Monday, June 29, 2015

Editors

I recently reached out to many of my closest, most intelligent, and well-read friends and asked them to help me edit the short stories that I am compiling for the book.

Jennifer, Jess, Shelly and Nessly have just now begun the laborious task of helping me fine tune these rough rocks into precious gems and for that I am ever grateful.

It takes a team effort and I am happy to have the best team assembled. I look forward to my new editing partners as we venture forth and complete this book!

Monday, June 15, 2015

Book Cover Idea

I just spent around 100 hours making this design. Tell me what you think.


Embracing the book

WURK WURK

I have been working steady on organizing all these short stories that I have punched out over the years and it is looking like I should be ready for a publish before the end of the year. No promises on the actual date... Still a lot left to do and to rework.

But as it stands now, I have:

Eight stories that I am just getting started.
One story that needs a lot of work.
Fourteen stories that need a good ending.
Three that are almost there.
Fourteen that are done.

So after I get them all "Done", then I will edit them. And then I will edit them... And then, guess what? I am going to edit them.

Then I will:

Figure out the best order to arrange them in...

Then I will write my front matter. Introduction, dedication, copyright... Stuff like that...

Then I will design a great cover!

So...

You should have it soon.

In the meantime, you can always read my full length novel or some short poems HERE

http://www.amazon.com/Pauly-Hart/e/B00N7RUETK

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

The Faster and the Furiouser

"I don't know which one I am, or if this is the first time I've written this note", the note said. "All I know is that I think someone is following me."

"Yes." Ned said to the note. "I am."

He crumpled it in his hand. "And we've done this before."

=================

I was working hard on the book yesterday... Pounding that thing like a cage wrestler in a death match. Here is a facebook update I posted: 

i'm so excited about my book ideas that i am running around the house shouting and jumping up and down and clapping as it keeps expanding! who has time to write any of this down? i do and i must! i madly dash to the desk and scribble on the back of an insurance quote: chicken scratches serving as harbingers of plot twists, devices, and contagonists. it's a good day in writing when the heavens open and the whole thing just dumps into your mind! [have you] ever had days like this?

At any rate, It was furious work and there were hours of it. The story wasn't being written yet, for most of the plot and such was dumping into my head like a teenager bagging groceries. At one point during the outlining the power went out. Bad news. I hadn't saved in a while.

But that was alright. Power came back on and I rewound the experience and wrote it all out just like I had before, maybe with some improvements.

I've found that when I brainstorm, I do so best on paper, so I had my notes out in front of me doing my plot outline. The good news is, this is a great story. The bad news is, this is supposed to be a short story.

Maybe it will be a novelette or a novella by the time I am done with it, but at any rate, you will be able to read it soon.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

5/19/15 waking dream writing conclusion.

Earlier this morning I began a story that I had from a waking dream. Here is the full story. Just finished and edited. Enjoy.

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Saph and the kitten


Long ago, Saph had become known as "The Emperor without words", and that was just how his subjects treated him. The subjects would come, always the mice first, due to their impertinence, and bow and grovel at his feet presenting their gifts one by one - in tears of sorrow. It was then that Saph would wake up screaming, as he always did. It was a farce, for his only reality was the Jade Dungeon and the Minotaur who kept him there.

The Minotaur's name was Jake, and it was funny that he lived in the Jade Dungeon. He had always wanted to go out and see the mountains, but no one had ever given him any heed, as he only spoke Kraken, and he never saw the Kraken anymore.

Saph had the same dream about the kitten every night. He was quite convinced that it really was a dream about kittens, but the mice were always there, ruining everything with their terrific demands. More piers into the sea, more bridges over the ant swamps, more this and more that. And they always left their disgusting gift in tiny pink vials. It was the tears of the ever-queen, long dead and forgotten.

How they had gotten those tears was beyond him and he probably shouldn't have asked, but in a dream, you never know how things will turn out, and invariably he would ask and they would always tell him: "She died in our loving embrace, and she let us eat her when she passed." Saph knew it was all lies, but they told him the same story over and over, and he became prone to believe it after a while.

And so, night after night, he would dream the ridiculous dream, and morning after morning the Minotaur would be there banging on his cage telling him to shut up, in his very loudest Kraken. Breakfast would come, usually in the form of Turtle Cake, but there would never be anything to drink. Once, there was no breakfast, and once there were waffles. The waffles only happened once, and so every time he ate a bird, he imagined delicious waffles with nice warm syrup, even if the waffles they had served him had not been warm or delicious, and probably shouldn't have even been called waffles to begin with.

The Minotaur would then begin reading poetry to him. It was long and drawn out, but it pleased the Minotaur very much and since there was nothing better to do, he let the Minotaur drone on and on in his unique and strange language of the sea, reading poetry to Saph from a large orange book.

He had tried to teach the Minotaur to speak like him, but often, for his reward, there would only be a sharp prick with a trident, so Saph decided that the best thing to do was to nod and act as if the Minotaur's poetry was very important and rhymed very well.

The cage hung from a large chain high into the sky. He would have called it a ceiling, but since he couldn't see the top of it, there was no use, so he might as well call it the sky. The cage was round, and approximately one half a meter in diameter. It was very tall, however, and Saph could stand whenever he wanted, and did so often. When sitting, he would dangle his four legs out from the sides of the cage and hum quietly to himself.

One day, as he was humming along, the Minotaur came round, making his daily checks. He stopped and listened to Saph. Saph, of course, lost in song, had his eyes closed. Saph had never hummed with the Minotaur near before, for he feared that the monster would not like the tune, so he was very stealthy about it. But this day, as I have said, his eyes were closed and there was nothing to do about it but do as you do when you don't know anyone else is watching. Hum hum hum.

What startled Saph more than anything was the fact that the Minotaur started humming along with him. And why not? The Minotaur was a huge fan of music and even had some an old Donna Summer record that he would play at night, up in his spire, when all the prisoners were either asleep or dead. He only had two records, the other one being a Donnie and Marie Osmond record, but he couldn't stand that one, and had since smashed it to pieces.

Saph, completely taken aback that the Minotaur had been listening, stopped, so the Minotaur poked him a little with his trident, and Saph began humming once more.

Moments turned into days, which promptly turned into weeks, and wouldn't you know it, before long, the Minotaur had learned all of the songs that Saph could teach him. This really got the Minotaur angry, who had quickly decided that all he really wanted to do (besides see the mountains) was to become a musician, which made him feel good inside and filled him with a sense of purpose, even more than poetry ever did. "Jake" would be in lights at the theater, and everyone would come out to see him hum his famous tunes. He even stopped writing new poetry. Maybe he would write more poetry, one day... Once he had created songs from his old existing poetry from his big orange book. He had big plans.

Saph, if he had known about the Minotaur's aspirations, would have perhaps hesitantly told him that he was a terrible student of music and could not carry a tune in a bucket... But thankfully Saph did not speak Kraken, and so little was done.

That's really all there is to tell. For all we know, Jake and Saph still hum away to this very day. There really wasn't any kittens in this story, sorry. Saph never really got over the fact that the dream always happened in the same way, and Jake kept waking him up earlier and earlier just to be hummed to, so Saph never got to the part in the dream where the kittens appear. He knew that they would eventually, it just never happened.

Which makes me sad. I really wanted to hear about kittens... And maybe I even wanted to hear how eventually Saph taught the Minotaur lyrics and through that, taught him Grelch (which is what Saph spoke), and by that, convinced the Minotaur that he had a terrible job and should release all the prisoners at once. The Minotaur would have agreed and they all would have danced away into the sunset... But sadly, that is not at all what happened and I am incredibly sorry that there is not a better ending to this story.

Day Faith

Upcoming in my newest short story compilation are also a couple that are under 500 words.

It's actually quite challenging making a tiny story interesting. Here is one that will be in the book.

Day Faith

At the end of the day as I was walking home, I found a man lying on the ground who had been beaten. His shirt was torn, and his face was bloody and crying. He was pleading at me with big watery eyes, but I was running a little late for my favorite show. I came to my house, and it appeared that the neighbors cat had been sick earlier, and had left a lovely present for me on my doorstep. As I walked in and threw my keys on the counter, the phone rang. It was Denise. She had been in Detroit for the last couple of days on business, and had decided to give me a ring because she felt obligated. Her call was meaningless. I half-listened to her as she rampaged against the politics of major car corporations, and hung up the phone when I couldn't take it anymore. She immediately called back, but I just sat there watching the phone as it rang, trying to imagine her frustration on the other end of the line. Eventually she must have gotten tired with the whole ordeal, because the phone quit ringing.

I decided it was time to eat. Going to the freezer, I realized that I had bought nothing in the past month that even closely resembled sustenance. I ate anyway. Frozen biscuits usually taste better cooked... I didn't mind. I plopped into my chair, just in time to catch the credits of my show. Damn Denise. Damn her to Hell.

Oh well... I stood up and kicked the TV in. Another day. Deciding whether to sleep in my suit or pajamas took up the better part of the next hour, until I determined that my suit just didn't feel good anymore, so I stripped it off in the living room and pushed it into the corner. Ahhh, better.

I studied myself in the bathroom mirror. The same tired shoulders, the same haggard face, the same graying hair. Depressed once again, I staggering to the bedroom, I coughed up blood and flem into my hand, and wiped it on the wall before I collapsed onto the bed with the grace of a corpse. I lay there, and laid there. All my life seemed to be wrapped up in today.

I had gone to the doctor again today and he told me that my condition had not improved. As a matter of fact, it had grown worse. Much worse. If I sleep, I die. I haven't slept in fifteen years. I lay in bed and do not sleep. There are approximately twenty two thousand, three hundred and thirty seven dots on my ceiling. I finished counting them last night. I'm done counting my dots. I'm done counting on my luck.

Goodnight. I'm going to sleep.

Why am I writing Short Stories?


Why am I writing Short Stories?

I don't know... But I write them all the time. Most of them are Fairy tales.


A Fairy tale is a type of short story that has a shared folklore. Fairy tales have not a moral ending, like a fable, nor a legend, which requires belief in the tale. Historical Fairy tales rarely have a happy ending.


Here are two really good quotes on fairy tales.


“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”–Albert Einstein


“Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.” - G.K. Chesterton