I love that Madison - my oldest - is getting into it, also. We've even got a cool "Halloween count-down" calender, like the Christmas ones:

The pumpkins have been cut and lit, and two fresh ones will be cut for Halloween night:

 (Yeah, I know.  They aren't that scary. We're saving those for Halloween night).

And every single day, Madi asks if it's time to go "Trick or treating".  Plus, I love Halloween movies.  Not so much the blood and guts ones - like "Saw" or "Hostel" - they're not my taste, (though I make obvious exceptions for any zombie movie, Halloween, Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street)...but I'm totally into the haunted houses, ghost stories, supernatural shenanigans, all that stuff.  I read "Something Wicked This Way Comes" with my 9th graders ever year, ending right around Halloween...and, well...

Man.  It's just Halloween. It rocks.

Now.  I'm NOT going on a screed here.  It's just not me, plus this blog isn't really about ranting (because again, I'm just not a "rantful" type of guy), but I am ME, which I've become more and more comfortable with over the last few years, and as the years pass, I care less and less for what folks may think of me.  I try to be considerate of others' feelings - to a point - but, this is ME. You like it, cool.  You don't, cool.  Just don't try to change me.  Ain't gonna happen.

That being said.

I'm very thankful my wife is into the whole Halloween thing. She decorates the house more than I do, honestly. And, after almost making a huge mistake and marrying the WRONG person, (that's another blog for another time), when I met Abby I already knew what I wanted and DIDN'T want in a wife. I did want a woman who shared the same values and faith as me.

I didn't want someone, however, who was fearful.  Afraid.  Concerned that everything "fun" without clear "spiritual" explanations or definitions in the Bible must be eliminated, because they weren't "Godly".  Because of my near-marital fiasco, I may've had a marriage-checklist, per se...but I didn't want to marry someone whose approach to faith was checklist oriented, also.

I first met folks in my brief Bible-college stint who didn't celebrate Halloween.  Because it was evil. Remnant of pagan festivals and rituals.  Plus, you know.  All those spooky, gory masks and whatnot.  That and too much chocolate. 

Okay. Won't argue the pagan thing.  You research it, you'll certainly find it.  But Christmas? Pretty sure Jesus wasn't born on December 25th.  And the whole "bring a tree into your house and put lights on it, hang wreathes on your door" thing? Pretty druiditic. (Yes, I made that word up. I'm a writer. I'm allowed to). So why is Christmas okay but not Halloween?

I remember in high school, my church had their own version of a Halloween party - pretty much all the same, except everyone had to dress up as a Bible character.  All things considered, that was okay.  I mean, rocking with the Apostle Paul and Samson? I dig it. Plus, they never made a huge deal out of it, if I remember right. No calling Halloween that "devil evil's day" or anything.  Just offered their gig as an option.  I think I went as Matthew one year.  Maybe John. Can't remember.

Our current church does something called "Trunk or Treat", which I think is actually pretty cool.  Everyone in the church...and I think the community is invited, also...pulls their cars into the parking lot, sets up little mini-stations at their trunks and distributes candy.  That's pretty cool.  No restrictions on costumes, come as you are - zombie or Jesus.  (or Zombie Jesus, which would be really cool).  Its focus is mainly safety for young ones, and that, as a parent, I can totally dig. 

This year, however...we're heading out to the streets. Trick or Treating the old fashioned way, and as soon as I can figure out how to duplicate one of my favorite bad guys of all time:

 I'm dressing up with everyone else.

So.  I guess that's it. A slice of me.  Man of faith. Faithful Halloweener.  Go figure.

Happy Halloween.  God bless.

Posted by kevinlucia at 01:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Recently I've had the chance to reminisce over old stories, works I wrote almost two, maybe even three years ago.  As any writer can attest, even months-old writing looks putrid and flat on the page.  Now imagine coming back to a work that's several years old.  All your old ticks, flaws, and tendencies are there, full-fledged, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Conversely, when I read decades old work, I'm actually surprised that even back then, I verged on my current style. For example, my word economy in exposition was atrocious, so was my POV (point of view) and I was WAY in love with adverbs and dialogue tags, but the dialogue itself was pretty good for how young I was.

The other day I received edits back for a short story I placed in an anthology awhile ago.  At this point, that's something I'm used to; in fact, it's become a mark of a quality publication.  However, the story's place in my "lexicon", if you will, is crucial - it's pre-Borderlands Writers BootCamp, (those of you who've been or heard know what I mean by that), but not only that - very early in my MA, and pre-Hiram Grange, which was like a year of workshop rolled into one work.  

I opened the document, and I'd like to say I was shocked by all my mistakes, but that would be putting it mildly.  What I did was slam the laptop shut and run screaming for my literary mommy. (Not sure who that would be.  Maybe Rob Dunbar or Kelli Dunlap would qualify). I'm immensely grateful said editor was willing to take it in the first place. 

Now obviously, I'm going to print it out and do the edits.  I'm a writer.  I want to be published.  I like cash, too.  Also, I figure it will be good for me.  I've become happy with the state of my craft, but I believe I should never be content.  Going over this early story will help with that.

On the other hand, there are old stories that are fun to read, and even though the glaring mistakes still jump out, we like the story so much we can't wait to get a chance to edit in all we've learned since writing it.  A few weeks ago I had the chance to read my very first published/paid-for work ever, a novelette entitled "The Way Station", which bagged Editor's Choice Honors for the first edition of Coach's Midnight Diner. 

It's about two years old, and the word economy is not so great, there's POV issues, and too many dialogue tags.  People, however, still really like it.  So do I; I just want to give it a good brushing up, chop out maybe 2,000 - 3,000 words.   Still, it has what I believe is a defining element in my work: a moral core.  Not a religious one, mind you, but a thoughtful comment on the human existence/experience/condition. 

For me, that's what makes a story worth writing and reading, genre irregardless - be it cyberpunk, horror, fantasy, or something as out of the box as Hiram Grange - a comment on the human experience.  I don't have any pretensions of being literary myself, but over the course of my teaching career, many students have asked, "What makes a work literary"? 

"A lot of things," I always reply, "but in the end the most important aspect: that it makes a significant, insightful comment on the human condition, one lots of folks can relate to."

Using my definition, a lot more works can be considered literary, I suppose.  There are other things to consider, too...things like artful craft, a definitive voice and complexity of plot and structure, cultural significance...but that's why most of us take the time to read, right?  Because we find resonance in those stories, because they say something about this terrible/awful/wonderful/confusing/beautiful thing called humanity. 

As long as I can write things like that, in a way that satisfies me artistically, touches people, and garners respect in the industry...then I'll feel like I've actually done something, here.

Posted by kevinlucia at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I may be near the end of my book reviewing rope. 

Seriously.

Not quite yet, but soon. I'd say I've got a year or two left, and then depending on where my writing career is headed, I may say buh-bye to the whole reviewing gig.  In fact, if I hadn't found a home writing reviews for Shroud Magazine, I probably would've tossed it already.

Why?

I'm pretty tired.  That's a lot of forced, read-by-deadline reading, and I've been doing it now for about four years, come this Spring.  Started at a little community newspaper here in the area, then graduated to Title Trakk.com and the now defunct Infuze.com. That lasted for about two years.  Then, I landed the job at our city newspaper, The Press & Sun Bulletin - ushered into the world of freelance pay for the very first time.

I enjoyed that gig.  As awesome as the Title Trakk folks were, (gotta love the Darlingtons), reading and reviewing for the Press allowed me more control over the things I read.  Then, of course, in the midst of a growing relationship with Shroud, I eventually left the Press to review exclusively for Shroud, and that's been the best gig so far - reviewing entirely within the genre I love and write. AND, me not reviewing anymore would have nothing to do with Shroud.  I just don't know how much "reviewing" gas I have left.

For one, I'm busier with fiction, and that's a good thing.  I've always had this latent, hidden fear that I'd only ever been known for reviews, and that's it.  For another...honestly......

I sometimes wonder what more there is to say.

I'm not a slammer of books.  Quite frankly, if I read a book and it's bad...I won't finish it or review it. There's no point.  If I rip the book, it makes me look like a jerk, it doesn't help the author, and - most importantly - it doesn't help readers, telling them about bad books they shouldn't read.  Of course, I don't want to be "glad-handing" books all the time, because that lacks credibility.

So.  Sometimes I feel pumped to write a review.  The book was fantastic, and because it was full of substance and style, I have lots to say.  The review is literally written in my head, and it takes minutes to write. Sometimes, though...the book wasn't noticeably bad, written well enough...but I just have no idea what to say about it that I haven't already said hundreds of times before.

Reviewing burnout?  Maybe.  Plus, I've definitely gotten to the place where I feel my reading should serve two purposes and two purposes only:

1. My stinkin', ever-lovin' pleasure

2. to enhance my own writing

Luckily, I receive plenty of good books from great publishers and authors - both small and large press - so #1 still gets served pretty well.  But even then, I feel that for me to last for even two more years, I'm going to need to scale back my schedule, because the things I want to read for #2....

- Hemingway

- Bradbury

- Faulkner

- O'Connor

- Yeats, Keats, and many others

- Shakespeare 

- Gaiman  (not his current stuff)

- classic Keene, King, Braunbeck, and Koontz

- and ANYTHING that Brian Keene mentions in his new Shroud column, Seminal Screams

...well, these things aren't the sort of things you can review.  Plus, this stuff needs to be slowly chewed and DIGESTED, man....not ripped through for a column.

So.  The time is coming when I'll stop reviewing.  I still say within two years, because I love working for Tim Deal, I love Shroud, and dammit - I love seeing my name on that cover. And, here's the thing - Tim is so awesome to work for, I could drop down to one review an issue, and he'd still run it.  So who knows.  Maybe five years from now, I'll still be reviewing for Shroud (which would be awesome, really).  I'll just have to say "No." to a lot more people in regards to reviewing books.

Hmmm.  No.  It's a pretty powerful word.

Anyway.  Reviews aren't going anywhere for now. 

Oh. By the way.

I met Brian Keene at Horrorfind.  I was going to do a special entry about this by itself, but I decided not to.  Didn't want to descend into fan-boyish gibbering.  I will say this bit:

It was awesome.  He's such a great guy, and here's the thing: he cares about new writers. Really.  Listening to him talk about the HWA (Horror Writers Association) and his theories about what he'd do if he were HWA president, (which were genius, BTW....just pure common sense), and listening him talk about the industry in general was inspiring.  And, I'm not wallowing in star worship, here.  Brian was helpful.  His talk was informative. And, as Kelli Dunlap kept trying to remind me, behind it all...he's just Brian.

It was very cool. AND, he seemed to already know me (which is no big deal; we both write for Shroud now) but was very humbling, also.  I'm hoping the next time we run into each other, I'll be relaxed enough to just say, "Hey, Brian..." and ask him how things are going.

Still.  Allow me to wax poetic about the moment, if you will.  In his blog memoirs, (which you all should really try to find and read), he called a segment of his creative personality the "Magus" - his muse, if you will.  There was a moment, Friday night at Horrorfind, when I found myself in the presence of the Magus. 

Several of us were smoking cigars, so a glimmering, moonlit mist had settled around us (ergo, cigar smoke).  It was midnight, and we were hanging out in the parking lot (while Mike Lombardo and I choked down the worst cough-syrup drinks ever).  Brian talked about the industry, about its ups and downs, and US - the new generation of writers.  It was a bit surreal, but I wasn't swooning.  I just listened, soaked it all up...and came away better for it.

And that's all.

Very, very cool.

Posted by kevinlucia at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

In many ways, I’m still unpacking from Horrorfind.  It was the most fun I’ve had on the Con circuit this year - with the exception of Context 22 - and I learned a lot.  For example, I learned that as a relative unknown, you don’t book a vendor’s table, because you most certainly will NOT move all the copies of the anthologies featuring your stories,  (which you foolishly bought extra copies of), and you will not make back your investment.  

Of course, I came to Horrorfind in a weird way: it was the first Con I registered for, and the last Con I attended, and in the middle, the learning curve was WAY steep.  I’d learned the vendor table thing by then, but with the fee already paid, what do you do? Wing it, consider it a lesson learned, if a pricey one.

Secondly, I learned that doing a reading is no fun if the folks you really wanna read to - and yourself - are all having more fun at a Japanese steakhouse watching a chef make a volcano out of a mound of onion rings. However, next year, if that happens again, I WILL perform dinner theater right there in the restaurant, Alethea.  Count on it. ;)

Also, I learned that sharing your love for horror and the dark spooky things that go bump in the night with your decidedly non-horror best friends can be pretty awesome. Sunday, my very logical, rational, but rock-solid and steadfast best friend - the best man at my wedding - and his wife came and hung out at Horrorfind with me. They’re a “non-horror” couple, (though Olivia is a ‘Twilight’ and ‘Vampire Diaries’ fan), but they weren’t wigged out by the experience at all, in fact they seemed a tad disappointed that much of the stuff had been packed up by then, and of course they missed the trans-formative wondrousness that was Margot Kidder. 

Anyway, when I return to Horrorfind next year I WON’T book a table, so I’ll be freer on Saturday to hang out with them, because I’ll certainly crash at their place again (they live only an hour south, in Frederick).  To commemorate out experience, Olivia purchased a ‘Twilight’ Christmas ornament from one of the vendors, with the resolution that for every following Horrorfind, she will add to her collection.  It was very cool to open that part of myself to my non-writing, non-horror friends and to have them enjoy it as much as they did.

Two final things that made the weekend the awesomness that it was.  First was Kelli Dunlap’s quip Saturday night ; “Look at you, kiddo.  You’ve finally adapted.  Lost that ‘deer in headlights’ look, because let me tell you - you were a scared puppy at MoCon!”

She’s right, of course.  Though rationally we know that celebrated writers and notables in the genre are regular folks too, it’s intimidating meeting people you’ve read and read about for several years, especially for the guy who jokes that Llourdes Hospital created a special “foot from mouth removal” unit just for him.   That, and I’m an odd bundle of contradictions, (oh, stop it.  Like you didn’t already know this), because while a large part of me wants to hide in the back of the room and go unnoticed, I’m like everybody else: I just want to be liked and have friends.  

So, in essence, it takes me a long time to warm up, and I don’t warm up to just anybody, but when and if I warm up to you, you’ve just gained a friend for life, no matter what.  I got probably the best compliment ever in high school when my then track coach remarked to my father at a meet, “You know...Kevin’s not like the rest of the kids.  He doesn’t have a lot of friends, but the ones he does keep are real.”  So, now...Kelli and crew: you’re stuck with me.  I, for one, couldn’t be happier. Same goes for Dan Keohane, Tim Deal, Scott, Sheldon, and all the other fabulous folks from Context 22.

Anyway, I'm going to stick to my goal of writing shorter, easy-to-manage blogs, and sign off for now. In a few days I'll post part two of this, "Still Unpacking Horrorfind Part II: Meeting An Icon". See you then.

Posted by kevinlucia at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I had the distinct pleasure of taking part in Union Center Christian Church's Art Show On Main, a coffee-house style arts celebration held this past weekend. Art Show On Main is a wonderful exhibition of the arts: musical, graphic, paint, clay, sculpting, and the written word.  Artists from as far as North Carolina, Massachusetts and even Canada took part in the festivities.

All the "artists in residence", if you will, held critique workshops, sat on a Q & A panel that examined the "daily life of the artist", and then performed or presented their artwork in a true coffee house setting that was rich in style, substance, and outright talent.  The atmosphere was welcoming, cordial, friendly, and most of all...artistic.

Best all was its clarity of focus: yes, held in a church it featured artwork created from a spiritual mindset, but the focus was firmly placed on the arts themselves.  The collection of artists and their work was very diverse, and again - though presented in a fairly wholesome, family atmosphere, this was a celebration of art and all its forms, not a Sunday school service.

Probably the most enjoyable part of the experience was meeting and working with Massachusetts horror writer Dan Keohane, who met with my Creative Writing students the day before. Both he and I conducted critique workshops, served on the Q & A panel, then performed readings later on during the show. 

Both our readings were extremely well received, considering the mixed crowd.  Dan read from his first novel, Solomon's Grave, while I read from my novellete "Way Station", an Editor's Choice selection in the very first Coach's Midnight Diner.  A pin drop could be heard during both readings, which seems to be a good indication of what folks thought.

Posted by kevinlucia at 08:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

So, jumping of off Monday's blog:

Me and Dean Koontz. Published by Guideposts.

SQUEE!

Now, I know this is a pretty non-existent thread of connection to get excited over, but what can I say?

My life is extremely boring.  I take 'em where and when I can.

AND, he's one my favorite authors, even though Stephen King was once quoted as saying, "Sometimes Koontz is brilliant, other times God-awful".  Sure, many of Koontz's books are not as strong as some of his others, (the same could be said of King, and I love him too),  but I adore the man's work anyway, simply because he is so doggedly, determinedly optimistic. 

I know.  Not very styling for the dark fiction writer.  However, my feeling has always been this: what good is there in showing the harsher realities of life, and how dark and hard and awful things can get, (all true), if we don't give a solid reason WHY we should endure those hard things in the first place, even if that reason is just because we CAN? 

For example.  Many people hated his "Darkest Evening of the Year".  Maybe even you did, too.

Personally, I loved it.  Maybe just because of the Robert Frost poem he paid homage to, "Stopping by A Woods on A Snowy Evening".  Was it more of a homage to golden retrievers, and by extension, his recently deceased dog Trixie than a novel? 

Sure. And who cares?

Which brings me to my next pseudo-point (this is assuming I ever have one). Literary elitism. It amuses me. Now, everyone has their own tastes. Can't account for that.  Also, while  some would argue quality is subjective, I disagree.  You can either arrange words, phrases, and clauses into meaningful constructions, or you can't. This is why very few people are published, and many more are rejected.

However, I love certain threads on certain forums that collectively bash the same writer or a generation of writers because apparently they are terrible at the craft, and this generation is only full of stupid people who can't tell these people are bad writers and love them anyway.

Honestly?

Whatever.  

I gave a quote to my students the other day to interpret: 

"Some books are to be tasted; others swallowed; and some to be chewed and digested.” - Francis Bacon

To me, this indicates that all reading has worth.  Some is for entertainment value; ie, only for its taste and nothing else. Others we swallow - maybe because we have to, like vitamins, for school or work.  The last books? Those change us forever.

So. No bad books.  (Of course, we're leaving out possibly self-published novels about murderous clowns. *wink*). Just books that offer different things.

Take Stephanie Meyer, for example. 

She, who Stephen King also recently claimed, "Can't write worth a damn." (Are we also seeing a pattern, here? I'm thinking that King is the second coming of Mark Twain, scathing literary critic).

Even so. She has thousands of readers, and she got them long before the movie or the hype. Are we assuming those folks are all just too stupid to understand how bad a writer she really is? Plus, she really nailed on something teen girls vibed with. This is why Twilight is, as one of my more astute former students told me last year, "literary crack for teenage girls".

I'm a high school English teacher.  Seeing kids read gives me the warm fuzzies inside.  Would I rather have them reading Shakespeare or Dickinson?   Certainly.  Will I take Twilight instead of nothing? You bet.

She has a rabid following of fans who love her characters, live and die by them (metaphorically. Hopefully.)  What more could any writer ask for?

She has readers.

Do you? 

Posted by kevinlucia at 08:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Good morning.  As you can see, I have "Boy-Band Hair Interruptus."  Whatever that means.

Obviously, I need a haircut.  Badly.

Anyway.

So. Here we go.

Thus far, I've had a mildly interesting, diverse "career", if you will.  I've never felt uncomfortable with it, or odd, but at times there's been a mild sense of incongruity between the pieces I've had published. 

On one hand I've had five GOOD horror/dark fiction stories published, (by good, I mean semi-pro rates.  Haven't cracked the pro code, yet), my wonderful, pulpy novella Hiram Grange is coming out soon, and I'm currently writing a horror novel and dark fantasy novel.  I've also had one or two GOOD poems published, (where I actually got more than $ 0.00), but those have been of the same dark, eerie nature.

However, I've sold stuff on the OTHER side of the spectrum, three good inspirational, soul-searching faith oriented "slice of life stories"; one to an anthology published by Tyndale called "Life Savors", another to a Bethany House anthology called "Love is A Verb", and my third, which hasn't been printed yet, to an upcoming collection published by "Guideposts". 

Yes.  That magazine in the cute little wicker basket behind the toilet in your grandmother's bathroom, Guideposts.

Hmm.  Horror-dark fantasy...devotional writer?

I've never been sorry I wrote those stories.  They fulfilled two very simple criterion I have for writing these days:

1. They satisfied me, felt fulfilling.  They weren't about my theories or ideology, nor me expounding on religion, just on how faith has impacted my family and I.

2. They paid well.  Understand, #1 is the most important factor - they were very fulfilling to write - but as my schedule gets more clogged and I have to choose what I'm going to spend my time on, number two comes into play more and more.

The editor of these collections has essentially given me an open door to keep submitting in the future, and I plan to do so.  Of the four collections she's been editing that I've submitted to, she's taken three. Pretty good odds.  Plus, these articles serve a very important service for me:

1. they reinforce the fact that, first and foremost, I am a writer.  Not genre writer.  Writer.  I write what moves me.

2. they seem to provide the right balance for me.  As a man of faith - a Christian - I've made the decision to write in the secular/mainstream market, for the mainstream market. For me, it will always be about the craft of writing FICTION.  However, these articles feel clean, pure, straightforward: I'm not trying to rope you into believing something with a glitzy little plot, (more on how my faith impacts my writing in a different blog), I'm just sharing my life with folks.  The key word being SHARE.

Still, Guideposts? Really?  Again, I've never felt guilty, just scratched my head at the diversity of the two writing paths.  

Then, I saw who graced the cover of October's Guideposts:  

Dean Kootnz.  On Guideposts.

Not bad company. 

I have more to say - but I'm learning how to cut my blogs in half, in hopes that more people will read them.  So, part two of this blog will run tomorrow.

Me and Dean. Published by Guideposts.

(*Giggle!*)

Posted by kevinlucia at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Okay.  I admit it.  I have nothing to say about your collective mothers at all.  That was just a shameless attempt to make you scratch your head before 7 AM and think, "There is something SO wrong with this guy."

Like this should come as some sort of surprise.

Just finished writing the first three chapters to my Faerie/Lovecraftian hybrid thingie.  Well, for those who know Lovecraft, it's more Derlethian, but who keeps track of that sort of thing, anyway?  Maybe Cthulhu, but that's only because he's got lots of time on his tentacles, dreaming in R'lyeh, and all.

Anyway.

So, with a three-chapter submission of my Derlethian horror novel out, and the three chapter submission of my Derlethian/Faerie novel about to be typed and then sent out, I've got a full plate.  If I'm very, very lucky, in a few months I'll want to blow my brains out because I'll be writing two novels at the same time.  That, and pulling together the finishing touches on The Terror at Miskatonic Falls, a poetry anthology I'm editing for Shroud Publishing. 

Oh, and final, final, final edits to Hiram Grange and The Chosen One, after I read all the other Hiram Grange drafts.

Oh. Don't forget my reviewing schedule for Shroud Magazine, albeit a much lighter one because I'm teaching again and back to school myself.

Right.  And I want to try and find time to write a short Wendigo/Ithaqa story to submit to the third edition of Coach's Midnight Diner.  If I can.  Before December, that is.

People often ask me if I'm nuts.  Getting up at 3 AM.  Writing all the time.  Juggling.  The answer?

Well, duh.  OF COURSE I am.  Nuts about writing, that is.  Outside of being with family, going out with my wife, and reading, I'd really rather do nothing else.  I haven't watched any significant amount of television since Madison was born.  I haven't played basketball in over a year (those who know me well know how big THAT is).  I'm reviewing for Shroud still, but I cut out all the other reviewing gigs that had nothing to do with the genre I write, because that's all I really want to do, now...is write.

This is not romantic or all that impressive.  I have, in so many words, no life. Of any kind.  All this time writing? That's one messy basement and workroom.  A terribly unmowed lawn.  A half-painted house.  Did I mention no social life? How about that sidewalk I've been meaning to do, or that downed tree from THREE WINTERS AGO I just started cutting up this summer?

Did I mention the lack of a social life?

Luckily, I get plenty of time with the kids, but I sometimes - shamefully - wonder if that's only because my wife works weekends and I've always had to watch them, since Madison was born.  I just spent the whole summer with Madison, hitting the parks, zoo, library, creeks in rotating patterns, but again...is that because I'm a good daddy, or just because we couldn't afford a baby sitter?

Abby and I manage to carve our quiet, alone moments out, either on "movie night", or the occasional date and dinner.  But sometimes...I just write.  Abby puts the kids to bed.  We do both go to bed at the same time, which I think is important.   Never want her to consistently go to sleep without seeing my face.

Still.  Wish I could turn the muse off, sometimes, and just walk away.

I'm not complaining, really.  Actually, I'm in a pretty good mood.  I'm just always realizing how important balance is in life, and continually wondering if I'm really achieving it.

Hopefully two novels two different publishers will say "yes" to.  A poetry anthology.  A planned short story.  Finishing edits on my first novella. And more.

And guess what? I want it all.  I want all that, and quality time with my kids and wife, time for God, and time for my soul. I want balance.

See? Told you.  Crazy.  As fruitcake.

Posted by kevinlucia at 10:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)