Blog Neglect

It happens. I haven't blogged in months.

Ah well. Working on short stories lately instead. Novel drafts too. Always. Keep writing. Keep writing. Keep writing.

Over the Hill is Good!

I'm over the hill! Yes! That's a good thing. Of course, I'm not talking about age. This is a writing blog. I'm talking about writing, duh. I've been trying for months to get another novel going. And I've failed, and failed, and failed. Everytime I get to about 20,000 words the story gets stuck. Over thinking. Writer's block. Loss of confidence. Loss of momentum. Whatever it is. The story just shuts down and gathers dust. And I start over.

But not today. I've broken through the bullshit block. My current story exceeded 30,000 words today and it's accelerating with no end in sight. Sure, I'll have to cut thousands from the begining. Sure, I'll have to rewrite, remove, and reorganize everything for months and months. But the flow is back, baby! I haven't felt it in so long and it feels great. Go, go, go!

Now I'm getting superstitious. Will this blog jinx my flow? Will the story drop dead now that I let the secret out? Wait, what secret? You don't even know the plot or anthing! Bah ha ha ha ha! I still have the upper hand. Yes! The words are flowing. Accelerating! And I'm laughing, screaming, and crying all the way down the hill. Meet you at the end, wherever that may be...?

Typical Writer Ramblings

Wow! Can't believe it's already been over a year since "To the Top of Greenfield Street" was published. I am humbled and flattered by its successes. Yet with every compliment comes the pressure of... where is the follow up?

And I gotta say, it's not that easy. Greenfield Street seemed to pour out of me. My debut had zero pressure, and zero expectations, but now, as I sit down and write, instead of writing for the fun of it, I keep thinking about the audience. What will they want? What do they like? Should I do a sequel? Prequel? Same setting? Some type of Greenfield universe? The whole thing has me in a slump.

Thinking too much.

Procrastinating.

Making excuses.

Quitting.

I believe this is called the sophomore slump. My novel is so, so, so, relatively insignificant, but I feel like I just won 20 Grammys on my first record, and now the label is asking for another...

So what do I do?

Forget it, man. Forget everything. Forget everybody. Forget Greenfield. Write for fun again. Write for you. But it's not that easy. I'm still blocked on what to write. Write what you know. Which is...

I don't know anything. That's why I wrote a coming of age novel. Everybody has a truth about growing up. I wrote mine.

Been there done that. Now what?

You don't know anything else? What about parenting? Or baseball. You love baseball.
But I don't know shit about it. Not enough for an entire book...

What happenes is this: I write and write and write.

Probably about 100 pages. Then I stop. Like a roadblock. A friggin' brick wall.
Why?
Because the story sucks.

At first, it's fun to have everything running around like crazy, and the characters are sprinting. I'm chasing them. They're writing the shit. And I'm listening. It's a real blast!
But then I get to the meat of the story. Where is the climax? How do I tie up all these loose ends? That's when I walk away. I second-guess.
There's no theme. There's no truth. The fabic is a jumbled mess.
Start over.
Do it again.
Read some old shit I abandoned. Try to fix it. No, that sucks too.
Why am I doing this? The hours wasted, weeks, months, years.
Stay positive.
Time isn't wasted. It's all you have. At least I'm doing something sort of constructive.
I'm practicing. Hoping. Searching. I keep going.

Another great story is just around the bend.

Me as My Co-writer

Getting back into writing lately and it's been a wonderful break from marketing To the Top of Greenfield Street. I picked up a manuscript that I wrote over ten years ago-- the writing is absolutely awful, and I love it.

As I'm reading through, there are definitely some stupid mistakes, but many of them are easy to correct. More importantly, the plot moves along well and it takes me somewhere. Next thing I know, I'm flowing, and adding and changing the plot as I see fit.

The coolest part comes when I get stuck, because the old story is still there to unstick me. It has an idea ready, right away, maybe a bad one, but an immediate idea of where the plot should go, none the less. It's like I'm my own co-writer, bouncing ideas off my past self and deciding which way the line of action should turn. Disagreeing with an idea inspires just as much creativity as agreeing-- it all inspires more possibilities.

Like most writers, I'm sure, my harddrive contains stacks and stacks of docs that died. The novel graveyard. I'd be cruising along on an idea... and the next thing I know it dries up. I got stuck, like knee-deep in a creativity quicksand, I can't move forward, and abandon the project.

Well, here is hope! Keep writing. Put the ideas on paper. This motivational cliche gets said all the time within the writing community... but it's so true! Please keep writing, and always save your work. Don't ever totally give up on any of your ideas. Find that old manuscript from decades ago, back in high school or college, hell, elementary school if you can find it-- whenever inspiration struck. Odds are that the idea is total crap, but if you can start a conversation, get flowing, begin again, with your old ideas as your co-writer, and your new polished skills as a co-writer, you might just be surprised at what you two can come up with. Cheers.

Accept the Lull

Happy New Year! Of course, it feels great to get 2020 behind us all, but with the changing of year, comes the end of the Christmas-buying season, which is a relief to most, but a difficult blow to authors trying to promote their book. We have now entered the winter lull.

Listen. As I've said before-- writing is not about making money. Write because it's therapy. Write because it's fun. Write because you can't do anything else without getting bored and irrate. Write because you need to get your crazy thoughts out of your head before they implode. But please, oh please, oh please, don't write for the money.

From a financial standpoint, writing is much, much, much more of an investment than a payday. The question is, besides burning through your bank account, how else can you spread the word about your book? How else do you get your name out there? Spending as little as possible gets little results. How do you spend wisely, and get sales from complete strangers? The more I write this blog, post-publication, the more it revolves around money, instead of creativity, which sucks. And by the way, those questions I asked? I have no idea how to answer them.

I'm an artist, a creative soul, which naturally means I hate those questions, because I hate money. Balancing a check book? No way. I hate to even think about it. Money is corrupt and evil. The batle of the haves vs the have-nots. The way money corrupts people is the main theme in some of my favorite books and movies. And many "popular" books and films suck, mainly do to the fact that they were produced by rich people who had more money than talent. They could afford to promote their project without flinching, while millions of better stories drowned in the unknown of the underfunded. Money is the enemy of art. Oh man, now I'm getting pissed just thinking about it.

So just relax. Focus on something else. As a friend and fellow writer once said "do the parts you like and let the other stuff go." Don't dwell on the negative stuff, which is so simple, yet so true. Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy the excitement of buying those first ads, or printing the merch. I did enjoy the dream, the endless possibilities... and then I saw the bills piling up and wanted to vomit.

A chuckle. The thoughts consuming and evolving. The sigh, the reveal, the perspective, this is the best part of writing. I feel better. I got the ideas out of my head and I can move on. I have hopeful ideas.

I'm looking forward to a new year, where my writing career will hopefully prosper. Hundreds of copies of To The Top of Greenfield Street have sold, and I'm hoping that word-of-mouth eventually kicks in, at least a little. My BookBub ad is still cruising along, at a way lower budget than before, but still getting impressions, still spreading the word. I entered my novel in a few contests, hopefully good news will return, which will extend the novel's reputation in other ways.

Publication is about patience more than anything, which is a tough pill to swallow. Be patient. There may be a lull, but the lull will subside. Things will be fine because the novel is good. People will like it, once they find it. Just buckle up and relax. Meditate. Write. Create. Do whatever it takes to ease your mind, because it's gonna be a long, bumpy ride.

The Interview

If you've read my other posts, you know this publication stuff is not easy, and the hardest part (after the writing/editing/rewriting, of course) is just getting the word out. There are plenty of business that will "help" you, everything from book reviews, to contests, to advertising, but all of these options cost so much cash. Over the weekend I spent $200 on advertising and sold 7 copies, and I'm actually thrilled with those results. Book marketing can become outrageously expensive, so it's an obvious economic advantage to utilize as much free publicity as possible.

One way to get your name out there is with interviews. Think about it-- even A-list celebs interview on the talk show circuit. While syndicated TV shows are definitely not in reach, there are other humble options. Podcasts are popular right now, so if you know somebody that does one, reach out. Reaching out is a huge part of this business, so don't be shy, and never hesitate. The odds are pretty good that the interviewer is looking for some good ideas anyway. An old friend of mine and former high school teacher does interviews on his youtube channel, and he was kind enough to interview me here. The interview process did feel pretty nerve-wracking. I may have said a couple silly things, but most people don't know me well enough to notice my anxiety. Overall, the interview is fun to watch and has been seen by hundreds of people.

That in-person feel of the zoom-interview wasn't nearly as nerve-wracking as the phone interview I had for a newspaper, The Journal Standard, here. While the reporter was quite friendly, she wasn't a close friend, so my anxiety level was sky-high. (I'd assume that the majority of writers are shy at heart like me, but that shyness needs to be shed. Don't worry so much.) In the end the article came out fine, helped out tremendously, sold dozens of copies, and spread the word, big time. The story was even published online by its sister paper, The Register Star. Then re-posting sites like News Break ran the story too. The reporter later did a follow-up article, here, which was just as helpful. Spreading the word is one thing, but the re-spreading, or reminding the public is even better.

The easiest interview I've done so far was the email interview for Literary Titan, here. Written question and answer, on your own time. I wrote and rewrote those answers for hours before I finally hit the send button. If a newpaper wants an interview, suggest an emailed q and a first. That's how I interviewed people when I worked at a newspaper. It's easier for everyone, and both parties come out looking polished and professional. In a similar siituation, I had a press-release published in The Daily Item, with some quotes I'd written which looked awesome on the printed page. Writing your own press release is the best-- then you're the interviewer and the interviewed all at once. Press releases can be sent to every newpaper in your area.

So that's it. Get the word out. Don't be shy. Reach out. And try to get as much free publicity as you can.

My 15 Steps of Publication... So Far

Winner, winner, chicken dinner! gold!! won my first award and loved it. but more about that later, lets get blogging...

I'm learning as I go here, and whether right or wrong, this has been my order, so far, during the life of my debut novel. my wisdom is passed on to you, my friend. no charge.
1 - write when inspiration hits, for me the song Castle on the Hill by Ed Sheeran, sparked the idea to write coming-of-age based on friends back in my hometown. then everything seemed to flow. write, write, write! strike while the iron is hot.
2 - edit, sent to family members and good friends to see what needed help
3 - rewrite, stuff gets better everytime. steps 2-3 are repeated for an eternity
4 - query, lit agents rejected me left and right, unsure why
5 - self-pub, via amazon, quicker than ingram spark, better binding too
6 - blast social media, hit up friends on fb and insta for that initial sales surge. love my friends, huge confidence boost
7 - canvas the internet, your book shows up on a ton of sites (ebay, barnes and nobel, walmart), if there's an option to write a review, do it. Social based sites like goodreads, library thing, reedsy, litpick may need to be nudged in order to add you to their site. open accounts and profiles when needed
8 - write press release, got media connections? use them. emailed area newspapers and tv stations (no response on latter)
9 - library distribution, email as many libraries as possible especially those related to your setting. should have done this one sooner since it takes a while for libraries to order, receive, and catalog
10 - editorial reviews, contacted review services (many of which cost money) looks better than an amazon review your friend wrote. hit up magazines, influential social media people that do reviews. some robots will hit you up too, watch out.
11 - sold at mom and pops stores, my novel is set in Freeport IL and some old friends carried books in their shops. love them.
12 - advertise, tried bookbub and instagram with decent results. newspapers are so expensive! even the little ones are owned by monster corporations now. they want thousands $$$!
13 - contests, i've gotten some good editorial reviews so now i'm entering fiction contests. these usually cost money too, and most are awarded annually, so it takes a long time to get results. I won one already, a monthly, from Literary Titan. Gold Award! (much better than their silver) you know, prized for its excellence and stuff. feels so good!
14 - write another book, people keep asking about a sequel, but i'm not feeling it so far. write for yourself!
15 - dunno, what's next? blog more, haha. I'm sure there's a lot of waiting involved at some point. word of mouth takes time to get around. i'm trying to make a push for christmas gifting but once January hits, who knows. back to step 14, i guess, looking forward to it. until then i'll enjoy with all my heart the occasional compliment or review.
oh, and i bought some cool promo stickers, not sure which step though, haha. it's been a fun ride. spread the word: To the Top of Greenfield Street is a joy to read.

Testing the Ad Waters

After that initial 90-day spike, the book sales have dropped, as predicted. The Facebook friends have made their purchases and already got tired of my constant hype. The family members have also contributed their love and support, but even they have become less likey to click like on my book posts. But it's not fair! Right? There's still millions of people out there who don't even know about my awesome book! And there's only one way to tell them... Spend! That! Money! Yep, most reviews cost money, and of course, so do the ads.

I googled Chicago Trib, but they wanted thousands. Even the small town paper of Freeport, IL, is now owned by a giant corporation that requires $1000 minimum. So, of course, I turned to the infinite reaches of the internet. I read some blogs and found BookBub. Not sure how it works but you can name your price (like $3 for one click) and they'll aution that price like eBay. I tried paying $20 and I got about 10 clicks. What's more important I got thousands of impressions, so at least people saw my cover, whether they clicked it or not. Cons are I'm pretty sure that only sold 3 ebooks, which made me about a dollar. (But hey--NOT in it for the money here! Just want people to read it!) Also the ad seems to be running dry. It went from 1,000 hits a day to more recently 100 hits, for no apparent reason. Dunno. Then I gave Instagram $20 to see what they could do. Cool thing about them is I could pinpoint Freeport, and run exclusively there, which is the setting of the book and naturally my initial target audience. I switched my Insta account to pro and "promoted" a cool photo of my book, got a thousand impressions, seen by 800 people, and got few followers, a handfull of likes, and 8 clicks. My guess is I sold 2 paperbacks in relation to the ad, but it's hard to be sure. That's all so far. I think I'm like Insta better, just because I know I'm hitting Freeport. BookBub is nice because they're avid readers, but I don't like how my ad fades off for no reason. Plus, most my clicks were in England for some reason. I guess the site is more popular there... Any ad suggestions let me know. It's a great book, just gotta get the word out.

Let's Do The Reviews

Yes! Readers' Favorite just published a spectacular review of To the Top of Greenfield Street. Couldn't be happier! It goes a little something like this:
... BOOK REVIEW Reviewed by Jack Magnus for Readers' Favorite

"To the Top of Greenfield Street is a coming of age novel for young adults written by Ryan Standley. It was June and summer should have been Eric’s next opportunity to shed his chubby-boy image through hours of basketball and healthy eating. But this June was different. The house that he and his dad lived in, complete with his dad’s pizzeria on the first floor, had burnt down. After the fire, he and his dad moved to a room in a hotel while his dad looked for a job, but there was nothing. Finally, their funds almost all gone, they drove to Freeport, Illinois to stay with family friends, the Garcias. Nate Garcia was Eric’s age and was his oldest friend, and Manny Garcia had hired Eric’s dad for as long as he needed. While it had been a while since the two friends had seen each other, they soon fell into the easy camaraderie of years back. Freeport, Illinois was different somehow. The kids there didn’t see a young fat boy to be bullied and laughed at. Eric had a chance -- this might be his summer after all.
Ryan Standley’s To the Top of Greenfield Street had me realizing once again why the genre is one of my all-time favorites. Eric’s transformational time spent on Greenfield Street is breathtaking, even at the remove of being a reader rather than an actual witness to a real-life story. Standley sets his tale in the summer of 1993, a pivotal time considering the internet and tech explosion that would soon be changing life as we knew it then. I loved re-experiencing the music and culture of the time and seeing the story unfold historically. While an experienced writer of news articles, this is Ryan Standley’s debut novel, and it’s peopled with characters who are complex, unforgettable, and very true-to-life. I was wrapped up in his story from the first pages until the last and loved every minute I spent on Greenfield Street. To the Top of Greenfield Street is the best coming-of-age novel I’ve read this year, and I’m looking forward to future works by this author. It’s most highly recommended." ...
Ok, so the first paragraph is just summary, but that second one is great, right? Oh, man. Nothing like a great review to make ya feel good and push you onward.
By the way, writers, did you thing the rejection letters were over after you finally published? Nope! Now I'm writing to libraries and review bloggers, and the no-replies and turn-downs seem oddly familiar, haha! Having fun though and a great review is a reason to celebrate. If you hadn't heard of Readers' Favorite until now, check them out!

Retail, News, And Movie Time!

Nope, haha, I haven't signed a movie deal yet. Not even close! But I did make a little promo teaser video on iMovie, which I posted on Youtube, and my Amazon author page. Also the Goodreads promo, mentioned in my last entry has done well, currently ammassing over 750 requests, for my ten free signed copies.

And the Freeport Journal Standard Newspaper printed their scoop, with a huge quarter-page picture of me holding To the Top of Greenfield Street. Yes!

And, check this out! My paperback book is now for sale in brick and mortar retail! A music store in Freeport IL, Black Diamond Music, is selling my book. What an honor! Thanks to owner, and my friend's mom, Deb Green, for the support. And now, what you've all been waiting for,the hype movie. Haha. Hear it is, enjoy.

The GoodReads Promo

Goodreads Book Giveaway

To the Top of Greenfield Street

by Ryan Standley

Giveaway ends September 22, 2020.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Here we go! My first Goodreads promotional giveaway offers up five signed copies of my book to five lucky winners. Yay!!

I'm anxious to see how well this works because the service is NOT free. But my sales are leveling off and I need another push. I'm also mailing out promotional posters to libraries. The Freeport Journal Standard newspaper is running my story on Sunday. After that, I'm kind of lost... Besides the last dying breath of the newspaper industry, all of these promos cost big bucks. Is there a way to get this novel off the ground that doesn't cost thousands?
Another interesting thing to note is the appearance of my book on sites other than Amazon. Two sellers on ebay now sell my book with a $3 markup from the Amazon price. Barnes and Noble also sells my book as does Books-a-million, Google Books and Indie Bound. However the book was not found on WorldCat (the national library data base) despite being ordered by several libraries, a somewhat frustrating developement that will hopefully be corrected soon.

Hype it up

Today marks one week since my novel went live, and the results have been a whirlwind celebration. I've been blown away with the supportive response on social media and I'm beyond grateful.Friends throughout my life have resurfaced with an outpouring of love, encouragement, and purchasing power. TO THE TOP OF GREENFIELD STREET reached "#1 New Release" on Amazon, August 22, and has reclaimed that height again several times ever since. I've garnered seven detailed and verified 5-star reviews. A story about my book was published in the local newspaper, and I have an interview with my hometown newspaper on Sunday.

So far four Northern Illinois/Southern Wisconsin libraries have ordered my book, none in MA yet, but I'm working on it. I've also ordered promotional posters and stickers to send to libraries and businesses. I've emailed, posted, talked and texted so much in the last few days, and this is just the beginning. The initial storm will end soon, and I'll have to get more creative. How can I get a reviewer to read my book, or get it featured on a major media site? How can my book reach the next level of renown? I'm learning as I go and I'm enjoying the ride. Thanks again to everyone for all of their support.

YES!!! PUBLISHED!!

Yes! It's official! My debut novel To the Top of Greenfield Street

is now available for purchase around the world. It just went live on Amazon at 4am last night. This is awesome! Here's the link
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08GFQCVH8

Now comes the anticipation. How many reviews will I get? Will it sell like hotcakes. We shall see. Fingers crossed. This project is three years in the making. Thanks so much to everyone who helped.

Title Change

The momentum is still rolling for my novel, and more reader feedback is helping quite a bit. The most recent title change was a big one, going from the negative connotation of forget in Forget Freeport, to the positive connotation of to the top in To the Top of Greenfield Street.Title changes are tough, it can literally say just about anything. You don't want it to be too vague. You want some double meaning, but not a pun or cliche. Sometimes you spend all day deciding on one, then you Google it and it's already published. Needless to say, I'm happy with To the Top of Greenfield Street, and hopefully the new title will bring much luck to the project.

Here is a new cover concept as well. I tried to recreate current popular covers on Amazon Kindle pages, using the app PicsArt, which is incredible! Special thanks to my daughter on help choosing the font.

Making Progress

I just finished my latest draft of my novel, Forget Freeport. This manuscript has been changed and trimmed and rewritten so many times over the last couple years, but now it finally feels finished. (For now.) My 14-year-old daughter just devoured it in 8 hours, so that's a good sign. My mom hated it last time and loves it now. I do think that it's a great book for the YA audience and adults alike. I wish the novel would catch on with a literary agent, but maybe that's not the right route anymore. Covid 19 has killed libraries and bookshops across the world, so now may be the time to self publish. I've been researching Amazon/kindle for days now. A few more reads of this latest draft and I think it's ready to roll. Here are pics of my cover that I designed. Looks awesome!

The latest teaser goes like this:
"After tragedy strikes, Eric Daniels (15) must start over in a small town, where rumors fly and trouble follows. Though shy at heart, Eric meets neighborhood kids, builds his reputation, and excels at his first job. Then as soon as he lands his first kiss, he is betrayed and attacked by a jealous friend. Like most teens, Eric wants happiness, love and independence. He finds everything he ever wanted in Freeport, but how long can it last?"

Spoon man

My creativity has now entered the sculpture realm. I am whittling spoons now.

Yes, you read that right.I'm rewriting Forget Freeport, again, but when its a super nice day, I gotta get outside. I sit there like an octogenarian and whittle. Pretty fun.

Oil Painting

I've been going stir-crazy with plenty of time for oil painting. Here are a few that I've been working on.

I call this first one The South Pole Posse. The image was taken from a cropping out of a magazine. A simple painting I did in two sittings, under an hour of work. The blue is a wall paint sample that my daughter considered for her room. Too bright though, she ended up choosing a dull green instead.

The next one is based on a photo I took of the lake down the street, Lake Quannapowitt. A small yacht club has occasional sailing lessons. This is a smaller sail boat, Etchells class maybe? The painting was done in one sitting, an hour or two.

The portraits took much longer, with multiple restarts, but were more gratifying in the end. One is based on Kate Middleton.

Then there's an unknown actress from a magazine. My sister thought this one reminded her of an Edward Hopper.

The mom and baby's bodies were based on a pic of Meghan Markle and her son, but the faces are totally imaginary.

The dancing couple is based on Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire from the movie Swing Time. The dancer background is totally incomplete, I'm still unsure what to do with it. Change it up and make it surreal? Or just imply a traditional stage setting... dunno. Painting has been fun though and relaxing. I do recommend it. Sometimes it feels like I'm building a puzzle.

The New Stir Crazy Reality

Everybody has to vent about this coronavirus pandemic at some point, right? And I'm running out of things to do so I'm writing on this blog that I haven't visited in too long. It's true that the world has changed. The whole cooties idea is back, real, and more powerful than ever. You have to go outside and get some sun but if you see anybody out there stay ten feet away. The store shelves are empty. Toilet paper is the most sought after product. Late night talk shows are filming jokes at home with their iPhones. What is the national news like? I don't know. I don't want to. It's too depressing. Twitter gets too serious for me. Too many people are freaking out. I'm almost there. I keep my distance.

I don't want to know how many cases are close by. I just want it to be over. I crave beer now more than ever. My wife comments about every little cough she has. The trepidation is thick in the air. I've taken up oil painting to pass my time. I'm reading too. The kids are blasting Disney Plus. Friends are texting and Zooming. My son's second-grade class did a Zoom this morning. It was so damn sad. Yellow Do Not Enter tape is wrapped around the swings and climbing structures at the park. My basement is full of canned goods. There is an emergency beer stash too. I haven't been grocery shopping since Friday and it sucked. Crowds were everywhere. Maybe 5 people wore a mask. Still no TP available. But we have some here. Not all hope is lost. I'm craving the end of this. I see us all rejoicing. Strangers embracing strangers. Every closed restaurant reopened and packed with happy people smiling from ear to ear with a new appreciation for social togetherness. I hope it's soon. I'm losing it.

The Fast

Oh, man, there is now a teeny tiny part of me that can relate to having an eating disorder. Not eating food is empowering. Controlling yourself to a point where you don't let any food touch your lips for 36 hours is a rush. I believe I can do anything after that. There's a clarity of mind. Leave the 'Hangry' stages far behind and enter a mental state of precision. Sort of.

I tried my first fast a couple of months ago for some stupid reason. Never tried it before, so why not? I had come up with a few shaky reasons to give it a go. For starters there's the survival story, Unbroken. The hero, Louis Zamperini, was floating on a raft for weeks with no food and he lived to be 97. Ninety-seven! I pursued the fasting idea for my health. I've heard fasting clears the toxins from your system. There's even urban legends about dudes that could speak a foreign language they never knew they'd known after fasting for a week. Wasn't Gandhi enlightened or something? Self-purification. Zen fasting! I'd never fasted ever before. Every single day of my whole damn life I had stuffed some kind of food into my mouth. I'd survive a non-food day. Easy. I thought more and more about the idea and finally pulled the trigger.

Huge headache. That's how my first fast could be described. Because I cut out everything. Water only. No coffee or tea meant no caffeine, and my body was not happy. But I did recover from that headache several hours later, and then I felt so proud that I hadn't caved in. Slept like a rock that night. I felt great the next morning. My stomach had shrunk. I didn't eat that much... for a day or two. I'm the most average sized man on the planet but I did feel a little thinner. A little fitter.

My second fast attempt was aborted when my wife came home with sushi for dinner. Cannot resist it.

My second full-fast was another headache. Water only again. I actually coached a soccer practice that night. For seven-year-olds. Total hell. But I didn't cave. That was a challenge, but I survived. I felt proud. I had lasted another 36, which includes sleep, of course. I had released some more toxins and felt pretty confident. But my sleep was average, and I ate plenty the next day.

By my third fast I was over the physical aspect. Maybe I felt a little more toned a couple days after fasting, but it wasn't that big of a deal. I noticed more results mentally, so I decided to focus on a mental problem while I was starving myself. I also stopped omitting caffeine. Coffee for breakfast. Iced tea in the afternoon. This time I didn't have a headache but I was was so wired instead. I focused on my novel manuscript, Forget Freeport. I went over and over every plot twist, every scene, and I came up with some obvious issues I had overlooked before. Sweet.

Fasting does take you out of your body if you let it. Refraining from everything is a high. Nothing is a drug. That said, it is a very weak drug. I probably could have smoked a joint and brainstormed my novel with similar results, and also enjoyed a really, really good bag of Doritos.

Will I ever fast again? Maybe. Well. Yes, probably. Very likely indeed. It's a huge pain in the ass, that produces barely any results, but hey, I'm a writer, so that's what I do.

First Chapter of Forget Freeport

Forget Freeport
Copyright ©2018 Ryan P. Standley - All rights reserved.

Chapter 1: Fattie And Hairy

I just want to sleep but this stupid bird won’t stop chirping and waking me up. Just one minute longer, please? Okay fine, damn it, I’m up. I’m awake now. Hooray. Wonderful. The perfect day so far.

Where exactly am I anyway? A basement, duh. I’m staring up at a white ceiling tile, speckled with hundreds of little black dots. The dots are small as glitter and of course they remind me of the fire. Millions of tiny orange sparks flew miles into the sky that night. Dad and I just stood there shocked, and watched our house burn.

A raging house fire almost sounds like a waterfall. It’s unbelievably loud, and the heat of it, my god. We dripped sweat just watching. Huge fiery claws reached, punched, grabbed and tore down the walls. I’d never seen unstoppable power. Amazing. And so depressing.

My favorite stuff was burnt into ashes. Baseball cards, my mitt, my bike, my Bulls jersey. All toast. I had a cool keychain collection too, and a few video games. All gone.

My guy Dilly was cremated. He’s a stuffed animal and I am 15, but that little yellow duck saw it all. I stopped snuggling him years ago, but he still sat in the corner of my room just watching. Sometimes I glanced at him and smiled. Especially on the bad days.

I’ve always been the fat kid. For years. Since I can remember. I don’t know why. Low metabolism maybe? Bad genes? And lots of pizza and ice cream too, I guess.

Kids love picking on fatties. Easiest target ever. Dismiss me with one simple word. One mundane observation. Some kids got creative. Called me the Pillsbury Doughboy, that fat little cartoon chef on the commercials. Kids literally poked my belly until I imitated the chef’s cute little giggly laugh. I hate the Pillsbury Doughboy. And I hate those kids more than anything. But I just took it. All the teasing. So humiliating. And the girls. The pretty girls. They saw it all. But they never said a word.

Summer break started last month, I played basketball every night by myself. I didn’t eat any ice cream, and lost some weight. I felt better. Not so sweaty and out of breath. Then the fire hit, and we’ve lived on fast food and cable TV ever since.

Dad and I rented a cheap hotel. Then we ran out of money. We were basically homeless. Dad was calling every phone number he knew. Then last night we left Iowa, drove a few hours, and ended up here.

The Garcia House. Freeport, Illinois. I do remember this basement now. It’s been forever, like ten years. Our old friends offered up their place and even gave Dad a job. Dad left for work early, and I’m still laying here. Time to get up.

Nate and I had sleepovers here once. We ate caramel corn, drank pop, and watched movies on these old couches. We snooped around in the workshop. That’s still down here, filled with even more junk. And here’s a bathroom, and a new pool table. There’s a backroom I don’t remember from before. It’s empty and dark like a cave.

And here’s the classic Garcia bar. I remember when Dad helped build this beauty. The peach marble on top still looks smooth and shiny. I can imagine a room full of old people partying down here. Mom and Dad drinking with Manny and Patti. Sucking down beers and laughing so hard.

Wait, was Mom here then? Was she still around? Yes, she was. That was a long time ago. Nate’s probably the one drinking down here by now. Or maybe not. I have no clue.

“Eric Daniels! It’s way past noon. Are you sleeping still?” That must be Nate. His voice got deep, but that’s him for sure.

“Yeah, I’m up,” I yell back.

Nate Garcia clamors down the stairs. The basement door swings open, and he stands there, next to the pool table. He got tall. I guess I did too. We were so little last time I saw him.

Nate’s hair is buzzed short except for an odd looking half-inch-wide bang that dangles past his chin. His yellow t-shirt says, ‘Bite Me’ in bold black letters. His orange plaid shorts clash with his green canvas sneakers. His legs are covered with thick gobs of dark hair, and he has a ton of stubble for a 15-year-old.

“You’re not as fat as I remember,” Nate says, “That’s good.”

“Thanks.” I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.

Nate sucks on his long bang, and then tucks it behind his ear. There’s a long quiet moment. The space between us feels uneasy. Do we shake hands? Hug? Nope. Neither.

“You like donuts, don’t you?” Nate says. “Come on up.”

Nate leads me up the steps and into the kitchen. Three large windows fill the room with sunlight. The linoleum floor looks like shiny yellow bricks. There’s black cupboards, white countertops, and the wooden kitchen table sits on wobbly chrome legs.

Nate hands me a white cardboard box stamped with ‘Donuts Plus’ in blue ink. There are only a couple sinkers left. I skip the jelly, and stuff a chocolate long-john in my mouth. Then I follow Nate outside onto the back porch.

The wooden porch stands five feet above the ground. The floorboards form a crescent at the edge. There used to be an above-ground swimming pool here. I kind of remember it. We played Marco Polo, and I got an ear infection.

Someone nearby fires up a lawnmower. I smell the fresh trimmings in the humid afternoon sun. Nate’s yard could use a mow. The grass is so long that the blades bend over. The hedges need a trim too. A large wooden tool shed stands at the rear of his yard beside two crabapple trees. There’s been plenty of rain here. There’s a tiny swamp in the shade between the crabapples. That puddle surely breeds mosquitos.

I smack a bug off of my ankle and notice Nate staring at me.

“Fire sucks, huh?” he says, “So how long you staying for? All summer?”

I shrug.

“Well shit,” Nate says, “I know something that’ll cheer you up. Come on.”

Nate leads me around the house to the front yard. We walk to the top of Greenfield Street, and then down the hill on the other side. The street ends in a cul-de-sac with much larger homes and manicured landscaping. I’m not used to all these beautiful lawns. My neighborhood in Iowa was mostly cement.

Nate points to a powder blue house with enormous trees and a black BMW in the driveway. This is a really nice home. Big money here. Even the mailbox on the curb looks new and expensive.

The hot sun is suffocating. Birds chatter and dogs bark in the distance. A truck engine barrels down a freeway somewhere. I smell dirty water evaporating off the asphalt.

“Shh,” Nate listens. “You hear that?”

He grins. There’s a wide gap between his front teeth, and his eyebrows bob up and down. “It’s them.”

Of course I hear them. It’s an unmistakable sound. One that makes me very nervous.






After countless rewrites and revisions, that's my latest version of the first chapter. If you don't like it I will punch you in the face. Jk