I now fancy myself a writer. Not a wannabe, not a person who buys the “The Writer’s Market” each year with every intent to start that magazine article, screenplay or great American novel. When I was that person, I decided it wasn’t until I had some amount of work completed, that I could consider myself to be a writer. At that stage, unfinished, casting about for a better short story, wishing I could think of a novel plot, imagining myself with some acclaim after the fact, I was a wannabe, not even an aspiring, not a beginning, not even one who takes a night class to learn, writer.

I decided I was simply a yearning writer. Circumstances combined to give me the opportunity, as a function of the “real” work I was doing, to write a book. Ok, it was a non-fiction missive on capital generation for small companies – (I see your eyes glazing over) and at over 600 pages (so to did my eyes). But I finished it, did a pretty fair job writing it and marketing it to a publisher, and I soon found myself with the most magical of all things, a check for having been a writer. Still, I couldn’t find a way to convince myself that I was a writer. I was something other in my mind. I was a business guy imparting information. I was a guy with 600 pages of client content that would help them reach a business goal, I was a guy waiting for my publisher to tell me the book was printed, on the shelves and ready to make me cash flush enough to be a real writer, I was finally a guy with … a phone call from my publisher that told me my book was dead on delivery. It seemed the market had changed and some significantly impactful regulatory events had, well caused your eyes to glaze yet again. So, was I a writer? I had cashed that check, made a car payment or ten, gone out to a nice dinner and couldn’t somehow still feel like a writer. I forged on, massaging short stories to longer, and finally came up with a great premise that I presented to a friend I thought of as some form of a writer and was told, “Dude, this reads like a screenplay, you should sell it as that.” Sure I thought no problem. A book or two from the store and I was on the way to, learning I didn’t know a damned thing about screenplays but I really liked them. A few trips to conferences, some time in LA, the right cowboy boots and jacket with minimal bling and I felt part of the crowd. I turned the short story into a screenplay, changed everything, including the names of the guilty and went on my way. I did a pitch meeting and was told, “Dude, great story, it should be a novel.” I almost burned my cowboy boots, I did toss out my bling and the next thing I knew, (next thing means many, many months) I had a novel and a realization that I had atrocious spelling and grammar. I gave the story, Dead Play to a friend who edits, and suddenly I still was atrocious, but the story wasn’t. (Thanks to Rose the Reader). Now I had a novel that was as they say, length about 102,000 words. I gave it to readers, and waited. I hate the waiting part. I got more grammar hints but more importantly, I got phone calls that could be edited down to “You (insert readers favorite curse words) how could you kill that person, I threw the book, you are a bastard and one of my favorite comments, “I knew that bitch couldn’t be trusted, Mr. Raun I don’t like you very much right now”. I do love an emotive read. The more they cussed the more like a writer I felt. All of that down, and I finally felt like a writer, I continued to work on screen plays, draft novel outlines to books two and three of the Dead Play Trilogy and somehow found myself in a position to look at better ways to market the book. All of that back story (I love a good back story) brings us to this blog Some of the coming attractions, Critics (alive, dead and should be dead ones), the writers process, books to help with that, the moment to moment events that fill writers lives and souls and all aspects of the life that I wish to lead more than any other. If you are a writer, a wannabe, a published god of words or one with nothing more than a passing interest and a mouse pad, please feel free to add to our environment. This is supposed to be the place I always wished I could find as a new writer. Help me make it so and you will be one step closer to the karma needed to allow the words to flow like a river from your mind to your page.