DreamLeaks 6: Midnight Mystery Massacre

Good News! I'm not dead! Just recovering from a significant writer's block. But I'm ready to get back to creating, and another dream-based short story seems like a good starting point to go on. This one is based on an unusually vivid one I had just a few days ago, and it's been demanding I put it down.

Midnight Mystery Massacre

“I should have worn a costume,” Blane thought to himself. A costume wouldn't have necessarily prevented the apparent apocalypse and his inevitable demise. But it couldn't have hurt.

In fact, in what he expected to be his final moments, Blane had a lot of regrets. Getting to the company Halloween party late. Going at all, really. And perhaps not voicing his input when the movie was selected.

Things started out well enough. Okay, not well. Like every year, Blane's office had planned an “exciting” party for the holiday. The office would be open late, costumes were encouraged, and everyone would gather for the traditional spooky movie. This is what happens when office functions don't allow alcohol. Blane didn't care, and he didn't even want to show up. But unlike everyone else, he had actual work to do that day.

Despite that, he expressed his irritation with the whole affair as blatantly as he could without getting a reprimand. He sauntered into work half an hour late (blaming it on the long lines at Starbucks, if anyone asked, and nobody did,) and immediately noticed that he was the only one there without at least a token costume. He shrugged, ignored the unspoken scorn at his lack of participation, and tried to get to work. But that wouldn't be an option either. People were so excited about the movie that all the desks in the office were shoved into the corners so people could find a place to sit. Blane did his best to wedge into the tragic remains of his workspace and did his best to be productive for an hour or so, turning a blind eye to the schlock that stole everyone else's brains.

But he had to give up eventually. If the movie wasn't distracting enough, the gasps and laughs from his ostensibly adult co-workers was enough to finish the job. What could possibly be that interesting? Some movie everyone saw thirty times? He shoved aside what was left of his work and took a seat at far end of the room.

Well, one thing was for sure, at least this movie was unfamiliar. Though it probably had a good reason for that. It was filmed in black and white and had a budget less than his work computer cost. Blane glanced at the movie's case: something called Midnight Mystery Massacre. Even if the movie had been better, he couldn't figure out the plot after missing the first half. He figured that spoilers be damned, he could just look it up online and catch up on the plot that way. Except a search turned up exactly zero results. Wow, this one must be obscure. Without any other options, he settled in his seat and tried to figure out the plot on his own. And then he got caught up in the movie. Literally.

The next moment, he was struggling to breathe in the sunken remains of outer New York, which was just being conquered by … something at that point in the movie. Despite being moments away from drowning, he felt at peace. The water carried no sound, had no urgency. He was momentary content to rest here, basking in the shadow of whatever unearthly light up above illuminated him and the surrounding debris. That is, until he realized the debris was the bodies of other people.

Never a strong swimmer, Blane broke into a panicked, splashy paddle until he managed to surface and drag himself to shore. But the streets of the city were no more comforting. They were, in fact, completely silent, save for the occasional skitter of unrecognizable feet far of in the distance. He considered hiding into a building, but the way that every one of them had every glass window blasted open from inside made him worried. He ran as fast as his legs allowed until he found something not completely desolate.

Blane lost track of time and distance as he ran, never even noticing that he never seemed to get tired. Eventually, he managed to get out of downtown and into one of the wealthier subdivision, where the rich carved a mini-suburb into the middle of the urban sprawl. This area seemed to be just as uninhabited, but at least the buildings looked like their inhabitants fought back. Windows and doors were boarded up, with furniture forming makeshift cover and barricades. He continued down a road at random, looking for signs of life, when he heard voices coming from within one of the buildings. Strange voices, like that of a child, but it was the best bet he had so far, so he tentatively stepped over the table blocking the front door and made his way inside.

The voices were coming from the basement, because of course they were, but Blane felt himself drawn that way despite his better judgment. But he found it bereft of life, though judging by the stench, that had been a recent development. And then he heard the laughing, the happy little chuckles coming from every direction. Where the basement had once been empty, now it had little figures emerging from behind boxes, around doorways, from the tops of shelves piled with unused clothes and broken appliance. To his regret, he recognized the ventriloquist dummies from the movie. And even more regretfully, they recognized him.

“We wipe out every reprobate and snuff out every sinner!” they sang as they converged on him. “If you fight a dummy, a dummy is the winner!” Blane was in no position to appreciate the wordplay insult in the song, as he found himself swarmed by the creatures and staggered by the pain they inflicted with their tiny little knives. That last thing he thought about as things went black was the stupid costume he should have worn.

At least, that's how the story felt like would end. He heard the sounds of gunshots, so close that it should have deafened him, but all he experienced was the relief of a stab-free moment. As his vision cleared, he found a woman standing over him, apparently looting the broken bodies of defeated dummies. Unlike him, she seemed built for this place, with some sort of body armor and a gas mask covering her face. She holstered her sawed-off shotgun and glared at Blane. “Hmm. I didn't expect to find any NPCs here. You better not be some helpless escort side-quest.”

“Excuse me?” Blane said as he stumbled to his feet, causing her to pause.

“Now, that's even weirder. I never heard that one before.” She waved a hand in front of Blane's eyes and watched his eyes follow it. “Huh. Say something original. Something unexpectedly human.”

Blane was reasonably happy to comply with the woman who saved his life. “If I survive this, I'm never going to a damn office Halloween party again.”

“Good enough for me.” The woman held out her hand. “I'm ZombieMauler657.”

“Blane,” he replied. “What kind of name is that?”

ZombieMauler657 shrugged. “Apparently, the kind of name you get when 656 other people call themselves ZombieMauler before you do. But this should be offline mode. How are you even here?”

Blane explained the entire situation, from his office party to his near-drowning and up to the dummy attack. But the more he explained, the more nervous ZM got. “Wait, you think this is a movie? But I never even heard of it. Hell, I never heard of the Midnight Mystery Massacre video game until I found a cheap copy online. I expected shovelware, but this has been pretty good so far. But it's not THIS clever.”

Both of them looked around warily. Was this part of the movie/game? Or another trap? “The way I see it,” Blane said, “We have three possibilities. Either I fell asleep dreaming and you're just part of my dream...”

“Or I fell asleep gaming and YOU'RE part of MY DREAM,” ZM added.

“Fine, FOUR possibilities,” Blane conceded. “Or we're both dreaming and in some sort of weird shared subconscious reality. Or lastly...”

He didn't need to even say the last one. Lastly, this movie/game/experience was real and drew them both into it. Which mean that if they fell to wayward dummies or worse, it would really mean the end for them.

“Let's work on the hypothetical that our real lives are in real danger,” ZM suggested. She handed him the shotgun. “Any chance you know how to use one of these?”

“No, but I'm a faster learner.” Blane took the weapon. “Are you sure you'll be okay without a weapon?”

ZM chuckled. “Are you kidding? This game's full of weird weapons. I half a dozen exploding teddy bears I've been itching to try out.” So saying, she scooped up the remains of a pile of coins that inexplicably fell out of the dummies, pulled out some weird sci-fi raygun appropriate for the setting, and took point on the way out of the mansion.

The front doorway had since collapsed, so she led him out the back. Which somehow directly led to a graveyard, one far more active than it had any right to be. ZM whipped out her gun. “Watch for the red objects,” she cautioned him. “Those are enemies or about to turn into them.”

Blane took in the whole area with a confused look. “What red objects? What red anything?” he asked. “Everything still looks black and white to me.” But he didn't need prompting for long. Several of the gravestones and statuaries came to life and charged them, and a bolt of energy streaked from the unearthly light up above, causing a tear in space to form. SomeTHING lurked within, eager to get out, but one exploding teddy bear ruined its ambitions quickly.

But Blane wasn't as quick a learner as he hoped, and he was running out of ammo fast. While ZM mopped up the remaining enemies, he concentrated on where to go from here. Fleeing mindlessly probably wouldn't help at this point, but off in the distance, he saw a man with a lab-coat and a tuft of white (as far as he could tell) hair, waltzing through the ruins without a care in the world. He looked familiar, and Blane remembered that he had been a mad scientist from the movie, one who was supposed to help humanity before betraying them to serve the invading aliens/demons/whatever.

“Quick, after that psychopath!” Blane yelled, and he and ZM sprinted after the mad scientist, who bolted away just as quickly. Behind them, several wagons full of dummies came to life and rolled behind, their wares breaking once again into song as they rolled.

Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit

Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit

I used to be the hero.

There was that thought again. Captain Marcus Corona shook it out of his head like he always did. Why did he worry about being the hero? He already was A hero, protector of the lives of hundreds of good, decent, caring people. Never mind that none of them are real.

No, he can't think like that. They're as real as he is, after all. Transit worked like any other city; it just happened to exist entirely inside a computer simulation. And also the laws of physics work, at best, about half the time. And people can take off their own heads with only minor consequences. And just the other day, that Jerry kid fell in love with a animate hammer. But BESIDES all that, it was just like normal. And besides, none of them knew any better. The truth was allowed only to those who could be trusted with it, like Marcus. That's why she made him a captain. And now …

I lived in a ship, one of three alone in the ocean. We played and had adventures and imagined the world around us, what could exist beyond the horizon. We never knew any other life, never even guessed that not only was the world beyond the horizon a lie, so was the horizon itself. So was everything more than a hundred feet from the ships.

Marcus shook his head. Stupid dreams. Why did computer programs even need dreams? He asked EMMA about that once, but as always, she dodged the question. No where was he? Right, now he had a job to do. Most Transitians never even imagined a world beyond their city, but he didn't have that luxury. EMMA just warned of motion outside of the city, in the “real” world. It might not be a threat, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, nothing should be moving out there anymore, threat or otherwise.

On the way to the city's “borders,” Marcus met Alice Falchione. Great, another complication. “What are you doing here?” Marcus demanded.

Alice just shrugged. “What else? Nothing better to do. Like you couldn't use the backup out there.”

Marcus wanted to argue, but he just snarled and moved on. He couldn't do anything to Alice, and he knew it. He didn't even know what she was. She just popped in and out of Transit on a whim. She could be gone for months, only to return with an army, or a cure for some virus running rampant in Transit. Or a Mariachi band. That was an odd day. EMMA must trust her, since she never asked Marcus to stop her. But Marcus didn't, and he didn't see why anyone else would. Reckless people like her just get people hurt, or worse.

I didn't mean to do anything wrong, really! I just wanted to explore, have a little fun, maybe solve a mystery or two. People said that nobody every returned from the hull of the Third Ship, but I never knew anyone who went there in the first place, so what did that mean? And sure, the place was crawling with monsters, but they weren't THAT bad. I fought worse. Well, I didn't, but I fought things almost as bad. So it seemed natural that this would be the next place to go.

“Just don't get in my way,” Marcus warned, but his words had no weight to them, and he knew it. Alice just smirked and followed him to the borders. As he left the simulation, Marcus felt an electric sensation, as he knew his body changed from one of pure data to one of substance, albeit that of pure energy. EMMA described it as a hard-light hologram, but Marcus didn't really understand what that meant or cared. Alice, as far as Marcus knew, didn't change at all, save for a force barrier forming around her.

The reality outside of Transit was supposed to be the real world, but to Marcus' eyes, this one looked like a poor simulation. Everyone looked so … blocky out here, the vibrant colors of his home replaced with simple shapes. Maybe that was a limit to Marcus' digital eyes; he had no way of knowing. Either way, the shapes that caught their attention moved with a purpose, and they were shaped like humans. As Marcus and Alice floated towards them, they scattered with incredible speed, jumping from one place to another in an instant. And while they seemed to be just observing the machinery that made up Transit and the city around it, Marcus and Alice's unwelcome intrusion made them aggressive. Bursts of color bounced off his virtual skin and Alice's barrier. They retaliated with energy blasts of their own, but nothing came close to hitting the invaders. “I expected better than this,” one of their attackers enigmatically taunted as they vanished.

“EMMA, update!” Marcus begged his creator.

“No further activity detected,” EMMA replied. “At least within the city. But I am still sensing their presence nearby. If I may take an estimate, they are biding their time.”

Marcus frowned. As fast as they are, the attackers must not be that powerful if they fled so quickly. But his holographic body couldn't travel outside of the boundaries of the city, and no point in asking Alice to seek them out. “Then what can we do?” he asked.

“I have a potential solution,” EMMA offered. “They seem interested in exploiting our resources, but are unwilling to engage us in a direct conflict. I propose creating a simple crisis within Transit; nothing serious, but enough to make it appear that our defenses are compromised. When the scavengers investigate, we can ambush them, taking them unaware. If they are simply curious, we can get answers. If hostile, we can eliminate them.”

“I don't like it,” Marcus admitted. “What if things go wrong?”

“I assure you, the crisis I envision is nothing that the citizens of Transit can't handle,” EMMA said. “Provided, of course, that the usual residents are up to the task.”

“You mean, if HE's up to it.” Marcus scowled. For all his powers, all his loyalty, Marcus never seemed to be the one to save the day. No, that fell on Jerry's shoulders. A mere child, an irresponsible one at that. For some reason, he always seemed to be around when trouble started (often because he caused it,) and yet for all of Marcus' efforts, Jerry and his friends would be the ones to bumble into the solution, and he got all accolades. He got to be their champion, their hero...

Marcus stopped himself. He didn't like where this train of thought was going. Alice, however, just chuckled. “You know, EMMA, you're exactly the sort of computer we used to be warned about. Glad you're on our side.” Seeing Marcus' sour mood, she floated over to him and whispered. “He's not even one of you, you know. Seriously, Jerry's a gerbil that EMMA threw into the simulation before he could starve. Let him enjoy his moment as hero. You already had your chance.”

“Enough of your contemptible words,” Marcus demanded as he shooed her away, and for once, Alice listened, her body vanishing into nothing. But the damage had been done. She just babbled nonsense, Marcus thought to himself. A gerbil? What was she even talking about? And yet, when she mentioned that Marcus had his chance, he couldn't help but feel his thoughts drift once more …


I didn't expect to find anyone down there. But instead, I found everyone. A crowd cheered me on as I slipped into the darkness of the hull. I was on the top of the world, but it didn't last. I suddenly saw my friends before me, and a voice asked me who would continue on living in this world, and who would … not. I wanted to refuse this demand, but I couldn't. I didn't even know how not to answer.

But I knew a trick when I heard one. I made my choice, picking only casual acquaintances to live on in this world, folks I wouldn't miss. My friends and I would move on, then. If we couldn't live in this world anymore, I bet there would be another, a better one maybe. And if not, who cares? Hell, we ran out of things to explore in the last one anyway.

Converging with Convergence

There will be a time in the not-too-distant future when a true space station with gravity and room for 10,000 inhabitants will float somewhere between here and the moon. Imagine a giant spinning wheel that uses centrifugal force to generate its own artificial gravity.

Land your rocket on such a station and you may find a mechanical world like a large hotel or office building with endless hallways and side halls wandering off to who knows where in level upon level of circular floors. Life on that distant space station will be much as Karen T. Smith (a contributor to this blog) presents it to us in Convergence, except for the unlikely sentient computer.

In Smith’s Convergence, a family enters the world of the space station after a flight up from earth. The story focuses on Anya, the new teenage girl in school, as she makes friends, including that sentient main computer.

Convergence combines teenage romance with a stunning whodunit mystery packed with what-happens-next suspense. Once you are into it, you’re not likely to put this book down, so settle into this delightful story when you have the time to spare for a lengthy read or you may find yourself losing sleep.

I wish Convergence was available when my kids were young because it paints as accurate a picture of near future science as you’re likely to find in books for young readers.

Putting it to paper.

      There are many ways a person can write a story.  There is no proper way or way that it has to be done.  Writing just more or less happens.
      I've found that the style I use best is the form in which you map it out first, find out where I'm going with the story before writing too much.  I started out with the 'write by the seat of your pants' style.  I couldn't figure out how I wanted to start my book so I started somewhere in the middle and just kept writing.
It wasn't until I took History of Theater in college that I figured out that I could start my book in the middle of the story.  The professor shared that when you watch a play you are witnessing a snippet of the character's whole story.  What he meant was that you weren't watching the character's entire life ie: birth, childhood, adolescence, and so forth.  So what you are seeing is the portion of the character's life pertinent to story of the play.
      Once I learned that, I decided that I would use what I've written as the beginning of my book.  From there I realized that I wasn't sure where I wanted the story to go.  Some writers are okay with that and it's fine.  My writer's blocks tend to deal with me not writing because I don't know what is going to happen in my story.
So my method is the story boarding style.  I have several white boards that I map the whole plot line of my book out on.  These plot points are not set in stone and I have changed them as I've gotten feedback and found out some plot points are weak or irrelevant to the story or characters.  You just can't set it in stone.  That will limit you too much, especially if your story takes a turn you hadn't anticipated earlier (which happens quite often).
      When I actual go to write, I pick a plot point that I feel like I can tease out into a scene.  It might be a large scene that is several pages in length or it could end up being only half a page just so I get the plot element into the story.  Once I'm done writing it down and typing it up, I go back to my white board and update the point with a little more elaboration so that when I go back to look at the board later I can remember easier how I expanded it.
      I am very visual with my planning.  I've drawn maps of the areas my characters have gone so that I can describe them better in the book.  When creating a new world it helps to remember where all your landmarks are in relation to each other.  Or while writing the second book of my series, I realized that I had a hard time remembering where certain characters were in their own story lines, relative to each other.  So I took one of my white boards and drew out a timeline for each character.  One time line above the other so that when I plotted the points of the timeline for each character, the points then showed, in more readily available format, where each character was.
     I'm not saying this is the best way to write a story, and I'm sure it doesn't work for everyone.  This is the way I set it up though and it keeps me on track.  That being said, I'm always curious about other writer's methods and ways I can try differently to keep the creativity flowing.

The Ending of Mass Effect

(If you haven't finished the game I apologize there are some SPOILERS in this discussion)

There has been this huge discussion about the recently released game Mass Effect 3.  It was a huge hit with game critics and an absolute turn down for players.  The biggest reason being the ending of the game.

I have played it through once and seen the possible endings of the game afterward from people recording their choices on YouTube.  While there are a lot of holes in the endings, particularly pertaining to the scene with the Normandy flying between Mass Relays, there is something that a lot of the people who played the Mass Effect line have left out.  The fact that not every story has a completely happy ending.

I felt fine with my choice and the end of the game.  With a series so immense as the Mass Effect series is, to accommodate for all the choices a player could have chosen while playing would have been astronomical.  But the true fact of the matter is, it is the writers of the story that have planned out what ending it will ultimately be.  The fact that the writers left an Easter egg at the end of one of the choices just means that that ending was the one they had planned the whole time.    Not to mention the possibility for future games and spin offs.  

Yes, I know that the game was made to shape the galaxy into how the player wanted to, like deciding which species gets to live and which doesn't or who you want to befriend or not.  But its similar to the saying, "you can't bring money with you".  Meaning that you can't take money with you through the grave.  So whatever you do in the game will ultimately not matter at the end because the threat you have to face at the end will either destroy you or leave you limping and bleeding afterwards.  Yes, limping and bleeding is better than being dead but what I'm saying is even if you've won you still had the crap beat out of you.

As many of the players who really looked into the game, aside from playing it through to romance some alien chick or shoot up space meanies, should know from the Star Trek franchise that there is sometimes a no win situation.  So when Shepard dies at the end and strands the massive fleet he brought with him to Earth that is a no win situation.  Yeah, the threat to the galaxy is gone but sacrifices had to be made to do so.  That's what Admiral Hackett had been saying for the entire game.

You may say you hate the ending of the series but what you're not seeing is that the writers did exactly what writers are supposed to do.  Draw out your emotions and feelings so that they can be felt by you and, if they can pull it off, those around you as well.  What the players are kicking and screaming about is that they didn't get a 'Hollywood Ending'.  Not every story has a 'Hollywood Ending' and that's great. Not having happy endings is something that people remember.

All of this is not to say that writers shouldn't take into consideration what their audience feels.  If they didn't, they would get lazy.  As we've all seen with absurd amount of remakes and reboots of older movies coming out of Hollywood.  If writers didn't take their audiences' views into consideration the literary world would dissolve into too few actually creative books.  Much like what is coming out of Hollywood.  This point may not be pointed at the writers as much as producers not willing to put out movies that are original either way there has to be new ideas to promote growth.  But back to my main point.  What I'm saying is that even though a story is the work of a writer, the writer still writes the story so that other people will read it.  There has to be a trust for the writers to write something that will move the audience, whether to make them happy or sad or even angry, and an understanding that if something is written with an upsetting ending that it will still be well written and not just a cop out.

The true worth of silly stuff

This blog is the joint product of a writers group. Which probably leads you, the reader, to ask: What does a writers group do? Good question.

If you ask members of 50 different writers groups what their group does for them, you’ll probably get more than 50 answers. I base this prediction in part on the knowledge that people differ in what they want from such a group, and in part on my own inability to give the same answer as to what our group does twice in a row.

I enjoy the somewhat free-form aspects of our writers group meetings and our twin focus on encouraging each other and doing 3-5 minute writing exercises. I’d never done these before I joined this group. If you haven’t, all I can say is, it’s kinda the writer’s version of speed-dating, but way more fun. 

For instance, one week one of the prompts had us incorporating the following list of random words into a story: acolyte, tiddlywinks, pickles, galaxy, is, razor. Here’s what I came up with:

Here we sit on the razor edge of the galaxy, where time is slowed by the speed of our rotation, playing tiddlywinks with data chips for the treat of winning one of the few remaining pickles from ships' stores.

Who knew how delightful a pickle could be after months of vitamin drinks, yeast-protein and various processed starches? We, the acolytes of the religion of galactic exploration, had outrun our supply lines in our enthusiasm for discovery. Which might not have mattered except that the Frangle drive broke down.

Or the week we played around with writing prompts about endings. The first was to write the end of a dialog. So I did this to the closing lines of Hamlet…

"We need to get a script together NOW for our next project, you know," said Tim. 

"Yeah, " said Harry, "but the three kings theme has been done to death, and so has the play within a play format." 

"True," said Tim. "Even Star Trek did that one, with Shakespearean actors putting on their play on the Enterprise as subtext for the plot." 

"OK," said Rafe, "so, how about a classic murder mystery?" 

"BO-ring," said Tim. 

"Maybe an overthrow of government with romantic overtones," said Harry. 

"Oh, yeah, set in space," said Tim. 

"Umm, isn't that Star Wars?" 

"Don't be a killjoy, Rafe," said Harry. 

Tim chimed in. "We could have the protagonist die at the end." 

"Hmm," said Rafe, “I guess I could work with that. But no little talking teddy bears." 

Harry grinned. "How about rainbow pastel ponies?" 

"Now cracks a noble heart," said Rafe 

"Good night sweet prince," caroled Tim. 

Harry joined in. "... and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." 

Rafe raised his notebook and cracked Harry over the head. 

Harry ducked and yelped, "Why does the drum come hither?"

  

But the followup prompt that week was to write about the end of everything, which really ups the ante.

Everything the priests told us was wrong. The poets came much closer with their talk of destruction by fire and ice, but that's only because anything this ... universal ... fits poetry better than plain prose. And fiction seems more plausible than the entropic death of the universe. 

Well, the universe may have millenia or even eons left before that time but our corner of it will come to an end soon enough. The larger star of this binary system, about which this planet orbits, shows daily greater instabilities, surface and subsurface. 

So tonight, the interstellar research institute sends this message out, both broadcast and engraved on the inner skin of a rocket. I'm not sure why, but someone might find it.
 

These things crack me up, but more than that, I look back on them amazed that they came out of my brain. Turns out, having to write something on a totally random subject can produce unprecedented subjects & styles. The other amazing thing is how completely different each writer's speed-writing efforts can be. As we read them aloud around the table, we run the gamut from mystery and suspense through scifi/fantasy, humor and romance to bad puns. Maybe some week we'll gather a sampling of just how different the writing-prompt products of different writers can be and post them here.

The Multiple Perspective Approach

There are various ways to write a book, and they all have their advantages and disadvantages.

For instance, a first-person perspective book is great for character development but the problem, as I see it, is that that is the only way a writer can show things happening in the story.  It seems to me that characters end up hearing things or being present to events almost haphazardly.  I know there are writers who do this well and can pull it off amazingly, but that's the case with all writing.  Some authors can pull off writing styles amazingly.

The omniscient third person where the narrator can tell the reader everything they need to know about the character the first time the character is introduced.  This makes it easier to describe things that happen that are pertinent to the story without forcing, in some manner, the main character to be there.  The drawback to this style is that it tends to give too much away to the reader.  Some readers like this, of course, because some people like to know what's going to happen or they enjoy the feeling of what I like to refer to as 'Game Show Syndrome'.  What I mean by that is, when someone watches a game show and they know the answer but the person on the screen doesn't, they sit there yelling the answer at the person even though they can't hear them.  This same thing happens with books and movies.  The classic of course being, "Don't open that door!"

There are many other ways to write than the two I listed above but those are two common ones.

The perspective I use and personally love is the multiple perspectives.  This approach still is kind of a meshing to some of the others.  It allows the writer to still be able to draw the reader in and influence their opinion of the character while allowing the freedom to show things happening in other parts of the story that may still be important to the overall story.  If done well, the story will come together and mesh well while still providing some good intrigue.  If done poorly, like when I first started writing my story, all the characters just end up seeming like the same person or different character attributes of the same person.   To me it seems that using more than one main character allows the writer to toy with the reader's emotions and get them to second guess who the 'bad guy' is in the different character relationships.

About my first book.

   I realize in my last post I spoke of my book, He Came Around the Corner, and that was the first mention of it anywhere.
   So who cares?
   Well the hope for all writers is that people will care when they write a book and I, like most writers, write to influence those around me.  The purpose of writing is not always to make someone think about something profound and philosophical, although that is sometimes the case, particularly with some classic novels.  Sometimes writers will write just to make the reader feel enjoyment from what they read.  This is why I write.
   The funny thing about writing fiction is even though books are put into archetypes, they will often fit other archetypes as well.  For instance, a mystery novel could have a strong romance element in it.  My book is a Young Adult (YA) Fantasy but it still has other elements in it.  The next secondary element, after being Fantasy, in it is the romance.  The romance of the book actually causes one of the profound questions to appear in the story: What exactly are we capable of?

   My book is about two teenagers, Drake and Athena, at the end of their senior year of high school.  On the night of a school dance, what they know as the world they live in changes.  They find themselves alone in their town, everyone they knew and who lived in the town vanish.  The power is gone and only things on batteries and generators will work.  On top of all that, the two of them have to fight for their lives because where ever they go in town, there are orcs who want to kill them.  The only thing keeping them alive are Drake's new magical ability to summon a sword and their knowledge of the town they grew up in.

Movies have them, why can't books?

I've been writing my book for several years now and when I write I listen to music. There are several scenes in my series so far that have been greatly influenced by particular songs. Songs like Jenny Was a Friend of Mine by The Killers and Adele's Set Fire to the Rain. Adele's song actually inspired a scene for the second book in the series. I also listen to soundtracks to movies as well and a group that, much to my laughter, itunes categorized as soundtrack music, Two Steps from Hell.

Which leads me to my topic. There aren't a lot of soundtracks to books out there. I'm not talking about soundtracks to movies that were adapted from books and I have heard that some books do it but it's still a small amount. So I plan on making a list of the songs I listened to while writing my book, He Came Around the Corner. I also figured I could put on the list when the song came into play in the book or even when to listen to the song when someone is reading it.

I feel that if the music made that much of an impact while writing it then it would enhance the scene while reading it. When I had my friends read excerpts to give me feedback, I suggested they listen to the soundtrack to the Lord of Rings movies while they did. They said that some of the scenes were really more pronounced when the music was playing.

I'm sure there's some science behind this, I'm pretty sure it has something to do with stimulating different parts of the brain at the same time. I've also heard a lot of discussions on how music affects people which of course is fascinating. What I'm getting at though is, if the opportunity is there, why not enjoy the music?

Welcome Aboard

Our Dwarven Phaser may be missing or it may simply be that weird looking flip phone in the back of my desk drawer (I have no idea how it got in there which is what makes me suspicious that it may just be the missing alien light shooter), but we have discovered blogging. We're the Write Time Writer's Group from Geneva, Illinois. Our meet up is about 35 miles west of downtown Chicago.

If all goes according to plan, you'll be reading posts from our members. They'll introduce themselves as they come aboard. I'm Paul R. Lloyd, leader of our little tribe of scribes. I write suspense novels. My reading habits include other people's suspense stories as well as a healthy dose of horror, sci-fi and mystery.

The Missing Dwarven Phaser is about writing and editing. Here you'll find our best thoughts on the craft along with bits of braggadocio, writer's humor and the sharing of tidbits of our work, depending on how each of us chooses to participate.