3 Simple Steps That Will Bring Internal Movement

You might be stagnant right now. Emotionally, I mean. To write well, you’ve got to open up your internal flow. Here’s how.

What Causes Emotional Stagnation?

Gosh, nearly everything can. Fear of what may be, spiritual possession, emotional theft, and the opening of tremors from your past all slow the internal flow.

How To Diagnose Yourself

If you’re emotionally stagnant, you have a lot of energy blockage through your heart and in your neck. You have a hard time breathing, and your brain feels just a little hazy.

Send your mind down into your home-center, which is right under the top of your sternum. Picture, let’s see.

Sternum_composition

Now, somewhere under the tip of that bone there’s a cluster of prescient knowledge about yourself. If you shove your concentration in there, and let yourself feel things, a person or a situation is going to rise up in your mind.

There it is; that’s the source for what you’re experiencing just now. Sometimes there are ten things stacked on top of each other, but for now, we’ll only look at the top one.

Pull it out of your body, as if it were a piece of colored tissue paper, and let it hover in the air right in front of your chest.

Step One: Tear The Paper Up

We’ve pulled out the top-most cause of your stagnation, and imagined it as a colored piece of tissue paper. Go ahead and tear it all to bits. Really rip the thing to shreds, as if you were trying to make sure there was no piece left bigger than your thumb.

Once you’ve destroyed that piece, make the scraps into a little heap on the floor at your feet. Got that? Great.

Step Two: Bring Fire From The Lumbar Vertebrae

Your spine is filled with three different sections of vertebrae; the bottommost bones are called the lumbar vertebrae. Here’s a picture:

lumbar

Those bottom ones are what we want. Now, at the very base of your spine, imagine a lick of fire, like the flame of a steadily-burning candle, right between the double rise of your pelvic bones. This fire is going to burn up your lumbar vertebrae, and when it reaches the full top of that gentle curve, take a lick of fire into your hand and put the flame into your heap of paper on the floor.

Take that fire and lay it against the tissue paper scraps. The colored scraps will burn up as readily as hair, and leave something like mist behind.

Step Three: Breathe In The Mist

You’re going to consume your burned-up problem now. Like a cleansing acid (the friendly kind), that mist from the colored paper will flow through your nostrils, down through your lungs, and spread all in your veins.

Your own pain acts as an accelerant to your natural soul. Pulling out, burning, and then breathing in your blockage eats away all the blockage, and makes a temporary surge of comfort and sweet pain, like love, flow all through your aura.

And Now You Can Write With Loosened, Free Emotions

To recap: send your mind behind the top of your sternum, and find a knot of colored energy there. Pull that energy out; it’s a thought of a person, or about a situation in your life. It doesn’t matter what it is, or how you feel about  it.

Pull the energy out, and imagine it as a solid piece of colored tissue paper hovering in the air in front of your chest.

Now tear it all to bits and arrange it in a tidy heap just at your feet. Feel a flame of licking, raw fire at the base of your spine, and allow it to burn up and fill your lumbar curve. As soon as the fire fills up to the tip of that lumbar section, take some flame in your hand and feed it against the pile of tissue paper.

The paper will consume at once into a sweet mist; breathe in that mist, and feel a rush of warmth, of bittersweet longing, and of emotional life go through your veins.

And Now, You’re Ready To Write

This is an exercise that takes just a moment to perform. In three steps, you can bring strong movement through your emotional life and write with clear, bright feeling and a strong flow.

You’re reading Victor Poole. My books are designed to heal several hidden things, all except for Intimate Death, a story which is purely frivolous in every way.

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Jumpstart Your Writing Voice In Five Minutes

How To Get Stronger Voice

Standing out in the crowd of books is hard; to make yourself unique and memorable, the more you can sound like your deepest self, the better.

First, Strip Tension

This is really hard to sustain without repetition, but it’s physically based, and you can familiarize yourself with the technique in five minutes.

If it helps, think of it like the river Jordan–you know the dude who had to go bathe in the mud to heal his leprosy, but he refused? And his slave was like, “Dude, you totally would have done anything hard Elijah told you to, so why won’t you do this stupid shit?” And then the captain was like, “Fuck it, you’re right,” and jumped into the river Jordan.

Peeling Pretension Starts In Your Outer Hips

There’s a muscle that runs along the outside of your hips and upper thighs. Here, I’ll find a picture online.

Here you go. We’re looking at the tensor fasciae latae, right on the side there, at the top.

thigh

This muscle hugs your femur, and it can become enormously tight and overused in artificially supporting your skeletal system.

Step One Is Relaxing This Muscle

To slip into your authentic, unique writing voice, put your fingers into your fasciae latae on either side, and push down hard, ploughing through the muscle and down your outer thigh.

This works best if you start at the flat part outside your hip, just on either side of your pelvis, and then rub down, as if your hips were full of jelly, and you were squeezing it down towards your knees (or toothpaste in a tube; that’s a better analogy).

If You Feel Pain, That’s Good

Whether or not you hold bad tension here, combing the muscle down against the bone should create an influx of deeper breath through your lungs, and a sense of relaxation through your core.

If you tense hard against the relaxation, then you have serious problems through your spine. In this case, skip to step two, and also, start doing a half-spinal twist (yoga, I’ll find an image), every night before you go to bed.

Half-Spinal Screw

half spine

Link here. The internet wants to call this “Half Lord of the Fishes,” but I learned spinal screw. Whatevs. It will pull at your tensor fasciae, if you do it gently, and loosen the muscle on each side over time (which will improve the state of your spine).

Step Two Is To Find Pain In Your Mind

Everyone in the world carries fear, trepidation, and insecurity in their minds. This is formulated of different shades of color, depending on the tones of your aura.

If you close your eyes and imagine a scared feeling, you’ll get a sudden, warm sense of color in your imagination. It doesn’t matter what the color is; fix your mind on it, and allow it to seep out and cover your whole face, as if you’re wearing an air-bubble of that color around your skull.

What Will This Cloud Of Fear Do?

Fear creates common ground, and tastes like humility to the reader. Carrying insecurity and an ability to be hurt on your face protects you from pretension, since no frightened person can seem completely hauteur-ish.

So, To Recap Thus Far

First we rub our fingers hard along our tensor fasciae latae, to create pain, relaxation, and deep breath. Second, we find a lick of color that tastes like fear in our minds, and urge it out like a cloud around our whole heads.

Next, And Finally, We Write From The Groin

If you’re biologically male, you imagine your writer-brain in the nestling warmth of your testicles and the base of your shaft. If you’re female, you imagine the writer-brain in the depth of the vaginal and clitoral area.

This sounds insane, but remember, we’re river-Jordaning our way into fresh, authentic voice.

Anyone Who Writes From Sexuality Sounds Raw

Your authentic voice will rise naturally, between the sudden release in your hips, the deeper breath through your lungs, the exposed sense of self throughout your face and mind, and your writing impulses should flow surely and instinctively from the base of your sexual organs.

Yeah, it sounds really unconventional.

You Can Do This In Five Minutes

Improving the unique, fresh tone of your voice in writing is an integral part of winning followers. To recap, dig your fingers firmly along the latae on both sides (which will feed a need for sudden breath and relaxation through the lower spine), find and release a twist of fear-color from somewhere inside your brain, and then write while imagining the energy for such rolling up from the depths of your sexual organs.

The worst that can happen is you’ll get a deep sense of embarrassment for reading about Victor’s crazy methods on the internet. The best that can happen is that you’ll have instantly clearer voice in your writing, and a simple technique you can use to drop into your authentic voice any time.

You’re reading Victor Poole. To release deep rage, and process gendered fear, read my fantasy series. I cleaned the shit out of my files this afternoon.

Edit Your Writing For Clean Impulse-Development

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Editing For Clean Impulses

I cleaned off some emasculating incest energy, some spiritual possession shit, off one of my leading men during rehearsals for a show. He loved my guts ever after, and wanted to be best buds with manly kissing rights. He was a sweet and naive kiddo; he married soon after, and has not, I think, experimented with homosexuality since then. (If you were curious, I kept his greedy mitts off me, which he found infuriating.)

Editing Is Careful Work

Every time you write down any kind of thought, or description, or line of dialogue, your energy soaks into the writing, and imbues the phrases with a particular branding of emotion.

If your emotional packages build cleanly and organically, then the story flows, has excellent pace, and brings emotional satiety to the reader.

On The Other Hand . . .

If the impulse chains are broken, and the phrases are interrupted with wild, incoherent energy changes (which happens in most editing work, to be honest), the story becomes a mass of difficult-to-follow feel-nothing thoughts.

Was that paragraph confusing? Good.

The Editing Advice:

Now, how do you dig apart an organic energy chain? Take a piece of a clean draft, like so:

She had grown up near horses, when she had been a child in the far west, and though she had not been a horse trader herself, she was fond of the people who worked with horses. Horses reminded her of the time she had been free, before she had left her family, before she had been sold as a slave to the Eastern lands.

And Now, The Wrong Way

Now, here is some terrible editing that irretrievable disrupts the chain of impulses contained in that work:

The sweet child had grown up near many four-legged beasts. some of them horses, when she had been a little one in the farther west, beyond the oasis but not so far as the wilder places. Though she had never been closely associated with any horse trading families, or with those folk who bred and trained the riding and harness beasts used in those lands, she was still sentimental, and incredibly fond of anyone who worked with horses for their daily bread. Horses reminded her of the time she had been free, long, long ago, before she had left her poor family, and before she had been sold like a bundle of goods into the house of an Eastern merchant, to do his bidding and have no will of her own.

That was a shitty, painful piece of prose, wouldn’t you say? Unbearable.

And The Right Way

Now, by contrast, here is the same piece, edited with an eye to preserving the original impulse chain:

She had grown up near horses, when she had been a child in the far west, and though she had not been a horse trader herself, she was fond of the people who worked with horses. Horses reminded her of the time she had been free, before she had left her family, and before she had been sold as a slave to the Eastern lands.

If you look, there is only one word added. Of course, many paragraphs will need more adjustment than this, but for this particular chain of thoughts, one small correction is all that’s needed.

But Victor, My Writing Needs More!

What if your impulses are tangled before you started writing in the first place?

If you are like my wild stud-actor, the one who carried incest packages from his bitch mum, and who wanted to get in my pants more than anything in the world, you might be carrying impulse chains that scare you.

Victor, You’re Unbearably Conceited

Because, you see, when you were a tender thing, people touched your skin, and some of them were evil. The people were, I mean. When evil people hold a child’s hand, or tie their shoe, sometimes ugly energy soaks into the child’s skin. Children are incredibly absorbent, and are developmentally and psychologically designed to purge bad energy off their parents, in order to get grounding, rooted energy in their souls.

That’s Why Kids Love Unconditionally, At First

The part that’s important for today is that when you were a little kid, you picked up energy from people that was dangerous, and much of that energy is still tucked inside your aura.

So What Happens To That Energy?

When you write a genuine impulse chain, those dark energies loosen, and start to come free. You start, if you write what you really want to write, to chronicle frightening things.

In the process, the bad energy works free, and passes through your skin.

Yogis Call These Packages ‘Samskaras’

In an attempt to keep away from scary things, the vast majority of humans who write repress all their natural impulses, and write like frigid nuns.

And Now, The Editing Lesson

When you write, remember that you are, whether you try to or not, and whether you notice or not, writing down an unbroken chain of organic impulses, all in a row.

When you edit, remember that some of those impulses are foreign, evil, and genuinely frightening. If you edit them out, or away, or soften them, your work will suffer.

Many Of Them Don’t Come From You

If you try to heighten the effect of these foreign impulses, to make them seem more than they are, the work will suffer, and taste sour.

In Conclusion

Acceptance of the current state of affairs in your natural soul, and therefore, in your writing, is a good way to take a step towards cleaner work.

You’re reading Victor Poole. I’ve never written my little actor into a book. There is a whole lot of metaphorical coupling in this series, which I bet you are not patient enough to read. : P

Cover Update

Screen Shot 2017-10-04 at 4.43.43 PM

I’m thinking about moving the eyes around on Tula-for; I haven’t seeded metal through his hands. Don’t know if I will.

This is a scene near the end of the book, when her soul starts to expand frighteningly.

Happy writing, anybody.

You’re reading Victor Poole; like a crank, I persist in finishing a series before publishing. If you love intentionally harsh writing and mind-numbing deliberation, you would love Ajalia. She has a knife; the girl in the picture above doesn’t get one for one-and-a-half books. May many of the Wednesday good things happen to you.

The Utility Of Raw Gore In Fiction (With A Sample)

dragon mockup

When I did theatre, the directors, most of them, were fascinated with the idea of raw, shocking emotion. They wanted to abuse the audience, essentially, and force many bodies to feel unexpected (and unpleasant) things.

Because They Thought It Made Them Powerful

Good theatre, of course, is like great sex; two people (one of whom represents the actors, and the other the audience) come together and do interesting things to each other, and end by feeling cozy and close in their hearts.

Yep, Victor, You’re Weird

There’s a clear emotional exchange; just as in sex, theatre can turn ugly very fast, and physical brutality, aggressive sexuality, and general indecency of language are the usual methods employed by terrible directors and shitty producers.

‘Cause They’re Not Classy

On the other hand, raw intimacy (hand-holding, bodies wanting each other, but not quite touching, the promise of a kiss without the act), choreographed violence (vicious fights, sudden actions, and vivid physical motion), and authentic sharing (true language, however swear-y) are the opposite, very good side of this potential bad, and make for glorious, unforgettable theatre.

Now, For Gore In Fiction

To see how you are handling your violence, sex, and coarse language, it is important to first examine the reason for it being there.

I imagine you’ve seen films before where a lady is unnecessarily undressed, or a person hits another for no other reason than that the director thought it would make things pop more.

Because Empty Action Pads The Script (I’m Serious)

Shakespeare brought heads onstage, and severed limbs; he gored out eyes, and openly referenced incestuous rape and the dismemberment of women and children. One of his plays occurs almost entirely in a brothel, in fact, but you will find, in any worthwhile production of Shakespeare, that there is no immodesty in his language, or in his actions directed for the stage. (Embedded stage directions; it’s a long story.)

People Who Ruin Shakespeare Should Be Given Paper Cuts On Their Faces

People, shitty people (yeah, I’m looking at you, buster-oldy George) love to mangle Shakespeare, to add brazen fondling and breasts, and weirdly orgiastic violence that is not in any of the plays. They also like to add little scenes–to make the action more realistic, or more compelling to the modern viewer, they think.

All Of Which Sucks, Almost Always

Now, on to the subject of the day (or night, as the case may be): raw gore, and the manipulation of flesh in the service of whole fiction, is cathartic and pure, when it is handled with grace and modesty.

The Greeks, for all their blatant phallic pieces, had dignity and respect for suffering in many of their tragedies. The purpose of Oedipus putting out his eyes, and Jocasta hanging herself, is to bring the audience to a pitch of pity and existential terror.

The Bringing Of Emotional Climax Is The Function Of Fiction

And now, since the Greeks and Shakespeare do not always scratch the itch of contemporary genre fiction, here is some blood, and a bit of gentle violence.

A Sample, As Promised

Ethan the cyborg, having cut his metal down, is carving up a couple of his fellows, and stealing their alien inserts. Observe:

“What you are holding is a base insert,” Ethan said, grimacing as he began to wedge the other cyborg’s insert into his own thigh. Mary’s eyes widened, and her lips parted. He seemed to be working the insert in between his own muscles; the shape of his thigh moved in deeply unnatural ways as he worked. “I already have base inserts; I need the top pieces.”

“You put your top pieces into me,” Mary guessed.

“Not all of them, but some,” Ethan said with a smile.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” she demanded, watching him force the end of the insert deeper into his upper thigh.

“Not as much as you’d think. You get pretty numb, after the first four dissections,” he said. He made a small sound, like a tense man relaxing into a bath, and the insert folded neatly into the top of his thigh. Ethan sighed and pushed the bottom of the piece the rest of the way into the slit. Mary thought that it was like watching someone try to move a large piece of furniture through a narrow doorway; first the top made it in, and then the bottom was swiveled and forced into the opening.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She began to feel increasingly squeamish.

“I’m fine,” Ethan said. The insert went in with a strange click, and he extended his leg with a deep sigh.

“And now the next one?” Mary asked. Ethan’s restored leg looked oddly out of proportion to the rest of his reduced body. He began to cut open the second cyborg’s other leg, and Mary went to the first cyborg and stared down at his open eyes. “What about them?” she asked. The squelch of the knife in the second cyborg’s leg made a wet echo in the corridor.

“What about them?” Ethan asked. He put the knife in again, and then again.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“He’ll be dead soon,” Ethan said, as if commenting on the weather.

“But he’s a person,” Mary replied. She felt a hollow outrage, and she could not bring herself to do anything about it.

“They aren’t people, Mary. I keep telling you that. I’m not a person, either.”

“You’re a person,” she said angrily.

“Well,” Ethan amended, working his hand into the cyborg’s leg, and beginning to wrench the insert loose, “I wasn’t a person before I met you.”

“I think you’ve always been a person. And I don’t know what you mean by saying these men aren’t people. They’re alive.” Mary felt a hot flush of fear and anger on her neck; she felt powerless and irritated, and she didn’t know how to stop the bloody work and still get the old Ethan back. “Can’t we use the dead bodies of the other cyborgs?” she asked.

“No,” Ethan said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I would have to prime the metal,” he said. His voice made a squeaking whine in the middle of the words; he had freed the top of the insert from the cyborg’s base now. Mary took the bottom piece, and Ethan pushed the top of the insert into his other thigh.

“That looks so painful,” she said. The two insert pieces she held were hot and slick in her hands; she found, quite suddenly, that she didn’t mind the blood, but she minded the heat.

“It’s very good to get my old shape back,” Ethan grunted, working the metal deeper under his muscles.

“What do you mean when you say you’d have to prime the metal?” Mary asked. The top of Ethan’s new insert locked into place, and he began to work over the bottom half.

“To prime the metal means exposing it to blood, and live pain,” he said. His voice still sounded tinny and strange.

“Why do you sound like that?” Mary asked. Ethan groaned, and forced the rest of the insert into place. He stood upright, and looked down at himself.

“That’s better,” he said. He sounded ready to laugh with giddiness. “I have deep machines running, to keep my inserts open,” he told her.

And So,

Interestingly, tasteful swearing, and modest use of nudity, violence, and raw language and action opens the reader’s heart, and makes them receptive to the story, and the characters. I am not in any way suggesting that you take your gore out; in fact, you probably need more of it, and the other things.

What I am saying, most emphatically, is that the gore must serve a core plot purpose, and be fully justified. Gratuitous violence, and all the rest, cheapen your work. If you need to cut someone’s head off, and prance around the page with the blood, make sure you’ve paid for the privilege of violence with narrative context.

Gore is a necessary part of deeply-cathartic fiction, but just as in deeply intimate bonding, respect for your partner (in this case, the reader) is paramount.

You’re reading Victor Poole. I have to rewrite almost the entirety of my cyborg sequel, because Vicard turned interesting, and developed unexpected backstory that I now get to incorporate through the threads of the previous parts. Reading my self-published fantasy series is almost guaranteed to make your editing-brain bleed; you’re welcome.

Relax And Write Every Day By Doing These 3 Things

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Writing every day feels impossible; it seems like you just can’t focus, can’t find the time, and won’t bring yourself to commit to doing it.

You feel stretched and pulled in too many directions; you can sense that you have talent, real stories, and strong ability, but you can also feel all the elements of self that are tangled around the act of creation, and there is just too much mess to cut through to the writing.

You tell yourself you should just sit and force yourself to write, and sometimes you do just that. After a few days, you dry up again, and you grow to hate yourself.

Here’s how I solved this:

  1. Big picture
  2. One detail at a time
  3. Follow arousal

One: The Big Picture

Why are you writing? There’s a core need in your spirit that drives you to create. This is your deep motivation. Find it, and isolate it, and fixate on it every day before you sit down to write. This provides the fuel, and makes the conundrum of bland repetition spiced with adventure.

Two: Write One Detail At A Time:

You can’t write three words at once; to do so would create a hopeless tangle of meaningless babble. Your physical limitation becomes the gateway to endless work; because you can only write one word at a time, focus your mind on one detail, one image, one element of one part of one scene.

All you need is to write one piece at a time; it is literally impossible to write a whole story at once, or even in one sitting (excluding short stories, or poems). (Or plays.)

Take the pressure off; take the scene you’re about to start, and look within it for one, salient, clear detail. The color of her hair; the sound of the rocking ship; the memory he has of his mother’s voice. Take one thing, and write it down; describe it fully, and then look for the thing that comes just after it. Only one thing; first you describe one detail, and then you move to the next detail beside it.

I promise, you can write the entire novel, and then a whole series just this way. No stress, no pressure, and no overwhelming chaos. One at a time.

Three: Follow The Arousal

There is something unbearably sexy in great fiction; it’s cool, and hot, and makes your heart ready to burst.

In your writing, there is a wisp of heat, of scintillating arousal. It might be the carvings on your knight’s armor plates, or the way the dragon’s nostrils flutter when he breathes in. It might be the heat that passes from her gaze to his, or the way her dress flows behind her hips.

Find the heat, and write towards it. These are the details that offer the most payoff; write down one, and then move to the next one.

To Conclude:

You can write every day, and it can be easy, pleasurable, and satisfying. Writing doesn’t need to hurt; in fact, it shouldn’t.

Remind yourself each day of the big pictures of your ambition, your deepest hunger for success. Fix your mind on only one small aspect of the scene, and write it down. Follow the hint of danger, of urgent desire that lies within the details of your scene.

Do this, and you will write every day, and grow stronger in your craft and your belief in your ability to succeed.

You’re reading Victor Poole. My friends laughed at me when I blushed; they thought I was endearing. Someday when I’m rich, I’m going to buy a Quarab with black points, and a mahogany-colored English saddle with a bridle to match.