Monster Mash

   Halloween is by far my favorite holiday. It's not the candy. Never was much of a sweet tooth, really. It's the brisk night air, the scent of wood fires, and the undercurrent of excitement as everyone tries to figure out what to be.

   What to be...

   What other holiday offers you the chance to be someone else, if only for one night. One night you put your life as you on pause, and become someone or something else. It's quite the thrill for everyone, especially for kids, but I never thought I'd see a whole community take part in the festivities the way Clinton, Connecticut did during the annual Monster Mash at Joel Elementary.

   My wife, Sheri, met the incomparable Paul Gebauer, his lovely wife, Olga, and their impish little cutie, Tessa at Clinton Beach over the summer. During my first conversations with Paul, he couldn't say enough about the parents involvement with school. That was the first time I heard about the Monster Mash.

   "The school is transformed," Paul said. "You won't even recognize the place!"

   He went on to tell me about years past and how much fun it was to be a part of it. 

   Now that I can actually be a part of my kids' life in a greater capacity since I no longer work shifts at a steel mill, I volunteered to help.

   Soon I met the one, the only, Julie Mendez, who takes the word Dynamo to a whole other stratosphere. Julie led a troop of Friends of Joel, parents of Joel students, on the project of turning the school hallways into a Halloween extravaganza. Monster Mash is a fund raising function. Now knowing much about my new town, I didn't know what to expect.

   Local businesses donated materials, paint, and Julie provided the group with supplies as she outlined the fantasy world we set out to create. 

   We turned the gymnasium into a game hall where kids were able to spend some energy and even win a few prizes. Students from Morgan, Pierson, and Elliot volunteered their time manning the games and entertaining little Spider Men, Dorothys, a plethora of Ninjas, an array of superheroes, including Supergirl, and all types of personalities from Disney movies as well as the staples of Halloween: witches, Draculas, Frankensteins, and werewolves.

   The games I helped set up were simple in design, but you wouldn't know it from the kids' reactions to hitting a strike by flattening paper bowling pins, putting a beanbag through Franky's belly, picking the winning color at roulette, knocking over "punkins" off the shelf, and even landing the pumpkin on the winning ribbon at plinko, (which several parents told me was from The Price is Right. Never knew that...)

   We even set up funny mirrors. You know, the kind where your image is distorted. Kids got a kick out of seeing themselves elongated and shortened. It must be noted that many people, myself included, stood for several minutes in front of the thinning mirror. I know it made me want to start running again.

   Few things in life bring more joy than the smile of a child, and it was a privilege to evoke more than a few. But the games were of course, NOT the main event.

   Leaving the gym, parents and kids went to a galaxy far, far away, and met none other than Jabba the Hut from the unforgettable Star Wars sags. The display built by Rob King and his crew was nothing short of a masterpiece. Jabba moved his arms, blinked, and even licked his green lips as kids stared wearily. Some of the little ones actually froze in fear. If I let my imagination wonder, I'd swear I was looking at a real Jabba. I can't even imagine what kids felt. Han Solo, Rob, the Jedi Knight, let them over an ingenious ramp of bulletproof glass. Beneath it, one of the Star Wars monsters pawed for candy and would suddenly fill the screen with his hideous face, making kids jump or run straight into a frozen lair, where Luke Skywalker hung in an ice cave. 

  After negotiating through the icy stalagmites, the yellow brick road extended past the timeless characters of The Wizard of Oz. Magic continued to be the theme as the hallway turned into the dim halls of the wizard world of Harry Potter. Potions, spell books, and treats no Mogul was allowed to enjoy, created an aura of mystery. 

   The corner rounded into the rabbit hole and Alice in Wonderland and company took over the scene, leading the crowd into the realm of Pixie Hollow then on to lands of witches, and into the "Punkin Hall". 

   Every time I think I've seen it all when it comes to decorating a pumpkin, I'm shocked by the ingenuity inspired by the spirit of Halloween. I felt sorry for the judges of the Pumpkin Contest. I could've stared at those for hours. Minions, angry birds, even a Teenage Ninja Turtle version of a pumpkin, gave the hall an attractive pallet of color and style. It might have even lessened the effect of the standing coffin where my buddy, Bones, grinned at passerby as they entered the promised land where baked treats and candy awaited.

   When time ran out, I watched in awe as the parents and their troops of volunteers turned Joel Elementary back into the school they know and love. Some kids went hunting for souvenirs and word has it that Jabba the Hut might have even found a home.

   I can't give the parents involved enough credit. The kids who volunteered to play games with the littler ones, and even help in the assembly and cleanup, also deserve credit. It was a terrific experience and I'm thrilled I got to be a small part of it.

   To say that Julie Mendez and Friends of Joel did an amazing job of putting Monster Mash together is a gross understatement. A lot of thought and hard work went into it, and the raised money goes right back into the school so the real winners are the students at Joel Elementary, and the entire community in the long run.

   Paul Gebauer was right. I couldn't believe how fun it was. Mostly, I was in awe of the way so many people worked together to make Monster Mash such a success.

   "I already can't wait for next year," Paul said, already thinking ahead about building new games.

   I'm with Paul on that one. I can't wait either. In fact, I'm already thinking of what to be...

   Javier A. Robayo

The Power of a Review

   When Monica La Porta talked me into holding a promotion to gain some exposure with my novel, The Gaze, I thought about it for far too long before making the decision to go ahead with it. I had my doubts and truthfully, the thought of giving away a novel that required so much work did not sit well with me. However, wise as always, Monica delivered the right piece of advice.
   After successfully promoting her novel, The Priest, Monica shared with me a list of sites that cater to the ebook reading community. Many of these sites invite authors to promote their work, and although I cannot speak for each of them, many of them required your book had at least 15 positive reviews.
   The Gaze held 36 reviews at the time, and I've been honored by my readers with incredible praise and nothing but four and (35) five star reviews.
   One of the promoters sent me an email to congratulate me on getting a spot on their page. The administrator of the site went on to tell me they only place up to 10 titles on their page for a limited time, and that they carefully consider the review factor. That's the deal maker for these sites. After all, they have a reputation to establish and protect.
   At the onset of the promo, my Sheri asked how many downloads I expected.
   "Realistically, if I get some two hundred and fifty, I'll be pretty happy. No one out there really knows me or my work, you know."
   Sheri gave me a little smile and added, "Well, that's readers you wouldn't have had before, right?"
   The promo began last Friday, Oct 25th. I checked the numbers at about 7:30am. 
   Six.
   Six downloads. At that pace, I figured I'd do well to expect no more than a hundred or so.
   But...
   I had asked my friends on Facebook to please share a series of illustrated posts containing quotes from the story along with the link. I don't like the promotional duties of an Indie Author. There's such a fine line between tasteful awareness and outright spam, and I did not want to be the guy splashing the feed with the same line to go download The Gaze for free on Kindle, and blah blah blah...
   I hope to have made the ads enticing, easy to look at, and I hope the call to action was somewhat subtle. Not a scream to go download the book now! But more of a friend informing another, hey, this book is pretty good and it's free. You should get it.
   In that last phrase, "this book is pretty good", has to come from someone else, not the author. Of course the author will proclaim his work a masterpiece. Why not? 
   And boy did they ever...
   I received emails from readers with quote suggestions. Friends shared my posts on Facebook and their friend shared their posts. Twitter friends of mine added their own tweets and the reach was never more real than when the download count hit 1,000.
   People were telling their friends to take a chance on my novel, often with a "Look at the reviews!" 
   Reviews hold tremendous power in anything and everything. From lawn equipment to shoes to novels, we want to know what others like us thought of the product. The manufacturer will always tell us what they offer is the best of it all, but that's what they're supposed to do. 
   With books, the reviews are often much more personal and if we, as authors, are lucky enough to get a reader to connect to some part of the story, whether with a character or a plot line, and evoke an emotional response that compels them to post a review, good or bad, then we have advanced further in our path.
   The promo will end tomorrow at 11:59pm, as declared by Amazon. 
   After that, it'll be somewhat agonizing to wait for reviews to appear on the book page, so long as some readers become fans and time allows, of course. 
   Readers, when you come across a great read, I promise you, nothing short of a movie contract will help that author more than your review. The biggest triumph an author can attain is not a pile of cash, as welcome as that may be, it is having an audience to whom to deliver what the voices in our heads tell us to write.
   I cannot emphasize how important reviews are, and I thank each and every one of my reviewers, who inspire me to bring them the best out of my writing with each new piece. 
   The reviews I have on The Gaze are what propelled this promotions from an expected couple of hundred downloads to over 2,571
   2,572...
   2,573...
   I can't wait to see what the final number is, and to all my new readers, I look forward to your thoughts.
   Thank you.

   Javier A. Robayo

Samantha's Voice

Welcome everyone,

Promotions, like any political campaign, involves constant tweeting and posting and the line between tasteful and outright spam becomes filament thin.
I've tried to offer a variety of excerpts along with graphics in order to breathe a bit of life to my novel The Gaze.

However, to listen to a character in our heads is one thing, but to actually listen to their voice...

Just hit play and you'll see what I mean.

The lovely Kaye Vincent is the author of the English Romance The Treeman, a fun read that touches every emotion as the pages take you through the lives of an array of memorable characters. When I asked her to read for an audio sample, her excitement was contagious.
I have heard Samantha speak (sometimes scream) to me while writing her story, but I never thought one day I'd hear a real vocalization and I'm still wondering if I was indeed the one to write the story.
I hope you've enjoyed this little excerpt. I know that novel like the back of my hand, but I'd give anything to have every page read by Kaye.

On a personal (yet quite public) note to my good friend Kaye Vincent, you did a phenomenal job of giving Samantha a voice, and I shall be forever grateful for your time and dedication. You're the best!

Check out Kaye's novel The Treeman by clicking on her cover or you can find her at http://www.kayevincent.moonfruit.com/ to learn more about her and her work. You will be impressed.




PS: Don't forget: The Gaze can be downloaded for free over a period of 5 days starting this Friday the 25th for FREE on Amazon Kindle 

I hope you've enjoyed the excerpt. I know I'll be listening to it a few hundred times more, and that's just this week.

Javier A. Robayo

The Words are Real

   As many of you have seen, I've finally put The Gaze up for free for a limited time. What's the big deal, you may ask? 
   Think about it, an author spends countless hours, nights, weeks, years, diligently working to produce a novel. It's unrealistic for a new author to think the money will pour. A book needs readers and readers will not simply sacrifice their time for just anyone claiming to know how to write. So, the author gives away all that work in the hopes people take a chance, like it, and scream it from the rooftops to all their circles while anxiously waiting for more. The author has just invested all that work in time to build an audience. It took me a while to understand that.
   I did not write my novels with money in mind as the first objective. If I get to the point where I can make a living by writing, I'll have realized my biggest dream. Writing is incredibly personal and you challenge yourself past the breaking point when you commit to creating something out of nothing.
   But, The Gaze is not something created out of nothing. 
   My Sheri and I were watching Disney's "Chicken Little" with out two daughters: 6 year old Amber and 9 year old Kendra. As the credits rolled, I checked Facebook pages and learned my latest promo post hit a pretty large number of feeds. It just means that many people liked it, viewed it, or even shared it. Good news for an author striving for a little exposure.
   I have problems with that. In fact, the first few promo posts don't even have my name on it. It's all about the story, you see.
   Anyway, I read the words I added to the image and that's when it hit me. Those words, those very words, first appeared on a coffee-stained paper place mat about seventeen years ago.
   It's true.
   In fact, those words were inspired by the pretty girl sitting on the couch with her mini-me sleeping on her lap as I write this post. Yes, I wrote those words after walking away from Sheri back when we were young and I was stupid. 
   I will refrain from sharing much more than that in a blatant attempt to entice you to read the novel. You'll have to hear it from the characters. That's Tony's story to tell Samantha after all.

   ...I will be no more than a transient thought in her mind, a small measure of time, insignificant. No more than a barely familiar set of notes to a song seldom remembered...

   Recalling the moment I wrote those words is actually pretty easy. I remember the conflict, the pain, the emotional maelstrom, and regret that forged the passage. 
   It just makes me wonder just how many lines we hear in movies or read in books are actually real. How many of those were born of emotion at a precise, pivotal moment in someone's life.
   Did someone really say the words: "Remember, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things..." to Stephen King?
   How about "After all, tomorrow is another day." Who spoke those words to Margaret Mitchel? 
   Maybe we'll never know.
   But I do know this, in the millions of words I have written since that day I bought a composition notebook at Kyle's in Shelton at $1.99, never have I written one phrase that actually made me this proud. It's my own little where-did-THIS-come-from? moment.
   You're welcome to disagree, of course. I cannot claim this little passage to be a literary gem like the ones produced by authors I deeply respect and admire.
   What fascinates me about these lines is that they are real. They were part of my life before becoming a part of a page, a part of a novel. 
    I thought I'd just share that with you.
    Now, I know what those lines meant to me. I have an idea of what those lines meant to Sheri. That particular novel will forever have a two person audience, I'm sorry to say. But what will those lines mean to Samantha Reddick, the main character from the novel? And furthermore, what else rings with the echo of true within the pages of The Gaze? 
   
   Javier A. Robayo
   

I. Author. 008

 It was the third time I rewrote the same prologue that had shown so much promise at first. To me anyway.
  The idea was simple and I didn't think myself very clever when I employed it. Life, for any of us, is a roller coaster full of ups and downs, twists and turns, and sometimes it feels like our carts collide into a rock wall, but it goes on. The ride doesn't stop until time runs out and no one knows when that is.
   Narrating the thoughts of a character did not work. I then decided to let the character own the story, but none of it worked in a male voice. 
   The thought of writing in a female voice was venturing out into unknown territory and a major risk, but I heeded the compulsion if only to prove once and for all I was better off dedicating my time to other endeavors.
    ...we even ride headlong into the dark tunnels of the unknown, taking for granted we'll see light at their end...
   At that point, an image of a long haired brunette with with a grayish gaze full of a mix of longing and regret, registered in my head. She sat at a window seat, staring at the rain. Her arms were crossed over her knees. 
   The image slowly gained texture, color; even the scent of some aromatic candle tickled my nostrils. When I started typing the last paragraph, a soft voice tinted with a British accent spoke in my head.
   ...I had no idea of the roller coaster I was about to ride. Once that cart was in motion I didn't know where, or how, to make it stop...
   No one wanted to know where this girl was going with this more than I.
   Thus the ride began. I gave this girl a name and it felt like I'd introduced myself to a new friend with a hug. Samantha and I rode the twists and turns together. We climbed, we dropped. The entire contraption fell apart around us, and she led me back to the cart after we worked to the bone to put it back together. We had to finish this ride.
   Chapters into the story, Character003 earned a name. No one could've predicted Lewis Jonathan Bettford would go on to charm readers enough to become a favorite. I was more than a little surprised when I found myself writing his story much later on.
   The first draft of Untitled001 was an emotional explosion that threatened to make me lose touch with reality. I spent entire nights virtually walking the streets of London and arguing with my characters. I'd tell Samantha not to be daft and she'd call me a bloody arse, and we'd go on filling pages after pages.
   I modeled characters after people I'd known just like I did when I rewrote the Christmas story when I was a kid.(1) 
   I spent hours and hours reading words but seeing images of places where I'd never been just like I did when I read my first real novel.(2) 
   I kept my feet grounded on reality despite the fact I was writing fiction. I did not want to produce a sensationalized story like some I read in school.(3) 
   I somehow added tributes to nurses, to soldiers, to the people who lived through 9/11, hoping I'd touch another person's soul like I did for my mom when I wrote her a mother's day letter.(4) 
   I remained true to the emotions of each of my characters just like I did for the hypothetical Private Robayo from my sixth grade paper.(5) 
   I pulled out all the stops by digging deep and coloring love scenes with hues born of memories, heartaches, triumphs, and feelings I never forgot.(6) 
   I'd come full circle after taking the dare and writing my own story.(7)
   I admit I cried, I hurt, I watched helplessly as Samantha ran herself into brick walls and cheered when she managed to get back up. 
   I'll tell you something else. Samantha's story had no title until one of her last conversations at the end. Most people find that hard to believe, but it's true. When I finally spotted the title, I could hear her voice (and yes, I realize this makes me sound nuts) in my mind saying: "It's about bloody time, Mister Author, by George!" 
   I'll never forget the moment I typed in the last word of The Gaze. I was on a cruise ship somewhere in the deep blue waters of the Atlantic, heading back to Port Canaveral. It was early, barely 7am. I'd finished drafting my first novel, but I hope I never know how to make this roller coaster ride stop. 
   After feeling lost most of my life, I gained an identity.
   After working to work, I learned what my purpose in life is.
   After writing that last page, I realized what it is I love to do.
   I. Author.

   Javier A. Robayo 

   Thank you for taking this little side trip with me. We can't always see where we're going if we forget where we come from. That's what drove me to remind myself how IT happened. And now, I leave you to finish up the next novel. I'm anxious to see where this one takes me...

   Missed one of the I. Author. Blog Series? Here are the links:
   (1)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/i-author-001.html
   (2)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/iauthor002.html
   (3)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/i-author-003.html
   (4)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-004.html
   (5)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-005.html
   (6)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-006.html
   (7)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-007.html

   

Novel on the Shelf

  We've all come across pep talks about writing and how to get your book out there. I haven't come across too many accounts of what happens after.
   By after, I mean after initial reviews come in, after you run a few giveaways, after you've shocked people who "know" you when you tell them you've written a novel. After your novel is on the shelf, then what?
   Easy, write the next one.
   Too much? Okay, then blog.
   Tired of the social networking gig? Okay, read.
   Stop checking your numbers every single day. Fight the utter frustration of the dozens of readers who fail to post a review. Keep writing.
   Shakespeare once wrote "Expectation is the root of all heartache", and broken hearts fail to produce.
   Of course none of us is made of stone...okay, maybe most of us aren't made of stone and the creative ego is as fragile as gossamer in a hurricane. We all start out expecting everyone to like our stories but when those copies sit on the shelf for a few weeks, doubt inevitably sets in. It's okay.

   Don't blend expectation with belief.
   Believe in your voice and trust your writing instincts. Nothing can crush belief except for you.
   Expectation paints scenarios that get you giggling from the pure joy you'll experience but when that expectation is dashed, the anger, the agony, the resentment, the utter sense of defeat makes your voice as audible as a scream in outer space.
   Success in writing depends on an insane amount of luck, another person with an audience you manage to impress, but realistically time and talent. I'm not looking for an agreement, but it's what I feel.
   So write the next novel. Make it better. Learn more. Read more. Create more. Bleed your soul onto the page and be patient. Just think, by the time you become the next great American novelist, your adoring audience will reap the benefits of your belief by having three, four, maybe ten novels to delve into, and all written by you.
   Believe, don't expect.
   And don't believe in gaining fame and riches from your writing.
   Just believe in yourself and all the tales and characters you create.

   Javier A. Robayo  

I. Author. 007

   In 2001, barely two years working shifts at a steel mill, I decided I needed to do something to occupy the mind numbing hours waiting on coils of steel to come out of a unit so I read. I went through hundreds of paperbacks, westerns, romances, thrillers. I went through every Clive Cussler novel until I realized Dirk Pitt was always going to save the fate of the planet at the last second from some megalomaniac swimming in money. Still, I felt I knew Dirk on a personal level and I enjoyed reading those lines where old Clive inserted himself into the story.

   I gobbled up every Dean Koontz book until Odd Thomas left a sour taste I could not overcome. I ended up going heavy on Tami Hoag and fell in love with each of her heroines. I found Greg Isle and now I worship the man's writing voice. Patterson's Women's Murder Club series was enjoyable until the drama got pretty deep with Lindsay. I grew tired of Alex Cross's trials and tribulations. I dug up old Ludlums and began looking over my shoulder everywhere I went. Louis L'Amour and his uncomplicated heroes were a major detraction from the fiction I'd known up to that point.

   Vince Flynn's main character, the one and only Mitch Rapp fascinated me so much I wanted a do over on my entire life and find a way to work for the US Clandestine Service. Khalid Hosseini depressed me to no end, and Franz Kafka left me shaking my head for weeks at a time.

   Then I came across another author I won't mention. Suffice to say he's quite successful and falls along the lines of Stephen Hunter, Dean Koontz, and even Jonathan Kellerman, but not nearly as talented, I'm afraid.

  I began spotting several distracting elements on the page until it got to the point where I lost interest in the plot, anticipating another line of dialogue spoken "reluctantly". That word peppered the pages everywhere two characters spoke to each other.

   When I complained about it, the book's owner grew visibly upset and left me this parting shot: "If you could do better, you wouldn't be working here now would you?"

   The shot hit home.

   But not in a defeating way. It was more of a eureka moment. It was a call to action.

   I'd written most of my life though I never felt confident enough to write a complete story. I didn't even graduate college for God's sake!

   And thus began the attack on an alarming number of composition notebooks. I was still reading novels, but no longer as a reader who wanted entertainment but as a reader who studied every chapter, every page, every word. I began creating people and bending them to my will until I realized I was in the middle of the perfect setting to fish for characters.

   Although it's assumed a writer creates a character, I've discovered sometimes the character is already written in front of you in the form of a real human being. Some of the people that began populating the pages of my notebooks could not be created by anyone. The challenge then was to give these people a purpose. To deem them good or evil, friend or foe, and soon I felt like a master weaver calmly examining colorful strands and seeing complicated patterns. 

  I began writing what I knew and committed the audacity of modeling one character after myself and I ran free with impressions and opinions beneath the guise of fiction. I bit back at the foremen and so called supervisors who lacked common sense and managed to ruin what was once a very productive mill. I made it my mission to capture the general discontent of every disgruntled worker and took care of exposing the other side too. Most managers were good people at heart, but their livelihood hung in the balance every single day, their actions dictated by a group of suits who pushed for a bigger profit, disregarding their human resources in every way possible.

   I gave us a voice and that voice was not tethered to politics or silent under the muzzle of job security. 

   But I knew it was not nearly good enough to come to life inside a cover. No. I sensed I had much to learn.

   It's a novel only one person has read. It's now a project that needs placed on the work table and polished to its finest luster.

   What I learned was that I didn't have to outline, plot, and create characters out of thin air. The characters already lived around me. All I had to do is pay attention. 

   Of course, years later, when I became serious about writing a novel, my own experiences served as a launching pad for the kind of story I never thought I'd write, not even in my best dreams, and I was never to be the same again.

to be continued...