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Phillip Tomasso

As Luck Would Have It

I once heard, or read, or found out, or someone told me —but am far too tired to research— that when a type or genre of book is popular, it’s already too late to attempt jumping onto that proverbial bestselling bandwagon. Examples that come to mind, at this moment anyway, are books like Harry Potter, Twilight, The Hunger Games and TV shows like The Walking Dead. Because, right now, utopia / dystopian worlds, such as the one in Divergent and The Maze Runner (not to mention, once again, The Hunger Games), are toping bookseller charts, movie theaters and DVD rentals – guess what? That market is saturated.

If you are working on a utopian / dystopian, apocalyptic and/or supernatural manuscript, might want to stop. Publishers will be mailing out form rejection letters (or emailing them). This may include vampires and zombies – it’s what I’m thinking, same boat. It’s just a guess, a gut feeling.

Think of it this way. You write the manuscript. Let’s say that takes roughly a year. Add six months for some re-writes and edits. Maybe you already have an agent. So we can skip that. How long might an agent take to find a publisher? For the sake of argument, let’s be generous and add another six months (uh-huh). Publisher reviews the material in bits and bites, eventually offers a contract (we will add 3 months for that process). You get assigned an editor. More re-writes. And fifteen months later your book is in stores (or available for Kindle/Nook uploads). Not bad. What year is it then? From start to book-on-a-shelf? I really don’t know, like, more than 3 years has passed? I can’t do the math. Not this late at night.

But I mean, hey, still write the story. Finish it if you must. I don’t want to discourage. Point is it might be a tough sell. Probably will be. Just saying.

Nothing new under the sun. I know. I’ve heard that, too. But think cycles. Goes around. Comes around. When Katniss and Thomas and Beatrice and Rick Grimes have lost their flare, their popularity … the next wave of fiction will strike.

It will.

The question is –you ready for it— what type, what genre will be the newest, hottest fad?

I remember when my oldest son was little. Christmas was around the corner. The craziest toy was the latest craze: Tickle Me Elmo. I’ll admit it was kinda cool. But you couldn’t get one. No one expected it to be so popular. Stores were unable to keep shelves stocked. Think Tyco knew what they had on their hands when they first produced the battery-filled doll?

Doubt it.

Hate to say it, but I’d put my money on luck.

Movies. Books. Same thing.
It’s about timing. Delivery. But mostly luck.

I’ve bought toys I’ve despised, watched blockbusters I’ve hated, read bestsellers with sloppy plots and cardboard characters and thought – what am I doing so wrong if this is a bestseller?
Luck.

I can’t predict what the next hot genre will be. But I will let you in on a secret. I have shoved into a sock drawer my zombie work-in-progress, and am diligently at work on something … fresh, new. Something that is hopefully different, but relevant, and will be holding my breath to see if my gamble pays off.

It might. Might not.

With fingers crossed (and breath held), we will have to wait and see what genre pulls into the forefront. Leads the pack. Takes the wheel . . . in the months (that follow the apocalyptic) storylines.

Me? Who am I but a midlist author. Still, I’ve got my money on ... Ha—I’m not telling!

Sincerely,
Phillip Tomasso

PS … Check out my new website: http://www.philliptomasso.com/
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What's In A Name?

When I wrote my first book, MIND PLAY, I started more trouble than expected. I used the first names of family and friends for each of my characters. That wasn’t the bad part. That wasn’t where the problem started.

The problem, you see, came when I informed people of what I’d done.

Unless you are James Patterson (who has ten million books released every year – that he does not write), you cannot write books fast enough to use the names of all your family and friends. Look at my name. Tomasso. Know what that is? Know what that means? Italian. Ever see a small Italian family? I’ve got more aunts and uncles and cousins than Stephen King has fans. See what I’m saying, eh-oh, oh-eh.

Anyway. I try to do my best. I try to incorporate the first names of as many people as I can. The thing is, sometimes, those just aren’t the names I want for my characters. Believe it or not, I put thought into the characters. And they become real to me. I look up the meanings of names. I picture what they look like in my mind. And if they don’t look they’d be named “Jane Doe” because my Aunt Jane Doe is on my butt about using her name, then I can’t in good conscience name that character “Jane Doe.” It won’t work for me. It would shatter the person/character I’d created.

My Uncle Bill used to come to every book signing I had in Rochester. And at each new book signing he’d ask me when I was going to use his name. Finally, I’d sold the manuscript of a novel where I’d used his name, his full first Italian name – Abello (“Bill”). His character was a Mafia Don in the story.

When Uncle Bill got up to the front of the line, he handed me a copy of my book to sign for him. And, of course, he asked, “So, when are you going to use my name in a book?”

So I told him about being a Mafia Don.

You saw it in his face. He was excited. He asked me, “What’s the name of the book?”

I said, “Pigeon Drop.”

He grimaced. “What’s that? That’s crap.”

To this day, I am not sure if he was seriously mad, or just being funny. We Tomassos’ have an odd, peculiar, sense of humor.

My first book was released in 2000. My ninth, Sounds of Silence, will be released later this year – and you know what? I still have not used all the names of family and friends as characters in the stories written.
At work tonight, 2013 – it’s no different. Only, my friends are more aggressive about what they want. Crystal wants me to use her name. Not her last name. Her first name, and … get this – to make the entire novel about her. (You may not realize it – but it was Crystal’s inspiration that inspired my last blog, First Dates & Red Robin Yummm … ).

My point?

There isn’t one. (Is there ever with me?) Except, maybe … be patient. If I can use your name, I will. Promise.

More times than not, I am using your personality. You just may not be smart enough to recognize it’s you you are reading about.

Bada-bing!

Take care,

Phillip Tomasso

PS … Check out my new website:

http://www.philliptomasso.com/
(Still under construction)

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First Dates & Red Robin (Yummm)

Aside from being an (ah-hem) award winning novelist, I am unfortunate I do not make enough money to write as a career author. Holding down a “day” job is essential. Only difference is, my day job is a night job. Graveyard shift. We call it First Platoon. I am a Fire/EMS Dispatcher for 9-1-1. Thankfully, when there are no fires, work is not too busy. When it is not too busy, six of us (Fire Dispatchers) sit in what we call a pod (a circle) filled with 5 computer monitors, 3 keyboards/mice and phones, per station, and we talk. And the talk oftentimes is nonsensical.

Last night we discussed first dates. Being 42, divorced, and with three kids, dating is tough. First dates, tougher. Not being rich—perhaps borderline poor—the idea of trying to impress a woman on a first date is not generally doable. And for that matter, I thought, also not wise.

Way I see it, if you take a woman out to on an expensive night, big-bill dinner, and theater, and limo and shit like that – it’s misleading. Improperly so. Think about it. (And I truly believe this is not frugal, or downright cheap). If you take extravagant measures to show the young lady an amazing time, isn’t it then fair for her to assume each date thereafter is going to hold, at a minimum, equal expectations? I could be wrong. (Feedback and comments are most, most welcome).

Way I see it, (yes starting a second paragraph identically to the one above it), if the plan is dinner and a movie, going to a restaurant that is affordable is okay. Especially on a first date. (More expensive dates can certainly follow, on things like, special occasions). But it is not always financially practical to drop a lot of money on a date. And on a first date – let’s face it – there is always a 50/50 chance there will not be a second, a follow-up, a sequel. See what I’m saying?

Maybe that makes me a jerk. A cheapskate. A tightwad. But you know what? I’m okay with that. Perceive away. Judge. I prefer to let a woman know who I am. Who I am, is not money. Not even close. Why give the impression otherwise? Misleading, as earlier indicated, and in my opinion, should be seriously frowned upon.

The fact that I like Red Robin burgers got everyone laughing. At me. I thought, and said out loud, “I think going to Red Robin is a good first date. Good burgers, bottomless fries … I mean, yummmmm says it all.”

Yeah. Wrong thing to say. Think I’d of been okay just thinking it. The comments I received went as follows:

“It’s too ‘family restaurant’ styled for a first date. It’s all parents and kids.”

“Seriously, Phil? Seriously?”

“You don’t have to spend a lot of money, but certainly not Red Robin.”

“Red Robin’s a good first date if you’re a teenager…”

And, from that above sampling, I think you get the idea.

Other, equally affordable options were suggested. Some good. Some, personally, I rejected. But by the end of the discussion, I guess I learned a lesson. Two, actually. And what is the point of open forums if there is not, at least, one moral to a story … much less, two?!?

One. Don’t ever tell close friends the specifications of date plans, unless you are hoping to be talked out of them, humiliated, laughed at, or frustrated because trying to get your point across in a five to one situation is not humanly possible.

Two. Maybe talk with the person you plan to go out with. Get their input before making decisions. While a female likes to see the man make calls, it might work out better to actually ask for some general input. You never know – they may think a most wonderful idea involves good burgers and bottomless fries at your local Red Robin … Yummmmmm!

One last question: Is it okay to pull out a coupon when the bill comes??

As always, take care!

Phillip Tomasso

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Writing Is Like Being A Clown

I remember when I spent the better part of a summer in the backyard learning to juggle. I started with oranges. Two of them. I practiced one-handed juggling. I held both pieces of fruit in one palm. Tossed one up, then the other, caught the first, sent it back up, caught the second, sent it back up, and so on, and so one and so on.

See what I’m saying?

Of course, reading what I did, and doing what I’d done is two different things. It took hours over the course of days to get the rhythm down. Once I did, I moved on. To what, did you ask? Three oranges. Oh yeah. Three. Two hands, though. What I like to call, Real Juggling. I kept two oranges in one hand, one in the other. Coordination was my downfall. I had no problem getting all three oranges in the air. It was catching them with alternating hands that complicated matters.

And where to look.

Did I watch my hands? Or the oranges as they crested the arch? You’d think my hands. But when I watched my hands, I actually dropped the oranges more often. Watching my hands kept me from estimating how high up I’d thrown each orange, and also where. Oh, where the orange goes is very important when juggling.

Not oranges so much.

But what about when I moved onto bigger, more impressive things like knives or chainsaws? Not that I would. But if I did. You know?

With knives or chainsaws, however, watching my hands still seemed as essential as watching the arch … but that is neither here nor there, since, seriously, I don’t own knives sharp enough to matter, and who in their right mind has three chains saws lying around … except for a juggling clown, I guess. Or a lumberjack.

By the end of the summer—don’t laugh—I’d graduated from juggling fruit to Bocce Balls. Sounds a little ludicrous, I know. They were the only things I had more three plus of that weighed the same. (From oranges I didn’t go right to Bocce. I also practiced on tennis and baseballs. Bocce was just the next, I thought, impressive thing to us for practice). While not a clown (or a lumberjack), I must say, for teaching myself, I became a pretty good, just below mediocre semi-average person who could juggle.

Regardless, I still find, when I juggle, that I am oftentimes holding my breath. Only when I know my face is blueberry blue, and I am lightheaded, do I remember to exhale suck in a fresh new breath to hold.

What’s the point?

As a writer, I have many things that need to be written. It’s hard not to catch myself gasping somewhat for air as I struggle with several issues:

--What to work on first?

I have three novel-length manuscripts going simultaneously. All unique from the other.

A zombie, a ghost, and a super-natural P.I. (3rd Nicholas Tartaglia thriller).

In a way, this works. When I hit a wall on one story, I save and close it, and open another. However, if I spend too much time working on one, then when I try to work on one of the others, I need to take time away from writing, and re-read the last chapter written to get back in the flow, and review notes, and characters and timelines. That gets a bit frustrating.

I am anxious to finish all three novels, but find that by having three to finish, less and less appears to get done. I may need to rethink the process. May need to pick one and carry it through to the end. Then the second and finally the last. It makes sense. Like paying off credit cards, I suppose. Pick the one with the smallest balance, and then hammer away it until it’s done.

I guess I should pick the one closest to being finished, and just buckle down and finish writing it.

--Facebooking, blogging and let us not forget, Tweeting

With many of my titles recently released as eBooks, I’ve struggled with marketing and advertising. It was hard enough as a novelist accomplishing these facets of being a published writer. I used to coordinate a ton of book signings and speaking engagements. My current publisher does not use the same distributor as Barnes & Noble, which has made setting up book signing events near impossible, since Barnes & Noble is the biggest chain seller.

I use Facebook, this blog and my Twitter account to continually remind readers that indeed I am an author with novels for sale. Blogging has become essential. Not that I have a ton of followers, but my blog does get a steady amount of hits. (If you are reading this, and do not follow the blog – please, feel free to do so).

Twitter works well, too. Seems every time I post a tweet, with a link to this blog, or to Amazon, I get a handful of new Twitter followers. Which is always appreciated. I haven’t mastered all that can be done with Twitter. I am learning. And, it’s kind of fun. The limited space keeps my editing skills sharp. And hashtags, well, what can I say? Love ‘em.

While my friends-base on Facebook continues to grow, I still find this one of the easiest ways to market and advertise. I use both my personal and author pages to get the job done. The only thing I worry about is overkill. There is a fine line between informing people of your work, as opposed to beating them to death like a brick repeatedly striking their skull.

So yes. In my opinion, writing is a lot like juggling. Makes me feel more like a clown, than I like to admit.

Just like that summer, when I practiced and practiced learning to juggle, I eventually did learn. The more I worked at it, the better I got. I would consider juggling complex. Writing is based on similar principals. The more I write, the better I get. Keeping projects alive and afloat and being able to manipulate them accordingly is essential.

It’s something to watch a juggler. Awe and spectacular.

While my writing is far from awe-inspiring, or spectacular, I do believe I have a skill, and a talent. The ideology I hold to is that, like any skill or talent, continual practice is needed—required, even—to maintain professionalism and interest.

You know what? Leave me a comment, send me an email. Love to hear from you.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Phillip Tomasso

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Writing Is Like Going To The Gym

With January fast approaching, I am hearing more and more people talk about New Year Resolutions. If most people are like me, resolutions are declared, started and then quickly forgotten—or better still—purposely ignored. One resolution I make, year after year—I mean, every year I make it. I see gym and fitness ads running on TV throughout December. So, I know I am not alone. My goal is always to get in shape. Always. I know, one of these years I will stand-fast and commit to actually exercising, eating healthier and making a difference in my physique. One of these years.

Of course I have the classic excuses Not To Exercise. My work schedule. My family responsibilities. My sleep schedule. I can argue to death why these three responsibilities alone are reason enough never to step foot in a gym. I’d be lying to you, the way I lie to myself daily. But with myself, I’ve fully convinced me that I am telling a solid truth. That exercise just isn’t possible in my immediate future. That, however, I have plenty of time to get to it, and will be so happy and satisfied once I commit.

Believe it or not, writing is very, creepily similar to working out. Uh-huh. Absolutely true. I thought about the best way to present comparisons. Tried narrative. Seemed okay. But, I believe the readers here will appreciate bullets. Direct correlation between the two. Makes my metaphor more impacting, and visible.

--You Need to First Realize You Want to Get in Shape

This is not a blog about alcoholics. But if you don’t first admit there is a problem, there can be no clear road to improvement. I am out of shape. I need to exercise. I need to turn fat into muscle. It would be awesome to wear a shirt and not feel like I HAVE to tuck it in, or blouse it in order to give the illusion that my gut is actually not gut at all, but excess cotton ballooned at the waistline. Abracadabra!

Anyone I ever talk to tells me they want to write a book. Many want to give me their life story so I can weave it into some unbelievable tale that—they assure me—will be a best seller. My answer is always the same. If you have a story, write it. They don’t know where to begin, how to create characters, dialogue, chapters, etc., etc., etc.

--Get Around To Joining A Gym

One piece of advice I share is to join a writing group. Many bookstores and libraries have them. For free, no less. A gathering of writers sharing tips, full of questions that need answering, offering critiques and guidance. I’ve belonged to one or another since I was fifteen years old. The time spent with other writers has been priceless in my career as a novelist.

The second piece of advice is to read. If you want to write a horror novel, read every horror book you can get your hands on. Study the genre you seek to conquer. Note what you like and hate about the books read, what was done well, and what you would do differently. See how the plots unfold, the characters are developed, the tension is paced.

--Start Out All Gung-Ho

Like anything new—relationships, cars, going to school, joining a gym—we always tend to start out with all pistons firing; it’s all we talk and think about; dream of; try to get others on board with. When I’ve joined (and eventually quit) local gyms and fitness clubs, I spent hours of the first several days working out. I’d get up early and hit the treadmills. After work, I’d make my way through the Nautilus equipment, or free weights. I’d drape a hand towel (from the kitchen) over my shoulders to swipe at the rolling beads of sweat, and carry around a water bottle to hydrate my dehydrated body. I’d even cut back on smoking, because working out and not smoking seemed to go hand in hand!

Writing is the same way. That idea we came up with gets fleshed out in long hand on a pad of legal paper. Characters sketched. Concept plots outlined. Possible settings reviewed. We fall asleep at night with a notebook by the bed, wake up re-reading senseless sentences scribbled out during twilight hours.

At some point we realize we’ve compiled a ton of stuff. There aren’t exactly heads or tails to be made from any of it. But we’ve started. We’re writing. It lacks clear direction, lucidity, flow, but gosh-darn if we haven’t leapt and landed with both feet in the heat of drafting something that might, that could, that if we’re lucky, will be considered a working manuscript-or-something-or-other!

--Unused Muscles Get Sore And Achy

And the reality sets in. Usually it’s not the very next morning. It’s two-days later. Reaching for your coffee cup is an impossible task. You triceps, biceps, wrists, knuckles – refuse to work. The idea of bending over to fit socks over your feet scares you into uncontrollable sobs. You groan and moan and cry, literally shed tears, as you shrug your arms into your coat. Don’t even bother with aspirin. It won’t work. Nothing will. You are certain a painful death is all you have to look forward to!

Writing is no different. If you go from never (or not often) having written anything, to writing up a storm there is bound to be some pain. Maybe in your brain, maybe from straining your imagination. But more than likely it will be evident in the writing itself.

I suggest take a breath. A step back. Set the initial material aside. The thing about writing is, you wrote it. So it will generally look good, or right to you when you re-read it. Nothing wrong with that. Well, there kind of is. Regardless – you need a day or two off, to take a break. Believe it or not, when you go back a few days later, reinvigorated and hopefully well-rested, you will be more objective in sorting through the pages and pages of … stuff … that you’ve written. Going Gung-Ho for days and days is strenuous. Necessary sometimes, and more seasoned (in shape) writers can perform better under different circumstances – the endurance is just at a higher level…it’s where we should all aspire to be, the summit to reach, the (insert cliché here) …

--Then It’s Tough To Go

Once my muscles stopped aching, once aspirin started working—fighting back the swelling in my joints, I was tired. The Gung-Ho mentality wanes. I still dreamed of becoming athletically inclined, beach-body in-shape, but the desire, I’ll admit lost its luster. The pudge is still there. I’ve lost little to no weight. Clothes don’t fit any looser than they did a few days ago. Working out has done nothing up to this point to make me any sexier than I was before. So why bother?

It happens with writing, too. The idea hits you like a brick on the back of the neck. (Am I overdoing the clichés? LOL). You write and write, and write. And when you step back, and then re-read your work, it’s discouraging. Maybe you felt like there should be more quality completed pages. You know at the time you gave it your all. Put sweat and tears and blood (blood?) into every word. You scrutinized sentences, verb tense, POV … Oh, how hard you worked – and of all the pages in front of you, maybe a fraction is good, is usable.

Is it possible that writing just isn’t worth the work?

--Get A Routine Going

The times when I did stick with a gym membership—beyond January 1st—and managed to attend regularly for several months, I found that one thing worked for me.

It was kind of like brushing my teeth. In the morning. After meals. Before bed.

I went to the gym on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule. (This was when I had an office job. A Monday-Friday / 9:00-5:00 routine). So I’d hit the gym before work. Got a work-out schedule to abide by. Cardo each of the days I was there. The treadmill, the stationary bike. And then Mondays and Fridays were upper body exercises, Wednesday were legs. It worked.

Is it any surprise that having a writing schedule and routing is a technique that works best for many, many writers? It shouldn’t be. In fact, by now, I should not need to draw lines connecting the metaphors. I will. For the sake of staying consistent.

I work midnights now. A weird schedule, really. Four days on, two days off. So saying I will write Monday / Wednesday / Friday is not always so simple. I also have three kids, and am divorced. My time with my kids is my priority! I do not write on days when I have my kids.

Factoring in these two variables, I’ve still managed to come up with a writing schedule that works very well for my life. The four days I work, when I don’t have my kids, I get home and write for at least one hour (so from 8 am – 9am). On my days off, again, on days I do not have my kids, I elect to write for up to three hours at the end of the night (usually from midnight until 3 am). I am—because of work—a night owl, and maintain a paranight owl schedule even on days off. It’s just easier. Am I disgusting? Yes, yes I am.

Hopefully the point is clear. I put a lot of thought and planning into creating a writing schedule that works for me. I spend a lot of time, while not writing thinking about what I am going to write. I take notes. I try to figure out what my characters will be up to, and always anticipate what will happen next. This helps me get the most and best writing completed in the designated times I’ve set aside; helps me avoid staring blankly at the computer screen and wonder what it is I’m going to type to capitalize on the limited time available.

--Surprise! You Are Getting In Shape

Nothing guarantees exercise will dish out desired results. A lot gets factored in. Diet is a big one. But if you can manage portion control, and stick to a steady exercise routine, you will see a difference. Have to. It takes time. You don’t see a difference overnight. It generally takes months. Sometimes years. Depends what you were when you started, and where you want to be.

Writing is the same. An idea is awesome. If a disciplined writing schedule is utilized, I believe a writer will be amazed with the final product. It may not be perfect. It will more than likely still require re-writes and editing, but if you stick with it—I firmly believe, at the very least, you can feel satisfied knowing you started something, and finished it, or reached a certain point by a specific deadline. And that, that is a good feeling. Like wearing a t-shirt that you DON’T have to tuck in, if you know what I mean.

Best I can tell, this blog is done. A bit long, I know. But hopefully helpful for writers just getting started, or writers who have plenty to say, but just can’t seem to incorporate a working plan to get it all said.

Take care, and Happy Holidays everyone!

Phillip Tomasso

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Table For One

Got an amazing email the other day. A publisher offering a contract for a YA novel I’d written. I forget how long ago I’d sent the query. Maybe close to eighteen months ago? About 6 months back they wrote me asking for a complete copy of the manuscript. I sent it. Nothing to lose.

Nothing to lose, because now – with this contract, I’ve officially sold the work three times. First time was in 2005. I worked with an agent then. She landed a nice deal. Got a healthy advance. It covered some bills with a small chunk left over to feed the family a nice dinner or two.

I worked close with the publisher’s editor and then the publishing company folded.

I won’t lie. Felt a bit devastated. It was a good size press. Hard not to get high hopes for my story. I envisioned awards and a shot at a bestseller list … maybe not the New York Times, but whatever.

Next publisher to offer a contract was a smaller, newer press. Just getting their feet wet. This was about two years ago. Again, I grew excited. I really wanted to see this title brought to life, and was thankful years later the work was still sellable.

The editor and I did not see eye-to-eye on some issues. They wanted too much changed. I refused to make those changes. Eventually, we’d reached a crossroads, and the contract was unfortunately, mutually, shredded. No hard feelings, other than the fact once again my YA novel would not make it to print (or eBook).

So. Like I was saying. The email came with a contract. Looked good to me. Talked about a paperback and eBook release. I’d already gathered endorsements from key people and a handful of reviews over the years. And now, I’m feeling pretty good. Pretty hopeful.

I posted about it on Facebook, Tweeted it once or twice. And . . . after work that night? I’d be off for two days. It was the start of my weekend. Can you imagine getting an awesome email at the start of your weekend? First thing you think, first thing I thought, was, “I’m celebrating.”

Right?

I’m going out. Karaoke! Eat some grilled and greasy food with friends! Do it up right. Not much of a champagne drinker, not when there is beer available, but hell, I tossed around the idea of buying a bottle.

Why not?

I’d sold the same book three times in 7 years. Same book. Three times. Seven years.

Third time’s the charm. I’ve heard that. You’ve heard that. It’s an old cliché. Third time’s the charm. It’s what I should call this post. Third Time’s The Charm.

But really, honestly … remember when I started this blog? I said I was not going to hold back. Posts would be honest and raw. I’ll admit I’ve done some holding back. And while honest, posts haven’t been as raw as they may have been medium rare. One main reason is I’ve found I have younger readers checking in now and then. And it is important me to be honest and as raw as I can be without being offensive. You may have noticed a blog-post or two missing. Pulled ‘em. Had to. Anyway . . .

This blog is not about selling a 10th novel (since 2000). It’s about the fact that my weekend (a Monday and Tuesday night) celebration turned out to be little more than drinking cans of beer from the fridge, watching Netflix and ordering a pizza (which covered many meals over the next two days).

You know why? Because divorce sucks.

I don’t miss my ex. Not at all. Please don’t misunderstand what I am saying here.

But—at the time—I actually enjoyed being married. Loved my family.

Still love my kids!

But when that got stripped away in ’07, battling life has been an endless and emotional strain. It really interrupts and interferes with, well … everything.

Even though my ex was never supportive of my writing, never understood why I wanted to keep selling stories I’d written, manuscripts I’d slaved over—why I wrote in the first place, when I did make a sale (regardless), or even when I finished writing a novel—we’d all go out an celebrate. Every time.

Pack the kids in the car, we’re going for dinner!

I remember doing that a lot in the 90’s when I was pounding out short-stories like mad. In ‘00, when my first novel sold, and ’01, twice in ’02 … and on and on.

I miss that.

Family. Closeness.

At first, I tried contacting a few friends; see if they wanted to go out. Most work day jobs, Monday through Friday, and don’t go out until the weekend – the real, normal, weekend; or they work opposite wheels from the one I work – so if I’m off, they’re working, and vice-versa.

Bottom line, at one point I stopped trying.

It turned out to be a tough weekend, despite being excited about a sale. It hit me, hard, the fact that I had no one special to share any of this with.

God forbid my mother or anyone in my family read this.

Eh-oh, oh-eh!

It has nothing to do with them. They were all very excited for the contract, and would gladly have celebrated the night (or entire weekend) with me. But listen, between us (sorry if you are reading this, Mom, Love You), but singing Garth Brooks karaoke with your mother – just not the same kinda fun, you know what I’m sayin’?

Is this post about selling a 10th novel in 12 years? I don’t know. Maybe. Or about selling a novel 3 times? Kind of, yes. Or is it about the fact that, even when it looks to someone else like someone has all their shit together, that looks are usually deceiving?

You know what I have to say to that, smile on the outside, my friends. Always smile on the outside. Because letting them see you cry on the inside – what good does that do? None. It does no good.

Take care, and keep an eye out. Got a two-part blog coming at you soon. It will be about writing, Not heart-on-the-sleeve stuff, promise. I call it, Writing Is Like Going To The Gym. Great title, right? Whatever J

I’m out …

Phillip Tomasso

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Writing Is Like Having A Baby

Writing a novel is about telling a story; about creating characters and making them real, three-dimensional. The process, I assume, is a lot like pregnancy. You spend months and months getting ready for the manuscript to be completed. You worry about it while you are writing. You try to feed your imagination with with relevant and inspiring thoughts during the process.

You can't help be prepare for the potential results of the finished product. Envisioning book covers; winning awards and hitting coast-to-coast bestseller lists. Your dream and dream as the page and word count grows and grows.

Let's not forget worrying, too. Authors do that. A lot. Before beginning to write. While writing. And once the work is actually published and for sale. Oh, the worrying. It never, never ends. You think it might. You say you won't be "One of those authors," but once the book hits store shelves. You are. You become "One of those authors."

Before writing, you take notes. You make lists. Pro's and Con's to telling the story. You wonder, aren't there already enough stories? Do I really have any business bringing another into this world?

While writing, you are nothing but preoccupied with plot, and setting. With dialogue and ensuring every word moves the story forward. Does the opening grab the reader? Is the middle fluff-less? Is the ending a surprise, and unexpected?

Will people even care what happens to my characters, the way I care!

It's enough to have you pull hair off your head! Have Mercy!

Then, once the book is on sale, and your are in a bookstore, you want to take your novel off a bottom shelf and insert it eye-level next to James Patterson and Stephen King books. It's what's best for your book. Why wouldn't you? You're only trying to be a supportive author. You're only attempting to ensure your novel gets a fair shake at being bought ... by a stranger!

A stranger! If someone you don't know buys and reads your book, you feel like you might throw-up!

This isn't your Mom. Your Wife. Your Kids!

This is a stranger.

They might not like it! They might actually tell you they don't like it!

Worse--they could post a review, publicly, and tell EVERYONE they don't like it!

And yet, despite all the pre- and post-fears of writing, we do it anyway. We know we may never sell the manuscript. Or that the book might not be well received. Or critically destroyed. That doesn't stop us. Because the story is still inside. And needs to be told, for whatever reason.

Writers write.

Have an awesome day,

Phillip Tomasso


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October 14, 2012 : THE GROUP IS BROKEN

The date? Just days away. It is a significant date. Why? The Walking Dead’s Season 3 premieres. If you are a zombie fanatic—no, no—a Walking Dead Fanatic, then you have been counting down the days from last season’s season finale.

Starting October 14, 2012, I will be blogging live during the show, and every Sunday evening. The blog will consist of personal commentary, descriptions and my interpretation of what is to come.

*NOTE, I have not read the graphic novels. I do not know what some people “know”, and prefer to guess. So my predictions may be way off base. But whatever. Additionally, feel free to comment, ask questions, or add info!

In preparation of Sunday’s Main Event, I wanted to provide a list of Main and Recurring Characters for quick reference and review the last few episodes of Season 2.

Rick Grimes—The Sheriff, and main character (Andrew Lincoln)

Lori Grimes—The Sheriff’s wife (Sarah Wayne Callies)

Carl Grimes—The Sheriff’s son, becoming slightly annoying (Chandler Riggs)

Andrea—The Blond, who gets tougher and tougher (Laurie Holden)

Glen—Dating Maggie Greene, Hershel’s daughter (Steven Yeun)

Dayrl Dixon—Perhaps my favorite Redneck with a Crossbow (Norman Reedus)

Hershel Greene—Maggie’s father, and owner of the farm (Scott Wilson)

Carol Peletier—Sophia’s Mom. Enough said, possible love interest to Dayrl  (Melissa McBride)

T-Dog—A very, very underdeveloped character, a shame (IronE Singleton)

… And those who were significant and died …

Shane Walsh—The Sheriff’s one-time best friend (Jon Bernthal)

Dale Horvath—The Conscience of the group (Jeffrey DeMunn)

RECAP(ish):

When Randall is captured, and held captive in the barn on Hershel’s farm, the group is shocked to learn that he consorts with a group of more than 30 armed men. They’ve killed and raped. Clearly dangerous, and obviously holed up somewhere close to the farm, a decision is made to terminate Randall. The only one opposed to the execution is Dale. The constant, numbing voice of reason.

When Dale is subsequently attacked by a Walker, and dies, to honor his memory the group agrees to let Randall go. They’ll drive him off and leave him somewhere far, far from the farm. Shane, sensing this is a bad idea, leads Randall into the woods and snaps his neck. Unfortunately, despite not having been bitten or scratched by a Walker, Randall turns.

Rick confronts Shane. He knows Shane plans to murder him. The truth is, Rick knows that Shane is out of control. Going insane. And in turn, that he must kill Shane. A knife to the chest does the trick and Shane dies. Sort of . . .

When Rick turns and see his son, Carl, witnessed Shane’s murder—like Randall, without having been bitten or scratched by a Walker, Shane turns—he is stunned to find Carl pointing a gun at him. When Carl fires the gun, it is not Rick who is shot. It’s Shane. A bullet to the head.

The gunfire attracts the Walkers in the area. The farm is surrounded. The group scrambles to get away. Some are killed. Andrea is left behind. Most reunite on the main road

Rick is forced to tell the group two things. The guy at the CDC confided in him before the place exploded that EVERYONE has the Walker virus. When you die (of “natural” causes), you will turn into a Walker. No way around it. And two, this is no longer a democracy. He’s in charge. Like it, or not.

Andrea, alone in the woods, is almost taken down. She is saved when a woman/ninja with two armless Walkers chained-in-tow, save her life … Freaking awesome!

As the Season ends – the camera pulls back and reveals not far from the group is a giant prison … Is it possible that Randall’s group of violent men are using the prison as their sanctuary? Is it probable that Rick’s group will seek refuge at the prison? I think, yes . . .

As always, take care and best wishes!

Phillip Tomasso

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Think Outside the Box: Death to the Introvert

Writing is solitary. You do it alone. You generate characters, worlds, and stories from your imagination. It’s creative. You are considered an artist. It’s a pretty good feeling. I love it, the writing process. I treat it like brushing my teeth. Stick to a routine. You get yourself into a habit of writing, and it becomes second nature. Mornings work well for me. Make my coffee. Turn on my laptop. Pop buds in my ears. Put on Pandora. And begin.

However, writing is only one hat an author can wear. It’s not like decades ago. Writers wrote. Publishers not only published, they handled marketing, advertising and public relations. Budgets existed. Those days are gone. Wouldn’t make sense to hold your breath. I believe now that most publishers pushed marketing, advertising and public relations off their plate and onto the laps of writers, there is little chance they will ever take on that responsibility again. But that’s just me. You want to cross your fingers, cross ‘em. Holding your breath, that just seems risky.

I’ve always said, “Writer’s write because they love to tell stories, while getting published is icing on the cake.” Now that a book has been published (which is no easy feat), the hard part begins. Generating sales. Sales are important for one main reason. And that reason has nothing to do with making millions of dollars. In fact, if you write because you think you are going to make millions – you might as well go back to holding your breath.

I’ve done hundreds of book signings. For the release of each novel, I tend to schedule anywhere from ten to fifty signings a year. At each signing, I may sell anywhere from zero to forty copies. Many days I sat at a table and stared at my pen, or directed customers to the calendar aisle and restrooms. It’s a tough, but necessary gig. Below I am going to elaborate on six (6) ways to market and advertise your novel in a non-obnoxious way:

Book Signings. Book signings with chain AND independent book stores in your area and surrounding counties. Generally, give yourself an 80-90 mile radius. Gas is expensive, but the exposure is convenient. Once the signing is booked, create several 8x11 flyers advertising the book/date/time of the event, and send them directly to the bookstore to be hung for a month prior to your event.

Print/Web Notifies. Once you have several book signing events booked, generate a press release that contains the book’s info, a synopsis, and your contact information. Send it to big and small newspapers in the areas of the stores you will be visiting. See if you can obtain an actual contact, and “force” an interview, or blurb to be included in an edition near or on the day of your event. Be sure to also check those newspaper websites, many have a Calendar of Events page. And many will let you list your event, free. (Key word there, free).

Radio. Same as Number 2 – but contact ANY and all radio stations. Do not shy away from college stations. They are often very receptive to author interviews.

Sample Chapters. Take your 1^st two chapters, the book’s back cover synopsis, order information and your bio/website and make a two to three page booklet (folded over 8x11—with a saddle stitch – or two staples at the center). Then what do you do with these booklets? No. That is so not the question. The question is, what DON’T you do with these booklets! Leave them at doctor/dentist office waiting rooms, airplane seat pockets, thumb tacked on cork boards – I don’t know, be creative. I’m just giving you tips. Not doing your marketing/advertising for you :-)

Target Audience. My most recent novel is a vampire story. In my area there is a giant walk-thru haunted mansion. Runs from September to the end of October. I am working to coordinate a book signing, or several signings at his location in an empty warehouse. My target audience is the crazy people willing to pay money to get the heck scared out of them. I also have a novel coming out about a Little League Baseball player. Come the spring, I will be trying to schedule events at the Double A ball park, and have copies of the book sold at Little League concession stands.

Social Media/Twitter/Blogging. I am going to guess I don’t need to explain too much here. However, if using Facebook, be sure to set up a separate author page from your main, personal account. Invite people to “Like” that author page. This ensures you don’t annoy family and friends with endless posts begging people to buy your book. (I still bug them. I don’t care. Want to delete me, feel free). Make sure you link your FB/Twitter/Blog accounts, so that when you write a new blog, it is automatically pulled and posted onto your other accounts.

I will be writing more on obtaining reviews, endorsements, and speaking engagements. 

As always, take care and best wishes!

Phillip Tomasso

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Evelyn Cullet Interviews Phillip Tomasso

Hello Phillip. It was nice of you to grant me this interview for your novel’s upcoming August release date.

1. Pulse of Evil is an interesting title. How did you come up with it?

It’s a vampire novel. Unique—if I do say so myself. In the story, the Pope has a team of priests and nuns that sole responsibility is to hunt down and kill vampires. So it is important for the Vatican to keep a … pulse on evil.

2. Tell us about your novel.

I tried to play with the stereotypes of vampires some. And of course, keep a love-story at the center. In Pulse of Evil, the main character is involved with a woman. He does not realize she is a vampire. When they get into a car accident, he is mortally wounded. She saves his life by trying to turn him. However, the turn is not complete until a first kill is made—or until human blood is ingested. My main character fights this transition, despite growing weaker and weaker. Ultimately, he is on the run. The woman’s family has to either get him to change, exterminate him, since he knows too much. Taking some refuge in a church, the main character confesses all to a priest – who in turn, contacts the Vatican.

3. Where did you get the idea for this story?

Long before Twilight, >wink wink<, I have been fascinated by vampire stories. Have read most novels out there. And have written a few manuscripts in my time. None good enough to move forward with until, Pulse of Evil. The actual idea – I dreamt it. Of being in a psych-ward, hiding from vampires. Was quite the nightmare!

4. Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?

This list will not surprise many. However, I grew up with a reading disability. Did all I could to never read. Wasn’t until 7^th grade that I actually read my first novel. It was an assignment. It was S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders. Read it cover to cover. Went on to read, Rumble Fish, That Was Then This Is Now and Tex. Once I finished with those, I was hooked. Never before realizing that books could actually be better than TV, I began to devour every novel by Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and John Saul. I still prefer to read horror, but my list of favorite reads expands regularly, if not daily.

5. Is anything in your book based on real life experiences or purely all imagination?

Oh, I think I put a lot of real life into every story I write. A lot of “me” can be found in a little of each character. My dry sense of humor, my outlooks, my fears … Yes. To call each novel a snap-shot of autobiographical-fiction would not be far from the truth.

6. What has been the toughest criticism given to you as an author?

While my first short story was published in 1984, and I have since sold more than 100 short stories, 9 novels and 2 middle grade books – the criticism has spanned the spectrum. However, some of the best things I’ve learned are, fiction still needs to be factual. Keep sentences short and simple. Dialogue needs to be crisp—so read your scenes out loud to test it for authenticity. There’s more. Always more. These three stand out most.

7.  How have your personal experiences affected your writing?

In 2007 my wife and I separated after 15 years of marriage. Worst thing to ever happen in my life. My work, since, has become more gritty. A bit darker. Unfortunately, I like it. The awfulness of divorce has improved my writing. Tough to admit. But true. Some silver lining, huh?

8. How did you choose the genre you write in?

I have tried reading literary works. Classics. I just don’t enjoy them. I need something that … happens. Page one. Intensity. Something that drives me to keep turning pages. Time is of the essence. That kind of thing. I remember reading Cannery Row. I thought, when I finished, am I missing chapters here? Nothing happened. I am not putting down Steinbeck. Just saying. So I prefer to write fiction that is similar to what I like to read. Suspense. Thrillers. Horror.

9. What project are you working on now?

I have two books previously released (Tenth House, Third Ring) that feature a private investigator who’s client’s and cases teeter on the edge of supernatural. I am working on the third in this series that I call, First Fragments. And I am also turning a recently published short story, “Vaccination,” into a novel – and deals with zombies. Love zombies nearly as much as vampires. And with The Walking Dead’s huge success, I have high hopes for this manuscript.

10.  Is there anything you’d like to say to your readers?

I love email from people who have read my work. As I’ve stated, I have 9 published novels out there. If you are in a hurry to see what I’ve written while waiting for Pulse of Evil to be released, please Google my work. I like to tell people, I am very Google-able! Thank you for taking the time to interview me. I’ve enjoyed the questions very much!

No Idea Why This Blog Looks So Funny. Best I Can Say Is...Sorry :)

Take care,

Phillip Tomasso

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The Fourth D

Writing is a solitary experience. It is like most anything else. It's about what I call the 3-D's: Discipline, Dedication and Drive. You have to want it, yes. But you actually have to work at it. A writing routine is important. Getting into a routine is key. I sometimes suffer there. I have the time. There is a fourth D. It' can be a killer to a writer. A downer. (No, Downer is not the fourth D).

Distraction. That's it. The Fourth D. Distraction.

Remember the song, Video Killed the Radio Star?

Facebook and other social networks killed the writer.

I remember back when I wrote on a typewriter. There was no internet. I mean, there might have been. People didn't have home computers. Facebook wasn't alive. Breathing. Twitter was more of a sound-effect. Birds flapping wings.

I wrote my first horror novel on a typewriter. The Party House. A slasher story. Took place in a ... well, yes, a party house. I was a fourteen year old busboy at the time. It was all I knew. It's what I wrote about. And I wrote about it without distractions.

Back in 2000, my first novel was published. Mind Play. A psychological thriller. I was then on target. Released a new book every year for seven years. Life got in the way. It has been a while since I've had a new book come out. That is until now.

Pulse Of Evil was recently released. It's in E-book and Paperback format. I have three other manuscripts started, and a young adult novel still under consideration by a different publisher.

It is the three started manuscripts that bother me. They, in and of themselves, are now a distraction. I know why. It's like being so hungry at a restaraunt, that you can't decide what to order. Too much selection. That is a distraction. Especially when you think it all sounds so yummy.

I know what I need to do. Of course I do. It's like wanting to lose weight. You know what you have to do to drop pounds. Meal portions, exercise and lots of water. It's simple. But people would rather spend money to meet goals. Weight Watchers, and diet-fads, buy books and videos on how-to. Those are not needed. They are frivolous at best. Meal portions, exercise and lots of water. Quite simple.

What I need to do is pick one tale.

One.

And finish it. Slave away at it. And get it done.

It's not like the other stories vanish if I concentrate on just one. They won't. They'll still be there. Waiting for my attention.

The tough part, though, is picking which one deserves my utmost dedication.

While writing this, I have narrowed the choices down to two. Hopefully by the time I hit "publish" I will have selected which manuscript I will choose and vigorously move forward...

Hmmm. I think I know.

In the mean time, while I get back to writing -- because, yep, you guessed it, blogging is not much different than Facebook, and Twitter, and YouTube, and the Internet -- it's part of the Fourth D. Blogging, although necessary, is a distraction from my actual writing -- why don't you check out some of the links below!

Look at the time. Way behind schedule. Got to run!

Phillip Tomasso

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The Hunger Games Trilogy

I will admit, despite her being a best selling author, I have never heard of Suzanne Collins. My 19 year old son, who rarely, if ever, read anything started reading The Hunger Games as a download on his smart phone. In weeks he had read three novels. All by Collins, all part of this Hunger Games trilogy. He kept telling me, "Dad, you have got to read them."

I am not opposed to reading Young Adult novels. Quite the contrary. I read plenty of them. Both best selling series, and individual titles (which include, naturally, the Harry Potter saga, and Twilight epidemic). When I saw my boss at work reading them, I thought -- there's gotta be something here. I mean, I looked the book up. I read the synopsis. And while it sounded so-so, I wasn't compelled.

Online I read the first chapter of the first book. It did not move me, immediately. I had a general sense what the story was, or so I thought. I kept picturing the popular short story, The Lottery. And, well, for the most part, it is comparable.

However, there is a lot more depth and character enrichment. As there should be. One is a short story. The other, a trilogy.

What I did then was order all three books on-line. (While my own novels are now mostly available for Kindle, I do not own a Kindle or Nook. And do not prefer reading books that way. Even though I have Kindle and Nook software on my iPhone, I cannot even for a moment understand the desire or need to read an entire novel on my cell...but that's just me, I guess. Old fashioned).

I found I could not wait for the books to arrive.

I am not going to summarize any of the stories in this blog. Way I see it, if you haven't heard of this best-selling trilogy, or at the very least, seen trailers for The Hunger Games movie due out in theaters in a week, then my taking you through the stories in a blog is pointless.

In hours I devoured the first book. At Christmas, my three kids and I became archers. When I say archers, I mean I invested in bows for the four of us. Joined a range where we can shoot target practice up to 30 yards. A wonderful indoor facility. We are not hunters. At all. Not sure I could shoot a deer, or even a turkey--unless survival depended on it. But the game of archery, the skill behind it, is challenge enough! We love it. Ah, but I digress. Where was I . . .?

I devoured the first book in hours. I think I felt a connection to Katniss and Gale. If, at first, for the simple fact that they hunted using the stealth of bows and arrows. But quickly, and I mean quickly, cared about them as characters. Especially Katniss.

Katniss, in my opinion, is the exact opposite of Bella.

You know who Bella is, right?? Please, do not make me explain.

Bella is the polar opposite of Katniss. The opposite end of the rainbow. Thank God.

While I suffered through Bella's teenage angst filling chapters with endless whining, Katniss compelled me to continue reading because of the abundance of strength, despite natural fear.

The three books caught me by surprise. Each ending left me wanting more -- having not guessed the final direction the books would take.

While Suzanne Collins was someone I never heard of, I know her now. She writes in a simple fashion. Despite a complex plot filled with politics and levels of altered states, it is easy to follow. The picture she paints with her words is crisp and concise.

I have not seen the movie(s). But will. I only hope they are not destroyed the way I felt the Twilight movies desecrated the novels. Already, however, and sadly, some of the characters casted in the film are so far off from what my imagination imagined ... it is going to be difficulty for me to fully enjoy the movie. For example, Rue. The actress portraying Rue -- not what I pictured. At all.

Alas, the book is always better than the movie.

My recommendation -- at the very least, read The Hunger Games before seeing the movie :-) But, hey, that's just my humble opinion. A lot happens in the book. And I can't believe the movie will express it all or as eloquently as Suzanne Collins did in her novel1

Enjoy,

Phillip Tomasso
Author of Pigeon Drop, Johnny Blade, Adverse Impact, Convicted, Third Ring, Tenth House, Mind Play -- and as Thomas Phillips, The Molech Prophecy

BLUE--All Things Blue

No idea when, or how it started. Goes back to the beginning, best I can recall. My beginning. Not the over all beginning. I couldn't know that, but suspect--however--that it just might be so. That it might date back, all the way back to the beginning. Of time, that is. 

See, I don't eat or drink anything that is blue.It sounds silly, crazy, ludicrous, whatever. It is what it is. If something is blue, I won't eat it. Won't drink it. It's more like, actually, I can't. The thought of doing so makes me gag. Choke. 

I once opened a watermelon dum-dum sucker. Stuffed that bad boy right into my mouth. I was talking. Not paying attention. The candy tasted awesome. Loved it. When I took a breath from whatever long-winded tale I was spinning, I removed the stick from my mouth, and my eyes opened wide. The ball of hard candy at the end was blue. Blue! It's watermelon flavored. When was the last time you saw a blue watermelon? Green rind. Red inside. Wet. Juicy. Black seeds. But blue? Blue? 

I threw out the dum-dum, and picked up the garbage pail. Held it under my face. I thought I might hurl. Didn't want to vomit in front of everyone. Wasn't sure I could help it. The thing was blue!

Let's not get me all wrong. Blue is actually my favorite color. I'm a NY Yankees fan. How could I not love blue? When it comes to food and drinks. Blue is out.

And I feel the loss.

In the summer, blue Gatorade looks so damned refreshing.

Birthday cakes, cupcakes are almost always decorated in blue frosting, or highlighted with blue frosting, spoiling the entire baked treat for me, myself and I.

You think I'm kidding, right? Just needed a spoof for a funny blog.

Not so. Not so at all. 

Facebook has a Blue Food Phobia page. Oh yeah. I joined. Didn't even realize it existed until I decided to write this blog.

Found this on the Internet:
"It is hard to find natural food with blue color, because mother nature does not produce blue food. Blue is said to be an appetite suppressant. Color greatly affects our hunger."--Takako Hara, "Hunger and Eating". California State University, Northridge/Spring 1997

I don't think the color has anything to do with appetite. If you know me, you know my appetite is hardly suppressed. Regardless, maybe blue does something to me. Affects me.

I don't have any clear direction for this blog. I am just -- hoping, to share with everyone -- trying to explain that blue food, blue drinks ... in short, they suck. I don't want to see them. Taste them. I do not want to drink them. Eat them.

Simply put, if I dated Smurfette -- she'd be one very unsatisfied girlfriend. See what I'm saying?

All right! Enjoy!
--Phillip Tomasso
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On Writing . . . I Suppose

I don't know. Been having a rough time with writing. Not the actual writing part. But watching everything change in the publishing world. Not easy. Never has been. But, I guess like Kodak, I am still not comfortable with the digital world. I prefer paperbacks and hardcover novels as opposed to electronic Kindles, and Nooks.

A good friend let me borrow her Nook so I could read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo before the movie came out. She actually had the entire series on there. Didn't mind how long it took me to read them. I kept her Kindle for almost three months and barely read any of the first book. Just couldn't get into it.

Ironically, a few months back, many of my older novels were re-released electronically for Kindle. Including two new novels. Convicted and Pigeon Drop.

I am hard at work on two new novels. One is a zombie horror story, based on my recently published short story, Vaccination. The other is the third installment in the Nicholas Tartaglia series (Tenth House, Third Ring) that I am calling First Fragments.

The goal is to continually write new blogs. Ones that I hope my friends and family, and new followers, will re-post on Facebook, and Twitter, and share with anyone and everyone they can possibly share information with -- which shouldn't be asking too much, now should it?

You all have a great day. I need to get back to writing!

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A Night At Pineapple Jacks--Me and Eight Girls

You know, in my first blog, I "changed the names to protect the innocent." But you know what? If you made your way into one of my blogs, chances are there's nothing innocent about you. Chances. But regardless. (Or as some people I know mights say, irregardless ..."

As a novelist, I am often asked the question: "Where do you get ideas for your stories?" (Now you can google me. But you won't find me. My name is not Chase N. Nichols. So writing these blogs is going to do nothing to help me sell books. But I am not writing the blog to sell books. Like I say in my bio -- it's therapeutic. It's all about the therapy).

Anyway, the short answer is, (and the question was ... "Where do you get ideas for your stories"?) the ideas just come to me. And that is the truth. I don't dream them. I don't struggle to come up with plots. I just, all of a sudden, have an idea and then grab a pen and pad (or napkin), and scribble out the basics of the idea.

However, that new story idea, is just that, an idea. The work I put in comes from fleshing out the idea to make it three-dimensional. Plausible. Believable.

A key to good storytelling, is realistic characters. Crisp dialogue. And plenty of action, regardless of genre. Action is what keeps readers turning pages.

One night, I was overwhelmed with inspiration.

See, I posted on Facebook that I was headed down to a local watering hole to watch the Yankees/Orioles game. A good friend said she'd see me there. It was "Girls' Night Out" and I was invited to intrude on the get-together.

Most of the women going, I knew. Most I had not seen in 20 years. Not since high school. Yeah, I'm that old.

I arrived at Pineapple Jacks a bit before seven. Found a place at the bar and ordered a drink. I paid with a twenty. The barmaid, always chatting up patrons, forgot to give me change back. I tried not to get anxious. But twenty bucks for one drink ... it was hard to not fidget on the stool.

When she came back around, the guy next to me held out money. She took it as he said, "This wasn't my change."

She made a stupid, Oops-face, and goshed, gollied, and gave me back my change. What did I do? I bought the guy next to me a bubble (next-drink-on-me-kind-of-thing), as a kind of a reward for returning-a-lost-wallet idea. We shook hands, he thanked me, I thanked him. In return, the barmaid gave me a bubble. Karma?

I'm going to admit something here. Two years prior, I had no idea what a "bubble" was. Me and this girl Franca met out for drinks. She bought me a bubble. The barmaid slid a shot glass in front of me. Mouth down. So I said, "What's this?"

"A bubble," the barmaid said.

"Oh, no," I said, and pushed the shot glass toward her. "I only drink beer."

Franca and the barmaid laughed at me pretty good. I got married at twenty-one. Had my first son by twenty-two. I didn't know much about bars, and bar-slang.

A bubble--good for a next drink free. Just in case any of you reading this were like me, and had no idea what I was writing about.

So my friend Mindy showed up. Said she and her friends had a table out front. In back was smoking. I smoked. I guess some of the other ladies did not. I followed Mindy. Turned out I was the only guy among eight women. Not a bad night, eh? No. Not at all. Not at first, anyway.

We spent an hour catching up. Turns out most of the women hadn't seen each other since school, either. Cell phones with pics of kids and husbands were passed around. Memories shared. An abundance of laughter ensued. Blah, blah, blah, right? But it was all good. All fun. I was having a good time. Hadn't even watched an inning of the ballgame.

Unfortunately, like I said, I smoke. Bad habit. Filthy. But I do. So did a few of the women. Four of us entered the smoking section of the bar. (One of the only bars I know of in Monroe County that has a smoking section, part of why I love going there so much).

While Mindy went to the bar, Abby, Kim and I found a table. Turns out, Mindy was harassed by a large man while waiting for a glass of water. The guy, apparently, was rude and obnoxious. His comments too vile to post on a public blog.

When she came back to the table, so did he. Mindy, tough like she is, told the guy off, in equally obnoxious language.

See. I'm the guy at the table with four girls. There's an obligation to stand up to the man and put an end to the situation.

So I did. I turned to the guy. He sat next to me. I said, "Look, you're upsetting my friends. We're just here to hang out. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the table."

Don't think he expected me to stand up to him. His buddies were at the table behind us. He looked at Mindy, who wasn't listening to him, and said to me, "She's got balls." Then he turned to me. "And you got bigger balls."

But he stood up. Was ready to leave. Mindy missed the exchange. The guy was up, and staring at me. She must have misread it. So what did she do? She started in on him. Insults flying from her mouth so fast and furious, all I could do was cringe. AT one point, perhaps her crowning moment, she called him a "fat-fucking-keg," and made like a basketball hoop with her arms outstretched to mimic the size of the guy's gut.

I said to Mindy, "Dear, I handled it."

She wasn't listening. Kim and Abby tried to tell Mindy, it was over. That I'd handled it. But Mindy, she was on a roll. I can't recall much of else of what she said, of what she called this man, but I do recall feeling my intestines coil, and my bowels liquefy some.

I expected a chair over the back of the head, or a sucker punch to my ear. Something. Anything. It had to be coming.

After all, this guy wasn't going to hit a girl. He was going to hit me. Right? Of course right. Mindy would piss him off and I'd get the shit kicked out of me by Keg and his buddies.

Kim, who'd just told me a story about a fight she'd been in at Roller City, had used one of her roller skates to pound an adversary and assured me--had a bru ha ha erupted--she had my back. Abby, who'd also shared some fight-stories from her youth, let me know she was ready to use her chair to smack the guy across the back of his head if necessary--despite just having undergone back surgery. And Mindy--no doubt--was ready to duke it out from the get-go.
What happened next caught us all off guard. Keg and his pals simply left. I'd love to say it was me that intimidated the group to swiftly exit. But it would be fairer to say, though harder to admit, that I think if anything, Mindy scared the shit out of them.

Eventually, we finished our cigarettes and made our way to the other half of the bar outside of the smoking section, where we rejoined our friends.Of course, we recapped what just happened. Everyone laughed. Apparently at my expense. At least it felt that way.

"If Kim had a roller skate with her, I'd have felt a lot more prepared," I'd said. This, for some reason, made everyone laugh ... more. My imminent doom seemingly caused much delight.

What I took out of the event?

Emotions. They'd surged.

Anger: that some guy would continually insult my friend.

Fear: not for me, mind you, but for the obnoxious guy. I don't think he knew the hornet's next he'd stirred was buzzing and ready to sting, relentlessly.

Courage: for not having backed down.

Inspiration: because I knew I'd get a blog out of the deal, and some character attributes to store away for use in future writings.

All in all. It had been a great night, with many, many inspirations tucked away.

Had I of stayed home, on the sofa, in jammers, and watched the Yankees game on TV, I'd have missed out on all the free inspiration oozing at Pineapple Jacks.

What I don't know, what I may never know is, did the Yankees even win? I missed the entire game!

Until next time ....

Chase N. Nichols
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