Category: Writing (Page 2 of 11)

The Three Authors of April, Part 1: Colson Whitehead

June 13, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Image copyright: editrrix from NYC, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Way back in April, I attended three live author events, and I did not once get Covid. One was virtual, but still, it was a good run.

Initially, I planned to cover them all in one article. However, since each event was so informative and unique, I decided to write a three-part series instead. We begin on April 6th with Colson Whitehead.

The Author

Colson Whitehead is one of four authors in history who’s won two Pulitzer Prizes for Fiction, and he’s the only author ever to earn them consecutively. He’s written for the New York Times and The New Yorker, and in 2002, he was awarded a MacArthur Genius Grant.

To my shame, I’ve only read one Whitehead book: The Noble Hustle, a nonfiction account of the author’s forays into the world of professional poker. It was funny, witty, and well written, so I was pleased to learn the author would be speaking at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. (Bonus points if you can spell “Rensselaer” without spellcheck. I can’t.)

The Event

I attended this one from my couch. No, it wasn’t via astral projection—I watched on YouTube. Best seat in the house.

Whitehead himself attended via Zoom, though I understand he was initially scheduled to join live. He was, however, recovering from a recent bout of Covid, hence the remote attendance. He drank water and cleared his throat constantly throughout, so by the end I felt bad for the poor guy!

This was an event for writing students at RPI, so Whitehead began with advice. His overriding message was simple yet important: “Keep going. Stick with it.”

This sentiment resonates with me, especially now that I’ve completed my most recent novel. Some days I have a definite feeling of, So now what? I don’t yet know the answer, but there’s only one way to find it. Keep going and stick with it.

Whitehead then discussed his inspirations for his novels, including The Underground Railroad. The book began by taking the phrase “underground railroad” and making it literal. What if there was a railway under the earth that transported slaves? He internalized the idea for sometime, afraid to commit it to paper. Eventually, he decided “the one you’re afraid to do is the one you should maybe be doing.”

Now that is a revelation. If you’re afraid of a book, it’s probably because you know it’s important. In Colson Whitehead‘s case, his fear inspired a masterpiece.

Regarding his most recent novel, Harlem Shuffle, he wondered, “Can I do a heist book? I gave myself permission.” Again, here we see Whitehead’s overriding ideology: Write what interests you.

That’s an important reminder for indie authors like me, since we get preoccupied with trends. What works for some can work for many, sure. But if we conform to conventions rather than giving ourselves permission to write the books we’re most afraid of, we must be, to borrow a metaphor from the world of The Noble Hustle, leaving some chips on the table.

The Q&A portion came next, and someone asked what his next project would be. He said he’s deciding between two: a romance story and a sci-fi story. To study, he’s watching The Golden Girls and Star Wars. This was one of several answers where I honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking.

The topic of Star Wars sparked some of my favorite bits from the whole event. Whitehead cited all the technological achievements of the Star Wars universe, light sabers and interplanetary travel and cryogenic freezing, and yet he wants to know why (and I’m quoting here) “R2-D2 can’t get a fuckin’ voicebox, I just don’t get it.” He then likened jawas to “space crackheads,” a comparison that seems apt (not that I’ve met many crackheads—or jawas, for that matter).

There were several more questions, yet one stood out to me most. When asked about the intersection of reading and writing, Whitehead said this: “Read to find out what kind of writer you want to be. Write to find out what kind of writer you are.”

The Takeaways

I’m going to continue writing what interests me, particularly those ideas I’m most afraid of. I’m going to read more Colson Whitehead books (I’ve got Harlem Shuffle on the shelf). I’m going to keep reading and writing. And you know what? I’m going to avoid space crackheads.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Two Truths and a Lie, “Eggs for the Ageless” Style

June 5, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Two Truths and a Lie with Eggs for the Ageless

Remember “two truths and a lie,” that game you play at summer camp and/or college orientation? Now you can play it with Eggs for the Ageless!

The game is simple. In honor of a dozen eggs, I’ve got a dozen statements for you, each with three possible answers. Two are true, and one is false. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to identify the lies. Just click your pick, then click “Submit,” and the answer will appear.

Hope you learn a little more about the book and have some fun along the way. Without further ado…

Hope you had fun! As mentioned, Eggs for the Ageless is available on ebook, paperback, and hardcover. Grab your copy today!

“Eggs” by the Numbers

May 23, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

At long last, my new book, Eggs for the Ageless, in on sale. To celebrate, I crafted a fun little infographic to share some stats behind the book. Hope you enjoy it!

Eggs for the Ageless

Get your copy of Eggs for the Ageless!

Portrait of a Writer at Work

April 22, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Portrait of a Writer at Work

Short blog post for you this week, detailing a short look at a very short story. A 10-word story, to be exact.

The Assingment

I’m a member of The Alliance of Independent Authors, an organization that just celebrated its 10-year anniversary. To commemorate the occasion, they hosted a 10-word story competition. Considering my short attention span, this sounded appealing. So, I got to work.

The Process

You’d think writing 10 words would be easy, but I found it harder than writing 10,000 times that number (I would know—that’s the length of my upcoming book.) Here are a few of my attempts:

She thought it was seaweed—until it grabbed and pulled.

The advertisements bemoaning the vaccine for advertisements regrettably didn’t work.

“I dreamed you were dead.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Okay, phew.”

As you can see, these ranged from iffy to downright horrendous. Writing a story with 10 words is like constructing a house with 10 materials, or painting a mural with 10 brushstrokes.

Finally, after about 10 duds, I wrote this:

Procrastinate. Tweet. Daydream. Delete. Behold, a paragraph! Break time. Repeat.

I called it “Portrait of a Writer at Work”—not that I liked it much, either. I kept writing, kept failing, and when the deadline loomed, I scrolled through my failures and decided the story above was the best I could do. I sent it, and evidently, someone like it.

The Result

My piece cracked the contest’s top 10! Alas, I didn’t win, but that’s quite alright. It was exhilarating to hear my name called on a livestream.

Hope you enjoyed the final product. Maybe I’ll write more in the future…

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

I’m Changing My Pen Name to Squm

April 1, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

April Fools

Samuel Clemens became Mark Twain. Lew Alcindor became Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Sméagol became Gollum. And today, Kyle A. Massa becomes Squm.

There are several reasons I’ve settled on this new pen name, and in today’s article, I’d like to enumerate them. Here’s a free reason: Squm was my invented gamer tag for Super Smash Bros. Melee way back in the day. For more, keep reading.

Squm is Thrilling

You might recall my old name, Kyle A. Massa. Unless you’re wondering what happened to the -Chusetts, it’s a pedestrian name. Time for a rebrand.

Squm Has Nice Search Engine Potential

If you Google Squm right now, you’ll find Urban Dictionary results that are, shall we say, obscene. But that’s to be expected from Urban Dictionary. Plus, there is a pretty positive definition from December 2020:

“A hip word to describe a whacky occurrence – More commonly used as an exclamation.

Did you see that thing Mimi said? Holy SQUM was that weird.”

See? People already dig the name. Also, FYI, I’m still securing my new domain. www.squm.com is currently a French website with the following acronym:

Service
Qualité
Usinage
Maintenance

I wouldn’t recommend a visit, since my browser tells me this site isn’t secure. Don’t worry—it will be once I buy the URL.

Squm is Enigmatic

Is that a male or female name? Is it even a name, or just a typo? Is the person who invented it a complete weirdo? These are some questions that will no doubt occur to readers when they read my new name. All for the better.

Squm Looks Good on a Cover

Just look at my updated books:

Behold the space I’m saving! Now I’ll have more room for quotes about what a cool name Squm is.

Squm is Catchy

Don’t you just love saying Squm? I sure do. My wife does, too. She calls me Squm about 30% of the time (this is not an exaggeration, you can ask her). From now on, call me Squm 100% of the time.

Squm Rhymes with Rum

Point of clarification: Rum makes me a little queasy. Even so, many other people enjoy it (Jack Sparrow, for instance), meaning they might draw a positive association from me.

…Or they might recall a puke-laden college bender. But who am I to judge?

Squm is Pithy

Countless celebrities throughout history have made it big with mononyms, from Homer and Satan to Cher and Zendaya. Plus, you get to be mononymous, which means, according to Wikipedia, “an individual who is known and addressed by a single name.” If that’s not cool, I don’t know what is.

Squm is Just an April Fools’ Joke

If you haven’t checked your calendar yet, today is April Fools’ Day. I’m not really changing my pen name to Squm. However, I am running a site-wide sale on all my ebooks from now until April 10th. They’re all 50%, so feel free to browse. I promise none of them have the word “Squm” on them.

How to Take Forever to Write a Book

March 24, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Writing Tips

My new novel, Eggs for the Ageless, finally arrives on May 16, 2022. I say “finally” because it’s taken eight years to write. For context, here are some differences between then and now:

No one had yet heard of the phrase “social distancing.”
Tom Brady only had three Super Bowl titles.
“TiK ToK” was a song by Ke$ha, not a social media platform.

So, in the spirit of the classic writing advice article, here are some tips on taking forever to write your book. Take it from someone who knows.

Tip 1: Play Video Games

I recommend Pokémon or Magic: The Gathering. The latter is technically a card game, but when you play primarily on your phone or laptop, it might as well be a video game. You’ll write far less, but you’ll be rich in digital currency.

Of course, it could be worse. In high school, for example, I’d stay up until three in the morning playing Rock Band 2. I went multiplatinum and was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, yes. But I really should’ve been writing.

Tip 2: Have a Baby

Babies are an excellent way to delay books. I mean, they’re adorable, lovable, and infinitely amazing—but they take a lot of work. Enough so that while you’re raising your child, other people are writing books about how you should be raising your child.

FYI, my daughter Sasha was born last fall, so that’s how I know this. So if you’re thinking of taking forever to write your book, try having a baby. You’ll have less writing time, but you’ll have something much better.

Tip 3: Rewrite Your Book Several Times

If you’re dissatisfied with your book, rewrite it. If you still don’t like it, rewrite it again. If you still don’t dig it, keep rewriting it until you’re happy with it. When will that be? Hah. Good question.

I did one big rewrite of Eggs for the Ageless. Though that might not sound horrible, it meant scrapping 300 typed pages for 500 typed pages, without a single sentence in common between the two. Time consuming? Yes. But it was also essential. This was the first manuscript I’d ever completed, so I had no idea what I was doing.

First off, my protagonist was a complete schlub. His name was Bart and, like my current protagonist, Egg, he wrote a book that accidentally became a religion. Problem was, Bart was whiney, aimless, and ultimately uninteresting. During the story’s climax, for example, he cracked some mediocre jokes and did little else. Furthermore, Bart’s desires were never clear. I gave him a half-assed romance plot, but it never connected to the central conflict. So, when I rewrote the book, I knew I needed a better protagonist.

I’m thrilled to say I found that protagonist in Egg. Her main goal is reconciliation with her hyper-religious mother, which symbolizes the novel’s greater conflict. It all works far better, thanks to Egg. (RIP Bart.)

So, if you’re finishing your book too fast, consider rewriting it oodles of times.

Tip 4: Work on Other Books

I was excellent at this one. After completing the first draft of Eggs for the Ageless in the summer of 2014 (at that time I called it The Gods or Dear Gods…Why Aren’t You Listening?), I embarked on other writing journeys. A brief list:

Who the Hell is Julian Strange?, which would later become my first novel, Gerald Barkley Rocks
A book with five characters in three parts, with each part set a decade apart, which will actually be releasing next year
Monsters of Dusk, a short fiction collection that was recently named a finalist for The Wishing Shelf Awards
A National Novel Writing Month project called Upstate and a While Back
An unfinished manuscript about a futuristic haunted house in which a monster runs loose

Now that’s a lot of distractions. I mean, I’m glad I wrote them (aside from the haunted house one), but they did delay the release of this work.

Tip 5: Procrastinate

This is a tried and true classic method—just ask any writer. Whether it’s Tweeting, playing with the dog, or diving down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, there’s no better way to take eight years to finished a book. Take it from someone who knows.

But no matter how long it took to write Eggs for the Ageless, it’s finally arriving on May 16, 2022. You can buy it directly from this website, or anywhere else books are sold. Hope you enjoy it!

My Most Embarrassing Writing Fails

January 26, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Bad Writing

My grandparents on my dad’s side were famous for never wasting anything. This is not a statement of hyperbole.

For instance, instead of killing dandelions in her yard, my grandmother served them as salad toppers. Also, my grandfather once removed every rusty nail from every board of a dismantled shed, then stored the nails in buckets in the basement for future use.

See? Nothing wasted.

I take after them in this respect, though my waste refusal has nothing to do with dandelions or rusty nails. Mine is all about writing.

I can’t discard my writing. No matter how bad it is, no matter how unreadable, I can’t write anything without using it somehow. So, this blog post is all about my lousiest work. I could (probably should) throw it out, but instead I’m sharing it with you. Hope you get a kick out of it—and maybe a few helpful tips along the way.

Pages of the Mirror

This pretentiously artsy script was my senior thesis project at Ithaca College in 2014. This was back when I feared nobody would take me seriously if I wrote comedy, so the resulting piece is emo, dull, and ultimately lousy.

Pages of the Mirror is about some dude named Danny who lives in a small town and is beloved by everyone, for some reason. When his equally beloved Uncle Jack (car mechanic with tattoos who listens to Metallica, of course) gets murdered, Danny becomes the prime suspect.

Plus, there’s an intertwined story of a mysterious fellow mysteriously named “The Writer” who’s working on a mysterious book and who continues to be generally mysterious, because I decided all this mystery would be intriguing. We soon discover this is a story within a story; the Writer is writing about Danny.

At the time, I thought this was clever. Looking back, the connection between the two stories was probably immediately obvious. Plus, it’s a classically egomaniacal story for a writer to write. (What if my writing became so good it came to life!?) I recall pulling an all-nighter the night before it was due, which is probably why I only got a B. But look at me now—I got blog content out of it.

My takeaway from this project: When you’re developing your voice, you might strike a few sour notes. Just clear your throat and keep singing.

“Apocalypse Now…or Never”

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve been writing on this here blog now for 10 years. If you explore my archives, you’ll find some bad writing. Perhaps the worst was my first ever blog post, entitled “Apocalypse Now…or Never.”

The title isn’t terrible; it’s the rest that’s ugly. Just check out this leadoff sentence:

“I’m having a hard time buying this ‘2012: World is Going to End’ crap.”

I wrote this sentence when I was 19, yet it makes me sound like I’m 60. Also, I’m pretty sure the punctuation is incorrect.

Things don’t improve from there. My intro paragraph is a block of text, and I somehow venture into a rant about Ozzy Osbourne possibly being a zombie. I don’t even address my anti-apocalypse stance until paragraph eight, and when I finally get to it, I use a funfetti cake as a metaphor.

If you want to read just how bad this blog post was, you can find it here. My takeaway: Writing gets better with age. I’m not some premier blogger, but this blog is certainly better than it was a decade ago. Second takeaway: I was right about the world not ending in 2012. Yay me.

Pleasant Street

This is another college project, though Pleasant Street was a short story, not a script. It’s so bad that I’ve actually written about it before. Not sure this is something I should brag about, but here goes…

This story has it all: A doofus protagonist, heavy-handed symbolism, clumsy language, geriatric cannibals. What more could you ask for?

Well, if you’re asking for competent plotting, compelling characters, or an interesting setting, look elsewhere. Pleasant Street is about a first-time cop named Officer Green (I warned you about the heavy-handedness) who’s assigned to walk the beat in a neighborhood called Pleasant Street. See? Because it’s called Pleasant Street, you’d never expect anything bad might happen. Brilliant misdirection.

As it happens, the residents of Pleasant Street have achieved eternal life via cannibalism. (I partially lifted this idea from an episode of The X-Files, so my apologies to Mulder and Scully.) Rather predictably, the story concludes with the main character being cooked and eaten. I would’ve offered a spoiler warning, but no one will ever read this story again—I’ve made sure of it.

As for the grade on this assignment, I don’t recall it. Perhaps my mind is repressing it to defend me. But here’s what I do remember: I never collected feedback on this piece. If I did, maybe someone might’ve told me it needed work. So that’s our takeaway for this story. Get feedback from people you trust, then use it if it works.

“10 Bold Predictions for the Future of Magic: The Gathering”

Yes, I know most readers will not care about Magic, let alone understand it. If you were to browse this article, you’d find such esoteric phrases as “enemy fetch lands,” “two-block paradigm,” and “Kaseto comes along in the new Commander product.”

However, I’m including this article because of my low success rate on these so-called bold predictions. To be clear, the writing is actually passable; I had some decent wisecracks, including a dig at Jar-Jar Binks (timeless). The issue is, I only got five of my 10 predictions right!

I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll just say this: We must deliver on our promises to our readers—especially when the promise is right in the title.

“Someday”

I’ve saved the worst for last. You think my poetry is bad now? Just check out this poem from May 5th, 2011, for a creative writing class at Ithaca College.

“Someday soon,
We’ll touch the moon.
Ride the stars to the sun.
Someday soon,
We will commune.
And then we shall be one.”

This is weird pseudo-hippy crap that sounds like something you’d cringe at if you heard someone singing it with an acoustic on the campus quad. And it’s only an excerpt! I feel like I should apologize to you for forcing you to read it. I’m sorry.

The lesson learned here is clear: Don’t F with poetry. Bad poetry is more offensive than bad prose. My poetry is still pretty bad, but at least I’m reading and studying the craft before I write more. And I’m definitely not trying to rhyme.

Summing It All Up

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again here: I think it’s healthy to review your old work, no matter how nauseated it makes you feel. I may not be a great writer, but at least I’m better than I used to be. And sometimes, that reminder is all we need.

(P.S. I hope I made my grandparents proud. Waste not, want not!)

Some Things I Learned on My Tour Through Westeros

November 17, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

Westeros Header

I recently re-read the entirety of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire.

…Do you still say “re-read” if you listened on audiobook? We’ll pretend the answer’s yes. Shoutout to late great narrator Roy Dotrice.

Anyhoo, now that I’m back from my tour, I thought I’d share some words of wisdom for those planning a similar visit. Consider this a long-form TripAdvisor review, only with fewer typos (hopefully).

People are super judgmental about parentage

In Westeros, if both your parents aren’t members of the one percent, odds are someone will call you “lowborn.” And if mom and dad weren’t married at the time of your birth, you might even be labeled “bastard,” which is only marginally better than, say, “accident.”

Seriously, people sling birth-related insults like mashed potatoes in a cafeteria food fight. Just ask Jon Snow, Mya Stone, or Gendry what’s-his-name. There’s even a guy named “The Bastard of Godsgrace,” if I remember correctly, which somehow stings even worse. I mean, if I was called the Bastard of Albany, I’d be bummed.

If you receive a wedding invitation, check the “Respectfully Decline” box

I’ve been to three weddings this year and the body count remains at zero (as far as I know). If this was Westeros, I wouldn’t even be alive to write this article. And if you think Westerosi weddings are dangerous, try a Dothraki ceremony. In the words of Illyrio Mopatis:

“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.”

If you must attend a wedding, arrive armed and don’t touch the food. And if the DJ starts playing “The Rains of Castamere”—yes, even the remix—run.

Imposters are everywhere

John the Fiddler, Jon Snow, Gryff, Young Gryff, Alayne Stone. Whenever you meet someone in Westeros, I suggest doing a background check, post haste.

George R.R. Martin is more sex crazed than a 14-year-old

Seriously, the guy can’t go five paragraphs without mentioning boobs, brothels, or some variation of the word “fuck.” No wonder HBO wanted the series adaptation.

Don’t be a peasant, because you’ll probably be murdered

Also, people will call you “smallfolk,” which is insulting.

…But don’t be a noble, either

You’ll probably get assassinated by your most ruthless rival, at which point they’ll claim your lands, income, castle, and underwear (presumably).

The safest approach is to become a middle-class working joe. Not that Westeros has a middle class, mind you.

Anyway, whatever your job is, it’s going to be horrible

Whether it’s the lifetime vow of celibacy for the Kingsguard or the lousy food of the Night’s Watch, every job in Westeros is kinda unappealing. Some other examples:

Hedge Knight: This is like being a freelance writer, in that you’ll take any project, so long as somebody pays you—which is never much, by the way. But at least you’re not sleeping under a hedge. Unless you really are sleeping under a hedge, in which case, you should’ve read the job description closer.
Septa/Septon: Meh, this job seems kinda boring—unless you’re the septa shouting, “Shame!” during Cercei’s penitence walk.
Maester: This looks like a desirable profession at first glance, since you just read books and offer unsolicited advice. However, several Maesters have met nasty ends, i.e. Luwin and Kerwin. Plus, Lady Barbrey Dustin made unflattering observations about them: “Isn’t it clever how the maesters go only by one name, even those who had two when they first arrived at the Citadel? That way we cannot know who they truly are or where they come from.” Alright, fine, I suppose that is a little sus. I’m out.
Whore: No thank you.
Hand of the King: Similar to the Vice President, minus the potential for biopics. Plus, the last few Hands have gotten caught in the proverbial wood chipper. A brief list:
- Jon Arryn: Poisoned by his psycho wife.
- Ned Stark: Imprisoned, framed, and beheaded.
- Tyrion Lannister: Nearly decapitated in a botched assassination attempt, then subsequently fired. Technically acting Hand of the King at the time, but still…
- Tywin Lannister: Shot in the bowels by his son whilst pooping.
- Harys Swyft: I don’t remember this guy and I’m sure you don’t either.
- Orton Merryweather: Hired because his wife was frienemies with the Queen Regent.
- Mace Tyrell: Hired to forestall the end of a hopelessly fraying alliance. Also a doofus.

I’d rather work in customer service than any of these jobs, which is really saying something.

Keep a dream journal

This is a must since dreams are so often prophetic. Sure, you’ll stress over portents and symbols and whatnot, but you’ll have an advantage over those who don’t bother. Take this dream from The Ghost of High Heart as an example:

“I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief. I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells.”

Though she never made it to the show, she totally dreamt of the Red Wedding before it happened. Alas, nobody in Westeros enjoys Freudian dream interpretation.

At least the food’s good

They may not have GrubHub in Westeros, but who needs it when you’ve got options like this?

“They began with a broth of crab and monkfish, and cold egg lime soup as well. Then came quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, buttered parsnips, and suckling pig.”

“There were loaves of crusty bread still warm from the ovens, crocks of fresh-churned butter, honey from the septry’s hives, and a thick stew of crabs, mussels, and at least three different kinds of fish.”

“They started with a creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, and greens dressed with apples and pine nuts. Then came lamprey pie, honeyed ham, buttered carrots, white beans and bacon, and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters.”

Fortunately, they don’t have Tapas restaurants. Now please excuse me while I go raid my pantry.

In Conclusion

I hope these notes have enlightened you regarding Westerosi culture. If not, I wouldn’t recommend traveling there anytime soon.

…Unless you’re arriving via book, that is. In that case, visit as often as you like. I know I will.

Kyle A. Massa is a fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Thanks to this Gizmodo article for collecting the meal descriptions.

A Post-Apocalyptic Halloween Greeting

October 31, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

First thing: Happy Halloween!

Second thing: When did the world end?

I’m being facetious, of course. The world is still intact, and will remain that way until the Philadelphia Eagles win another Super Bowl, at which point all existence will implode upon itself. But in my new short story, The Post-Apocalyptic Independent Author, the world is kaput. And today, I’d like to give you a behind-the-scenes at this story.

The Inspiration

Last year, a certain global pandemic made the future seem grim. And here in the United States, we also had rampant police brutality (and still do, sadly), along with an anxiety-laden election that inspired an attempted insurrection at our capital.

So yeah. Not a great stretch there.

Sad to say, 2020 made me contemplate the collapse of civilization far more than I ever had. Being a writer, I manifested those contemplations as post-apocalyptic stories.

Such narratives are strangely optimistic: They promise life—albeit often bleak—even after catastrophe. But post-apocalyptic stories can also be arrogant, because they often assume the near-extinction of humans qualifies as the end of the world. Here’s the thing: Even if humans die out, planet Earth will still endure (probably). To quote the great humanist Ozzy Osbourne: “The world will still be turning when you’re gone. Yeah, when you’re gone!”

So, I imagined a future where Earth moved on from humans, though books still existed (even the bad ones). Thus, The Post-Apocalyptic Independent Author was born. Or rather, written.

The Writing

As with many of my stories, this one had many failed incarnations. I knew I had the elements—I just needed to configure them properly. Those elements were, in no particular order…

A prolific yet talentless and inexplicably cheery author based on Kurt Vonnegut’s Kilgore Trout (and a little on me)
A wagon full of books
A sand-swept, desolate landscape
Offbeat humor
Godlike cockroaches

Number two turned into a wheelbarrow, and number five went from plural to singular, but the rest remained essential. But how would I fit the pieces together?

In one aborted draft, for example, our main character encounters several characters on the road, trying (and failing) to sell a book to each. Here’s an excerpt from a draft I wrote in June:

“I hope you don’t mind me saying,” said Oliver, “but you look like a romance guy.”

The man Oliver spoke to, the alleged romance guy, was a squat, balding brute with a bulky frame hidden beneath a flak jacket. He stood with his massive hands squeezing each other, like the jaws of two wolves snarling over a scrap of meat. His eyes were cold and gray and lifeless. They did not blink.

“Kissing,” Oliver continued. “Lots of kissing and squeezing and moaning. It’s borderline erotica, but not quite there. A little softer, you might say, but if you’ll excuse my saying, you look like a soft, loving sort of guy. Deep down, I mean.”

The man spat in the dust.

I was proud of the writing here, especially considering I dictated it during my commute. Yet the story never felt like it was about anything. It needed more depth, more nuance, more meaning.

So, I tried a new tactic. This time, I changed it from third-person to first.

I knew a guy once who told a joke. The joke went like this: What’s the difference between a writer and everybody else?

Wait for it, wait for it, then comes the punchline: Everybody else makes a living.

Big laughs, big laughs. Funny because it’s true. I know from experience.

See, I sold my books before the end and I sell them now, too. You would think that a global apocalypse would open people’s wallets, but no. I’ve still never sold a copy.

Warmer. The first-person voice felt better than third, but it hadn’t solved the depth and nuance problem. Again, I had to ask myself: What is this story truly about?

The answer: lost friendship. We all have that childhood friend we lose track of, that person we grew apart from, though we can’t explain why. This is a story about the friends we lose—and maybe even reconnect with.

The Finished Product

At first, The Post-Apocalyptic Independent Author was a placeholder title. However, I liked the rhythm so much I kept it. I’m proud of this story’s blend of post-apocalyptic setting, offbeat humor, and a dash of horror (hence the Halloween release).

Want a taste for yourself? Here’s an appetizer:

“Hello, human.”

Ah. So I’ve been spotted. I tip my hat to the hybrid face now leering at me, hoping the casual gesture belies my dread.

“How many books would you like to buy?” I ask the drone. “A copy of each? This is your lucky day, my friend. I have plenty.” (I have plenty because nobody ever bought a copy, even when there was money to buy them with. But I keep that detail to myself.)

The drone approaches me. He wears a flowing robe that matches the dull gray of the world around us. The way his legs dance beneath, I can tell he has more than two.

“A book?” he asks with a lopsided grin. “Why not a blessing? Why not the Blessing? Shall I describe the process to you?”

“I’d rather describe my books to you.” I peel aside the tarp on my wheelbarrow like a magician revealing the vanished rabbit. “I’ve got hardcovers, paperbacks, matte finish or glossy. My newest stories are written longhand in notebooks, or sometimes upon several napkins. Not the most appealing medium, but I’m sure you understand, what with the state of publishing these days. Ah. Try this one.” I pass a hardcover copy of Shank & Shiv: Attorneys at Law to the drone. Sweat trickles down my back. “Supernatural legal thriller. John Grisham meets William Peter Blatty. You look like you’d enjoy it.”

The drone’s green eyes squint at the cover. “This cover is…”

“Gorgeous? Why thank you. I made it myself. With Photoshop. Remember Photoshop?”

The drone flips over the book and reads the back cover aloud. “‘They say demons love contracts. That’s why Shank & Shiv, demons and best buddies, open their own half-legal law firm in New Jersey.’”

I nod. “Remember New Jersey?”

A shrug, and the drone reads my name from the bio. “‘Oliver M. Fudge.’ Is that you?”

“One of me. It’s a pen name, you see. I’m a genre-hopper.”

“Fascinating. Now, I’ve listened to your pitch. Will you listen to mine?” The drone’s insect mandibles tickle the air. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I am an emissary. I offer the Blessing of the Roach to the refuse of this world. Refuse such as yourself, Mr. Fudge. Do you wish to see clearly and breathe freely? Do you wish to ascend higher than your predecessors ever dreamed? If so, the process is simple.”

“Simple, eh?” I study the drone, my gaze lingering longest on his antennae and the legs beneath his robes. “Seems like you’re still working on it.”

“A transitory state. You should see me when I’m all grown up.”

“I’d rather not. I’d rather sell you a book.”

And here’s what advance readers have thought of the story:

“A strange, comical, and heartwarming story.”
“This is quite a shift to the typical apocalypse tale.”
“A really sweet little story about friendship, giant roaches, and terrible short stories during the end of the world.”

Click here to purchase your copy of The Post-Apocalyptic Independent Author. Happy Halloween!

Back at the Albany Book Festival

October 4, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

It was 10:25 in the morning, my socks were quacking against my Adidas Slides with each step, I was lost between the austere granite slabs of UAlbany’s campus, and yet I recall feeling content. The Albany Book Festival was back.

To be clear, last year’s event wasn’t cancelled—it was virtual. However, I was Zoomed out, so I didn’t attend. This year was back in-person, masked and socially distant.

I brought my Special Olympics New York backpack, a pen and notebook, a packed lunch, and some cash (because one can never have too many books). I also came clad in the aforementioned socks and Slides, which was in hindsight, a poor choice.

I was aiming for comfort.

“So, are you a student here?”

I’m almost 30, and I got this question about that many times. I’m pretty sure it was the footwear.

10:35am

I slipped into the day’s first session about five minutes late. Fortunately, the back row was open and introductions were proceeding.

Three people sat at the head of the room, six feet separating them. On the left: Dana Spiotta. On the right: Ed Schwarzschild. In the middle: Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah. “I’m sitting between two of my professors,” Adjei-Brenyah said with a smile.

Despite the signage, I still managed to get lost.

I scribbled two pages of wisdom over the next 45 minutes. Aside from the parentheticals, these are direct extracts of my notes:

3rd v. 1st person – Nana has both in his new book (re: point-of-view)
“Novel? Yeah! But short story? Where’s the novel?” (Adjei-Brenyah’s impression of agents)
“It’s like getting married.” (Spiotta’s comparison for writing a novel.)

I don’t quite recall what all my scribblings meant, but I’m glad I scribbled them. There’s nothing so inspiring as listening to talented writers discuss writing.

11:35am

With the opening session complete and my coffee thermos empty, I needed a bathroom. Not for the first time that day, I learned how labyrinthine UAlbany’s campus is. (Don’t worry—I ended up finding one.)

That left five minutes until the next session, which I devoted to meeting local authors in the Campus Center Ballroom. Had I acted faster, I might’ve joined the 40 or so folks tabling at the event. But hey, there’s always next year.

Inside awaited books. Books perched on platforms, books displayed on racks, books upon books upon tables arranged in concentric rings. I made the rounds and met many of the people behind those books, including Keith W. Willis, Shana Gourdine, Bill Moloney, Eleanor Kuhns, and Laura Heffernan.

My loot from the event.

(Not pictured: The Milky Way bar I devoured on my way to the next session.)

12:10pm

This panel began at 11:45, so I regrettably missed much of it. Ed Schwarzschild was back once again, this time paired with Emily Layden, author of All Girls, a novel about a New England boarding school.

My favorite bit of advice from Layden: “An editor’s job is to see your work for what it’s trying to be.”

12:37pm

Unfortunately for my groaning stomach, there was no lunch break on the schedule. So, with eight minutes until the next session, I discovered a distant table tucked beside the shadow of the Campus Center stairs and removed my mask. Time to eat.

(My meal, for the curious, was a turkey sandwich with baby carrots, saltine crackers, a banana, and a granola bar. Did not snap a pic.)

So there I sat, munching on my sandwich, watching masked people flow up and down the stairs, swinging their complimentary purple totes, consulting their programs and floor maps, chatting about this panel or that book. I eat turkey sandwiches every weekday—but that Saturday’s sandwich tasted especially good.

12:45pm

This was the first session I was on-time for. I padded lightly, reducing the squeaking of my Slides as much as possible, then chose a seat at the end of the row beside a woman knitting a purple sweater. “Are you a student?” she asked me.

Peter Osnos was the featured speaker, in conversation with Paul Grondahl. Osnos is a remarkable guy, first as a journalist covering the Vietnam War, then as an editor, now as a publisher, and always as a writer. The guy has seen some shit, and he’s met many important people along the way (some of them shitty). A short list: Robert McNamara, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Donald Trump, and Vladimir Putin.

Of our modern times, Osnos commented, “I think we’re living in, as we always will, a time of turmoil.” I found this statement oddly comforting. Every generation has their turmoil: The Cuban Missile Crisis, Vietnam, 9/11, the pandemic (I know I’m missing a few). Yet if we endure these turmoils, someday we’ll speak of them in the past tense.

But the best exchange went like this:

Grondahl: “You’ve been a reporter, editor, and publisher. Which is your favorite?”

Osnos: “Grandfather!”

1:45pm

“When you’re in the storm, it’s hard to describe. It’s just…life.”

I can’t recall the question that sparked this response from Quiara Alegría Hudes, but I loved it. She wore a suit jacket with pink and blue flowers, and she sat on a stage in the Campus Center West Auditorium, six feet away from interviewer Sarah LaDuke.

The stage just prior to the interview.

Hudes is perhaps best known for co-writing the musical (and screen adaptation of) In the Heights with Lin-Manuel Miranda, the guy behind Hamilton. But her career goes far beyond, with numerous other playwriting, screenwriting, and essay credits. Her current project: A memoir entitled My Broken Language.

When asked how to honor the varying cultures of the people in her book, Hudes answered, “Authenticity lies in the multiplicity of voices present.” A profound statement.

2:45pm

I rounded out the day with a talk from Elizabeth Brundage, a veteran author who’s an Albany native herself. Her new book is called The Vanishing Point, and it sounded so intriguing I picked up a copy myself. When asked about the book’s genre, Brundage said, “I don’t try to think about genre too much when I write. I just try to write a good novel.”

I dig this sentiment. Especially in the indie space, I worry some are too fixated on genre. I’ve heard far too many authors cautioning others against genre hopping and breaking conventions, when I fear that approach might lead to homogeny. After all, I can’t recall ever reading a book and thinking, Wow, I love how conventional that story was.

Anyway, I digress. Later in the session, Brundage summed up her feelings thusly: “I’m interested in people. That’s my genre. People are my genre.”

Later, I got in line to meet the author. She was personable, and she wrote a kind dedication in my book: “From one writer to another.” Of course, she must’ve seen my footwear.

“Are you a student here?” she asked.

3:30pm (Or So)

As I drove home in my 2005 Honda Element (nicknamed “The Box” by my wife), I pondered this essay. I wondered what the point would be, beyond notifying people I’d attended the Festival. I thought about masks and the pandemic, about how one year ago, this event existed only online. I thought about a sentiment I’ve heard so often, always in different forms, but always the same: Why didn’t the pandemic bring us together?

For over a year, every person on earth has had something in common. You’d think that would inspire unity, but it’s only fueled division: Masked versus unmasked, vaccinated versus anti-vax, cautious versus no-worse-than-the-flu. For many, this dissension is cause for despair.

But at a gathering as relatively small as the 2021 Albany Book Festival, I found the unity the world’s been longing for. I saw people joining together, masks and all, to celebrate our shared passion: books.

Books. Simple as that. Words printed on pages and bound together, covered by shells of cardboard, matte or gloss. Words from one person to another. Words that help us realize how much we have in common, or how little, and why there are reasons to hope either way.

My right Adidas Slide quacked as I pressed it into the accelerator. I merged onto I-90, and I headed home.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.