JE Gurley

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A little science in my fiction, please.

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I thought I might not have given thew new Ghostbusters a fair shake. I quit watching after 30 minutes and thought it was not funny at all, boring in fact. recently, I watched the entire movie, and if anything, it got worse. I didn’t like the trite humor, the over-worked sight gags, and really hated the old Ghostbuster cast member cameos, especially the ghosts. It just reminded me how good the original was.  There were a few good moments, but too few and too far between to save it.  I won’t say much about the science, but the reverse the polarity and everything returns to normal bit was disappointing.

I watched Ghost in the Shell. I loved the anime version, but this one had lackluster acting. She was a reconstruct with no memory, but she was human. She didn’t act like it. The sensory overload almost killed me. I’m sure the cityscape was great, but there was so much holographic imagery and special effects it was difficult to focus on any one thing. I probably missed a lot. They stayed true to many of the scenes from the anime, but veered away at the wrong times. I hated the ‘Luke, I’m your father’ plot. It is over used. They could have done much better. All in all, I did like it, but it fell way short of my expectations. I’ll take the anime version any time.

It seems far too many movies that claim a strong science background blow it. Martian came closest. Gravity was ridiculous. Life was a rehash of so many sci-fi horror movies it was difficult to keep my mind on the movie.  I kept thinking of similar plots. That little sucker got around that space station like he had the schematics in his head. Passengers sucked. I can’t say anything good about it, except I guess it’s okay to fall in love with the guy who condemned you to death because he was lonely. I guess I’m jaded. I’ve read all the classic sci-fi and watched the classic movies. Old movies had lousy special effects but usually better acting. Remakes rarely outshine the original.

I like to see real science in sci-fi movies. Most of the science is easy to double-check. Please, Hollywood, get it right.

Pitfalls of Writing

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Writing is a solitary sport. No teams, no fans waving foam fingers, no waves, or hurrahs. No sexy cheerleaders fawn over you, and no one pours Gatorade over your head if you win. If you’re lucky, you as an author like what you produce, and people will agree and buy your book. Again, if you’re lucky, 1 in 100 will leave a review, good or bad. Few writers earn a living. Some, like me, earn enough to make it worth the time and effort. I would write even if I made no money. I did it for years. You have to love writing to write.

I meet people all the time who want to give me ideas (Think really bad Scy Fy channel movies) or say they’ve always wanted to write. It’s difficult not to laugh in their faces. It’s like saying I’ve always wanted to be a basketball player, but I can’t shoot and I’m, 5’2″. If you want to write, you will find a way. I know writers with family, jobs, and kids who write when they find the time, but they still write. It takes willpower.

I know writers who suffer from depression. I image it has to be rough. I’ve never been clinically depressed, just bummed out, but they suffer through the hard times and grasp tightly to the good ones. If they can continue to write, how can I complain. How can anyone? Writing isn’t a hobby for most; it’s a way of life.

There are always pitfalls. Life gets in the way. It’s difficult to keep a good mood in a story when life falls apart around you. I’m lucky. My life is good. Well, less luck than planning, but luck helps. Family and friends die, pets die, illnesses pop up, bills come due – This is life and it can bring you down. I write horror, future apocalyptic Young Adult sci-fi, and dark military sci-fi. I can use bad moods or a flaming funk to power my words to push the story forward. It helps burn out the rage.

I’ve never had writer’s block. There maybe were times I should have, but I kept writing anyway. I tossed a lot of it, but I wrote. It’s therapy. The art of writing – grammar, story arc, character building, world building – can be a pitfall. I study writing books constantly and review my writing to make sure I avoid cliches and tired verbs and adverbs. Story arc and building is done with Pick-Up Sticks. (Anyone remember those). They sway and tumble, scatter and clutter, but with practice and perseverance you can pick them up and reassemble them in the proper order.

Most Pitfalls can’t be avoided, other than people who tell you to stop writing. Them you have to kill. (Well, ignore anyway) The challenge is to turn a bottomless pit into a shallow depression, climb out, and keep writing.

This philosophy also works for non-writers, I think. No guarantees. I just know when life hands you limes, you throw those suckers at people you don’t like as hard as you can. Then you laugh like a fool, pick them up, and make margaritas for everyone.

Keep writing. Keep reading.http://www.jamesgurley.com

In the Middle

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In A Daze  I glanced up from my keyboard and realized it is almost June, the middle of the year! Time flies when you’re having fun, or even if you’re not. Since I retired to a life of music and writing (Ahh), I keep track of time differently. I go to bed when I’m tired, get up when I awaken(or the kitties get restless), and know what day it is by my desk calendar. Kim goes to Re-fit classes on Tuesday night, garbage is picked up Tuesdays, I meet friends for dinner on Thursdays, re-cycle goes out Thursdays. My band practices whenever we can. We play out on Friday or Saturday night. Kim is off weekends, so we might do something, but most of the time we just relax. Unless an event arises or my wife tells me, I’m not sure what day it is. It could be the first signs of dementia, but I think it’s just that I don’t care any more.

Anything I care to watch on television, and the lists gets shorter each year, I tape to watch whenever I feel like it. I write a while, practice guitar or keyboards, do research for novels, research songs, social media, all in short sessions repeated throughout the day and night. I could be a hermit; I’m not a social animal, but Kim and I interact throughout the day. She works from home, but her day is half over by the time I usually wake up. Afternoons are free for errands or naps. We try and watch some television together, but she’s in bed by 8:30 and rises at 3:00 a.m. to start work.

I never imagined retirement when I was a chef, or any of the numerous other jobs and professions I’ve worked at: lab technician, sales, factories, oil field worker, demolition, trucking, lawn care, etc. Work seemed the be-all end-all. It’s sweet revenge for all the time lost to earning a wage, and then scrambling for recreation on weekends.

June. It seems it was just January. Of course, I live in Arizona. It’s 100 degrees out now. In January it was only 80. I sit at my desk with a view of the Tortilito and Catalina Mountains and the desert. I see bob cats, birds, javalina, roadrunners, pack rats, ground squirrels, lizards, quail, owls, bats, and hawks outside my window. It’s like living on a nature preserve. You can’t beat it, except maybe on a sandy beach with a view of the mountains.

Taking it Easy. I’ve learned to take it easy. Writing or playing music is relaxation personified. It has never been a job. I don’t sweat the little stuff and don’t worry about the big stuff. If I can fix it, I do. If not, worrying doesn’t help. I worked hard to take it easy, and I’m not about to blow it at this stage.

Oh yeah – Time. Half the year has slipped by, mostly unobserved. I’m sure I missed a few things. I remembered my birthday, my wife’s birthday, and our upcoming anniversary. Other things probably slipped through the cracks. I’m cancelling most of the upcoming writers conventions so KIm and I can take a ten-day Caribbean cruise next spring. Small, local events and book signings are still on the planner, but the big ones take time and money I can better spend on a sandy beach, a cruise ship balcony, or sipping on a cold Pina Colada.

June, and my wife, Kim, is already planning Halloween. It’s a big event at our house. Lots of decorations, spiders, monsters, fog machines, lights and eerie sounds. The 150-180 kids that drop by each year love it almost as much as we do. I call it practice for my next novel.

So far, 2017 has been a great year. A new novel out, The Last Marine, two more almost finished, and the band is really cooking. God willing and the NSA or Homeland Security doesn’t come after me for my internet research, the remainder of the year should be just as good.

Summation. Grok in fullness. Live long and prosper. Don’t sweat the little stuff. Eat more bacon. Love one another. Or, don’t forget that life is for living. Use it wisely. It’s the only one you’ve got.

Sailing on the Queen Mary

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This year my wife Kim, and I attended Stoker Con 2017 on the Queen Mary. It was the second Stoker Con by the Horror Writer’s Association. We were also at Stoker Con 2016 at the Flamingo in Las Vegas. Somehow, the idea of a con on a retired passenger liner seemed like a great idea. In some ways, it was.

The Queen Mary was launched in 1936, a modern luxury liner. Her ballrooms, salons, passageways, and cabins were decorated in rich wood and brass fittings. Unfortunately, she has fallen on bad times. Rust, missing and cracked tiles, chipped and water-damaged wood panels, and rotten decking make her look older than she is. The walls are paper-thin. Every sound carried. Our shower head sprayed 360 degrees and the toilet dripped. The chairs in my cabin were horribly uncomfortable.  Surprisingly, on deck there were few places to sit and enjoy the breeze. A few chairs near the shops, a handful of old and weathered chairs and tables on the port side deck, four tables near the ubiquitous Starbucks, and a few scattered benches were the only offerings. As a museum, the Queen Mary was a piece of history, but as a hotel, she left a lot to be desired.

However, Stoker Con 2017 was a success. Kudos to the HWA officers and volunteers whose hard work made it possible. My bad knee was giving me trouble. The stairs didn’t help. I used a cane and sounded like Captain Ahab stalking the deck at night. In spite of this handicap, I attended several panels, a workshop on building an author’s platform by my old friend Jonathan Maberry, a workshop on using fewer words to say more by my new friend Patrick Frievald, and several book signings and readings. As usual, I came away with more knowledge than with which I arrived. That is one goal of a con.

I also renewed old friendships, met acquaintances, and made new friends. That is the true heart of a writer’s con. Networking is the key to success, in writing as it is in any other business, and make no mistake, writing is a business. Writing can be fun and therapeutic, but to reach an audience, every writer’s goal, one must be a salesperson. Selling ideas or completed novels is every bit as difficult as selling a used car or a timeshare in Miami. The pitch sessions are one way to seek a publisher or an agent. They are a ten or fifteen-minute golden opportunity to speak face-to-face, one-on-one, and make your case. This year I had nothing to pitch, but I have sold several novels through them. I heartily suggest a pitch session when the opportunity arises. The pre-pitch panels allow you to hone your presentation and gear it to the best representative for your work.

As usual, I came away with too many books (Well, no such thing really). All were signed copies with a special place on my limited space bookshelves. Meeting George R.R. Martin was a special treat. A reading I attended by Paul Dale Anderson and Nicole Cushing revealed the darker side of horror fiction.

The real reason for the event, the Stoker Banquet and awards, highlighted the achievements of those who stood out in the horror field in 2016. Because of my health, I did not attend, but I applaud the winners of the 2016 Bram Stoker Awards.

Novel – The Fisherman by John Langan

First Novel – Haven by Tom Deady

Young Adult Novel – Snowed by Maria Alexander

Long Fiction – The Winter Box by Tim Waggoner

Short Fiction – “The Crawlspace” by Joyce Carol Oates

Fiction Collection – The Doll-Master and Other Tales of Terror by Joyce Carol Oates

Anthology – Borderlands 6 by Olivia and Tom Monteleone

Non Fiction – Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life by Ruth Franklin

Poetry Collection – Brothel by Stephanie M. Wytovitch

Graphic Novel – Kolchak the Night Stalker: The Forgotten Lore of Edgar Allen Poe

Screenplay – The Witch

The Birth of a Novel

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My latest Young Adult/New Adult science fiction novel, The Pools of Yarah, from Montag Press, has just been released. Publishing is a long process. It’s like waiting for Christmas, starting December 26th. You have rewrites, edits, more edits, cover art, more edits, review copy edits, and final publishing. A writer has usually moved ahead during this time, working on other novels. It is difficult to go back to that time frame, that character, each time to made the edits and keep it in character with the novel. Sometimes, it’s almost impossible.

Working on sequels offers the same challenges. I’m currently finishing a sequel to Oracle of Delphi, also from Montag. In the meantime, I’ve published five novels with a hundred different characters and five different plots. The Tad de Silva I knew grew up inside my head during that time, but I have to go back and regenerate the 17-year-old Tad a few weeks after Book I as if he had been asleep all that time. I know what changes he must go through, how he will develop and grow, but I can’t age him or make him wiser except in small steps. People don’t change overnight, or at least usually.

Being a writer means becoming each main character in your story, protagonists and antagonists. You must get inside their heads and make them live and Pools of Yarah cover

breathe for the reader. You must flesh them out using knowledge gleaned from your other characters; therefore, they are partly your creation and partly theirs. Placing yourself into some characters’ heads, especially really bad guys (or women), is scary. You wonder if you’re going to come out in one piece. That’s when it works for you and the reader.

Birthing a novel is like giving birth to a child, except the pain and anguish is all mental, not physical (And you don’t have to worry about them dating or wrecking the car). Once it’s in front of the public, you want to move on, but you can’t. Marketing takes a large chunk of most writers’ time. Some are good at it; some merely so-so. I admit it’s my weak point. I can sell a book face-to-face, but mass media marketing is a different animal altogether. I learn as I go. It’s probably not the best way. Kind of like learning to skydive as you go, but slightly less thrilling.

Like a young boy’s toys, at some point you have to put away your novels, trust your reading public, and move on.

Sniff. I’ll miss The Pools of Yarah. Oh, wait, I have a sequel in the works for that one too.

 

Diamond Days for Diamond Dogs

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David  Bowie is dead. Even the words are difficult to write.

Born David Robert Jones on January 8, 1947, he died January 11, 2016, just 3 days after his 69th birthday. Of all the musicians who have died over the past few years, his hits me the hardest. Though a more avid fan of his earlier works, I have found a reason to keep him on my list of top musicians and performers from almost every album he released. His passing will leave a hole in the world of music. As a musician, writer, performer, singer, producer, and actor, his life touched many people and changed the shape of music many times.

When I heard first album in 1969, Space Oddity, I was hooked. His lyrics and voice touched my soul as both a musician and a music fan. When he followed that one with Hunky Dory, and then the outrageous The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spidermen From Mars, music was never the same. Her personae and appearance changed with each album, as he reinvented himself and his music.

As if being a performer was not enough, he also produced two other of my favorite groups, Mott the Hoople, and Iggy and the Stooges. In various bands over the years, I have played tunes from Bowie, Iggy, and Mott the Hoople.

As an actor, he appeared in Labyrinth, The Man Who Fell to Earth, Just a Gigolo, and The Prestige.

In 1974 I finally got the opportunity to see him live during his Diamond Dogs Tour to promote the 1973 album. I sat enthralled by his stage presence, sweet voice, and sax playing. There are bands I have seen multiple times – Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull, Rush, ZZ Top, Bruce Springsteen – because they never got old. Bowie was on my much smaller list of groups I saw only once but wanted to see again – Queen, Yes, Bowie. I regret I’ll never have the opportunity to see him perform again.

His 1980’s albums were among my favorites – Young Americans and Let’s Dance. I found more reason to include his songs in my band’s repertoire.

In 1988 he stunned everyone by forming a new band, Tin Machine, intent on playing music without the hype. He succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. I lost track of Bowie during the 90’s until the present, not because I no longer liked him, but because life simply got in the way. As a writer and a musician, I spent less time listening to music and more time writing novels and playing in various bands, always sure to include at least one Bowie song in the list.

David Bowie has left a legacy that will be difficult for anyone to match. I am 62. In my estimation there are few bands or individuals that can keep my interest, is spite of their critical acclaim. No matter what they might do, David Bowie was there firstest with the mostest.