A Demon Called Time

By Chester Campbell

My in-house (meaning in computer) dictionary lists the first definition of demon as “An evil supernatural being.” As for time, how about this: “A nonspatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future.” Does that sound supernatural, or what?

As for evil, the darned thing resists all efforts to pin it down to accommodate my needs.

I’ve never had a problem with what is familiarly known as “writer’s block.” Lately I’ve been wondering about it, however, since my efforts at writing a new book for the past couple of months or more has produced less than 20,000 words. After further reflection, I’ve concluded it’s that old demon time.

Yesterday I sat myself down and firmly laid out the law: you will write for four hours a day, period. Maybe 9:00 to 11:00 in the morning, then 1:00 to 3:00 in the afternoon. So I wrote last night from about 7:00 to 9:00.

Hmm, something doesn’t sound quite right here.

It is now 1:00 p.m. today (Tuesday) and I have yet to boot up my laptop, where said book resides. The first problem was I didn’t shuffle out of bed until nine o’clock. The previous morning we were up at 3:00 a.m. ready to take our grandson to the emergency room coughing his head off (at least it seemed to be rolling around the bed). After considerable discussion and administering a last-ditch pill, we finally got him settled down, but the night’s sleep was hopelessly muddled.

By the time we were navigating this morning, two more moppets (my wife’s great-grandkids) had arrived for the day, being on Fall Break from the next county’s schools. I checked my email, answered a couple of pressing messages, and was just getting started writing this blog when the time arrived (there’s that old demon) to shuttle everybody over to a relative’s apartment so Sarah and I could meet grandson’s teachers for a conference.

Now I’m about to take a lunch break. If I’m lucky, I’ll get this finished and posted in time to spend a couple of hours writing on my novel. But first I need to hit the bank and the post office. By the time I’m done with a brief writing session, Sarah will be calling me to eat before heading for my bimonthly writers group meeting. After that, I’ll be checking homework until time for the ten o’clock news (and the recorded 5:30 national news, which lasts little more than 20 minutes after zapping commercials). Then it’ll be bedtime.

I remember back years ago when I thought retirement would bring time to accomplish whatever needed to be done in a relaxed environment. Boy, was I misguided in my thinking. Now I can’t imagine how I was ever able to hold down a fulltime job. I read about authors who get up at 5:00 a.m. and write for three hours before going to work. If I did that, I would have to compensate by taking a three-hour nap in the afternoon.

Hmm. I may do that anway.

But I have to finished this blog and get it posted. Oh, well, maybe the answer is to do like Tim Hallinan, head for Phnom Penh, plunk down my laptop in a coffee shop, and write till I’m finished. Somehow I don’t think that’s in the cards.

It’s now past 1:30. Where did that old demon go?

It Was an Honor, But Not a Lifetime

By Mark W. Danielson

Everyone has had defining moments in their lives. One of my most memorable was escorting my daughter through the bullets at my Navy retirement ceremony. Whenever I reflect on this photo, I’m taken back to that special day when heavy thunderstorms failed to deter a room full of people dear to me; most importantly being my father and my children. Smiling proudly, my older daughter carried two flower bouquets; hers and her younger sister’s, who was too shy to take the march with me. It was so great having them there.

But as much as I love this photo, the honors bestowed upon me on that August 1995 afternoon remind me of how quickly time flies. The shadow box presented to me which contains my rank, silver Air Force wings, gold Navy wings, medals, ribbons, and the American flag that flew over the base I helped establish, sits on my office shelf next to the above photo. On the opposite side sits the wood-encased Texas flag the Navy Chiefs presented to me. The A-4 model a civilian gave me stands next to the shadow box. Behind that is the General Dynamics Lifetime Achievement Award another civilian gave me. I wish I could say that I deserved all this praise, but every officer knows it’s the people you work with who truly earned these awards.

Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought about that Lifetime Achievement Award, for I have barely scratched the surface of what I hope to accomplish. Such awards normally come when you have one foot in the grave; not when you’re in your early forties. Whatever I’ve accomplished or works that I’ve published belong to my past. As such, I rarely give them much thought. Instead, I concentrate on my current projects while contemplating new ones. In writing, this method keeps me creative. In flying, staying focused keeps me safe.

In eight years I will be forced to retire from the airlines, and I’m sure that time will fly faster than the space shuttle. I have no idea what I’ll accomplish between now and then, but one thing’s for sure; my inevitable retirement from professional flying will allow more time for writing and painting. In that regard, I say, bring it on for I still have a lot of living to do.

Where's the End of the Writing Rainbow?

By Chester Campbell

Christine Duncan wrote a blog on Make Mine Mystery last week about her dream job—writing. The only drawback, she said, is that it pays little money. That’s certainly true for most of us. We all have acquaintances among the lucky few who manage to live off their writing income. Most of the ones I know in this category make it off of non-fiction rather than novels.

Actually, I’d be happy to dwell among the group who “make a little money” off their fictional efforts. I seem to be mired in the ranks of those who spend more on their writing than they make. When you subtract all I spend on travel to signings and conferences, the cost of mailing books to reviewers and contest winners, maintaining a website and sending newsletters, organizational dues, and other promotional expenses, my income is wiped out.

I’ve always heard that you start making money on your fifth book. Well, it’s been out about three months. I’m doing better, and if things keep going well I just might make it this year. It would be nice if I didn’t have to spend so much of my retirement income on my writing habit.

Marilyn Meredith is a great believer in the outside-the-box method of selling books, meaning outside the walls of a bookstore. I’m beginning to subscribe to her theory. I’m trying to line up as many street fairs, libraries, craft fairs, book festivals and the like as possible. I’m a little handicapped with a weak, gravelly voice that doesn’t do too well for speaking engagements, but I try to make up for it with a wife who does a great pre-selling job before people get to me.

Of course, I still do all the promotional stuff I can, giving out bookmarks and promo folders, updating my website, blogging all over the place, trying to post daily on Facebook and Twitter, creating book movie trailers. Lately I’ve tried to curtail my online time so I can work on my sixth book, another Greg McKenzie mystery. Fans I encounter at church and elsewhere are forever asking, “When will the next book be out?”

Surely number six will put me well in the black. I can’t quit my day job—retirement—but it sure would be nice to enjoy a little extra income for my efforts. What do you think? Is that a reasonable expectation?