I have finished revisions on the first part (of five) of my Middle Grade supernatural horror novel, Something’s Wrong with Sissy. I’ve pasted the text below. I’m happy with it overall. If you like it, I’d love to hear from you with a comment.

Part One: Summer

It was this time last summer that Sissy stopped talking. I remember it clearly. We were in the backyard, near the woods. Midsummer, so it was really hot. She turned to me, face shining with sweat. She glanced at the treeline and grinned. I could see the mischief in her eyes.

“C’mon, Mags! Find me!”

Those are the last words she ever said.

She took off, clearing the lawn in no time. She had always been a fast runner. Before I could say anything, she had disappeared beyond the oaks and maples. I groaned as I got to my feet. I was tired already from the heat and really didn’t feel like moving.

“Come back, Sissy!” I yelled. “I don’t want to play!”

No response. I called out again. Nothing.

I stomped forward, slowly building up the energy for something faster than a crawl. As I reached the treeline, I shouted again.

“Sissy! I’m not playing!”

She didn’t respond. I figured she didn’t want to give away her position. She was a champ at hide and seek. It always took me forever to find her on the best of days. I was always a little annoyed by the time I found her crouched inside a box in the attic or stuffed in the lazy susan (after she had stashed the pots and pans inside the oven) or, one time, hanging from the top branch of the tree by our bedroom window.

Sissy had always been small. She was born that way. I was the big twin, that’s what people called me. Sissy was the little one. The sick one. The frail one. “Frail” was what Gramma Mullins always called her. Frail little Sissy.

But she wasn’t frail. She was strong. And fast. “A natural athlete,” our father said.

As I walked through the woods, I kept an eye up toward the sky. I was looking for a hint of her green shirt or white shorts or bright blue shoes–something to give away her position. On the ground, I gently kicked at any large piles of upturned earth or fallen acorns. She had never hid in the dirt, but I bet she could dig like a dog and make herself a spot in no time flat.

I called out again. Then again.

Nothing.

“Look, Sissy,” I yelled at the trees. “I’m seriously not playing this stupid game right now. It’s hot and I am going inside. And if you don’t come with me then I’m going to–”

I struggled to think of something appropriately wicked.

“–I’m going to throw all your books in the trash. After I burn them. I mean it!”

I screamed the last part so loud, it made my throat hurt.

Still no answer.

I was so angry by that point, I almost didn’t hear the thud.

All my anger sank to my feet and suddenly I felt scared.

“Sissy?” I called out. “Sissy, are you okay?”

I ran toward the sound, almost snagging my shoe on a tangle of branches. Some twigs stuck to my laces and I kicked them off as I ran. I spotted something white in the distance. My brain tried to process what I was seeing in the confusion of color.

White. White shorts. Green. Green shirt.

Blue.

Blue shoes.

Sissy.

I ran.

Roots scraped at my ankles, twigs crunched under my feet, leaves gathered into darkness above me. Every step seemed like a mile. I couldn’t run fast enough. Finally, I reached her. Finally, I saw her.

My sister, slumped against the rough trunk of a graying tree.

She looked like a broken bird. Arms bent at her side like dead wings. Her head at a hard angle, face turned away.

I stopped, unsure of what to do. Something inside me pushed me forward, my feet suddenly stones. My hands shook. My thoughts were nothing but a blur.
When I got close enough, I dropped to my knees beside her.

My mom always said never to move anybody who was hurt because you could make their injury even worse. While that warning was in my head, I couldn’t resist rolling her over. She was breathing, which was good. But her face. Her face was pale. Blood trickled from her nose in thin red rivers. Tears lined her eyes. A stream of saltwater trickled down her cheek and pooled inside her left ear. She stared at the sky, eyes wide, catching the beams of light breaking through the leafy cover of the woods.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. She didn’t respond. No blink, no sound.

Nothing.

I didn’t want to leave her but I had to. I cemented her location in my mind. I memorized the path I took out as I ran back home to get our parents.
Click to Read More

So I gave up writing.

It wasn’t intentional. It honestly just happened. A confluence of rejection, exhaustion, and anxiety wore me down and I stopped writing.

Outside of the day job, that is.

Time passed. Writing became something I didn’t do. I didn’t even think about it.

It was freeing. I stopped worrying about a lot of things and allowed myself to be okay with where I was in my career, in my life.

Then things started nagging at me. Unconsciously. I started to feel that anxiety when walking through a book store. I felt an aversion to reading. I got The Guilt over not having an agent and not having some big publishing contract. The tells.

The desire to write showed up soon after.

I dreaded things going back to how they had been. Back to being stuck in this constant cycle of unfulfilled ambition and unending self-defeat.

Then something else happened. I broke through a barrier, pierced some emotional membrane. I felt the need to write, the drive to create, but all those other anxieties melted away. I had the desire to go and make—and that was it. Nothing weighing me down, making me feel less-than. I fell back in love with both writing and reading without all this other baggage.

I wasn’t used to that. Depression, fear, anger had always been part of the package. Without those feelings, that creative fever I felt wasn’t a burden. It was exciting.

Admittedly, that made me nervous. I waited for the other shoe to drop and it didn’t.

Certain I wouldn’t be ambushed, I wandered into the writing fields again. I dusted off an old story of mine and started revising it. Free and clear and without. Without all those other, horrible things.

Which leads us to now and the name of this blog post. The story I’m revising, the story I’m finishing, is a Middle Grade horror novel called Something’s Wrong with Sissy. It’s a dark fable about a young girl named Margaret whose twin comes down with a strange affliction that only she can solve—or at least try to.

It’s about 20-25% of the way done now. I’ve posted some bits of it on my Twitter but will post longer excerpts here as I’m comfortable.

It appears I’m back writing. And for the first time in a while, I’m happy about that.

Stay tuned.

I published a book! A book I’ve been wanted to get out for ten years. Introducing the first book in the Little Fears Middle Grade fiction line: The Wolf Pact. Here’s a cover!

About The Wolf Pact
Eleven-year old Nate Torrance is alone. His best friend, Darren, no longer talks to him. His mom works all the time. His dad lives out of state and never calls. He’s pretty much given up on the whole idea of “friendship” until an encounter with a monster gives him a common bond with Jennifer Mills, the new girl in his class. When Darren’s little sister, Lindsay, is abducted, the two set out to save her—and discover an unexpected truth behind the monster they’re hunting and the place where all monsters live: Closetland.

How you can get it:
Kindle version on Amazon.
PDF and eBook version on DriveThruRPG.

Physical copies will be coming soon.

It’s a bit embarrassing how long it’s been since I last updated. But the reason is fairly simple: I’ve been really really busy. In addition to my duties at the day job, I’ve been working on fiction writing. I am very happy to announce that I finished the first draft of my Middle Grade novel Little Fears: The Wolf Pact. I am currently editing it for a summer release. I am also working on another kids’ book that I will shop around once it’s ready.

I’ve embedded the cover to The Wolf Pact below. Click on the link to check out LittleFears.com.

This is gonna be mostly old hat to most writers, I reckon, but every author goes through their own journey and such so this is new and revelatory to me, at the very least.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the core essence of story lately in light of a) always wanting to get better at my craft and b) having a novel make the agent rounds to some initial interest but not enough to seal a deal.

And that initial interest is a really good data point to have. I managed to move beyond the query stage with a good handful of agents but the manuscript didn’t connect enough for them to say “Yes, I must have this!” What that’s telling me is that I am far enough into my novel-writing ability to have a solid concept and my query was good enough to pique their interest but the work itself wasn’t bulletproof which is where I ultimately want my writing to be.

Turning that over, and working on my 30k word Little Fears novel, The Wolf Pact, has caused a couple thoughts to bubble to the surface.

Thought One: What’s the story about?

More a question that a thought but it’s the first question I need to answer before moving forward. It’s essential.

Now, when most folks ask “What the story about?” they mean (or at least get an answer pertaining to) the genre, details of the world and characters, and cool stuff that happens. But that’s all much lower level than I initially need to be.

For me, the answer to “What’s the story about?” is “This is a story about how [BLANK] learns [BLANK].”

Everything else is details.

In The Wolf Pact, Nate Torrance is a boy who discovers there’s a world of monsters that exists next to ours. Throughout his investigation, he makes friends with a girl named Jennifer Mills who has her own tie to monsters and, together, they uncover the truth about some wolf attacks in the area.

But, really, The Wolf Pact is a story about how Nate Torrance learns about friendship.” As his oldest friendship with his neighbor starts to fall apart, he builds a new friendship with Jennifer. That’s the essence of the story.

Also, that second blank is the story’s theme. “Friendship” is the theme of The Wolf Pact.

Thought Two: What about the protagonist is being challenged?

Okay, so this thought is another question. And it stems from the first.

If this is a story about how Nate Torrance learns about friendship, what about Nate is being challenged that leads to an epiphany? In The Wolf Pact, Nate holds firm that friendships are fixed. They don’t change. They certainly don’t end. It’s one of his principles. That his neighbor, who is older than Nate, is moving on forces Nate to try to reclaim that friendship. Jennifer wants to be friends with Nate but the boy is resistant. Not due to a flaw in Jennifer but a flaw in himself.

Thought Three: How is the theme supported?

Okay, so now we’re onto question three which calls back to question one. How am I supporting the theme? Perhaps a better term is “exploring.”

I’m exploring the theme of friendship by presenting different sides of it: the neighbor is moving on from friendship. Jennifer is trying to build a new friendship with Nate. Nate is trying to learn how friendship works. The antagonists also address this theme of friendship which is tied into the book’s name. The titular wolf pact is a core expression of friendship and how beholden one is to a promise made in youth.

Thought Four: How does the protagonist change?

Hrm. So all these thoughts are questions. Good to know.

Okay, I know the story is about how Nate learns about friendship. I know his idea that friendships don’t change is what will be challenged throughout the story. And I know I’ll explore the theme of “friendship” by showing different perspectives and stages of it. But what will ultimately change about how Nate views friendship? Once he has all this information and has seen the theme of friendship from multiple viewpoints, what does he do about it?

I won’t spoil that in this post (you’ll have to read the book to find out) but the basic options are: he accepts that friendships change or he rejects that friendships change. There are additional levels of complexity to this of course but those are the top levels I’m concerning myself with.

In Sum

With those in mind, I was finally able to approach The Wolf Pact armed with the information I needed to start. Next came outlining, developing subplots (which go through their own version of this but with a mind of supporting the established theme), and then the actual writing.

I’ll be very interested to see how this all comes together in the finished project and how everyone reacts to it. Either way, these kinds of revelations help make my writing stronger which is my ultimate goal. Is it bulletproof yet? No. But it’s another level of armor and that’s good enough for now.

Another year has ended (and I’ll write about that soon) and another one has started. All comments about arbitrary date changes aside, the beginning of a new year is as good a time as any other for reflection and declaration.

I’m not one for resolutions—no slight against them—but I am one for goals and dreams. It’s no secret that I love my day job. Writing video games is amazing and Volition is an aces place to work. I love coming into the office every day so much that I’ve become horrible at taking breaks from it. But, as do most creatives, I have ambitions beyond a single outlet. I want to create all the things—and I continue to strive to do so.

Over on Twitter, I posted the following:

Goals for 2015: Sell a novel, write a comic, continue to be a better husband, father, and friend.

— Jason L Blair (@jasonlblair) January 2, 2015

Then, a little later, I added this:

Pie-in-the-Sky Dreams for 2015: Turn @LittleFears and/or @StreetsofBedlam into a TV series.

— Jason L Blair (@jasonlblair) January 2, 2015

Now, for the top tweet, those aren’t all crazy ideas. I’ve finished three novels in my life so far and though none have connected enough to move forward to publication, I’ve learned something with each. I am currently working with an artist on doing our own comic series and we’ll see what grows from that. And I endeavor every day to be a better human being in all relations, especially my familial ones.

But that second tweet, well, that’s a bit harder.

Some folks think because I write for a living (in video games no less!) that I have some sort of power and pull when it comes to getting Big Ideas made. Maybe, inside the confines of a Volition meeting room, there’s some truth to that (though video games are all about collaboration and any “win” I have is balanced by the wins of other people) but not-so in the bigger world.

Truth is, hardly anybody knows who I am. This isn’t a cry for pity or validation; it’s simple fact. My co-workers do, for the most part, and both my tabletop and digital games have fans (who are amazing!) but on the big creative scale, where the movers and shakers do their moving and shaking, I’m just another guy with ambition. Sure, maybe some credits too, but not so many big ones that they have to take notice.

I’m trying for that by making the things I can make and meeting the people I can meet but I’m not there yet. I’m not someone who enters a room and draws attention (outside of usually being the tallest person in the room). So, I’m just another anonymous person emailing a plea for connection and fives minutes of their time. When one of my emails hits an inbox, it’s shoved into the same Will-Get-To-Later-Maybe-Or-Maybe-Not pile as the emails of anyone else who doesn’t have some real clout behind their name.

And it doesn’t help that, frankly, the creative fields are tight, crowded areas. There are SO MANY people vying for the same thing that those who swim in the big pond can’t spend their time combing through all those emails looking for brilliance without a good reason. That good reason being name recognition or a referral from a friend or something that shines a light. I can only imagine being in the position the heads of studios are in when it comes to sorting through the in-flood of Folks Who Want Work.

I followed up the above tweets with the following two:

Still holding on to the dream of writing for @archiecomics (Josie reboot!) and @Marvel (Cloak and Dagger!). #dreams #comics #writing

— Jason L Blair (@jasonlblair) January 2, 2015

Please also add Zatanna to the list of comics I want to write, alongside Josie + the Pussycats and Cloak and Dagger. Thanks.

— Jason L Blair (@jasonlblair) January 2, 2015

I wrote a comic, oh, about eight years ago (as I’ve talked about before) and I would love to get back in the field. And I’m doing that small comics project I mentioned earlier but there are some really cool established characters I’d love to take a crack at. I spent a good month putting together ideas for a Josie + the Pussycats reboot that I’d love to work on. Same for Cloak and Dagger. Zatanna’s one of my favorite characters of all time and telling one of her tales would be oh-woah-amazing. I would give blood to work on any of these titles. (And Power Pack too, as my friend Doug Snook reminded me.)

But so would a lot of people. Including folks working in comics right now. So, it’s a long shot. A really long shot. A Hail Mary pass into gale force winds. But it’s a goal. And it’s a dream. And I’m a big believer in having goals and working toward dreams. Once upon a time, working in video games was a long shot for me too.

I see myself as a creative who lives somewhere in the middle of this whole artsy mess. I write for a living but, I hope, I’m not at the top of my potential just yet. I’m just a writer trying to make it. I have my ups and downs, my successes and setbacks, but, mostly, I’m a guy with ambition. A guy who’s trying to do more and be more.

Maybe 2015 will give life to some of these dreams. Time will tell. But I’ll still be here working, no matter what the Fates have in store.

My 11yo daughter is home sick from school—which means I’m home from work—so I thought I’d take the opportunity to talk books with her. She started reading early, at about 2.5yo, and has continued to be an avid reader ever since. Most of you know that my day job is writing for video games but my extracurricular ambitions is writing fiction, especially Middle Grade books. That puts my daughter smack dab in my target audience. In order to get a better understanding of my ideal reader’s preferences and perspective, I figured I’d go right to the source.

Below is the complete text of our conversation.

Let’s start at the beginning, what first got you interested in reading?

I don’t know. I like to read.

What was the first book you remember really liking?

Junie B. Jones. I’m pretty sure Junie B. Jones came before Franny K. Stein.

What was it you liked about Junie B. Jones?

I liked Junie B. Jones.

The character?

Yeah.

What about her?

She’s funny. And her friends are funny.

What’s your favorite book right now?

Mr. Terupt Falls Again.

What do you like about it?

I like how, in the first book Because of Mr. Terupt, all the characters changed. Like Lexie was mean and then not and Peter was a troublemaker and then he became not a troublemaker and it’s all because of an event with Mr. Terupt. They all changed by the end of the book. I like how they have Mr. Terupt again as a teacher for Sixth Grade and how the characters, at the beginning, stay the same but then stuff happens to them that they weren’t expecting—I’m not going to spoil it though—and they change.

What makes you stop reading a book? Just putting it down for good?

If it’s boring and people keep talking about the same thing for two chapters.

What makes you pick up a book in the first place?

I read the back of it and I see if it’s good. Sometimes we read books in class. Like, in Fifth Grade we read books in class and that’s how I got into Because of Mr. Terupt. We listened to the audiobook.

What are you reading right now?

Third Grade Angels.

How do you like it?

It’s good.

What’s the best part of Third Grade Angels so far?

I’m not that far into the book.

Do you know who the author is?

I forget.

Who wrote Because of Mr. Terupt?

I forgot that too!

You said you loved Junie B. Jones. Do you know who wrote it?

I used to.

Who is your favorite author?

Andrew Clements. I love him. I love his books.

What’s your favorite book he wrote?

The Report Card.

If you wanted someone else to read The Report Card, how would you get them to check it out?

I would tell them how much I appreciated it. And that it seems like a good book for them to read.

Would you tell them anything about the story or characters or setting?

Well, it’s basically about this girl named Nora purposefully getting Ds for her friend Stephen and how much trouble she gets into and almost gets expelled. The whole mystery of the story is “Why would that help him?”

That’s what you’re telling me but would you say something like that to a friend?

Probably.

Have you ever recommended a book to a friend?

Not to a friend but I have to family. I’ve recommended books to you. I recommended Babymouse to [a friend].

What did you say to your friend about Babymouse?

I forget. That was like a year ago.

Do you know if she read any of the books?

Yeah. Yeah, she did. She read all of them.

So she liked them?

She liked them. Yeah.

Do you have a preference when it comes to books with illustrations versus books that are just words?

Depends on the book with illustrations. And it depends on the books with just words. Books that are this thick [spreads her fingers about two inches apart], then no. And there are a lot of books like that. And some books with pictures [puts her fingers together really close] that I’m not into. Just depends on the book.

Do you have a preference when it comes to books with magic and stuff like that versus books that are more realistic?

I like fictional books. I’m not too keen on realistic fiction. There are some realistic fictions I really love like Because of Mr. Terupt and Mr. Terupt Falls Again.

Andrew Clements writes realistic fiction, right?

Yeah. It just depends on what the realistic fiction is about.

If you had a wish to create the perfect book for you, what would the book be about?

That’s a hard one. Can I just choose a genre?

Yeah.

It would probably be… [thinks for a bit]

Would it be set in the real world?

Um, yeah. Yeah, it would be. I have nothing against sci-fi though.

What age would the characters be?

They’d probably be about my age.

Would the main character be a boy or girl?

Oh man. Hm. It would probably be a girl.

Would this girl be special in any way?

No.

We’ve talked before about how stories are about change. Would this girl change?

Um. Hm. Yeah.

How would she change?

Like, her attitude. And the way she handles things.

Would there be a bad guy or enemy?

No. Probably not.

So what would make this book so perfect for you?

Like, the problems and the reasons she has to change.

Do you prefer standalone books or ones that are parts of a series?

I like series book because then it gives you more of that character to read. One thing that kind of bothers me about Andrew Clements is that every book has a new character and you have to get used to a whole new character.

Have any of your friends recommended books to you?

No.

Never?

Not that I can remember.

Do a lot of your friends read?

Yeah.

Do they ever bring their own books to school?

Not really. Not really, no.

How important are book covers to you?

I know they say not to judge a book by its cover but most people do so it kinda has to have a good cover or I might not read it.

So what makes a good cover to you?

If it has something to do with the story. Like in Because of Mr. Terupt, the cover has a picture of a guy holding a snowball. And that fits perfectly into the story. You wonder “What does that snowball have to do with this book?”

Where you find out about new books?

Usually at school.

But not from friends at school, right?

Yeah, but from like the school library. The library at [her former elementary school], the librarians told us about really good books. That’s where I found out about Wonder. We had a competition where we had to read as many of the prize books as we could and then we’d check off the books we read off a list.

How about bookstores?

Oh yeah. Yeah. School libraries, classrooms, and bookstores. And the public library.

Do you see yourself reading a lot when you grow older?

Probably, but not as much as Abraham Lincoln.

You may remember a couple months back, a teacher friend of mine asked if I would write a survival story aimed at Middle Grade readers. Of course, I said “YES” and the short fiction piece “Rest” was the result. Well, she came to me again with a request for a story about a historic place as described by a time-traveling archaeologist with no context for what it was that person was truly seeing. Again, I enthusiastically agreed. What I came up with a (hopefully) humorous look at Champaign local landmark, The Art Theater, titled “Captive Audience.”

Captive Audience

by Jason L Blair

Hello, my good fellows of Temporus et Anachronus Historical Respect Society. I am writing you today with some troubling news.

Per the assignment given to me by President Emeritus Tiberius J. Tubbs, I have arrived at the designated location, a bastion of civilization nestled in an expansive grain field called “Champaign Illinois” in the district our forebears once labeled Midamerica. While the travel backwards in time concluded without error, our expectation of what we were to find here is actually very far from fact. Where we expected a gentle and kind tribe, instead, is home to a collection of cruel and seemingly easily-amused savages.

If I am to believe what I have seen here, one of the greatest attractions in this ancient place is a small building that bears the name “The Art Theater.” A fitting name, perhaps, because this dreadful place is home to a most barbaric “art” form. The people of this time have mastered the ability to trap their peers inside some sort of two-dimensional plane called a “screen.” Once relocated, the captives are forced, by some unseen mechanism, to reenact cultural tales over and over again as entertainment for a cold and uncaring assembly.

I have seen many such tales, from a collective of sightseers forced to evade the razor-tipped claws of prehistoric lizards to the story of a young girl swept away to a world of crazed winged primates and a green-skinned witch to a most tragic showing of a man who, upon exposure to the light of Earth’s moon, is turned into a horrific beast covered in hair and sporting a large and deadly-looking set of pointed teeth.

To further add to the audience’s savagery, they often feed upon heated and salted kernels from the surrounding grain fields–destroying their environment as well as their humanity!

As further testament to the high regard to which this barbaric practice is held, the Art Theater itself is adorned with images taken from these vile displays. The names of the participants are listed on these “posters.” I heard multiple people in attendance say they enjoy the work of some of these prisoners–I wonder just how many terrible dramas these poor souls are forced to act out!

It is my recommendation that we never return to this place. We have, as a society, evolved well beyond such archaic and brutal practices. How I long to return to the year 3807 where I can once again enjoy more enlightened entertainment such as a robogator wrestling and flaming goat dancing.

Your humble archaeologically-minded fellow,

Bodomir Jevins III

A teacher friend of mine asked if I’d be willing to help out with an assignment she’s giving her class. She needed some short fiction (4-5 paragraphs), aimed at 11-13 year olds, with a survivalist theme (her students had just read Gary Paulsen’s classic novel Hatchet). Any excuse to exercise my Middle Grade writing muscles is a good one so I eagerly agreed. Here’s what I came up with:

Rest

by Jason L Blair

The cold bit into Nathan’s hands as he climbed the hill. His bare fingers were nearly frozen. His whole body ached and protested every movement. Stop, it pleaded. Give up. Rest. The boy’s brain fought back, something deep and primal within him, No. I must go on. Each time he closed his palm on another piece of ice, he wanted to scream. A sudden burst of wind whipped around him, showering his face with fine grains of bitter snow. It felt like his face had been splashed with fire. His lips were brittle and breaking. The saltiness of his own blood coated his tongue. Above him, the sun—bright and mocking—beat down on him. All light and no heat.

As the boy crested the ridge, he saw the remains of the plane smoldering in the distance. Thick plumes of gray smoke billowed from the wreck. It was the beacon he had followed, the signal that guided him. When the craft went down, Nate and his family were in the last row. That part broke off first. He closed his eyes and could feel his seat spinning. His hands clutching the armrest. His mom, leaning close to him, whispering, “I love you, Nate. I love you.” Tears welled and almost immediately froze to his cheeks.

He heaved himself over the edge of the hill. A small crowd gathered by the remains of the cabin. The captain, whose name the boy had heard as Burley, warmed himself by a makeshift fire. The bearded man’s leg rested on an overturned service tray. Someone had knotted a bright blue blanket over his thigh. A flight attendant was packing snow into containers while a dozen other people milled about. Aside from the captain, who had given the boy a small pin—a pair of golden wings—Nate didn’t recognize any of them. He wondered if they knew each other. Or had they all been strangers filling seats. The boy fought back any thoughts about the people he did know.

The attendant stood and seemed to stare right at him. The boy tried to raise a hand, to call out, but his voice only managed a faint “help.” Even that was too much. The effort unsettled something in his throat and he started to cough. Faint, at first, but it got worse and worse. Each hacking gasp shook his body. Shivers rippled through his spine. His feet kicked out from under him and he started to slide. He scrambled for the top of the cliff but his fingers refused. His hands, locked into fists, beat uselessly against the shifting snow. He saw the crest slide farther and farther away. His legs slithered against the surface of the hill but to no avail. He wanted to cry, to scream, but he was tired. Too tired. Stop, his body said. Rest. His body landed in a heap at the bottom of the hill. Nate could feel his heartbeat slowing, his breathing was low and hypnotic. He was suddenly warm, comfortable. Rest. Rest.

His eyes fluttered open. No. No rest. Nate forced his body to move, to bend, to lift, to plant its feet and stretch, to extend, to grasp, to climb, to scream. “Help!” He yelled it every time his hand clutched an icy mound of dirt. “Help!” He hoped the words weren’t just in his head. “Help!” The hill didn’t seem so tall. He fixed his eyes on the twisting pillar of smoke. Overhead, the sun laughed—all light and no heat—but the boy didn’t listen. He continued to climb. He heaved his body over the top and started to slide the right way, quickly, like he was being pulled. He looked up and saw the smiling face of the flight attendant. A man’s face too. He had a beard too but not like Burley’s. A pair of broken glasses sat sideways on his stubby nose. “Another one!” a third person, a girl about his age, yelled. “We’ve got another one!” Nate looked up at the sun and laughed back.

February was a bad month as far as getting any of my own writing done. All my energy was spent on work for the day job (which is awesome) but it left little time for finishing Five-Story Drop (the upcoming supplement for Streets of Bedlam) or getting words down on these six novels I’m writing this year.

As a result, that counter in the left column hasn’t budged a millimeter. (And none of you called me on it. FOR SHAME.) I hit a point where I simply couldn’t abide that. Yes, I was writing. I was writing five days at week at the job. But that’s no excuse. That’s not the point of the One-Year Plan. The One-Year Plan is about doing my own stuff. And I shouldn’t allow myself to make excuses or get distracted. Back in the saddle with me.

As it’s the middle of March now, I’ve revised my second novel from the YA Superhero book to this Middle Grade science fiction tale I’ve bandied about for a bit. It’s half the word count of the YA Superhero book, and maybe that’s a bit of a cheat, but I’m still learning and adapting to this whole process. The goal for me remains producing work that can be revised and pitched and hopefully sold. If the details change, I’m okay with that. And this book I’m working on currently is a lot of fun so there’s that. Half the joy of working on spec is the ability to do what you want to do.

So! Book 2: MG Sci-Fi has launched. Back to 1K a Day on it (in addition to 1K a Day on Five-Story Drop). Onward!