Archive for the ‘fiction’ Category

Ab Origine Finis

penDo they keep me here because I am dotty? Or is it because I know the secret? Or is it both? Yes, perhaps, for I both know the secret and am dotty enough to use it! What secret is that, you ask? Would you like to know it? (more…)


Read Full Post »

First, make sure you really want to write a novel. Novels are hard to write. Here’s my scale of literary difficulty:

Short story      1
Short play     10
Novel          100
3-act play 1,000
Film       10,000

It’s usually best to start with short fiction and work your way up to more difficult material. Novels have a cachet that short stories lack, but there are shorter forms that are almost as good as novels. With a lot less effort you can write and publish a novelette or a novella, and still wear a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and refer to “…my book…” at every opportunity.

¿What is the difference, you ask. Here it is:

Novel 40,000 words or more,       Difficulty 100 (and up)
Novella 17,500 to 40,000 words,  Difficulty 72 (average)
Novelette 7,500 to 17,500 words, Difficulty 62 (average)

Hint: the longer the name, the shorter the work. Novelettes are lot shorter than novels, novellas are in the middle.

Second, write to be read. Shoot the sheriff on the first page. Skip description; put action or a powerful hook in the first line, then fill in below that with the setting, the dark and stormy night garbage, etc. An example:

“Put down that wrench!” (Opening line, “Blowups Happen,” Robert A. Heinlein, 1940.)

Once you’ve grabbed the reader, don’t let go. End your chapters on high tension points:

Tenirax watched the torturer’s shadow flicker slowly up the stone stairs until he found himself in total darkness.


Another room straight ahead. Tenirax put his head in to take a quick look. It was too dark to see. I must light a candle, he thought, stepping inside. Suddenly, close at hand, he heard the most ominous sound anyone can hear.

Third, don’t just take us somewhere and back. Your hero must be different when he returns. Readers, in some way, should also be changed:

Bad reader change: “Why did I read that crap?”
Good reader change: “I must buy the sequel!”

Read Full Post »

How To Find Time To Write A Book

Check out Anne Wayman’s article on her site:



Read Full Post »

An Allegory

Dremyth, the guard atop the Wyzard’s Tower, blew into his hands to warm them, then tucked them beneath his tunic. Winter is coming, he thought, looking out across the bare, open fields below the castle. I hate winter. I wish I could go somewhere where it’s always summer, or somewhere that doesn’t have ice and snow…

His wish was granted in a trice. Not through any magick on the part of the eponymous Wyzard—the latter was long gone with the end of the Age of Wyzardry, many centuries previous. Instead, Dremyth felt a powerful blow between his shoulder blades. (more…)

Read Full Post »

Stranded in Mexico

Stranded in Mexico

© 2008 Jorge Kafkazar

Worshipers of the bullfight are many, their ceremonies diverse. “Mano,” too, idolized the agility of the torero, his ability to find dangerous pleasure at the bull’s expense, then extract himself, unhurt, at the very last instant.  Mano celebrated this skill in his own way.

Since there were no “horns” worthy of his skill in the village, he would hitchhike into the City and mingle with the crowds to look for large busted women. (more…)

Read Full Post »

The Song of Jorex


© 2008

My origins are obscure and not fully relevant to my story, for this message is not about me, but about Jorex, my creation.

Still, I shall tell you some of what I know of myself. My builders, extinct beings of whom I remember nothing, gave me a name: “ZORXOG34.”  I know not whether this had meaning beyond mere identification, but I was created for purposes of waging war. (more…)

Read Full Post »


May, 1948

From “Evenings at Café Alekhine”

© 2008

Zudirk (he never gave us his surname) was approximately 60 years old, though he could have been a dissolute 45 or a well-maintained 75. He wore dark corduroy trousers, a sailor’s jacket, and an old fedora, summer and winter. His moustache was neatly trimmed on the first of each month and grew longer as the days passed, though controlled into handlebar form by M. Pinaud’s moustache wax, brown, in a silver tube. (more…)

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »