alien hand syndrome

What is Subliminal about? I get this question whenever someone finds out that I am a writer. I don’t like answering this question because a real explanation would take too long and my elevator pitch seems lacking. For those of you that don’t know, an elevator pitch is where if you had to sell your idea to someone of influence, it should take no longer than a short elevator ride. So my, ‘man finds out he can read minds and gets serious about it’, just feels empty. I’ve read post after post about how your book should have a clear, simple summary, and while I agree that I should be able to convey what my book is about without spoiling it for them, reducing it to a sentence just feels like I’m cheating a potential reader out of something. It works for some things, but I am glad it doesn’t work for mine. There is more than mind reading. There is also love, trust, betrayal, death, and rebirth. So when people ask me what it’s about, sometimes I get snarky and say it’s about a pound and a half, or it’s about three hundred pages.

Which leads me to ask: why on Earth would you want me to tell you what it’s about? The sad fact is that some people only read what they’re used to, so they want to get the highlights first so they don’t feel like they’re wasting their time. Take a chance. Read something you wouldn’t have three years ago. You might like it.

What is your book similar to? This question leaves me speechless. I am truly stumped. It’s not that Subliminal is so unique that it blows my mind even to contemplate the idea that someone would question its originality, it’s just that I’m ignorant. I’ve searched for similar themes, and while I have obviously drawn inspiration from others, I can’t say “it’s like ______”. And thank God for that. If I could sum up my effort with three words, I never would have tried to get it published. I wanted it to be like Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, where what goes on in the narrator’s mind is as crucial as what goes on outside of it. I was similarly inspired by Stephen King’s Dead Zone, where a man gains psychic powers and uses them for good. Subliminal is a man’s struggle over evil, where an apprentice is trained until he surpasses the master, so yeah, it borrows from Star Wars, too. It also has a secretive government agency, with a secret underground base which was inspired by Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira. Do I tell this to each person that asks? I’m going to print business cards to hand out when someone asks me what my book is about that have this on it:

Let me be clear, I love talking to people about my novel. I would much rather be fumbling for words about something I wrote than to be talking about something I didn’t write. I am extremely thankful for my opportunities and blessings. That being said, I love it when people ask me what something means. I was at a party the other day and three people pulled me aside at different points in the night and asked me what something meant. I stumped the first one. “I don’t know,” I said. “What do you think it means?” I love that part. This is the whole reason I started writing. When you put down Subliminal, I want you to be asking questions. Someone asked me what the hidden messages meant, and I gave her an answer. Someone else asked me the same thing and I told her that I didn’t know what she was talking about. The idea that she was seeing something that might not be there fascinated her. She immediately went in search of someone else that read it to verify their existence. The best part was that this other person hadn’t noticed them yet. I was creating chaos and I loved it.

A package came for me the other day. In it were ten paperback books, their covers coal black and bearing the image of a man, his back turned. He was consumed in a blue flame. I’ve seen the image many times, yet I was surprised at how impressive it looked as I held one up to the light for closer inspection. At the bottom was a name. My name. The excitement turned to something else. Fear? Dread? Let me explain.

Up to this moment, over the weeks and months spent dreaming of what it would be like to hold not only my own book, but my first, it was exactly that. A dream. I always imagined that I would get my first copy and I would dance in the streets, or break into song, or weep. I thought I would weep. I thought I would be so overcome with emotion that any coherent thought would be impossible. Yet here I was, holding my completed effort, and a thought struck me: There is no going back now. For better or worse, it is done. It is out there for others to read and scrutinize. Poke, prod, and criticize. Compare and contrast.

And so was I. I am protective of my privacy, sharing what I feel like I must.  To have a part of me available to anyone with an amazon account is slightly terrifying. Before, Subliminal existed for me and the few that knew of its existence. It was my private world and it was invitation only. Now it is in the stream, going wherever the current takes it. No amount of dreaming will affect what lies between the covers. No more tweaking or editing. It must stand on its own now and there is nothing more I can do or say that will affect the reader’s experience.

I am proud of it. It is the collected effort of dreamers, artists, and technicians. It was a labor of love and I loved being a part of it. I’m sure it’s just rookie author nerves and I’ll look back on this one day and laugh. At least now I know how I am going to feel when my children leave home.

My novel, Subliminal, had been out of my hands for a long time. It was accepted in the Spring of last year for publication in February of this year. That left me with a lot of time to write, which I used. There were meetings and conversations about covers and release dates, but on the whole, I let the editors do their work while the pile of manuscripts eventually dwindled down to mine. I will tell you honestly, I entertained fantasies that when it was time for me to go over the edits, there would be some minor tweaking needed.

Oh, boy.

You know that feeling when you had when you were in elementary school and you turned in a (gasp!) FIVE PAGE REPORT that you knew you just did the most awesome job on? You were certain that an ‘A’ was headed your way, especially after you splurged on the nice report folder that no teacher could resist. Remember the same feeling when you got it back and thought the teacher bled all over it? Remember the feeling of seeing your clauses and references torn asunder? Recall the forehead slapping moment when it was pointed out that you used the wrong verse for a verb, or wrong word altogether?  Now imagine instead of five pages, it’s three hundred, and instead of it taking you a few hours during the weekend, it took you a year. That was me two weeks ago.

Rhett told me to have a thick skin. It’s not personal, I kept telling myself. I looked at it for a few minutes before closing it in disgust. Two days later, after the storm cloud of curses that had formed over middle Georgia had cleared and my mind cooled enough for me to dig in, I saw to my amazement that it wasn’t a personal attack on my character. I am spoiled by the fact that the books and articles I read have already been edited. My editor wasn’t attacking my ideas, she was just pointing out that my execution was lacking at times. Where I initially saw her as someone adding commas for spite, I now see that she is the one doing me a favor, because really, if it’s confusing or oddly worded for a professional, how is a casual reader going to react. Flaming copies on my doorstep, that’s how. Writers have the problem of knowing what we meant, and reading it into everything we write. Editors have to slow down enough to break the sentence up and see if it actually makes sense. What I’m saying is that if you ever meet an editor, you should thank them from shielding you from the shotgun blast of redundant words, repeated phrases, dangling participles and misplaced homonyms that would make you give up and read something else. She got my baby down to its fighting weight. So now, Subliminal has dropped about five thousand words of fat, got its thoughts in order, and is ready to come out swinging.

I have eaten the carrot. It dangled in front of me for so long that when I finally came to grips with it, it felt unreal, like a dream. It started as something distant, a gift for a job well done. As I began my work, toiling toward the distant reward, I gained on it. As I picked up speed, my fingers flying over the keyboard, the carrot grew in size until it was all I saw, its presence owning my days and following me into the dark. Finally, I held it and named it: Subliminal. The weight was gone. Then something curious happened. While I was feeling proud and accomplished, I noticed that there was another carrot, so distant it was barely visible. And sure enough, as the days passed the weight started to increase upon my shoulders again.

So, I began the long walk, dragging my phrases and witticisms with me as I tried to impress upon those that would listen that this thing I birthed was worthy of their time, worthy of their energy, and worthy of, dare I say it, publication. As the rejections came, each one chipping away the self-assuredness that completing a novel help build, I began to wonder. Is Subliminal, the book that wanted to be written more than I wanted to write it, worth their time? Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps they will like the next one? So I added another carrot, dividing my time between writing a new novel and sporadically sending out queries. Then it happened.

It came upon me so suddenly that I still have trouble believing it. A phone call from a friend. ‘My publisher is looking for submissions for e-books’, she said. ‘When can you have it to them?’ she asked. So I made my edits and sent it off with a prayer to the patron saint of unpublished authors and waited. And waited. Finally, an e-mail arrived. It began like the many rejection letters that I saved for some morbid reason. I read it and instantly the carrot was in my hands, the weight a memory. They wanted to publish my book.

I was now a published author. Not so fast. I’m the new guy, and my book isn’t do out until February, so I have a little time. Rhemalda doesn’t operate like a factory, that is, everyone gets special attention, and there were the autumn releases to deal with, so I chilled. I followed my other carrot. I’m still climbing the hill, waiting for the rush of the descent to bring me toward publication. And that publication carrot is hanging out there, believe me, but there is something special about this one. I’m not the only one chasing it, and I’m certainly not the only one pulling the load. Beside me is an artist who will take my dream and sculpt it into a cover. There is also an editor that is fixing my mistakes as you read this. And of course, there is the publisher/cheerleader that is walking this path with me, because my dream is theirs too.

Have I succeeded? More than some, I guess. Less than others, but that’s true for a lot of things. I look forward to the day when I can shed the weird feeling that comes with being a future-published author and finally become a published-for-real-this-time author. That day will come soon enough and while the anticipation is killing me, I know in the end it will be worth the wait. By the way, carrots are delicious.

Here is a review I did for The Stranger You Seek. It is a great read and I am eagerly awaiting the next installment. Williams being a southern girl doesn’t hurt, either.

Amanda Kyle Williams’ first novel, The Stranger You Seek, is a journey into the dark and twisted world of a serial killer and the horrific results of their actions. Both humorous and disturbing, Williams writing pulls you into the lives of those struggling to make sense of the random killings that have gripped their city in fear.

The Stranger You Seek follows Dr. Keye Street, a former criminal profiler for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, as she gets drawn into the hunt for a serial killer stalking Atlanta’s streets. As Dr. Street battles her alcoholic past while trying to keep her private investigation business afloat, she must match wits against an increasingly attention driven murderer that is always one step ahead of her and the police. As the game develops, Keye becomes the focus of the killer’s attention as she uncovers vital clues to the killer’s identity. With the answers in sight, Dr. Street races against the clock to stop the murders and protect the ones she holds dear.

The Stranger You Seek is practically a guidebook for Georgia, taking you from the baking streets of an Atlanta summer to the salty breezes of a coastal town before a trip into the woods in search of a prized cow. Each trip on the map is accompanied with a collection of sights, sounds, and tastes that brings Williams’ storytelling alive. In Keye Street, Williams chose a person with so many regrets and weaknesses that you cheer with her over each victory. Street’s past rears its ugly head at inopportune times and as she wills herself to complete her tasks, you find yourself whispering little words of encouragement. The Stranger You Seek is the first installment of the Keye Street saga and Williams leaves you wanting more.

This is the cover of Subliminal by Melissa Williams. The cover process started with my publisher asking me to find book covers that I liked and to send them in so everyone had an idea of what I wanted. From what I have read about the publishing industry, this is very rare. In some instances, the author has zero input into the actual layout of the book or its cover.

I always imagined what holding my printed book in my hands would feel like and more importantly, look like. The cover I came up with was ambitious. It would be a flat black outline with the title and my name in white, but spread around the front would be small ‘messages’ in glossy type that the reader could see only when held at an angle to the light. Yes, I planned on putting subliminal messages on the cover. Why not? With a title like Subliminal, you have to take advantage of these types of opportunities. Things changed when I realized that most people would probably be reading Subliminal as a e-book, so the cover design was moot.

I changed gears and leaned toward a maze/magic eye type thing the cover would be a bunch of random shapes and the title and my name would be spelled out in the negative spaces between the shapes. Not only was this difficult to explain to my publisher, it would be a nightmare to design. My publisher burst my bubble when he informed me that a majority of readers are going to see the cover first as a thumbnail, and it had to look good enough in that size to get them to click on it. I am such a rookie.

Since ‘flames’ and ‘fire’ are important images in the story, we leaned that way. He liked a flaming hand image, which looked really cool, but I thought might be a little misleading about what the story was about. It looked better suited for Firestarter. I came back with a man on fire, and the flames are blue, and that is where we landed. When I got the cover back, I blew me away. Melissa is very talented and if you’re in the market for a cool cover, you can’t go wrong with her.

In my spare time I do book reviews for Suspense Magazine, which is an excellent publication. The first novel I received was “Where the Shadows Lie” by Michael Ridpath. It is the first in a series and seems very promising. You should check it out.

Where the Shadows Lie by Michael Ridpath:

Michael Ridpath’s latest offering, “Where the Shadows Lie” is a tight mix of crime and lore that takes the reader on a journey from crime-ridden streets to the slopes of a mysterious volcano. Fast-paced and well written, Ridpath keeps your attention while exploring 10th century sagas, corrupt policemen, contract killers, fanboys, family secrets, and a magical ring.

“Where the Shadows Lie” follows Magnus Jonson, an Icelandic born Boston detective that must flee to his native country to escape the hired guns involved in a police corruption trial for which he is a star witness. While in Iceland, he assists the National Police as they try to understand the murder of a college professor. As the investigation unfolds, evidence points to a mysterious manuscript, known only to one family and may have been the inspiration for one of the greatest sagas of all time: “The Lord of the Rings.”

As the investigation deepens and arrests are made, tantalizing clues are uncovered that suggests the legend of a magical ring may actually be fact and the ring may still exist. As time begins to run out on Detective Jonson, he must track down a killer among the surreal landscape of Iceland while dealing with a crippling family secret and avoid the hit man who has somehow found him.

Michael Ridpath takes a risk by tying a very good crime story to an ancient fable and it pays off. His creation is a must-read for any “Lord of the Rings” fan and should create new readers for Tolkien through his experiment. Ridpath’s research into Iceland and its people, customs, and geography, makes the British author seem native. “Where the Shadows Lie” has a lot going for it and the reward is worth the journey.

Sitting back, looking at completed stories and half-baked ideas, I have to ask myself: How did I get here? What changed me from being someone that liked reading the stories of others to being the creator of stories? I believe writers are genetic mutations, much the same way that singers, painters, and athletes are. Just born different. Born not merely to live in a shared reality, but create their own. So I started creating my own worlds, aided along the way by an unlikely source: teachers. These “teachers” didn’t help me by praising any creativity or introducing me to authors I’ve never heard of, these administrators of public education helped me along my path by forcing me and my fellow inmates to read from the list of government approved materials that they read when they were in school (you know who you are). To Kill a Mockingbird is a fine book, but there is nothing I, as a 15 year old boy, would rather read less. So I turned up my nose at the reading lists that bored me and dove into books my few literate acquaintances recommended.

And that the books I read affected my writing style is certain. The Shining, which I still consider King’s finest, and his Different Seasons got my mind moving forward, Asimov’s I, Robot and Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep showed me how important environment was to a story and effectively put the pen in my hand. Guns of the South let me see that the outlandish can also be entertaining if done properly. The Great Gatsby, which I read every summer, is the model I aim for: Powerful prose and an emotional connection. Before I knew it, I was putting ink on paper.

As I look over my list, I want to add more, and there are certainly more that I am not remembering. I want it to be more impressive, but had to stop short of listing my favorites instead of the ones that inspired me to start. The upside for me is that I am easily impressed by writers because I know what they go through, so each new release is another shot in the arm to get going, create something new, and hopefully one day inspire someone to do the same.

So, I have a book.

What is it about?

 I hate that question. Whether it’s from a friend or someone I’m trying to impress, when I start to explain it, as soon as I let my guard down and start revealing details about the story and to a greater extent, myself, I feel weird, like I immediately have to defend both.

It’s called Subliminal. It tells the story of a seemingly normal guy (Robert Dawes) who finds out he has the extraordinary ability of reading people’s minds. After he gets the reading part down, he moves into influencing strangers’ behavior and then to actually pushing their consciousness aside and controlling their bodies. Of course, he is not alone in this, and of course, not everyone plays nice. As  he learns more and more, his brain starts to get the better of him and he has to learn to control his thoughts and keep other’s thoughts from rushing in. Above all of this, he has to keep a jealous rival from secrets he hasn’t yet figured out.

Now the look. I might hate the look more. Oh, that sounds…nice. My confidence it at an all time low. I open myself up for a minute and immediately regret it. This is why I didn’t want to tell you in the first place. But, authors cannot exist in a bubble. I have had rejections before. Thankfully few compared to others I have heard from, but any rejection hits you where you really feel it. Right in the heart, because that’s what you put into it, right?  Heart and soul, baby. So I try to be secretive about it. Few of my friends know I have a publishing deal. I am waiting for the right time, I say. When? Maybe that rapture thing will come around again.

But then there are the ones I love. Caring people who know exactly what I’ve been through because they’re in the process themselves. They give me a little encouragement, tell me they can’t wait until it comes out, can ‘t wait to get an autographed copy, tell me to type faster, and I’m flying again, king of the world. It’s my own fault I have such a low opinion of myself. I would rather be surprised at success than disappointed. So I ride the roller coaster and keep my head up because , really, what else is there?

Where did it come from? I’ve said before that Subliminal is the book I never wanted to write, and I mean it. I hate that it I always treated it like it was in the way, but I will always hold it closest to my heart because it was my first. It came from the small dark place we all have. The place where we keep our desires. Feeling small and weak one fall morning in Freshman English Composition, I imagined what I would do if I could control someone’s mind. What kind of havoc could I create? I liked the idea and filed it away. For fifteen years. The little men in my brain molded it over time. From fantasy to story, it was built in my subconscious, my subliminal mind working it over, so when I sat down and started typing, I was merely taking dictation.

So now I’m halfway through another, and I hate to admit it, but that itching is starting to grow again. There is another waiting in the wings.

I read a story some time ago about some foreign diplomat, either Russian or Chinese, who came to the U.S. to meet the president. It might have been Nixon or Carter. Maybe even Ford. Anyway, he couldn’t speak English at all and learned how to say “How are you?” and “Nice to meet you” and a few other salutations. Well, needless to say he was nervous about the meeting and when it came time to greet the president, he confidently walked up to him and said “Who am I, what am I doing?” Both the president and the diplomat had a good laugh at this and let the interpreters take over, which is probably why I didn’t grow up in a nuclear wasteland. I don’t know if that is true or not, but I just remember reading/hearing it somewhere. And now you’re reading it from me. I know exactly how that guy felt.

Who am I? I am Brian. (Well of course you are) The name of this blog isn’t ironic. That is my name. I don’t use a pen name, although I wish I could use a pen face. Do they make those? Anyway, I write. I grew up in the South and still live there. I write stories about characters that are normal in the fact that they are unexceptional except for the situations they find themselves in. Except Robert Dawes, he’s born different. But I digress. I am a writer.

I write because my brain will not let me stop. I have an over-active imagination that I use to entertain myself mostly, but sometimes it gets away from me and the things it spits out amuse me, and sometimes frighten me, so I feel compelled to write it down. It’s part therapy and part compulsion. I am a different person when I write, hopefully better, but I know I feel better when I put words to the white. I am not trained. I never attended a creative writing workshop or program, but I am not knocking them. If it works for you, go for it. I am relatively shy, and this is my first major foray into the world of social media (I do have facebook, reluctantly). I have a novel.

Subliminal. My happy little accident. The thing I never planned on, but created anyway and I thank the little creatures in my head that dreamed it up that summer night three years ago. Subliminal evolved from the fun little exercise, to my magnum opus, and finally into the obstacle I need to finish so I can move on to what I really wanted to write in the first place. But I’m not doing that either. I am writing what wants to be written. I am no longer in control. I am just the right blend of smart and compliant to let my hands type what my brain tell them and not what my heart screams for. All in good time. I have a publisher.

The good people at Rhemalda Press are taking a chance on me and other likeminded souls more talented than I and are publishing Subliminal in the Spring of 2012. I have been given more blessings than I deserve, and am eternally thankful. I am not a product to them, I am an author. I like the way that sounds, and the way it makes me feel. I am doing what I always wanted and really don’t know how I am supposed to act. So this is me documenting my journey through the publishing process. I’m sure I will learn how to behave in time, but for now I’ll just wing it and see where I end up.

So.

I am Brian, nice to meet you.