Tag: writing

The Reading Problem

I’m suffering from The Reading Problem again and anew, the evil spell and joyful tonic of reading others and then struggling with the many fires they ignite in my mind. It’s like, gasoline has been poured on dry grass, matches tossed on it. A warehouse of explosives has…exploded. But the explosions are thoughts, insights, themes, concepts, ideas, visions, memories, epiphanies, realities, all brought up by others’ words.

My wife and I spoke about this sometime earlier this week, after watching Carpool Karaoke, Broadway edition. We ‘found’ James Corden early on in Gavin and Stacey. He lives up to my hopes that he was the talented individual that he seemed to be (thus vindicating my taste, intelligence, and insights, you see). But, as usual, I’m jealous of the little blue eyed bastard for doing neat things like singing with Lin-Manuel Miranda ‘and more’ – (like Audra McDonald, a pretty damn good ‘and more’, along with Jane Krakowski and Jesse Tyler Ferguson – yeah, ‘and more’). Which prompted the expected, “Gee, wouldn’t it be great to be so talented and to know such talented people and have them as friends and get together to do fun, talented things?” Like the artists and writers in Paris did. Dorothy Parker and friends. Or the Hollywood Vampires, or The Traveling Wilburys. “Let’s get together and do an album, Tom Petty.” “Sure, and let’s call Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison and George Harrison and see if they want to play along.” “Okay, Jeff Lynne.”

But I’m a writer, cocooned in my own self and its creations of doubts, suspicions and insecurities about who I am, hoping that I’ll grow out of it all some day (I’ll be 60 this year, and I hear that 60 is the new forty, but I’m hoping it’s the new 20) so I don’t socialize well, not like Stephen King and the Remainders. I’m more like J.D. Salinger with less talent and intelligence. So I don’t belong to any round tables and don’t do pop ins.

Reading is my outlet, along with conversations with my wife, a highly remarkable, intelligent, and well read person (you should play Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit with her). She tells me things, and that fires up my mind, like quoting American Dervish writer Ayad Ahktar about writing and his amazing accomplishments as she prepares for her book club.

My mind had already been inflamed by reading other posts. Sweet lord, the amazing writers out there, with insights and inventive, beautiful language. The subjects they choose, the rawness displayed as they strip naked and flash their pain. While I often debase the Internet of Things as the web of greed and misinformation, gems can be found without much effort. People are exploring themselves and telling us what they found, or what can’t be found, or what they’re hoping to find, and the trouble they’re having with their efforts.

If you want a similar mind explosion to what I endured, discover WordPress. Just follow along, and read.

0

I Don’t Wanna

I don’t want to edit my novel.

Not because I don’t love my novel.

My novel is like a brightly shining star.

That can be taken many ways. If it’s a star, its light must travel great distances. That takes a long time. If the novel’s words are the light, its light will not reach people for a while. So what’s another day or two?

If the novel is a star, it’s unique and alike, like snowflakes, beers, cats and people — and novels. It’s remote and unattainable, but inspiring and bright, a thing of beauty and mystery, something to be parsed, studied, watched. Something for wonder.

I don’t want to edit my novel.

And my brain is very happy with that. Come, let us write other stories, my brain says. It’s a beautiful day to start a new story, or to continue one you set aside. Remember that novel about the bookmarker? You want to write it, don’t you, I know you do.

Yes, I want to tear into that novel like it’s a fresh, warm piece of blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream.

But I am strong, and I resist!

What about that other novel, the one about the woman and equations? You really want to write that novel, don’t you?

Yes, I want to write that novel like it’s a mug of cold ale on a molten lava day.

But I am strong, and I resist!

What about that other novel you’ve been thinking about, you know, the one about the weapon system that impairs people’s memories so people end up with other people’s incomplete memories, and try to live others’ lives? If you don’t want to do that one, you can work on the next novel in the Lessons with Savanna series, Personal Lessons with Savanna. You were writing a chapter in your head this morning while you were weed whacking. There is also the novel about when time fractured —

Enough, brain, enough. I am strong, and I resist! I will edit.

I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.

Oh, but to sample a new novel, to dip myself into those places and characters and let their chi flow through me.

I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.

I will edit.

Really, I will edit.

0

Basking

Pardon me, everyone, but I am basking today.

I have at least reasons three for basking, all related to my writing endeavors, and by basking, I mean enjoying the glow of accomplishments.

The first is that my ebooks are doing better than I expected (although not better than fantasized…but, come on…). Their buying patterns are so different so I’m curious about whether that will continue. My mystery novel, Life Lessons with Savanna, a KDP exclusive, shot out and up for a few weeks, but then dropped to nothing. On the science fiction side, Returnee (also a KDP exclusive) began with slow sales but has consistently built and grown, now accounting for all my sales and reading activity. Either way, someone out there is looking at them, and I’m basking in that.

More importantly and satisfying for me is completing the second book in the Lessons with Savanna series, the sequel to the previously mentioned Life Lessons with Savanna. This one is Road Lessons with Savanna. I finished writing it yesterday and completed the cover design last night, presenting me with double basking reasons. Some people are impressed that I took Road Lessons with Savanna from concepts to novel in less than four months (I began writing it on March 3rd, 2016, and finished on May 30, 2016), which is decent for 100,000 words. I attribute that to becoming more comfortable with my conceiving, writing, plotting and editing processes. I hope I’m right and that I’ll successfully duplicate that performance.

My third basking reason is perhaps more profound. While writing Road Lessons with Savanna and conceptualizing the next in the series, Personal Lessons with Savanna (and even writing two chapters), I discovered I grew more into my writing skin. That means I more easily put it on. Writing sessions are typically 90 to 120 minutes. I generally achieve 1,000 to 3,000 words in that period.

After basking today, I’ll update my Booklife profile and work on preparing Road Lessons for KDP processing and release. Road Lessons will also be a 90 day KDP exclusive. Returnee will come off the KDP exclusive list in June, and I’ll then take it to Smashwords to provide it with more publishing venues. I plan to keep Life Lessons with Savanna and Road Lessons with Savanna on the KDP exclusive list until I write and publish the third book in the series, Personal Lessons with Savanna. Personal Lessons will also spend 90 days in the KDP exclusive club. Then the three will expand to Smashwords.

Meanwhile, for June, I’m completing the final edit on a science fiction novel, Everything Not Known, targeting an early July release. It’s been edited several times but it’s a complicated, 200,000 word tome, so I want to go through it one…more…time.

So, yea! I’m basking. Now, I have my quad shot mocha. To work.

0

I mark the small firsts

The first story I wrote. Shuddering and shaking my head, I recall it was just yesterday, sitting in sunshine, that I attempted a memorable first sentence, a yesterday that’s 37 years back on time’s circle.

The first joy from creating and telling a story.

The first rejection. Yes, that first form letter from Issac Asimov’s Science Fiction and Fantasy.

The first dejection and introspection on what went wrong. Introspection – another way of saying that my heart and soul were torn out of me, leaving burnt, shadowy images of my existence. Really.

The first book purchased on short story writing. Damon Knight’s book. Bought it through Writer’s Digest. It’s still up here on my bookshelf, to my right.

The first decision to try again. Not really a decision. Hurt and angry, I was certain I was a writer. Still trying to prove that, but I think most writers are always still trying to prove that in myriad ways.

The first pilgrimage to a writers’ conference to figure out how others do it. That was in the late 1980s, when I attended a writer’s conference in Yellow Springs, Ohio, chosen as much for what was being offered as its close proximity to home. I was in the Air Force and assigned to Germany then, so if I was going to the United States to attend a conference, I’d also visit Mom in Pittsburgh, PA.

A personal rejection from an editor or publisher, instead of the form rejections. I never met George Scithers, but he wrote me a beautiful rejection letter. I was upset because I was rejected but my wife pointed out the positives in the letter. TYVM, George Scithers.

The first critique group, and the first insights into the creative writing reading publishing editing marketing selling labyrinth. Some people like everything explained. Others want to unravel themselves. Some enjoy happy or Hollywood endings and some think life is gritty and there aren’t happy endings. After a while,  I recognized, just write what I enjoy. I know that what I enjoy is far of the mark for most people, but I’ll have one happy reader.

Finally, the first sale and publication. “Marketing Wars”, Abyss and Apex Magazine. Yes, I remember.

A fan, the first! Sure, it was my nephew but he’s smarter than me and effusive in his praise.

The first glimmer that I wanted to write a novel.

The first draft of the first novel.

The first overwhelming sickness when reading the first novel and realizing I’ve written a piece of shit. Still have it, with the promise, I will edit it. Yeah.

The first realization that every almost writer experiences this.

The first jealousy of other first writers’ debut successes. Yes, I get jealous of them, of their writing, their talent, their success, their interviews, their big money. But I hunt down information on them. I learned that Andy Weir wrote and was rejected and gave up for a while before The Martian. JK Rowling went to being an overnight sensation after years of efforts. Kathryn Stockett endured five years of rejections before The Help was published.

The first time that I sucked in my breath, grit my teeth, and told myself to keep writing. I don’t recall the exact date/time/space or the events surrounding it but I do recall sitting, fists clenched, sighing with dejection and thinking, do I want to keep trying?

And the first time that I realize that I don’t want to, nor stop, writing, no matter how hard it is. No, because writing is fun, satisfying, intrinsically rewarding. Concepts, ideas, stories  and characters wash in, an ocean that never stops. Many hit the beach and I wander along, picking them up, adding them to the collection. Some grab me tightly and don’t let go.

So I write.

By the way, Returnee, up there at the top, is the first novel I decided to self-publish. It’s available over on Amazon.

1

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑