Category Archives: WritingKai

NaNoWriMo ’13 part 1

So, I’m not feeling the NaNo spirit this year. I have a lot of things on my plate and writing a novel in a month is at the bottom of the priority list, but I’m doing it anyway. Since I’m stuck and since the idea for this novel has gotten such great reception, I thought I’d give you the first draft chapter.

Here you go. Arthur 13 (title of the book to be decided upon later, current working title is ” The King Has Returned”.)

Enjoy.

-Kai

 

Arthur 13: The King Has returned

Chapter One

“Territory”

The sound of a tree trunk hitting stone echoed across the valley. It was soon followed by the thunderous crack of stone against stone. The sounds rang out across the night. Arthur sat on a fallen log and watched impassively. He was bored. Territory disputes between trolls were nothing new, and as far as Arthur was concerned, they were a waste of his time and talents.

He heaved a sigh and cupped his chin in his hand as he watched the ten foot tall monsters swing branch and fist at one another. Trolls were notoriously dull witted, despite having huge brains inside their massive skulls. They were primal things, never having evolved much past the lone wolf type of creature that they had been at the dawn of time. No one ever spoke of massive Troll cities, or the wonderful things that trolls produced. They weren’t delicate in any sense of the word. Trolls were massive beasts, some had horns, others didn’t. They were as diverse as the forests and mountains that they usually inhabited. Bridge trolls were the smartest of the lot, and everyone knows how the story of the Billy Goats ended.

They were enormous creatures. Each of the Trolls fighting in front of Arthur had to weigh as much as an elephant. Small elephants, Arthur corrected himself. The kind that don’t have tusks. He shook his head and tried not to fall asleep as the Trolls laboured on, determined to fight each other until some ancient, primal form of compromise or satisfaction was reached. Arthur wished that the old attempts to civilize the Trolls had worked; it would have made his task as Warden a lot easier if there was some form of protocol that he could just shout at the giant things. Instead he was forced to watch, to make sure that no one was injured in the fight. No one else, anyway. Not that there was anyone else around, Trolls were amazingly reclusive and the chances of one being spotted by someone who didn’t know what to look for was marginal at best.

Trolls fought slowly. They did almost everything slowly. They lived life at a pace that even the most laid back humans would find uncomfortable. They lived in hollows, in caves and damp places. They only moved to forage, and these huge things weren’t the kind of trolls that turned into stone in the sunlight. These were creatures leftover from the dawn of time and so solitary that they’d never even incurred the wrath of any mortal, immortal or deity in their long existence. They simply were.

Arthur jumped in his spot as the smaller of the two Trolls swung a fist and connected with the larger Troll’s knee. There was the crash of stone against stone and a howl of what Arthur assumed was pain from the bigger Troll. The smaller Troll stepped back a little bit, moving away from his opponent as he steadied himself and prepared for the next swing. It was like the slowest boxing match he had ever seen. And he didn’t even mention the smell.

The smaller Troll had regained his momentum quickly and was about to make another attack when the Troll with the club swung it around in a sweeping arc, catching the smaller Troll on the side of the head, stunning him in place. Another, secondary crack of the tree the bigger, greyer one of the Trolls was using as a club echoed through the night air. Arthur had to stifle a yawn as the branch broke in half and clattered to the ground. The Troll on the receiving end of the tree branch beat down staggered and dropped to his (it’s? Arthur wasn’t even sure what gender the Trolls were and he didn’t particularly want to find out) knees and grunted once before falling face first into the dirt. Arthur forced himself up from the fallen log where he’d been seated, running a hand through his dusty brown hair as the triumphant Troll bellowed it’s victory to the night sky.

“Are you quite finished, then?” Arthur asked, his British accent markedly picking out each syllable.

The big grey Troll turned dull, glittering eyes to Arthur, as if he had forgotten that the Warden had showed up. The Troll shrugged and grunted.

Arthur nodded. “So you emerged victorious, congratulations. Now, was this your territory to start with?”

The Troll nodded.

“You understand me all right, do you speak English?” Arthur pressed, trying to keep the annoyance he felt at having to deal with the whole situation out of his words. He didn’t feel like ending up on the receiving end of a Troll’s ire, especially not one who had just handily incapacitated another Troll.

The Troll held up his hand, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the universal symbol for ‘a little bit’.

Arthur flashed a smile, the same one he’d used to charm faeries off their toadstools and panties off of girls in the club. “Fantastic, so may I please start with your name?”

“Hamish,” the Troll grunted.

Arthur had to blink back his surprise. “I’m sorry, did you just say Hamish?”

The Troll nodded.

“All right, Hamish, erm, since you’ve won the skirmish, you understand now that I am going to call the Round Table to come in and clean up and relocate your… vanquished foe?”

Hamish nodded again.

“Why did this fight begin?” Arthur asked, pulling a notebook and pen out of his woollen trench coat and clicking the button on the pen.

“He came to my house without invitation,” Hamish said slowly, his face screwing up in concentration as he forced the right words. “Said that… Said that he needed to move in because I am too weak and my house is too… What is word?” he asked. “Word for more than not enough?”

Arthur felt his own teeth bite into his tongue to keep the laugh from escaping him. “Plentiful?” he suggested.

Hamish shrugged. “Said I not good enough to have this. That I am too old and that younger Troll need more for mate.”

Arthur nodded, though he’d never heard of Trolls mating and sharing territory. He made a note in his book to ask about that later. “All right, it sounds like this is a cut and dry case of territorial infringement. You need to stay here and when the Round Table comes, they’ll have to ask you a few more questions. You’re not in trouble, you’re clearly in the right.”

“Thank you,” Hamish said, bowing until his bulbous nose touched the ground. “You are a kind and noble king.”

Arthur snorted at that last comment. “Did you use that line on my last predecessor?”

“Three of them,” Hamish rumbled.

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. “Three?” he croaked. “You look good for your age.”

Hamish smiled, revealing his craggy, broken, obsidian teeth. “You are a kind a noble king to say such good things to Hamish.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that next time I need a favour,” Arthur joked.

Hamish nodded amiably and settled back down to wait for the Round Table operatives to arrive.

Arthur shrugged to himself and walked a few paces away, putting away his notebook and taking out his cell phone. He pressed a speed dial button and held the phone up to his ear. “This is Arthur. I need a clean up crew at my location. GPS coordinates will be arriving momentarily. It’s a Troll territorial dispute, bring transport.”

Arthur hung up the phone and tucked it into his pocket. A small cough caught his attention.

Standing right in front of him was a lithe gentleman in a long, grey cloak. Arthur knew who he was immediately, though the man’s name escaped him.

“You guys sure move fast when there’s Trolls involved,” Arthur pointed out.

The man in the cloak smiled and bowed. “Sir Lorrin at your service.”

“You’re not one of the regular guys,” Arthur pointed out. “You’re from the magic department. No laws of magic were broken here.”

“No, no! I know, that’s not why I’m here,” Sir Lorrin explained.

Arthur eyed the lesser wizard suspiciously. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, sire, but I’m here to escort you back to Camelot.”

 

 

 

Advertisements

Writer Wednesday: Patient Zero announcement

Hey guys!

So, I was sick today, and I’ve been working really long hours at my day job, which is not an excuse for lack of updates but it’s a reason at least. I’ll try to do some “irregular updates” to make up for it this week. I wanted to stop by and say thank you for all of your support, love and comments, here and on Twitter.

I love all of you and I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the wonderful community of friends and fellow writers I have built up.

I have a huge bit of news to announce.

My zombie trilogy “Pathogen” has been picked up by Lemorn Literary Works. “Pathogen: Patient Zero” has an official release date of May 1, 2013.

We already went through this is with Blaze Tuesday, so I’m TRYING not to freak out as much, but I can’t help it. (:

Thank you again, and I do hope you’ll continue to support me as I continue to make my way through the publishing world.

All my love,
-Kai Kiriyama
xoxo

 


Writer Wednesday: Engaging your Audience

Sorry, I know I’m a day late with this “Wednesday” blog. It tends to happen that I get remarkably busy on Wednesdays and blogging goes by the wayside.

So in spirit of the theme, I’m keeping this short and to the point.

Engage your audience.

So many people forget this, especially as artists of any kind.

It’s fine and dandy to put your work out there for the world, but in today’s fast-paced, multi-media world, how do you stand above the crowd? It’s not easy. You have to brand yourself, market yourself, work almost ’round the clock to carve away the the stone of the social media machines until your voice finally rises from the crowd and people start to notice you.

Am I there yet?

Not particularly. I have a few friends and a decent following on Twitter and stuff, but most of those people I don’t know. I don’t talk to, and they don’t talk to me. It’s saddening and troubling, especially when I”m sitting here with a book on the cusp of release.

Find a way to engage your audience from day 1.

Talk to people. Interact. Engage. Don’t just sit there and yammer into the void. No one wants to hear insane ramblings. We pass the crazy guy on the street with the “Doomsday is upon us” sign without a second thought. He is essentially yammering into the void.

Be polite.

Be clever.

Be interesting.

Be respectful.

Don’t be a dick. (Wheaton’s Law.)

Tell your story, but always remember that the people who are gonna propel that story are the ones int he audience. Engage them. They are the ones whose interest you need to maintain.


Blaze Tuesday News

Um.

Wow, today didn’t go how I was expecting it at all.

First, I woke up after an abnormally long Tuesday to discover it’s Wednesday and that it’s wicked cold out.

Then, I got a rejection letter.

Then, like 15 minutes later, I got a letter from an indie e-pub company that they want to publish Blaze Tuesday and the Case of the Knight Surgeon.

So, yeah. Blaze Tuesday is going to be published.

Thank you to all of you who have supported me this far. <3


Free Fiction Friday: Kick It

Here we go, a little short for Blaze Tuesday. Because, I love him.  

A kind of silly aside in the story timeline, kind of a fan fiction f my own work because, why not?

Be warned: Blaze cusses. If you don’t like it, I suggest you turn back, now.

Otherwise, enjoy.

-Kai Kiriyama

 

Kick it, Tuesday.

It was already shaping up to be a worse day than the day before.

Hell, it was shaping up to be a terrible week overall. It was the kind of week that made you seriously reconsider the life choices you’d made up until that very point in your life. It was the kind of week that made you want to crawl back into your bed and never get up. Or drown yourself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle, if that was your thing.

It was raining. Again.

And I was stuck outside, sopping wet and miserable. I was just happy that I wasn’t actually wearing a good suit. Jackson would have been ruined by the rain. I was just cranky.

I felt like kicking myself for taking this case; I hadn’t wanted to go out, but we needed to pay the bills somehow. We were just starting up and with New York being chock full of coffee and doughnut P.I’s wanting to make their name int he biz, I had to fight tooth and claw to make sure that my name got put out there. I was the best in town and with Jacks by my side, I was unstoppable. I just needed the public to know that.

Jackson had taken a case alone. Nothing terribly important, nothing that was even really something we should have been doing in the first place, but who am I to deny my partner a nice cushy indoor job that allowed him to sort through ancient books and settle a blood-feud over some dead broad’s fortune? At least, I knew that the take would be relatively good for us.

I, on the other hand, was outside. In the rain. Chasing ghosts more or less. It wasn’t even a decent murder. I was busily tailing a guy who was suspected of cheatin’ on his wife. Not really my strong suit, and cases of infidelity weren’t something I liked to think about. Been there, done that. There was a reason why I never did get married, and that reason happened to be infidelity.

Heh, I’d almost gotten arrested for takin’ the boots to that sonuvabitch, but my partner at the time had managed to talk everyone out of it while I had my knuckles cleaned  and my eyebrow stitched up in the precinct’s basement morgue.

And now here I was, playing wannabe spy on a dude who was cheatin’ on his wife. I kinda wanted to shoot myself in the alley I’d found myself standing in, waiting. Or shoot him for not bein’ able to keep it in his pants.

Either way, I was pissed off and the pouring rain wasn’t helping.

The entire week had been like this. Cold cases comin’ through the front door of my little practice, cases that I had no hope in hell of being able to complete and being forced to turn away. Offers to do illegal things for copious amounts of cash. The blue breathing down my neck because I’d done a great job of pissing them off and now the dirty cops who I used to drink from the same bottle with were constantly trying to find a way to pick me up, lock me away or otherwise humiliate me and ruin my career.

Not that it was doin’ them much good. I was clean a whistle, sharp as a tack and I’d just bought myself a building with apartment space above the offices. No one got in or out without my knowledge, despite having an open door kinda policy for the offices where I would conduct my business. No assassin would bother tryin’ to get in. It would be too much hassle and not worth the contract price. I wasn’t worth it now, anyway. Better to see me humiliated than dead.

Dead means I won. Dead means I was right.

Humiliated, well, that was something that I was used to and I’m pretty sure that my reputation had been through worse than just a few dirty cops tryin’ to pick up a retired cop turned private eye on some bogus charge. I’d never paid for sex, and it was suggested more than once that I liked men. I didn’t do drugs, didn’t even smoke. My vices were caffeine in unhealthy amounts and booze in slightly less amounts than my coffee.

And when I got blackout drunk, I made sure to do it at home, with the doors locked so that I could pass out in my apartment and keep what little dignity there was to be found in drinking yourself unconscious intact.

Tonight was shaping up to be one of those “drink until I pass out” kind of nights.

The guy I was tailing walked right past the alley I was standing in, just like I’d predicted. Idiot. I had had enough of the bullshit. I’d been following the guy for a week and it was pretty damned obvious he was cheatin’ on his wife. I had photographic evidence to prove it. I needed my own brand of justice though.

My arm shot out of the shadows and grabbed the guy by the collar of his jacket and I dragged him into the alley. I slammed him up against the wall with a wet thud, water from both our jackets spattered to the ground, unnoticed in the rest of the pattering rain. I drew my gun from my under the arm holster I kept her in.

“This here is Nadia.” I drawled angrily. “She doesn’t like it when guys cheat on their wives.”

“Oh God, please don’t kill me!” The guy begged.

I snorted in contempt. “I’m a good guy.” I assured him. “I don’t kill.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and I shook him, pressing my forearm harder into his chest. “Hey asshole.” I growled. “Just ’cause I’m a good guy doesn’t mean you get off Scot-free.” I sorely wanted to pistol-whip him.

“What do you want from me?”

I shrugged. “I want you to stop cheatin’ on your wife to start.” I suggested, pointing Nadia at his forehead. “I want you to break it off with your little ‘mistress’ right now. I want you to go home with flowers and candy and other lovely gifts for your wife. I want you to do whatever she says, goddammit. And, if you’re lucky, she won’t divorce you and take everything you’re worth while she’s at it.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Because believe me, I can make that happen.”

The guy nodded, his eyes fixed on Nadia.

“Get the hell outta my sight.” I growled, pulling him away from the wall and shoving back towards the street. “You have twenty minutes to get back home with gifts, and if I so much as hear of you sneaking away to be with your little trollop, you won’t be so lucky next time. Nadia doesn’t forget.”

He let out a little whimper and scurried away. I snorted derisively and tucked Nadia back in her holster. I was paid for another three days; I’d be following the bastard around to make sure that he did as I was told.

For now, though, I was calling it a win and I was going home. There was a lot of drinking to do and I wanted to get a head start on it.


End of the World: Boondock Saints 3 Speculative Deleted Scene — “Conjugal Visit”

Well, the world didn’t end, so as promised. Here is my “Conjugal Visit” scene from my Boondock Saints 3 speculative script. For those of you unaware, “Spec script” means that I basically just wrote a more technical fan fiction for my favorite movie series and have put the finished project into my portfolio for when I start handing out my CV and applying for jobs in the film and television industry. I write a lot and this was honestly a labour of love more than anything else. It definitely brought closure to my relationship with the Boondock Saints. And made me love the story even more.  

Anyway, I do hope that nothing actually happens in the next 24 hours… that would suck. 

Enjoy.
Love,
Kai Kiriyama Continue reading


The Dreaded Slump

Bollocks.

I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen into the dreaded “week 2 slump” that tends to plague NaNoWriMo participants yearly.

Usually when I participate in NaNoWriMo, I’m what our local group affectionately refers to as a “cyborg” — meaning that I can hammer out 1000+ words in 15 minutes. I hate that idea, but when we’re sprinting and doing word wars, it makes for better competition when you have a group of people ALL pumping out 1000+ words in 15 minutes.

Last year, I wrote 150,000 words in the month of November. Before that it was 77,000 while working 3 jobs totaling 70 hour work weeks.

Suffice it to say that only 1 of the stories I’ve written has made it through the editing process without making me wanna barf or with me giving up on the story in general with the intention to come back to it at a later date.

I don’t typically fall for the “slump” of a writing deadline like this. In fact, I typically thrive under the pressure. And, if I do end up with a slump, it usually hits me around the 22nd or so, right in the homestretch.

So I’m a little bit lost.

It isn’t writer’s block. Far from it. I have all the ideas in my head, I know where the story needs to go and where I want it to go. It’s just that procrastination is coming so much easier to me this month than ever. Sitting at my computer means that I’m either filling my brain with useless things or scouring the depths of social media or just doing something completely unrelated to writing.

I just don’t know what’s wrong with me, and it’s frustrating. Not even caffeine is helping. Nor is getting “enough” sleep at night.

I think this is the “slump” that all insane NaNo’ers talk about.

Still, I’m doing something right. I have my butt in my chair and I’m forcing myself to peck out a few words here and there, even if they’re not the huge amounts of words I usually spew forth.

Anyone have any useful suggestions for making the words work?