creative writing – Jake W. Powell

Once Upon a Time, I Broke the Law

Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?

Yes. I cut off a police officer’s vehicle while driving. It was an unfortunate incident, one of those galling moments that ambushes and commandeers an otherwise perfectly fine day.

I was driving home from dinner with some friends. So far, so good. It was after dark, and I was driving back from a part of town I hadn’t been to before, so navigation was a touch difficult. And, since I know some of you are already thinking it, no, I wasn’t drunk. I don’t drink. Anyway, I missed a turn and my sense of direction went topsy-turvy. I pulled into a parking lot to get my bearings, realized I was only a mile from home, and, in my eagerness to reach said home, quickly turned left out into the street.

As these things tend to go, that was the same moment a police officer was driving along. I didn’t see her, and I cut her off. I’ll never know how close it actually was because I didn’t spot her car, but I did spot the flashing lights and pulled over.

The officer also thought I might be drunk. I replied in the negative, she wrote out my ticket, and then, since this was the first (and so far only) driving infraction I had received, she very generously informed me that I could go to the county courthouse and pay to have the ticket removed from my record. And because I am not in the habit of desiring bad things to show on my permanent record, I did so ASAP.

…

What? Were you expecting explosions and gunfire? I broke the law, I never said it was a scene out of John Wick. I cut off a police officer, got a ticket, paid the ticket off. The end. Always remember to pay attention when you’re driving.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

“Hermes is not having the best time. He walks a fine line, and his duty as messenger of Olympus weighs heavily on him. Being a god in the modern age means living in a world that no longer believes in gods. How much can one deity accomplish when no one respects him anymore? And why do his instincts tell him that he, the son of Zeus, is losing favor with his own family?

Tensions abound. The upstart Young Gods play dangerous games using entire cities as their boards. Formless monsters strike from the nighttime shadows, terrorizing hapless mortals. Agents of rival pantheons scheme to thwart Olympus’ designs. In the thick of it all, Hermes does what he does best: trick, lie, and cheat his way to victory.“

A Literary Sleight of Hand: Writing Characters Who Aren’t Good People

Work on my third book is, as they say, “proceeding apace.” Third draft is halfway done, and I’m actually somewhat happy with it.

It’s an interesting subject I’ve chosen. My two published works, A God Walks Up to the Bar and The Trickster’s Lament, are urban fantasy following the Greek god Hermes in our modern world. Writing gods is fun and fascinating. When you’re writing a guy like Hermes, and you look at what him and his ilk get up to in mythology, you realize that you can’t really start out the story with him being too likeable.

Hermes is a funny guy, and he’s smart, perceptive and entertaining to write and read about. But he’s not necessarily a good guy. He’s egotistical, vain, manipulative and more than a little callous. Which begs the question: How do you make readers want to keep reading about such a person?

The first step, I find, is character development. Hermes is not a static character. He grows and changes over time, and hopefully he’ll change for the better. The second is the time-honored strategy of comparing and contrasting. Does your story have an awful person as your protagonist? Make their opponents even worse.

Michael Corleone was godfather of a murderous Mafia family, but at least he wasn’t a drug dealer. Darth Vader killed children and endorsed the destruction of entire planets, but at least he wasn’t as sadistic as his emperor and still held love for his son. Peter Pan is a selfish child who never matures and is a nasty little brat, but his nemesis Captain Hook is a bloodthirsty pirate who, you know, wants to kill children.

Maybe it’s a cheap trick. Make somebody bad look good by standing them up alongside people who do worse things. A part of writing is getting inside people’s heads and figuring them out. When writing any protagonist, whether hero or villain or in-between, you have to figure out how to stoke the desire in audiences to keep reading about them. And if they do things that the audience finds … distasteful … then you may want to consider the good old strategy of compare and contrast. Give them lines they won’t cross. Give them a code. It doesn’t have to measure up to the reader’s own personal morals, but give them standards. And then pit them against antagonists who violate those standards.

It is, in many ways, a literary sleight of hand.

But Hermes, at least, isn’t a villain per se. He’s not nice, but he does have standards, fairly strong ones, and he is aware of some of his own vices. And he may even change for the better if he survives this upcoming book.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Tuesday

Poor, poor Tuesday. What is there to say about you? All the other days are praised or cursed, but what does Tuesday get?

Monday is a day despised, the beginning of the long slog, the harbinger of work and drudgery. Everyone hates Monday.

Wednesday is the halfway point, the glimmer of hope, where everything after is all downhill.

Thursday is the Day Before Friday, or Friday Eve, if you prefer, and ends with the resounding declaration, “One more day until the weekend!”

Friday is the end of the slog, the joyous day of freedom when the weekend is at its longest and moods are brightest.

Saturday is the day of fun and relaxation, a day where one can kick back and catch a breath. Everyone loves Saturday.

Sunday is the day of rest, but it carries the double edge of being the Day Before Monday, when fun is mingled with the imminence of the new week.

But what about Tuesday? What does anyone have to say about Tuesday?

It’s not as miserable as Monday, but not as hopeful as Wednesday or Thursday nor as exciting as Friday. And it’s certainly not a Saturday or Sunday. Tuesday simply … is. There is nothing to say about Tuesday. It is a day ignored, a day to be endured, a day to be forgotten. No one cares about Tuesday.

Poor Tuesday.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Thoughts on Living a Long Life

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care if I live a long life so long as it was a “meaningful” or “productive” one. The survival instinct is strong. I want to live as long as I am able to because I value my life, I don’t want to sadden my friends and family, and I enjoy life. And even if life were miserable and burdensome, I would still want to live on, if not for my own sake, then for the sake of others.

And yet, the issue is more complex than that, because I also believe that better a short and healthy life than a long and poor one. To live 90 years and have half those years be spent in perpetual sickness brought on by poor life choices or chronic illness would be a terrible thing. Would I rather I spent my days in and out of the hospital like a revolving door?

It’s easy to be glib with phrases like “I would rather die” when battered by life, but the reality is that the vast majority of humanity wants to keep living regardless of quality of life. Life in and of itself matters.

To the extent upon which it depends on my choices, I want to live a long life. I want to live healthily and happily. And ultimately, I want to live, period. In suffering and in happiness, I want to live.

Life is a chain reaction. Our lives create ripples that touch others and, to perhaps an even greater degree, so do our deaths. Life is lived not only for myself, but for those around me. Even strangers are affected by my life, and mine by theirs. Not something to take lightly.

Ultimately, the concept of a long life is one of ups and downs, struggles and victories, joys and sorrows. Life is meant to be lived, for however long we are on this Earth.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Working on Book #3: Drafts and Long Slogs

Almost done with the second draft of my latest book. I promised myself that I would finish this draft before the end of the year, and if all goes well and I’m still standing, that looks to be the case.

What a journey it’s been already. This book has been much harder to write than my previous work. For one, it’s my first proper novel. It’s not an anthology of short stories united by a common thread like my first two publications. This is one continuous narrative. Exciting! And challenging. Technically, this isn’t my first novel, but that’s only if I count the one I wrote in college that will never see the light of day. Which I’m not.

The first draft was pretty rough. I thought I knew what I was on about when I started, but quickly – very quickly – I realized that I had little direction or clarity for what I wanted the story to be. I had an outline, and I knew the general gist of the tale I wanted to tell, but I hadn’t reflected enough on the details. I wasn’t prepared. And, oh, boy, did that make draft #1 a slog.

But the great thing about drafting is that rewrites can really clear the air. I have more focus now that I’ve had the chance to go over my mistakes and fix them, not to mention coming up with new and better ideas and trimming the fat that doesn’t need to be there. The ideal is that every draft makes the story a little better. I feel that that’s the case with this one.

That being said, I still have a long way to go. Two drafts isn’t enough for a novel, not for me, anyway. So, I’ll need to keep my sleeves rolled up and motor on.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Talkin’ About Pets

What is good about having a pet.

I like animals. I especially like dogs and cats. I used to be more of a dog person, but exposure to cats has gradually drawn me into the position of “likes both equally.” Pets are loyal, don’t judge, don’t criticize, and if they’re furry, are good for hugs and cuddles. A well-trained pet is a very good friend.

I used to have a pet of my own when I was a kid, a rabbit named Timmy. But that was a long time ago, and as I got older, I realized something.

I liked having a pet, but I like other people’s pets even more.

It’s a bit selfish. I visit friends and see their dogs or cats, and after hanging out, can go home where I don’t have to worry about feeding a pet, cleaning them, taking them in for medical checkups or otherwise dealing with the responsibilities of actually having to raise an animal. It’s kind of like having grandchildren or nieces and nephews. You visit for the day, have fun with them, then leave.

Well-behaved pets are friendly and loveable. I just happen to love them when they’re someone else’s responsibility. Oh, well.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

To Be Childlike, Not Childish

What does it mean to be a kid at heart?

Have you ever met someone who was not only physically old, but acted old? “Woe is me, I’m so aged. I can’t do anything anymore, and I must spend my days lamenting my remaining existence.” They’re not exactly fun to be around.

They’re kind of like Charlie’s parents from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, having given up and lying in bed all day.

Of course, then Grandpa Joe actually stands up, and this happens.

Being a kid at heart means never losing the spark of hope, creativity and optimism that permeates childhood. Everything is new, everything is exciting, and everything is worth running towards.

To be childlike, not childish. Anyone of any age can be childish. That’s the dark side of childhood: the whining, the screaming, the self-pity, the selfish delusion that everything exists to serve and coddle you.

To be childlike, though, encompasses the positives of childhood: an enjoyment of life, able to see the good and the fun in it, to charge into any situation and give it your all while laughing and smiling. Honest laughter. Sincere smiles. That strange concept of unironic, sarcasm-free fun that we seem to lose as adults. Adults like to analyze their existence. Kids just are.

In short, to be a kid at heart means to sincerely enjoy life, with all its ups and downs. To live life and embrace its challenges, its triumphs and all the people in it. To not lie in bed all day, but get out and breathe the fresh air.

Even those who have been hampered by age and injury can soak in the sun, if they so choose, rather than grumbling in the dark.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

I Don’t Want to Go to the Moon. There’s Nothing to Do There.

How much would you pay to go to the moon?

Not gonna lie, I don’t want to go to the moon. Which means I would save money, I suppose.

Why go to the moon? Because it’s there? Well, plenty have gone to the moon, and it’s a monumental achievement, make no mistake, but I have no interest in leaving Earth’s atmosphere. There’s still so much to do here, so much to see, so much to explore. Earth is a big place. You might think of it as a tiny speck in the cosmos, but if so, then what a speck! Billions of people, millions of cities, and swathes of forests, plains, mountains, jungles, lakes, oceans, rivers, islands, deserts, glaciers, and tundra.

What’s on the moon? Dust. A lot of dust. Dunes. Craters. A really lovely view of Earth, that’s true enough. But going to the moon simply because it isn’t Earth isn’t the most compelling of reasons. I like Earth. I want to see more of it. There’s more to do here than on the Moon.

What if I did decide to take a moon trip? I would pay an astronomical sum to see some astronomy. I’d take a rocket up to the big grey ball in the sky, fly around it and … What? There’s nothing on the moon! What’s the point of traveling all that way if there’s nothing to do at the end of the trip?

Yeah, I don’t want to go the moon. I couldn’t afford it anyway.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

The Moment I Knew I Had Grown Up Whether I Wanted to or Not

When was the first time you really felt like a grown-up?

Growing up is a tough thing. We don’t leave childhood behind. It simply skips away, leaving us behind. And we find ourselves in the world of grown-ups. We certainly do gain quite a few things as adults, though: Responsibilities, duties, jobs, bills …

But at what point does it hit home that we’ve grown up? Is it a slow, dawning realization, or a thunderbolt to the head?

I first felt the pangs of adulthood when I moved to college. I had never lived apart from my parents before. Well, there was that one week in summer school, but that didn’t really count. Now, I was in the car with my parents going to a campus miles away from home and with the full knowledge that I wouldn’t be coming back with them.

The moment I made that realization was the moment that I knew things were Different™. There was no going back to childhood ways. I was an adult. I would be living as an adult. That made me a little excited, a lot nervous, and very, very giddy.

You ever have that dream where you’re in freefall? And your whole body tingles with such severe giddiness that you feel like it will overwhelm you? That’s how I felt when I arrived at my college. I was falling, falling, falling, all the way down. The only thing keeping me from curling up into a ball of panic was the certainty that the fall would end with me hitting the ground standing upright. Everything was in order, my room was rented, my classes were scheduled, and my parents were still just a phone call away. I wasn’t going to fall forever.

And so I grew up. No more childhood games, just the memories of them. Big adult games, like Studying for the Test, Learning to Budget and Managing My Own Bedtime. Adulthood was upon me.

Of course, once I graduated and entered the Real World, I realized that college wasn’t a very grown-up place after all, but that’s a story for another time.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

What Matters Most: Establishing A Story’s Stakes

In every story, there are stakes. Something may be lost, something may be gained. The story’s conflict means something. Without stakes, without the risk of failure, a story isn’t very interesting. Who cares if the One Ring is destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom if Sauron isn’t a threat? Who cares about the Galactic Empire if they’re a paper tiger who can’t even threaten one planet?

You need to establish the stakes early on. That is to say, you need to establish what will happen if the heroes lose: Sauron conquers Middle Earth and reduces everyone to slavery. The Galactic Empire uses the Death Star to destroy any planet that opposes it. The heroes’ actions must matter.

Of course, not all stories have such a grand scope. To Kill a Mockingbird doesn’t deal with world-rattling threats, but Atticus Finch is struggling to prove an innocent man didn’t commit the crime he is accused of. The Grapes of Wrath centers around a family trying to establish a new life in California and not fall apart in the process. These are more personal stakes, but no less important.

That’s another thing about establishing stakes. They must be appropriate to the story. Personally, I think that, first and foremost, the stakes must be appropriate to the protagonist. We are reading about a character, and what matters to them must matter to us. If the stake is nothing more than Jim trying to get his kite into the air, then, by golly, that’s what the reader should care about, too.

Sometimes the stakes in a story increase. Maybe Jim gets drafted into World War II. Well, that’s a major shift. What’s at stake now? Survival? Capturing the enemy base? Maybe. But what is most appropriate is what directly affects Jim’s personal journey. It’s not just about fighting the enemy, any more than it was about flying the kite. It’s about Jim’s character growth.

It was never about getting the kite into the air. It’s not about fighting the war, not really. Those are the circumstances, but the story is about Jim learning to persevere and attain self-confidence. He never really felt that he was capable of getting that kite in the air. He feels that he can’t contribute to the war. The kite and the war represent the same thing: obstacles to Jim’s goal of becoming a confident, mature adult.

Okay, I’ll leave it up to one of you out there to write that story.

Writers don’t play hopscotch with the stakes. Even when they are raised to something more serious, they still form a core that drives the narrative. Every new stake is connected to the protagonist’s central conflict, each one a facet of his or her inner struggle.

It’s not about building up the biggest, most dire conflict imaginable: “The world will end! The evil empire will rule! The plague will kill us all!” It’s about character. It’s about what matters most to the protagonist.

***

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: