Be Brave Enough to be Boring

All---

There are worse things than being bored.  You could be trapped in a cavern of horrors behind a green door. You could lose a year of your life in which you might have committed murder.  You could be stuck in a heat wave, staring at a swimming pool that isn't clean enough to swim in.

I want my writing to be interesting, clearly, and as a writer of thrillers, a certain amount of excitement is rightly to be expected.  But if being bored isn't the worst thing in the world, why should I be terrified of it in my writing?  Do I want to write a boring story?  Um, no.  But do I need to fret over every little passage, afraid it might bore some readers?

No.

There aren't many books that I don't skip passages in.  I'm a terrible reader in some ways.  I have such a poor visual imagination that I skim through or skip over most lengthy descriptive passages.  I can't conjure the image in my mind, so I bore easily.

And what do I do when I'm bored?

I don't put the book away.  I don't stop reading the story.  I skim or skip.   I only give up reading if there seems to be no hope for a pay off.  If I don't have an investment in the story -- if I don't see an end to the boredom -- if I feel trapped by tedium -- then I might stop reading.

So, if being bored isn't the worst thing in the world and I know that my own boredom of the moment doesn't kill an entire work for me as a reader, why should I be afraid of it as a writer?

A couple of years ago, I entered a content that encouraged courageous writing.  My piece, "I Need This," was honored and I was able to publish, "Terminal Instar," in the Notes from Underground anthology.  It took some guts.  Some of it was what Rachel Thompson and Lorrie Moore would call, "writing something I would never show my mother or my father."  Some of it, though, was writing minor little digressions that might risk boring some readers.

In the end, it's often times the digressions that get me my most positive feedback.  It's taking a moment, amidst the adrenaline and emotional trauma, to philosophize a bit that I think gives my writing its special character.  I don't just write thrillers.  I write thrillers that linger and contemplate.  No, I don't linger in the moment like RJ Ellory does.  Instead, I linger in the ideas behind the scenes like Chuck Palahniuk might.  It's a recipe that I think serves me well, but it's a recipe that risks boring people.

And that's really the point.  It doesn't even matter if you're a writer.  For that matter, it doesn't matter if you're a creative person at all.    If you're an athlete you can't always go for the home run or the knock-out punch.  If you're a salesman, you can't always play for the big deal.  If you're an archaeologist you can't wait until you get a Phase III excavation.  If you're a forensic anthropologist, you've gotta do your metrics.

Whatever you do, if you put your all into it, if you try to own that thing you do, you need to show courage.  That doesn't just mean the adrenaline junkie kind of daring.  That means being brave enough to risk boring people.

You will probably manage to do just that.

But you will also reap great rewards.  And the truth is, most of the time, if you're good at what you do, you bore yourself more than you bore other people.

So.  As readers -- what do you do when something gets boring?  And, as followers of whatever path life has taken you down -- do you shy away from doing those things which might bore your clients?

.Nevets.

Fail in What You Love

All---

Change is part of life.  So are set-backs.  So are re-directions, mis-directions, and forgetting to ask for directions.  No matter what your pursuit, you will, at times, feel like your legs are being swept out from under you or you're being kicked in the gut.

That's why it's so important to embrace your passion and do you what you love.

When you're standing at the bottom of the hill, looking at the boulder rolling your way...

When you're laying on the floor, watching the boot come down...

When you're just sitting alone at a table in the corner of a dark room, staring into your eighth cup of coffee with a squirt of lime juice and a pinch of salt...

You want to be able to look back and say...

"Yeah, but it's been worth it."

"You can knock me down, but you can't knock me out."

"I'll be fighting my way right back."

Not...

"Wow, was that worth this?"

"Why did I invest so much of my self?"

"So now what?"

You will fail.  You will be set back.  You will get knocked around.

Make sure you fail doing what you love, so that when it happens, it's all part of the game.

.Nevets.

Lessons From a Flying Knee

All---

As many of you know, I've studied aikido and other martial arts and a fan of MMA and other martial sports.  In my own home workout routine, I incorporate a lot of martial arts practice.  While I'm never going to be a fighter, I have fun, I appreciate the way it enhances my discipline, focus, and balance, and it's also just great exercise.  I try never to practice bad form or bad practices.

There's one attack called a flying knee.  As you might imagine, it's more or less a leaping high knee-kick in the air.  It's generally ill-advised and impractical, but it's fun to watch, fun to do, and can be devastating on occasion.

And so, from time to time, I reward myself by letting myself practice a flying knee against the reflex bag.

About a week ago, I hit a really strong groove with the flying knee.  I'll never look as sharp as Umar Kahn (the fighter pictured above), but my form was good, my movement quick and on target, and the blow had some power.  And when it was done the inner half of my right  knee was pretty purple and sore.

Last night was the first time after then that I tried to work some flying knees in again.  They were terrible.  I mean, just awful.  Weak, slow, clumsy, off-target.  Just rotten.  Then I realized I was being a little gun shy.  I had a momentary conversation with myself where I admitted that it's pretty stupid to practice flying knees at my level anyway and thereby tried to talk myself out of continuing with them.

Nothing doing.  Not on those terms.

I made myself go harder.

Finally, I was connecting again.  They weren't great, but they were connecting.

Then I switched over to the left knee.  My left knee was rocking pretty well.

And then.

Whack.

If you don't know what a reflex bag is, it's a small punching bag on a metal bar that's the spring-loaded into a heavy base.  It's great for cardio and for working on timing and movement.

When I'm practicing flying knees, I'm leaping up and knee-kicking the punching bag target.

That's what was happening when I pushed myself and got the right knee going.  That's also what was happening when I had the left knee rocking.

And then.

Whack.

Hard against the metal bar.

My left knee is killing me today.  Nothing like a real fighter injury, of course, but painful enough.

But last night, when I was hobbling right after, I took a second to shake it off, and then I made myself go it at one more time, just so that I didn't let it beat me.

Bruises come.  Bruises go.  But remembering that awesome flying knee?  That's the kind of thing that can propel you onward.

The same for that great flash fiction piece.

That little pencil sketch you did.

The perfect cup of coffee you brewed.

The meal you cooked.

The way you folded that shirt just dang right.

Push through the bruises.  Let yourself enjoy the flying knees.  Fuel off your little smiles and drive through the obstacles.  I know it's cheesy, but it's also a lot more satisfying.

.Nevets.

Self Your Esteem

All---

It was a simple  exercise.  Teacher Mark called Teacher Joann and myself to the front of the room so that our literacy-level ESL students could practice describing us.

"Teacher Mark is a man.  Teacher Nevets is a man.  Teacher Joann is a woman."


"Teacher Mark is tall.  Teacher Joann is short.  Teacher Nevets is average."


"Teacher Mark has short hair.  Teacher Joann has long hair.  Teacher Nevets has average hair."

Teacher Mark didn't realize that he was about to shock and confuse me.

***

As a young teen I was overcome with allergies and asthma that severely impacted my ability to exercise during parts of the year.  At the same time I was also given a lengthy regimen of steroid medication that through off my body's ability to get any weight-related benefit from the exercise I was able to do.  I spent over twenty years being heavy, after being a scrawny, monkey of a kid.

I never quite shifted my mental image of myself.  At my heaviest, I was 240 lbs at about 5'9", but I never quite felt like I was as overweight as I was.  Some folks have remarked since losing weight that they hadn't realized I'd been 240.  Even when I was that heavy people would sometimes remark, "You're hard to figure, because you're overweight, but you just keep going."  My weight didn't stop me from doing forensics in tight spaces, from doing archaeology, or from throwing my all into whatever sporting activity I was trying my hand at.

While my mental image of myself probably underestimated my weight, I wasn't blind of stupid and I knew I was overweight and that I had a lot to lose.

Over the past 18 months or so, I've managed to lose quite a bit of weight.  At the beginning of October, I was down to 164 lbs.

***

"Who's fat?" asked Teacher Mark.


"Teacher Mark is fat," the class answered with no prompting.


"That's right.  Who's average?" asked Teacher Mark.


"Teacher Joann is average," the class answered with no prompting.


"That's right.  Who's skinny or thin?" asked Teacher Mark.


"Teacher Nevets is skinny," the class answered with no prompting.


"That's right."


***

I was completely thrown-off.  As soon as Teacher Mark has started that exercise, I had already cast myself as the model for the average descriptor.  I think I actually made a googly-eyed expression of surprise.

***

I'm not going to say that the words of others are unimportant.   There are few words for how angry I get when I see others actively undermining the self esteem of others and destroying their belief in their dreams and aspirations.  It's also true that we all sometimes need a little validation, an outside check to assure us that our estimation of ourselves and our work is accurate.  And, yes, the encouraging words of others can be a valuable and powerful buoy to a flagging spirit.

But, to me, the lesson I learned the other night in class was this:

It's all too easy to undermine your own own self-esteem.


People who've known me compliment me for my weight loss.  Teacher Mark and the class were all in agreement that I'm thin, even though they never knew me at near my heaviest.  If anyone isn't sure that I'm thin, if anyone is uncomfortable describing me as thin -- it's me.

Just me.

It's my own body image.

It's my own willingness to compliment myself and accept my own success.

***

Eminem, photo by www.glenjamn.com

Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
-- Eminem, "Lose Yourself"


So here's the point of all this.  This isn't about weight loss.  This isn't even really about me.  This is me saying to all of you, to any of you who happen to be reading this, Own your self esteem.  Yes, others will have an impact on how you see yourself and how you feel about yourself, but your self esteem is, by definition your own.  Step up to the plate and claim it.

I'm not selling the power of positive thinking or self-actualization.  What I'm doing is asking you to consider these questions --

Are you an author, trapped in a self-image of "trying to be a writer"?

Are you an artist, keeping your paintings to yourself until they're "good enough"?

Are you a guy, not asking out out that girl who you think might like you, because you can't imagine why she would?

Are you a woman, afraid to step out after your dream because of a parent who told you that you wouldn't be able to cut it?

You may have been wounded by others, but maybe it's time you re-cast how you think of yourself, because maybe your self-image is lagging behind reality.  Even if others are getting you down, there's no reason for you to pile on to yourself.

.Nevets.

Group Projects: The Bane of My Existence / The Future of My Career

All---

My hatred of group projects began in the third grade. I can be very precise about this because it was one of the most traumatic developmental moments of my life.  Like my traumatic moments, stripped to its bare bones, it was pretty silly.  But to third-grade-me it world-shattering.  It shaped how I felt about projects, but more than that it shaped I perceived other people and developed my sense of ownership over that in which I have invested.

Here's the scheme.

It's third grade.  Social studies project.  I love history, far more than any other kid in the class.  We're supposed to build some sort of diorama or model.  Another kid and I hit on the idea of making a model of an aztec city.  We divide up the labor based on parts.  Per usual, I did most of the work, all of the research, and my parents purchased most of the supplies.  The other kid who'd helped develop the idea helped a little.  Another contributed a plastic motorcycle.  Yes, a plastic motorcycle for a model Aztec city.  I worked hard to turn it into a bicycle which, I reasoned, was at least a little more plausible. The others did nothing.

At the end of project day, we got to take our projects home, and I was deliberately squeezed out by the other kids who developed a plan for taking a few pieces separate and having a rotation of having the model at home.  I got no turn in the rotation.  They got the teacher's blessing by taking all the credit for the work, while I stood to the side.  Stunned.  Crying.

From then on, group projects were to be avoided at all costs.

Over time, the sting of that experience softened, and by the time I was in college I didn't hate them with quite the same passion, but I still dreaded them.  Rather than credit or ownership, it was carrying the load that wore me down.  I remember a series of group geography projects in which I was the only one in my group who knew roughly where London and Paris were and knew that Egypt was still a country, not just something "from Bible times."  I wasn't just producing the work, I was having to remediate their education.

Group projects, it seems, are either hateful or wearying.

Grad school forced me to change that, though.  A research project cannot be a one-person job.  A thesis is the work of the entire committee.  Solitary work was a non-starter.  Avoiding group edits or contributions to to my thesis was a non-option.  In the end, my thesis had my name on it.  In the end, it defined my academic career.  In the end, it established my foothold in the world of scholarship.

And yet, in the end, it was no longer the research I had done or the thesis I had written.

It was the research we had done, and the thesis we had produced.

Sometimes the contributions were valuable.  Sometimes the edits, corrections, and suggestions made sense.  Sometimes the shifting of my theoretical framework were welcome.  Being forced to soften my conclusion?  Not welcome.  Neither was getting back an entire chapter back with one comment: "This is too poorly written for me to even read and comment on."  Neither was being forced to include data from researchers I didn't know or didn't trust.

I had to learn to separate my work from our work.  I had control over my research, and I had to learn to be satisfied in that.  I could write the thesis the way I wanted to before giving it to my committee, and I could be proud of that.  Once I had done my part, and it was in the group's hands, I had to to realize that it was no longer mine.  It was ours.

And, in the end, I'm proud of the thesis we produced, too.  Is it the thesis I would have written on my own?  No, not entirely.  Is it true to my essential vision for the project, though? Yes.  Is it better?  Maybe; they think so.  And the truth is, it doesn't matter if it's better or if it's worse.  Because, even though it's my name on it, it's the product of all our combined efforts.

Now, as I prepare to query Sublimation to agents, I'm glad that I've had that experience.  A novel that is published out of a publishing house is a group project, too.  I can write the novel I want and be proud of it.  But, in the end, the novel that hits the shelves will be the product of our combined efforts, even though it's my name on it.

.Nevets.

What I Learned from Clive Cussler or His Clone

All---

A few years ago, I met Clive Cussler.

Actually, I'm not sure it was Clive Cussler.  I didn't even connect the dots until very recently.  In case you're not familiar, Clive Cussler is a huge, blockbuster best-selling author, best known for his series of thrillers about diver, treasure-hunter, and lady's man Dirk Pitt.  His books incorporate history and science with a James Bond sort of playfulness and a Robert Ludlum pace.  He has sold more millions of books than even seems like a real number.

None of that came up when I met him.  Or his clone.

I was on a domestic flight at the time, sitting next to an older gentleman, whose general fitness and charisma spoke of an active, rich life.  As we got talking, he told me stories about places he'd been and things he'd seen.  He had a great eye for detail in the stories, which were engagingly told.  He was less detailed and less engaging about what exactly had brought him to those places or exposed him to those things.  He'd been around the world.  He'd grown up in California, he lived in Arizona.  He loved classic cars.  He was pretty clear that what he did now was collect cars, but not about much else.

I'm not an expert on Cussler's biography, and I was just enjoying the conversation with the man on the plane, not probing him for information, but given his appearance, age, personality, and the few general facts I have, I like to think there's a good chance it was Cussler himself.

But this isn't a story about meeting a famous writer.  This is a story about how I met Clive Cussler and one of the few things we didn't talk about was books or writing.   Sometimes as writers, I think it's easy to focus so much on our writing, that it's all we talk about and all we think about, and the next thing you know Amazon.com has close to 12,000 eBooks self-pubbed in which writers are writing about writing.  If you're writing or have written a book about writing, I'm not criticizing that.  It's a a fine thing to do.  But I wonder if it's what you wanted to write when you started writing?

We blog about writing.  We tweet about writing.  We FB about writing.  We make friends with writers.  We go to writing conventions.  We join writers' social groups.

All fine things, all things I do or have done.

But it narrows the world frightfully.

Romance writer Roni Loren, writes terrific blog posts about writing, but she also talks about hot guys and family life and healthy eating.  Zimbabwean ex-pat Andrea Eames blogs about fashion and style as much as more than she blogs about writing.  Literary craftsman Scott G. F. Bailey blogs about writing, but he also blogs about whatever he's reading, as well as plays he's seen, and whatever else is on his mind.  Darkly comic literary writer Aliya Whitely blogs about her writing, but also about vegetables and video games and she tweets ridiculously sharp verbal humor.  Writer of published crime novels and women's short fiction, Frances Garrood blogs about horses, shopping dollies, houses, politics, the elderly, and the entire tapestry of life.

There are other writers who maintain a diverse activity set, but I run into more and more of us who get dragged into the LaBrea tar pits of writing.

Ben Sisko said it, and I've repeated it, and I'll repeat it again: "I'm no writer; but if I were, it seems to me I'd want to poke my head up every once in a while and take a look around; see what's going on. It's life, Jake! You can miss it if you don't open your eyes."


Assuming it was Clive Cussler I met, and not his clone, that's the kind of writer he is.  The kind who can tell stories about China and Mexico.  The kind who has stories about boats and bicycles, about hunting and kidnappings.  The kind who can fill a flight with entertaining stories, without ever once talking about books or writing.

That's the kind of writer I try to be.  I don't usually make it.

.Nevets.

MC Escher's Evil Identical Cousin Cathy

"Waterfall"
by Andrew Kepert

All---

I don't have time to catalog all the writing myths I've run into over the years.  I don't even have an interest in doing so right now.  But here's one that I think is especially pernicious because it just makes so much sense that it resonates without explanation: write what you like to read.

I'm not disputing the value of being familiar with and well read in the genre you're publishing in.  I think even that can be made a little too much of, but I have experienced its value first hand so I at least get it.

But that's not the same as writing what you like to read.  New writers sometimes ask, "I want to write, but I'm not sure what to write."  Developing writers sometimes ask, "I feel like I should settle on a genre for this story, but I'm not sure which."  Readers sometimes ask writers, "How did you decide what to write?"  And too often the answer is, "Write what you like to read."

But, as the saying going, here's the thing.  I read sci fi.  I read westerns.  I read mysteries.  I read fantasy and historical fiction.  I read literature with very internal story lines.  I read spy thrillers and psychological suspense.  Most of the time, what I read isn't telling the stories I want to tell.  Most of the time, authors I read aren't telling the stories in the way I would.   When I'm writing I take human psychology, brutally force it through a sieve that distorts reality, and then chunk it violently together with philosophy.

And every time I try to step away from my role as Escher's verbal dark side, the stories break.  They don't work.  They don't click.  No matter how much I might appreciate the story if told another way.

Truth be told, I'm already reading people who tell the stories I want to read.  I'm telling stories to tell them, not to read them.  And, strangely, in the end, I don't like stories that I write how I might like to read them.  But I love the stories that I write how I like to tell them.

And so, when I want to tell an existential story about the need to matter, it includes a shotgun and a man in a chicken suit ("The Best Medicine," Genre Wars).  When I want to write a story about coping with death, it centers on a forensic anthropologist reveling in gore ("Death, Be Not Me," Genre Wars).  When I want to tell the sweet love story of a man breaking free of isolation, its course runs through the imagery of serial killing and dead insects ("Terminal Instar," Notes from Underground).  When I want to tell the story of the two-edged sword that is heritage, I take a main character with an attitude problem and throw a ticking bomb in his pocket ("Kansai Oniisan," Stores for Sendai).

And when I try to write about the human struggle for patience in a busy world, employing airport observations as partial metaphors (see my last blog post), it doesn't click until I wrap it around a revenge plot turned mercy killing.

So here's my verdict:

Write the story you want to tell, and write it the way you want to tell it -- and the way only you can.


.Nevets.


p.s. Someday maybe I will take a stab at what, "and the way only you can," means.

What Will the Reader Remember?

All---

So I set out today to write another post about books you might be surprised to learn influenced my writing -- even bigger surprises like Bridge to Terabithia and Rifles for Watie.  Only, as  I started to come up with the list, I ran into a roadblock:

Books that made huge impacts on me and my writing, but which I can barely remember well enough to identity.

For instance:

I wanted to tell you about Terror in Yellowknife.  I think I might have between twelve when I read it, but I'm not sure.  We got it at the used bookstore in Wabash, Indiana.  It was a western.  A mass-market paperback.  In fact, the edition I had was a double book, paired with some other western with a happier, Down the Long Hills type of feel.  The book I remember, though, Terror in Yellowknife, was the first thing I ever read that was a true suspense novel.  A crazed Indian, seeking revenge held the town under siege.  I remember the picture on the cover of the angry Indian in the shadows, holding a knife.  I remember being vaguely offended by what even then I took as some uncomfortable playing to stereotypes.  But mostly I remember this book at the feeling it gave me of needing to read the rest of the story ever time I sit down to write my own suspense fiction.  

But apparently I do not remember the title.  Because Terror in Yellowknife does not seem to exist.  Neither does Blood in Yellowknife.  Or Siege, Savage, or Renegade  of Yellowknife.  Odds are, it's not even Yellowknife at this rate.  I've looked through a couple lists of old double-print westerns, but nothing sounds right. 

Then two there was a book I read when I was ten.  Some kind of fantasy novel.  Talking animals, adventure, and warfare.  What I mostly remember is that there was a character called Bern.  He was one of the bears.  And he got killed.  And the book essentially celebrated his death as a villain. I couldn't handle it.  It traumatized me.  I literally had a break-down about it.  I felt that bear had deserved a chance at redemption and it killed me inside that he didn't have that chance.  I mean, I was crying and hurting inside just about as bad as I ever have my entire life.  It still gets me when I remember it.  And I guarantee that reading experience is one of the main why every single thing I write grapples in some way with the idea of redemption.  Every.  Single.  Thing.  It's there.  I promise you.  Usually I'm quite aware of it.  Sometimes it doesn't hit me until after.  But it's in everything.

And yet, despite that strong experience -- or perhaps because of it -- I can recall nothing else about the book.  I think it was part of a series.  But I don't have a guess about title or author, or about any other characters, or even about the overall plot.

Now, I think I may have finally found this one tonight.  I think it might be Niel Hancock's Wilderness of Four series.  I remember that we had Dragonwinter, and a couple of the covers in that series look familiar, and apparently book one at least features bears.  I found a reference to Bern the red Bear on a fan's comments on the fourth book in the series.  So I think that's probably it.

But nothing about the series really rings a bell.  I don't think I finished it once Bern was killed, because I hated it so much, but I had read a good chunk. 

And then there was a book I read a little later in life.  I think fourteen or fifteen.  It was a fantasy novel, also part of a series.  I think the author was British.  Maybe Michael something?  Honestly, I didn't even finish the novel, let alone the series.  I couldn't get into the writing style at the time.  Probably that's why I don't remember the particulars.  But I do strongly remember the world the author created.  Everything was built around light, and lights, and candles.  It was part of the setting, part of the plot, and part of the symbolism.  It was rich and it felt unique.  It crosses my mind often, and has greatly influenced how I think about a book as an integrated whole, not a collection of pieces.

But that's all I remember.

And so, rather than give you a list of books that have influenced me, I give you those three puzzles, and the following reminder: No matter what you write, you have no control over what the reader is going to remember, and you cannot predict what impact it will have on another human being.

It's humbling and sobering to think about.  It's also confounding.  And exhilarating.  

.Nevets.

You're Still a Writer, Bub

Hey, Nevets, you cynical, whiny, give-upper.

Heard you the other day.  Talkin' to someone who didn't know nothin' so you thought no one who knew somethin' would hear.  Well, I heard.  And I'm calling you on the carpet, and this isn't the nice, friendly, hey have a piece of cake kind of calling you on the carpet, and it's not even the not-so-bad  pouring applesauce on your head kind of calling you on the carpet.  This is the, What were thinking? kind of calling you on the carpet -- the kind that comes with a slap on the face and a kick in the rear.

"A writer, well, yeah, I'm trying to be."

That's what you said.

Yes, it is.

Yes.

It is.

You may not have said it out loud.  You may not have said in print.  You may not have said it telepathically to the alien mother of your best friend from the galaxy of telepathic people.  But you said it.

Punk.

Whatever happened to, "One of the most important things steps in being a writer is just saying you're a writer."  Whatever happened to, "If you're writing, you're a writer -- not an aspiring writer, but a writer."  Whatever happened to, "Trying to be published doesn't mean you're trying to be a writer; writing means being a writer."

Notice no question marks.

Because those weren't really questions.

I know the answer as much as you do.

What happened it that you copped out.  Because it's easier to say, "I'm trying to be a writer," then it is to say,  "I'm a writer who's not getting much writing done."  Because that sounds like failure.  That sounds like it's some how your fault.  Like you're falling short of the mark.  But if you're trying, then, hey, that's a frickin' A for Effort and a parade down-town with ice cream and confetti and elephants and you're so full of it.

Yeah, you're really busy right now.  Yeah, you're sick again.  Yeah, you can't get your head clear or your emotions straight or your brain awake or your fingers on the dang keyboard.

Waaaaaaaaah.

Maybe you don't have the hours in your day right now.  Maybe your creative juices are flowing like the tears of a tar-pit mammoth.  Maybe you can barely stay awake or keep from crying or stop yourself from coughing.

So flipping what?

Seriously, bro.  So what?

Oh, I know.  If you say you're a writer then you feel guilty for not writing.  Guilt means pressure and stress and crying and sleeping and coughing.

Sometimes people don't do the thing they want to do or need to do or feel like they should do.  Sometimes, people can only do what they can do.  In any walk of life.

So you don't get off the hook.  A guy isn't "Trying to be a manager," because he his boss has him working on a project rather than managing.  Or "Trying to be a baseball player," because he's laid up with an injury.  Or "Trying to be a painter," because she's just had eye surgery and can't see right now.

You're not trying to be a writer.  You are a writer.

So shut it.

And stop stressing.

Go for the Throat

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I hope to avoid making this post either corny or bittersweet, but please forgive me if I'm able to avoid neither perfectly.  What I want to do today is simply this: to encourage you to look your dreams and your goals in the eye and then go for their throat.

As someone with an overly complex philosophical and theological outlook, I try not to live with regrets.  Except when I'm suffering from exhaustion or general malaise, I usually manage that pretty well.  But while I do not regret the choices I've made in my life, I can still encourage others to make different choices.  Rather than wallow in memoirs and rambling advice, let me boil down my thoughts for today to points and examples:


If you're young, so what?  I know some impressive, productive young people who are involved in writing, such as Tiffany Cole and Golden Eagle, and some who are not much older than them such as Misha Gericke.  These writers are energetic and enthusiastic, and I hope every day that they manage to keep up being aggressive.  I know when I was in junior high, high school, and even college I often thought to myself, "But who's going to publish a guy who's only ___ years old?"  Don't think that way.  Just write well.  If your writing makes your age irrelevant then, well, your age is irrelevant.


Don't procrastinate.  I've written hundreds of short stories.  I've probably submitted about a dozen of them.  There are dozens more, at least, that are worthy of submission.  And most of the ones that have been rejected have only been rejected once -- and are certainly worthy of re-submission.  But for much of my writing life I've had this habit of lazy planning.  Ugh, I need to find a way to print this, and then I need to get stamps and mail it.  Oh, and I need to make a SASE.  I'll get to that this weekend.  Or, um, next weekend.  Or maybe the weekend after.  Or... perhaps... never.


Perfection is a goal, not an expectation.  So don't wait until you've written something perfect to start submitting.  Write something good.  Write something of quality.  But it's trap to try and wait until you've perfected the craft of writing or until you feel like there's nothing left to improve about a story.  No one perfects the craft of writing, and there is always something left to improve about a story.

Health is not irrelevant.  Your emotional, physical, and social health are important for your functioning as a productive, creative being.  Do not neglect them, even in favor of pursuing of your dream, because when they suffer, your pursuit will suffer, too.

Take the time while you have it.  This is a hard one for most people to respond to, because everyone  feels busy and you always feel like you have pressures to meet.  And you are busy -- and you do have pressures.  But life rarely gets simpler between the ages of sixteen and thirty-mumble, and it doesn't look like it gets simpler by forty-mumble or fifty-mumble either.  Find ways to maximize the time you have now, because a year from now, you're probably going to have more and more complicated pressures for your time than what you have now.

Be smarter than me.  Writing and getting published are challenging enough without creating your own obstacles.  So don't do it.

.Nevets.

Write with MOPLO!

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So I'm typically a lucid dreamer.  When I dream there are almost always at least two streams of consciousness going: the dream and my reflection on the dream.  And most of my dreams are excruciatingly boring and endlessly monotonous -- typically I'm at work, I'm shopping, or I'm driving around a campground.  Put the two together and sleep is pretty exhausting.

But every once in a while it gets interesting.

Albeit in a boring way.

On Saturday night I was dreaming, and I don't recall the main body of the dream, but one point there was an interjection.  An older person, wise and experienced, with a voice like a genderless Statler or Waldorf.  the person was on a balcony with red curtains, and sat to me, while gesturing with a pen, "Write with MOPLO!"

(Both O's are long, incidentally.)

The dream state part of me understood it as an acronym and, moreover, took it to heart as sound advice.

The part of my mind that was reflecting on the dream was so confused it woke me up so I could try to figure out what on earth MOPLO might stand for.  And, in all candor, I couldn't stop thinking about it and never really got back to sleep.

So, I want to pass along this same advice all my writer friends: Write with MOPLO!


But then I want to ask all of you out there...

Um....

What's MOPLO?

The best I've been able to come up with is this:

Write with More Power / Less Obfuscation.


Sound advice, to be sure, and I'm trying to take that to heart.

Any other ideas?

.Nevets.

When The Invincible System Breaks Down

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Ruins
photo by Aisog

I've talked before on the blog about one of my favorite benefits from outlining, even the coarse and vague way I do it: I'm not dependent on being in a zone or in a particular mood to write.  I have the guideline there,  so if I don't "feel it," it doesn't matter. I can just sit down and discipline myself to write.

As much as I'd like to think this makes my writing invincible, it is not so.

Like any other offer, there are the "ordinary" challenges of time, energy, and and health, all of which can wreak havoc upon the ability to properly chase a project.  More than those, though, what makes my writing really start to become a shore is when my own emotions are strong are conflicted.

I've written many times about how I approach writing by getting into character and more or less roleplaying them or acting them out on paper.  It's great for voice, development, and reader experience.  But when my own emotions battling for my attention, it's much more difficult to be able to drown them out with my characters.

This is something that I have to work on.  Right now, Sublimation is very close to being finished, but I'm really struggling with the middle of the end.  The end is written.  The beginning and middle are written.  The middle of the end is a jumbled up skeleton.  And getting it into shape is really a beat right now, because of the "intrusion" of my outside life.

Once I have a book contract, that's not going to fly.  While I do respond well to deadlines, it will require some major tinkering with my internal writing process.  After all, you don't tell your publisher, "Sorry, things at the day job are weighing me down, and there's some other stuff going on that I'm trying to sort through."  It's not an option.  Professionals push through and perform anyway.

I'm not yet sure how to make it work, how to find that switch when a psychological fog prevents me from seeing it clearly.

But I'll try to distill my experience down to some takeaways that you might think about.

• No matter what your system or approach, it will break down sometimes.  Every writer needs to be aware of this, and every professional writer needs to have a way to manage their writing projects when it happens.
• It's not easy to treat your writing like a job when you have another job.  We all know this, but I think sometimes it's also an elephant in the room, like we're ashamed to admit it's a struggle.  Well, it is a struggle, and there's no point in acting tough about it.
• Just as you should never depend on external motivators and evaluators for your writing, you can't depend entirely on internal strength either, for it comes and goes.  At some point, something else may have to pull you through, if it's truly important that you get through.

What do you guys think?  What do you do when when your invincible system breaks down?  When your immortal muse gets its head lopped off?

.Nevets.

Soundtrack for writing this post provided by Queen.

Write What You Know... ... ... Ish.

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I've actually had this topic bouncing around in my head for a long time, but now it's racing, thanks to Michelle Davidson Argyle's exposure of lies told to writers.  Every writer has heard this, and most non-writers have heard this:

"Write what you know."


Most of us writers have, at one time, believed this and taken it to heart.

Most of us writers have, at another time, rebelled fiercely against it.

I've come to believe that there is a very important truth in this statement, but that it's been lost due to abuse, misuse, over-preaching, and misunderstanding.  In her post, Michelle distills the value of this sentiment down to, "Write confidently."  I think that's part of it, but I would respectfully take it in a slightly different direction: "Write authentically."


It's odd to me that so many writers take this admonishment literally.  Some do this in their acceptance of the  maxim, to the great detriment of their writing.  Some do it in their refutation of the position, making a bit of a straw man.  I'll confess to now knowing the origin story of, "Write what you know," but I don't think it was meant to preclude imagination or writing about the exotic.

(As a brief aside, "Write what you know," is also the briefest form of the aphorism.  I have also been taught variations on it that inherently make more sense:  (1) "When you're stumped as a writer, you should always go back to the basics and write what you know."  (2) "When you're a new writer, trying to become comfortable with mechanics, style, and voice, you should start by writing what you know.")

Here are some things I think were not intended by the speculative first to teach, "Write what you know," that too many writers and even some writing teachers I've met, think are included:

• Write only locations you have been.
• Write only characters who are essentially like you.
• Write only plot-lines that mirror real experiences you have had.
• Write only from your own world view.
• Avoid writing fantasy, historical fiction, or anything speculative that is not grounded in hard science.

The list goes on, and only gets more absurd and more destructive to creativity as it goes.  Please don't go down that road.  It's not what I mean, and I'm fairly certain it's not what this idea is supposed to mean either.

"Write what you have experienced know firsthand know is real know."

So what do I think, "Write what you know" means?

I think confidence is part of it, but I think it's also about authenticity.  Confidence is critical, but confidence can also be misplaced.  I've read a lot of confidently written material that rings utterly false and the writing is weaker because of it.

I don't believe in any real rules, of course.  I will always stop short of saying you must write with authenticity.  I do firmly believe, however, that your strongest writing will always be authentic.  Authenticity implies that you can express what something is really like, not that you have necessarily experienced it yourself. 

Some ideas of what that might mean:

• Know the emotions, even if not the specific stimuli in the story.  If you're writing a story about the loneliness of a life where your dreams are always out of reach, you should understand what that feels like.  That doesn't mean that you need to have been in that exact position.  It means you need to understand the human condition, the drives, the longing, the emotions that are all involved.  Maybe this requires research.  Maybe it requires intelligent extrapolation.  Maybe it is something you've experienced.  But for your writing to be at its strongest, you should know these feelings -- not just guess about them.

• Research isn't always enough.  Research  is great for gathering facts.  Good research can even get you an idea of what others have experienced.    Research can also lead to false confidence, however, and you can write with an authority you don't really have.   I'm not talking about the nit-picky details, either.  I may cringe when I read passages about archaeologists, but I try my best not to be the guy that says, "We would never have used a quarter-inch screen in that kind of soil!"  Whoopty-whoop.  But when you make something integral to your story and the characters' experience, be aware of the potential limitations of research.  It's one thing to be sitting in Indiana and read research that indicates --20F degree temperatures are common in Alaskan winters.  It's another to actually understand what -20F degrees feels like and means for people.  Sometimes, it's just a matter of  making sure you have done the right research and found people who talk about how -20F without much wind really isn't that big a deal to people who live there, and that's it's probably inauthentic to have an Alaskan character mid-winter think of 0F as getting cold.   Sometimes, you can't find things out by research and you need to experience them for yourself.  The point, though, is to know these things, not simply to be aware of the basic facts. 

• Know enough.  This is really a capstone to the first two ideas.  It's also almost tautological.  If you're writing about an archaeologist, you don't need to know what a datum is unless it's important that you do.  Likewise, if the temperature is only a minor environmental note, it doesn't matter  if you know how people experience it.  But if you're writing about people's experience, suddenly it becomes important.  It's very tempting to take a piece of fact and guess about the experience.  "Okay, I know a patient in this condition will be vomiting.  EMT's deal with vomiting a lot.  What will probably happen is that the people around will be grossed out and the EMT will chuckle, unmoved by the grossness."  In point of fact, a vast majority of EMT's never get used to vomit.  That might be important if you're writing about an EMT response to vomit, but would be irrelevant if you were just having an EMT come to the aid of a vomiting patient.  Know enough about what you're writing in order to accomplish what you're trying to accomplish.

And finally...

• Know enough to understand when it doesn't matter.  Part of authenticity is understanding the variation that exists.  It's tempting sometimes to lock onto a fact and assume you must reflect it.  Not true.  But your writing will benefit from your knowing when it's best to reflect it and when it's not.  Go back the EMT example.  "Vast majority" does not equal "all."  Intentionally making a choice to have an EMT (for instance) be callous to vomit is quite different from simply not knowing in the first place.    It opens up opportunities.  "Seth chuckled quietly as both his partner and the sick girl's family withdrew with the stench of her sickness."

Those four points are just guidelines to help you understand what authenticity is about.  To cram it all into a simple take-away:

Writing what you know, or writing authentically, means knowing enough about what you're writing that even if you've never experienced it yourself before, your readers will feel as if they have, through your story.

.Nevets.

Writing in One Genre? Why Limit Yourself?

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If you've spent much time at all in the writing blogosphere, you've doubtless run into writers' struggling with balancing the desire to write in multiple genres with what seems like sensible advice to pick one and settle into it while establishing your career.  I've blogged on it multiple times, sometimes referring to the selected genre as a pigeonhole, of all things.  Recently, middle grade author Alex MacKenzie did a guest-spot on the Literary Lab, in which she referred to her writing as as, at a minimum, a two-trick pony; and Michelle Davidson Argyle, author of literary fantasy and literary thrillers, said she felt like she was defying her own good sense.

Very often the gut response by authors and those who support and encourage is, "Why limit yourself?"  Or, more expansively, something along the lines of, "You have so many great ideas, why limit your own creative energy or the experiences of your readers by confining yourself to only one genre?"

I don't intend to give guidance any to any individuals in this post, because I think genre choice is a very personal decision and different authors can and should go about approachingit very differently for themselves.  That said, I would like to respond to this one notion -- "Why limit yourself?"

As you know, I've done just that.

I am an author of psychological suspense and short, character-driven literary fiction -- but my interests are incredibly diverse.  I have not only a general desire to write in other genres, but some specific goals that will never be met without some dabbling in other genres, and a handful of very specific projects ideas in other genres.  But, for now, I have limited myself.

And I'm glad I have -- and not just for marketing reasons.  Forget those.  What I want to suggest to you is that, at least for me, I have gained a lot by limiting myself.  I'll strip away the lengthy examples and cumbersome analogies that I normally work with and just give you the hit list.  Some of this might be obvious, but others I think are a little less so.

• It has given some focus to my reading, so that I am really familiar with the genre of the book I am writing.  This helps me know what techniques are common, what cliches to avoid, what's taken for granted, and what's a little risky.
  
• It has given more focus to my networking.  While I  still meet and get to know authors in other genres, I have made some tremendous contacts specifically within my genre because I'm one of them.

• It has allowed me to really strengthen my writing.  I was a good writer before I chose my genre.  Once I settled into the genre, and my writing brain became more focused, and all my writing projects became centered around that genre and style, my writing has become far stronger and far punchier.

• It has given me a tool set for answering those questions that inevitably come up when you're writing.  "How should I handle this?"  "What's most important here?"  "How do I want to structure this?"  "What should the arc of the pacing be like?"  Oh, right, like psychological suspense.  Because that's what I write.  Simply defining the genre of my book was never as helpful as defining my genre as an author for answering these questions because I could always cop out to, "Well, this is a psychological suspense novel, but I'm just a writer and I have a literary world at my fingertips."

• It has helped me understand specifically how my book does and does not fit into my genre.  I don't have just a general sense of, "It doesn't really fit perfectly into bookstore shelf-genres."  Because I know my genre, I can point to specific elements that fit or or don't, and I can engage in informed conversation about the decisions I made in those regards.

• It has encouraged a general discipline in how I approach writing projects.  The fact that I'm not going to allow myself to jump onto a sci fi project or a fantasy project has removed a great deal of the temptation to hop around or waste my mental energy on projects other than the one I'm trying to finish. Delayed gratification is not bad.

• It has dramatically enhanced my voice.  Part of an author's voice comes from an author's self-identity, and the stronger that self-identity, the stronger and more confident, the more well-developed the authorial voice.

• It has increased the seriousness of my outlook at my writing.  Lots of people are writers.  Lots of people want to write a novel.  Lots of people write stuff.  I was like that for many years.  Even after I decided I wanted to taking my writing seriously, but the day I determined that I'm an author of psychological suspense and short, character-driven literary fiction, it was really serious.

I'll stop there before this gets unwieldy.  Again, my point isn't to convince everyone that they need to pick a single genre.  You don't have to.  But, if you're a career-track writer, and you're conscious of the marketing concerns, of the pressure to establish an identity for yourself at the outset of your career, but your fans and loved ones keep asking you, "Why limit yourself?" -- maybe this will help you see that it's not all bad limiting yourself.

Bones heal best in restrictive casts.  Children develop best with rules and boundaries.  You can't have a reservoir without a dam.  (Okay, so I couldn't stay entirely away from the terrible analogies.)

Limits aren't always bad.

And they aren't forever.

They're for now.

.Nevets.

Soundtrack to writing this post provided by Ronnie Dio, Faith No More, Dokken, Skid Row, and Queensryche.

Take Your Manuscript and Spray It with Cologne or Perfume. Right Now.

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I'm not joking.  Spray your manuscript with cologne.  And I don't mean you need to do it because it stinks.  I mean you need to it, because it's part of good writing.  What am I talking about?  Read on, my friends, read on.

I think a lot about how the human mind works.  (Some say too much. lol)  But over the years I've learned something that, for many, seems counterintuitive.  When I was growing up, I was pretty close to another kid who had pretty severe ADD, before it was super-trendy.  He used to tell me that the only way he could concentrate on his homework was to have music on, and that never made sense to me.  Wouldn't that be another distraction?

Well, over the years I've learned something about my own mind.  I don't have ADD, but I have some sensory issues that make me easily overwhelmed.  Clutter is stultifying to me, groups people oppressive, and jarring or repetitive noises (even when quiet) are literally painful.  I've found ways over the years of managing a lot of that, but I never understood why a couple of my tricks were helpful.

One thing that helps me when I'm in a crowd, like out and about, is if I'm listening to music in headphones.  Not necessarily so loud I can't hear the people I'm with, but loud enough that I can clearly hear it.  Why would that help?  It's more noise!  Ridiculous!

Another thing that helps is scent.  Burning incense.  Wearing a bit cologne.  Nothing overwhelming, but something that stands out that I can smell.  And what does that have to do with anything else?

Then one day I realized some others I do, subconsciously, to help manage those situations, and it finally dawned on me.  By giving myself one, single sensory input that's stronger than the others, I'm giving my brain something to focus on, rather than splitting its focus, and suddenly the other things that are around not only are "quieter" but are more manageable.  The strong sensory input takes the lead portion of my brain, so there's no more competition for that spot.  The brain is then more free to process the rest and prioritize appropriately.

Here's where we get the writing part.

I've always sort of understood the idea of anchors in writing.  Of needing to help ground your readers so that they don't feel like they're just floating around in your narrative.  An unanchored reader feels a bit lost and bit aimless.

I got that intellectually years ago.

But it wasn't until I figured out this sensory stuff that it truly clicked with me what that anchoring stuff is all about.  It's about giving the reader a focal point or something that draws them through the narrative or through the passage.  It's about bringing something to the forefront to help give the reader's brain a chance to process and prioritize everything else.

Often times, these anchors are the things that seem unnecessary.  Rich settings.  Props in characters' hands.  Objects in the space.  The weather.  The smells.  Sounds.  Writers often want to cut them out when they get in slash-and-tighten mode.  Anchors don't always seem to advance plot or character development.  And if they don't do that they need to go, right?

Well, I hardly need to wear a little cologne to get through my day in a literal sense.  I don't need to burn incense to write technically.  Wearing headphones in the mall doesn't contribute to my shopping or socializing experience.

So wrong.

Their contribution is not to the direct activity.  Their contribution is toward my ability to effectively engage in the activities.  Just  as your anchors may not contribute directly to your character development or to the advancement of your plot, but they are essential parts of helping your reader engage with your narrative in an effective way.

So take out that manuscript and spray it with a little cologne.

.Nevets.

An Anthropologist-Writer's View on Writers and Social Ethics

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I've gotten into this conversation a few times on other blogs, but I don't think I have here, and I think it would be good to take a few moments to do that.  The topic comes up routinely: should a writer be allowed to portray folks from people of other cultures/races, or should they just write what they know?

I'm here to say, first of all, that, as a lover of freedom, I'm not in favor of any shouldn't placed on writers.  So the simplest answer is, yes, writers should be allowed to portray whomever they wish.

But I'm here to say, second of all, that the question not only presents a false dichotomy, but also misses an opportunity to engage writers in serious conversation about social ethics.

The false dichotomy is this: there are more than two choices here.  No fiction writer that I know only ever writes only things he or she knows directly from personal experience.  Most of us call on a mixture of things we know, things we think we know, and things we imagine.  There would be much less enjoyment for both readers and writers if we limited ourselves more strictly than that.  At the simplest, most stories include more than all female characters or all male characters.  So please don't cut off conversation by posing a question that does not exist.

And I do think there is an important conversation to be had here.  I'm not advocating censorship or even self-censorship, but I do believe in social ethics.  Anything ethical is an individual decision, so I'm not advocating a particular position here, but I am suggesting that if you're a writer, you owe it to yourself as part of your development to think about questions like these.

The idea of social ethics are, in large part, baggage I have brought with me from anthropology.    It's complex issue that defies full discussion in a single blog entry, but two main ideas that related to writing are this: (1) all communication takes place in two social contexts (in this case, that of the writer and that of the reader), each of which adds a layer of meaning onto all words and expressions; (2) any expression made in public space has an impact on unanticipated individuals.

In other words, it's all well and good for me to write whatever I want, but once I put it out there, other people are going to read it.  What are my obligations to those readers?  In the strictest sense, I have none.

But, as an anthropologist, I do believe that none of us are truly isolated, and that we exist in a complex web of society and culture, and I personally feel convicted to respect those relationships, no matter how intangible they may seem at times.

So what's an example of how social ethics impact my writing?

One of the biggest tenets of my own code of ethics as a writer is taken straight from my code of ethics as anthropologist.  It's okay for me to talk about, analyze, and portray folks from any culture to the best of my understanding.  It's not okay for me to assume a position in which I presume to speak for that culture.

In anthropology, we have two buzz words that describe how an individual perceives and describes a culture: etic, which is the descriptive outside view; and emic, which is the intimately understood inside view.   It is an anthropologists's goal to move from the etic towards the emic, trying to get more and more of an intimate knowledge of the culture through what we call participant observation (learning it by living it).  But when an anthropologist crosses the line and forgets that he is not actually of the other culture, he said to have "gone native."  The phrase is distasteful and I'm not fond of it, but the idea is that the anthropologist has lost his credibility and runs the risk of very likely offending both the culture he left and the culture he thinks he has joined.

It's a risk writers run when they write from another culture's stand-point and assume an advocacy position.  My point here isn't to criticize those authors, nor to speak out against such writing, per se.  My point is that, if an authors is going to do that, I hope the other is doing so thoughtfully, aware of the social implications.

And, then, if the author decides to do it, I would hope that they don't act surprised if they get flack for it.

Again, my intention here is not to stipulate any specific ethics for my fellow writers, but instead to encourage thoughtfulness about these things.  If we want to just write whatever, that's fine.  But once we put it out in public, I do believe that it behooves us and others if we put it out there thoughtfully.

So what do you the rest of you readers and writers think?

.Nevets.

The Importance of Fit

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Bear with me today.  This is one of those posts that is going to spiral a bit, but I think (given the topic) it's important that I write it as it comes naturally to me.  This is neither a whining post, nor an advice post, though it may seem like both.  I would love any feedback, comments, questions, pointers, sarcasm, or anything else you'd like to offer, though.  I love that Nevets.QST has, over the past year, become more interactive.  I love the exchange of ideas and conversation in the comments almost more than I like the posts themselves. So hang in there and then voice back!

Let me start with the part that will, at first, sound like whining.  Like many writers, and indeed like many others in this world, I am working a day job that I don't particular care for.  In fact, as of last Wednesday, I was already sick to my stomach at the thought of returning to my job today (Monday).   I realize how pathetic that is.  I'm not asking for pity, though.  Because here's the thing -- my job isn't that onerous.  I don't do grueling labor, I don't have a monstrous boss, and for the most part I don't have to engage with venomous clients.  The job is no big deal, really.

So why do I struggle with it?

Because it's a poor fit.

Many of you have probably gathered enough about my personality to understand that I'm not geared for a workroom-type job.  When I first took  my present job, there was a large portion of time spent with clients and amidst the urgency of people's immediate needs.  Over time, the job has transformed into one that keeps me in the workroom most of the time and focusing on long-term projects and technology.  I'm good enough at it, and it's not horrible work.

But it's a poor fit.

I thrive in chaos and I get my energy from interaction with other people.  I work in a realm of ideas and emotions.  Long, step-by-step work literally makes me car sick (seriously).  Facts and figures, mechanics and   measurements are a foreign language to me.  (I was a history major who couldn't do names and dates.  Go figure.)

Now here's the part that might sound like advice: the only reason I'm writing about this is because I've realized increasingly just how important this is in writing, too.    It's not enough to be good at what you're writing.  It needs to be a good fit.  It's not enough to write properly and in a productive way.  You need to write in a way that is a good fit.  It's not enough to find an agent who represents books like yours or a publisher that sells books like yours or a blog that posts stories like yours -- it has to be a good fit.

No matter how good the stories are, if they're not really a good fit for you, it's not going to click, and in the end you're going to feel like writing is a burden and a struggle.  You're going to be struggling with all sorts of ancillary questions about genre and voice and tone and structure and marketability.  Sometimes you're struggling with those questions because your subconscious is looking for an excuse to not write that story in the first place.

So here's the kicker, if you want advice: write something that's a good fit for you, and stop worrying about everything and everyone else.


It's not even about about what you like.  I like a lot of things that aren't a good fit for me.  I loved what I was doing when I was doing forensic anthropology.  But it wasn't a good fit.  I loved the wilderness of Alaska, but as a place to live, it wasn't a good fit.  I love this suit that's hanging in my closet, but it doesn't fit.

When it fits, you not only like it, but you excel at it, you're comfortable in it, the challenges feel like opportunities, and the upsides make up for the downsides.  When it doesn't fit some of those may be true, but others may have to be forced, and at the end of the day you're going to be sick to your stomach about it.

And yet so many of my writing friends try to write things that don't fit them.  Because they're afraid of the consequences if they let it all hang out.  Or because they're afraid no one will like it.  Or because they don't think it's up to snuff.  Or because they think a grown-up shouldn't be writing Young Indiana Jones fan fiction.  Or because no one reads Westerns anymore.  Or because everyone in their crit group tells them that they really are a paranormal romance writer at heart.

If it doesn't fit, you must quit.


But I said this was neither about whining or about giving advice.  And it's not.  What's it about then?

It's about the dang struggle.

Because it's all well and good to say fit is important.  But when you have to pay bills in a down economy, you keep the job that doesn't fit.  And when you're writing, you don't always know what's a good fit.  And sometimes, when you do know what fits, the implications are too crazy to deal with.

Writer of that which is-not-but-perhaps-might-be-or-should-be, Tara Maya advised me recently to write for a world of me's, or to write for a Japanese audience, to write the crazy surreal, wu xia-influenced fiction that I like.  And she was pretty much right.  That would be a pretty great fit in a lot of ways.

But, at the end of the day, I face a pretty mercenary question.  As screenwriter and novelist Ryne Pearson put it: do you want to write about peach pie or do you want to sell books?

But (yes, there's another but) that's a trap, because you're not going to write your best books unless you're writing something that's a good fit.  And if you're not writing your best books, you're not as likely to sell them.  (And, in case you're unfamiliar with Pearson's work, I don't think peach pie would be a good fit for him.)

So what does that mean?  For me, I think it means stop screwing around with all the other stuff and just write a good story.  Check out the conversation that Domey Malasarn started in the Literary Lab blog today.  As he suggested in the initial post, a book does not need to be perfect in its individual elements to be a great book.

Domey talked about plot, character, and prose.  The same goes for everything else.  The word perfect means complete.  What makes a story perfect is that it's everything it can be.

That doesn't happen without fit.

Someday I'll take that advice to heart and write something that truly fits.  But in the mean time, I have a novel to finish.

If you're still with me, I appreciate your endurance.  And I would absolutely love to hear from you in the comments.

.Nevets.

Blue October provided the soundtrack for this post.

Don't be a Crummy Santa Writer

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If you're anything like me you hate giving people Christmas lists.   I don't have a problem coming up with ideas for things that would be nice to get, but I hate setting myself up.   What do I mean?

Well, for instance, two separate family members asked for list from me.  I gave each of them a list of EMT gear they could get me that ranged from the very cheap to the more moderately priced so that they had a range.  It was a pretty good list that could be purchased easily on the internet or at a variety of local stores.  I was excited to see, when the time came around, what they got me from the list.

And, of course, they had not gotten me anything from the list.  What they had decided on was perfectly nice and perfectly useful, but I couldn't help a sense of disappointment.  I had given them a list and no matter how much I might have otherwise liked what they gave me, it's not what I asked for.

Lest you think I'm posting to whine about Christmas presents, I'm not.  Here's the point:

When a writer submits something to an agent or an editor and then gets a list of changes back, it's rather like getting a Christmas list back.  "Here's what I'd like to see changed."

Too often, writer friends of mine or writers I follow in the blogosphere seem to have a response along the lines of, "Well, I actually have some ideas for revising this that are not exactly the same, but I  think they really make for an even better, stronger book, so I'll go with that and re-send it in."

And then they get shocked when the agent or editor either sends back with more requests or just opts to reject altogether.

So here's my advice.  Take it for what it's worth, based as it is on general human psychology and not on my own experience: give them what they want.  Or don't give it back to them at all.  Or else know that you're taking a chance that they will say, "Eh, it's nice, but it's not what I asked for."

If you're asking an agent or an editor to help get your book out there in the world, disappointing them isn't going to help your cause.

Be a better Santa than that.

.Nevets.

Gary Corby: Optimism Through Confidence

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For many years, new authors have struggled with innocence.  Filled with hopes and dreams, the reality of the publishing industry can become too much to bear.  In today's world with a thriving community of agents, editors, and and fellow authors on the internet, authors often struggle from the opposite extreme.  They know the challenge of publishing; they know the odds their facing; and it can seem impossible.  Gary Corby, well-received debut author with Minotaur, was kind enough to describe how he himself, as an internet-savvy and industry-wise author, was able to fend off pessimism:


I love your phrase, "the pursuit of publication has dark moments."  I'd say when you query, it's one long dark moment, with only a tiny spot of light in the far-off distance, towards which you stumble, and unfortunately, the light's an oncoming locomotive.


I'm fairly sure every single published writer went through a depressed period, totally convinced that they and their book were doomed.  This is only rational, because on the odds, they were doomed!  It's a sometimes quoted statistic on the nets that agents receive 10,000 queries a year, from which they will sign perhaps 1 or 2 writers.  If anything, I'd suggest that is slightly optimistic.


I was aware of these depressing numbers long before an agent showed any interest in me, but that didn't stop me querying, and it shouldn't stop you.  You have to push through those numbers.  But don't ignore them; instead, use them to make your book better.  What I did was this: behind me as I write are shelves with a few thousand books.  As I worked through my manuscript, from time to time I would pull down one of my favourite books and read a few pages.  Was my own work at least as good as this published book?  If the answer was no, I went back to work.  Because you are not competing against those other 9,999 hopefuls.  You are competing against yourself, to be as good as the books you love.

Gary Corby

Corby's first book is Pericles Commission, now available in the US and available in his native Australia on 4 January 2011.  His second novel is slated for release in the US in October/November 2011. 

Corby writes historical mysteries set in Ancient Greece, told with authenticity and a vibrant wit.

He also keeps an active blog and Twitter.

.Nevets.

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In case you missed the first entry in this series of authors' detailing how they faced and overcame the challenges of publishing, please see this: RJ Ellory.

Write Junk - Yes, Junk

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I'm going to go really against my own grain today.  I'm someone who has no true first draft, who revises as he goes, who is happy to toss out 80 pages of junk at a time for a rewrite.  I don't do the whole, "Just get something down," approach.  I'm not even sure how to do that, honestly.  It seems like cooking a meal and saying, "Okay, just grab stuff, mix together and see what happens; it doesn't matter if it's good or not."

Yuck.

So that's the reality in which I operate.

But it's not the reality I'm going to encourage today.

Here's why:

There are a lot of people out there, friends, colleagues, and strangers, who consider themselves developing writers.  I love them!  So many of them have things to say that are interesting and brilliant.  It kind of gives me goosebumps sometimes to think of all the stories that are out there that have never yet been told.

So many developing writers, though, are focused on learning to write.

That seems to make sense, right?  If you're still working out how to write, you should learn how to do it.  You should read, research, and figure out the rules of the game.  So developing writers spend hours sometimes absorbing writing advice and reading writing tips and participating in learning experiences.  It just makes sense.

They're writing too, most of them, and they try to apply what they're learning to what they're writing.

It seems logical.

What's I'm about to say is so painfully trite that it hurts my teeth, but I'm going to say it anyway:

It is infinitely less important to learn how to write than it is to write.

I've had classes, workshops, and one-on-one sessions.  I've been in crit groups.  I've read books and blogs and articles and tip sheets and posters with chimpanzees on them.  They've all contributed something to my development as a writer.

But not as much as writing.

Just writing.

Last night, I was having a conversation with a fellow writer, talking about a particular aspect of her current WIP.  We were talking about fantasy world building, and I wanted to send her samples of the kind of world building I was talking about.  So I, of course, recommended Tim Stretton's The Dog of the North and then e-mailed her a couple quick paragraphs that showed how Tim gets the reader to understand geography, politics, and culture simply and with investment.

But I also went through my own back pile to find her some pieces.

As I was combing through the files, it really hit me last night: Dang; I've written a whole heck of lot.  I mean, seriously.  I have  three or four novel WIP's, at least three completed novels, and dozens and dozens and dozens of completed short stories, ranging from 3 to 60 pages and covering virtually every genre there is.

So many of my friends who are developing writers have snippets that they do for flash prompts or blog fests, and maybe a dozen stories, and a couple short NaNo novels.  That's great!

As I think about my own experience, though, I realize that where I've really learned writing has been by writing.  Lots.  Of all kinds of things.  At length and in brief.  Not sure how many flash prompts I've written for, because it's over a hundred easily.  Then the stories.  The novels.  Poetry.  Songs.  Screenplays.  Just writing.

It's amazing what you learn by doing.  It's like -- I assume -- the difference between taking a golfing lesson and then being out on the links and realizing after 30th round, "Oh goodness, that's  why I keep overshooting the green when I'm pitching from a sand trap, because I'm doing this."

Learning is great.  All those blogs and crit groups and books can be helpful.  But nothing is as helpful as just writing.  Lots.

So here's my recommendation: write a bunch of stuff.  Don't worry about comparing it rules.  Don't worry about getting feedback.  Write a bunch of stuff.  Once you've written a bunch of stuff, then take the things you learn from agents and writers and readers and teachers and go back to what you've written and make it better.  But first, write.  Lots.

.Nevets.