A Writer's New Year's Revolution, well, ya know...

I hope y'all had a great Christmas and a good start to the New Year. What are YOUR plans for 2017?

Me? Oh, I thought I'd do a little writing and publishing. (BTW: Christmas was great.)

I've got a new book titled Beyond Insanity (the sequel to Rocketman) coming out in February, so I'm in the thick of putting that together for print.

The wife and I are editing Another Load of Chicken Poop (the sequel to Chicken Poop on My Sole), due out in the spring. Get your short story submissions in for that ASAP if you'd like to be included. Email me for details.

And, hopefully, I'll have the fourth Bayou Boys Adventure, Alien Ambush, out for Halloween. I'll be finishing that this summer if all goes well.

I've been recently published in the winter edition of Washington Coast Magazine and in December I had three front page stories for The Daily News (Aberdeen, Wash. newspaper). I've also begun writing for Grays Harbor Talk.com.

Meanwhile, I'm at work working for other writers with Harbor House Center for Writing and the Arts. Lots of good teaching and activities coming up there. Check it out.

Drop me a comment or email and let me know what you're up to.

Pending Penning and Publishing Plans

I'm not sure what I'll be working on for NaNoWriMo, but, rest-assured, I'll be working on something (plenty of story ideas in my files). It may not be a novel though. (It may be finishing the novella, Alien Ambush; maybe not. I've not decided.)

I actually plan to do  LOT of writing over the next three months (working six hours a day at Harbor House). I'll be taking a two week break the latter part of December, then back at it for the new year.

My publishing plans are as follows:

Beyond Infinity (the sequel to Rocketman), March 2017
Another Load of Chicken Poop (editing), April 2017
Alien Ambush (a Bayou Boys Adventure), October 2017
and maybe something for summer 2017?

Stay tuned.

Thought I'd Share a Short Story...

The Proposed Cover Re-Design

As some of you may know I'm re-issuing Rocketman my first collection of poems, personal essays and photographs with a new cover by early June. I'm also about halfway through writing the "sequel" (a second collection) Beyond Infinity which I intend to have out early fall. 

Here is a short story from volume one:

Little Sister

My little sister was annoying to a fault. I’m not talking about Janis; she and I grew up together and the two of us had an understanding. I’m talking about my little sister: Suzi. Suzanne as she was christened—the devil spawn that should have been named: munchkin-sized holy terror!

Suze came along five years after Janis. It was a surprise, much like an alien invading our home! I still remember the day mom brought all the cool stuff from the hospital. Bottles, diapers, a cute little hat, a bib, baby food samples, a rattle and all kinds of other swag you used to get for free just for having a baby. Man! What a way to score.

The new baby was, at first, a novelty, too, and quite adorable, really. That is until she could crawl. That was when the real exasperation began. Suddenly none of my stuff was sacred. And none of it was clean either. Rather, virtually anything and everything I owned became a chew toy. One minute my finely built Lincoln Log® cabin would be standing, the next moment it would be a pile of slimed kindling so drooled upon you couldn’t have started a fire with it if you’d have wanted. I’d find G.I. Joe® half naked and floating warily in the toilet bowl alongside another kind of log that was not Lincoln by nature. And I’d find my Matchbox® collection with the tires eaten off.

By the time she could walk she was into everything. The Pill swept through the house like a silent tornado leaving a path of destruction in her wake. Things would go missing, too. Puzzle pieces, game pieces, and my stash of penny candy—all eaten by this little “thing” with the strange and voracious appetite.

But, to my parents, she could do no wrong. Nothing was her fault. No, to them she was an angel. When the nose to my Teddy mysteriously evaporated and the plug to my rocket bank (on cover) vanished into thin air never to return I’d had it.

And then the following began!

Oh, my word! Was there no peace from this demon child? You’d think she loved me or something the way she toddled after me. Everywhere. She was interested in everything I did and her curiosity was maddening. I tried everything to dissuade her from tagging along. I persuaded her to lick the side of the deep freeze. That kept her pinned down…until mother found her. (Fortunately, Suzi wasn’t yet talking.) I tempted her into sticking her finger into the pencil sharpener one day. One turn of the crank and the siren began. I ran like mad.

By the time Suey was of school age she was okay. Yes, the scars healed up nicely. And she was pretty cute and, amazingly, still looking up to her big brother. I realized she really did love me and I loved her, too. However it wasn’t really until we were adults that we hit it off. Which is unfortunate, because she’s a wonderful person—kind, generous and (fortunately) forgiving.

Of course, now she’s one of my best friends and I wish she was around more. In fact, I’d even let her drool on my prized Mickey Mouse toy collection if that’s what it took to have her near.

New/Upcoming Publication News & New Cover Designs

With the publication of Joe Benjamin's Silly Billy and Ducky Dee through my press, my self-publishing workshop over, and the Indie Author & Book Fair done and gone it's time to turn my attention back to my own work. That is the work of writing, editing and designing stuff that is my own.

Some of you may know that I've been casually working on new cover designs for some of my older books. Actually, I've been working on a new cover for Rocketman: From the Trailer Park to Insomnia and Beyond and now have the concept design finalized. I just have to complete the final art. That should take about a day.

I'm also doing up an omnibus of my three Bayou Boys books (Voodoo Virus, Marsh Monster and Playhouse Phantom). That means I'm compiling all three books into one volume, titled simply The Bayou Boys. I'm working on the cover for that. I came up with four designs and sought opinions and comments. My readers and fellow authors supplied and they definitely ruled out one of the four, but, as yet, I have no clear consensus on the remaining three. LOL I do have one I'm leaning toward, though (see the concept art below).

When I do finally and firmly know which cover I'll go with I'll have to complete the final art, compile the texts and format the interior. That's a good solid week's work. (BTW: I have no plans at this time to complete the fourth Bayou Boys Adventure, Alien Ambush.) I have begun work on the interior layout as of this writing.

Finally, I'm working toward completion of Chicken Poop on My Sole. I still need a couple stories and I have a cover design that needs fleshed out and completed. I have begun formatting the interior, but that, too, needs work. Should I get those stories in (Might you have one you'd like to submit?) I could be done inside two weeks.

All in all, I'm looking to complete these projects before the end of May. Chicken Poop is slated to be released on Memorial Day weekend.

I'm not sure what the summer will bring yet. I do have a humorous short story that I'm looking into possibly making into a graphic novel or something, but haven't really decided what to do with it. I might just put it into another anthology.

You can read it here.

I do plan to write more short works: articles, personal essays, short fiction, and poetry. Sure, I have ideas for novels, but I'm not sure that's what I want to pursue right now.

March Madness Means Manuscript Munching Mode

Munch, munch, munch. I guess I'm in the editing and design modes for the month of March. I have two editing and three design projects I'm working on for a total of three projects (that's right one of the projects requires no editing).

Project One is simply the redesign of the cover for my book Rocketman: From the Trailer Park to Insomnia and Beyond.

Here, at the left, is a rough of the new design without some of the detail (like an old fashioned photo border, a drop shadow for the rocket, a better space background and possibly a 3D-like text for the top title word).

Project Two is the design and layout (with some line editing) of a new children's book, Silly Billy and the Duck for new author Joe Benjamin (the pen name for my son Josiah).

Basically, I just have to check the spelling and punctuation, put the pages together and convert the files. See the unfinished, uncolored, proposed working panel on the right.

Project Three, the final project (which I don't expect to be done this month), Chicken Poop on My Sole, which I am editing with my wife, is mostly editing for now, but I may get to finalizing the cover soon. The proposed cover mock-up is at the left. This could be on ongoing project through the summer depending on one major factor:

We need stories! That's right this book is meant to be a multi-author anthology. the slower they trickle in the longer the project will take. I'd like to have the book out no later than the first of September.

Do you have a story to contribute?

I'm looking for first person, original pieces 300 to 3,000 words in length (750-1,200 is ideal) that are true (or based on a true event) that are comedic and/or inspirational in nature.

If you have a story you can share email me for details. I may publish up to three stories from any given writer. gregory.zschomler@gmail.com

Christmas Stories from Long Ago: A Martha Stewart Christmas

I'm pretty stoked for Christmas. Not only are there the presents and family gatherings, the decorations and special foods there are the "stories of long, long ago." I'm going to share some of those stories with you. These--there will be three of them (one each week now until Christmas)--come from my book Rocketman: From the Trailer Park to Insomnia and Beyond. The book is a collection of personal essays, poems, short fic and photographs "from my sleepless life and addled imagination."

There are three Christmas stories in the book, here is the last of those three:

A Martha Stewart Holiday

After weeks of preparation by scores of technicians, staff consultants, creatives and artistic directors… 

Director: “Cue music and...roll titles!”

Camera one zooms from the tabletop centerpiece of candles and greenery. “And action!” Panning slowly right it comes to rest on a neat, blond woman standing in a beautiful kitchen. Camera one takes on a slow zoom.

“Good evening and welcome to my Inn. I’m Martha Stewart. There’s nothing quite as satisfying to me as preparation for a holiday. There’s something especially exciting this evening, as we are live here in Bethlehem for what promises to be the event of the ages.

“I’ve prepared a sumptuous meal of herbed lamb, roasted garlic, toasted pita bread, and myrrhed wine. I’ve chosen the very best lamb from my flock, only my finest grapes (which were pressed under the feet of eunuchs and fermented for 36 months), freshly ground grains have been combined in just the right mixture, and only my premium garden herbs and garlic have been selected. It’s a meal fit for a king!”

Cut to camera two showing a bed of cut greens, a candle, and other trimmings on a simple wood table.

“At the start of my show you saw the beautiful centerpiece I created for this momentous occasion. Here’s how I did it…” The manicured hands flash to work as a gentle Jewish lullaby plays softly in the background. Cut to remote cam outside in a humble stable. There a newborn infant rests on a bed of straw. Standing near the babe are a beautiful young girl and her husband. Silently they ponder the child.

Voice Over: “Earlier tonight, after my inn was quite full, a lovely peasant couple came to my door in search of lodging. I had nothing to offer them except my stable. She was pregnant and near her time. They had searched throughout the town, and it was the same all over—no room. I gave them what I had. Lucky for them I am also a skilled midwife.”

Cut back to the tabletop.

“This evening I offer you my very best in holiday décor and fine dining. And that’s a very good thing. Notice the cut of these greens—meticulously harvested at their peak and beveled just so. Now, take a piece of floral wire exactly one cubit long. Twist it firmly around the stem of the greenery and insert it into the floral foam at a precise 53.7 degree angle.”

Cut to camera two; a medium shot of our hostess.

“Detail and preparation are everything. Planning ahead is the key to any successful occasion. The couple out back could have easily sent a courier for reservations had they thought ahead. You’d never catch Martha off guard like that.”

Cut to remote cam.

“Notice the child’s fair mother, Mary. She is all wrapped up in her child, just as he is wrapped up in swaddling clothes. She is entirely unprepared for this festive occasion. She has neglected to make plans for the celebration and she and her family are missing out on the best the holiday has to offer.”

A slow lapse-dissolve brings us back to camera two.

“Unlike myself, she has missed the boat, so to speak. Now set the home cast candle, gently scented with frankincense, in the center of the greenery circle. There you have it—a fragrant royal centerpiece for the entire house to enjoy. Now on to the meal. Behold the lamb, without spot or blemish…”

* * *

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“Now it came to pass...a woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word, while Martha was busy with serving. She came to him, and said, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her to help me.’

“And Jesus answered, ‘Martha, Martha, Martha, you are so care-full and troubled about many things, but only one thing is really needful: It is Mary who has chosen that good thing, which will not be taken away from her.’” (KJV Bible, Luke 10:38-42, paraphrased)

Have yourself a Mary Christmas!

Christmas Stories from Long Ago: The Christmas Tree Tyrant

I'm pretty stoked for Christmas. Not only are there the presents and family gatherings, the decorations and special foods there are the "stories of long, long ago." I'm going to share some of those stories with you. These--there will be three of them (one each week now until Christmas)--come from my book Rocketman: From the Trailer Park to Insomnia and Beyond. The book is a collection of personal essays, poems, short fic and photographs "from my sleepless life and addled imagination."

There are three Christmas stories in the book, here is the second of those three:

The Christmas Tree Tyrant

Many families enjoy cutting their own Christmas tree. I have come to discover that such a venture for my family is seen as an ordeal. You must understand that I’m as dense as a forest, so this took years to dawn on me. 

We enjoy the look and smell of a fine Noble fir; it’s just that any form of choosing a tree — U-cut from the forest or farm, or even shopping the lots — seems to have been, well, grueling.

My wife and I have been married nearly thirty-two years; our oldest child is twenty-nine. Our eldest and her sister, being true romantics, have always loved the charm of a fresh-cut tree — both resisting all forms of trees artificial. They even threatened to leave home should we choose that option. They left home anyway and have married.

My wife, on the other hand, has long complained about the task of selecting a fresh-cut evergreen. She began by grumbling about the rising price. Truth was, she was grousing over my obsession with perfection in the matter. Seems to me that women seldom say what they mean.

One year, we lived in Florida and were unable to find decent evergreens, so we bought an artificial tree. The family seemed happy. We returned to the Pacific Northwest and again began sacrificing living trees (and cash).

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Finally, a few years ago when my wife finally came clean that I was destroying her Christmas spirit with my quest for the perfect natural tree, we bought another plastic pine. She’s been much happier. Still, I have been restless, so when our church offered Nobles at the low price of $25 each — $10 of which supported a kid for Winter Camp — I raised the idea of purchasing one. She balked. I kowtowed.

I’m not entirely dense, so I will once again, gladly keep our marriage intact, erect the plastic pine, and give $20 to a kid for camp.

And that, after all, is a perfect tradition.

Christmas Stories from Long Ago: I Believe in Santa

I'm pretty stoked for Christmas. Not only are there the presents and family gatherings, the decorations and special foods there are the "stories of long, long ago." I'm going to share some of those stories with you. These--there will be three of them (one each week now until Christmas)--come from my book Rocketman: From the Trailer Park to Insomnia and Beyond. The book is a collection of personal essays, poems, short fic and photographs "from my sleepless life and addled imagination."

There are three Christmas stories in the book, here is the first of those three:

I Believe in Santa

My mother Dolores Zschomler playing Santa Claus.

Hi, my name is Greg. I’m fifty-five years old and I believe in Santa Claus. Some would say this is delusional. Some would say it’s time I grew up. But, let me explain:

It all began when I was a child growing up in Vancouver. My parents blatantly propagated Santa’s existence (some would say they lied to me). It was a wonderful childhood of Christmases long, long ago when times were less skeptical and children had vivid imaginations. (This was before computer games, mind you.) The space age was at its height and the radio and TV news would even report sightings of The Claus by astronauts and air force pilots. So why wouldn’t I believe? And why can’t I believe now?

You see, Mom and Dad would concoct elaborate schemes to make Christmas magical for my two sisters and me. When I was about eight years old, doubt in old Saint Nick began to creep into my mind. Classmates no longer believed and were vocal. The Santa at my Dad’s company party—a family friend—laughingly pulled his beard down and almost stole the fantasy from me.

From then on those mall Santas were more than a little suspicious, if not differing from one another. The next year my Dad would play Santa at the Hough School Christmas party (we were allowed those back in the 1960’s). I knew it was him and I sat on his lap proudly. But it was that year—that very Christmas—when I was eight that my doubts and disbelief were forever banished.

It was Christmas Eve, 1966. As tradition, my family piled into the old station wagon to head out for a lazy drive around the local neighborhoods for a look at the Christmas lighting displays. Just as we were about to pull out of the drive Mom announced that she had forgot her purse. Dad said that we needed gas and he would drive up to the corner station and come back for Mom in a few minutes. Mom ran in, we drove off. Arriving back just minutes later we picked Mom up and went about ooing and aahing at the sights of Christmas around Vancouver.

Coming home that evening I was filled with even greater awe and much wonderment. Underneath our icicle-laden Christmas tree was a stack of brightly-wrapped presents! How? Could Santa be real after all? It was the best Christmas ever. I don’t remember what I got for gifts, but I do remember that I was given back the gift of belief.

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Sometime later my mother revealed to me the secret of the magic. As you may have guessed, in returning for her purse, she had pulled all of the presents from assorted hiding places and scurried about in preparation while we went to the gas station and back. It was my mother who was Santa Claus!

Today I know that Santa isn’t a fat, jolly old elf who lives at the North Pole, but is real none-the-less. He is the spirit of giving, belief, magic and faith that lives in the hearts of people…

Like my Mom.

This story is dedicated to my mother who passed away April 2007.