The Grandest Book Cover Reveal!

Whoever you are, this is my book cover (Cue choirs singing hallelujah).

 Isn’t it grand, and all the adjectives synonymous to great? LOL, kidding aside, I made this because just so you know I’m an artist before I was a writer. Like I said from the post preceeding this, I once wrote storyline of my anime series in my head—that means I need to have actual drawings of my characters.

The cover is not the only picture in the book, every chapter has one (Chapter art, not a particular scene in the book). This actually a scene in a war where my protagonist—bleep—the landscape with—bleep—and the raw power of—bleep. It’s a mixture of water color and color pencil, but the background I did using PS5 because I was too lazy to draw the damn thing by hand.

If you’re going indie writer, I suggest don’t do your cover by yourself. I did myself because I practically sneered my eyes with all beautiful covers that uses font effectively for a week (don’t use 2 fonts—a sin in doing a cover); and it also hard to translate what is inside the book to an artwork, it’s so hard it’s criminal. You have to have many trial and errors, and most of all, trust your gut or any guts who knows a good cover when they see one.

The heck, I have no idea if my cover is actually grand and all synonymous to great, I just trusted my gut that it’s ready and just toss the dice and hope it’ll be seven.

Anyway, I’m crossing my fingers and toes it’ll lure readers when I publish it on Amazon this Sunday.

Thanks for reading whoever you are. Till the next post.   

Universal Shenanigan #1

Hey, it’s me again. Somewhen you will find this, but until that moment, I just have to keep rambling about the other shenanigans/lessons the universe taught me with wrath. What I would talk about now is about being a writer, a novel writer. Let’s start with a story shall we? Well, you can’t actually speak when I’m typing this post so I’ll just fire up.

This is my story of how I became a writer.

You know being a writer isn’t an instant thing. You could take courses but it’s all up to you if you would pursue it. The stretch of my metamorphosis in being a writer is about four years. Before that my mind is in anime, I called my anime back then ‘Immortals’ (I won’t tell its story because it’s cool, and I reckon I’ll use it someday). But then came the difficulties of being a writer for that anime, because I have no connections whatsoever that can help me to go to the anime capital of the world, Japan. And I have a difficulty speaking Japanese. Anyway, so when I’m 16, after finishing my first trilogy series, I found another template for my imaginations.

I immediately wrote the 2-hour-planned-story of mine in blazing speed, but in essence it’s the crapiest crap in the land of Crap Land. I wrote a high fantasy back then with people born with silver ring that reacts to their feelings (It’s just a very fancy emotion ring). I boasted back then to my college classmates: “Hey, look, I wrote three chapters!” but no one wanted to look, just a few but those few had untrained constructive criticism that actually sounds like destructive criticism. I thought: I should give up before this writing thing get worse. But no, I continued with a strong heart that this would shine someday.

Then came the time I finished the book, I was 18. I sent it to an A-list agent from New York, that’s how much my head was big back then. I snail mailed him (because he was old school, but not that old), with my first chapters and a query letter. And guess what, a rejection letter came to me three weeks after, a plain three sentenced letter that the agent’s assistant copied paste and print. I was devastated back then and I quitted writing.

After a year of stressful college life, I took a look at my book, my paragraphs, grammar (especially grammar) and I was mortified I let my classmates read it. They definitely thought of me as stupid because I have no structure in writing. If you actually read my first drafts, you would be confused because the tenses were shifting from past to present. I wanted to piss on it, drench it in gasoline and watch it burn till the sun shines on my face while I’m eating a tasty sandwich. But regretfully I didn’t. It’s still I’m my cabinet, intact with all its shitty glory.    

But I didn’t give up. I don’t know why but I just couldn’t. Now I’m 21, I’m still doing it. I know I’m young but I want wisdom more than anything, because that should every writer pursue so one won’t become biased, egotistic and selfish. Yea, writing thought me that—who knows sitting in front of a blank page can teach you something.

I eventually posted my book in Booksie, and there I learned to treasure criticism. There’s even came a point that I only want destructive criticism because they were honest, but that business is too hurtful, so I’m sticking with plain criticism. I also read more books after I graduated that helped a lot in vocabs and the voice of the narrator. But I cannot say I’m a great writer than before, maybe I get the tenses right and I found my voice now, but that doesn’t mean I can evoke emotions potently by just my simple words. The reader will decide if a writer is a great writer. But know this, every great writer have a shitty work before they got their words right. The only trick to achieve what they achieved is by not giving up. It’s one of the greatest cliché but it’s true, and it’s hard. Because by not giving up you should get ready for the worst of the worst; you should be ready that no one or just a few would support what you want; you should be ready for isolation and thinking deeply into your mind; you should be ready to walk, to listen to the people around you; you should learn how to be silent; you should learn how to take harsh words—you must learn humility and acceptance.

That is a true writer, the one that doesn’t give up even the world haven’t his/her words. No more, no less.   

Look away from this first post

Hi, this is Jace from the Literary Conquest blogspot. I’m changing my pen name to Lucas for some reasons too personal.

Whoever you are, I thank you for giving your time in reading this post of mine. If you don’t know I am, I just written a book, and you can call me (not Jace anymore) but Luke (let’s stick to my pen name). I’m almost finished editing the whole thing. It’s has been so many months doing that, and I’ve been in so much too. Many dreadful if not wonderful things.

I declared my internet isolation last year to edit the crap out of my book. And yes the book is so horrible I’m ashamed I posted it in amazon with all my pride and joy. For six (or seven?) months I’ve been scrutinizing every sentence and every comma, so let’s hope I get the positive results/comments I’ve needed for so long. Just so you know I have no editor—I had but both of them bailed on me. My first editor is a bright man, he's doing my book 2 but he has his job as a professor which require full time so I let him do whatever he wants (meaning not editing my book). My second editor is a nurse, a great gal but I decided I should stop her editing book one for the reasons that she is always busy and apathetic in updating me. Actually, both of them are apathetic in updating me (not that I blame them). So I was left alone, editing my own book even though I don’t trust myself in the subject of editing.

Other than my internet isolation, I also came to the point that my social life has been isolated too. Yes, by now, 2013, I have sacrificed social life just to write the Goddamn book few people have read. Yes I sound bitter because I’m bitter. I’m out of inspiring words to say and wonderful connections of unnoticeable rhymes I put in sentences. But this is what I’ve chosen, to write—even though my success would be as small as this dot (.) against this whole post.

And what is success to me? What is success for a real writer anyway? ... I guess to be read by readers, that’s all. I don’t like fame, it’s complicated, it’s messy, and it’s one of the reasons I change my pen name. All I want is to be read, that’s all—to be read by someone who is enthusiastic enough to converse me about the thing he/she likes in my book. If ever they liked my writing, I don’t want them to say how great writer I am because I’m not. It’s enough for me that they enjoyed it—that they smiled in the moments of my character’s interaction to each other—it’s enough from me that they read. That is success for me, no more, no less.

This few months taught me a lot… many wise shenanigans this universe wanted me to learn. One of them is writing is hard and emotionally exhausting. Indeed, you heard me, my friend, it is exhausting. If I have a time machine I’d go back in time and tell my 16yo self that think your writing career through, because it’s hard and in my timeline I’m struggling to survive, I don’t know my future timeline if they didn’t struggle but still think it through.

The second shenanigan the universe taught me is that social isolation sucks. I mean, my friends having their jobs and new friends and salaries and Friday night outs and social satisfaction while I’m sitting on my chair watching their lives go by is pretty much a downer. Well, there are more shenanigans but I can’t remember them from the time being.    

And now, this hour, the pages I’ll be editing before republication of my book one is currently four. Few days from now I’ll republish it again with a few hopes and high dreams. I don’t need a ‘wish me luck’ or anything that can lift my spirits, I just want to be read.

Right… I think that’s my first post as Lucas. And I know how much depressing it sounds don’t worry, it’s just my social isolation speaking.

I’ll keep in touch.