Speaking to Kids

One of the funnest things I get to do from time to time is talk to school aged children in the demographic for my book.  This started with the wonderful John Kersten at the Elementary School where I work.  He expressed an interest in reading my book to his class, and the book was such a hit that I have done so once a year for the past four years.  Eventually as other teachers come and go next door to him, he introduces the fact that I am an author to these teachers.  Two have expressed similar interest to read the book to their class and in turn, then later ask me to talk to the kids.

Its so exciting to stand in front of a group of children and talk about the process of writing.  I explain the origins of the story, of my writing in general.  I speak about the importance of journaling, of reading other books.  The kids always seem to have a very keen interest.  I try to tailor things to them.  I ask who enjoys writing and reading and specifically talk about the challenges of these things.  I try to draw in all interests. 

Doing these talks is a great motivator.  It makes me feel like I have accomplished what I set out to do.  And it is in times like recently that I have felt down when I try to harken back to those good moments as short and infrequent as they are.

Getting Established

I apologize for a long departure.  Considering work and some things regarding it, I decided to take a haitus from blog writing.  This was also partly due to feeling very out of sorts with my own writing.  I felt like blogging had become a chore, something that I did and never amounted to much.  Everything I read said that continous blogging brought more interest in ones writing, yet I saw no such numbers. 

Which brings me to my next point.  I write my blog in order to encourage discourse, to inspire ideas.  Part of the problem are hours, difficulty finding a way to segment my writing into an actual critique group.  Our local group, the SLO Nightwriters is the best around, yet I find it difficult to find a group that fits my kind of writing.  Furthermore, I wonder about approaching an established group as a new person.  I worry that I cannot get equal time as those who have been around longer than I have. 

So my question to my fellow writers is this. How do you overcome these fears?   Do you face them head on?  Seek the possible, and hope for the best?  How do you become established so that your own dreams can take wing?

Creating the Character - The Phantom Train

One of the surprising things about the Phantom Train is that the train itself is a character, as much a character as any other in the book.   It is conscious of what it does, where it goes and why.  I have talked at length as to how I came up with the concept of the train, but giving it a voice is perhaps one of the hardest things I did.

In some ways I regret it because the train acts as an expositor in the end.  It explains to the children what has happened to their father, that he has nearly given up on life.   The interesting question, however, is why the train cares.  This is a machine that ferries the dead to the other side, and somewhere in me I always thought it would not take a side in such a regard.  Yet this machine of death has a spirit that values life.  It not only saves our characters, it allows for them to board in order to let their mother pass on.

This is an act of compassion one doesn't usually think about in terms of death.  Long ago, I imagined the train was the physical embodiment of death, given form to carry others where they needed to go.  The Phantom Train is as mysterious as its conductor.  Its origin can be imagined in the recesses of time.   But in a way, this is how I would like to imagine the afterlife to be. 

 In the end, we know not what journey lies ahead.  Death is the ultimate adventure, the ultimate question.  Why can we not take it in the best of care and compassion, with the greatest of ease and speed.  The Phantom Train is that essence, that hope.  At the end of the line, we strive to see those who have gone before waiting on the platform with arms open and the great beyond stretching to a limitless horizon.

Creating the Character - The Conductor

One of the more interesting characters of the Phantom Train is its conductor.  I won't lie, this is a slight nod to one of my favorite books of all time, Polar Express.  In a way, these two stories are so similar and yet polar opposites.  (Not to use a pun.)     Much of what happens on the Polar Express is instigated by the conductor character.  We know next to nothing about him, who he is where he comes from, but he is as much a part of the story and the train as our main hero.  

In my story, the conductor plays a similar role.  He serves as the one who explains what the train is and what it does.  He is a guardian of the train, a ghost himself.  I never really imagined his story too far, unfortunately.  I just assumed he's been with the train since it appeared and will be with it to the end. 

There was another character in the story, an engineer, who appeared in an earlier version.  Originally the kids met him and he spread out a deck of tarot cards to explain the meaning of death.  I changed this however, since Tarot didn't fit with an overall theme.  We don't see an engineer or any other maintenance people, and the train appears to run itself.  I imagine that the conductor is the only real staff aboard, in charge of those coming on and off the train.

In a way I would like to know his story, but I enjoy a bit of the mystery surrounding him.  Its nice to dream of different possibilities as far as the man is concerned.

The Single Writer

I don't want to go too off track, but something has been bothering me for a little while.   I am starting to realize how very lonely my life as a writer is.   This is not to say I don't have a life, I do, but most of it involves work.  I know very few people and my circle is very small.   I am trying to change that, through this blog and other means, but its been six years since I moved back home and I feel I have not advanced at all.

Part of the problem is work schedule.  Working nights makes it hard to do anything since most activities seem to happen during the day and over the course of normal weeknights.  Most writing critique groups locally fall in this category and as such its hard to find a niche.  That is one of the reasons I want to find an editor or a mentor, someone to point me in the right direction.   In itself, that is a challenge.  I recently contacted some wonderful sounding people, but they didn't feel they were a fit for me.

I suppose as a writer I want reassurance.  I want correspondence.  I want right and wrong, good and bad.  I want to be around like-minded people.  At the same time I dread critique.  I sat through years of it in high school and I grew to hate the nit-pick attitude that seemed to radiate from the groups.  Its easy to get defensive about your work though, but even in my older years  I found more people were interested in hawking their own work than equal interest in mine.

I for one always try to give equal interest in people's work.  I love reading and giving suggestions.  I always like seeing new ideas and opportunities.  I miss that the most about groups, about critiques and friends.  My question now is how do I get that back given my schedule?  How to I reach out more with what resources I have?  I yearn for suggestions, for anything?  I yearn for a reason and purpose so that I no longer feel I am shouting to a giant void.

Creating the Character - Daryl Dawson

I think of all my characters in Phantom Express, Daryl is the one that has changed the most and probably for the best.  In the beginning his character was another kid, a bully, who had lost his brother when he was younger.  As I grew up myself though, I realized how juvenile this character was and how unnecessary.   I knew I had to change him to tie into the characters that existed, and I wanted it to become about family, so I changed the character's age, relationship etc, until it was their Dad.

In a way Daryl is an intriguing character because although the story is narrated as scene through Justin and Jessie's perspective, the story is really about Daryl's struggles.  He is a single father who still deals with the terrible grief over his wife's death some years back.  He's got a job, a house, two children to deal with, and yet the loss of his wife weighs heavily on his heart.  I once was told by someone that they sympathized with his character the most and that was very profound.

This person told  me that they considered Daryl's situation in the book as the most precarious and real in relationship to death.  Not to spoil anything, but they saw his decision about death as the most crucial.  In the end, so many people have trouble living after one they love so much dies.   So many lose hope and faith and start to die off slowly inside themselves.  They do not always see the beauty of life right in front of them.  Sometimes people make foolish choices in regards to life.

It is for this reason that the Phantom Train ultimately sought out this family.  Somewhere, somehow, Maria Dawson, Daryl's wife wanted to give her husband a message to keep on living. 

Creating the Character - Jessie

I think of the five characters in the book, Jessie is the one so much like my real self.  She is quiet, more reasoning than Justin.   Where he is my desire of something I wasn't, Jessie is more like I was.  She's less inclined to believe what she sees, even if it is fantastical.  That said, she's not against changing what she believes once she sees proof, understanding it.    In some way's she is Justin's superior in this case, she's the one who can help change him, bring him and her father down to reason from the level of the fantastic that they find themselves within.

In a way, Jessie's recollection of death is the one I am more interested in than Justin's.  Even though Justin is the narrator, the beginning of the story is based on a wait for her.  We see Justin waiting for that reasoning individual.  He is already delved into the fantastic, the cold night, the winds and the light of moon.  He is the one who sees the strange, whereas Jessie would probably see the night as another night.   It would be an interesting exercise to try to write the story from her perspective rather than Justin's.

One of the things I didn't have in this version of the book was a scene where the two characters dine in a dining car.  In an earlier version Jessie mentions Persephone in terms of eating the food of the dead.  I think this shows another aspect of my character in her.  She's more well learned than Justin in this regard.  She's afraid of what the trains power is.   I am glad I got rid of that scene though because it mirrored the source material and inspiration in Final Fantasy where the characters also dined on the train (with no ill effect.) 

Ultimately, Jessie will remain one of my favorite characters.  I always find it hard to write women or girls because I'm not one.  I modeled her after a few girls I knew growing up as such.  But I hope I got the aspects of that side of life correct.

Deciding on Characters - Justin

In a way Justin Dawson is an allegory for some of the things I wished for after I was grown.  I wanted to be a more mischievous child, to have a twin or a younger sibling.   Justin is a bit more daring than myself.  I don't know if I would step on a strange, haunted looking train, but he does share some interesting similarities.   He's smart, witty, and very kind at heart.    I hear people say that one should not make characters Mary Sue, a reflection of themselves.   But really, isn't that what any character is?

We all write bits of ourselves into our characters.  Whether it is good or bad, realistic or imagined, our characters reflect aspects of our own true being.   Justin was an aspiration of my youth, and in a way he reflects what I looked like back then, curly brown hair, freckles and sky blue eyes.   He's got a fondness for red converse sneakers which I still have, and he is struggling internally with the death of someone close to him. 

I think I mentioned this before but I often ask kids what they think about the characters once they read the book and the reaction to Justin is always that they know someone like this.   Justin is their brother, their friend, their cousin, whatever.  They relate very much to him. In a way that makes me very proud because he is me as the narrator of this strange journey.

Chapter 1 - Part 3

Suddenly, a long and haunting note pierced the night air.  A deep reverberating hum settled along the old iron bars like a tuning fork as a stone embedded in the rust at my feet came free and rolled to one side.  A prickle went down my spine into my feet.  Fear blocked reason.  This could only be one thing, a train. 

With a shriek of steam and grinding metal, a massive black steam engine erupted from the tunnel mouth spewing smoke like a black dragon arisen from the darkest depths of the earth.  Blue flame coursed over its riveted body like ghostly waves as white hot steam escaped in powerful jets from huge pistons and blue sparking wheels. 

A flash of light snapped me back into reality.  Instinct took over,  and I dove into the safety of the brush.  The train hurtled past, and then it vanished into the forest without sound or trace.

 Scrambled footsteps clattered across the gravel. Jessie crouched down beside me and helped me to my feet.  “Justin, are you’re all right?”  I nodded, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.  “You could have been killed!”

“I thought you said the line was cut!  Wait!  The camera went off as it came out!  Let’s see the picture!”

She flipped up the image, and we both froze.  There was no train, just a ghostly blue streak.  I felt my blood run cold.  “That can’t be right.  We didn’t just imagine that thing!” 

She shook her head.   “Let’s go home before anything else happens.”  

I looked back at the empty tunnel mouth. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

 “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night, Justin.”

The wind still whispered with the echoes of what happened that summer night as we scrambled back up the embankment.  Somehow I knew that this was only the beginning.

Some retrospect

I happen to like the way the last post shows the beginnings of the mystery of the Phantom Train.  We start to transition to the world of the surreal.  I worked very hard on the details of the kids, and I like the way I portrayed some of their actions.  That said, I sometimes wonder if the conversations are stilted.  

Back when I first wrote this, these two characters were the ones who changed the least.  They were always brother and sister, twins and acted pretty much the same to one another.  Being an only child, I tried my best to guess how they'd tease each other from things I saw with my friends who had siblings.   When I ask children about what they think about the characters they say they really like them.  


The fog and the tunnel itself were one of the earliest images for the train I had in mind.  I knew I had to have something spooky, a big cavern and and empty train line for the train to prowl.  Originally the kids were there with a schoolyard bully who had dared them to walk inside and then back but I later changed it and removed that character.    I added other things as technology progressed their camera became a digital one, though I wonder if it should change to a phone now that most kids have those.   It amazes me just how quickly things can age a book.

Overall I still enjoy how this chapter looks, and I cant wait to finish posting it.

Chapter 1 - Part 2

Jessie sighed.  Her eyes narrowed like little blue icicles on me.  “Fine, I’ll go fifty yards into the old tunnel but no more!  Don’t forget, you were the one who didn’t want to come last time.”

“Ah, shove it.” I tried to hide the red in my face.  “I’m ten  now, and I’m not afraid of the dark like when I was eight!” 

I glanced out into the darkness. Everything felt deathly still as we slid down the embankment scattering gravel beneath our feet.  The night seemed colder.  Even the moon had vanished behind a shroud of clouds.  It was pitch black except for the dim beam cast upon our path by my flashlight. 

“Let’s get going, Jessie.”

Slipping down the slope, I rolled into a crouch at the flat base of the ravine. The moon rose like a specter along the cold iron bars shimmering like the belly of a slain dragon.  The rails led along rough gravel choked with weeds and straight towards a gaping hole like a dark mouth in the side of the hill.  I stepped carefully over rusted rail ties balancing myself carefully on one side of the steel bars polished smooth with travel long ago.  Behind me the huge gnarled branches of the birch forest wove a dim opening where the rail vanished into the overgrowth.

I stepped over the track only to trip over a rusty cross bar.  My pants sunk into something thick.  Reaching down, I realized I’d fallen into tar.  I glared at my sister who stifled a giggle.

 “Come on, Justin.  We don’t have all night to sit around.  It’s not like you have to worry about trains since the line’s been abandoned for years now.”

The cavernous black orifice groaned with the passing wind through its empty fissures.  The night was very cold biting into my skin like tiny pins of chill.  I noticed Jessie bundle herself deeper into her parka.  A gust of wind escaped the gaping maw chilling me to the bone. 

Jessie stopped on the side of the tracks and shook her head.  “Justin, I don’t like this.  Let’s just go home.”

 I tried to hide the fear in my voice.  “Fine, just take the picture of me outside.  That will be good enough.  The guys won’t be able to top that.”

“OK, back up a little bit.”

I followed her instructions and walked back into the darkness outside the tunnel mouth a few yards from Jessie.  I felt nervous standing there as she reached into her pocket and held up the camera. 

“Back a little more … OK!  Perfect!  Now hold still.” The camera flashed.  “Great!  Let’s go!”

“Wait!”  I said.  “I need to take a look.”  I started toward her when I felt an icy chill through the flimsy canvas of my sneakers. 

 Looking down, I noticed a creeping fog floating out of the tunnel mouth, a swirling river of vapor that filled the entire gorge.  “Justin,” I heard the worry in my sister’s voice.  “Why is there fog coming out of the tunnel?”

The Opening for Phantom Express

I think the opening of the book is the thing that has changed the most over the years.  This is mostly the result of critique groups where I could only bring ten pages for others to read.  As such, I always chose the first ten pages because it needed little explanation like the rest of the book would have.  I cannot say how many reiterations of this particular page I went through in fifteen years of sharing it.  Part of me wonders if the rest of the book should have gone this deep under the microscope, but in a way I am glad it didn't.

There came a point maybe six years ago where I decided enough was enough and I basically scrapped everything I had up to the previous point and rewrote the whole book.  I kept the same two main characters, the same basic idea of the story but I was so tired of seeing just the first chapter that I needed to write a completely new book.  I suppose I could have shared much more, given background of other chapters for critique but I wanted the opening to be the best it could be so that it would catch a publisher's eye. 

Looking at it now, I'm very happy with the result, though its the process which I lament.  I hear about authors taking years to write books but I never imagined that this project would take this long. 

Aboard the Phantom Express - Chapter 1 - Part 1

 

A cold wind crept in with the late hour rustling restless as a child through the birch trees of the long ravine.  It leaped from branch to branch slipping around me like an opaque coat of auburn colors. I made my hiding place in the gravel beneath the dark roots of an old oak, my hands tucked into the furrows of my oversized red sweatshirt against the sudden chill.  The noise of my watch alarm clicked jolting me out of near sleep.  I glanced down at the illuminated numbers there.  Midnight!  Where was Jessie?

Reaching into the big pocket of my jacket, I found the cold steel shape of my flashlight and switched it on.   Everything around me was inky black except for the faint light I now had.  Below me I could just make out the shimmering outline of train tracks at the very bottom of the ravine. 

“You’d better not stand me up, Sis,” I thought.  “Would be just like her to leave me out here while she stays all nice and comfy back home.” I felt something clinging to my head.  Reaching up I brushed it off, a few leaves falling to the muddy earth.

Suddenly, bony fingers grasped against my shoulder from behind.  I felt my hair stand on end.  A prickle went up my spine.  I came up like a rocket whirling around with my flashlight ready as my only weapon of defense and stopped dead still.  It was only Jessie.

“Did I scare you, Justin?”

“You just startled me, Jessie,”  I said glaring her down. She looked like she was going to Antarctica dressed in a bulky parka and scarf over those same blue-grey overalls of hers.   “You look like a yeti in that get up.  Where are you going, Alaska?”

 “Oh, that’s funny coming from you, nature boy.  I warned you that the news said it would get cold tonight and here you are in just your jeans and that measly little sweatshirt.”

I rolled my eyes and lied like the good twin brother I was.  “It’s not that cold.   Besides,  you were supposed to be here at midnight, Jessie.”

“It’s not like I can just waltz out right under Dad’s nose.  You’re lucky he didn’t ask where you were when he got home and just fell asleep on the couch like always. We shouldn’t even be out here this late.  He’ll go ballistic if he finds out.”

“He won’t find out!  Did you bring the camera?” 

“That was my end of the deal.   Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back home.”

 “Hey, hold on!  Who’s going to take my picture so I have proof I did this?”

 “You’re the one who made the stupid bet with the kids in your class.  You take the picture, Justin.”

I held onto her arm. “I can’t take a picture of myself going into the tunnel.  It’s too hard to get the image right if I can’t see it.  Come on.  It will be quick … I promise.” 

{So begins my posting of some parts of Aboard the Phantom Express}

For the Birds

So, I decided to go off on a tangent today.   Last Sunday my father dug out the old bread making machine to try to make bread.  Unfortunately it came out like a brick with the top sort of mutilated and looking like it fallen out of a mixing machine and then just hardened into clumps.    The bread itself was awful and he was about to throw it out when I suggested I take it home.  I wanted to let it harden and feed it to the birds that frequent my garden.  I figured that birds will eat just about anything.  Boy was I wrong.

This darn bread lived up to every bad expectation.  I put the hardened chunks in the feeder and the birds wouldn't even peck at it.  When I sprinkled seed about in the pan they pecked around the bread to get at the seed.  Finally the local blue jay stopped by.  Now this little fellow is quite the character and he eats almost anything I put out there.  He took one peck of that bread and then tossed it aside to get at some other juicy morsel the other birds had left behind.

Ultimately, my dad's bread turned out to be fit for neither man nor bird.

Some Fresh Ideas

Recently I joined the wonderful San Fansisco Writer's Online University  after the suggestion from an editor for another project.  This page is an inspiration, a wonderful resource for myself and anyone who is a writer in this day and age.  Joining is free, and there are online lessons for podcast that you can download for free.  You can also pay a minimum fee for more robust subjects of podcast.  Both areas cover anything from blogging, to editing, to inspiring characters to just writing in general. 

After taking a moment to look through some of the ideas, I have decided to incorporate them into my blog.  I am going to try to start blogging every day, if not three times a week or more, talking about Aboard the Phantom Express and my ideas surrounding it.  I want to see my blog grow with this site's help, and I am certain it will do so. 

One of the things I am most excited about is to start blogging my book.  As a self-published novel, this will be a great way to expose my book to the public so that everyone can see what I've been talking about all this time.  My first post will be my hook, of course, to get readers.  From there, I will try to talk about passages of the book and discuss how and why I wrote them. So, here is to  Phantom Train back on track!

The Publishing Gamble

Well, I have just submitted Phantom Express to Chronicle Books in the hope that they will see what so many people have in my little book.   It's always such an exciting prospect sending to a publisher or an agent, but there's also so much nerves at stake.  I think the best I can liken it to is playing poker.  I know, I know, publishing and gambling are nothing alike, but they share many things in common. 

Like gambling, publishing takes a lot of luck and a lot of nerve.  You have to know how to play your cards right, to read the table.  The publisher is the house, they hold all the stakes and the house nearly always wins when it comes to accepting your bet.  As a writer its so easy to try to steel your nerves and then have them utterly crushed when you get a rejection letter.  A rejection letter is as much a blow as losing a big hand.  You can be so sure of winning, only to have just a slightly lower hand.

In my case, I hope that I'm holding a flush when it comes to Chronicle. I hope they'll see my gambler's mentality in approaching an independent publisher for my unique work.  I think they'll look at my hand, see what I have and see how they can benefit by it.  After all, in gambling and writing, the house always wants you to come back and spend more.

Switching tracks

For a while now I have been lacking what might be the most important thing in a writer's life, a spark of imagination.  Its so easy to get distracted in life, what with tv, internet, radio, work and just general life.  So often I read about writers and how writing is an almost religious experience.  Writers spend hours just finding the right location, they stick to a steady schedule of writing, break and more writing. 

I suppose it is easy for a writer who writes as their one profession, they can devote endless hours to preparing for writing, but I have little bits of time here and there with work and other things.  It becomes a struggle to put thoughts together, to coordinate them.  Its easy to become discouraged as well with a lack of other writers to work with.  So many groups meet at times that are completely different from what I can attend.  It seems like the whole writing world is on one schedule and level of life and I am on another that is the exact opposite.

I draw once again to my analogy of a train for this blog.  At the moment, I am chugging along at a slow pace, regaining my momentum.  Ahead lays a switchboard of opportunities, and I need to decide where I need to go and what I need to do to get there.   There's plenty of room for mistakes, for chances taken or lost, but that's the way it is with any thing in life. 

I think and hope that this blog will help me continue to flesh some of my own frustrations or thoughts about writing.  I just have to remain on track!