Chicken or the …Blog?

I was thinking about this blog the other day, mapping out possible strategies for luring enticing more followers, and I started ruminating about its origins. It’s kind of an interesting story. Wanna hear it? Of course you do (like you have a choice).

I’ve been technically “blogging” since long before I had an official blog. I played around with the concept on Myspace five or six years ago and became enamored with exploring my creative side. The only thing I had written for fun before then, dating all the way back to my high school days, was our families annual Christmas letter. I do write a lot where I work, but those are technical journals and procedure manuals, so the opportunity to create something with some personality appealed to me. Mostly what I wrote was tiny slice of life episodes mixed in with the occasional fiction, posting maybe once a month. You can say I cut my blogging teeth on Myspace.

After a couple of years I migrated to Facebook because most of my friends and family were coming on-board there. I was still posting very infrequently, but I found the mechanics of blogging inside the Facebook conglomerate too cumbersome. I began to search for a way to make the process easier.

One of my earlier posts, way back during the Myspace phase, was my reminiscing of a road-trip with a group of my buddies to Panama City, Florida, during a college break. When I wrote that story I had already begun expanding my creative endeavors to include composing a few short stories. I took the seed from that road-trip post and decided to turn it into something fictional. What I created ended up being closer to a novella at 40 pages in length. My wife loved the story (she’s the only person that’s read the original novella) and more importantly, I was on-fire more than ever with an unquenchable desire to continue writing. I was like a man who had just dined on Chinese food, hungry again just a short time later.

I had to find something else to write about, and fast! I stared at the pages of the story I had just finished and asked myself, “What if I took my 40 page novella . . . and turned it into a book?” The more I considered the idea, the more the fear of attempting such a huge feat lost its grip on me. Besides, if I set a goal to produce a 300 page novel, I already had 13% of it written.

So off I went writing my first novel. The main character was a middle-aged widower with two grown children whose only claim to fame was a semi-popular blog he authored. When I set about assigning a name to his blog, I thought long and hard until I finally came up with Cruising Altitude. I don’t really remember where the idea came from, I just fancied the feeling it conveyed.

I finished the book (Slow Dancer), stuck it on a shelf for reasons discussed here, and moved onto my second novel.

Now during this point in time I’m still pseudo-blogging on Facebook and I decide it’s time for me to step out and create a real blog. Although it would serve a lot of purposes, its primary focus would be to document my path to published author...or dejected wannabe. A lot of the blogs I followed on a daily basis used Blogger as their tool of choice, so I figure why not me too. There I was, poised to create my official blog, and I get stuck on the very first question.

What do I want to name it?

I contemplate this for a time, then I’m struck with a thought – why not use the same name as the blog in my first book? It could be kind of cool. If I ever do get published and my passionate readers decide to Google the blogs name to see if it’s real . . . ‘lo and behold . . . they’d be delivered to the author’s (me) personal blog. Cruising Altitude would be the name!

I created the blog in January 2009 , but I didn’t really get serious about using it to promote my writing until August. I currently have 34 followers (38 when you include the links to Facebook) and 1153+ site hits (probably 1100 of those are me checking to see how many visitors I've registered). Fledgling, I know. But it’s young and has yet to stretch its legs. Give it time.

That’s my story of a blog that was fiction, before it became reality. Or is it the other way around?

What's the story behind your blog?

We interrupt this blogcast...

So Bethany and Suzette are having a contest. Who are they and why should I care, you ask. First, they are awesome sisters who happen to be authors and share a blog. You don't have to be an aspiring writer to enjoy what they blog about, but if you are there is lots to interest you.

The winner(s) of the contest I mentioned can recieve a query critique, first five page critique, or a signed book from a new author. I'm shooting for a query critique. All you have to do to enter is write a blog post about the contest. That's easy . . . done. You can also increase your changes of winning by tweeting about it as well as linking your facebook page to their blog. I can do that! There may have been something else about relinquishing a first born child somewhere in the fine print, but I'm too psyched to care.

Both Bethany and Suzette are also contributing writers to the QueryTracker blog. Listen to what they have to say, they know what they're talking about.

Crap . . . I almost updated without copying a link to their blog. What a boob!

Here you go:

http://suzettesaxton.blogspot.com/2010/01/suzette-and-bethanys-wicked-awesome.html

Resolute

Second verse . . . same as the first.

Let’s face it, for most of us it’s not like we sit down and dream up these wild pledges to ourselves at the first of the year. They get re-cycled from year to year or from points within the year. At least that’s the way it is for me. The changes I contemplate are either on-going struggles or transformations I’ve abandoned or neglected already. Shrink our bodies (Lose weight . . . eat healthier . . . exercise more). Expand our brains (read more . . . write more . . . take a class). Invigorate our being (be a better person . . . listen to others . . . strive to become more involved). What this time of year offers is simply a new starting line.

What’s different . . . and the key to realizing these desired changes . . . has to be our resolve. The obstacles, lying in wait to trip us up, are numerous. Expect them. Plan for them. Fortify yourself by remembering that stumbling across one does not end the journey. That’s what life is all about, overcoming barriers. I see far too many people every year who give up on themselves because of one simple slip. Sometimes I think that they secretly welcome it, using their perceived failure to escape the burden of trying. But if they just saw for what it is, a setback, one that they could have even anticipated, then they wouldn’t have to settle for “maybe next year”.

Enough of the soapbox. What am I personally going to stop spinning my wheels over? Thirty pounds – gone. I’ve done it before and I’m at that age where letting it creep back on isn’t an option. I’m also going to come out of my shell more. This one will be much more difficult. I’ll have years of introversion working against me, but I’m up for a challenge. Just expect plenty of awkwardness . . . and goofy smiles.

From a writing perspective, I’m going to stop dicking around and see if I have what it takes to be published this year. My novel is almost at the point where I’m confident enough to send out query letters, and I’m going to stop looking for excuses to put it off. As a preamble I’m going to grow this blog. How do I do that? Not by pulling in followers by offering contests or give-a-ways (although I’m not saying I’ll totally against that), but rather by being entertaining and having interesting things to say. There is hundreds of aspiring author blogs out here, all documenting their own quest for publication, and if I can’t stand out amongst them then what hope can I have of achieving my own dream?

So 2010 officially starts Monday (no self-respecting college football fan can start a diet during bowl season) and so does my new attitude. A resolute one.

Let’s go!

Little Pillows

My mental state has slowly progressed from irritation, to concerned, and now alarm.

It started innocently enough, as these things usually do. I’m fairly certain the place of origin was in the bedroom, but my mind is so fragile that the facts could easily be jumbled up there. Where it started is hardly the issue anyway. It’s survival! It’s either me or them!!

It all began six months ago when we brought home a new comforter for the master bed. The bundle we purchased included a set of matching pillow shams. We never used shams before, so in addition to the two pillows we each slept with, now there were two more sham pillows. That’s six pillows total. After my wife made the bed each morning she would carefully place the sham pillows on top of the others, eliciting the desired decorative effect.

That’s when the other pillows started to appear.

According to my wife, the smaller throw pillows were necessary to “bring out” the color of the comforter and tie it in with tones and hues present in the room. That was their only purpose! At first there were only two pillows, but when more and more started to appear I began to wonder just how many colors we had in the room to tie together. Nobody ever laid a head upon them, used them to prop up an arm, or even stuck them under a shirt to fake pregnancy. Their whole existence revolved around adornment. Soon it wasn’t just the bed space they occupied. It became a 15 minute ordeal to remove the pillows at night and toss them in a semi-organized pile in the corner of the room. Sometimes they didn’t all make it back onto the bed the next morning and hung out elsewhere. It wasn’t long before they were everywhere in the room, under-foot and in the way. However irritating I thought the whole situation was, I humored my wife and kept my mouth shut.

The pillows soon took advantage.

A month ago I was sitting in my recliner reading a novel, when something caught my attention. I peered over the top of the page, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, when I spotted it. Nestled in the corner of the couch, half-hidden underneath a lap blanket . . . was a red throw pillow. I didn’t recall seeing it there when I sat down, and nobody had wandered through the room. At first I thought it could have been an escapee from the bedroom, attempting to blend in as it made its way toward the front door, and freedom? But it wasn’t a color I recalled seeing before. During an intense cross examination of my wife that evening, she admitted that her practice of using pillows to accent color combinations had spread to the living room. My mood switched to concerned.

Slowly, but surely, the pillows spread. At one point I swore that the little buggers were procreating, evidenced by the fact that I’d go to bed with three pillows on the couch and the next morning I’d find four. Of course my wife told me I was crazy, letting my writers’ imagination get the better of me, but I had seen enough. I put my foot down (ironically on top of a pillow) and told her NO MORE PILLOWS!

Despite my edict, soon our daughters room was infected, and then the playroom. There was nowhere to sit without moving a pillow. I was at a loss trying to figure out how they were getting around. My concern even drove me to slipping out of bed one night, easing out the backdoor and peeking in through the porch windows using my son’s night-vision goggles to try and catch some sort of nefarious night time activities. But I saw nothing. The bedroom pillows must have warned the others what I was up to.

Finally, I went on the offensive and stuffed a handful in the hall closet, only to have them reappear in their original position the next day. I was reaching the end of my rope.

The rope broke last week. I caught our ten year old son walking through the kitchen on his way to his own room, carrying a pillow. THEY HAD TAKEN CONTROL OF MY SON TO MIGRATE! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

So now I’m alarmed and what’s even worse, I think the pillows are on to me. Just the other day I woke from an afternoon nap, out of breath. A pillow was covering my face!

I have to find a way to turn the tide. After I finish posting this I’m going to print a copy and place it in our lockbox next to the life insurance policy. If I should die under mysterious circumstances, especially if there are PILLOWS nearby, at least the truth will be known.

This battle is only beginning!

Thank you, Santa.

I don’t imagine Santa receives very many of these. Thank you letters. After all, who has the time? The children (and those adults who still believe) tore into their gifts on Christmas morning and never looked back, except maybe to complain about a present that wasn’t under the tree. They’ve been playing non-stop for days and as the newness begins to wear off, they’ll seek out their friends and relatives to play with their new toys. Soon it will be time to return to school and the holiday season will officially be over, just a fading memory with a trail of AAA batteries and bags of trash left in its wake.

Well, I’m not going to let it go this year. Is there a better way to start a new year by taking one last glance over your shoulder? Santa deserves his do. We know Santa doesn’t do what he does for the recognition, or appreciation. His reward is in the smiling faces on Christmas morning and the glow his generosity leaves behind and touches us all. But just because thanks isn’t expected, shouldn’t mean it’s not offered. A thank you means so much more when it’s unprompted. I mentioned this to my youngest son and he agreed whole-heartedly. I told him I would be writing this post and received his blessing.

So, thanks Santa. Not only for the gifts you left for me (which were unexpected and awesome), but for those you left for the rest of my family. My wife and I were the recipients of the joyful hugs and kisses your presents elicited, despite our attempts to give you the credit. Each year we’ll strive to take more of the burden off you and let you concentrate on your younger admirers, but we’ll always keep your mystery and spirit alive in our household.

Enjoy your time off and I look forward to your return next year!

If anybody else would like to tack on your own thanks before this gets sent northward, by all means.