So many sources: The Inspirations behind Sleepless Murder

Probably the question writers get the most from non-writers is "Where do you get your ideas?" Some writers get psychological about it, talking about the subconscious and all of that shit. Some talk about their connection with universal unconscious. Some, like me, say "Hell, I dunno."

But sometimes, that's a lie, because I know the exact inspiration behind my first book, Sleepless Murder.

It all started with Lawrence Block's book Telling Lies for Fun and Profit. I bought it, read it, and proceeded to buy all of his books about writing. In one of them, Block mentions one of his serial characters, a man by the name of Evan Tanner, a thief who had the misfortune of having the sleep center of his brain destroyed by a piece of shrapnel in a war. Of course, being a fairly inquisitive person, I hit Google as soon as I read that, wanting to learn if this was possible.

Unfortunately, the only references to a "sleep center destroyed" were links to the Evan Tanner books. But I did find one thing that hit me as very interesting; an entry on Wikipedia referencing a disease called Fatal Familial Insomnia and its close relative Sporadic Fatal Insomnia.

Terrible diseases, of course, but also very interesting. I copied the article into a file, put it in my research folder. I had the initial idea at that point, I suppose. You see, one of the symptoms of SFI and FFI is hallucinations, and that was the ultimate genesis of the idea: What if someone with FFI was having hallucinations that told them to kill people? I started on a story then, but I didn't get very far; it felt too much like a copy of Silence of the Lambs at the time. I pretty much forgot about it for a year, maybe a year and a half.

It wasn't until October of last year, when I first learned about NaNoWriMo, that my brain began to fiddle with the idea again. But I still had a problem: my idea for a main character sucked. Like hard. It wasn't until I had a dream that everything came together. The dream was very clear and inspired my main character's profession, his hacker past and his family.

The only thing left after that dream was to put everything together and write it all down.

So there, that's where the idea, or series of ideas, that ended up becoming Sleepless Murder came from.

For anybody interested in Sporadic Fatal Insomnia, here's a link to a blog post about it.

Sample Chapter

For those of you interested, here's a sample chapter of my newest book, a sequel to Sleepless Murder, currently untitled.

I went straight from the therapist’s office to the autopsy lab. Doc Werner was sitting at his desk; thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. His hair, normally parted carefully and combed over his rapidly expanding bald spot, was instead combed straight down, exposing his scalp like a strange egg in its nest.

“Werner?”

He looked up. “It’s about time, Davies! Come on, get in here!”

“Jeez, Werner, what’s the problem?”

He closed the door behind me and stalked over to the refrigerated doors which held the bodies whose cases were still under investigation. Werner popped the catch on one and pulled out the tray.

“Aida Deorwine, maiden name Reem, aka Braidy. DNA and fingerprints proved it’s her.”

Aida Braidy was fifty five at the time of her death, but might have looked at least ten years younger. Her brown hair was long enough to brush her shoulders and framed her face in an appealing way. Her features were well defined; she would have made a striking figure in life. In death, now that Werner had washed the blood from her, I was able to see the brutality that had been exacted on her; I counted at least five stab wounds, or maybe they were just cuts, on her upper body alone. Her skin, specifically her breasts, arms and stomach, was burned black, and several chunks appeared to be missing.

“She was cut dozens of times,” Werner said, reading my mind. “And stabbed at least as many by a large bladed weapon; my money’s on hunting knife, but I can’t know for sure until you bring me something to try and match.”

“Any way to tell which was the fatal blow?”

Werner shook his head. “Too many of the stab wounds would have been fatal in and of themselves to be certain.”

“Jesus.”

“It gets better,” Werner said and turned to another drawer. “Obviously she had a blowtorch used on her.”

“Sure about it being a torch?”

“Well since we didn’t find her in the oven, I would say yes. There were also traces of burned fuel on her skin, propane, to be exact. See the missing chunks?”

I swallowed hard, afraid of what he was about to say. “Yes. Are they what I think they are?”

“Bite marks. The sick bastards were eating her. I hope to God she was already dead while they were doing it.”

I shuddered.

“But wait, there’s more, detective.” He turned to another drawer, opened it, and pulled another body out.

“This is the woman we assumed at the crime scene was Ashlea, Aida’s daughter.”

His words took a moment to soak in. “Wait, what do you mean ‘assumed’?”

“Exactly what you think, Detective. DNA and fingerprints came back on this one, labeling her as Viviana Yursa. Her name came up on the missing persons database. She’s been missing for five years now. How did she turn up suddenly at the Braidy’s house, dead and posed as Ashlea?”

“That’s a damn good question, Werner. I see it and raise you this one: If Ashlea Braidy wasn’t killed with her mother, where the hell is she?”

“I do know one thing about her, detective. She was dead after Aida.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. She took part in the torture of Aida and...Well, let’s just say her stomach contents confirm that suspicion.”

NaNoWriMo 2015 Update

Greetings from the halfway point of National Novel Writing Month. As I write this, I just validated my word count at a little over 25,000 words.

This year has been a bit of a nightmare, especially compared to last year. Let me break it down a bit for you:

Last year, I was loaded for bear. I came into the competition with a clear idea of what I was going to write about. I even had an outline, which is something I've never done. I'm usually a seat of the pants kind of writer, just going with whatever strikes me, but I learned about NaNo from the October issue of Writer's Digest, and I wanted to be as prepared as possible.

The end result was that the story seemed to write itself, up until I wrote "The End", which came about 10,000 words too early. And so I had to start editing and expanding with about a week and a half left in the competition. This can't be unusual. Hell, I'd never written 50,000 words in one shot ever, so I didn't know what 50,000 words even looked like. But I made it; on November 23, 2014, I rolled over 50k and took the prize in my very first NaNoWriMo.

That story became Sleepless Murder, which, although it's currently available on Amazon.com, I am still in the process of revising. I'm not making any major changes, I just want to get it more in line with the sequel. I could just make the sequel more in line with the first one, but these are changes I wanted to make from the beginning; to be honest, the book was only published to make the deadline so I could claim one of the prizes.

But I digress, I was talking about why this NaNo has been a trial.

This year I decided to keep to my roots and go seat of the pants. I also started the book making the assumption that a change I was going to make to Sleepless was the right thing to do.

*Warning* The rest of this post will contain spoilers about Sleepless Murder and possibly its sequel. If you're at all interested in reading these books and do not wish to have anything spoiled for you, please stop reading.

Sleepless Murder follows a former hacker named Kaleb Davies. He's a homicide detective who spends his days off helping  people reclaim stolen identities. When one of his clients is murdered Kaleb finds himself hunting a killer with no type, no motive and no consistent MO. Without realizing it, Kaleb confronts the killer and leads him to Chloe and Liam, Kaleb's girlfriend and nephew. The two are kidnapped by the killer and Kaleb is forced to fall back on his hacking skills in order to find them.

One of the changes I wanted to make to SM was at the end; I wanted Kaleb to quit the police force and go out on his own as a private investigator, specializing in cyber crime.

I came into the sequel expecting this change to be in effect and I forced it for about 10,000 words. Then, at the end of the first week, I hit a block. Hard. The kind of block that I've only ever read about in writing books.

It was then that I took a hard look at the differences in the stories. Obviously the plot was different; there was no way around that, but I believed in the plot line. I knew it could work. The characters were pretty much the same; Kaleb was the narrator, Josh (his brother), Liam (nephew) and Chloe (his girlfriend) all made appearances, as did his former partner, so I knew it wasn't the characters blocking me. So I knew that it had to be the one major difference: Kaleb's occupation.

I don't know why, but having Kaleb as a PI did not work in the least. And so, at the beginning of Week 2, I started over, once again making Kaleb into a homicide detective.

And the story took off, writing itself just like its predecessor. I once again have the feeling that I'd rather be working on my own story instead of reading other people's stories when I'm on lunch at work.

So that's been NaNoWriMo for me this year; a complete restart one week in was a major speed bump, but it's been for the best. I can't wait to get back to revising Sleepless Murder and get to revising and titling this story.

NaNoWriMo 2015

It’s that time of year again, ladies and gentlemen: National Novel Writing Month, the best part about the month of November, at least from this retail worker’s point of view. This will be my second year doing the race of words against time and I don’t really know if I’m as excited about it this year. Last year, I was prepared, outline in hand, ready and raring to go. The outline was unusual; I never outline, but since it was my first year doing this, I wanted to be as ready as possible. The outline helped, I guess. While I followed it, I also ran out of story before I hit 50k and had to add a buttload of filler. It got me to the end but it also prompted an equally large buttload of editing, which I’m still going though.

So this year, as a way to prevent restriction, I’m rolling the way I normally do: seat of the pants, baby. I have three or four ideas, sequels to last year’s book, and I know which one I’m going with, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s just nerves because my girlfriend is also participating this year and I don’t want to completely suck up a storm. I don’t know what it is; I just haven’t been feeling the NaNoWriMo spirit this year. And yet, even as I finish up whatever the hell this is, I just updated my word count for the first time and I’ve written over 1700 words in a little over an hour and a half, so maybe pantsing is the way to go here.

Sleepless Murder rewrites

So I wrote a few weeks back about self publication and how the whole thing left me with a bad taste in my mouth. And with that, I decided to re-edit my book, currently available for purchase under the title Sleepless Murder (I like that title; it's ominous yet catchy), cut down the number of murders, getting rid of the chapters from the killer's pov, tweak my main character, etc.

Well I've also been toying with the idea of changing the pov of the main story from third person to first person. I've done just that in the first couple of chapters and here's the result, tell me what you think:

Chapter One

“I’m sorry, Liam, I just won’t be able to make it,” my pinheaded little brother said. I’d just finished getting dressed for the day and come into the main living area of my apartment for some coffee and here he was, making a permanent ass print on my sofa. His cell phone was cradled against his shoulder as he manipulated the game controller and the game he was playing screeched ‘Final Lap!’ “I’m really swamped at work, you know.”

Shaking my head, I poured myself a cup of coffee and rubbed my eyes. A crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes lay on the counter in front of me, so I lit one and glared at Josh. I’ve never understood what he saw in those games. I played games on my PC, of course; it was hard to be as involved with computers as I was growing up and not get drawn into gaming, but I’d always preferred RPGs or action games. I never saw the point in either racing or sports games.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling there was about an inch past my fingers. Almost time for a haircut, I thought.  Finally, I got fed up listening to Josh hem and haw around Liam’s questions. I stalked over to Josh and yanked the phone out of his hand.

“Hey!” he squawked half-heartedly before turning back to his game.

“Liam, hey, it’s Kaleb.”

“Hey, Uncle Kaleb...Is he really working next week?”

“Kid you should know better than that; your old man hasn’t held down a job in nearly six months.”

“Kaleb, don’t tell him that!”

“Hang on, Liam,” I said and pressed the phone to my chest. Glaring, I brandished my cigarette at Josh. “Liam deserves the truth, so why not tell him? You told me you were gonna tell Sheila anyway. You swore you were gonna tell her. Guess you didn’t.” Josh muttered something I didn’t catch, and I didn’t care enough to ask about.

“Hey, I’m back, buddy,” I said, putting the phone back to my ear.

“Will you be there?” Liam asked.

I stuffed the cigarette back into my mouth, driving my teeth deep into the filter, almost severing it. “Of course I’ll be there, Liam.”

“Awesome!” Liam sounded excited for the first time since I’d taken the phone from Josh.

“Tell you what, kid. How about after you get out of school tonight, you and me, we’ll head over to the ballpark and you can get some batting practice in?”

“Sounds good. Have you been practicing any, Uncle Kaleb?”

“Oh, ouch, kid, that hurts!” I chuckled. Liam was twelve and nearly as good at baseball as I’d been in high school when I played center field for my school’s varsity team. “I’ve been taking it easy on you. I used to be able to pick off runners at home from center. You hit off me, you got any pitcher licked.” I stopped and thought. “Except maybe Davis, Herrera and Holland,” I laughed.

That got a laugh out of Liam, too. He was a lifetime Royals fan, as was almost every kid in Kansas City who paid attention to baseball. Wade Davis, Kelvin Herrera and Greg Holland were part of the team’s unstoppable bullpen, and the kid idolized them.

“Sounds good, Uncle Kaleb,” Liam said. “Hey, I gotta go- the bell’s about to ring.”

“Alright, kid. Wanna say bye to your dad?”

“No.”

“Kay. I’ll see you after school. Bye.”

Liam hung up and I looked at the cell phone in my hand thoughtfully before spinning on my heel and chucking it at the back of Josh’s head, in the hopes that either one or the other would break.

Josh squawked and jumped up, grabbing the back of his head. I saw, with more than a little satisfaction, the virtual car he’d been driving plow into the race track’s wall and explode. Josh was three years younger than me, but to my displeasure we looked just alike. We’d both been athletes in school, and were built well, but my detective work and keeping up with Liam had forced me to take better care of my body than Josh. Years of sitting on his ass had caused Josh to lose the muscle tone he’d had in school. A steady diet of junk food and beer hadn’t helped matters much either.

We had the same blue eyes and sandy hair and had often been mistaken for twins in school, despite the age difference. I kept my hair brutally short, hating to have to do more to it in the morning than run my fingers through it. Josh preferred to let his grow probably because he was just too lazy to go get it cut.

“OW, fucker; that hurt!” Josh shouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I cooed in mockery. “Should I get you some ice?” I tried to drag on my smoke and noticed that it had gone out. I re-lit it and growled at my brother. “Are you ever gonna fucking grow up? You can’t make it to your kid’s fuckin’ ball game because you’re ‘working’?”

“I got a couple of things lined up,” he muttered.

“I swear to Christ I act more like that kid’s father than you do, Josh.”

“Fuck, for all I know you could be.”

My fists balled up of their own accord and I glared at my brother. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Joshua?”

The blood drained out of Josh’s face. He knew he was in trouble now; I shared that much in common with Mom- the only time either of us called him “Joshua” was when he was in trouble.

“I just mean, ya know, Sheila wasn’t exactly keepin’ her pants on while we were together...And you two spent so much time together.”

I slapped Josh upside the head, the titanium ring I wore to replace my class ring making a thudding sound against his skull. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Josh!” I roared, infuriated. I knew Sheila hadn’t screwed around on Josh and I most certainly had never slept with her. We’d been friends forever; she told me everything. It would have been like sleeping with a cousin, or worse, a sister. “Liam’s yours, Josh. Sheila says so, I say so and most importantly the fuckin’ state says so. It’s why most of your pay goes directly to Sheila when you’re not taking up space on my couch and are actually getting paid.”

Josh mumbled something and sat back down. I stepped around and stood in between him and the TV.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’; I’m looking for a job, I promise.”

“Right. Is that where you were last night?”

“Huh?”

“Last night; you didn’t pick Liam up at school like you’re supposed to and I had to drop what I was doing to go get him. And you weren’t around when we came by to get you for dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was out with a girl. It’s no big deal.”

I was about to reply when the alarm on my cell phone started ringing. I pulled it from the case secured to my belt and tapped the screen to silence it. The calendar was on the screen, showing that I had an appointment in half an hour. Underneath was the client’s name: Theresa Rodgers. I tucked the phone back into its case and stepped back into my apartment’s kitchen to begin getting ready for work. I holstered my firearm on my hip and tucked my wallet which contained my credentials as a private detective, as well as the conceal carry license for the state of Missouri, into my back jeans pocket.

“Try to do something other than play games all day, alright?”

“Like what?” Josh asked without turning from his game.

“I dunno; maybe clean up your fuckin’ mess?” I waved an arm across our shared living room: the floor was covered with empty chip bags, cookie boxes, not to mention soda and beer cans. It’s a wonder we don’t have roaches, I thought.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it,” said Josh, eyes still glued to the television screen.

“You better, or I’m gonna throat punch you and leave you on Mom’s doorstep. Let her deal with your bullshit.”

“Kaleb, you can’t let Mom know I lost another job,” he whined.

“I don’t want to hear it, Josh!” I snapped. “I’ve got an appointment. I gotta get to work. Either clean up or get out.” I pulled open the door and left before Josh could say anything else.

The door across the hall was open just a crack when I stepped into the hall. My neighbor, Geraldine Finch, had been listening again. Insufferable gossip, I thought, but put on a smile anyway.

“Hi, Mrs. Finch,” I said reluctantly.

“Oh, hello, Kaleb,” she exclaimed in mock surprise. “Is everything alright?”

“Just fine, Mrs. Finch. My brother and I were having a disagreement about Liam.”

“Oh, dear! Is everything going to be alright? How is your precious little nephew?”

“Just fine, ma’am. Liam’s ball team is in the running for the state playoffs next week. He was just calling to see if Josh was going to be able to come.” As if you didn’t hear every word we said.

“Oh, I see. Will Liam be here tonight?” Mrs. Finch liked to shanghai Liam and feed him junk food as kind of a surrogate grandchild.

“‘Fraid not, ma’am; I’m taking him out for some ball practice tonight. We’ll probably go straight to his mother’s afterwards.”

“Well do tell him I said hi and good luck, won’t you? Oh, but listen to me blather on; you’ve surely got more important business this morning than talk to a dottery old bat like me, don’t you, Mr. Detective?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Finch, but I do have to get going. But I will tell Liam you wished him luck. You take care.” I said, all in one breath, trying to get away before Mrs. Finch could get a word in edgewise. My feet were moving before the last words tumbled out of my mouth.

“Have a blessed day, dear,” I heard Mrs. Finch say to my retreating back.

The heat hit me like a hammer when the apartment building’s door swung shut behind me. It was late August, school had just started, but the weather hadn’t figured out that it was supposed to be cooling down. Much to my annoyance, I started sweating as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, it seemed. I made a mad dash for my car and cranked up the AC. Staying outside longer than necessary would ensure me sweating half to death. Lighting a cigarette, I flicked the turn signal and eased into traffic, heading for the office.

Chapter Two

 Kansas City is one of those strange cities that stands on both sides of the state line; there’s a Kansas City, Kansas and a Kansas City, Missouri. Talk to someone who lives outside the metropolitan area and they think it’s just one big city, and maybe officially it is, but if you talk to a resident of either side, they act like the two sides are two different worlds. Aside from their mutual love of the Royals and Chiefs, the Missourians and Kansans regard themselves as living in two different cities, as if State Line Road were a twenty foot wall, rather than a street. A lot of the residents of one side worked on the other side of the state line, however, and I was no different. The office I worked out of was on the Kansas side, but the apartment Josh and I shared was on the Missouri side. I call myself a Missourian and I’m damn proud of it.

I rolled across State Line Road to the Kansas side where everything was more expensive: booze, smokes, even gas. Realizing the price difference, I swore inwardly; I’d meant to pick up a pack or two of cigarettes before crossing the state line. They were at least fifty cents cheaper in Missouri than Kansas and I needed to save every dime possible. Being a private investigator wasn’t exactly lucrative, so I wasn’t rolling in dough, especially with Josh living in my guest room and eating all my damn food. Fucker ate my good cookies, too, I thought with another inward curse.

Barely half an hour later, I was standing in front of my office, rifling through my keys, a cigarette clamped in my teeth. When I’d first rented the building it took all of my willpower not to put “Kaleb Davies, Private Investigator” in gold leaf on the door like they did in the old detective movies. Unlocking the door, I stepped in quickly, relishing the blast of cold air from the A/C. I flipped on lights as I made my way through the small building.

It looked like a small two or three bedroom house from the outside, and maybe it had been once. Innumerable lawyers, electricians and plumbers had passed through the place in the nineties; every time I passed it while I was growing up there was a new occupant. When I’d started renting the place, just after getting my PI license, I learned why. The plumbing was bad, the A/C was shot, even the electrical work was shoddy. It took me the better part of a year to get the place sorted out, but eventually I did.

After checking the machine for messages and finding none, I plopped down behind my desk and looked at the clock. My one appointment of the day was late. I picked up the desk phone, looked up the number and was about to dial when the buzzer I’d installed as a doorbell went off.

“Come on in, Ms. Rodgers,” I said, thumbing the intercom next to the phone. “I’m in the back office.”

The door creaked open and I could hear the girl’s footsteps, most likely high heels, on the tile floor getting closer. I climbed to my feet and stepped around the desk to greet her.

 Chapter Three

“All I’m saying,” I explained for what seemed like the hundredth time, “is that there’s no guarantee that I’ll find anything at all. Cyber crimes aren’t like normal crimes. There’s no physical evidence left from cyber crimes- no fingerprints, DNA, nothing.”

“So it’s hopeless? Is that what you’re saying?” Tessa Rodgers was young, younger than I was, anyway. She should have known better. She’d been bopping along, firewall disabled, without antivirus or spyware protection. She did all her banking online, using passwords I could’ve cracked when I was twelve. It was a wonder that she hadn’t been robbed before.

“It’s not hopeless. Unless the hacker is incredibly careful, there are ways to trace them.” I knew this bit from personal experience. “But even if I’m able to track the thief, there’s a good chance your money is already gone- either spent or transferred God knows where.” That finally broke through the shell and made an impact on her.

“I won’t get my money back?”

“To be honest, most likely not.”

“Yet you’ll expect to be paid?”

That plucked my nerve for what I decided would be the final time. I pointed to the three frames hung on the office wall. “Do you see those, Ms. Rodgers? Those are two diplomas and a license. Criminology,” I said, pointing to the topmost frame in the pyramid, “which means I know how thieves are likely to think and act.” I pointed again, this time to the bottom left of the pyramid. “That one’s computer science- I tested out

So I stopped in the middle of a sentence right there, but you get the gist, right?

On self publishing.

Alright, gentle readers, time for an update. For those of you who didn't know, this past November, I took part in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. This is a competition wherein the contestants write a novel, 50,000 words or more, during the month of November. You're not competing directly against the other writers, more with yourself and the lil bastard in your head that tells you everything you're writing is crap. Anyway, I did it. I wrote a little over 50,000 words during November and claimed the top prize. In this case, one of the prizes was two free paperback copies of your book if you self published on a certain website.

So I did it. Sleepless Murder is now available on Amazon, both as paperback and on Kindle. And I'm conflicted about it. Let me break it down for you.

On the one hand, seeing "Brett Engetschwiler" on the cover of a book was nearly orgasmic. It's the realization of a dream I've had since the first grade. But once the novelty of that wore off, the whole thing left kind of a bad taste in my mouth. To be honest, it feels kind of like cheating the system. I mean sure, I put in the hours writing to get the manuscript done. I spent a couple days editing and futzing with it, which wasn't nearly enough time but I was on a deadline dictated by whoever does NaNoWriMo awards. So I published what, by all accounts, should never have seen the light of day.

Is it a terrible book? No, I do still think it's a good story and everybody who's read it has told me they enjoyed it. It just needs polishing. And so now I find myself going back to it like a jeweler with a rough-cut gemstone. Sure, it's pretty as it is, but it can be better. Time to break out the chisels and cutters and buffers and get to work.

Keeping in mind that this is the rough draft, if you are morbidly curious, you can purchase the current version of Sleepless Murder here.

Typewriter issues

So I bought this typewriter a few months ago and ever since I changed the ribbon, it's dealt me a fit.

This here's the beast; a Brother Cassette Correct-o-Riter XL 2000, from 1981, I believe. I've still got all the paperwork, including the long-expired warranty card. From research online, I may be the only one who set out to use this thing; the rest are on Ebay.

Without the cover; you can see the cassette that holds the ribbon.

This here's my problem. The top row? That's a line of lowercase "D"s. It cuts off the tops! I also have the same problem with the semi-colon; they show up as commas.

The infamous cassette; no longer manufactured, my only option when I purchased a new ribbon was to wind it onto the original cassette.

So, edit! I fixed the damned thing! The problem was the alignment; I think it was chaotic evil...

 The top line was before alignment changes, bottom line after. As you can see, the lowercase are super high on the line; the top edge of the lowercase is even with the top of the uppers. In my inexperience with the machine, I'd just assumed that's how it was supposed to be with this. I was wrong, of course.

The typewriter is a carriage shift type, meaning the whole carriage lifts up to strike capital letters. On both ends of the carriage are a set of screws with a nut holding them in place (The two seen above are the ones from the left hand side of the platen). These four screws adjust the alignment. I fiddled with all four, but only the ones on the left seemed to make a difference.

In order to get the alignment right I actually had to raise the uppercase to just below the threshold of being cut off themselves, then lower the lowercase until their bottom edges lined up. It's a tough thing to explain, but fairly easy to do. Now if I could only get the bell working...

NaNoWriMo 2014

This is the rough draft of the novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month. I've since started editing, and a number of things have changed already. Warning: Adult content. Reader's discretion is advised. Ha! I've always wanted to write that!

To keep the length of this blog down, I'm pulling down this document here. Anybody who wishes to read it, please visit this link and purchase a copy, or stay tuned for updates as I attempt to polish the work and get it professionally published.