Advice to Writers

As I've been doing this blog I have been mostly focusing on my creative writing, in words other sharing my fantasy fiction, poetry, short stories, and so on and so forth. I've also tried to make this a promotional thing for my stories. All this aside however, I suddenly realized that there are others like me out there who might find this information useful. As freelance writers we are on a journey, and it is one we likely won't get far on if we try to embark on it alone. I would like to see more communities for freelance writers who could get together and network, wouldn't it be great if we could help each other? If someone does see something like this let me know and in exchange I've decided to offer my knowledge. So here is some advice to  writers. In the spirit of both being practical and trying to help out my brothers and sisters in the craft I've decided to offer my own freelance writing tips.

The first difficulty you're going to face is an obvious one. Who's going to pay you to write? Who's looking for people to write fiction or poetry? The latter I can tell you not many. My first bit of writing advice: save poetry for a hobby. You can start a blog or a website like many or just share it with friends, but find some way to share it. Local magazines may also be interested so don't be afraid to send in some submissions, but poetry writers should be prepared for the fact that poetry may not be a step in their journey towards greatness.

As for article writers, these are the people who will be most successful in the beginning. I've written a few short stories and been paid for them, at least three of those stories are ones that I can claim credit for. I was not able to get a story published, however, until i proved to other that I could write. Many story writers have started out as article writers, copy writers, or content writers, whatever you want to call it. Believe it or not the three are pretty similar, but these are freelance writing tips, this is not me writing a book on freelance writing, perhaps I'll write that some day. Anyway, the first work I ever published was not a novel or a short story, and certainly was not a poem. The first work I ever published, that I was paid for (that's important because anyone can publish as I'm publishing on this blog, not everyone can get paid for it, that's what paying clients will want to see) The first work I published and was paid for was written at the time of last year's republican primary for the presidential race of 2012, that's right, it was a political commentary. I was paid a small sum and featured on Yahoo! news, the article received over 5,000 hits in just a few days, and Yahoo! asked for another a few weeks later. Unfortunately unless your articles hit millions on Yahoo! you won't get many offer to write, so I used Yahoo! as a stepping stone. At last now I had two articles, political commentaries, that i was paid for and was featured on a reputable website. I could put these in my portfolio and proved to potential clients that I could not only write, but write professionally. Those of us who would strive to write then, may wish to start out as article writers. So my first bit of advice to writers, be willing to write outside what you want to write. Sometimes writing is a chore and it is work, and you have to start somewhere, so be flexible.

When you are writing an article that seems boring and is not on a subject you love writing about, try to remind yourself that you could sitting in a cubicle or killing yourself in a warehouse, or worse yet flipping a burger. As a freelance writer, you're sitting at home in front of a computer, and doing something you enjoy, writing! And you are getting paid to do it! So there's your first freelance writing tip.

Now my next advice to writers is this: you have to find a place to network with potential clients, and you have to make sure it's reliable. In the spirit of giving freelance writing tips that are practical and help us avoid potential problems, I will offer my own experience. There are many great freelance writing markets, so use them. My preferred freelance writing market of choice is Odesk.com, freelancers.com is another, and more newly discovered Staff.com also offer freelance writing opportunities. These websites offer you two things: first there's the network aspect of it. The websites connect you with thousands of people who are looking for someone just like you. You can apply for writing jobs and as you beef up your profile with experience, skills, and a great portfolio, some of the jobs will come running to you! So you need a middleman to connect you to those potential freelance writing clients. The second thing these website offer you is security. In other words you now you're going to get paid for the work you do, but only if you follow my next piece of advice to writers...

I haven't used the other websites, so i can only speaker for my freelance writers on Odesk. When you look at a potential client or job there's things you need to look for. First don't ever work with these people outside of Odesk. This means you no longer have the power. First of all it's a violation of Odesk's terms, therefore don't even both reporting someone once you've been scammed, but secondly it taes away all the safeguards Odesk intentionally put in place. First there's the power of feedback, most clients care about their reputation and want to work with other writers on Odesk. So if they don't pay you or are difficult to work with you have the power to leave negative feedback, but only if you actually start a contract THROUGH Odesk. Secondly when you actually work as a freelance writer on a site like Odesk look for some things before you agree to it. The first thing to look for is if their payment method is verified. This means they have a credit card, bank account, or some other means connected to their Odesk account in order to pay those who work for them. If this is not verified and they're already hiring people, in my experience, they have no intention of paying you for your freelance writing. Also make sure they have good feedback, what others experience has been in the past is a good indication of what it will be with you. If they don't have any feedback it's ok to take a risk, maybe they are just new to the website. But if you want to get paid for freelance writing, make sure the payment method is verified. These are just a few measures to protect yourself.

So freelance writing markets like Odesk, freelancer, etc. etc. Are useful for at least two things for freelance writing jobs. One it connects you to people you'd otherwise spend years finding, and two it creates a system that allows you to get paid, and provides safeguards should predators take advantage, and they are out there. So take my advice to writers, don't write without a proven client like one of these freelance writing markets, UNLESS, you know the person personally. I might make a whole new blog post about freelance writing scams, but for now I'll only touch on it briefly. Beware of freelance writing scams. If you practice the above advice, chances are you won't have a problem.

Now back to becoming article writers. My advice to writers is only take jobs you can handle. I write as a freelancer but I also work a "real" job away from the computer to pay the bills. So if somebody has a job where I'm required to sit at my computer 8 hours a day or write large amounts articles that require that much time I don't take them. Remember you can give feedback for clients you work with, but they have the same ability, and it can take years to build a reputation as a great freelance writer, but only a day to destroy. I have 6 positive 5 star feedbacks from clients I've worked with. At this point one negative feedback could send me right back to the drawing board, and if I take a job I can't handle and fail to meet the deadline or the high standards, it could ruin my previous hard work. Also make sure that as article writers you only take jobs writing on a subject matter you either understand or can easily learn. If you don't know what you're writing about it could show in your performance.

Once you've built a reputation more jobs will become available to you, be willing to start small. If you work for a client who only pays you $1 per article, as I started, and receive positive feedback, it makes you more desirable for those who pay more. I have grown my income in this manner, but I've had to start small, and I continue grow in babysteps. Eventually as I've had to humble myself as a freelance writer jobs have opened up to me that I wanted in the first place, but I had to start small.

My last piece of advice to writers is this: it is a journey not a destination. Keep this in mind and over the years you may yet achieve your dreams of becoming a freelance writer. I hope you enjoyed my freelance writing tips, I hope to publish more in the future if this proves to be something that generates some interest. Thanks for reading and best of luck in your pursuits.

Gorluck And The Orc Mines

Gorluck and The Orc MinesDavid B. Beaver
Gorluck Moorefiend, blacksmith extraordinaire contentedly
beat the red-hot iron with a perfect combination of power, precision, and grace
that only an orc of his stature could deliver. Sparks flew from the metal as he
fitted it with his hammer into a new, shining sword. When at last he finished he
took the blade from the anvil and cooled in a steaming water basin, and placed
it on one of the many shelves of his dimly lit shop. Green skin glistened, damp
with sweat from the heat of his forge, and stretched over a massive sinuous
layer of muscle. He released a contented sigh, arms crossed and a peaceful smile
on his face. Arlisburg stood proudly, the sprawling capital city of Davainia,
and one of the most prosperous and diverse cities in the northlands. Only in
this city could an orc like him live peacefully with humans, and work hard as he
had to successfully build a better life. All that eluded him now was that
special female and the family he would raise with her, but he knew that would
come with time.

Suddenly a creak sounded and a light bell rang to announce the opening of a door. Gorluck
glanced at the timid, nervous looking man as he paced nervously around the small
shop. He stared hopelessly at the shelves of weapons scattered all about. He
rubbed his chin in frustration, trembling evermore nervously, fidgeting and
playing with a thin, light brown mustache. Clad in old, worn, rusty iron armor
he paced more and more frantically.

“A city this size you’d think you could find something so simple as…”
“Armor…?” Gorluck interrupted his spoken thoughts. His gruff voice pierced the air and shook the timid man, who jumped and gasped at the sound of the orc’s frightening voice. Fortunately, he retained his composure as the tall, intimidating humanoid approached. “I only make weapons, I make them the better than anyone in Arlisburg too,” he boasted with a grin. “But I don’t touch that armor stuff.”
“No, no, I’m looking for a weapon, a great sword to be exact.”
“Oh…?” the orc said. “We got plenty of those, but you don’t look like the type to wield
a great sword, you might strain yourself. May I suggested a short sword to help
you build up your skills? I got a nice gold one here if you’re a big spender…”
“Oh it’s not for me, but for my master. He’s the great paladin Rondar Benedict, of the
Order of the Just Ruler.”
“Another paladin order I never heard of? Are they new?”
“No they’ve been around for…never mind I need to find him a great sword, but none of these will do.”
“Heh! He’s a picky one eh? Well I have some fine jewel studded great swords he might
like, they’re in the storeroom, I was saving them for a special occasion but…”
“No, no! I need to find him…the perfect sword. It must be exceptionally crafted of the perfect metal suited for a paladin of his stature.”
“Describe it, maybe I can help you find it.”
“Well, it has to be light as a feather in weight.”
“Copper…” the orc suggested.
“It must shine brightly and blinding in the light of the sun…”
“Polished silver…”
“It must deliver a deadly blow of death, and be hard and stubbornly unwilling to bend or
break!”
“Iron,” mused the orc.
“No, no!” said the man. “It must be a rare and valuable substance, expensive…”
“Gold.”
“It must be an incorruptible substance, a substance of purity, untouched by any tarnish,
incapable of rust or decay. A substance of beauty and eloquence, and one that symbolizes the very virtue of purity.”
“Mithril.” They both said in unison.
“Ok, you want Mithril, you’ll get Mithril,” said the orc. “come back in exactly two days
from this date and I’ll have it for you.”

Gorluck proceeded wordlessly to put on his finest suit of heavy plated armor, made by a
dwarf friend of his. Then he buckled a belt around his waist, equipped with
several sheaths, which he loaded up with small throwing axes. He took off his
shoes and wore his finest, hardened leather boots and covered up his head with a
rusty metal helm. Then he took his finest silver, great axe and rested it gently
on his shoulder.

“Wha-what are you doing?” the man stuttered. “Where are you
going?”
“I’m going to get your Mithril so I can make your weapon. There’s only one mine in
this region that has it, and getting in won’t be pretty. Tell your master I’m
charging him extra for any limbs I lose, and triple if it costs my
head.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *     
Birds sang and a soft breeze blew through the air. Somewhere in the distance the faint
flowing sound of running water could be heard, Gorluck knew he was close.
Nonetheless he walked slowly, looking around, listening, and stopping on
occasion to admire the beauty. He saw nature in the city too scarcely. As many
times as he went in and out it never got old. He never ceased to see the beauty
in both. In the business of the city though, he had forgotten how much he
appreciated the space, the open land, and the green grass, but most of all the
silence. Only in the silence, he found, could the whispering voice of the gods
be heard. Gorluck knew not which of them he served. There were many faiths in
Davainia, some that accepted all the gods, some who worshipped only one. The
most compelling to him was the god Dragonia, “god of all” in the ancient tongue,
Mystic. The followers of Dragonia insisted that He was the one true God, and he
alone was worthy of worship. It seemed fitting to him that one solitary God, a
brilliant artist and poet, a great administrator, should rule over a universe such as this…but then the opposite could be true. Who knew? Gorluck, ever living in the here and now, focused on the difficult task ahead. He knew of only one deposit of Mithril, in all of Davainia, but he knew it would take an army to claim. Could he, one orc, take on his kin who selfishly, hoarded it for
themselves? Maybe he wouldn’t have to contest with them, he reasoned, maybe he
could purchase some. He put aside such false hopes, however, he knew better. The
orcs were a stubborn and hardheaded people, not prone to making deals. He knew this to be true because he often saw such traits in himself. Yet living in Davainian culture, as diverse as it was, somehow he became something else. He wasn’t an orc anymore, but not really human either.
“I’m not an orc, or an elf, or a man, or anything else…” he once confided in a friend. “I’m just…Gorluck.” And indeed he was.

The sound of running water slowly grew louder and clearer as he nervously approached the bridge. Only brave adventurers came this way, even soldiers treaded carefully. The orcs inhabited Davainian land, but they claimed it as their own years ago. Trying to rebuild after the
War of Races, the king had no desire for another quarrel within his own kingdom,
and so he mostly left them be. This day however, Gorluck would not be so
generous.

“Hey, you’re not one of us…” a short, high-voiced little creature came up to him from the bridge. Dark yellow skin, twisted facial features, and long, pointed ears that stuck out far and wide to
the side of the slightly oversized head identified this child-sized creature as
a full grown goblin. “You one of them city orcs, no better than humankind. Just go home and we not kill you!”
“The human farmers and merchants here might be scared of you, but I’m not.” Gorluck
declared solemnly. “It’s ignorant to pick on weak humans who can’t defend themselves, but just plain stupid to pick on an orc who can.”
“Go home now!”
“Not until I get my Mithril.”
“He trying to steal the shinies! Get him!” the goblin screeched.

Seemingly out of nowhere, more goblins than Gorluck could count in time came jumping out of nowhere, screeching a head throbbing, earsplitting, battle cry. Gorluck grunted, shaking his head. “I just got rid of this morning’s headache too.” He lamented. He swung his axe with speed and power that knocked every goblin to the side like dust beneath a broom, but with great vigor they got up again, daggers in hand this time. Poorly crafted arrows flew at him from further way, leaving tiny dents in his lightly clanging armor before they bounced away. He swung his axe again, angrily, but gracefully through the air. The blade met a goblin and swiftly removed his head upon acquaintance. He swung the axe back the way it came, and the dull edge slammed into five more, who were not so lucky as the first. Each of them toppled away, splashing into the nearby river. Carried away by the current they screamed to the river-god for mercy, but he refused their cry, for goblins could not swim. Gorluck ran forward, voicing his own, deep, lion-like roar of a battle cry. He knocked two attacking goblin’s aside with the handle of his axe, and to the two with bows and arrows he gave the blade. The first one flew away, the metal slamming against his chest. He landed hard on his back and stayed lying there to wait for a slow and bleeding death. The last goblin standing learned quickly from the mistakes of the others. He turned away, hands in the air, screaming. His short bow landed lightly in the soft, green grass as he ran away faster than he thought any goblin could.

Gorluck smiled rubbing his hand together after a job well done. He pat his brow with his hand lightly as if checking it. “Nope…not a single broken sweat.” He chuckled to himself. “But of course…that was the easy part.”

The rest of the way to the cave was rather easy. He walked across the river valley. The wolves nearby dared not attack the armed orc, especially in daylight. The birds still sang and the river still ran its course as Gorluck made his way through a small patch of peaceful woods. This
time Gorluck made no stops to admire the beauty of the nature all around.

Instead he gazed around cautiously, heart pounding, head turning to and fro, he watched for danger he knew would come. It was not a matter if, he knew, but whenthe other orcs would meet him. He came to a clearing in the woods, to more open land. Walking across plains of green grass, he came to a slope that led upward into slightly more mountainous terrain. Mountains were all too rare in Davainia, he mused. His musings died quickly in that peaceful valley, however, interrupted by the startling sight of a small gathering of orcs just outside a cave. Some of them were clad in rusty metal armor; others dressed in poor brown robes or loincloths.

“Fighters and shaman’s,” he mused. “This should be a good
fight.” Then he looked above the cave, hidden in the mountains were two dressed in leather and armed with bows. Gorluck’s eyes squinted as he took out one of his sharpened axes from the sheathes around his belt and he lifted it into the air. He aimed carefully for one of the archers and threw the axe with all the strength a hammer-pounding smith could muster. The axe sank quickly into the archer’s forehead, and he fell before he even knew his death was coming. His body, tumbling to the ground, startled the other orcs who scrambled around frantically, and tried to figure out what was going on. By the time they saw their foe straight ahead, their other protective archer had already fallen to the ground. The two shamans, one dressed in primitive brown robes, the other in a loin cloth began to dance softly, swerving back and forth gently, their hands upraised. A globe of yellow magic energy gathered above their palms as they chanted, summoning forth a harmful spell. Their chants were interrupted however, one after the other, as an axe flew straight into their chests. The energy
fizzled, and at quickly vanished, as their bodies fell limp upon the ground. In
panic the three fighters ran for Gorluck, axes in hand. With a mighty swing
Gorluck cut the first two down in front, the first one fell quickly, only grunting before he fell. The other flew sideways, landing with a short-lived cry of pain. The third, sharper than the others, stopped short his charge. The blade missed his chest by just an inch. It seemed he’d stopped in time. Another swing he ducked and launched his own. Sparks flew and metal clanged as the massive blades collided, but Gorluck’s strength was greater, and his movements quicker.
He swung the other axe full-circle, and knocked it from the other’s hands. Ever determined the orc did not stop, he pulled out his dagger and lunged for Gorluck, but to no surprise he fell before his feet could take him close. The blade slammed into rusty armor and sent the orc flying back. He gasped for air, wind knocked loose, but stood again. Charging forward he slammed into Gorluck’s
chest headfirst. Gorluck, on his back still gripped the axe more tightly than before. He knocked the hilt of the handle into the other’s head and sent him tumbling. He was on his feet before the other could even leave his hands and knees. Dizzy and confused the orc stood slowly, staggering drunkenly to his feet. The blade of the axe showed no mercy this time. Slamming into the dazed
orc’s chest, it knocked him over and took what life was left.
Upon entering the cave Gorluck made short work of the many scattered orcs in similar fashion. Orcs armed with axes and broadswords charged at him at once, only to be knocked aside by the might of
Gorluck’s axe. Gorluck ran and swung his axe faster than the archers could shoot their arrows, only to turn their backs in panic when he was close enough to strike. Their feet failed to take them fast enough, however, to escape the raging warrior’s wrath. The shamans, casting fumbling and faltering spells, were the first to fall Gorluck’s blade. Vines erupted from the ground to wrap around
the orc and hold him tight, but he squirmed away and cut them down, as quickly as they had come. Fireballs and lightning bolts flew towards him but he rolled, and jumped, and dodged away as the shaman’s spells missed and hit the burst rocks instead. The cave shook and rumbled as great destruction spread. One by one the shamans fell, their spells failing, their energies fizzling, and their
lives passing before their eyes. Sweat soaked a panting Gorluck and he fell upon his knees. Too tired to fight on. At last his strength gave out, and nearly every orc in sight lied dead. Silence fell upon the dimly lit cave. For the first time Gorluck could admire the beauty of the mines. Cracks and holes in the stone veins, scattered about the caves, revealed the otherwise hidden ore. The metal shimmered in what little light could enter. Copper, iron, silver, gold, and bronze, all sat still and silent, and waiting to be mined. Most notably however, the Mithril shined and shimmered before his eyes. Shining brighter than the rest it called to Gorluck who gazed upon it, a look of awe struck his face.
He worked Mithril many times before, yet in breaking it free from rocks, melting it in a forge, and pounding on it with a hammer, its beauty hid from him. Only by beholding Mithril in its rawest form, could he now see the beauty of the metal he’d be working once again. He stood at once, a pickaxe in his hand. He left his great axe behind him for the time. Slowly, he edged closer to the vein.
“Who goes there?” A low, gruff voice startled him. He jumped and turned about at once, heart pounding from the scare.
“Gorluck Moorefiend, master blacksmith. I’ve come to collect my ore.”
“I no think so!” the gruff voice disagreed. A tall mountain of a being approached him. Muscle covered him from head to toe, and wrinkled skin still looked hard as leather. Dry and weary eyes who’d seen battle many times, stared at Gorluck from a thick bearded face. “An orc?” He spat. “An orc did all this?”
“What were you expecting a pixie?” asked the blacksmith.
“I expected a great human knight or paladin, or perhaps an elven archer, maybe a dwarf in search metals for his crafts, but it sickens me to think that an orc could do all of this…to his own kind!” he rasped.
“I have done nothing wrong!” Gorluck objected. “They attacked me, I only came to mine
some ore.”
“This is so much more fellow orc, don’t you see? Us orcs is living slaves. When we lose the Epic War the humankind gave us a wasteland for a nation, and even us who come north for better lives live as slaves for who they call king of Davainia. Well no more!”
“What are you babbling about?” Gorluck asked dully.
“Don’t  you see, now that we take mine from humans, we have all metals we need to make weapons. When we make enough we raise up an army and kill all farmers, then orcs control big time food supplies for humans in Davainia.” He said. “So we got metal, we got armies, and we got food, we take over Davainia, when humans beg for mercy we kill them, and the rest of the north soon is ours. Me knows the rock trolls will join us too, once they sees what we can do against the humans
they know it’s right.”
“But Davainia is the one nation that has always been there for us the orcs, the king
just fought a war to save us!” Gorluck growled. “How could you want to destroy him?”
“One human’s actions doesn’t changes nothing!” the orc spat, walking closer to orluck. The two stood to toe to toe, and for the first time Gorluck felt small.
“They oppress us, they punish us, but soon we punish them and we have revenge!”
“But I just destroyed their armies.” Gorluck observed.
“Hmmm, yes, but many mores are coming.” Said the orc. “And me, their chief will lead them to kill the humans, and you, since you’re such good fighter can help us. And blacksmith too?” he asked. “We need just one more thing, someone who knows how to work Mithril, if we have Mithril our army be invincible.”
Gorluck scowled in disgust at the idea. “I would never help you slay innocent humans!”
“Fine!” the chieftain said stoically. “My armies come and we do it without you.”
“Your armies will have a hard time doing anything without a chief to guide them!”
Gorluck pointed out.
“What you mean?” the other asked.
Gorluck wasted no time with a spoken answer. He swung his pickaxe gracefully, aiming for the chieftain’s throat. The chief growled angrily after leaning back just in time for the thin blade to miss.
Battleaxe in hand he swung for Gorluck’s head. Gorluck ducked and swung again. He struck hard as if mining ore within the chieftain’s heart. Sparks flew as the blades clashed. With a light ring the pickaxe flew away, easily overpowered by the massive axe. Gorluck stood wide-eyed and empty-handed.
“Ha-ha-haa!” the chieftain roared. “Tiny mining axe no match for my weapon! Now you die!”
But Gorluck ducked, the massive blade flying inches above his head. And just before the axe struck again it stopped as Gorluck grabbed the handle, both hands gripped like iron frames around the wood.
“Let go and die dumb city orc!” the chieftain cursed. Gorluck’s feet slid, scraping against the stone. The other orc’s strength pushed his body slowly forward. Sweat on his brow and a tear in his eye Gorluck grunted painfully as his arms began to fail. He dared to take a hand away and the pain grew even worse. One last throwing axe remained, safely tucked within the sheath around his belt. The
sweaty palm gripped the little throwing weapon. Then Gorluck struck the chieftain’s throat.
The massive axe fell upon the ground, released from the chieftain’s failing grip. The tall and sturdy orc collapsed upon his knees, gagging. He gurgled blood as he tried to speak some curse, but
all that came was painful groans and dripping tears within his lifeless eyes.
With a resounding thud he fell at last at Gorluck’s feet.
A sad look within his eyes, Gorluck also fell upon his knees. With folded hands he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He prayed to whatever gods might be to wash his hands of all the orcish blood that stained them now. Upon finishing his prayer he stood and found his pickaxe. Contentedly, he chiseled away the stone that hid the Mithril until he filled a burlap sack with shining ore. He sighed
contentedly and peacefully strolled away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” The paladin’s assistant stammered as he retrieved the shining sword.Gorluck glanced at the sword in all its shining beauty. He shifted his gaze towards a heavy chest of gold, his payment for the piece. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.
“No trouble at all,” he said. “It’s all in a day’s work…”
“My master will be most grateful…” the servant said as he walked away, looking slightly less nervous than he was before.
“As he should be human,” said the orc. “As you all should be..”
  

Bi-lingual Because you are my friend-poque tu eres mi amigo

I wrote this bilingual poem for an old friend of mine, once again it's not fantasy related, but those will be coming soon. I also recently published a new short story called Guise Markets. Over the next couple days it should become available through Short Story Press as an eBook, I'll keep you posted on that. For now enjoy the poem.