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Hey readers: As I said in my bio, I really hate writing about myself. Here's the basics: My name's actually Jonny Capps, and yes, that does sound an awful lot like Johnny Cash, and you're the first person to make that association. I write ridiculous stories about things that never happened, I read a lot of stuff by people who write better than I do, I drink coffee, I smoke cigars, and I never shot a guy in Reno... just beat him up real bad and left him in the street. I've been writing most of my life, but I only started doing it professionally a couple years ago. It's not as glorious as I had hoped that it would be, but it's more satisfying than I could have hoped. I have been asked to write more biographical stories about random people than I can even count. Everyone seems to think that their story is an instant Lifetime movie, waiting to happen. I don't know if I blame Harvey Pekar or that woman from Precious for that, but it's ridiculous, especially considering that I'm mostly a genre writer. That means, unless you're an interstellar combatant with a space ship, a laser pistol, and a talking monkey companion, there are probably better candidates for memoir writing. I do intend to write my own biography some day. My story actually is a Hallmark movie, though. Seriously, I've been through some shit; you don't even know. Seriously, though, this blog is probably going to full of bitter, random, old man shit involving writing, the process, and whatever else I feel like writing about. |
| Hey Guys, just wanted to post a very quick update: Well, so far in the new Savage story, I've written nearly 10,000 words in six days, including some character development, a sex scene, and a conspiracy theory, presented by Josh to Mikhail. I'm about to head into the first real action sequence, involving Josh, Derrin, and Tenzin, but my brain is fried. There's too much science in this story! I love the details, but it does make the story move a little slower. I'm doing almost as much research as I'm doing actual writing. The character personalities are both clashing and meshing very well, and Archimedes (my artificial computerized personality) is a great foil. I'm really enjoying this story. I just hope the readers will be able to remain engaged, through all the science. |
| Hey guys (and girls, I can use that pronoun as an a-sexual term, culturally, can't I?): I have done nothing but write today. I still need to plug out another 500 words to keep my average up, but I can do that, and I will. My story is going directly where I need it to, and I feel pretty confident that I can hit the goal this year. I'm never more at peace than when I'm writing. That's why I chose this as my profession. I remember the exact moment, driving home from my soul-sucking job at an insurance firm, when I a Boston song gave me an epiphany: "People living in competition; all I want is to find my piece of mind." I realized then that I could make a lot of money, hating myself while doing it, or I could do what gave me piece of mind and be satisfied with my existence. Not a day goes by that I don't either question or regret my decision to become a writer. Sure, it was easier to believe that I'd made the right one when I had a published novel on the shelves, but now that my publisher has folded... I wonder. "Don't start a band; nobody wants to hear, nobody understands." Nothing makes me happier than writing. I have to believe that I made the right choice. My bank account disagrees. |
| Hey faithful readers: So, I decided, against my better judgement, to participate in Nanowrimo again this year. I don't know how sponsors work, and it really doesn't matter much to me, since I'm still pretty new to the community, and I can't imagine that anyone would invest time or metaphorical currency on my work. Yesterday at this time, I was pretty certain that I wouldn't even participate in this bloody contest. I had told myself that I wouldn't, and it wasn't until 7:30 last night, when I put the finishing touches on a project that I was writing, that I figured I'd give it a go. I've successfully completed Nanowrimo a couple times. The first attempt was a religious commentary/satire piece that will likely never see the light of day. The second was another entree into my Mythos cycle which, depending on whether or not I'm ever able to get that off the ground again, has potential. This year, I'm continuing my Savage story, expanding the world and increasing the depth of he characters. I love The Sleepers and the world that they inhabit, and I'm looking forward to seeing them play both which each other and the wold that has been granted to them. The biggest problem that I'm having now is that, with Savage, there needs to also be a lot of research, to make sure that it's scientifically and technologically plausible for what I'm suggesting to occur. It would be so much easier if I could just write astronomically disjointed things under the excuse that "it's just a rough draft", and theoretically, I guess I could. That's not how I write, though. In order for me to finish a project, I have to believe in the world that was presented. In order for that to happen, I have to do research. There's no "because magic" in Savage. There's no "suspension of disbelief" or "deus ex machina". Ironically, one of my characters just referred to himself as the deus ex machina, but he's a cocky little snot with bigger problems than an inflated ego, so that's acceptable. Both my Savage stories, and The Pauper (which occurs in the same universe, 500 years earlier) tales take a long time to write and process. It may be a mistake to attempt doing a 50,000-word project, set in this universe. Still, if I can get it all done, I'll be about a year ahead of schedule, which makes me insanely happy. I guess I'll find out if I made a good decision on December 1st. Congratulations to Cat Voleur for winning the October Review! I don't know if anyone's reading this, but if you are, you should check out Cat V's work. She's a much better writer than I am. -Jonny Capps |
| There once was a man with no arms who went to a priest and told him that he wanted to serve in the church. The preach thanked him for his mission, and asked how he would like to contribute. The man said that he would like to ring the bell in the steeple. The priest looked at him as though he was crazy, telling him that if there were one job in the church that he was unqualified for, it would be that one, since he has no arms. The man insisted that this was his calling, and he had worked out a system. He and the priest transcended the steeple to where the bell was housed, the arm-less man backed to one side, then charged the bell at full sprint. He face-planted into the bell, and it rang with a resounding GONG. The priest asked him if it hurt at all, and the man admitted that it did, but it was his gift, and he was willing to go through with it. The priest allowed and, for months afterward, the man charged the bell, making it ring. One Saturday night, the man was feeling very badly about his calling. The pain from face-planting into the bell every Sunday was becoming too much. He took his commitment very seriously, though. It was just difficult sometimes, particularly on that night. That night, he got drunk and lamented to everyone who would hear about his troubles. The next morning, he awoke extremely hung over. Still, he made his way to church and up the steeple he went. He charged at the bell and connected with it: GONG. The sound was so loud and his headache so violent that he stopped where he was, lowered his head, and screamed. He forgot to get out of the way of the bell as it swung back. When the bell swung back, it connected with his screaming body, and the momentum forced him out the window of the steeple, where he fell to the ground and died. The congregation of the church heard the commotion and rushed outside to find the body of the man laying on the ground. Women screamed and children cried. Two of the men who had been drinking with the man at the bar stepped to the body. "Do you know who this is?" one of them asked the other. "I don't know his name," the second man admitted "but his face sure rings a bell." --- Happy Halloween, invisible readers. I really don't have much else to talk about right now, to be honest. |
| So, I have an X-Box One. A friend of mine wasn't using his, so he sold it to me, heavily discounted. I would rather it was a Playstation 4, but it's a gift horse, so I'm going to ride it. OH MY GOD, BECAUSE OF IT'S TEETH!!! I JUST FIGURED OUT WHY YOU SHOULDN'T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH!!! Horses with bad teeth are... oh, forget it. Anyway, there's something that I don't understand about the gaming community, or any business community outside of professional sports, to be honest. To me, it's always been Marvel vs. DC but, in the late 80's and mid-90's, the two of them got along just fine. There was even a line (a very poor one, but it was the 90s, so that was on par) called Amalgam, where the DC and Marvel heroes could hang out with each other and play! Now, it's as if you purchase Avengers, you have to avoid Justice League. If you read Suicide Squad, you can kiss your Thunderbolts subscription goodbye. That's absolutely ridiculous. The two companies compliment each other, and it's in the best interest of both that they each do well. Sure, some competition is healthy, but this isn't Hatfield and McCoy. I can enjoy both Batman and Moon Knight. I'm allowed to play both X-Box and Playstation. They both have their strengths and weaknesses. I understand the exclusive contracts that some game development companies sign with one company over the other. My favorite game developer is Naughty Dog, for instance, and it's driving me nuts that I can't play The Last of Us or Uncharted 4. Still, Bethesda, Square Enix, and Ubisoft (I hate Uplay, by the way) are also good companies, and they release cross-platforms. The gaming community seems to be locked in a savage civil war. With Playstation Fanbots and X-Box Drones, savagely pulling each other into the streets and A+A+B+Up+Up+Down-ing each other in the face! If I can only afford one gaming system, and I choose Playstation 4, that doesn't mean I feel a religious passion to go on a spiritual crusade, destroying everything Microsoft related. Microsoft vs. Mac, X-Box vs. Sony vs. Nintendo, Marvel vs. DC... We don't have Universal vs. MGM, do we? If we do, that's kind of stupid too, since they're both getting squashed by a giant mouse. Maybe Adam Smith's message is lost on me, but I just don't see the point of getting all up in arms about things that don't matter. "I'm getting too old for this shit." |
| Spent the day writing... my brain feels like tapioca. I'll spend the evening doing the same. This is my career. People don't understand that this is what I do for a living. Yes, I have a higher education in massage therapy which gives me three fancy letters that follow my name (I'm an LMT), and I make money with that when I have clients, but I write every day for several hours. I'm not suggesting that each person who wants to be a writer should do the same, and the current state of my bank account will suggest that one should absolutely not do that, but it's what I do. There's no perfect formula or special, magical trick to becoming a best-selling author... I just write and hope that other people will read. Many of the people that I see on a daily basis would say that I'm unemployed, because I don't have a typical job with standardized hours. Yes, I'm free-lance right now, which means that I determine my own hours. It also means that I'm always working. I need to get this fucking story done. I'll worry about how other people perceive my chosen vocation later. |
| All right, well, since this site has been very loud about me getting my blog entries in, I guess I have to keep my nonexistent readership up to date on everything that I'm not doing. Actually, that's not fair. I feel like all I've been doing is writing. I'm working on that story which I had complained about a few days ago. It's coming along very nicely, actually. The antagonist makes me sick, more so than any "bad guy" that I've used before. I find no reason to justify their motivation; I understand their actions, of course, but there's simply no justification. They're using a perverted interpretation of Biblical scripture to justify their horrendous behavior. St. Isidore (using the name of the Catholic saint of technology) is capitalizing on human suffering to promote their endgame, and instilling even more tragedy in the name of On High (which is what we're calling God in the 22nd century). The thing that I is making me the sickest is that I can see religious radicals doing exactly what he's doing in the future, be it far or near. In a world ravaged by nuclear warfare, his platform is understandable, but not justifiable. Maybe the reason that I can't justify his actions is because I know of people who would do exactly what he's doing. I don't associate with those people any longer. In order to participate in Nanowrimo this year, which is a touchy subject and one that I go back and forth about on an almost daily basis, I need to flush this story out in a week and a half. If I keep the writing up at the speed and quality that I'm doing right now, this is possible. I've done Nano several times with varied results, so it's no longer intimidating. I've just been working my ass off on all of other projects, and I've yet to select one that I could use. If I'm able to get this story done quickly, then I'll just write the second entry in my Savage/The Pauper story line(s), and be satisfied with that. If I'm not able to get this story done (and, let's face it, I do have to accomplish other things, aside from writing, this week), then this year's project may be MIA. Either way, I have to keep this writing going, and not look back. Emotionally, I'm a train wreck; financially, I'm destitute; socially, I'm non-existent. But I'm writing, so that's good! |
| Well, today was a success, at least for the most part. Woke up this morning at 5 AM and started planning my outfit, along with selecting my "sexiest" cologne, making sure my face was clean-shaven and blemish free, scrubbing my teeth two or three times, and applying an over-abundance of deodorant. Coincidentally, too much deodorant usually results in odorant, When I left the house 45 minutes later, I likely smelled like that 65-yr. old man who still thinks he's sexy and wants everyone to smell it. Oh, since I've never addressed my age here, I should let you casual readers know that I'm not 65... I have quite a few decades to go until then. Still, to the casual observer (or smeller, as the case may be), I probably seemed similar. My first love was in town, and I was meeting her for coffee at 6 AM. What is it about first loves? Every time I see or talk to her, no matter how much time has passed, I revert back to that burning heart, socially awkward, geeky high school junior. Just the thought of her smile makes my heart flutter and, while that would be a problem if I actually was 65, chills dance up my spine. Her voice is still music and she'll always be as beautiful to me now as she was to me when I first met her. Through the 19 years that I've known her, she and I have gone through hot and cold seasons, but we've always supported and loved each other. We didn't date very long, but we stayed close. I saw her and her daughter. We shared stories and empathy, since we're both kind of going through a rough time right now, while drinking coffee and holding hands. That was pretty much it... she had an early flight back to her home in Texas, and just wanted to spend a couple hours with me before she left. After the coffee, we walked together for a bit, affirming that we both had feelings for one another, but neither being in a position to act on them. We held each other a bit longer than we should have, and kissed deeper than is casually acceptable by PDA standards... and then she left. Every time she leaves, I feel as though it's the last time I'll ever see her. A piece of me goes with her, and I have to wait to see her once more before I can retrieve it. That may be weeks, months, or years, as the case was this time, but I still feel that piece of me with her when she's not around. After she left, I went home a snoozed for a couple hours before returning to the coffee shop and finishing up that damn outline. The outline is complete. I can start on the first draft tomorrow morning. So, I'd call today a win. I haven't had one of those in awhile, so I'll take it. Sorry about the slightly chipper blog. Don't worry, I;ll be back to my good old cranky self soon. |
| The Earth rotates around the sun at thousands of miles per hour, as we pathetic humans cling desperately, attempting to not get thrown off. If the Earth's rotation stopped for even a fraction of a second, we would get thrown off. Wow, this site doesn't mess around with it's bloggers, does it? If I'm not updating with stuff every day, they start yelling at me. Well, I figured out how to fix the outline problem, and I can start working on the project itself, early next week. Superman, reversing the rotation of the Earth (an extremely small portion of the universe), would (a) have absolutely no effect on time, a universal dimension, and (b) almost certainly kill everyone and everything on Earth. Not only that, but think of the damage that it would do to the environment. ...why did he reverse time again? To save his girlfriend. He put the lives and wellness of everyone on the planet at risk, simply so that he could save his girlfriend. That's very grand and romantic, considering it worked. Imagine if it hadn't, though. Yeah, the justification doesn't seem so solid, now that you've destroyed the entire world, does it "Kal-El"? Maybe if you'd spent a little less time, taking selfies of you, dressed in stretchy spandex and a cape, you'd have gone to college and learned a thing or two about rudimentary science. I guess it's not really Superman's fault, with him being a fictional character, but he's easier to blame than Richard Donner. There's my blog. Satisfied, WdC? |
| Ever just have one of those days? I wake up, throw my laundry in the machine, head to the coffee shop, and open up my computer to work. I pull up the file which contains the outline for the project that I'm currently working on. Just as my hands hit the keyboard to begin the writing process, a brick hits my brain: I have no idea how to end this story. This is typically why I outline. I'm very well familiar with the "let go and let your characters tell the story", and that's very meta, so points for being trendy. Maybe it works for some people (although I've never seen it work for anyone, not even the people who claim to use it), but when I let my characters tell the story, I usually end up with a convoluted, nonsensical pile of horse shit that I have to dig through, just to find the basics of what could be, and was originally, a mediocre story. Yeah, my characters are idiots. That's why they need me. I may be an idiot, but at least I can tell my characters what they're supposed to be doing. Formulating an outline is a long, rather tedious process but, after it's done, I can follow it like a treasure map until X marks the completed project. So, back from my tangent. I've never written anything like this story before, and I'm having a lot of fun with it. It's in a genre that I'm allowed to take a lot of liberties with, and I'm having a lot of fun. I've drafted some great characters and a very tragic world. The story was going along really well, until I face-planted into a brick wall, with no idea how to close it out. With the longer I stared at the outline, trying to figure out how to fix things, the bigger my other life problems began to seem. You can't figure out this story (and you're broke). You don't have an ending (and nobody loves you). Your outline is worthless (and you're single-handedly destroying your life, any hope of happiness in the future, and you're bringing your friends and family, who already hate you, down with you, you worthless pile of festering mucus). Yeah, my inner voice can be a dick after twenty minutes of failed creativity. I'll try it again tomorrow; tonight, I just want to turn on Netflix and turn off my head. Oh, fuck, I still have to finish laundry... |
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