Creating an LLC is harder than I thought.
Not the paperwork, not the reading, not the wrapping-your-head-around-business-lingo-talk. It's...the name. I was going to call my company "Macabre Hill Press." However, I'll be doing more than publishing. I'll be creating audio. And doing marketing. And video. And yada yada under the umbrella of "creative numbnutsery and business spazzmodics." So the name needs to encompass my business goal: "To create niche communication, in a variety of media, that has value for the end-user." Generic, n'est-ce pas?
Niche communication = audio/video/print designed for a specific- and not always huge- target audience.
Value for the end-user = the audience is willing to pay for the communication (audio/video/print - books/cd's/etc.), or the communication is free to the consumer but their experience of it is of value to the originator of the information conveyed in the communication (commercials).
So the hardest part besides all that gobbledygook...is the company name.
And here I sit, searching for something that's creative but not too crazy, indicative but not a neon sign, fun but not frivolous...
...I think I'll get another cup of joe. This is going to take a while.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
I Should Be Committed
It's something that makes me crazy: being committed. I should be committed. I must be. Otherwise, this is just a floundering hobby that could cost thousands of dollars and provide me with box after box of white elephant gifts for family and friends.
"Oh look, Mark gave us the book he published. Who can we regift this to quickly?"
I must be committed to writing. If not creating a story, then letters to family. If not letters, then a page of prose, of description, of musing, of anything. Gotta' write, mister!
This is not new advice. It's age old, told to me by countless people. But now that my life is well over half-over, I've not got the luxury of laziness. There's less and less time to "do it sometime." Sometime is now. If I want my writing to fly, I have to quit dreaming about being a writer and BE one.
What is that quote? "The hardest thing about being a writer is writing." It's just doing it.
I'll don my beret, shave my beard to a goatee, and wear sunglasses at night later. Right now, I need to work, to sweat out words. Time to be committed.
"Oh look, Mark gave us the book he published. Who can we regift this to quickly?"
I must be committed to writing. If not creating a story, then letters to family. If not letters, then a page of prose, of description, of musing, of anything. Gotta' write, mister!
This is not new advice. It's age old, told to me by countless people. But now that my life is well over half-over, I've not got the luxury of laziness. There's less and less time to "do it sometime." Sometime is now. If I want my writing to fly, I have to quit dreaming about being a writer and BE one.
What is that quote? "The hardest thing about being a writer is writing." It's just doing it.
I'll don my beret, shave my beard to a goatee, and wear sunglasses at night later. Right now, I need to work, to sweat out words. Time to be committed.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
I Am the Edinator: I'll Be Back!
Editing used to be the worst element of writing I could imagine. It was the plastic surgeon commenting on the beautiful baby whom I'd just borne. My living, breathing progeny needed no readjustment- least of all from me, the glad parent of a bouncing baby story.
But now...
Now my stories need editing. I write them, push them into the world of the page, let them squall on the sheet as I shush them goodnight and lull them to sleep....sleep...
Babies grow as they sleep. So do stories. If you are a parent of substance, you do what is necessary to necessitate growth. It's not always easy. Sometimes it breaks your heart. But grow your baby must. And ergo it is your duty to face the hardness, and the love, that is guiding growth.
To really appreciate your writing, you need to sept outside it. That takes time. Take time to let your story rest, let it cry itself to sleep. Wean it, so to speak, from the bosom of your ego so that it might be able at some point to stand on its own legs without you. This is the hardest part- to distance yourself from your creation. Do it. You'll have to, so that you can begin to judge its best points from its worst. You must judge. Otherwise all you've noted is your stream-of-consciousness, which allows you an egotistical thrill, but little else.
I've had to overcome that myself. I've had to move past a horror of self-editing, to the joy of it. Haven't you ever read a story, a book, and thought "if I had written this I would have"....
Well, what makes you different than that author? You need to practice stepping back from your creation and thinking "wait- I would have written that this way..." and then doing it. The trick, is to self-edit AFTER you've finished, not before. If you get caught up in editing yourself at the same time you're writing, then you could easily fall into the self-defeating loop of self-criticism. Almost like an expectant mother stopping her labor to ensure that her child makes A's in 4th grade.
Editing sucks. And it's necessary. Ergo: suck it up and do it.
Now I face self-editing not as a blight on the pleasure of creation, but as the necessity of creative growth, as the power that helps a seedling grow into a tree. I know now, after years of writing, that letting a story rest is the key to letting it grow. Walk away. Give yourself time to let the glow of creation mellow/ripen into the power of craft. You'll see the mistakes you made. You'll understand more of the logic of conversation, the progression of character, the organic coalescence of motive and action. Those are big words for this: you'll see where your writing sucked, and you'll start to fix it.
Know that editing does not mean making shorter. It means making better. Shorter might be better. Longer might be better. The story's truth, it's logical fulfillment according to the rules you've set forth as absolute, is the rule. The rest...is words.
Editing your work is the wonderful kiss of love for your story. Love it. Edit it.
But now...
Now my stories need editing. I write them, push them into the world of the page, let them squall on the sheet as I shush them goodnight and lull them to sleep....sleep...
Babies grow as they sleep. So do stories. If you are a parent of substance, you do what is necessary to necessitate growth. It's not always easy. Sometimes it breaks your heart. But grow your baby must. And ergo it is your duty to face the hardness, and the love, that is guiding growth.
To really appreciate your writing, you need to sept outside it. That takes time. Take time to let your story rest, let it cry itself to sleep. Wean it, so to speak, from the bosom of your ego so that it might be able at some point to stand on its own legs without you. This is the hardest part- to distance yourself from your creation. Do it. You'll have to, so that you can begin to judge its best points from its worst. You must judge. Otherwise all you've noted is your stream-of-consciousness, which allows you an egotistical thrill, but little else.
I've had to overcome that myself. I've had to move past a horror of self-editing, to the joy of it. Haven't you ever read a story, a book, and thought "if I had written this I would have"....
Well, what makes you different than that author? You need to practice stepping back from your creation and thinking "wait- I would have written that this way..." and then doing it. The trick, is to self-edit AFTER you've finished, not before. If you get caught up in editing yourself at the same time you're writing, then you could easily fall into the self-defeating loop of self-criticism. Almost like an expectant mother stopping her labor to ensure that her child makes A's in 4th grade.
Editing sucks. And it's necessary. Ergo: suck it up and do it.
Now I face self-editing not as a blight on the pleasure of creation, but as the necessity of creative growth, as the power that helps a seedling grow into a tree. I know now, after years of writing, that letting a story rest is the key to letting it grow. Walk away. Give yourself time to let the glow of creation mellow/ripen into the power of craft. You'll see the mistakes you made. You'll understand more of the logic of conversation, the progression of character, the organic coalescence of motive and action. Those are big words for this: you'll see where your writing sucked, and you'll start to fix it.
Know that editing does not mean making shorter. It means making better. Shorter might be better. Longer might be better. The story's truth, it's logical fulfillment according to the rules you've set forth as absolute, is the rule. The rest...is words.
Editing your work is the wonderful kiss of love for your story. Love it. Edit it.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
My First Short Story Is Down the Drain
I am proud and honored to be published in "Strange, Weird, and Wonderful" magazine. It's an e-zine, located at www.strangeweirdandwonderful.com. The pdf version of it is fee- please hit up the website and download it by clicking on the words "Download Now!"
The story itself is titled "Deepdown Drain Repair," and involves the porous nature of Ozark limestone, and the pouring of nature's callings into that deeply hollowed strata. VERY deeply hollowed.
Also feel free to check out the interview with moi. It's got more about me than you really want to know. Seriously. You don't want to know. :)
www.strangeweirdandwonderful.com. Free horror from publisher DL Russell- a guy who cares. About horror. Enjoy.
The story itself is titled "Deepdown Drain Repair," and involves the porous nature of Ozark limestone, and the pouring of nature's callings into that deeply hollowed strata. VERY deeply hollowed.
Also feel free to check out the interview with moi. It's got more about me than you really want to know. Seriously. You don't want to know. :)
www.strangeweirdandwonderful.com. Free horror from publisher DL Russell- a guy who cares. About horror. Enjoy.
I Dreamed a Little Scream
I have chosen to create a publishing company for the same reason F. von Frankenstein chose to sew together inanimate flesh:
To See It Live.
I want my stories, and those of my colleagues with whom is shared a love for dark writing and cheap wine, to exist beyond the realm of Hope, out in the sunshine of Is where the printed page turns with the breathless sigh of a lover's kiss. You know, where we can eventually go to Comicons and be worshipped as gods. With lots of freebies and all the Diet Mr. Pibb we want.
Here starts a journey in the 46th year of my life, and simultaneously ends a journey that started in 1974 in Mrs. Amos's 4th grade classroom, nestled in the cinderblock-and-blacktop edifice known as "Branson Elementary School." Mrs. Amos suffered through my very first short stories, consisting mostly of verbs like "BAAAAMED!" and "WHOOOSHED!" and plots as thick as "He had to KILL the GIANT SERPENT OF DOOM!"
It was then, with "The Night Chicago Died" on the radio, that I aquired the taste for writing, the desire to be an author. Through the decades since, I have also wanted to be a truck driver, a soldier, a supreme court judge, an actor, a dj, a park ranger, and even a preacher. The desire for all these vocations has fallen to the wayside, save for one: to be an author.
At the age of 46, I'm well over half-done with my life. I have acted some (for money, but not for Hollywood), I've been a dj, I've got a short story published and I've written plays. But a book...MY book...
It's very hard to get a book published by a "major" publisher. Distribution used to be the issue, along with promotion. Publishers want BIG authors for BIG bucks, so that mass-distribution drives down hard cost (but not book price), and the author's name already comes with a following. Big author = big bucks for the publisher.
Now, thanks to the 'net, distribution is NOT an issue. With the 'net's reach, big bucks can come from the long tail- from the ability to connect with the niches and nooks and crannies and craniums that enjoy a good story that might just happen to involve copious amounts of blood. Or dead things. Or brain-sucking mosquitoes. On the 'net, name recognition is not as important as good stories at a good price that people will talk about to their friends and- pleaseohpleaseooooohpleaaaaase- will send to said friends a link to purchase said book for the sharing of said pleasure.
Ergo, Macabre Hill Press is born/hatched/summoned/disinterred. It's a scream come true for me. Now, to make it the same for you, my reader. In other words...
BAAAAAM! IT'S ALIIIIIVE!!!
PS- thank you Mrs. Amos for encouraging me, instead of committing me. And I'm sorry I've forgotten how to do the Virginia Reel. May your square dance lessons shake the linoleum in heaven.
Mark L. Groves
Publisher, Macabre Hill Press
To See It Live.
I want my stories, and those of my colleagues with whom is shared a love for dark writing and cheap wine, to exist beyond the realm of Hope, out in the sunshine of Is where the printed page turns with the breathless sigh of a lover's kiss. You know, where we can eventually go to Comicons and be worshipped as gods. With lots of freebies and all the Diet Mr. Pibb we want.
Here starts a journey in the 46th year of my life, and simultaneously ends a journey that started in 1974 in Mrs. Amos's 4th grade classroom, nestled in the cinderblock-and-blacktop edifice known as "Branson Elementary School." Mrs. Amos suffered through my very first short stories, consisting mostly of verbs like "BAAAAMED!" and "WHOOOSHED!" and plots as thick as "He had to KILL the GIANT SERPENT OF DOOM!"
It was then, with "The Night Chicago Died" on the radio, that I aquired the taste for writing, the desire to be an author. Through the decades since, I have also wanted to be a truck driver, a soldier, a supreme court judge, an actor, a dj, a park ranger, and even a preacher. The desire for all these vocations has fallen to the wayside, save for one: to be an author.
At the age of 46, I'm well over half-done with my life. I have acted some (for money, but not for Hollywood), I've been a dj, I've got a short story published and I've written plays. But a book...MY book...
It's very hard to get a book published by a "major" publisher. Distribution used to be the issue, along with promotion. Publishers want BIG authors for BIG bucks, so that mass-distribution drives down hard cost (but not book price), and the author's name already comes with a following. Big author = big bucks for the publisher.
Now, thanks to the 'net, distribution is NOT an issue. With the 'net's reach, big bucks can come from the long tail- from the ability to connect with the niches and nooks and crannies and craniums that enjoy a good story that might just happen to involve copious amounts of blood. Or dead things. Or brain-sucking mosquitoes. On the 'net, name recognition is not as important as good stories at a good price that people will talk about to their friends and- pleaseohpleaseooooohpleaaaaase- will send to said friends a link to purchase said book for the sharing of said pleasure.
Ergo, Macabre Hill Press is born/hatched/summoned/disinterred. It's a scream come true for me. Now, to make it the same for you, my reader. In other words...
BAAAAAM! IT'S ALIIIIIVE!!!
PS- thank you Mrs. Amos for encouraging me, instead of committing me. And I'm sorry I've forgotten how to do the Virginia Reel. May your square dance lessons shake the linoleum in heaven.
Mark L. Groves
Publisher, Macabre Hill Press
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