Rewrite

Yup, still not done.

There's just not enough hours in a day to do everything I want. If there was something to completely eliminate the need for sleep, let me know.

As I'm going through the pages, there's nothing but more questions for myself. Are the references to something to vague? Do they spell everything out too much? Are the characters forming clear enough for my reader? Are they just clear to me?

Since no one else has seen anything except the little bit I've posted, they'll remain questions for myself before they get to my editor.

A rewrite is the nightmare of writing. You want to forget the bad stuff, but it keeps coming back up. The good stuff never stays long enough to remember.

It's tedious and scrupulous questioning everything you've done up to this point.

I'll read one sentence and love it, hoping the next is just as tight and powerful. When it's not, I just want to burn the whole thing.

I haven't yet, so that's a good start.

Murder trials and courthouse brawls

This has nothing to do with the book, but it's amusing enough not to share.

I've been covering two murder trials going on at the same time this week. A van pulls up at a party and unloads four guns worth of bullets. The prosecutors say it was a retaliation crime between long-time rival groups on opposite sides of the river. The person who gets killed at this party, populated by a family whose name is constantly linked to crimes? The one girl in three generations of the family who graduated high school. This 19-year-old hadn't even got her first paycheck from her first job.

So we head to trial. All week, these families who have hated each other long before the murder, are forced to be in the same cramped hallways. They're face to face with each other, but things were surprisingly peaceful.

Until Friday.

I was just coming up the stairs, calling in an update to the editor of our Web site. As I'm on the phone, the fight begins right in front of me. What do I do? Stay on the phone and jump in the mix, sort of. I get in closer as a bailiff gets in the mix with about 10 other people. Soon the group shifts my way. I'm doing a play-by-play into my phone considering I'm the only reporter whose witness to this.

And BOOM. I get an elbow to the ribs. Other bailiffs and running down the hallway, shoving cans of pepper spray in people's faces, but not unleashing hell just yet. A can was shoved in my face. And I'm in the middle of it all for the last few seconds until it's broken up.

A bailiff had to be hospitalized. Three guys were arrested.

There I was just doing my job and a fight breaks out. Then I'm part of it. I didn't throw any blows, but the smears of blood on the floor were inches from my feet. And I never got off the phone and we smoked the competition on the scoop.

"So, honey, how was your day at work?"

"Not bad. Check out this bruise."

Rock Town Press

That's right kids, not only am I self-publishing my book, my friend, Aiden Landman, and I are starting our own publishing firm: ROCK TOWN PRESS

My book's the experimental project, followed by a second when he finishes his first novel.

So far, while more writing and editing needs to be done on A Constant Suicide, here's the cast and crew for the finish product.

Rock Town Press logo: Brandon "Brando" Price
ACS Cover: Shawn Eldridge
ACS Artwork: Amanda (Sorry, don't know you last name) from Hickey Brothers
ACS Editor: Aiden Landman
Printer: I-Demand of Davenport, Iowa.

The people are coming together so the thing can go places.

Sorry, that's all I got for now. Murder trials and bar work keeping me busy. More as it comes.

Rough editing done

So a trip to Rapids was pretty successful.

I've gotten through the 80 pages of tight-margin, small font print out of everything I wrote last month. There's some parts that made me laugh. I forgot I wrote some things.

Then there's the part that make me cringe. The word "blah" is written in my poor penmanship more than I would have liked. Still, as a whole, I'm pretty happy with what I have so far.

But there's another hurdle cleared. I'll have to go back over the electronic copy and add or delete whatever I wrote on the paper copy.

Here's an example of what just one of the pages looks like.



Again, sorry about the poor photo quality. It's still from my camera phone.

As always, there's still more work to go.

A dedication to writing...

So here's something everyone is going to call a dumb move.

I'm selling my TV.

That's right. My TV, DVD player, surround sound, entertainment center, all of it. It's going to a good friend moving to Milwaukee at a good price. For the few of you visiting this weekend, enjoy it until he picks it up Saturday.

Why would I go and do something so foolish? Why would I deny myself the God-given right to sit vegetated in front of the glowing boob tube for hours? Well, that right there is the reason. I'm prone to zoning out in front of the thing, doing nothing for hours.

Let's face it, unless I've lived with someone, I've never had cable. I get only two stations in right now. Most of the stuff on TV right now - reality TV, game shows, etc. - is horrible and I have no ambition to watch any of it.

Then there's movies. Boy, will I miss those. The majority of my DVDs will be sold. A select few, I'll keep around in case I want to view them at a friend's house. But, either way, I'll be around another human being to watch them instead of spending even more time alone by myself. That's what's writing time is for.

But what can a news reporter do without watching the nightly news? You'd be surprised. Meredith's out of the area, so the nightly news is useless. Besides, I'll buy a decent radio and listen to the news stations in the area.

So what will I do with all of the spare hours not watching my 100-or so DVDs? Read. Write. Exercise. Live my life. Anything but watch TV.

I've spent too much of my life sitting down, letting someone else use their imagination to tell me how I should see something. For hours, I'd turn my brain off. Not any more. As long as I'm old school, that's living under the assumption people still read for leisure, I'm going the full bout.

In my apartment, you'll find no television. There's no Internet. Just a growing number of books, ones I bought to read and others I have written.

Let's see how long it lasts.

On editing

I'm half-way through going over the first rough draft manuscript right now, and, for the most part, I'm pretty happy with what I have.

There's still going to have to be some changes, considering the ending changed since I wrote the beginning. Foreshadowing is a good thing. Also, there'll be a lot of instances where I'll have to spice up some blah language.

Other than that, there's some parts I'm pretty proud of. Others I would hope the world never sees. I'm dredging along in the process, keeping pace with what I was writing it.

Peace, love and hair grease.

Post-partum depression, of sorts

So here's something I didn't expect.

Since completing the novel, killing a character and not being able to give him closure in his departure, I've felt extremely depressed for the past couple days. Some of you might have got the text messages. Don't worry I'm fine. While they were worded weird, it was just a way to say I appreciate all of you in my life and never tell you enough. I don't want to wait until it's too late.

Apparently, it's not uncommon for authors to become depressed after a completion of a book or after killing off a character. We invest so much of our emotions writing about a person who becomes real in our minds, so when they die, we feel a friend has died too. It's what losing a child must be like.

J.K. Rowling, the woman who writes Harry Potter, cried for days after killing Dumbledore.

While I killed off the main character, Ethan, a long time ago, completing the full details of his demise was actually depressing. In sorts, I've come to respect and like a character that only exists in my head and on page.

Many of you know about my depressive episodes and attempted suicide in college. In some ways, similar emotions ran through me after killing Ethan. It's so strange to describe. It was like the death of a life-long friend.

It was a bad thing to sit alone by myself and write the story and then go and celebrate by myself. Too much time on my own, fostering the death of the character, made me feel even worse. My feelings of isolation had become bad.

But, now I'm back at work, keeping busy around people. Still, it's something I didn't expect as a first-time novelist.

That will all be gone I suspect when the boys from Winona come to visit this weekend.

****FINISHED*****

That's right, as of 5:43 p.m. Thursday, Nov. 30, 2006, I finished the first rough draft of my first novel. One month, 50,201 pages.

While I'd like to emphasize how rough this draft is, there's a beginning, a middle and an end. The first goal has been met. The first hurdle is clear. Still, don't ask for a copy yet. It's really rough.

Now it's on to months worth of editing, rewriting, page layout, cover design, more editing and publishing. While I have no clue how long any of this will take, I'm shooting to have the thing released March 15, the day in the book Ethan, one of the main characters, commits suicide.

I can't thank the people who have supported me through this and other writing projects I've done. I gurantee you this one will be seen through to the end. It's the first of many. There's no greater feeling than shutting and finally getting something done.

But, for all the Winona kids who have inspired this book, I want you to know I love you all. Meredith, mom and the rest of my family, thanks for everything always.

But for those of us who are privvy to some inside jokes, here are some things that made it into the book. Some were planned, others just wrote themselves in.
- First Prentiss
- Subway bag
- Killing coy
- Punching walls
- Streaking campus
- Underage alcohol delivery
- Frats and Roofies
- Attic House
- Pink Taco
- Pink piles of puke
- Lobby lizards
- Drink Day

So now, with one day left of vacation for the week, I'm going to take the rest of the night off and begin editing tomorrow morning. No more getting up at 7:30 a.m. every day on my vacation. I figure one day sleeping in is payment enough.

Last day...

I've never been that great with deadlines, but I excell under pressure.

It's the last day to write anything to fall within the parameters of this chanllenge. I know I need a little more than 5,000 words, which is about the pace I've been on for the last week.

Instead of wasting one more keystroke on this blog, I'm going to write.

I'll post when I get to 50,000. Or when I give up early.

Kellen smells like poo.

40,000 done and in the bag

Well, last night I hit 40.000 words, which means I'm on the scheduled pace I should be -- 10,000 words a day. And, yes, that is a lot words for one day.

While sitting in your room by yourself on the computer all day might be all the rage with the kids, I find it depressing. Every day I have to take a break and walk around to find other people. It doesn't matter if I know them because I don't want to talk to them. I just need to see people.

That, and I've already lost four pounds this week. I suggest everyone try the writer diet. Just forget to eat full meals on time.

Anyway, I'm going back to what I should be doing.

It's time

Now is the time to see if I have what it takes. I've talked about doing a lot in my life, but rarely have actually done it. Guys from college, you know what I mean. Meredith, you know what I mean.

This week will decide if I can finally shut the hell up and do something with my life - do what I want to do with it. No more talk. It's time for action.

So here I am on the eve of the turning point of my life. Do I go on doing what I'm told, keeping a steady job or do I move forward with doing what would truly make my happy? If I succeed, I would be my own boss for the rest of my life.

The fridge is stocked. The laundry is done. Work is non-existant. Distractions have disappeared.

I will tell you this -- the ending is done and it even suprised me. It's nothing you'll expect.

Now, knowing the beginning and the end, I have to make sure I set the scenery and tone equal to the completed parts.

To all of my friends, you have inspired my life in more ways than I could ever repay you for. I love you all. Wish me the best.

With love,
Brian

I had a few mintues so I played with formatting. It's more fun wrting when you have some idea what it's going to look like on the page.



Let me know what you think.

Stuck in the middle

So, I'm stuck somewhere in the middle. The characters have been introduced, the stage has been set. Now it's a matter of getting everyone to start interacting. And I couldn't think of a thing Thursday. Seriously, I've got nothing.

So, when the beginning's done and the middle is being a red-headed step child, go straight to the end and work your way back. That's what I did and it seemed to work.

I threw down about another 2,000 words on the ending, but working at the bar put an end to that. I took a tablet of paper with me and managed to get some things down, but the post-Turkey drinking crowd wanted nothing to do with it.

It was my first time bartending alone and the place didn't burn down. I'm sure I'll hear today of what I did wrong. While pizza was my solid Thanksgiving dinner, I managed to come up with a shot to put it all in one glass.

Wild Turkey (turkey) + Vodka (potatoes) + beer (stuffing/roll) + cranberry juice (cranberry sauce) + moonshine corn whiskey (vegetables) + amaretto (pecan pie) + pumpkin pie syrup (pumpkin pie) = Thanksgiving Dinner

Actually, it wasn't that bad. It just shows how low my standards are.

There's working today at the paper and then the bar, then work tomorrow at the paper and then it's on to vacation. Or my idea of a vacation, holing up in my apartment, sucking down loads of coffee while typing like a mad man at a computer.

Wow, I'm cool.

Turkey bowling & writing

Nothing new yet, other than this drip coming from my nose. Usually, I get sick on my vacation, but this year I get it the week before.

Tonight I'll be officiating over turkey bowling at the bar. I wanted to use live turkeys, but that idea was nixed. I still might do the sound effects.

Then I'll spend all day on Turkey Day writing. I won't be going home. No one to have dinner with. Woe-is-me, right? No!

Last year was so great, I'm still overfilled. Bama and I made quite a nice showing for two kids that don't cook that often. We sat and fed our faces and chilled on the couch. Best holiday memory I've ever had. Seriously, it kicked ass.

I wish you all the best and I'll make sure to keep posting tidbits as I spend next week sheltered inside my apartment.

Have some extra stuffing for me.

Half way, finally

Last night, sat down for a bit and threw down about a thousand words. I finally topped the 50 percent mark. My biggest mistake as of far was editing pieces when I should just have been writing. The first draft is supposed to be rough.

Slowly, the book is becoming more commentary on college in general. Maybe I oversimplify too much, but I'm trying to view it from a former straight-edge kid who's running around drunk and horny all of the time.

But, I will say one thing. With Thanksgiving off, and the week to follow. I WILL FINISH. I repeat, I will finish. Some of the material by the end might not be too great for reading, but it will fit into the full amount.

I can't thank everyone enough for the criticism on the few chapters I've thrown down. It's much appreciated. The book is directed towards our age group, so the more input you can give me, the better.

Don't worry about my feelings. If you say something to make the book better, my pride can go to hell. And yes, that was me saying it. Capt. Cocky. Admiral Arrogant. Sgt. Shithead.

More to read.

Here's another chunk of the book. It's the one I'm sure everyone wants to read to see if they made it in. Well, I think I covered everyone. Remember, unedited version of a first draft. There is a bit of time frame difference from the last posted section. This second is tentatively scheduled for Chapter 11.

"Confusion.

There it is.

There’s the emotion I needed. It might not be the right one, but it’ll do.

Here’s the most stable person in the world, the epitome of collected, and he kills himself.

The inspirer of my transformation put a gun in his mouth.

My savior offered himself in the laundry room.

It made no sense, not based on the little information I had. A basis for more questions was all I had. No one had anything.

All I could do was call everyone I knew Ethan considered a friend and let them know. It would be the same questions over and over followed with the same response.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

The more I knew I had to say it the less I wanted to make the phone calls.

Meredith, Ben, Josh, Dan, Derrick, Joann, Don, Jean, Tom. Mikey, Mickey, Scotty. Bart, Tyler, Megan, Emily, Adam, Terry, Mark, Travis. Whitey, Razor, Swan, Bubba, Ox, Cooter. About three Bens, three Kristis and two Katies.

Then there was also Ben and Kristin, Joe and Tanya, Kellen and Kristi, Jay and Mandy, John and Katie, Lisa and Jason, Dave and Kimm.

Further into college more friends’ names come in pairs.

Damn that guy knew a lot of people.

Those are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. Then there were professors, people at work, the bars, classes, and clubs. That’s not including the dozens of people that are going to question me when I run into them on campus.

The phone calls began with answers that seemed rehearsed.

No, he didn’t leave a note that we know of.

Yes, I thought he was fine too.

I became the official spokesman of Ethan’s suicide. It was my first chance to put my public relations major to use. Finally.
I’m sorry I can’t answer to any reason why he would do this.

Talking my way around most things, I answered what I knew and dodged what I didn’t.

It’s common that if you couldn’t decide on a major, you went with psychology or somewhere in the communications field. I chose the one where I thought the most money was involved.

His mom found him.

The basement.

I switched from a confused, surprised and grieving friend to a PR agent of death. As I liked to call it, the voice of Ethan’s self-induced expired mortality. It was a softer, yet long-winded way of saying “suicide.” It seemed a gentler term than telling the truth, a nice way of staying away from a recognized simple word with a bad stigma to it. It was something people could understand.

Self-induced expired mortality.

Yes, I’m going to the funeral.

No, I don’t know when it is.

I doubt it will be open casket.

Yes, a shotgun will do that.

With the little bits of info I had, I was able to talk around most questions. I was better than I thought. I could have sold a school board to install cigarette machines in schools.

Ethan would have been proud.

Sure I’ll call so-and-so.

No, I don’t know what they’re going to do with his stuff.

I don’t know if we should have a memorial here.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fake the slickness needed to talk to these people without wanting to suck on a Remington myself.

Calling people knowing in a few seconds they’ll burst into tears repeatedly was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do. It felt like what a police clergyman must go through every day. You wake up, get dressed and go to work knowing you’re telling people about dead loved ones all day.

Wearing that little white collar, at least God has those guy’s backs.

I wondered where He stood in my situation. I was trying to smooth over the death of my best friend. No, my best friend’s suicide. Again, I could spin circles around my drinking buddies, but put I still couldn’t convince myself.

My little face I put up to make myself feel better wasn’t working.

This time, however, it was for survival, not self-gratification.

Calling Heather was another thing I had to do.

Heather, I didn’t even have her number anymore.

Heather, with her hazelnut brown hair, chocolate cake eyes and her sugary disposition.

Heather was the last on my list.

She should have been my first."

It's Saturday and finding free wireless internet was the second time I've left my apartment. The first was to check my mail.

I am so friggin' cool.

A week of writing?

Still nothing down on the computer this week. More ideas of where to go next are filling the notebook I keep in my pocket at all times, but nothing more to add to the page count.

If I would have known a job would have been so much work, I would have completely skipped college all together.

But, I've found my silver lining to this cloud over me.

In my usual fashion, I've managed to keep 94 hours of vacation time that expires at the end of the year. Use it or lose it, the company says. But, I've actually managed to schedule some of it in.

The last week of the month, I have off from the paper. It will be one solid week of writing and nothing but. No working out. No skating. No bar, well maybe a little. Just a week of me locked in my apartment by myself writing. I'll stockpile the fridge and turn my phone off.

By the end of the week, I'll have drank enough coffee to destroy the lining in my stomach.

Sadly, I look forward to it way too much.

And yes, I'll be posting more exerpts soon.

Also, been messing around with cover ideas. Here's a start.

The title somewhere above. The name below.


A Constant Suicide



A novel by Brian Krans

Half done... at least the month is.

That's right kids, November is half over, but the novel isn't.

Sure, 50,000 words for a novel is nothing, but in one month is a pain in the arse when you try to have a life besides. Life's always getting in my way, or something like that workaholics tell themselves.

I'm currently hovering around Chapter 13. No, I won't be posting every one. Besides, if I did that, why would you read the book?

Right now, I've introduced the characters, the suicide, the situation. But, I've still got a mile to go on the plot.

There's one question I want lingering in everyone's mind -- why would this kid off himself?

I hope that's what some of you are already thinking.

As of now, I envision the novel being longer than 50,000 words. Because, sadly, in the 46,000-and some change words I have down now, I still haven't said much. Maybe I'm long-winded. Maybe I've got a lot to say about friends, college, girls, parties and suicide.

Maybe there's a lot to say.

It just depends on if I can say it the right way.

Right now I'll just continue waiting on the verdict in a murder trial. Guy younger than me allegedly goes over to his neighbors house to rob him. Beats him to death and stabs him in neck. Oh yeah, the victim's 74 years old. Oh yeah, he's never got more than $20 in his house.

Oh what a happy life I live.

Murder for work. Suicide for fun.

Never, ever ask me why I drink.

As much as it kills me to say this... Kellen brought up something important.

He asked for "a dumbed down version for myself and the other schleps you know from Winona."

The great thing about the book is that I've finally found a writing style -- minimalism. For the layperson, that means you can read it.

The key is not using long, drawn-out sentences to describe something that isn't important. It isn't using 10-dollar words when they aren't needed. The important thing of the book isn't how well I can write.

Let's just face it, after years of being a newspaper writer, I can't write like I used to. Then again, it also taught me something important -- If you have something to say, just say it. Don't beat around the bush romanticizing everything. Make a point and move on.

That's what this book is about. It's about rebellion, personal transformation, unexplainable situations, and, a topic that's near and dear to my heart -- suicide. It's about bad decisions, moving away from your former self, what makes a friend important and how none of us ever really know what to do with our lives.

I can't say everything that's in the book because I don't know. Everytime I write I find I have something else to say.

The question is if anyone wants to listen.

Still going...

Despite the lack of posts after putting up the first chapter, I'm still writing. Everything is moving along plot wise, but I'm a little stuck at the middle. Getting from a person shooting himself in the head to the end has to have a plausible transition.

But, right now I'm writing from Meredith's computer in West Virginia. It's my first time here since I moved her here in August. She's visited me, but I needed to come back and see her.

With writing about murder all of the time for the paper, constantly talking to the mothers of murdered sons, and now writing about a suicide in my spare time, I needed to clear my head for a while.

So, this is the only writing I'm doing on my trip.

I'm close to the half-way point, but I don't want to rush and put down crappy ideas just to meet the 50K word deadline by the end of the month. Then it will be onto long rewrites, sending a few copies out to publishers and then probably publishing it myself.

But right now, I'm just going to relax and take in the sights in lovely West Virginia.

Riiiiight.