C.M. HalsteadC.M. Halstead

My writing process and how to create one of your own.

By C.M. Halstead

You are dying, dying to do something. Empower yourself.

I am disappointed in you, my fellow human beings. I mean really?

Are we such victims that we can’t even hold ourselves accountable to the simplest things?

You cross a solid yellow line while driving, get a ticket, beat it in court…. Somehow. Wait, you are telling me that the rules in place aren’t really in place? If I can convince through debate and argument that your rule isn’t really your rule, then it does not apply to me. Just everyone else.

Empower yourself: “Yes, your honor. I screwed up. I will improve.”

 

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

Are we really that weak? That we can’t even admit when we succumb to the most basic of our instincts and habits, that we actually did it. Lets try the power stance instead.

Empower yourself: “I had sexual relations with that woman. I broke the commitment to my wife. It has nothing to do with whether or not I can lead this country. Now, fuck off. Its between me and my wife. It is adultery after all, not treason.”

 

Yes. Yes we came to what is now known as the continental United States, and pushed out of our way the human beings already living here, moved in and made it ours. Then, told the new owners to fuck off (Jolly Ole England) and slowly took over the place. Every since then, immigrants keep arriving, it is what keeps this country fresh and thriving. Keeps YOU from having to dig ditches if you don’t want to. Unless you are into that kind of thing, then by all means, dig away. Don’t worry, some immigrant will gladly work in that cube farm for you.

Empower yourself: STOP living as a victim!

It is only your fault if you are living where you don’t want to, it is only your fault if you are in a relationship you don’t want to be in, it is only your fault if you are unhappy with my life. It is NOT the fault of the far left, or the far right, or anyone in between. It is not the cops, it is not the government, it is not the person who abused you as a child, it is nobody but you…and your beliefs that keep YOU from being whom YOU want to be. Be. Don’t wait. Be.

Empower yourself: “I will change my life. I am going to (Insert statement here). I am not a victim, even if I once was. I forgive myself for living as a victim, it is not my fault. I didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t deserve that.”

Fuck people. Really? Do you really believe that the government, your boss, your accountant, your parent (I’m talking to the adults on this one) has your power? Here is the fucker: only if you give it to them.

Instead try this:
“I’m a badass motherfucker. I got this.”

Now look in the mirror and say it. That thing you’ve been to afraid to say to the most important person in your life that influences who you are & who you aren’t: You.

Empower yourself.
Possible videos:

Retrain your mind (taking ownership and working the five second window)

Welcome to the grind (its about the ethos. “How bad do you want it.”)

Rise up/Wake up (Allowing yourself to be great, the grind.)

Life like a King or Queen (facing our demons and taking away our crutches)

By C.M. Halstead

It’s a frosty morning on the Colorado Plateau

It’s a frosty morning on the Colorado Plateau. It is almost time for us to head towards lower elevation for the winter. Life between 50 & 90 degrees is the goal and frost is a significant indicator of temperatures below that mark.

My mission up here is mostly accomplished for this year, ‘The Mongers’ is released to the world. (I hope you read it. It is a distinct path that the United States may be on. History agrees!) a few readers have said it is “almost prophetic”. Which is why it has the possibility to be banned…. Read and review it on Amazon.

In the meantime, as you are coming to learn about me, I have already moved on to finishing up the next story. In this case, ‘Earned Innocence’ a misnomer if there ever was one. Although if anyone has earned the right to regain their innocence in my mind, it is those that have sacrificed themselves in some way for the greater good. Did/Do you have the cojones for that?
I am ecstatic about finishing up this cathartic military fiction novel just in time for this year’s NaNoWriMo!

Last year during national novel writing month, I wrote the rough draft of my first phycological thriller and I am looking forward to roughing out book two of that three book series. This is a storyline that will make you go, “holy shit” on more than one occasion.

Many of you at this point are thinking, “That’s cool, but what about book three of The Tripper Series?” I wrote 25,000 words of that book over the summer while traveling. The storyline is strong already, and I also already know one of my beta readers is going to be angry ;) But, the story goes, where the story goes, and who am I to derail that. Book three is slated for release in the spring of 2017.

As I write this, I wonder if I will ever catch up on my stories. Part of me hopes not. Although I do look forward to a point where I can afford to pay someone to do the rough editing, final editing and content editing so I can focus just on getting the stories out of me. They are arguing to be next, and keep me up at night talking to me. I once had someone ask me if I hear voices, my response was, “Not in the way that you are thinking.” :)

So, as I dive into the final stages of ‘Earned Innocence’ I ask you to go onto Amazon and Goodreads to rate and review the stories of mine that you have read. The more ratings I have, the more likely a stranger is going to read one of my works, it is on after that. It is easy to tell I am doing what I was put on this planet to do. I feel congruent and it shows!

Thanks for all your support,

C.M. Halstead

By C.M. Halstead

It is time to Know or Die.

The contents below are an excerpt from ‘Earned Innocence’, a cathartic military fiction novel I plan to release this winter, in the year of 2016.

‘Earned Innocence’ is written in first person. My intention is to put the reader in the boots of the person transitioning from youth into a warrior, and then afterwards, having to muster the strength to face the demons that dwell in their brain.

It is my belief that we all have demons we have to face. Here is an excerpt from a character that is facing one that has developed into a living entity:

 

“I awaken from the light sleep … I smell him coming. The wind wafts his scent in my direction, just a taste on the wind. He is good, he is always good, this time, the wind betrays him just enough to alert me to his presence.
The rotten smells of vegetation stewing in stagnation mixed with the sweat of ages of betrayed warriors, blood, urine, shit, stale cigarettes, failure and defeat intertwined with death alert my nostrils to his presence. Just a slight scent wafted in by the breeze. The demon had stopped the wind with his powers yet the times are changing, so the earth sneaks off a breeze to help this human sleeping in its playground.
I go back to sleep on the surface; my insides are humming. Focusing the energy, I calm it a bit. He stopped his approach. Perhaps he feels something is not right?

The demon approaches the man it has been torturing; he is ready to be finished off. His will broken and bent he will be served as a snack for all that are present when the demon returns to its asylum.
A hard wind is blowing as it approaches; pausing, the demon waves its hand, the air goes completely still. He can’t have it giving him away so close to his victory.
Slithering its way along the cliff-face, it drags itself along the crease between the greenery and the sandstone, a tight squeeze, the demon morphs its body to the contours, absorbing and discharging objects as it moves restoring them to their previous shapes, now tainted with the demon’s essence.
The demon stops, something isn’t right. Is the man awake? Is he not there? The demon’s hackles are up, it pauses there and waits for an eternity. The man feels different, is he really asleep? Is it too late, have I played with him for too long?
Taking two quick sniffs at the air the demon smells the delicious scent of fear it was missing a moment ago, perhaps it was the stagnation of the wind that prevented the scent for obtaining his nose hairs attention.

I lay there willing myself to feel asleep to the demon, yet he stands there and waits. I can feel him. Waiting around the corner he does, his hackles are up. I can smell his fear.
That’s it!
Closing my eyes tight I focus on things that scare me. That damn Jaws movie…nope, not working. Halloween movies, Blair Witch, nope. I think next of boot camp, and then to the pool at Recon school, any and all of my military scary moments, damn, still not working. Nothing I can think of is bringing up the fear that the demon is used to smelling from me.
I am doomed. If I don’t get this fucker, I’m screwed. Then I get real, suddenly the possibility that I may play-out the rest of my life out here, alone enters my mind. No love, no one to care about, no one to care about me. Even me.

The demon resumes its progress, the fear scent primary in the air, his confidence returns. This will be the final night with this broken warrior. The demon and its compadres will taste him tonight. The death and destruction that the man carries will be honey on their tongues, the souls of the dead that he carries will fill our bellies with nutrition. His defeated soul swells with the goodness that demon bodies desire. He will be a feast of feasts, fit for the kings of the demon’s world.

I lay there shivering with fear, the realization that my sanctuary has become my coffin. I will not live the night; the demon will defeat and eat me tonight. I can feel it.
The darkness looms. The slight breeze bringing awareness dies an evil death. The demon smites its lackluster energy, stagnant the air exudes decay, death and the farts of eaten fear. The demon swells in anticipation of the energy it is about to consume.

My eyes still closed I feel nothing but the demon swelling above me.
The time is now.
I awaken and scream in primal fear, the sounds of attacking mountain lions, pterodactyls, and frightened little boys intermingle in my throat. I let them gather for a moment before unleashing them again. Looking away from the demon I scream into the alcoves center, the sounds gather in the vortex of the cavern and expels itself out into the canyon to echo to infinity the sounds of desperation and surrender.
I feel the demon inhale the power of the scream, hear its lips part, drool hits the ground with a plop, and his skin creaks at the effort of the rare smile.

A battle rages inside the demon, this happiness it feels whenever it is on the verge of victory causes a paradox of confusion every time. Happiness is its enemy, joy the death of it. Even the demon feels it for a moment before consuming the joy with its evil.
The demon scours its forehead into a mass of hatred. The eyes close until they are slits. Its drool and snot hang intermingled, the two cannot quite let go of their tenacious grip on their host.

I lay there quivering, my back to the demon, I smell the scents of CS gas and gunpowder. Briefly, very briefly, I thought I felt joy coming from him. It felt like the alcove brightened and the air lifted, just for a moment.
He thinks he’s won!

Swelling to all its size and might the demon prepares to attack for the final time. The demon’s presence fills the alcove until it is lifting the roof, pressing the stone back and away from him. The entire rock butte creaks from the pressure of his might.
Delighted at this victory, it reaches for the sleeping man. The man’s whole essence quivers in defeat. Pausing for one second more, the demon marvels at its work. Breaking this man was entirely too easy, all he had to do was show him one act of evil and wait, time and the man’s own brain did the rest.
Moving its head back and forth the demon cracks its neck, the sounds of pine trees breaking soars enthusiastically throughout the canyon. Ready to eat now, the demon inhales deeply, dirt, soot and filth enter his lungs, they savor the breath.
Standing tall the demon puffs out its chest and rears its hand back, talons at the ready, the remains of other victims under his nails, cloth from their clothes and gray matter from their brains, cake the underside of its nails. Delightfully fungus and disease grow there. Willing its claws sharp, the demon moves in for the kill. Swiftly.
Squeezing itself into the alcove, it rages towards the sleeping man, the human’s back is the target of teeth, his balls the right hand’s goal and the delightful brains the lefts hand’s target.
The man turns!

Turning, I raise a sharpened wooden spear towards the impending demon and brace the hilt against the back wall of the alcove. I hold the six-foot spear with my entire body, tilting it towards the demon in a hurry for a kill.
Unable to stop, the demon impales itself onto the first five feet of the spear before it can cease its forward motion. Angry the demon arches its back and rages its lungs empty of pain. WHAT happened? This man smelled done!” The demon rages sending spittle far off the cliff with its outrage.
Looking down, the demon smacks the end of the spear with its hand, sending it flying out its back and off the cliff.
It sniffs and readies itself once more. The demon charges again.

I kneel with my back to the demon, waiting. When the demon reaches maximum speed, I spin around. Pulling another spear from its buried position in the sand, I brace it against the back wall. The pocket I slowly carved into the stone, holds the giant spear’s hilt at a perfect angle. Hopefully, the stone will be robust enough to hold under impact. I put my arm over the shaft of the spear, grabbing on with both hands I brace with all my might. I aim the spear at a primary angle, aiming the tip at where a heart would be if a demon has one.
The demon hits the spear oblivious to its existence. For a moment I fear the demon will just drive its way thru the spear and crush me with its elephant-sized body. Every time I see this fucker it gets bigger and bigger, the time to defeat him is now!
Finally, just as it seems the spear will prove ineffective, I see the demons eyes go wide. The pain extravagant enough that even a demon cannot deny its existence. The demon slows its forward motion, perhaps too late. I am pushed against the back wall, the spear moves slightly, pinning me behind it. Unable to breathe I fight panic as my chest cavity is forced into the shapes around me. I wait for the all familiar sounds of breaking bones. Damn, I was so close, I almost won!
Closing my eyes I feel myself lifted forward, the spear deeply embedded in the demon’s chest, my upper body entwined with the spear, holding on with all my might, we both are brought out of the tight corner. I leave skin and hair behind. Earth, rock, and dirt come with me.
The demon roars in fear. I hear a multitude of animals fleeing the area; they run full speed through the forest in the darkness of the night. Sleeping birds awaken and squawk their displeasure as the sound of their wings frantically beat the stagnant air, trying to get a purchase on something that will remove them from the scene. Large four-legged animals scurry, leap and beat feet or hooves from the area, bushes and limbs are pushed, broken and forcibly removed from their path. Terror creates a super strength; all flee the evil escaping the demon lips.
Shaking its arms and body in a multitude of directions, the demon tries to dislodge its victim’s impediment from its chest. Forgetting to use its hands due to rage, the demon swings about recklessly.

Choosing my moment I wait for the demon to turn in the direction of my desired flight. I hold on with all my might as my ears whimper from the sound escaping from the demon’s lips, the force of the sound nearly pushing me off the spear with its rush of violence. Instead, I cling to it while the rage pushes, and the demon’s body thrashes back and forth. I swing between the open air and the cliff face. Alternately feeling the air beneath me and the brutality of the sandstone each time I bash against it.
With the next swing, I let go of the spear. Choosing the open air off the cliff, over being bashed against the rock face one more time. I fly through the air. Willing my body to come around and assume a chest forward, arms back position, I do my best-flying squirrel imitation; a cross between a controlled fall and all out desperation. I am flung off the cliff.
Knowing it is coming, I wait for it. The impact with the trees that is. The demon has flung me in the perfect direction. I feel the trees coming quickly and brace my body for the impact. Arms and legs outstretched, ready to grab anything upon contact.
There is no time like the present. In fact now is the only time.
BAMM
I fold on impact.
Grasping for anything I leave fingernails, blood, and skin all the way down, my goal is not to stop myself.
Attempting to slow my decent I race the demon for the gravity of the ground. Knowing he will be behind me, I urge the gravity to hurry up. Not knowing what speed of impact is livable, I give it all I got anyway.
Thank the gods for training; the balls of my feet hit the ground and I instantly tuck my chin and roll off to the side. Avoidance of the knees is paramount to my survival.
The force, speed, and the dark almost got me as I roll to the right. Hitting a scrub oak, I bust out the other side, running like a motherfucker on fire, I haul ass out from under my alcove area. Heading deeper into the canyon, I run with all my might, using night vision and knowledge of my backyard, arched slightly forward, head down between the shoulders and eyes up, I move as if it is daylight. The booby traps are left and right, bullets try to go through my brain as I dodge the agave, prickly pear, and the great meat slicer known as Manzanita. The pine and juniper attempt to impale my head with sticks and take out my eyes as a bonus.
I smile and run faster.
I move through the terrain; it goes from high desert to high jungle to the lowlands of a couple of coastlines. The earth turns beneath me as I make my way to my last stand. I look forward to this battle. It is time to know or die.”

By C.M. Halstead

My Writer’s Cave

I occasionally visit the local coffee shops, less since I got this kick-ass espresso maker off friendslist. A great deal they gave me; kudos to the friend. She even gave away the monies that I paid her to a child in need! In my visits, I ran into a few authors that insist they can only write in coffee shops. They need the noise, the energetic feeling of people coming and going, and probably the caffeine.

  Read more

By C.M. Halstead

The Big Writing Secret

I have a small piece of paper taped to the inside door of my writer’s cave. It started as an 8 1/2” x 11” piece of common print paper. Here in the United States, that is standard size for almost everything, business and personal. I decided to print something out on it to help me write. When I did, it only printed out on a 6” x 4” area of the paper. Apparently “fit to page” has a different meaning these days.

  Read more

By C.M. Halstead

Voices in My Writer’s Cave

I have times when I am writing and it’s all flowing. My fingers are flying over the keys without conscious thought, creatively propelled by an unseen muse. I am sitting up straight in my chair with good posture. I am well fed and watered. I am focused and I am making progress. Then my inner critic snidely remarks, “That was crap” or “They are going to hate that” or “Dude, who do you think you are writing?”   Read more

You are dying, dying to do something. Empower yourself.
It’s a frosty morning on the Colorado Plateau
It is time to Know or Die.
My Writer’s Cave
The Big Writing Secret
Voices in My Writer’s Cave