Another book, finally


I’m am speaking to the void and to those who were gracious enough to buy my first book in digital format.

I come to you again.

We all do. Finally, i’ve finished editing, preparing, making and remaking things on this, the second part of the Grand Tour.

Titled The Grand Revenge, this book in particular is set one year after the end of the first book and continues the adventures of Tom and Gus, the two Earthlings that dared cross the threshold of space into unknown areas of the Universe.

Of course, like last time, this will definitely turn into an adventure of unthinkable proportions to them and to you, reader.

In the very near future the book will be made available and I will make sure to notify you as soon as it happens, so stay tuned and make sure you’re ready for this second part of their travels through space.


Empty Words Never Fill a Page

I tried last year’s NaNoWriMo without planning and without success. The road was clearly not the right one, as I simply abandoned that particular story for no reason other than the oldest trope of writing: that story did not have to be told.

I’ve always thought about writers who say “write the story that must be told” as idiots who were particularly full of themselves (looks in the mirror and thinks he’s shaving the face of god or looks down her leg and thinks she’s shaving the legs of goddess, whatever).

Unfortunately, I’ve found myself in a situation where the story wasn’t supposed to be told and thus it died out. Fizzled, more like. It was not painful to stop writing that story. It did not knock on the doors of my mind as I went to bed. It had no effect on me as I spread the words on the blank page (butter on a hot skillet) and it wouldn’t have an effect on readers either.

So, as I now look back at November 2017 (and my 30th birthday approached) I think “what a colossal waste of energy”. Not time, no. I wasted no time there, because I learned something very important: writing for the sake of writing goes nowhere. Or rather, writing something you think is right is not always right.

Feeling is a big part of my writing. I want to tell stories and imagine stories that will make others enjoy it. I started writing for myself, to keep those stories in my possession so I could always return to them (ironically i lost my first ever manuscript). Now I think: we, as a community of readers, need certain stories to be told. We lack some stories.

There are no more simple and direct stories. No more of those classic adventures that made you excited and made you clap your hands as the story closed. Now we have epic sagas that are longer and longer than any fictional story should be. And I blame Tolkien (though Greeks are to be blamed for this with their heroes and whatnot).

Nowadays every writer wants to publish their Magnum Opus right off the bat, trying to sell an idea that is either a) been used before; b) so old we can’t even trace its origins or c) it’s just bad. (please use the correct inflection of bad in your mind. It’s very bad.)

So, I thought, and still do: where are the simple times? The simple adventures? Movies become grander and grander. Games, comics, fantasy football, all sorts of entertainment. Why is this hunger so ever growing? Is it the consumer of entertainment? Or is it the producer stuffing our minds with escapes from reality that are so absurdly far fetched that things just stop being possible?

I long for the stories that are simple and direct, that do not connect to others so deeply that you cannot read the third book of the author without having read the first and the second. Jesus, stop!

But back to the original idea of this post: Empty words. Some stories just need to be told and they click with you and the audience and those are the good stories. I would even go so far as to say that this is actually the one thing that is still going, but the size of these is colossal. Just relax, authors. Write your stories and see where it goes. It doesn’t need to be a giant epic. It can be as simple as going after a dragon’s treasure, as quick as unveiling the tomb of an ancient pharaoh, as direct as stopping the drug lord from bringing in a new super cocaine into the streets and poison the children of the community.

And yet, every time I step into a book store, I never find an individual story. One that begins and ends in a single volume. There’s always another quest, always another adventure, another drug lord, another tomb, another treasure.

Just let the adventurers rest. Let them go.

Next time you start writing a story, think: Does this story need to be told?


Final Weekend, Day 27

So, this is it, the final stretch. And, as usual, I am behind.

Actually, not as usual. This is highly unusual. I have always met the minimum, except for a rare occasion in which i was really swinging blindly. Out of the five years I have participated, only one was a loss. The rest were wins. This year is shaping to be a loss. It is now Monday, three days to the deadline and all I have are 40k words and a story that seems to be highly incomplete. I now know where I am going with it. I know who is the great brain behind it all, but the characters have to get there and the road is getting rough and full of “wait, how is it going to happen, again?” moments that not even my characters seem convinced of.

They are a group of strong people, mostly. One character is the nice and new face of the entire party and his fate was decided before he was written into the story. Nevertheless, I have to make justice to the boy and make sure he makes a decent impact. And nothing screams hallellujah like writing things that connect one point to another in a logical sequence. It is really hard to keep the story in a logical thread and at the same time, show everything I need in order to place all the pieces in the same board appropriately. It is hard to write a good mystery, especially one that should focus so hard on cyberpunk. It is one style of writing that has always made me wonder what my future would be like, especially seen as how most cyberpunk stories are either in our past or the very near future, like 2019 (Blade Runner, in case you didn’t know).

And for that matter, real life has been taking such a heavy toll on me that it is hard to focus on what is important: the story, the writing, the art. I probably am birthing a mess of a pseudo-cyber noir that anyone would be loathe to read because everything around me messes with my perception of things, especially all the things I surrounded myself with in order to find the correct mindset.

I guess that it is also hard to focus when everything else is trying to pull me way from that mindset. Life i just too hard right now and not thinking about it just makes me think about it harder. But this is not what I want to write home about. I want to write about this last week. It was slow, it was gritty and it was very uncomfortable. I wish it had been different. Coming up: My Failure in NaNoWriMo 2017.

See you at the finish line.

Weekend 3, Day 19

As life goes on, so does the story I am writing.

November was, from many points of view, a nightmare. Real life and the horrors of society are eating away at me while I try to quench the flames that consume me. Meanwhile, my project seem to take shape, most of them. I somehow find the energy and time and focus (very important) to do all of it.

I thank whatever energy is inside me for this incredible resilience. I would have given up on everything several times over had this happened years ago. Today, I feel that everything that is happening, the good and the bad, are meaningless in the grand scheme of things (there is no scheme, actually). What is there is the moment and the feeling of happiness. We live for them, do we not?

I spent this past week trying to survive by a thread on everything. I feel like at any moment people are going to start trying to kill me for what I have not done yet. Like someone is watching me all the time. The paranoia comes when things are dark. But in all that darkness, there is light. It is not only my own light, but also of those around me.

I have had a lot of help the past few days, a lot of generosity and a lot of opportunities were given to me. I am taking them and trying to do my best to accomplish my goals. Maybe I am too lazy to actually make an effort, but I believe that if something is an effort, it is not what you want. What you want is no effort at all.

Writing has been no effort this NaNoWriMo. It has come easily, it flows constantly and even when I skip days, I manage to recover them on the next without breaking a sweat. This story, whatever it is becoming, is by far my most intense one yet and I am sure I will give it the attention it deserves.

The story is following a road towards uncertainty, a road of mystery, a road of lies and half-truths, like any good cyberpunk. The main character is blind to the schemes of the opposing forces, but the protagonist makes his own schemes, manipulating those around him, making sure he has what he needs for his own personal agenda.

For that, I think this is a different type of cyberpunk. Usually, analyzing other stories, it is all desperate, ignorant and blind. The character’s drive are usually fear, desire for their own growth, revenge. This is something else. This is a case of “what has to be done”. Much like the drive of the protagonist, this is the same drive for me. And that is enough to make anything. “It must be done, so do it properly.”

Hopefully these words will not fall on deaf ears, so listen up: I am afraid of tomorrow, in all senses. I am afraid of the unknown, but I am also relaxed about the fact that even if I make a mistake, the only thing that is going to happen is insignificant in the big picture. So, take a breath and remember, we are all insignificant. None of us are special. No one matter and no one counts. But that is the best possible reason to live well, to live honest and to live fair.

Thank you.