Safe and Sound
Thank Goodness Life is Hard!
We couldn’t have done this without help. The moving, the moving….did I mention the moving?
Thank you all for the help you gave during this stressful moment in our lives. We are safe and sound within the home of my dearest friend, who welcomed us with open arms. That’s saying a lot when his lovely house in being invaded by 10 kids, 2 adults and Grandpa. We have 2 lovely bedrooms upstairs and we’re together, safe and warm. We’re grateful.
A friend also helped me get a freelance writing job (thank you Tim and Sarah), which will help as the next Wanted Hero book is written. Evan and Leilani are still up north, Leilani working to pay off her car by next week and Evan, bless his heart, sleeping on Uncle Bob’s floor to watch over his sister while they are away from me. Love those kids. Evan has had the support of the Board Game Designers Guild of Utah while he works on his Trench Wars game, with game shops already setting up demo nights through my brother Jordan (thanks BRO!).
What has touched my heart the most, however, is the love of this community down here. It didn’t hit me until after we arrived that many of our dearest friends had moved this far south over the past 18 years. In just 3 days we have bumped into many familiar faces, smiling and grinning, and arms wrapping around us, telling us how much we have been missed. Wow. What a blessing. Even as I write this, an old friend of Kathi’s rang the doorbell for the first visit in nearly a decade!
So what’s the next step in this new adventure? Well, the focus is always the Wanted Hero story, while working any job I can find to pay back those who have helped us…then onto finding another home. It all balances on the story catching on and selling, which includes the games based on the stories. It’s our future. We know it takes time and so we endure and work as diligently as we can, praying for the best while being ever-so-grateful for the mercy of others.
Oh…and one other thing.
I know you’re having a difficult time as well…but don’t give up.
You know who you are. Yes,…you.
Life has hit all of us and I know you’re struggling just like us, though in your own way.
Don’t give up. It may be hard, it may be painful and you might not know what to do…but don’t give up! Have faith, have courage and take that next step. Be grateful for everything, good and bad (as crazy as that may sound) and I promise you that all will work for your good.
Remember that you’re loved. You may not feel it, but you are. Even if it’s only by me.
Don’t give up.
Talk to you soon.
-Jaime
On to a new challenge
Thank you all for the lovely words, the kind offers and prayers. It’s helped a great deal, but it looks like the forces at work have other plans for this family and we are having to say goodbye to our home. We get to see what it’s like to sleep together in two bedrooms on the floor, until we can change our circumstances. Thirteen of us.
…that also includes an aged Grandfather.
This is going to be interesting.
Some of you have asked how the book sales are going and I appreciate that question. Even received an email an hour ago from David Farland asking how the sales were going. Here’s what I told him:
Book sales are slow to none right now. People are leery of first time authors and self-published ones especially, but we continue to contact book bloggers and send out eBooks for reviews and the input/reviews we’re getting back are pretty good. Only sold a few hundred at most so far, about 100 of those being by my own hand (physical copies I bought, then resold). I’m new to this, but getting a forced education.
A bit discouraging sometimes, but I get over it and keep pushing every day. My time is coming. Just have to keep going.
The difference between me and most newbies (I’m assuming this here) is the circumstances. When we attended a writers class, Kathi and I heard a lot of ‘wouldn’t it be nice if‘…or ‘if I ever get‘…whereas I’m looking at this as ‘I will and must make this happen to feed my children’. We had a good measure of success with the comics–so I know this works. It’s not a belief or a hope…I know this stuff works. It’s a matter of time.
My challenge keeps coming back to doing this on a prayer. We saved pennies (literally) to get the 2 proof copies of Prelude. Then I sold a proof to a fan to pay for the first set of 25 books (he bought it for $135). I sold the books signed for $10 each, then bought 50 on the next round. It’s been tough and slow…but it works.
It’s also keeping us humble, but we’re learning. And hey–it DID help me buy some diapers once! LOL
So where is this all going to lead? I’m not really sure, but I’m excited to get there. I’ve spent 42 years preparing for this.
If you haven’t read Prelude to a Hero, Demoni Vankil or seen our new website, please do. Tell a friend. I think you’ll enjoy the story.
…and wish us luck!!
Read MoreHungry Minds Must Be Fed…
Just finished ordering the review copies of Prelude to a Hero in print, due Monday morning (hope that extra $20 for shipping is actually worth it). Then Kathilynn and I can sit down, separately, and mark up the copy–make sure it’s all pretty for you and printable. Looking forward to seeing the final, physical copy!
Also had some challenges when it came to Smashwords. NOTE: make sure to follow their guide, no matter how much you’re convinced of your own cleverness…or you’ll have to do it all over. Resubmitted work, epub checked it (successfully) and now we wait once again. It’s all very annoying, but I’m glad this process is in place: making sure you get the best book possible.
So what now? Other than taking a small breath and perhaps trying to get some exercise?
It’s time to write again. The plotting, the outlining, the expansion of histories and even some game creation with Evan. He’s got an incredible idea for a card game that I’m excited about.
The focus is now upon the Chronicles of a Hero series. The first novel due this fall (2011). Kathi thinks I’m crazy, the kids think it’s cool and the readers need to have their hungry minds fed as soon as possible when it comes to the adventures of Wendell. So I’m working with speed and diligence.
Having gone through this process [writing with Kathi] was a great learning experience, and now I feel like running at full speed–following the carefully outlined course set for this story, and I hope…truly hope, that you’ll be an intimate part of that adventure.
I’m looking forward to answering questions, creating side stories to expand on your interests, creating merchandise you’d actually love to have–instead of creating ‘stuff’ and throwing it at you.
I want to have fun…with you and everyone you know.
Read MoreOn Turning 42
I woke up and found I had turned 42…for the second year in a row.
All last year Kathi and I were telling people I was 42 when in fact I was 41. Huh.
I’m sitting here typing as my 1 year old Wynnie is dancing to ‘Adult Education’ by Hall & Oats. She smiles at me in that special way she does–telling me that daddy is loved so much.
I’m grateful this morning, if for nothing else, than because my heart is still beating and I get to be with my family for at least one more day. Reflecting on my life, I found my blessings have outweighed my troubles, making me once again…grateful.
I’m married to my dream girl.
Read MoreSneak Peek: Chapter One of Prelude to a Hero
Only days from the release of the first book and the launch of this series. I am beside myself with excitement and Kathi is sitting net to me, putting final polishing on the chapters, giddy as well.
This has been a long road of incredible challenges, with our family welfare hanging on the hope that I won’t suck as a writer! Woot! And to think: it’s only the beginning. So here we are, about to release and I still don’t have a clue how we are going to tell people about the book.
Well, here’s a gift–CHAPTER ONE of Prelude to a Hero. Hopefully it will motivate someone out there to tell a friend and if you happen to be a book blogger, I will have eBook copies available in every format for the asking, just shoot me an email.
Remember, stop by www.wantedhero.com on May 6th and buy yourself a copy of the novel for only $.99. It will also be available through Amazon.com.
Who are you?
I am the storyteller.
I’m the friend, the neighbor, the stranger on the street.
I’m the one who watches, contemplates and shares.
But, who are you?
***
Soon, he remembered. Soon we will see the face of the Hero! His stomach leaped. How many times had Shea heard his father speak those words? Hundreds? Thousands?
He had walked this scorched stone path with his arms tied over his chest, enduring the parched winds, while staring at the back of his father’s robe since he was nine. That is when his father had discovered his gift for discerning truth. Then Shea’s father, as the High Elder, began instructing, requiring him to follow and observe.
Having grown, his eyes were now fixed upon his father’s hooded head. Just as the High Elder predicted, the people and Council had spoken and his only son took the life pledge of service in the Iskari High Council. Being only sixteen, Shea was honored to be the youngest elder in their history. Days later, Shea privately exulted as he received the crucial calling as the one who would confirm the royal bloodline. The Ithari would then be bestowed upon its rightful heir. The Hero. How many generations of High Elders had walked this path of sagging steps, each hoping they might be the one to see Him face to face?
Habitually ignoring the growing din, Shea allowed himself to be lulled by the rhythmic scratching of his father as he scuffled along, the childhood memories he enjoyed of Dark Lord Mahan and the Hero tumbled from one to another. “Naughty children are sent to Unrest and given to Mahan,” the gentle threatenings tugged at the corner of his lips. All mothers had warned their children of such things. But his mind eagerly dwelt on his father. He cherished the long evenings spent wrapped in thick arms, on his father’s lap, in front of a popping fire, while the scratchy fibers of his father’s robe made his cheek itch. Shea brought his hand to his face while the encompassing adoration filled his chest again and he embraced echoes of whispered tales about the heroes past and the one hero yet to come. He knew now, as he always had. This time Mahan will fall.
The childhood traditions had created an unfaltering bond between father and son. But Shea and his father spent much time in silence these days, the inexplicable desire to find acceptance burdened Shea’s every thought. It was time for the Hero to be retrieved and his father dared suggest they should act against tradition and reason! Often Council meetings were adjourned following raised voices, conflicting views, without resolution.
After all these years and the stories of his purpose, Shea felt cheated. Indignation threatened to suffocate him, he clenched his teeth. He thinks I’m still a child. He was being robbed of his greatest privilege and purpose by his own father. He doesn’t trust me.
The uncaring wind whipped around him wailing in vain as it snapped the hood from Shea’s naked skull. Blinking his watering eyes, he lowered his chaffed head and pushed on up the long callous path to the edge of the Pinnacle.
Mimicking his father, Shea stood erect on the ridge that thirstily lunged out over the boundless chasm. Just beyond his outstretched fingertips the chittering grains of sand whizzed and whirled and echoed from every direction, like swarms of angry hornets, yet only the scathing wind assaulted him. The violent ballet beckoned as he peered over the ridge to watch where millions of worlds dwelt together within the raging storm. It was here that, those who had the eyes to see could look upon the inhabitants of distant lands.
Shea stood back as the High Elder drew in a deep breath through wide nostrils, closing his wrinkled eyes. The sand before them pulsed, gathering in trails, as if magnets attracting sand were dancing in the chaos. Pouring in from the storm, the sand quickly organized itself into many conversing figures.
Once, he had questioned his father about why they came. He answered, “There is one in the sand with a rosy aura. This is the life and movements of a young man who has been placed upon a strange world, Earth, to hide him. He is the one I observe. It is my calling to protect him.” Years of bedtime tales and dreams suddenly took root and sprang to life in his young soul. Shea leaned forward squinting in vain to peer deeper into the magic, hoping to see the boy’s face–to look in his eyes.
Generations of High Elders had been watching over the young hero since he was a helpless baby, placed in the arms of adoring parents who would never know where he really came from; waiting for the day when the Hero would awaken Ithari, the Gem of the Gods. It was time. The young man was needed now, to come home, reclaim his birthright and save his people.
Even now, for the hundredth time, Shea’s shoulders sagged, disappointed. He did not have this gift and could not even see the coloring his father spoke of.
Soon, Shea sighed.
While the High Elder was engrossed, something peculiar caught Shea’s eye. Stray grains of sand were tumbling up the path across his feet, unaffected by the wind. A piercing apprehension seized Shea’s gut. An evil spirit? Here? How…..?
Perplexed, he watched the slithering strands accumulate into a churning mound behind his father. Should I…? His mind went blank. It was seeping into a dark, blood-red mud, then molding itself into the form of an asp with a flickering tongue to taste the wind.
Only when it slithered around his father, rising to meet the sands of Earth did Shea find his voice. “Father!” he warned, screaming above the din.
Startled, the High Elder’s narrowed eyes darted to his son and back to the sand. Calmly, he stretched out a hand, quickly waving through the scene to sever the link to Earth. The figures collapsed into swirling streams, launching themselves back into the chasm once more.
Except for the asp. Unaffected, it twisted and turned, encircling the old man’s chest. Shea gagged at the metallic odor of blood and steaming sand smothering the air while the snake probed around his father’s face and brow. Shea waited, holding his breath as the High Elder concentrated with a lifetime of practiced skill to clear all thoughts from his consciousness. It lingered, waiting for some weakness to snatch that would betray the hero’s location to its dark master. The moments stretched past. And then minutes.
Exploding with repressed uncertainty, Shea impatiently commanded, “Ish-Krothi Umballa!” and briskly thrust his hands through the sleeves of his robe. His fingers gripped an invisible sphere that he stretched and forcefully hurled at his father.
The asp sparked, bursting into flames and fell tinkling to the unyielding stone.
“No!” cried the High Elder, eyes narrowing and face flushing red. “Now the Dark Lord will know we hide something from him!” He looked at the small shards of glass around his feet, the red residue slowly fading from the shiny surfaces. The creases in his forehead deepened, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
Instantly Shea realized, too late, the consequences of his actions. As a boy he had waited long hours for his father to return from council meetings specifically designated to protecting the hero. As a member of the Council he learned the challenges of weaving intricate deceptions of ignorance or complacency to keep prying eyes of shadow at bay. Now in one hasty breath the methodically orchestrated plans had been compromised.
A deep frown on his face, the High Elder turned sharply, yanking the hood over his head he attacked the steep winding path. Knowing they could not converse on the matter until they were far from the sand and wind, Shea anxiously kept pace with the High Elder’s lengthy stride until they were just outside Sanctuary’s walls.
“Father, I …”
Raising a hand, he neither slowed nor turned. “Control and unity, young man,” he cut in a cool tone. “This is always about unity and self control. That is how we will defeat the enemy. Not with a careless display of personal power and parlor tricks!”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Shea justified.
The High Elder slowed, the edgy tone causing his rigid pace to falter. He stopped to study Shea’s face with a piercing gaze. Moments passed, but he said nothing.
“Truly,” Shea insisted softly. “I sought only to keep the boy safe.”
The small wrinkles in the corner of his eyes offered a faint a smile as the High Elder slowly exhaled. Shea was young. Sixteen was too young, in his opinion, to carry such a burden. The High Elder’s role as a father was now secondary to the calling of an Elder. However, youth and inexperience were no excuse for irrational behavior and stepping outside one’s calling.
“Young Elder, you have forgotten your place, doubted my calling, and challenged my stewardship.”
At the formal address, Shea squared his shoulders, pain flickering in his eyes. “High Elder, I do not doubt your position NOR would I dare to challenge your stewardship,” he emphasized in lowered tones. “I have only opposed the decisions on retrieving the boy. There is too much risk involved. Thus, I believe this important task should only be entrusted to the Council as a whole. The bloodline will need protection. Our protection.”
It was the same argument.
“We are too arrogant in our own abilities, because we have knowledge and powers,” fortifying his point with volume. “Insanity!” Shea watched his father turn his head from side to side then raising his hands to the sky, anguishing, “Mahan has already enslaved half…HALF!…of this world!”
Pleading, eye to eye, “Elder, ….” sighing patiently, “Son. Do you not remember he lives because the last hero had compassion for his friend? Mahan is cunning and his influence grows in ways we can only measure by destruction and death.
“Have you and the others truly convinced yourselves that we are beyond destruction? Or even worse… corruption?”
Chin raised to the challenge, “And what of your plan, Father?” Spitting venomous condemnation into his words. “Will you really send a selfish, free-willed outcast to retrieve our last hope for all creation? One who shirks his responsibilities, subsisting in pubs to return so intoxicated that he often mistakes the pig pen for his cottage? He can’t even find the bathroom in the dark!”
The High Elder couldn’t help chuckling at his son’s accurate perception of one of Sanctuary’s longest residents. “No. Dax can find the bathroom in the dark…he simply finds it inconvenient when intoxicated and therefore, chooses not to.”
“That’s just…sick,” grimaced Shea.
“Nevertheless, it does not disqualify him for the task at hand. We all have a purpose. Remember how he suffers and what has been taken from him. It should soften your heart, if nothing else. He knows what’s expected and understands the gravity.”
Shea was unconvinced. “You misplace your trust in a fool, father.”
“No, son.” The High Elder smiled, placing a confident had on his son’s chest, “I trust a friend.”
Resigned, the young elder lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Patting his son’s shoulder, the High Elder grinned wide. “Have confidence. The Dark Lord will never suspect what is about to happen…..and we will do what has never been done before.”
Shea sighed, muttering under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Read MoreMy Latest Book
