Perspective ~

So, another year comes to a close. I managed to begin the second series of Camden’s Follies and embark on the tedious job of raising funds for my next cover.

Here’s the first book of the second series ~

https://www.amazon.com/Camdens-Follies-Mr-Nathanial-Corres/dp/B092L6KWDN/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=camden%27s+follies&qid=1640108640&s=books&sr=1-5

As we near the last holiday, time to reflect

To Quote Coldplay ” How in the world am I supposed to see, you as my brother not my enemy? ”
In this day and age of heightened sensetivity, it’s truly more difficult to speak with anyone without somehow annoying or insulting them with statement or query that was just fine yesterday.
If it’s not American, your opinion is meningless. You can’t make a clean statement without being called some new variation on an old insult.
I wonder when it will dawn on anyone, that changing pronouns or altering language in mid stream causes more harm than good? That, a victory where you’re the only one standing in a field of the dead doesn’t make you special, but a lonely fool too self absorbed to see how much the monster you became, the one that you feared the most?
Yes, I’m old. To some, that means obsolete. It means someone to blame, disparage and be merciless to. Our wisdom, knowledge or experience is meaningless to them and their technology superior.
Me, I’m the one outside the maddening crowd. I stand amongst, but never part of. Easily ignored, I tend to find myself more distant as time goes on. Also, I must note that, there is no distance greater than the chasms of the heart and mind.
The days arew always a little colder. I’m more a number now than ever. An outsider even to outsiders. At home, I’m a face in the crowd, polite and me. In America, I’m a lesser for my dark skin and the idea I’m not dark enough, if that makes sense. Even before I was born, I was designated an outcast.
In America, I could and have been the most reasonable and intelligent person in the room, but yet, as a product of a mixed union a lesser and an idiot.
That was and is my reality that I exist in as, no matter the decade or generation by quarter century, things have changed little.
I truly wonder some times, what it would be like to find unconditional love …
But alas, as another year drags itself forward I find myself moving forward with little purpose than to write and see…

Till the next we meet, on more happier circumstances I hope,

~ The Pirate Poet

On Fellow authors and a further on never sweat the details…

 

Okay, to further elucidate on the subject of ” Don’t sweat the details”…
You can worry yourself into a tizzy, you can go spare from worry on bills or you can just write. Remember ; you can’t sell work that doesn’t exist.
Also, I’ve noted, with great interest, how some writers set store to having money as a muse. Honestly, I can tell when they’ve adopted this. There work tends to go down hill on the quality end. I know what this sounds like, but truly, it’s what I’ve garnered from trying to read anything beyond the second or third novel of the likes of Heinlein – for example. I realise folk answer to the Mortgage, it can be daunting not to at times.
On the other hand, you’d serve yourself much better if you put the bills to the back of the thinking and write from the heart – the reader can detect the quality and will respond accordingly.
I know, the publishers can be right B******* about paying their authors. I know it’s an long hard slog as an indie author – between pay packs, paying artists or re – learning how to be one, keeping to the time tables and the expenses of travel and booking on conventions for trade tables and the like – it can be a litany of lament and pain if you let it.
However, if you don’t get the work out, make the edits, put in the hours of writing and research  – The novel won’t write itself ladies and gents. We have enough pressure to be getting on with and enough stress to kill a large Moose!
I just know, that in my heart, I can and should be an author and poet. I have to have faith in myself and my talents. I don’t need to age myself to death over the details that can and will kill me if I allow them. Don’t question your sanity, challenge your mettle. Embrace the idea and find any excuse to write, tell a tale verbally/orally and let your imagination flow like water in spring.

I know, some find this absurd or codswallop ~
I just ask them; if this is the case, than why pursue happiness and peace? Why bother with chasing your hearts desire? Do you prefer to live in regret or at ease with your conscience?

Up to you. Me, I choose the fireside/camp fire story teller lark. Money will come and go, as all material things and problems. Your dreams realised will only make an appearance once every so often – so grab on and ride for all you’re worth!

 

~ The Pirate Poet

P.s.
Do keep an eye peeled, in December I shall have Camden’s Follies Book 1, part 2 out…
Be prepared and batten down the hatches!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Continued ranting… so to speak…

 

To continue with my thoughts from the other day…
I’ve met and been fortunate enough to interact with some of the most talented, imaginative and gifted people the world has ever seen. I’ve seen some rise, fall and never ever be recognised. One thing is consistent – the industry hasn’t learned a thing from their gaffs,  mistakes and such. It’s one of the big reasons I push for independent artists from all mediums.
Too many have played God at the expense of the readers/audience and the authors/artists. It’s long overdue we quit deifying overblown egos and realise the big guys need to do more to sell what they have instead of wear out the readers with re-tread/carbon copies of the same codswallop over and over again.
For  me, the page is my canvas. My words are brushes, pallet and paints. My sole job is to engage the imagination and cinema of the mind of the reader. I tell the story as it is meant to be told and not out of a tired old format.
Readers today have far more options than ever – no need to deal with the rubbish that comes from the Twilight crowd. And yes, it  IS rubbish. Anything that can be outdone by its cinematic twin, discourage reading.. it’s rubbish.
Anyway, enough of my bile for the day.
I will have a list and links to help promote some of the finest in our field, newest and most enjoyable story tellers…

Until then, keep reading, writing, don’t take no for an answer, be yourself in all your creative glory and NEVER live in a can or can’t world. You’re brilliant and all you need to do is find your canvas and tools ~ GERONIMO!

~ The Pirate Poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Never a dull moment…

 

Okay, so now that I’ve cheesed off a fair few editors…
Let’s see then. I just tend to go with the crowd that believes in themselves and not co – dependency. I find that just because one title sells doesn’t mean you have to re – write a perfectly good tale to bore the audience or insult them to tears and a desire NOT to read.
If you can market rubbish – you CAN market solid work. It’s publishing’s job to SELL what they have or find or make a market instead of settling for the tried and boorish bog standard ones.
The new paradigm is us, the authors and artists, realising that we’ve been paying to do all the work ourselves as is. It’s time to unite under a banner of mutual support and true karma. Karma is finding a goal and and then discovering others desirous of this end and helping selflessly to achieve it. We get the energy and resources we truly need in return and expand our knowledge and become better for it in the end.
If it were up to me we’d have a union, with dues and crowd source support and possibly even the odd fund raiser. Work together, support our intellectual, copyright and trademarks by providing legal assistance as needed. Show a united front against the pirates who would profit off of our hard/smart work and encourage more creativity than stifle/snuff it!
No more having to go into debt for what you love! No more sending out manuscripts to just anyone – especially those that don’t return them so they can profit from their cheap ghost writing labour!  For those who couldn’t afford dues – the fund raisers for them and selfless aid in their laudable undertakings. Also, free legal advocates and research – time to get the professors and students of law some real world work, yeah?
Anyway, that’s my rant and I’m sticking to it!

Cheers and keep your eyes on Kobo and Amazon… almost done with the tweaks for Camden’s Follies and SOON, very soon, I shall even have Elder Offensive book 1 out!

ALLONS – Y!

~ The Pirate Poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

youtube.com/watch

Above is a link to something I was trying to recall for a while. In this day and age, the words seem to resonate that much more than ever before.  wonder how many would participate in such massive acts of destruction and violence if they pondered these very words?

I know. One cannot dwell on all the evils of the world without falling into an abyss of darkness, but on the other hand – we need to remind ourselves of what our individual contributions are working towards. We cannot cure the whole till we solve ourselves and then we can go forth – not in anger or spite, but in healing.
To some, this is a soft approach of folly and subject of ridicule. Me, I just know what works.

On the story front ~
Working, maybe, on Time out of Balance. A slight horror and alternate reality story..
Still working on which way I wish to end one of two story series. Getting there in regards to which path and all.
On the horror front – coming along nicely.
Dragon stories abound and I struggle to limit myself to a few short stories and maybe a novel.
Maybe one day I’ll find a script writer who actually READS the material instead of trying osmosis, telepathy or skimming. I guess reading is a lost art, yeah?

Okay, enough of the proverbial anger management…
On to and back to writing and getting my readers their stories/tales!

ALLONS – Y!

~ The Pirate Poet

And then, there was this…

 

I was on twitter when I noted a re-tweet from Neil Gaiman.  A young and up and coming author asked a question; What do I need to do to become a better writer? His answer; Write!
However, this went over the head of the woman in question. She basically replied by stating that she might have just caught the great author off guard and he was tired.  She just concluded her statement with ~ ” So, I was like, thanks, that’s … o.k?” Or something like that.
Gee, if his answer was more straightforward it would have hit her on the head and bum simultaneously while yelling at her.
Let me add the following to your confusion – if you’re young and starting on your path.
You don’t call yourself a singer if all you do is read about and listen to people singing, do you? Nor do you call yourself a musician if you did similar. You have to pick up the instrument and play it, get behind the microphone and sing before you can even discover how far away or along you are. To find out how much you have to learn or often you must practise. And even then, by practising, playing the instrument or singing – you get better.
Writing is NO different. Don’t wait for someone else to write your tale for you or tell it. Write it! Break yourself of bad habits and refine or expand your mind, genres, vocabulary and technique – WRITE! There is no instant gratification or pill to replace this. WRITE! It’s the first step into a wide, wondrous universe of endless possibilities. WRITE!

The read some more. I can honestly say the best of tales will open the cinema/theatre of the mind and engage your imagination. A great/good story will refresh and leave you ready to tackle the conundrums of everyday living. It will revive you like a walk in the park or a good meal could.

So get out there, don’t bother with advice – WRITE! And be sure to finish what you start…
And if you want top network – go out and make friends, at conventions, libraries and school. Keep each other in the know and do it without thought of reward – selflessly!

So, for now …

 

~ The Pirate Poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another day…

Yeah, this could be a boring one. Not really! Triple Mocha Frapaccino from Starbucks and my caffeine and chocolate levels in my blood are coming back to normal. I’d hope to do a shop round today so, this could be somewhat fun.
In regards to writing…
When introducing a world or new land, try and describe as much as possible so future readers don’t get bogged down by too much detail. It also ensures people read from the beginning as smart arses complain you can simply point out that true readers would have begun at the beginning and actually read the thing.  I know in Camden’s Follies I never truly described the male admiralty  – just what the officers wore to distinguish them from the rank and file.
I did that on purpose as secondary or even primary protagonists don’t always need description as they require being depicted by their evil deeds. Not to mention, the true key villains are taken care of. Also, I like my readers to have to imagine a bit more than most for what the majority of villains appear as.
Yeah, I’m off the wall and different. It’s what makes my stories unique and my style of writing my own. Anyway, just enjoy the story/stories as they come out.
It may be next week or next year… hard to say some times, but I will get work out and to the reading public. Time to put the paradigm shift into top gear, yes?

Okay, perhaps a sampler or teaser… yes?

Camden’s Follies

For Becky with a big hug for the other evil triplets, Charmaine and Kyrstin! To James, Quincy, David, Sam and David, Katherine, Marc, Misty and Karen – my muses from down under. I wish I could list all my friends and extended family, but for now I’ll settle for using your inspiration in the form of characters here in.

Part 1

From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate

Chapter Index pg 001

Chpt 1 My Journey Begins pg 002

Chpt 2 Next Episode ~ When worlds collide and gentlemen find their mettle pg 009

Chpt 3 Pirates! pg 015

© 2015 Jon Corres Pirate Poet

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

Camden’s Follies

Part 1, Chapter 1: From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate

My Journey Begins

The main engine of the Queens Dirigible“Bernoulli” makes a chirruping sound as the propeller squeaks on and off. Forensic Physician Dr. Camden looks bored and frustrated behind his aged typewriter as he attempts to compose his thoughts. A brief flurry of screaming followed by heavy feet running to and fro cause the near middle aged traveller to look up from his palms.

The tall English gentleman sits in a confined space where he’s been trying to type his journal up. Young, relatively, Doctor Camden is dressed in khaki brown with a waist coat while his long coat is draped over his chair. His hair is solid black and the look of a well groomed upper class gentleman. His handlebar moustache seems a bit out of place as it covers his entire mouth. The lines around his eyes make him seem older in the dim lit cabin as he continues to stare at the ceiling, ranting out loud.

~

“Best to stay inside and not bother the professor… professor?! Hah! Daft old man and an even more dense pair of followers, I’d say. Six weeks and barely land in sight, a flight that was supposed to take half that time. I’m sat on my backside in this cramped cabin, not so much as a flying monkey and it’s far too cold out on deck to even try to take a photograph, decent or otherwise, of the, er seascape. I wonder why the captain even remotely tolerates the barmy old codger? ”

I begin to type again when a familiar odour wafts from beneath my door. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and petrol products forces me to open the window of my cabin, perhaps that’s being too generous. It’s a portal that is as easy to open and close as a whale bone corset! I’m wondering about my decision to trust these people to take me to Africa when I could have simply bucked up my courage and taken a steamship to Egypt before taking up the reigns on a fine Arab charger, something I’m more at home with than modern machinery that I have no idea how to operate and at this rate no desire to learn about.

“ DAMN IT MAN! I SAID SPANNER! NOT GIVE ME THE CAN OF LUBRICANT!!!”

* Sigh * My eyes nearly lock in their sockets as they roll up in disgust.

How many times must this buffoon, Scottish at that, forget that between his accent and his lack of linguistic ledger domain they have a hard time understanding him. Not withstanding the idea his “help” has a limited command of the English language. Blast this old typewriter! And who’s that at my door?

“ Mr. Camden? Doc – tor James Camden?”

I hear in a barely audible tone and in a very thick Portuguese accent.

“ Sir, professor McTavit needs you, sir… in ze engine room, we are, as you say, not sure ’bout what it is he’s asking ’bout … please!”

My frustration is at it’s peak now. First off, I’m a physician in training of sorts, something new called forensic medicine… dissecting the dead and all that to determine cause of death. I was supposed to be in central Africa with a company of soldiers working with their surgeon, a Doctor Hamslick from Kent. He pioneered this idea about five years prior on the behest of the Duke of Edinburgh to help settle a case of poisoning of one of his staff, nasty business.

I throw my long coat on and make my way behind a very frustrated and agitated middle aged man from Portugal who is muttering curses in his native tongue under his breath.

We arrive at the doorway to the engine room, just beneath the centre of the dirigible. It’s blackened and charred from a series of explosions and fires. McTavit won’t tell me one bloody thing about his contraption, suffice it to say the gears and inner workings seem to need to be kept both cool and well lubricated and that’s all I can ascertain from my personal observations and that would be all I know of it.

Well, all right I can tell it’s massive and took a lot of time to put together, but what fuels it and why it needs to be in a state of near bathing in oil… that one is definitively over my head!

I tried holding my nose as I entered but to no avail. My compatriot handed me a set of goggles to put on so, well, I guess my eyes would be protected or less likely to melt out of my head. It smelt like the engine room of a freighter, if it hadn’t been cleaned in about ten years! It felt like stepping into a really bizarre painting, everything seemed to be black and hardly discernible! I knew there was a lot of piping and that the head room was dicey at best. I made my way via the sound of the shouting and the expertise of my guide to have memorised his surroundings. Not too successfully, I must say as I managed to bang my forehead and top of my skull twice, I made it to my destination.

By the looks of it, the two yelling at each other were in the centre of a chamber of some sort. Openings at the top were in rows and lines, three roughly from what I could make out. The odd part was that there were what looked like mirrors or mirrored surfaces all over the walls and even the floor. I noted that there seemed to be some kind of clean – up under way. That’s when I saw the old goat arguing with the other poor prat, er, assistant. McTavit was old, with bushy mutton – chop sideburns and the complexion of a tomato. He looked a burly man gone to seed and was easily as tall as me, if only a tad shorter. His red hair was still visible through the heavy silver gray. He was even dressed in coveralls of a tartan nature, that is, from what was visible beneath the grime.

McTavit was pointing and looking apoplectic at the eastern most wall of reflective surfaces and moving his eyebrows like my old professor at Cambridge. I stood mesmerised till I realised that the wall of mirrors was slightly concave. I looked to their twin to the west and noted they were convex, perhaps they were supposed to be identical? That seemed to be what was getting under the engineers pecks. I shan’t bore you with details, suffice it to say that everything came to a grinding halt once my guide coughed and pointed.

 

And remember, it’s my copyright as the message above warns so… anyway, enjoy this snippet and let me know! I can probably have an Ebook ready  as soon as I can wrangle a cover art piece.

 

Till Next Time –

~ The Pirate Poet

And so it goes….

 

First, I know it’s not mother’s day yet, but all the same – Have a grand day and may it be the first of many celebrations of you and all the wonders of being a matron!

Big Kitten Hug to all!

 

Now, since all stories have a slight to very deviant angle to them the tempo is very important. Even chaos has a beat! No matter if it’s the villain’s day or hero’s, if love wins or is tragically lost, the temp must be adhered to. Like a great symphony, one must divide into many parts or movements and conduct them accordingly.

Conversations must flow like water and be ever changing like sky. Moods and actions change, but never roughly or choppy. An end can be abrupt, but never a cut off. Cliff hangers are an occupational hazard and not mandatory for all tales.
As I’ve noted before ~ Let the story tell itself. Simple really,
I thought of an interesting beginning for a tale – let’s see how this is received or perceived….

  Mirror me this…

© 2018 Jon Corres Pirate Poet

It was over. All that was left was to go to bed and dream away the nightmare. Darkness and crept in and silver light shone from the sliver of moon hanging in the air. A tomb would have been louder and yet…
Something was troubling. Why did the shadows remain in the hall with the lights on? As she passed the vanity in the main bedroom, it seemed to ripple and distort her features. Marcus was already miles away by now, could she reach him in time? She reached for her mobile only to find that despite the image in the mirror, it wasn’t on her night stand!

 

Okay. Another tease of sorts and hopefully a good example.

Write well, be brilliant and creative ~ Always!

~ The Pirate Poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Transitions, writing and being me..

 

youtube.com/watch

Okay, the above is a part of a BGM/OST from Millennium Actress. It’s the second of three that represent the major acts in ones life. It’s haunting, jubilant and yet sorrowful. If you watched this film, you know what I mean. One of the the plot lines is star crossed love or obsessive love.

Anyway, can answer questions about that in a later blog.

 

willowraven.weebly.com/temple-of-the-raven-sisterhood

emple-of-the-raven-sisterhood

The above is the site of one of my future cover artists that I’m either crowdfunding or saving to afford. She’s brilliant! Then again, all the artists I know are.  Please, do visit the site and buy tonnes!

Okay, for the true believers and not those fans of androgynous pop stars with no real talent …
Being you doesn’t mean being a narcissist. It means learning and growing into the you in your heart and not the one in a book, song, poster, commercial or what someone in a fancy uniform or with a lofty title tells you.

TA for now…
~ The Pirate Poet