Talking about Only Human

Here's me talking about my first book. Cheers

My first ever video

Here's to plenty more to come. If you have a question or comment, let me know. Who knows? Might video reply :D

Cheers

Why I fully support the Puerto Rico Comic Con

The Puerto Rico Comic Con is a world class event.

Let me explain.

For the longest time, PR has had a bad reputation of taking shows and concepts and doing a cheap knockoff version for people on the Island. From versions of the Bachelor, Survivor, and remakes of movies, to lord knows what, it was a bad habit for Puerto Rico to think, act and deliver like second best.

When you go to the Puerto Rico Comic Con, you see that this habit has been eradicated. Year after year you get high quality guests from movies, from comics, from voice acting and from everything you can imagine. This year has Jason Momoa, an actor entering and enjoying his prime if there ever was one. This is not a B-List event, it’s not what they could muster for the people on the Island.

This is the declaration that we are not limited in scope, potential or ambition. It’s gone from inviting people and looking for guests to having a waiting list of people eager to be part of this event. This isn't your local small scale event, this is an activity where over 40,000 attendees will roar their voice in unison that we are global.

If it were just the event itself, that would be enough… though like an infomercial, I have to say, “but wait there’s more.”

The Puerto Rico Comic Con is already huge and attracting people from all over, but it’s also supporting other events that support local talent, from local artists to short films, there are burgeoning projects and others that are just getting started. In that way, the PRCC is on its way to becoming a cultural driver that defines an era of fandom and pop culture, proudly saying, sure we have pristine beaches, historical monuments and a rich multicultural history, but we also have talent, we have dreams, and we do this while working in Paradise.

So when you’re wondering what to do for May 2016, consider this my heads up for an event that you have to see to believe.

Avast, fellow Humans; there’s a Comic Con a Comin’!

For the Second Year in a Row, I’ll be participating in the Puerto Rico Comic Con from May 22-24. Denying there is excitement is not even an option because there’s plenty of it on all fronts.

Firstly, the organizers are excited because this is the first year the Con will be 3 days. For people who haven’t had the chance to see all there is on offer at the PRCC, this is huge because it’s a full extra day of awesome geekness.

Then there’s the guest artists. They might think they’re coming for a small Con and are looking forwards to some sun and maybe a fan or two. Big surprise, Puerto Rico has some of the most fervent fans in all likes of life, from sports to concerts and celebrities, we’re a loud fun bunch and if you’re looking for a party, we are your huckleberry field.

Of course, there’s people like me: the artists, the writers, the people who get this wonderful opportunity to meet the people who enjoy the stories we have to tell. It is incredibly gratifying and I know we all put our everything into what we bring to the PRCC. We feel the responsibility to put forth works in our own disciplines that are worthy of this platform and I already have some local favorites whom I ALWAYS visit.

To boot, there’s the cosplayers and locally, every year they take it up another notch or three and it’s awesome to see. You see, I may be in my mid thirties, but make no mistake, I’m a fanboy and I’m a huge cosplay fan. From accurate, to outrageous, to complicated, I love it all and to see people with a dayjob and “ordinary lives” break out of the shell is inspiring on several levels.

So in the end, everyone’s a winner because neither the fans nor the artists nor the exhibitors know the meaning of holding back when it comes to sharing our love for all things geek and I am proud to give my all to push myself and deliver works that transcend genres and borders, just like this event.

Cheers and happy ComicConning!

Peace, love and maki rolls

So you want to write a book Part 3: Plot the course

Where do you want your story to go?

For me, I went from writing one book to working on a series. At one point it was going to even be a tetralogy, but when I got a hold to the story, lo and behold, I saw that four books was too much for the Human Cycle. So a trilogy it was to be.

When was I able to see this? When I wrote down the major plot points. And yes, it was as complicated a process as writing itself. For Only Human, I took a world Atlas and literally plotted the map and where I was going.

History, geography, topography and folklore then allowed me to flesh everything out but seeing that line on a world map helped me see where we were going, literally. The research filled in the blanks of several whys about why we were going there.

Every project is its own beast and I tackle each plot very differently. Sometimes I include notes, dialogue and other tidbits because there are plenty of lighting-in-a-bottle moments that you NEED to capture. Some chapters I have tons of notes. Other times, a word or two is all I require to know what I need to do. The thing is that I plot the course so I have a direction which often allows me to avoid contradictions, plotholes and other literary complications.

Still the most important lesson I’ve learned from writing plot points is comparable to one of the truths stated in the Whovian universe: some points are non negotiable, they cannot shift, they cannot be altered. They must endure.

For me, some plot points cannot and most likely will not be changed from the beginning of a project to its end. But I’m flexible with the rest. I do so because in that freedom I find my story while those anchors keep me focused and on my way.

So here’s to sailing on in the seas of our stories and knowing when to flow, and when to remain.

The two sexiest words to any author

The End.

When you are able to write down those words and know you’re done with a story and publish it, it is one of the greatest reliefs you could ever imagine. Mind you, you don’t need to write THE END, you just need to truly and fully finish something.

When you finish writing, it’s rewarding, but when you’re done with a project? Wow… just amazing.

For me, Only Human was an intense learning experience when it comes to truly being able to say I finished something.

I finished writing. Then came transcribing.

I transcribed. Then came editing.

I edited. Then came formatting.

Then registering copyright. Then submitting to the website where I sell my work. Then copy proof. Then receiving the final shipment. Then searching for reviews.

Before you know what’s happened, the book is live, it’s out there, you finished it… but you have to get it in front of people and you realize that there is never an end and that realizing such a thing is marvelous. 

So here’s to our neverending stories.

JD Estrada book signing

This coming October 15, I'll have my first book signing event at The Book Mark in San Patricio Plaza.

There you can find out more about my first novel, Only Human as well as my poetry collection, Between the Tides.

Swing by, say hi and who knows, you might get something in the giveaways we'll have at the event.

Cheers

Candles, cake and a wish or two

Earlier this week, I turned 34... it doesn’t sound like a huge milestone because it’s not a catchy number. It doesn’t end in five or nine, it’s not a sweet sixteen or a multiple of it, it’s not like I finally got my license or have just legally been allowed to consume alcohol... I’ve just lived another year of my life.

If you say it like that, of course it sounds ordinary... and then I see what I’ve lived in the last year. The publishing of Only Human digitally and physically, the release of my first poetry collection, my participation in the Puerto Rico Comic Con, going to Napa Valley and Atlanta with my wife, all the work I’ve done, over a hundred posts written, all the people I’ve met and connected with. All the times I’ve spent with mom and my family. The waves I’ve ridden and the days I’ve shared with the ones I love.

It’s been a great year and now I look ahead and I smile.

You see, regardless of the challenges, the tests and the tribulations, it’s been a good year. I’ve always had the means to be well and to keep the people I love well.... and really, what else could you ask for?

In my case I could ask for more people to read my work, for more reviews, for better sales, more interactions through here and social media... I could make a long wish list and send it to Santa Clause. The thing is, I don’t think I need to.

Everything that has happened in the last year has been because I’ve invited people to explore what I have to say and if I’ve been fortunate enough to pique their interest, they have been kind enough to read... be it a blog post, a poem, a tweet, a message on an Instagram post or my novel. People have been kind, they haven’t done anything due to pity, they have willingly helped me because they think I have something interesting to say.... and again, what more can you ask for?

I’ve received kind words from new friends and old who have said that what I wrote made a difference in their day. I’ve had people thank me for something I wrote because they felt as if they could finally accept themselves for who they are. I’ve heard young writers say they will hone their craft and pursue writing because they saw me with a booth at a convention. I’ve heard people say: I believe in myself thanks to reading what you wrote...

So a third time I ask, what more can you ask for?

Dave Matthews has a song called #34 and there are lyrics in it that say: “Lean upon me, I’ll lean upon you, we’ll be Ok.” Throughout this entire year, I’ve lived this message through the people I love, the closest friends I have and strangers kind enough to spare a minute or two. I’ve been blessed in thousands of ways... so what else can I ask for?

Whatever life wants to give. 

Only Human - Chapter 2: The wicked invite

Chapter 2: The wicked invite

Nathaniel Runnels stood in the damp night perplexed by his current standing in life. His hair was a mess; his sunken eyes wore the strain of long nights and the painful hunger in his side was only slightly eased by a lukewarm pretzel alit with the decorative swirl of spicy brown mustard.

His coat had seen better days and so had his stomach. But on a writer-gone-reporter’s salary, he was content to at least be able to break bread with himself.

Raggedy cuffs and a dimple of mustard were clear signs that at least for tonight, giving a damn was not particularly high on his list. He sighed every so often as conspiracy theories banged within his brain; or were those withdrawal pangs from the caffeine addiction he’d been nurturing for several years now.

‘Hung over and exhausted… joy,’ he thought to himself. ‘I should have been a lawyer or a stock broker or some other profession that gives you high blood pressure from stress rather than the low blood sugar goodness that comes with a reporter’s lifestyle.’

He stank of cynicism, self loathing, brutal honesty and possibly too much gin. He recognized the life he’d given himself, fully knowing that the path he now walked was one he had chosen on his own.

He did not like the taste in his mouth as he remembered ingesting the false story of him only doing this as research for the characters in his book. A temporary job he’d convinced himself as he got ready to unleash the next great American novel, which for the past year and a half had grown to an amazing 26-page behemoth. In all honesty, he didn’t have direction and wrote out of sheer determination every month or so only to sacrifice most of what was written to the apathetic and luckily non critical fire place in his studio apartment.

‘Great job,’ he thought to himself as his shoulders hunched with every new thought that did its best to shatter his morale. He finished his far-from-exquisite meal and licked his subway hands. He didn’t care and it showed; it showed a lot. He mimed a tip of the hat to the street vendor and went on his way. At least he kept his manners.

Down the steps he went and his luck finally peaked. His teeth grit audibly as the subway made its way away from the platform. He knew he would have to wait an hour, enjoying the wonderful bouquet of urine, burnt rat droppings, and sewer water that would serve as aromatherapy during his wait.

He slumped down on the bench quickly noticing that there wasn’t anything else open so he could purchase a savory candy bar or some gummy something to serve as a delicatessen treat after his half star meal. (The half star had come from the mustard, that’s for sure.)

The deserted platform filled with his woeful voice. “Wonder how long I’ll have to stay on the Ramen diet. Not too long before I get a stroke now… or hypertension; then maybe I’ll be able to feast on hospital food. Mmm, mmm, mmm…. delicious hospital food. Jesus Christ, I’m a joke.”

The lonely silence droned on and after a while, the young man was actually starting to enjoy it. So naturally it couldn’t last. All of a sudden a violin weaved a terribly wicked tune that seemed to seep out from deep within the subway tunnels.

The young reporter stood up and looked both ways but was unable to find the source. His eyes fell to the floor and confusion set in. Abruptly, the rhythmic tapping of a boot began to accompany the morbid tune and upon turning to his left for a second time, Nathaniel saw an ankle peeking from a far off column. The boot bobbed forwards and backwards, clearly showing that the owner sat on the subway floor while leaning on the column. The ankle might have swayed lazily but the melody was anything but tranquil.

The frustrated young man sat back on the bench and faced the curious virtuoso that, as so many others he had seen, had chosen the subway corridors as his concert hall. On a dime, the song morphed into a gentle waltz that was just as magnificently morose as the preceding section.

“Do you like it?” slithered a voice into the young man’s ear. There was something terribly offbeat within the words he heard. He was still unsure whether he liked the voice… or the music. “I wrote it some time back, and from your reaction, I can at least guess you are intrigued.”

The young man did not respond, yet his attention was anything but absent. Unfortunately the wicked voice wasn’t about to stop. “Cat’s got your tongue? Pity, I rather fancied some conversation; even if it consisted of the rambling of a disgruntled writer playing at being a reporter.”

A knot within the young man’s throat was no larger than a grapefruit and no smaller than the same. His weak eyes leapt to life as he was not certain as to how a subway bum could know what he does for a living. A nagging sensation of danger drummed low in his gut.

“Oh my,” said the voice in mock concern. “I’ve alarmed you. Don’t worry though. I am no stalker but you do have a way of thinking aloud and I must confess it is quite entertaining.”

His remarks were seasoned with a touch of condescension and a healthy dose of ego. Nathaniel replied with a slight snarl. Getting away from this annoying lunatic, regardless of his talent, was quickly becoming a top priority.

“I truly wish you would continue to think aloud,” the voice said as it continued to jab at the young man as much as the bow struck the violin. “These walls hear far too much from me.”

The ankle continued to tap merrily while the tune grew darker and moodier still. The shrill notes were the kind that tickle your spine and the ever hunching shoulders of the young man clearly demonstrated how tension could also rise to a crescendo.

“What do you want?” Nathaniel said. “Spare change?”

“So, it does speak,” the violinist teased. “Progress at last.”

For some reason, Nathaniel decided to reply. “Look, I’ve had a long day. Could you simply play and let me enjoy your fine music instead of your insipid thought pattern?”

“And it has vocabulary too,” the violinist said while letting out a high whistle. “My, my… such big words. Please, do not cause yourself a migraine on my account”.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and sighed. He was well aware that he had just guaranteed himself that he would have to spend a fair amount of his precious energy verbally fencing instead of having just minded his business. Having a car would be worse though. It would mean yet another payment he could not make.

“How ‘bout eat me?” he finally spat out. “Is that simple enough for you? Please no talk. Play good. Pretty, pretty song, oh so nice.” The young man’s tone was harsh, disrespectful and clearly full of contempt, a reaction was more than due.

The ankle stopped bobbing and the music stopped on a dime immediately replaced by an evil rasp of a laugh. “I knew I liked you,” said the creepy voice. Silence then hung coldly accompanying the electric drone of the faulty subway rail.

The young man stared perplexed at his present scenario. A long crummy day with no leads, no inspiration, a pathetic meal and now harassed by some madcap that knew how to play the violin far too well for even the best subway musician.

He fixed his eyes on the now static boot that had been so cheerfully tapping mere seconds ago. He didn’t know if the guy had fallen asleep, died, or was simply waiting for the next comment that would never arrive. Since the ghoulish laughter, the absence of any noise was nerve-wracking, but finally it ceased to be quiet.

The young man’s eyes jumped open as the faint scrape of a boot was followed by leather rubbing and grating upwards on a tiled column. The violinist had pushed himself up until his body was upright and neatly out of sight.

“This cannot be good,” the reporter remarked listlessly. His pulse rate tripled. His muscles tensed and his imagination ran away with a series of potential headlines for when they found his body. ‘Now I get inspired,’ he thought to himself.

Silence reigned and he would much rather have the symphony of a crying baby, a Hare Krishna handing out the word of God while expecting a dollar in return, or even the old geezer that so often befouled one’s ears with the huffing and puffing of an old out-of-tune saxophone only to receive money from people begging him to stop playing.

Hope then shone bright with the faint rumbling of a distant train. He had forgotten there was an express train that sometimes stopped here. The bad part was that this stop was notorious for the questionable wiring that would falter every time there was an arrival. He stepped to the platform to make as speedy an escape as possible.

Then it began.

Lights started to screw up and along with the holy train heralding his escape, Nathaniel saw a gloved hand extend four pillars away over the train tracks. It waved gleefully until pausing to extend four fingers.

The lights flickered and the hand seemed to teleport a column closer and a finger lighter. Three.

“What the hell is going on?” Nathaniel said.

Again the lights failed. Another finger down and another column closer. Two.

The train had rushed in and after a few seconds finally stopped but the hand had come one column nearer and only the middle finger stood cheerfully extended before the hand waved once again. One.

Two brilliant flashes of emerald were the last thing Nathaniel saw before everything went black. The subway doors opened and closed and only one person was in the train.

Sipping his coffee, the driver sighed and prayed he could get home soon to kiss his wife goodnight as the train made its way down the tunnel and away from the stop.