Organized Chaos!

It was an eye opening writing day for me. I’ve been working diligently (we’ll, diligently for me anyway) on my new thriller novel over the last few days. I actually started it a couple years ago, but I’ve had periods of time that I didn’t work on it. I’m calling it Coal Mountain for now. I’m not sure yet whether that will be the final title. It seems sometimes when I complete a writing project, the original name sometimes no longer fits. 

But, that’s how I write and how my mind works. It’s all over the place! When I begin a new story, it starts simply from an image I saw. Maybe I was out for a walk and witnessed an interesting character. I know nothing about the person besides what my eyes tell me. Or, I see an old building that catches my interest. Sometimes it’s a small town I come across in my travels. Sometimes all I need is a random thought to start my imagination. It’s funny how something so simple can turn in a 70 thousand word novel. 

I grab a legal pad and start writing based on an experience. I do not have an outline. I don’t know all the characters yet. Sometimes I don’t know any of the characters at the beginning. I definitely have no idea where the story will go, how it will end, or how to get there. It’s such a slow inefficient process. 

Then, it happens. I’ve got a few characters established. They begin to grow and real personalities emerge. I know what part each will play. I know where to go from this point. And then things start happening pretty quickly for me. It’s almost like the story is telling itself in my mind. It’s almost effortless at times. I simply have to write down what I see playing out in my head. Before I know it, the first draft is complete. 

Then the real work starts. Then I must go back through the whole thing and “fill in the blanks” I left because I was in such a hurry to write before my imagination got too far ahead of my pen. 

Before the point where the story takes on a life of its own, it can be a real struggle for me. That’s my excuse for the periods I go through when production is very slow. I so look forward to getting to the point I reached today. It makes the struggle to get to here worth it. 

It’s amazing the effort some will put into something that they may never get a return from. I think writers, myself included, suffer from functional insanity. Ok, semi-functional.

BK Jones

Sharon S. Jones Fine Art Photography in the Cloudcroft October Art Festival

Sharon has been selected as one of the artists that will have their work on display and for sale at the upcoming Cloudcroft, NM October Art Festival. It will be held on Saturday, October 3rd and Sunday, October 4th at Cloudcroft’s Zenith Park.

Here are just a few of Sharon’s photos that may be on display. There are many more that can be viewed and purchased at Sharon’s Fine Art America page or from her Etsy store.

IMG_5426_edited-1 IMG_0090 IMG_0166 The Piano Player

I Guess It’s a Good Thing We Live Cheap

I’ve learned over the years several things about myself. One of those things is I’ll probably never be rich. Unless, it happens by chance. You know, one of those dumb luck type things, like maybe I’m walking and trip and fall into a big pile of cash! Nope, probably not gonna happen. 

That’s ok. Being wealthy is not something I ever dreamed about, so I’m lucky in that way. 

I do have a dream, however, of someday making enough from writing novels to support a very modest lifestyle. I do believe, in fact, that will happen. When? That is the question. 

There are a few things that I believe make my progress very slow. I’ve only published one novel so far. Though I do what I can to promote myself, I’m imadmittedly not very good at self promotion. I’m very slow in production. It’s not that I’m lazy. My imagination works very quickly. Turning those thoughts into words for the public is more challenging. That makes the distance between thoughts and a published product farther than it might be for other authors. 

Some forms of self promotion seem very much like bragging to me. If someone else promotes you, that seems to provide some validation. Then it’s not bragging. It’s just the way my twisted mind works. 

What makes it possible for me to live my dream of writing as a fulltime career is to first, keep my living expenses low. Now, can I be patient enough to keep putting out new material slowly and in return grow my fan base slowly? Maybe I’ll find more efficient ways of transforming my imagination. Maybe I’ll find more and more ways to get my words in front of my readers eyes. Maybe I’ll come across someone in our travels who believes in what I do and is willing to help me(for a share of my profits of course). 

Life is full of maybes and what ifs for me. But I’m learning as I go. 

These were just some random thoughts I had while taking a break from writing. I took a break from writing to write something else. I must be a writer! Right?

Brian

Another Sample of “Indian Paintbrush”, A Thriller by B. K. Jones

After a couple of relaxing weeks living out in the boonies, we moved to a new spot yesterday, where we have good sun exposure for our solar panels and phone service. Finding a place where we can get both seems to be quite challenging here in the forest around Cloudcroft, NM.

I made some good progress on my next novel too. There’s nothing like getting out in nature for me, and away from people for a bit, to get my imagination going. The lack of cell service sometimes doesn’t hurt either. When I get a little further along, I’ll also post some samples from the new novel too.

Sharon also has some new photos up on her Facebook. Be sure to visit our “About Us” page and click her Facebook link to see them. She is a very talented photographer in my opinion, however biased it may be. She’s also very beautiful!

That’s enough about us for now. Here’s the second sample of Indian Paintbrush….

“Why are you whispering? Why don’t you show yourself you sonofabitch?” Andy said sternly as he tried to turn and look at the person who spoke to him. He could hear the sound of leather soled boots shifting and scraping on the concrete behind him. The bastard was moving to stay out of his line of sight, Andy thought to himself.

               “I know you’re scared, bud.” the voice said as Andy made another attempt to turn himself to where he could identify his assailant. “It’s ok though. You won’t be scared much longer.” the voice said, still whispering. With that last statement from the stranger, Andy felt cold chills all over his body. He didn’t know who this person could be or why anyone would want to do this him, but he had a pretty good idea what the stranger meant. He decided at that point he no longer wanted to see his assailant.

               Andy just hung there not saying anything else, just waiting for his fate. There was nothing else he could do. He thought of screaming out for help, but he knew his wife was gone into town, and he knew no one else was near enough to hear him. He remained silent. He refused to beg for his life like a coward. If the stranger had the intent of killing him, Andy figured he would follow through with it no matter what he said. So, Andy chose to keep his dignity. He kept silent and still, and prayed to God to take care of his wife and his parents if he should not make it through this ordeal.

               Andy heard the sound of the boots shuffle slowly on the concrete behind him. The sound moved around him to his side. He closed his eyes. Then he could feel the presence of someone in front of him. He kept his eyes closed.

               “Open your eyes.” the man ordered him. Andy didn’t open them. “You hear me, bud?” the voice said. He wasn’t whispering now. The voice sounded familiar to him now, but he couldn’t remember when or where he had heard it. “I said open ‘em!” the man said more sternly, but not too loud.

               It seemed like a lifetime went by as Andy hung there, refusing to open his eyes or say anything more. It had only been a minute or so in realty.

               “Do what you’re gonna do or get the hell outa here and leave me alone!” Andy finally said.

               “Oh, I’ll leave soon enough, bud.” The man responded coldly. “Man, you never saw it coming when I whacked you on the head with that hammer, did ya, bud?” The man said almost jokingly. “Your just as hard headed as ever, bud.”

               Andy still couldn’t place the voice. The man seemed to know him, though. He thought about looking at the man, now standing before him as he hung there by his ankles in the barn. The stranger kept referring to him as “bud”. He couldn’t recall anybody ever calling him that. Maybe it was something he called everyone.

That’s it for now. Thanks for taking an interest in our lives.

Till next time….

Brian

A New Campsite and A Sample From “Indian Paintbrush”

I’m writing this entry from the truck parked in downtown Cloudcroft, NM. Our new campsite is about 8 miles from town in dispersed camping and we have no phone service there, so no Internet either.

Anyway, without further delay, here is the 1st sample from my first novel Indian Paintbrush.

Andy regained consciousness and was immediately met with a pounding in his head, blurred vision, disorientation and total confusion. He could somewhat see, but couldn’t make out what he was seeing. He thought he recognized where he was, but something just wasn’t right about it. The pain in his head was so intense he could hardly keep his eyes open. He had a sensation of swaying. The effect was nauseating; he closed his eyes tight to settle his stomach. Every beat of his heart sent a wave of nausea and a sharp, near unbearable pain to the top of his head.

               “Don’t quite know what to make of this do ya, bud?” a voice whispered in Andy’s ear. Andy swung around to see who spoke. Something was keeping him from moving freely. He struggled a bit before soon realizing he didn’t have full use of his arms or legs. Squinting through whatever was blurring his vision, he confirmed to himself that he was in his barn behind the house. He was sure of that, despite the darkness. He closed his eyes again, though he had failed to locate the source of the voice that spoke to him.

               “Figure it out yet Bud?” Andy heard the voice again. He turned his head slowly to the side and down where the voice came from. Then, something pressed against his opposite shoulder and pushed. He was swaying back and forth, from front to back again, though he felt he was in a standing position. Still, he could see no one. Forcing himself to keep his eyes open this time, he finally figured out why he could not get a grasp on his position. He looked down and could make out his own feet. His boots had been removed but he still had his socks on. A rope had been tied around both his ankles, holding them together. Beyond his feet, where he expected to see whatever it was he was standing on, he now recognized as the rafters and heavy timbers that made up the barn’s ceiling. There, he saw the other end of the rope that bound his ankles. He recognized the rope as his own. It had been coiled and hanging on a large nail above his work table that sat against the wall. He was hanging upside down in his barn, by his own rope.

               Andy felt another push from his back. It was then that he realized his wrists were tied behind his back with something he couldn’t make out, maybe some sort of leather strap.

               “I’m real sorry bout this Andy. It’s just not your day, bud.” The whispering voice said.

               “Who the hell are you?” Andy raised his voice more in anger than fear.

               “That’s really not important now, bud.” the voice answered. “What’s important is that you know that this is the only way. I’ve thought about this for a long time now, and this is just the only way.”

If you like what you’ve read so far, you can get the full novel on Kindle here. I’ll also be posting more sample from Indian Paintbrush in later posts if you’re not sure yet.

Thanks for reading…

Brian