Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Deleted Scenes

One of the things I love about buying DVDs (as opposed to simply watching a streaming movie online) is that the DVDs come with all sorts of extras, including deleted scenes and making-of featurettes.  I love movies, so the insight into the broader picture of the final version of the movie is always fascinating to me.

When you're writing a book, there are loads of deleted scenes, ideas, and notes that never make it into the final manuscript.  Cutting scenes and choosing which scenes to include is a difficult, but necessary, part of the process to writing. 

I remember while working on The Double Stroller Hand Grenade--I got super excited about a particular scene, and kept writing with that furious energy that comes when words just flow.  About 15,000 words later, I realized that I'd deveated from my outline in a serious way, and that I had written myself into a corner.  I tried eveyrthing I could think of to keep those words, but nothing worked.  Going back to the fork in the road and deleting those 15,000 was super painful and hard, but in the end I'm glad I did it.

The same goes for the first chapter of my novel This Side of Eden.  I loved the first chapter--thought it was really great, but ultimately, it didn't add much to the story.  My editors told me as such, but I kept fighting them, insisting that the first chapter was important.  I eventually agreed that it was just fluff, and that the book would be much tighter and less confusing without it.

Fluff, indeed, but it was my fluff, and I liked the fluff--and I still like that particular piece of fluff.  So, I'm including what was the first chapter of This Side of Eden below.  Consider this my "deleted scene" and enjoy.  In the comments, tell me about your experiences with cutting chapters and scenes and characters that you really loved, but that bogged down your story.

(Disclaimer--the chapter below comes from an early draft, so the editing and pacing are a little off...)


I think about that one time, that one time when Eden was laying next to me, her head on my stomach.  That time when we talked and talked.  She smelled like oranges—but she always smelled like oranges.  I ran my fingers through her hair and touched the side of her face.  I could feel her smile on my fingertips.  We lay there together and tried so hard not to fall asleep…
            When I was I child, I always pictured my death as something glorious—a metaphysical reality that transcended everything I’d ever thought of or experienced.  Many times, I would daydream about my death, entertaining the idea that I would be some sort of hero, saving someone or sacrificing my own life for the life of another.  I would dream about these things in the middle of class, or while brushing my teeth, or while eating a bowl of cereal at breakfast. 

            One of my favorite dreams (in my teenage years at least) was a car accident that I would happen upon.  Someone would be seriously injured, rain would be pouring down and splattering into little lakes.  I would jump out of my car and rush to the smashed vehicle, my footsteps creating slow-motion splashes in the puddles as I ran, and the rain swirling unnaturally around. I would reach the person who was bleeding and dying; sometimes the victim was my current girlfriend, and in that case I would cradle her in my arms and kiss her gently, caressing the side of her face.  If it wasn't my girlfriend— it was always a girl—I would perform CPR and save her.  The girl would open her eyes and I would help her to her feet, right as a semi truck careens out of control toward us.  I would push her out of the way, saving her just in time and sacrificing myself for her life.

            Always, I would be laying there, in my last throes of life, my current girlfriend cradling me in her arms—Pearl Jam’s cover of “Last Kiss” playing in the background.

            Other dreams consisted of equally heroic acts like taking bullets, or swinging on vines from nowhere to rescue the princess.

            I have no idea what a psychologist would say about these morbid dreams of being a hero, and really, I have no idea why I had these dreams.  Maybe it was some deep desire to be a hero, or to be loved, or maybe just to be seen by others as something more than the run-of-the-mill, dorky little teenager.

            When Eden came into my life my dreams changed dramatically.  We would be in some type of auditorium, full of people—maybe watching a play, or attending the opera, sometimes married and other times simply lovers.  We would be sitting close, holding hands.  I would squeeze her thigh, like I always do, and she would kiss my neck and my ear and then lay her head on my shoulder like she always does. 

The moment would shatter when we would hear the slamming open of the doors and the marching footsteps, as several hooded criminals, wielding large guns, enter the auditorium.  The criminals would walk right up to the stage and stop the performance.

"You are being held hostage," one of the men would announce in a thick Latin accent, his voice slightly muffled from the ski mask pulled over his face and mouth, "do not try to escape, do not try anything stupid.  If your government is willing to spare you're lives by allowing Cuba to once again export cane sugar to the United States, then you can live."

If we had been attending an opera, even though the performance had stopped, the singing would still continue as dramatic background music to our intertwined fates.

Somehow, while the man is talking, I am I able to slip away and crawl through the rafters and cat walks of the theater.  Before I leave, however, I whisper my love and she nods, knowing what I have to do.  We are, after all, the youngest people in attendance, and the most capable of heroics. 

So I crawl through the rafters, and somehow I would loosen a spotlight, connect it to a long rope and swing it to the stage—hitting one of the masked men and knocking him out of commission.  I swing the light again and knock out another gunman.  The others, by this time, are aware of my presence, so I swing down from the rafters and clobber another gunman, knocking the gun from his hands.  Then I dive for the weapon and train it on another thug, right as the leader fires.  The bullet, of course, will pummel through the air in slow motion and strike me in the chest.

Silence ensues; as people wait for the inevitable spread of blood across my white, button up shirt.  I drop the gun and sink to my knees.  I am sure I would be thinking about the embargo on cane sugar and the injustice of hostage situations, but mostly I would be thinking forlornly about my time with Eden coming to a close.

Faintly, I hear a scream in the distance—Eden is rushing the stage, pushing past the gunmen and sliding in by my side.  Her dress is conservative but sexy, sophisticated but elegant.

She cradles my head in her arms and I feel the hot tears splash down from her eyes to my face—like a warm spring in a heavenly garden, giving life.

Darkness clouds my vision as I stare up at her and smile.  You can't tell someone you love them right there, because if you love them and they love you, words don't matter and the words sometimes just get in the way.  Instead she whispered through her quiet cries, "I'll be reaching for the stars with you…"

"I'm sorry," I whisper softly, drops of blood pooling at the corner of my mouth—but the blood never actually drains down my face because it reminds me too much of vampires, and in my mind, vampires will never be romantic.

"Don't be sorry." She whispers and kisses my ear like she always does. 

"Wait for me," she says so softly I can barely hear.  I smile, but the strain is almost too much.  No pain, just the overwhelming pressure of warmth.

Bright lights and a veil of happiness shroud my vision as the curtain closes on my life.  My daydream ends as I die in her arms, comforted by something strong and unspoken.

Maybe these daydreams were a cry for love, to be needed and wanted and desired.  Obviously, I didn't see myself as a hero, and wanted to be—I wanted to be a hero in her eyes, someone who would give his life for others, knowing that love transcends death.  Morbid and sick as it was, that was my dream.

When I was actually in the last throes of life, when death was staring me in the face, it was not as heroic as I pictured it.  In fact, when the story of my death began, it was someone else as the hero.  And that hero was saving me. 

I am pretty sure that there was no background music, either—just the quiet lapping of water and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.  I had a song on my mind, though, especially at that moment when I saw my wife again.  She was my hero and she saved me.  She didn’t swing on vines, or take a bullet—she was on a sailboat, with furling white sails, marked with splashes of color.

She says, “You didn’t forget?”

I say, “How could I?”

Somehow, the quiet lapping of water on the hull of the small boat disappeared, and I could no longer hear the breeze whispering through trees.  It was just her.
__________________________________

Check out the final version of This Side of Eden on the Kindle, or in paperback. 

Saturday, June 23, 2012

That's Just Life

This will be a short post, but I needed to write down.

First, a little background.  Our youngest daughter, Adelaide Bleu, recently discovered her undying love of toothbrushes.  It's weird, I know, but she loves to carry them around--all the toothbrushes in our house--clutched in her chubby little hands.  Hopefully the stage will pass, but for now, this toothbrush fetish is super cute.  (And only annoying on some occasions, like when you have to brush your teeth, and your toothbrush is gone...)

So a few mornings ago, the family was up and getting ready for the day.  I was brushing my teeth with all three kids in the bathroom doing their routine.  Liam was playing with a spaceship, Zoe brushing her hair, and Adelaide doing her best to get a hold of all the toothbrushes.  I wasn't paying attention, and was startled when my oldest daughter started wailing.  Adelaide had apparently seized Zoe's toothbrush, and in her effort to escape the bathroom, dropped the toothbrush into the toilet.

Zoe was upset because this was her new 'princess' toothbrush from the dentist.  Adelaide, bewildered at the strange reaction of her older sister, proceeded to fish the toothbrush from the toilet (which, thankfully, had clean water.)  I quickly pulled Adelaide from the bowl's edge and started washing her hands.  I told Zoe that we would get her a new toothbrush, but that didn't seem to help her despair.  Liam (who is just turning four), put his hand on Zoe's shoulder and said, with the utmost wisdom of a little kid, "Zoe, sometimes things happen, and that's just life."

"What did you say?" I asked Liam.

"That's just life." He said in all seriousness, and zoomed his spaceship out of the bathroom.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Inspirations (1)


“Where do you get your ideas?”  Is probably the question that I get asked most often, when it comes to writing.  (If it’s not about writing, the question is usually, “why are you so weird?”  And my answer to that is always: dill pickles.)

I’ve read other author blogs and been to author events where this question comes up time and time again.  Authors can’t answer the question because there is no real answer.  Mostly, ideas just come.   Stephen King once said that he gets his ideas from “everything,” and as vague as that is, he nailed it.  Ideas are floating around us all and every once in awhile, these “floating ideas” light the creative fires in your mind. 

In my novel, Impish, the ball got rolling with one of the most bizarre true stories that I’ve heard in my life.  I heard the story while I was clerking at a law firm during law school.  One of my fellow clerks, a smart and funny girl with a dicey track record for recognizing social dos and don’ts, recounted her experience in taking the LSAT.

She had to take the test twice.  The first time she sat down to take the test, she was excited and nervous.  She started answering the questions. About an hour or so into the test, she suddenly got that old, familiar signal from her bladder that she would soon have to leave the room.
Now, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of familiarizing yourself with the LSAT, the trickiest part about that test is the time limit.  Most of the questions can be figured out, if given enough time.  But the test is designed to force you to come up with answers very quickly, and even if you are very quick with your responses, it can still be difficult to answer all the questions in time. 

A couple minutes passed for my friend, who tried her best to ignore the calls of nature, when she realized that this feeling that her bladder was going to explode is not going away.  She knew that if she got up to go to the bathroom, she might not be able to finish the test in time, but she also knew that if she stayed, she would soon be sitting in a puddle.  The decision was a difficult one, and in the end, rather than take a quick bathroom break and do her best to finish the test, she calmly stood up, turned in her test, and signed the form that indicated her forfeiture of her score.

A few months later, she was back in the testing center for round two.  Not wanting to face a similar predicament, she emptied her bladder several times before the test even started, and wore an adult diaper, just in case.
Yep, you read that right.  She wore an adult diaper so that she wouldn’t have to miss any of those precious minutes using the restroom.  Now, I know that people sometimes have to do extraordinary things—like that guy in the fantastic 127 Hours— to survive, and I know that there are people who genuinely need assistance with adult diapers (and I’m not poking fun at that), rather, the situation was so awkward that I could hardly come up with a response.

When I asked her, as discreetly as possible, if she actually had to use the diaper, she just smiled, and wouldn’t say.  From then on, she became known in my mind as the girl who didn’t play with fire or go around kicking hornet’s nests, but instead, chose to wear a diaper. 
The summer ended and we went our separate ways, keeping in touch occasionally, but that story stuck with me.  It became one of the seeds that eventually evolved into my new novel, Impish.

The girl who wore the diaper became a central character in Impish—a friend to the guy who accidently sells his soul to hell.  I wanted to capture the academic passion someone could have, and all the eccentricities that would come along with it.
So, usually dill pickles, but in this case, a crazy story about refusing to take a bathroom break during a test.  Check out Impish: A Comedy of Horrors.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

IMPISH IS NOW AVAILABLE!


IMPISH is the story of a young lawyer named Travis, who accidently sells his soul to Satan in exchange for financial gain and some luck with the women.

The devil is a little too backed up with attorneys, so Travis is instead assigned an Imp to help him with his endeavors, and Hell literally breaks loose. What follows is a hilarious—at times outrageous—adventure as Travis and his Imp try to break free from the clutches of eternal damnation.

Only $3.99 on the Kindle$3.99 on the Nook, and  $14.99 in paperback.

Get your copy today! (and thanks for the support!)

The Perfect Escape



The part when the rain poured in sheets, and the two kids were stuck inside the Land Rover, with one kid holding a flashlight, both of them deathly still and afraid, while a Tyrannosaurus Rex stomped around outside. The thumping of its approach, the tiny ripples in the cup of water and the puddles of mud. Or the part, with the same two kids huddled behind the stainless steel kitchen counter, listening to the faint clicking of the approaching Raptor’s monstrous claw.  Or what about the time, near the beginning of the film, when you first see the herds of dinosaurs grazing.  Do you remember the magnificence of that moment?  It was amazing!  Something I’d never dreamed of seeing with my own eyes! 

I know there were many occasions before this, when I truly escaped, but this experience certainly impacted me the most. I remember I was in elementary school (4th grade).  I remember gripping the arms of my chair like I’d never done before—and have scarcely done since.  I remember where I was sitting in the movie theater, the smells, the sounds of quick breathing and shrieks. 

Jurassic Park was the first of many experiences like that—where I fell 100% into the moment and was carried away with the story, the characters, the thrills and chills.  I picked up the source novel by Michael Crichton and it was one of the first reading experiences that blew my mind.  I fell in love with books and the worlds that they opened.  Books like Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, The Rainmaker by John Grisham, ‘Salem’s Lot by Stephen King, The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin, Summer of the Monkeys by Wilson Rawls, Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card and hundreds more.  I loved escaping into those stories, not because I had to escape, but because it was so much fun.  Although time is short these days, I still love to open a good book—I look forward to a great movie, or a visit to an art museum.  Writing has been a natural extension of that passion.  I get swept away in the worlds that I create as a writer—and it has opened up endless possibilities of imagination and escape.

So let me ask you this: do you remember the first time that you were carried away? Do you remember the first time that through a piece of art, a movie, book, or whatever, you left behind your everyday worries and escaped for a few moments? 

My new novel, Impish, is that kind of escape.  I think all my writing is rooted in this love of being swept away with stories, of getting so caught up in a book that you don’t notice you’ve been reading for hours.  Impish has that sort of adventurous spirit that pulls you in and doesn’t let up.  And why do I tell you this? 

Because I’d like to invite you to give IMPISH a try. 

As of today, it’s for sale on Amazon.com (only $3.99), the Nook ($3.99), and in your favorite bookstore.  My goal in writing this book was to make you smile and laugh out loud, to grip the arms of your chair and to… escape and have little fun.  

Impish is one of those stories—and I know you’ll love it.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Play That Game of Checkers


I went on a date last night with my wife.  We went to this fantastic little restaurant in Coconut Grove called Jaguar—famous for its ceviche, and rightfully so.  After dinner, we went to see The Avengers (like everyone else in the world, it seems J).  The evening was very pleasant—a much needed respite from daily stresses and challenges.

We got home late, said goodbye to the babysitter, and we checked in on the kids.  As soon as their walked through their bedroom door, my son opened his eyes and smiled at me.  He sat up sleepily and whispered, “Dad, is it time to play our game?”

My heart sunk.  He’d been asking to play a game of checkers for several days, and with everything going on (those confounded daily stresses and challenges) I’d delayed the game that he was so looking forward to.  Even worse, because of my work schedule, it had been nearly two days since I’d seen my kids awake. 

After tucking him in bed and watching him fall almost instantly asleep (he really was too tired for the game, despite his excitement), I fell asleep thinking about those little moments that we lose with our kids, our loved ones, our friends.  I thought about all the times that we get so caught up in everything going on in life, that we forget to actually live—to enjoy the world around us and the relationships we have.  I thought about that precious little girl, Avery, who was diagnosed with a terminaldisease at such a young age, and her parents who made a bucket list of all the things they wanted to do with her before she passed on from her short life.  Needless to say, I promised myself that I would play that game of checkers with my son.

A few days ago, I was invited to speak and do a reading at an art club.  I read the first chapter from my newest novel, IMPISH, which also involved a father’s game of checkers with his daughter that will never be played.  (This was purely a coincidence, as I wrote that scene more than a year ago—and have only been thinking about it recently as I’m gearing up for the release of IMPISH on May 17, 2012).  I realized that for all of the outrageousness of Impish, the dark humor, offbeat characters, and crazy plot twists, an underlying theme that I kept returning to, is this idea to make every moment of life count—before it’s too late.  Now, I don’t think that we’re all going to hell as the father in this book inadvertently did (I promise that IMPISH is more lighthearted and fun than it sounds ), but life marches on and will inevitably end one day.

So today, put aside the stress and challenge of your everyday endeavors and play that game of checkers.  That’s what I’m going to do.


Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Ah, life in these digital times...



Do you remember compiling mix tapes?  You know, when you’d record songs onto a cassette tape for playback on your walkman, or to blast in your car stereo?  Do you remember when the process to make a mix tape became a whole lot easier with the advent of the dual cd/tape recorder?  For that matter, do you remember when CDs came out?  And then personal computers, CD burners, and the inevitable death of said mix tapes?

I don’t consider myself to be of an advanced age by any means—although the big 3-0 keeps ticking a bit closer, and I feel more and more like an old fogy—but I have seen technology change at an incredible pace. 

I remember that the first DVD I watched was the James Bond flick: Tomorrow Never Dies.  I was blown away by the clear picture, but I quickly became wary of how easily the DVDs scratched.  I grew convinced that the whole DVD movement was a clever marketing scheme to compel consumers to re-buy DVDs that’d become unwatchable due to scratches.  I just knew that DVDs were a fad that would fade almost as quickly as it had risen up.  To prepare for what I saw as an inevitable decline in DVD popularity, I started stocking up on VHS movies.

Yeah, I haven’t seen a VCR in about ten years now, maybe even longer.  All those VHS tapes that I so lovingly collected have gone the way of so many technological advancements, now defunct.  It constantly amazes me how the times and technology change.

I was again reminded of those changes when my kids ran aground with one of their toys.  Now, as a bit of background: my kids are no strangers to technological advancements, and although they haven’t tried the ‘ipad’ swipe on books and magazines to turn pages, they’ve been thoroughly flummoxed when the television or computer screen didn’t respond to their touch. 

On this particular occasion, I realized just how far things had changed from when I was a kid.  My son and daughter were playing outside when they spotted a some interesting bugs.  After a several minutes of inspection with their naked eyes, they decided to pull out their magnifying glasses to get a closer look.  For a few minutes, they seemed confused with the circular glass encased in plastic.  They turned the magnifying glasses over in their hands a couple of times and finally held them up to my wife.

            “How do you turn this on?” My daughter asked.  She gave it a shake and suddenly noticed the distorted image through the glass.  (I’m not entirely sure why she didn’t notice it before, but alas…)

            “Oh never mind, I got it,” she said.  My daughter showed her younger brother how to turn his magnifying glass “on” with a quick shake of the wrist, and they ran outside to inspect the bugs.

            Ah, yes, life in these digital times.  It’s a constant reminder to get my kids out of the house to experience things that don’t have power switches.  And all the while, you can’t help but chuckle at the effect of all those changes on our lives.

--Derrick Hibbard

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

IMPISH

Available May 17, 2012, wherever books are sold!


IMPISH is about a young lawyer named Travis who accidently sells his soul to Satan in exchange for financial gain and some luck with the women. 

The devil is a little too backed up with attorneys, so Travis is instead assigned an Imp to help him with his endeavors, and Hell literally breaks loose.  What follows is a hilarious—at times outrageous—adventure as Travis and his Imp try to break free from the clutches of eternal damnation.

Available wherever books are sold, May 17, 2012

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The day law school almost killed me...

I still remember the circumstances surrounding the start of my law school experience like it was yesterday.  I finished the last day of classes for my undergraduate degree on Tuesday, then immediately packed up my wife and two kids, drove more than 2,000 miles, moved into our new apartment, and started law school on the following Monday.  Despite being physically and mentally exhausted from the move, I was excited for the beginning of a new era in my life.  I was early to class on the first day, sitting there all nervous and jittery, and I couldn’t wait to meet my classmates, my professor, and get down to the business of studying law.

As it turns out, everyone had already gotten down to business. 

“Please open your books to Johnson v. M’Intosh, which I trust all of you have read and briefed.” The professor said, curtly, and called on one of my classmates to give a summary of the facts.  To my surprise, that classmate started restating the facts of the case, which, until a few seconds before, I’d never even seen.  And then we got to the next case, and the next case, and the next case, until we’d gone through 6 or 7 cases, learned some surprisingly complex legal theories, and thoroughly bludgeoned my brain.

I stopped one of my classmates at the end of the hour and asked how everyone knew which cases to read, and that person (who later became one of my closest friends in law school) told me about the reading assignments we’d received by email.  I knew that my face paled at that moment because I could literally feel the blood draining from my body as I realized that in all the fuss from moving across the country, I’d failed to check my email.  I was frozen in place as everyone filed out of the classroom and into the next.

I had three classes that day, and none of them went very well.  I stayed in the law library until very late that night to read all the cases I should have read, and then the cases that were assigned for the next day.  After getting a few hours of sleep, I was back again in the same seat I’d been in the day before.  I was prepared to answer questions, but I was already feeling the first tinges of burn-out.  Over the following weeks, the feeling that I was drowning became more and more a part of my life.  And it wasn’t just me.  Most of my classmates were struggling not only with the work load, but with the task of absorbing many difficult concepts each day, and transferring that information into a manageable system of study to prepare for the quickly approaching exams.

I couldn’t figure out why I was struggling so much.  I had read several law school prep books, and I had spoken to many lawyers and law students about how to manage the work load, but I was missing something.  Whatever I was doing wasn’t working, but there had to be a trick, or something, because I knew that law students eventually figured it out to the point where they were bored during the third year.  I didn’t want to wait for the third year to know what was going on, so I sat down and made a list of everything that I was doing each day.

The list grew and grew, until I realized that I was doing too much.  I needed to be more efficient with everything I did each day.  I didn’t have a choice, because I was going crazy.

In order to become more efficient and effective, I made a list of what needed to happen or not happen each day.  I stuck to that list until they became habits, and before long, it was working.  I was getting what I needed to get out of law school, and I was enjoying life.  Developing a set of habits worked for me, so I thought: why not share it with others?  The result was my first book to be traditionally published: Law School Fast Track.

I put everything that worked into this book, and left out all the fluff that didn’t work.  The finished product was a short, easily digestible book that contained only the stuff that would help a student become a better, more efficient student and ultimately find success.  I purposely left it very short in order to maintain the quality of the advice.

I applied the same principles in my follow-up book, College Fast Track.  I felt then, and still feel very strongly now, that the college (and law school) experience is something to enjoy.  It is also a springboard for your future, so it is important that the experience is not squandered.  You’ve got to have fun, you’ve got to enjoy college and law school for what they are, but you’ve also got to set a successful future in motion.  You can do that with the advice found in these books.

Now, I didn’t write these books because it was super fun for me.  Contrary to popular belief, writing about study techniques is not the roller coaster it seems to be.  No, I wrote these books because the advice and suggestions in these books worked.  I found success as a student with the stuff found here, and I know that you can to.  If you don’t want to take my word for it, follow these links to hear what others have said:  LSFT, CFT.

So if you are smack in the middle of college or law school, or are about to start, give these books a try.  If you know someone in college or law school, these books will make great gifts.  You can find them wherever books are sold and on your Amazon Kindle.  Follow this link for more options.

Thanks for stopping by.  I’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below, or you can find me on Facebook or Twitter.  You can also find more information about law school and college on twitter with: @EDUfasttrack