That book is nearly finished!
Ten chapters and a set of appendixes comprise something that I wrote, something that I laugh about every time I think of.
It’s been an interesting year. I was married in 2011 and continue to exist in 2013. At least I believe I still exist. My work on this novel has proven exhausting. The more I speak of it, in an effort to make others believe it exists, the more I do not believe it exists. In spite of looking at it everyday and pouring over it, I’m not sure if it exists, but it really exists.
I sent an early draft to my editor about five months ago. She looked at it and was to my surprise absorbed by it. She didn’t hate the many plot holes or spelling errors, but praised it. She called it clever, which is something I never think of myself or my writing as having any ounce of. Most importantly, she said it was funny.
That’s the layer of writing that I’m most concerned with. All my work has to have layers, nothing means only a dozen things, everything has to mean more than that. The layer I’m most concerned with is the humor. If something isn’t funny, why is it there?
Unfortunately, I’ve lived with a crippling amount of depression for years. Things that make me laugh most are bleak. I waste time with tragedies giggling at melodramas on television. A nice woman I know from the internet, explained about a film director and how making a horror movie express his own feelings of hopelessness and loss. I took that and ran with it for my book, which is a comedy. I’ve a plan to write five books, by the time the fifth one is done, I’ll have written down all my personal demons and accept judgement.
My first book explores belief and lies extensively, and I never want to tell another lie as long as I live. I know I’m going to, but I don’t want to lie about anything. I lie all the time. I can’t help myself sometimes. I make up facts about myself or things I did that just never happened. I like to refer to myself as Sir, explaining that I was knighted and that I have several degrees in an assortment of topics that don’t give out degrees. I talk about my history as an athlete, a marksman, and as a carpenter as though they really happened.
The key to a good lie, is a piece of truth.
With that, my name isn’t Josh. JoshHayes.Tumblr is another lie. It’s an alias I used when writing about video games and toys as a writer on the internet, for publications like Tomopop, Destructoid, and NukeZilla. I didn’t want to put my real name out there, but I feel proud of my novel, enough that I will be putting my real name on it. My father wanted to name me Joshua Hayes before my birth, but this was vetoed by mother. The name is my name, but it isn’t my name. When I was unborn it was one of the many possibilities that could have defined who I am, but it doesn’t define me at all.
My real name is Charlie. My friends call me Charlie.
My name is Charlie and I’m writing a fantasy novel.