The Learning Curve

As of today, A. M. Fields and I have not just one, but two published works to our names, with even more to come.

Yes, they are self-published titles, which technically anyone can do, but not everyone does.

The process for us included doing every aspect of the books ourselves: Writing, formatting, illustrating, designing covers, writing the synopsis, learning how to use several different types of software, and infusing love and pride into every project.

They say you never write for money. That's true. Both of us write because we love it. To have created a thing that's now available to the world is something I have personally dreamt about since I was a kid, but never had the confidence to actually attempt...until recently. (This blog helped kick-start that confidence.)

So, to those of you who have supported us, thank you.

The Journey has Just Begun!

As proud as A. and I are of our "Three Short Ghost Stories" (which incidentally is now available as a print-on-demand paperback on Amazon), the primary purpose of publishing the little volume was one of experimentation. We have had to learn many things along the way, such as:

* Formatting manuscripts ("The Smashwords Style Guide" was immensely helpful for this, as it made everything else a breeze. Utilizing your word processor's "styles" feature is absolutely essential.)
* Editing graphics and illustrations. (I've colored many sets of Elf ears recently, so yea, stay tuned for that.)
* Creating eye-catching cover photos. (I knew I would get a lot of mileage out of my Facebook cover photo!)
* The best hours to use McDonald's free Wifi. (For when you don't have home internet because you're poor, lulz.)
* My poor 'ole, out-of-date laptop really is a trooper. Hang in there, buddy. (See "current economic status," above.)

Now, we're learning about the wacky world of promotion. Ugh. This is the biggest headache, because we're both extreme introverts with high levels of social anxiety. (A huge thank you to those who are pushing our writings out there! Props to you, with a cookie or two!*)

*Cookies only available only while supplies last.

All of this is to say "thank you" for all of the support everyone has shown us recently. It is really appreciated, as we have put a lot of work into making these projects as enjoyable for you as possible. We're excited to bring you our upcoming Christmas book, and that novel I keep teasing! (If you read "The Strange Tale of Top Hat Jack," the third short story in our little collection, then you're already slightly ahead of the curve on that one.)

Stay tuned, because there is definitely more to come!

Three Short Ghost Stories: The Prelude to a Self-Publication Adventure

It all started with a gathering of magical elves. (No, I wasn’t taking any hallucinogenic substances at the time.) Last year, Amanda had the idea to make a gift for both of our families: a fully illustrated Christmas book, featuring the elves of the North Pole. We finished the project right before Christmas, and showed it to everyone in the form of a slideshow presentation.

The feedback was pretty much unanimous. “Y’all need to publish this!” We looked at each other and shrugged, and decided that maybe, just maybe, we would eventually do just that.

In the meantime, we began working on a novel. It was originally intended to be a short story, but it just kept growing and growing, much like Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors. It demanded to be fed, so we kept feeding it, much to our delight (and occasional dismay.)

So, it is with some humor that the first thing to actually see publication is a project that was put together in less than a month. Taking a brief respite from the novel, Amanda came up with the idea of writing a couple of short, Halloween-themed ghost stories. She pitched the first two stories, I expanded on her outlines and wrote them, then we edited and revised them as needed.

It was then that I had an idea of my own: If we wrote a third short story, we could potentially publish the collection. Since we wanted to self-publish the Christmas book and the novel anyway, this would be a good opportunity to get a “feel” for the entire process.

“I came up with the first two stories, so you can do the third one,” Amanda said. “You need to write one from a ‘guy’ perspective.”

Well, shit. Okay. I thought we were supposed to be a team, but whatevs! (I’m kidding, Amanda!) With my best friend Caffeine sitting quietly next to my laptop, I went to work.

My initial draft was titled Dave the Wizard and the Halloween of Destiny—but Dave’s adventure just didn’t seem to fit the tone of the other stories. I buried Dave back to the bottom of my idea drawer, told him to stay quiet, while I tried to think of a different idea.

Then it came to me: why not write a self-contained, short story that occurs just prior to the events of our novel? Thus was born The Strange Tale of Top Hat Jack, which introduces a magical town and a mystical creature (who, presumably, has been trained to use a celestial litter box.)

“You clever son of a so-and-so,” I said to myself while cackling maniacally, trying not to cuss around the cats. (I have to be a positive role model for my kids, after all.)

So, it is with some pride that I now present to you the first of several projects. This is a small collection of short stories which all take place around Halloween. The only thing they have in common is that they are stories about people—some of them just happen to be dead. The tales are not intended to be scary, because ghosts aren’t supposed to be scary. (There are horrors elsewhere, but they don't appear in these tales.)

The book, entitled Three Short Ghost Stories, is currently available for the Amazon Kindle e-reader and associated apps. (A print-on-demand paperback version may be available soon, but due to additional printing and shipping costs, it will be a bit more expensive.)

As for the elves? They'll be frolicking in a Kindle near you in a few weeks.

Click HERE for the Amazon listing!

Bumps in the Night

The disembodied voice of a small child laughs in a house where no children ever play. An unplugged organ emits a single, sustained chord in the middle of the night. A muddy footprint appears to pass through the middle of the hallway, passing out of one wall and vanishing into the next. Tiny handprints suddenly manifest all over the passenger window during a cold, Autumn evening. The sound of quickening footsteps give chase over a wooden bridge, only to stop halfway across. A rhythmic tap-tap-tapping repeatedly clicks on a full-length closet mirror, which only stops several days later when the cats finally take it upon themselves to break the glass. (Goodbye, security deposit.) Scratches appear on my then-girlfriend's back while she is in the shower. A locked-from-the-outside basement door handle begins to rattle at 3am, accompanied by a loud knocking, as though something trapped down below desperately wants to get out.

These phenomena sound like creations of fantasy—at best, the products of an overactive imagination, at worst, the misfired neural detritus of a delusional mind. It is easy to understand why I don’t often speak of these things, given my family's well-documented history of mental illness.

I assure you, the occurrences mentioned are no mere conjuring of imagination. I, Christopher A. Graves, do firmly attest that I personally witnessed each one of these phenomena in a clear minded, wide awake, definitely non drug induced state of absolute, assured lucidity.

With those events in the back of my mind, several years ago I created a Facebook group called Shady Hollow. It was originally intended to be an online gathering place for people to discuss all things paranormal―or at the very least, unexplained and mysterious―in an open, supportive environment. It didn’t really take off the way I hoped. Instead, it became a dumping ground for spooky memes and online articles. I still have hope it will someday take off the way I always imagined, but it typically only peaks around Halloween, when most members (and its creator) suddenly remember it even exists.

A short time before her death in January of 2010, my sister confided something in me that was quite surprising at the time, because it was something she had never spoken of before. All of her life, she always kept a special chair in her room. At night, the spirit of an old Native American (a chief, presumably) would come into her room and sit in the chair. That’s it. He just sat in the chair, every night, for years and years and years while I snored blissfully away in the next room, and I never once heard about it. Uncharacteristically for me, I didn’t follow through with any additional questions, and my curiosity has not stopped bugging me for years wondering what it all meant. Regrettably, I no longer have a chance to ask her about it.

Eventually, I realized I’m not supposed to know. It wasn’t my experience―it was hers. But it did serve to assure me that my own occurrences were nothing to feel any shame or embarrassment about.

Since then, many of the folks I’ve met in my worldly travels have shared similar tales of the unexplained. Often, they worry they’ll be considered nuts, or simply not taken seriously. I usually invite them to Shady Hollow, where I hope they’ll share their tales. For most people, however, it is intimidating to share in front of a large group. As someone who writes, often baring my own thoughts and feelings before a large audience, I completely understand that mentality.

As we approach the time of year when the veil between realms is supposedly at its thinnest, it is of interest to be aware of many of the wonders, mysteries, and phenomena that surround us in this vast, unexplained Universe.

That tapping you hear? It might simply be your cat chasing a wayward bug up the mirror. Or, just perhaps, it may be something else altogether, desperately trying to get your attention...

All That Remains

Standing in what is now the front yard, protruding a meager nineteen centimeters above the earth, is a simple gas line connector―the sole remnant of a home that once stood on this exact location.

In March of 1992, the natural gas pumping station up the street exploded, sending out a massive fireball that propagated down the line and destroyed or severely damaged several of the homes in the neighborhood. The house that once stood here was among the casualties. Five people were injured, some requiring hospitalization, but fortunately there were no fatalities. Unfortunately, their homes were not so lucky.

This spot, which was once a home full of memories, has been relegated to a small hazard I cautiously avoid with the lawnmower, lest I accidentally experience a similar fate.

All too often, each of us gets so wrapped up in trivial (read: unimportant) matters of day-to-day existence, that we forget to stop and appreciate the things that we have. The old adage "You never know what you have...until it's gone" rings with so much truth it's nearly deafening.

In our modern world, it is hard to avoid the negativity that seems to permeate the very air we breathe. Whether it's the current newscycle, traffic, kids acting up, cat vomiting on the freshly vacuumed carpet (I'm looking at you, Knyght), or the air conditioner going out on a hot day, it is easy to get trapped in a perpetual cycle of negativity. For those of us who often experience depression or anxiety, this can be even worse.

After that disaster so many decades ago, a new home was eventually placed on the property (several yards away from the gas line and utilizing electric heating), and I currently call it home. I try to make it a point each and every day to be thankful for what Life has given me, because it can all literally disappear in a flash. Some of you already have experience with this, and my heart goes out to you.

We are here for such a brief moment in the Cosmic scale of things. Some might consider this reason enough to be grumpy about their existence, but I find it reason to celebrate. My moment may be simply a brief flash in the eyes of the Universe, but it's my flash.

May it (and yours) burn ever bright.



(The source article about the accident can be found by clicking here.)

Turning Forty-One can be Forty-FUN!

"Finally, I'm 41! I can keep doing adult things!" said no one ever. Still, even as my hair slowly receeds from my scalp and reappears in other...places, as far as birthdays go, this one rocks.

Forget the fact that we're literally camping out in the parking lot of a convenient Wal-Mart, slowly marinating in our own sweat while mosquitoes fly through the open car windows to feast on our blood, this 24-hour supercenter has working toilets, air conditioning, AND free WiFi, no purchase necessary! The soothing tones of the street sweeper as it passes by the car is a pleasing lullaby, the hypnotic flashing light singing us to a morning full of promise. (And, likely, stiff necks.) All of these wonders, plus it's way cheaper than a hotel. They don't put that in the brocure!

Life really is what you make it. And when life gives me sweat, I'll make hot Topher juice. I don't know what that is, and I really don't want to know, but surely some idiot will buy it on eBay. So, please, tell your friends.

Depression: The Rocket Ship Analogy

Living with Depression is a lot like piloting your own rocket ship. Occasionally, you'll break through the top of the cloud cover and feel the warmth of the sun reflected on your visor. However, just when you're about to break free of the planet's gravitational pull, your engines crap out and you descend back down into the turbulent darkness.

The rest of the time, you're just spiraling down through the clouds, with no instruments and alarms blaring, wondering if you're going to finally impact on the surface below, or if your engines will miraculously reignite. Usually, they do, and the cycle repeats itself.

Perhaps you're reading this (that much at least I think we can agree on), and you're suffering in silence. Most people don't want to hear you're depressed, because they don't really understand, so you bottle it all away and act like nothing is wrong. Or, maybe you do speak out, but you feel as though you're shouting into the void. Or, well-meaning friends recommend throwing medication at it so it just "goes away," perhaps so you don't bother them with it anymore. Sound familiar? If it does (and I sincerely hope it doesn't, but Life can get pretty bumpy along the way―for all of us), please just bear in mind that there are many of us who share your pain. Depression makes us feel isolated, like we're cut off from everyone else. (And let me tell you, social media does not help. You have to remember you're seeing a highly curated slice of other people's lives, presented in the best possible light. #allthefilters #allthetime.) 

I'm not writing this to preach at you about what you should do, because different tactics work for different people. I'm just here to remind you that you are not alone. You would be surprised to know who else is in the same boat you are. That's oddly encouraging when you honestly stop to think about it. (Although, overthinking is usually the culprit in the first place. I write from experience.)

It's a harsh world, or so it sometimes appears. Personally, I try to avoid the news whenever possible, because ultimately their mission is to sell ad space. And drama gets those ratings, kids. The real world isn't really good or bad, ultimately, it's just the stage upon which we act our little parts, trying desperately not to flub our lines or trip through the curtain. And, of course, we do all of those things, and then pray that no one notices.

Such is life, my friend. You are not alone. There is a Universe filled with beauty and love out there, even if it feels like your rocket will never launch again. The Sun is always there, even on a cloudy day, and it will definitely appear again.

...at least until it explodes a billion years from now, but you probably didn't need to hear that.