Chillin'

Ahhhh! Sunday, finally. It seems with all the hustle and bustle of the week that this is the one day that you can just chill. I am not a big fan of Sunday shopping and personally would like to see it vanquished altogether. Not that I am a religious individual, and Bless you if you are, but for me the spiritual aspect of Sunday lies in the reflection of ones own being in the comfort of my own home. Sure I have homework I have to help with and the occasional list that my wife so delicately hands over to me, but as a rule it is a day that I can kind of coast.

Life is busy. Work, running around like a madman trying to keep one step ahead of everything and just pretty much trying not to drown in the daily swell of events. Throw Christmas into the mix and you have a perfect recipe for a meltdown. But if you throw some jazzy Christmas tunes on the iPod and you can't help but feel a little lighter. The smell of our Christmas tree fills the house and something about having nature inside is a good vibe. The fact that there are, and will be, much fewer presents under said tree this year, bothers me but we are all healthy and could definitely  be far worse off than we are is a blessing in itself.

But let me get back to chillin'. Coffee in hand and posting on the couch. Update, books are selling well and that is reason to breathe easier. Maybe not easier, but lighter. I don't intend to get rich off my books,  well I really do, but reality tells me that the fact that bazillion books are out there the chances are slim to few that they will actually be found in the literary ocean of works out there. Get the word out there and give a guy a break. Tell two people about this poor bugger who you occasionally read about. I keep envisioning, as I check my stats daily, that somewhere someone will make some noise about this great story they found online and all of a sudden a mass movement starts world wide and success comes overnight! Yee Haaa!! Ahhhhh, perchance to dream.

And then the Sunday chillin' lasts every day of the week ad infinitum.

Until then, homework help, honey-do lists and the rev up for the next week's adventures and daily grind.

Somewhere there is a beach and a coconut with my name on it, but for now it is rooted in this post and a dream in my head.

Have a great day, relax and soak up the peace....while you have the chance.

Ahhhhhhhh for now

It's gotta be in here Somewhere

Now that I've finally got all my ducks in a row, you'd think I could start the parade! Nope. No balloons, or marching bands. No clowns. Nothin'! You see I have all the makings of a parade but reason.

Somewhere in that Kilimanjaro-esque heap of hay, is a needle. Hell it could even be a knitting needle and it would take forever to find the damn thing! How many strands of hay would you say are in there? I couldn't even fathom a guess, but metaphorically speaking, you are that needle hiding in the haystack. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to come off as some kind of stalker but I am looking for you (in the Royal sense of the word, plural.) I have written my books, as you well know by now. They are out there in the cyber world having a bit or a byte somewhere, waited on by some server awaiting a hard drive home. (nice) 

That, as I have found out is the easy part.Hell even writing the stories was easier than trying to find the key to get the things to come into view of the general populace. Do you have any idea on how many books get published...every DAY? Holy crap!!!! Let me re phrase the query. Do you know how many books come on the market every MINUTE? Yeah, I said it...minute. Way too many, is the appropriate answer. Way, way way too many. And there is mine. An infinitesimal little speck in a galactic dust bowl of new releases, forget about the bazillions of books that were released to the universe, yesterday and yesteryear!

 But you know what, that's OK. I'm fine with those figures. Because somewhere in that haystack is a needle, that needle is the person who looks at my book on line and says. "Sounds like it might be good" hits the 'buy' button and it ends up on their Kobo. They read it and, hopefully love it, recommend it and so on. Somewhere, sometime, hopefully soon. And again that's ok. I spent twenty years with 'The Christmas Crunch' stashed away as an anchor to a box downstairs,(as stated before). Twenty years of zero chance of anyone finding it. Out in the web world now, my chances are increased exponentially just by bringing it up the twelve steps from the cellar and uploading it!

So...where ever you are, whoever you are, I'm waiting and can wait. What would be nice if that one person finds it and they become the herald to the world. I think it's the dream of any new author that the likes of Oprah or Ellen love your book and scream its splendour  from the mountain and everyone rushes out to buy it, thus becoming rich and fat and ordering Dom by the case for a Tuesday lunch in, say Paris.(again nice)

Hey...it could happen. 

It could all start with you.

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/VanPornaras

Scribe and scribbles

revised Dec 5,2012

For those of you that know me, I am writing again. My muse hath forsaken me for too long, undoubtedly headed to warmer climates, but it is back and kicking into my ribs as if I was a horse moving too slow. I heed its 'gentle' persuasion and put thought to font.

The stories come and I write as fast as I can to trap the ever elusive thought patterns before they evaporate into thin air and evade the page. Always with an outdated day planner in my back pocket and two pens at the ready to jot down some angle, some view, some great line that floats by on an inspirational breeze.

Stories come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I find that just stepping outside to escape the routine of the day will inspire a thought that leads to a spark and then, 'Ah! What a great story!" I have many 'Ah!' moments over the past 16 years. Several' Ah Crap!' moments as well, but still I write. Fame and fortune have not found me yet, but that is not why I write. (That's a lie, I want to be so famous I can never leave my hotel room for the rest of my life.) I write because I will burst if I don't. Once the seed is planted in my mind I must write it down. Even if it doesn't turn out to be a novel, the characters, the beginning middle and end must get down on paper. Grammar, punctuation, hell even language are all pushed to the lower rung of priority as long as the story gets out. Once caught and planted on the page, I can breathe knowing it is not going to escape me. A prized capture, a netted rare specimen, forever in my collection. I have many in my collection, novels, novellas, screenplays, poems, children's stories.

I am not plugged into any specific genre, contemporary fiction, suspense, fantasy, YA, humour, adventure, it's whatever the pen wants, I just hold the thing and it scribbles or scribes.

You have undoubtably stumbled upon here via the Kidlit link, that's great, thanks for dropping in. I had entered Mary's contest several years back hoping to get published, but someone else beat me to the punch. Congrats to them.
But as a writer, I keep on writting and hope that someone will take note of my creative ventures and have some faith in them, enough so to grab at least one of them and get them on the market. It is so hard, as I am sure you can attest. But, not to take away from the agents and publishers out there, there is hope for us little, unknown struggling tortured authors. One word... Smashwords.
I had stumbled upon this site, while trying to get somewhere with the mass volumes that were accumulating in my basement in a box and hidden from the public. Smashwords is an ebook aggrigator, or distributor if you prefer, for some of the largest ebook stores out there. I checked them out and they are very reputable, and one of the first partners with the ibook Store at Apple. Within two weeks, two of my books were listed with Kobo, Sony, Diesel, Barnes and Noble, Chapters/Indigo and the Apple ibook Store. Yeehaaa! Quite the leap from the box in my basement.
Now that they are out there, the fact that I don't have a publisher in the traditional sense, nor a publicist or an agent or a marketing team, it is all up to me to get the word out and do my own marketing. It is not easy, but well worth it when you see the star ratings pop up beside the picture of your book, or that long awaited, dreamy feeling when you know you sold a copy.

Smashwords does all the work. You just have to get your book in the right format and they do the rest. I found a formatter who guarantees his work, and he is listed with Smashwords and with Apple as well, he does great work, and fast. He also formats for Amazon KDP, if you want.

My books published and available on line.

Two fantasy stories, one is 'the Wish', about faeries, but not your average fluffy fairy tale. It is in the same vein as Lord of the Rings, although not as epic, and the same feel as the Spiderwick Chronicles.

'The Christmas Crunch'  is a laugh out loud, family tale for the entire family.

You can check out my books here;
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=van+pornaras

or at Chapters/Indigo
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/home/search/?keywords=van+pornaras&pageSize=12

or at Kobo
http://www.kobobooks.com/search/search.html?q=%22Van+Pornaras%22&t=none&f=author&p=1&s=none&g=both

or on the Apple ibook store, just type in Van Pornaras in the search bar and the wonder of
modern electronics will take you there.


I have struggled for decades to get someone to believe in my works. Rejection is even a welcome response, that is if you even get a response. Write because you have something to say. Polish it so you can show what you have to say, and for the love of your craft get it out there. We as writters, in this new age of ebooks can do that NOW.

A Fleeting Glimpse

Somewhere in the vastness that is the universe, is something that comes to me. Sometimes it is as faint as an angels whisper, sometimes even quieter. With all the noise that is my life, it is hard to hear what this voice is saying. Now there can be the chance that it is my own conscious trying to tell me things, but I know, from experience that what my conscious says, I generally don't want to hear. This other voice, though, I am desperate to listen to.

It is not of this world. It knows about this world, but not from it. It resides somewhere up there. Past the boundaries of our radio and television signals. I know this, for if it caught just a snippet of what is going on down here, it would take off and find another place and person to whisper to. This place is a mess. Argue with me. My life, not as much of a mess as some, but I can't go to bed and watch the news before I fall asleep. I just cant do it. Give me my rose coloured glasses and I'm good. Thank you, goodnight.

Now, equipped with this information, I figure maybe, just maybe, the voice knows about our situations on this little blue planet, and intentionally comes here to haunt and or tease me. I'm sure there are others whose ears are tickled by the aforementioned whispers. For all intents and purposes, let me call them muses. 

For those of you who follow this blog, (and let me tell you I read my stats and know where you are Globally speaking You in Germany, hello. France, United States and Canada. The few of you in Australia and the Ukraine, Sweden), you by now have figure out that I write. Many people write, alot of them better than me and measured by their success and bank deposits. Where was I?....oh yeah, muse.

Those extra-stellar influences come to me when I am not looking for them, but need them. I write to escape. When all is great in my life, I can't write. Sounds like tortured writer syndrome? No, it's not that. I need crap in my life to escape from via the pen and paper. I need to create a world that is different than this one. Not necessarily fantasy, but fiction. Some other kind of here. And I generally have no idea how to create a story line, or characters, sub plots and crisis'. I don't. It is that voice that comes to me when I step outside to have a smoke. I don't smoke inside my house and have to step outside to indulge my vulgar habit, but it is there, in that roofless environ that I can hear that soft subtle voice. It is there that the idea comes to me. Not that I give it birth, that I receive it! Many many years ago a wrote a poem,

My pen has wings, 

A mind of its own.

I, but an instrument of support.

It spills forth my dreams,

tales of a far away love,

of pain too close,

of tears that curse a blazing trail down my cheeks.

I damn the script,

I embrace it.

I am a slave to a creature that has possessed me,

Screaming with a vengeance to escape, in silent form.

And so I write,

Pleasing that part of mer that is not me,

Praying and pleading that it is.

I have spent thousands of hours in front of blank pages waiting for something to come to my mind so I might mar the lines, but to no avail. Until the whisper comes, my mind is as blank as the page before me.