Inferno - Chapter One (Continued)

It was raining. Just like it had done in every cheesy movie Jake had ever seen. The ground was wet and splashed all over his fanciest shoes and slacks. He was soaked, from his head, to every element in his tux. He shifted uncomfortably as the limo waited for him to bring him to the reception. Everyone else had left, but he needed to get something off of his chest.

This was the way it always was, right? The son, alone at his father funeral, standing in the rain above his father freshly buried casket. It was a beautiful tombstone for what it was. A large seamless piece of granite big enough to house a family. It was polished to a brilliant shine. Everything about it was like his father had been in life. Large. Majestic. Intimidating. Cold. Dead.

As Jake clenched his fists, he stared at the large slab of stone that had once been his dad. He wanted to tear it down. He wanted to smash it. He wanted to kick it down and grind the pieces into a dust so fine that no one else would ever need to see it. Anger bubbled inside of him until it was too much to hold in. Climbing upon the base, and with a brutal force he kicked the granite tower causing a burst of pain to reverberate through his leg. He clenched his foot in his hands and cursed the tomb before collapsing on the larger than life words that announced his fathers life to the world.

He couldn't win a fight against a tomb. He had never won a fight against his father in his life, and he certainly wouldn't win any in his death. With a quivering sigh, a burst of anger and sadness overcame him and he whispered the last words he would ever say to the man.

“I hate you so much.”

He stood up. Wiped the wet off of his slacks as best as he could, and walked over to the limo. Giving one final look up at the tombstone, he spit on the ground, and vowed never to return.

Inferno - Part one

Chapter one of Inferno.
One of my resolutions was to try to be more constant and update this with at least two new items every month. Hope you enjoy!

Inferno - Chapter one

He woke up with a start. He had fallen straight through his dream and landed with a start in his body. He'd fallen asleep outside of his dads office again. The clock ticked, echoing loudly through the hallway he occupied. He lifted his body off of the plush, black leather couch that smelled of cigars and ink and tried to shake himself awake. With a yawn, he checked his watch; how long had he been asleep? Pressing one hand against his temple, he tried to fix his hair as he waited for any sign of life from behind the thick wooden doors that blocked his fathers office.
“Jake, what are you doing here?” Naomi asked. Jake looked over to see his old babysitter walking by the door to his fathers office. She wore her dark hair in a bun and walked towards him to give him a hug. Jake begrudgingly stood up and hugged the woman he once called nanny, and let her turn him around to take a look at him. “You've certainly grown.” She said with a laugh. Jake felt his stomach turn slightly. “If you're waiting for you're father...”
“I have to wait, I know.” Jake said with a grunt. He didn't like being treated like a child; much less by someone who had watched him grow up. She looked taken aback for a second, before allowing another sweet smile to settle on her bright red lips.
“Of course.” Was all she said. “I'm sure he'll be by shortly. I have some things I need to do.” She said motioning down to stack of papers in her hand with a nod. “You... well, come by more often. I want to know how everything is going. Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
“Stop.” Jake said as he shrugged out of her reach. “Alright, alright I'll stop.” She said suppressing a slight laugh. “It's good to see you again.” She reached over, despite his silent protestations, and gave him the best hug she could muster with only one arm. “Be good.” She said touching his cheek for a moment before turning back towards the door.
“I'll try.” He said as he sat back in the chair. She smiled at him one final time, sighed, and left the room. Jake readjusted himself on the seat, as if doing so would put him back into whatever mood he was in before this. However, before he could settle the large oak doors opened and two figures walked through the door.
The first was Jezebel, his father's personal assistant. A beautiful, yet somehow dangerous looking woman. Undeniably attractive, she could have easily been a model had she not possessed an intelligence sharp enough to cut a man in half. Her long black hair always hung loose around her face and her make up was always applied in the most seductive way possible. She wore glasses which only seemed to enhance her enchanting emerald eyes and her skin was the perfect combination of ebony and ivory. The other man was someone Jake had never seen before. Tall, pale and balding, the man wore an old fashioned suit and hat that seemed to have stepped straight out of another time. He affixed the hat to the remnants of his ice blond hair, slicked back to give him a snake-like appearance, and leant his weight on a long black cane. Jake half expected the man to pull a monocle and place it on over his searing ice blue eyes.
“...So if you have any questions,” Jezebel said as she held the door open for the snake man. “Do not hesitate to call us.”
“Thank you madame,” he said in a thick French accent. “I will be sure to do that.” The man seemed to notice Jake for the first time and immediately dropped his voice. Jake couldn't tell what he was saying, but Jezebel nodded a few times. When the man seemed to be fully satisfied, he buttoned his jacket and exited the room. Jezebel looked at Jake and nodded.
“Your father will see you now.”

Official Ignition Preview

Okay, so this is kind of exciting for me.
I'm officially releasing a sneak peak of my upcoming novel "Ignition".
I wont release any details on this chapter but I hope you enjoy it.
I'm not sure how I'll be releasing "Ignition". I'm hoping that Brighter Books will pick it up, but I also need to make sure it is out in time for Fan Expo. A delicate balancing act to be sure, but hopefully one that pays off.
Here you go: Feel free to leave a comment or whatever... I always appreciate them!

IGNITION - Preview (rough draft) - Matti McLean

There was a loud rattling sound; like the world had exploded beneath his feet. Before he knew what was happening, the blackness that had blanketed him dispersed. He did not know where he was, but he did know that he was not alone.

“Hello?” He called out to the darkness expecting an answer. When no one responded he called again, this time trying to be more forceful.

“I heard you the first time,” the darkness responded. Strange that it sounded distant and bored by Micah’s intrusion into the limbo he now fund himself in. Micah looked around, but could only see grey. He couldn’t feel anything around him; as if he was floating in midair.

“Who said that?”

“I’m a friend... I think.” The voice was so quiet that Micah could hardly hear him. “Are you the one who’s coming to save me?”

“Highly unlikely.” Micah said as he tried to take in his surroundings. “Where am I?”

“I think you’re lost.”

“How observant of you.” Micah said calling out to the massless void. “Where are you?”

“I can show you if you’d like.” The voice said. Suddenly the surroundings began to change. Shapes began to form and shift around and he watched as grass began to appear below his feet. Clouds began to appear as a sky took shape above him. The world around him came into view, and it didn't look friendly. Everything around him looked distorted, as if nature itself had turned malicious. He took a few steps through the grass and found it rough and harsh against his ankles. Before long he found himself on an old dirt path which he followed until it lead to an old, ragged bench. It looked to have been a bright, white bench at some point; but was now tattered with chipped paint and splinters with a single ragged balloon hanging from its planks. The bench overlooked a massive cliff that lead down to a series of dark waves that churned angrily below him.

“No one else has ever been here before.” The voice said calmly, and as Micah looked up he finally realized who he was talking to. There, standing in front of him was a boy who looked to be no older than thirteen. His hair was brown and ragged, and his face had big, brown, sad eyes that looked wise beyond his years. “Makes me wonder how you got here. What do you want?”

“I don't even know where I am.” Micah said.

“So you want to know where you are?”

“Well... yes. To start.” Micah said.

“Alright. But you'll have to ask nicely.” The boy said without a trace of irony in his voice. Micah looked at him with disbelief for a moment before realizing that the boy was actually being serious.

“Where is this place?” Micah asked.

“It’s my world.” The boy said with a mix of pride and dread.

“It wouldn't be my first choice.” Micah said as he brushed his hand against what looked like a painted tree. It's bark was rough and jagged on his skin.

“It's not mine either.” The boy said as scratched at his hand. “It used to be nice.”

“What happened?”

“The world happened and now... I don't really know... I can’t control it anymore... I'm sorry...”

“Why are you apologizing?” Micah asked.

“I can normally control these things.”

“What do you mean?” Micah asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jude.” The boy said.

“I'm Micah.”

“I know.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do. I know lots of things. I can do things...” the boy stopped himself from saying anymore, but Micah could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to share.

“What kind of things?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.” Jude said. “I mean you’re here now... That has to mean something.”

“I’m sorry, I’m really not following any of this.”

“You don’t have to. Not yet anyway. All will be explained soon enough I guess. Or maybe you just figure it out. I don't know...” He looked out across the ocean at something Micah couldn't see and sighed. After a moment he spoke again. “This is my place... It’s where I go to escape.”

“Not very friendly.” Micah said.

“It used to be...” The boy said, and suddenly, for a second Micah saw this world as it used to be. The sky was clear and bright with gentle clouds scattered between the sunlight. The bench was a freshly painted white with two balloons tied to the back. The grass was green and lush and stretched as far as the eye could see behind them, while the cliff in front of them overlooked a crystal clear ocean that was still enough to see to the bottom, even from such a wondrous height. Then, as soon as the vision had appeared, it vanished. The world flipped back and Micah felt a sense of dread like a snake hanging around his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Micah said. “We should go somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” The boy laughed. “This is the future. We can't stop it from coming. We can’t avoid it, we should probably just face it head on.” Jude pointed toward the horizon at a series of dark clouds. “A storm is coming.”

“So I'll get an umbrella.” Micah said reaching his hand out to the boy. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he knew he had to take Jude away from here.

“We are the umbrella.” Jude said. Just as Micah was about to make contact with him, his hand vanished off of his body leaving just an arm. There was no pain, but he could feel himself slowly being erased from this world. Then Jude began to dematerialize right before his eyes and the two of them watched as the world around them dispersed into nothingness. “If you want to help you'll find us.”

“Us?” Micah asked. “Where do I find you?”

“Just wake up.”

“What?”

Inferno - Prologue

So a while ago Dennis came to me with the idea of creating a steam punk version of Dante's inferno and it's an idea I really gravitated towards. I'm a huge fan of the genre and immediately started to write out some primary drafts of the story which I'm now sharing with you now.
This was the original prologue designed to set the mood for the novel. In a good prologue you introduce the tone, the character and the main themes of the book. Or at least you should. I think I was fairly successful in this. Thinking I'll keep writing it as time goes on and try to make something cohesive and delightfully twisted.

Inferno : Prologue by Matti McLean

He closed his eyes as the distant screams whipped past his ears. Smoke billowed through the darkness that clouded his dream as he fell through black storm clouds. Tumbling like a rag doll through smokey billows as skeletal beasts flew past on wings of bone and burnt flesh. The sound of clockwork echoing through their empty skulls. Above him a thousand dark creatures swirled as if preparing to attack the prey. One beast lunged a fanged tangle of teeth towards him missing him by inches. Thousands more seemed to appear and lunge at him as he passed by them, and they'd cackle as if he was another piece of meat for them to consume.

The ground below him burnt. The remnants of a city long burnt and still smouldering were splayed out below him. Long trenches stretched out as the dark landscape seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Tall towers that must have one been proud symbols of technology and progress stretched thousands of feet into the air. A giant clock tower, now decrepit and crumbling stretched out below him, but was rising quickly.

He fell, passing through the burnt sky and between the giant buildings that thrust into the sky. As he fell at speeds he could hardly comprehend; hurtling towards the street he could feel the air grow thick with heat as breath after breath thick with ash rushed into the burnt, scarring remains of his lungs. Two thousand feet, one thousand feet, a hundred feet- all flew by faster then he could recognize. As he was about to find himself a stain on the ground, the earth itself opened up in a giant mouth revealing miles and miles of dark cliff that stretched into a churning lake of fire. Bodies rolled in the flames and the sound of a million screams of terror burst from the ground and threatened to rip him apart. A thousand burnt fingers reached out to him as if pleading him for some form of relief; as if he and he alone could bring them relief. He tried desperately to do anything else, but he continued to fall helplessly, being drawn into the fiery, molten mass below him. The heat radiated at such a heat it almost burst his skin from his body. He screamed as the ground above swallowed him whole and the fire burned on.

So yeah, that's Dante's Prologue. Let me know what you think!
As a note, the artwork is not mine but perfectly emulates the mood I was going for so I had to use it. My thanks to Chenzan

NANO inspiration - Why You Matter

This was a quick little forum post I posted as an inspirational pep talk to everyone doing NaNoWriMo this year. I'm hoping that someone will be inspired. Either here, or elsewhere. But I hope you enjoy it! It goes along with my original mandate about trying to create a community and the creation of a writing help blog and all that...

I hope you like it! I don't know if it makes any sense, but then again, when do I ever make any sense?

Pep Talk - or Why You Matter

Everyone has a dream. Many people will be releasing their dream to the world this month through a little event all of us know as NaNoWriMo. So much of the world wants to let their voices be heard and the brilliant thing is that, for at least one month, you, the one who is reading this right now, wi'll have the voice and the audience to achieve this.
Isn't that awesome?
Nanowrimo has been a very important part of my life for the better part of my adult life. Stories I've written through NaNoWriMo have become novels, plays, dreams and short stories that have helped to enrich my life and have allowed me to thoroughly root myself in my imagination.
What a great word. Imagination. So many people complain that imagination is only reserved for children. I'm proud to say that this isn't true. Your imagination is your ultimate weapon against the nemesis of mediocrity.
I may go out on tangents sometimes, but I like to think it's a result of my overactive imagination.
I want to tell something to every writer out there, and if you take nothing else from this posting, I hope you take this.
You matter.
Your voice matters.
Your writing matters.
You matter.
Why do I want to impart this to you?
Well the first reason is simple. I want everyone to know that they possess a voice that is distinctly their own, and that even though they may be in a world that will openly reject, dismiss and humiliate them, they still matter. Your voice is your own and no one else can see the world exactly as you do.
The second is slightly more complicated. I believe that your writing is a reflection of you. What you write down is your soul exposed to the world. It is you. Your visions. Your beliefs. Everything. You. Are. What you write. You live in your writing. People get to know you through your writing, even if you never meet them. It's amazing how much you can tell about a writer by simply reading one of their poems. Even haikus.

Everyone matters.
Everything you're creating
Will help you in life.

Think about your favorite authors. Rowling, King, Gaiman... They all started where you are right now. (although maybe they started on typewriters) With a blank page and made some of your favorite stories. They created characters out of nothing, and now you find yourself totally free to follow in their footsteps and stand on their shoulders.
Now, I know you might think it's a little overwhelming... And it is. Blank pages can be scary. Terrifying. Even bad! When all you can see is the little blinking line at the top of a blank page the pressure to write { 1,667 } words in a day can be downright daunting. Terrifying. Just awful. Gut wrenchingly, painstakingly awful.
But... all it takes is one word to unleash a cavalcade of emotional genius. And before you know it, the story will start to happen.
But Matti, you say, why do you think my writing matters?
Well... because there are people out there who desperately need to hear what you have to say of course. Your work will be read: Maybe not as fast as you'd like them too (I have friends who have had my book for MONTHS and not read it yet. SO FRUSTRATING!) but eventually, they will. They will drink in your words like a glass of fresh water into the soul. Writing can be the ultimate release for many feelings: Anger, regret, remorse, grief... and someone out there who desperately needs to know that everything will be okay will be looking for someone who's been through their experiences. Someone out there may be looking for the validation, or inspiration, or imagination that your writing will provide them.
Donald Miller wrote a blog a little while ago called "The Best Writing Advice I've ever received", and in my opinion it's brilliant. He says that we all need to love our reader. And he's write. (ha ha! I made a pun!)
I have a tendency to ramble so I just wanted to tell everyone that you matter. You all matter.
You sitting there reading this. You matter.
YOU!

Love Like a Rabble

The first draft of a poem I wrote for poetry class. One of my first experimental pieces turned out to by one of my favorites. I'll find the full version and attach it later. I think it might be interesting to see exactly what changed in a poem so chaotic.

Love Like a Rabble – Matti McLean

Love like a hurricane whips past the world as it turns and it spins without ending, before the sunrise that sets on the land that was dark but will brighten the day of the vampires that play in the shadows of the moon and the branches that grow from the ground that was burnt and will die when the daylight returns from its sleep at the end of the world where the sun and the sky will be one in the night that was day before everything happened when the man took the apple and he ate from the snake that once said that it suffered without end from the fact that it's face never left the ground that was lush and the grass that was grey before dying and growing green to the clouds that were white as the snow that was falling from heaven that burnt up the ashes that flew through the air from the fires that burned in the ocean that churned like a cauldron as it bubbled from heat as the witch burned the bible that created the gas that would choke out the earth as it died in a puddle of global warming from the suicide of fighter planes that crashed in the ocean aiming at the ships that were firing their weapons in a harbour of pearls that were created from grains of sand in the mouths of the oysters of parliament who signed their documents with the blood of the trees and declared themselves superior from the dark-skinned brother who fought with their riots and rap music and jeans that hung low so that you could see their boxers made from the cotton the white man picked from the gardens with trees of knowledge that declared themselves worthy of a god who wasn't listening to the rabble that erupted from the voices of thousands who cared about themselves and the fact that he said the worlds that created the bang that happened when the world began but ended when the church declared itself king of the monkeys and queen of the painters who painted the pictures of nothing but skies filled with stars that were black as the canvas that was used on the sails of ships that the pirates sailed through arches of bones and the mussels that clung to the support under the waves of the rum that was drank by the virgins who climbed up the mountains and bypassed the forests that grew without knowledge of the bulldozers that would come and collect up the people and place them in factories and mark them with stars as the red rain spewed from the chambers where the gas of perfection choked out the Jewish and echoed the screams of a thousands Egyptians when they woke up to find that their tables were empty because someone had left the door open and their kitty cats went out into the dessert and dug up the nation that was hiding for centuries before anyone could push it back into the abyss of despair which was threatening to overtake the capitalists inside of the whale that was spit up and broken by beavers who could chew through concrete and the wires that connected the homes to each other in a way that allowed them to mate with themselves to the pictures of vixens on television that would coo for their money that would come from the soiled hands of thousands of men who would drink up their beers and admire their guts that were bloated from lack of broccoli and food that the other nations demanded for the starving people who were eatting their gold fish and placing their money in ponds where the people swam and sank to the bottom of the Titanic which would sail the seas of indifference when ice would accumulate on the rudders and burn through the pride that sunk a city of people who persisted that there was nothing wrog with caviar and ate with the others who thought that the fur that they wore came from the men who they slept with in orgies of slugs on beds made from roses and barbed wire that would strangle the legs of Nike who soared through the skies behind Icarus and Elijah's flaming horses that burnt out the ozone and left us with a hole to the heavens that lets the sun shine in to the tune of ice tea being stirred while our bubble rap economy continues moving forward like a steam train made of warthogs who look in the mirror and ask themselves why they can't be pretty like the zebras that hunted the lions in the office building where predators fight aliens while Arnold takes off his shirt and yells for the slap chop to come and pierce his aeorta which was the answer to the question on Jeopardy that asked them to answer for their leaders about what they should do about the wars in Korea and the problem with bed bugs who are making their homes in the hair of the homeless who sleep in the corners of buildings that fell when the earthquakes erupted in streets full of vendors who sell off their street meat that was crafted from the bones of the victims of the attacks of the thunder god who fell from the heavens and struck at the natives who would pray for redemption to the church that was built upon twin towers and the mosque around the corner that was bombed by a terrorist who claimed himself to be gods favourite Buddhist ever to die in the name of love.

Progress on Ignition

So I started this blog not just as a way to share my writings with the world, (hello world!) but also as a way to keep myself on track in regards to my own projects and writings.
As many of you know, I've been working on the sequel to my first book which was recently published via Brighter Books. The first book is entitled "Catalyst" and has been getting some very good feedback which is always new and exciting.
On the second book, I've hit major road block after major road block and have been having massive challenges in overcoming writers block. A part of it was that I was so tied up in the first story that I was unsure of how to make what I know needed to happen, happen in book 2.
So book 2 is entitled "Ignition" and my new stance on it, and the only reason I'm actually succeeding in writing it right now, is that in order for me to start my day right, I need to reach the next page. If I'm at page 14, I write until I'm at page 15.
Now I know what I'm writing right now is not my usual standard of writing. The dialogue is clumsy, the action scenes are unpolished, the writing is quick and bad... But at this stage I know that it's perfectly okay. The important thing isn't how the writing comes out, it's what we do to the writing in the editing stages.
My first draft of this book will be rough. My goal for this project is to have book 2 be approximately 50,000 words, but expanded to 60,000 in editing.
At this stage, my priority is to tell the story. I know now that afterward I will make it prettier, and more glossy and perfect, but right now? Just get it out. Just throw it all up because I know if I don't do this now, it wont get done.
So one week ago my story was at 5,000 words after six months. Not a great track record. I started and rewrote the story at least 3 different times before, so I just wanted to make sure that this time, I just need to get it out. Get it all out. Write it. Just do it. Worry about it later, but for now, just do it.
As a result, I'm now sitting around 10,000 words. A significant advantage.