The 12 Steps to Writing Success, Part 04: My History As A Failure and A Scaredy-Cat

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I was born modest; not all over, but in spots.
— Mark Twain
This is where I tell you why I’m the perfect guy to blog about despair and artistic angst and writers’ block like a cinder block smashing down on the keys of your laptop.

Bottom line is this: my credentials are more about the internal wounds I’ve overcome than the external honors I’ve been given. Which are sparse. It took me five years to finish my first novel, and I was too afraid to try to seek a publisher. The fact that very few people could read it didn’t quite bolster my confidence. It took me another seven to finish my next novel, and I was still unwilling to get help from anyone. And I still kept my writing life a secret from everyone. My wife would knock on the door, and I’d shuffle away my papers.

“What are you doing, Aaron?”

“Nothing. Not writing. Not me. Uh huh.”

Let’s fast forward? Or rewind. Or both. I always wanted to be a writer, ever since I was little. That was the dream. Aaron Ritchey, writer. On the first day of kindergarten, when the teacher told me to get out my crayons and paper, I asked, “Is this going to help me read and write?”

The answer was no. We were going to color. “Well,” I said, “I can color at home.” So I packed up my grip and walked home. I was five. It was clear what I wanted.

And I wrote Indiana Jones/Conan fanfiction. Of course, I combined them. Jase Kilner and his race through the lost city of whatever. Still a cool name, Jase Kilner.

 

I re-did Little Bo Peep, but added a hardboiled bounty hunter to help the luscious Bo Peep get back her sheep. There were wolves, but our hero had a shotgun. He was too cool to have a name. Too Clint Eastwood-y.

I loved to write stories, and my parents would eagerly wait to read what I had written. I had a fan base in the 3rd grade. My mom and dad. Garsh.

But then fear took hold. Bad fear. In high school, we had a literary magazine, and we’d vote on which stories we wanted to include. I always voted for myself, and I always lost to Pat Engelking, who was a better writer than me. But I hated that feeling, voting for myself. It felt horrible and I felt cursed to lose.

In the next twenty years, I wrote twelve novels. But was too afraid to shop them around.
Which brings up an important lesson. Always vote for yourself and vote with pride. Sending out query letters is voting for yourself. Now, if someone else has something better, vote for them, but if you’re all about the same, go for it, baby. We have to be our biggest fans because writers spend most of their time reading and re-reading their own work. It’s called revision. Be your own fan. Hell, be your own groupie. I won’t go any further on that.

So here I was, twenty years of writing, full of fear and regret. But I finally worked through the angst and terror and I sent out sixty queries to agents, editors, and presses, and I got picked up by a small press. That is my story. Along the way, I’ve spent 20 years working the 12 steps with my sponsor, and I’ve guided dozens of people through the 12 steps as a sponsor. I’ve been in recovery, without a relapse, for 21 years. As of today, everyone knows I’m a writer. And I keep on spreading the word.

I have overcome many of my deepest, darkest fears and self-limiting beliefs, and I can help others do the same. Hopefully, you can do it in a couple of months and it won’t take you decades. Hopefully.

A little bit more about me. Just your typical stuff because in the end, I’m just a typical guy. Oh, how I long to be so much more. But I’m not. Just a writer who plods along. Do-de-do-de-do.

In the middle of all that novel-writing, my wife and I spent 15 months traveling around the world. We settled down in Colorado where we raise two James-Bond-Super-Villains-In-Training who pose as little girls and who adore American girl dolls. Which of course is a plot to transfer wealth out of the middle class into Mattel’s evil laboratories.

When I’m not writing or speaking at writing conferences, I work at a computer company troubleshooting software, which is far more dull than it sounds.

I say all of that to say this. I failed at a deep level with my writing. Because of my own fear, because of my doubt, and because of my overly-dramatic self. I can “should” all over myself, all day long. I should have joined a critique group right away. I should have worked on short stories. I should have studied craft. I should have queried every day for years on end. Ray Bradbury had thousands of rejections before he published anything. Stephen King, same story.

But just because I failed yesterday, doesn’t mean I have to fail today. As long as I work through the angst to get to the other side. And there is another side for all of us. But it takes work and effort.

That’s what the rest of my blog posts are going to be all about. Working through the angst and trauma to get to the other side.

Next week:  Step one. Admitted we were powerless over our art and our creative lives had become unmanageable.

Mondays Are Hell – A Taste of Danger

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Hello Demon Lovers!  Er, prolly shouldn’t start with that.  Maybe, demon appreciators?  That doesn’t sound so swell.  Anyway, fellow Crescent Moon Press author, Louann Carroll, tempted me by saying that she loved dark, dangerous demons, and the demon from her novel was especially dark and dangerous.  Well, I had to know more and begged her to guest blog.  She agreed.  And in a cool way.  Here you have it, a first on my blog, an interview with a demon.

* * *

Since it is Mondays are Hell on Aaron’s awesome blog, I thought I would introduce you to Belial, a rather nasty demon. A friend of mine had the good fortune to interview him. With a little background, we will start.

We first learn of the Light in Gemini Rising, Book One. The Light is the creator of souls—Belial, one of Its most beautiful. Belial loves the Light so much; he cannot bear to share the Light’s love with such low-class, bestial, mud-creatures as human beings.

In Gemini Rising, Book Two, (not yet available) Kate and Noah vanish from Earth, only to find themselves in the Olam Yetziral, or the home of the angels. While Belial, a major demon in terms of hierarchy, cannot enter that plane of existence, his minions can.

 

Journalist, 116101, from the planet Sosach, located in the outer belt of Sangori, interviewed Belial for Universal Times magazine. While it is highly unusual for a major demon to allow such close access, for the betterment of cultural relations, he acquiesced.

Begin Interview: Journalist, 116101

Question: Tell me, Belial, what is it like to hate humankind?

(Belial is beautiful. His dark eyes pull you into their depths. His stature is huge; at least seven and one-half-feet tall. Black hair streams down his back, flowing over ripples of muscle, working smoothly beneath his skin. Even a man feels the attraction.

Note to Universal Times: I expect a bonus for this interview.

Belial laughs, and I wonder if he can read my mind. He glowers, before speaking.)

Answer: My hatred is an all-consuming fire that eats at my soul—day and night. There is no rest, no peace, and no succor to sustain me. I find little pleasure in this world, and have considered thinking myself out of existence.

Q: You have thought of annihilation?

(Amazed he has shared such intimate information, I am astounded I have asked such a question!

Belial sits back in his chair. He is dressed in a red velvet robe that ties at the neck, laying bare his naked chest. Dark, wing-like eyebrows pull into a frown. He considers my question, and I wonder: Will he destroy me for asking?)

A: Only once—after Sherena.

Q: And she is?

(Fire flashes in Belial’s eyes, the shadow of wings flirt with his shoulders, revealing a thick muscled neck, and a raptors’ back. My body quakes, as he changes from demonic back to angelic. There are rumors of his wife joining with the Light, but the elders say this is impossible.)

A: Sherena is my wife. Or, was my wife, before returning to the Light.

Q: How is that possible?

(The words are out of my mouth before I give thought to them. It is my understanding that once one leaves the shelter of the Light, and joins the rebels, returning is not an option.
Belial’s arms are tight against his body, his massive legs crossed. He glares at me, hideous red coals replace the endless night of his eyes. I want to run from the room, never to look back.)

A: Anything is possible.

Q: Can you tell me why you kidnapped Kate Kelly, bond mate to Noah from Naresh?

(Belial smiles, revealing razor-thin teeth. This being, whom I had thought beautiful, is not. The bestial image appears again, flickering away as fast as it comes. I cannot help but wonder: Does he hate mankind because he is one of them? No other creatures are as capricious as angels and human beings.)

A: I can give you limited information. Since the matter is not yet resolved, complete disclosure is not appropriate.

Q: I understand.

(Belial leans forward in his chair, placing his chin upon his two fists. His direct gaze disturbs me, and for the first time, I feel terror. This being has not one soul, but two.
His words are slow, rich with hidden undercurrents, past hatreds, and future destruction. Legend says Belial sets the planets in motion. Already, he has destroyed Earth, and Naresh. Who will be next?)

A: Noah, (this is said with a hiss) is my son. Conceived by surrogate, he is an accident of nature. It is inconceivable that a child of mine would mate with the earthling, Kathryn Kelly. To bring into existence an issue is nothing short of sacrilege. The Light will have Its say, as will I.

Q: Issue?

(Unfamiliar with the term, I have to ask. Cold erupts from Belial, not the frigid air of winter, but an inner freeze that showers me with dread. If I were Noah, Kate, or this issue, I would stay far away, but it is too late for that.

The elders say, Belial can destroy the body, as well as the soul. He has the power to sway emotion, and the ability to charm those who deny his existence.)

A: An issue is a child. Lucia is her name. I will now end this interview.

Q: One last question: How does banishment from the Light feel?

(Trembling, I await his answer. Belial morphs between his two forms. He becomes full demon. Despair, hatred, and darkness leak from him. Slippery shadows hug the walls, and creep beneath my feet. His countenance changes, red, and black carve sharper bones.

Belial turns, and looks over his shoulder. Reptilian eyes glare at me. His knotted back—covered in scales—burns with blue fire. Growing in length and breadth, he towers above me. He takes a breath, and the universe shudders.)

A: The answer you seek is death… Of the soul, the mind, and the body.

(End interview)

My dear friend, Journalist, 116101, is still recovering from his encounter with Belial. His hair has turned white as snow, and his eyes reflect the misery of Hades. He has paid a hefty price to be the first to interview a demon.

To learn more about the Gemini series, click here. To visit my Amazon Author page, click here. Join me at Facebook or Twitter! I enjoy hearing from fans.
Louann Carroll

Thank you, Aaron. I had so much fun writing this.

Heavenly Fridays – Ex-Drunks, Pushers, and San Luis Obispo Angels

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In The Never Prayer, I introduce the reader to the idea of pushing. Pushing is what angels do when they want to change things on this hard, old world, to make things better. But my angels can only do so much, and in the end, human beings have free will.

Have you noticed that when you are trying to do something that is wrong, things don’t work out all that smoothly? Little things break. You might snag your coat. You might trip.

I grew up Catholic. I know when I’m doing something wrong, and I’ve noticed that things don’t go smoothly when I’m not doing the right thing. Yeah, that may or may not be angels, but still, I liked that idea, and so I put it in my book.

When asked how he knows who to help, my angel says helping people is easy. All you need to do is go outside, look, listen, and you’ll find someone to help. This world is so broken, and people are so troubled, everyone needs help.

This idea came from a story I heard from an old ex-drunk who had spent years living on skid row in Los Angeles. Hardcore bum. We’re talking the bowery, man. Where hope goes to die. But he lived there for years, stayed drunk, and somehow, stayed alive.

Until he got sober in A.A. and became an exceptional man. Anyway, it was in his early years of sobriety, and his life was still rocky, and his sobriety was as shaky as my own faith in God. As shaky as a drunk ten minutes away from earthquake D.T.’s. As shaky as a castanet on a mountain bike going downhill. Shaky.

It was the middle of the night in San Jose, and he found himself in his car, driving around. He was desperate not to drink again, but oh boy, liquor stores were huddled together on every corner, coming out of the shadows to show off their neon. And like I said, he was shaky.

But my friend had heard in AA meetings that if you didn’t want to drink, you should help other people. But who could he help at midnight? Most everyone on Earth was asleep.

He started driving south, not really knowing why, but just driving. And he drove all the way down to San Luis Obispo which is at least 2 or 3 hours from the Bay Area. But it felt right, and it was better than relapsing. So in the wee early morning hours, in San Luis Obispo, he was driving around, looking for someone to help. Following this still, sure voice inside his head.

Yeah, voices in his head. Crazy. And he was about to turn around and drive away from all that crazy when he saw them—a man, stranded by his car, with his family, as desperate as my friend felt. And he helped them and they kept thanking him, saying that he was a gift from God. That he was an angel.

Now, if God, or the Universe, or the Great Holy Muffin of All Creation can use an old ex-drunk to help someone, imagine what this force can do with us, who aren’t drunk, who are in our right minds (at times), who are healthy?

We can be angels. If we slow down and listen.

Miracles happen if we look for them. And if we don’t look, they don’t happen. It really is up to us. How grand is that?

God is where you look. Angels will talk to you. If you listen.