Author Archives: Kevin
Celeste and the Eyes of the Demon (Part One), by Kevin Lazarus
(Excerpt From: Celeste and the Eyes of the Demon – by Kevin Lazarus)
NOTE from the author: Wednesday and Monday I’m sharing with you excerpts from my latest short story. Friday, we’ll have another guest blog about writing or the entertainment industry. Thanks and enjoy! K. Lazarus
The moon hung low on the horizon–enormous and bright. Moonbeams so brilliant they lit up the darkness–casting shadows as the noonday.
A single house on a large estate stood solitary in the magical glow–frost forming on the neatly manicured lawn. A Victorian porch, tidy and elegant, sat quiet as the night. Shadows through the railings–flowing down from pillars and posts–appeared stark and twisted against the siding of the house. A calico cat nestled in a white rocker slept as the chair gently teetered in an autumn breeze, its runners clicking against the wooden slats on the porch.
As if mist was gathering, a curious shadow gradually appeared against the porch stairs, slowly rising with each step–at first blending with other shadows on the porch. Then, passing from post shadow to post shadow, as if it were longing for darkness, it stood directly before the front door.
A bony hand, leathery and pale, holding a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, gently placed it on the stoop. With a friendly tap of the finger on the box, the shadowy figure stood and quietly disappeared with the next gust of autumn air.
As Carol Chandler left her home, she didn’t have time to notice the incredible snow capped panorama surrounding her Denver estate. She was late for work. As she fumbled with her car keys and her briefcase in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other–an overly stuffed file folder tightly under her arm–she nearly crushed the obscure package. With growing frustration, she set down her coffee cup and picked up the box. more »
The Basement (Part Three), by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
CONTINUED from Monday…Click here for Part Two and here for Part One.
Now I was worried. Especially if the basement door was open! My heart sank as I stared down into the dark stairwell, realizing that something could be there right now, looking up at me. I swallowed hard on that one. Worse, I couldn’t seem to move. I wanted to run back to my room, back to my bed where I could hide under my covers, but I couldn’t leave. After a moment, I decided that if there was something down there, it probably would’ve done something by now. I forced myself to move a little closer. Almost immediately, there was a sudden crash from below. Almost as if it could sense me and was responding to my movements. Every muscle in me jumped and then stiffened. With several measured breaths, I forced myself to move to the top step. more »
The Basement (Part Two), by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
CONTINUED from Friday…Click here for Part One
I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep until I had answers. I went to the door and opened it as quietly as possible. Holding my breath, I looked out at a dark hallway. I’d expected to see some kind of light shinning from my mother’s room or some other part of the house, partially lighting up the hall.
I figured that this was a bad sign. But then, maybe he’d decided not to wake her by turning on a light. It was possible, I thought, he could’ve just gone down to the basement. Walking as quietly as possible, I started down the hall. Somewhere mid hallway, the noises from the basement seemed to become louder. I froze, thinking it was my stepfather coming back to bed. But, the curious sounds continued and he never showed up. With that I convinced myself to keep going. And as I got closer to their bedroom door I discovered that it was sitting wide open. more »
The Basement (Part One), by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
Somewhere between the silence of my bedroom and the darkness, I found myself staring at the ceiling. Disoriented, my eyes followed it across and down to my closet door, sitting slightly ajar. The long slender opening was apparent only because it was darker than the night in my room. I half expected to see the door move all by itself, opening further. With that image in my head, a chill flowed through me as I rolled over in my bed and hid my face. I’d been asleep for awhile, yet for some unknown reason I was now awake. Though being awakened in the middle of the night was not an uncommon experience for me. Often it would happen when my mother and my stepfather were having one of their many arguments, screaming and yelling at each other late at night.
Unable to sleep, I rolled back over and looked around my room carefully. The street light shining through my bedroom window gave me some light to see by, but it was of little comfort. Memories of that night and the shadow from that window were still fresh in my mind. I tried shrugging it off as I continued looking over my room. Everything was right where I had left it; my clothes hanging on the chair in the corner; my dresser–with several of the drawer’s partially open–untouched.
It seemed that there wasn’t much in my room or my life, for that matter, that didn’t have disturbing memories attached to it. I pulled the blankets closer grateful for the warmth–and buried my face in my pillow trying to hide my eyes.
I had no idea why I was awake. And though I couldn’t put my finger on it, there was something off about my surroundings. It was almost as if in the twilight everything in my room had a strange shine to it. It was then that I realized that this was one of those times, when weird stuff would happen.
I glanced back at the closet door and cringed. The words quietly slipped out of my mouth. “Please don’t move.” more »
Fostering Multiple Revenue Streams, by David Farland
David Farland
(From David Farland’s Daily Kick in the Pants)
You probably know that I’ve trained a lot of successful authors over the years. I was listening to some of them teaching at a writing seminar last week, and it struck me that those authors who have succeeded best in this field are those who learned one of my first lessons best: Foster Multiple Revenue Streams.
What does this mean? Well, many authors, the ones who fail, typically publish a novel and sell the North American rights to it, then try to write another novel and do the same, again and again and again. Eventually something happens and their revenue stream gets blocked—either they can’t deliver a manuscript on time, or a publisher squeezes them in harsh negotiations, and the author suddenly runs out of money and has to go back to work in another field.
But successful authors look for ways to create several revenue streams. Very often, this means that the author might write in two different fields. For example, I write adult fantasy and middle grade books. If one revenue stream gets blocked, I’ve always got another.
You can have all sorts of revenue streams. For example, selling foreign rights can be very lucrative. Many authors who don’t make a lot of money in the United States, for example, might be very popular in other countries—the United Kingdom, Germany, Japan, and so on. I’ve known authors who don’t even publish in the United States anymore, but who make a living on foreign sales.
Authors can make money in a host of other ways—through speaking fees, by teaching, by writing in different mediums (for example, if you’re writing a novel about an entomologist, you might do some research on ants, and write articles for magazines on the topic in order to gain some expertise in the field).
So each year, I keep track of my anticipated revenue sources. Here are my sources for the coming year:
1. Screenplay sale for Runelords. (I’ve been approached by a producer to write the screenplay and put the film into production.) more »
Dark Whispers, by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
The sky looked dark, even menacing. Happily, the driveway was empty. Of course, I couldn’t say that I was sorry he wasn’t there–the man with two faces.
I was home from school at what should have been the normal time, because, according to my teacher she had some kind of emergency and had to leave early. So I didn’t need to stay for my usual after school sessions.
As I opened the back door to my house, I called out my mother’s name and listened in vain. I knew she wouldn’t answer–she wasn’t there–she was never there. But, like many children, hope is often the only companion they have, so I called to her anyway.
The silence was stark but expected. I slipped the house key hanging around my neck back beneath my shirt and closed the door behind me. The loneliness was all too familiar. By now, I had gotten over feeling cheated or angry–at least I thought so. Having no one there once in awhile is a blast, even fun, but all of the time. Eventually you begin to wonder if anyone really gives a damn about you. Then throw in a messed up freak that wants you to call him dad, and this unfortunate place called Carthage Falls, and its way more than anyone deserves in ten lifetimes.
The clock on the wall in the kitchen told me that I had at least several hours before he came home. Hopefully, mom would get there first. My heart sank at that thought. “Come home first mom–please–” With that whisper, I quietly grimaced. I found myself wishing that I could go over to my friend’s, but they had some family thing planned and it didn’t include me.
The fridge didn’t have much to offer. But, things being the way there were, I had learned to be resourceful. In the butter keeper was a cube of butter. Yes, I thought, a treat! I flipped open the cover and took it. With that, I opened the bread box and retrieved the half loaf of bread in it, and then–a bottle of Maple syrup.
A long ribbon of dark Maple syrup slowly flowed out over the plate until I was satisfied it was enough. I hacked off a large hunk of butter and began smashing it into the syrup with a fork.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows and shook the house. I grabbed my plate along with several slices of bread and hurried to the kitchen table near the window, from where I could watch the gathering storm outside. Tearing a piece of bread apart, I pushed it around in the mixture, sopping up as much butter and syrup as I could; soaking the bread so thoroughly that it would ooze syrup when I squeezed it. It was like biting down on a soft squishy sponge that just melted in my mouth. Outside great gusts of wind blew flurries of snow in every direction. Little white flakes sticking against the glass would slowly melt as they slid down into a droplet. Within seconds everything outside was a blinding white–and I watched in awe. It was a total whiteout. more »
Turning Your Novel into a Screenplay, by David Farland
David Farland
(From David Farland’s Daily Kick in the Pants)
Recently I’ve been hired to turn my first Runelords novel into a screenplay. I’m nearly finished with the last book in the series, and I want to complete that first, but it’s not too soon to begin thinking about the challenge—and it is a challenge. Always remember that the book is not the movie. They’re different mediums. A book is long enough so that you normally can’t just remove the excess description and still have a workable movie. You need to simplify the plot—not all of it, just the right parts.
So as I prepare to write the Runelords screenplay, I think I should go over the history of the project, first, so that you can understand why I want to take on the challenge.
Many of you know that I began writing the book in 1996, or at least began plotting it then. I plotted the novel knowing that it had excellent potential as a film and videogame franchise, so I made sure that as I plotted it, I kept the special effects budgets fairly inexpensive (it’s easy to write a novel that would cost a billion dollars to make into a movie), and I paid attention to creating a story that I would want to see as a movie.
As the books began hitting the New York Times bestseller list, interest in them heated up. In 2001 I was invited to take a trip to China with some movie producers to see about filming the movies there, and I took another trip in 2002. I decided against working in China at the time, but began a development company in 2002 and helped raise millions of dollars to create the movie. more »
The Monster’s Ball, by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
“Dude—that night when your step dad came in yelling at us, did he even ask why we were so scared?” Brett stared at me, waiting for my answer. Somehow, during our lunchtime discussion, of just about every gross thing we could imagine, Brett zeroed in on that night—and the shadow. We weren’t alone, sitting at our favorite table. Kelly and some other kid named Derek, who wasn’t there that night, were sitting with us—participating in the gross fest.
Irritated with Brett’s diversion, I realized what it was that had caused the course change. In my attempt to one up the other guys, I brought up the old man barging into my room, showing up in his BVDs. I figured that there were enough witnesses to that night sitting at the table; it would be an easy win.
Of course, Brett refused to concede. But the others were backing me up. That is until Brett decided to point out the fact that my step father was a little hinky—walking around like that—especially with a bunch of kids being there.
“I know he’s weird—what can I say—I didn’t pick him!” It was a mouthful to spit out all at once, but I was embarrassed. I didn’t want any of them to think that I was related to him in any way, other than by my mother’s marriage to him.
Anger flooded through me at Brett’s trickery—he knew how I felt about my stepfather. He knew that I hated him and that it would throw me off, bringing him up. Brett was pretty sharp that way. At this moment he could see I was pretty upset too. All of sudden he gave me a friendly nudge and said: “Tell the guys some of the things he does to you!”
I stared at him in shock, becoming angrier at his continued violation of my trust. It seemed to me that this kid didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut! It would’ve been one thing if he was sincerely concerned for me. But it seemed to me it was a peculiar fascination; like I was one of those bugs he’d trap and then torture mercilessly—all the while wearing that slight slip of smile—his sinister little grin.
The thought of revealing too much about my life was unnerving. But the prodding of my friends to “continue” was hard to resist. Somehow, my thoughts drifted past my desire for revenge against Brett, and with a long paused breath, started—hoping that I truly was in the company of friends.
My words faltered a little, awkwardly tumbling out of my mouth as I began to speak. “Well—one time he pinned me to the floor. I think he thought we were having fun, but I was stinking scared. He pinned my arms down and my legs so I couldn’t move—” more »
Shadow of the Hand, by Kevin Lazarus
Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls
(From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Anthology – by Kevin Lazarus)
The old orchard wouldn’t soon be forgotten. Often on our way home Brett and I would stop near the grassy path and tempt ourselves with the possibilities—of running headlong down the path. Not stopping at the old tractor and not exploring for new discoveries, but just running hard; cutting loose, pulling out all of the stops to temp fate—just for the thrill of it!
We would laugh and push one another, taunting the other to move closer to the head of the trail. So close to the branch covered opening that we could feel the hair bristle at the back of our necks. And then run frightened—like the little kids we were—back to the sidewalk; where often we would find Carly watching us, staring at us like fools. There was something about her? It would be sometime before I would dare to venture down that path again. Not for one second would I have guess that it would be by myself and that my worst fears would be realized…
Autumn birthdays and Halloween all jumbled into to one. With enough cake and candy to give an elephant a sugar high, it was most excellent! Add to that a sleepover and it made for one sweet trick-or-treat night. By that evening we had canvassed the entire neighborhood and returned to riffle through our booty.
I sat and watched Brett, dressed like a pirate (we were both pirates—no surprise there), drooling over a pile of candy that would choke an elephant. The two of us and several other friends had all of our candy on the carpet in mounds, going through it, counting it to see who had the most. And that kid, the one with the most, would be Peter. He was that kid that, not matter what he did, he almost always seemed to come out on top. Like a little miser, he kept scooping it all back into one massive pile, with a boyish grin, while laughing a sinister laugh and repeating over and over, “read ‘em and weep boys!” Yeah—he went as a cowboy.
Stuffed with candy and hotdogs from dinner, and cake from my birthday—and more candy, we retired to my bedroom to tell scary stories, and of course—eat more candy.
We sat in a circle, still dressed in our costumes, each taking a turn trying to scare each other. We passed around a flashlight, holding it under our chins to make our faces look creepy. Brett told the last story—The Hand—which freaked me out. He took particular delight in laying it on heavy, adding every creepy detail he could think of. We were scared out of our minds.
Daniel, this pudgy little kid that I grew to like because of his sincerity, suddenly went off on Brett, “you aren’t all that scary!” With that, the banter intensified resulting in a little shoving match between Daniel and Peter, because Peter disagreed with Daniel—he thought Brett was plenty scary. Finally, Brett broke it up by revealing to the others that I had some real scary stories to tell; bragging about the orchard and then telling them that I had been hearing creepy footsteps at night while walking home. Brett and the others suddenly got real silent staring at me. “Go on,” Brett whispered, “tell ‘em what happened to you!” more »
Evaluating the Value of Your Movie Option, by David Farland
David Farland
(From David Farland’s Daily Kick in the Pants—Making the Runelords Movie)
So let’s say that you’ve written a short story or a novel, and a producer comes along and wants to buy your movie option. How much is it worth?
That’s a good question. Right now I’m negotiating a large contract. When I first spoke to one producer, he was surprised that I’d ask for so much for the movie rights to a book (we’re into seven figures). But when I explained the reasoning behind the valuation method, he said, “You’re absolutely right. This property is worth millions—probably more than you’re asking for—, and I’m happy to sign.”
So you, as an author you want as much as you can reasonably get. The producer will of course will want to negotiate as good a deal as he can get. There will almost always be some dickering.
There are a lot of complexities to this, but here are some thoughts. Please note that these method of evaluation a price aren’t cumulative. You choose only one method.
1) In Hollywood, an “idea” for a motion picture is worth a minimum of about $25,000. I know this because a few years ago I met a writer who went to studios and pitched one-line concepts. If the studio liked the concept, “A story about a homeless man who lives under the Statue of Liberty,” they’d pay him $25,000. Now, this was eight years ago when I met the pitch artist, so if you adjust for inflation, you might be able to get that raised a bit.
This number gives you a minimum. If you’re a no-name author who just sold a short story, and the producer wants to base a movie on your story idea, but this is going to be a very low-budget production, then this gives you the floor amount for just about any property. more »
