Tag Archives: the writing process

He’s Got Them There Writing Hands

26 Wednesday Oct 2016

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Someone recently asked me if I like to fight. When I asked them why they asked me that they said, because I have fighter’s hands. After looking at my hands for a moment, I had to admit they were right.

I’d like to say, that while I don’t like to fight, I’ve had to fight for much of my life. I also like to think that I have writer’s hands.

Later, thinking on what this person said, and my own view of my hands, I came to the conclusion that the two weren’t mutually exclusive. I can be a fighter and a writer. There are many paths on the way to becoming a writer. I’m a fighter (though in the sense I’m using it is a synonym for survivor). Jim Carroll, writer of The Basketball Diaries, was homeless and an addict. James Frey, writer of A Million Little Pieces, is a lying, prick. William Shakespeare was the sickly son of a sheriff. Junot Diaz, writer of This is How You Lose Her, lived without a father for years while his father worked in America to earn enough money to bring over his mother and four siblings; once in America he lived less than a mile from the largest landfills in New Jersey. Stephenie Meyer, writer of Twilight, is a Mormon (take that however you like).

As you can see the path to becoming a writer is a winding and, often, unintended. So, if you’re reading this thinking you can’t/shouldn’t/couldn’t be a writer because you’re poor/bad with language/not good enough/left-handed then you’re in good company because most writers have thought or were those things at one time or another.

My point, as always, is: if you want to be writing, then you should be writing.

Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

Oh, What A Wonderful Corner I’ve Written Myself Into

18 Tuesday Oct 2016

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Hey, all!

So, you’ve written yourself into a corner. There are three things (well, four, but I don’t think living in the corner for the rest of your characters’ lives is a real option) for you to do. The first involves (what I’m going to call) “going up the wall.” The second is the Uncle Karl Fix (-ish). The last is rolling with it.

Let’s go over “going up the wall.” I want to state here and now that “going up the wall” is the least preferred of the methods of getting yourself out of the corner (by me anyway, others can/will/should have their own opinions). What I mean by “going up the wall” is this: essentially you break the rules of the story, the rules you established for the world you’re writing in. I, personally, don’t like this because it can feel like you’re pulling one over on your readers. You’ve taken the time to make believable characters, to get them to like the characters. You’ve put them into a world of wonder that they’ve gone into willingly. They trust you, and you pull the rug out from under them by having something they thought was impossible happen. Now they don’t know what to think. They’re entire world has been turned on its head. It’s the easiest way to get yourself out of a corner, but it costs you more in the long run (I think).

DISCLAIMER: Breaking the rules of your world can be done, and has been done, in a controlled and planned manner to add tension to your story. What I’m talking about here is breaking the rules to fix something—essentially it’s like telling someone they were never able to walk, because they’ve fallen and broken their leg.

The second method is the Uncle Karl Fix. Those of you who are long time readers know what that is. It’s a lot to explain, so if you’re new you should probably go read the two other blogposts about it. Now the Uncle Karl Fix is waaaaay more work than “going up the wall.” It means looking at your whole story again (seriously, go read the other two posts). In the long run, though, I think this is a much better approach. The Uncle Karl Fix lets you keep the integrity of the story, of the characters, and as a writer. And, let’s be honest, if the story didn’t need an Uncle Karl Fix, then you probably (PROBABLY) wouldn’t be in a corner right now.

The third method: rolling with it. This solution might not be as much work as the Uncle Karl Fix, but it can be more exciting. Think of rolling with it as knocking down the wall to get out the corner, or to be more precise, writing your way out of the corner. Basically, you keep writing until what put you in the corner becomes true, the corner becomes a door.

As always, here’s an example from my writing group. So, this colleague of mine wrote a story with characters with magic powers. One of those characters had precognition—they could see the future. The character was introduced to the story by saving the main character from an attack that hadn’t happened yet. Which I thought was cool. Eventually, though, relying on the character’s precognition, they make a decision and get ambushed. At this point the story, thus far, ended, the colleague was stuck. I never saw the story again; though the writer brought other stories to be workshopped, and since then we’ve both left the writers’ group. So I don’t know how she reconciled the ambush with the rest of the story.

For some fun let’s look at how using each method of getting out of the corner can resolve this.

Going up the wall: The most obvious “going up the wall” is that the ambushers found a way of blocking the precognition, or of sending the character a false vision. This isn’t so much a breaking of the rules, but it does bend them quite a bit. It can raise questions like: if the bad guys—who they’ve been fighting for years—can block the precognition of the good guys why don’t they do that all the time? What good is precognition then? Why is that character even there? Of course, you can keep writing, adding scenes to explain this, but it can interrupt the story (in the case of this story, it was pretty time sensitive, end of the world type stuff). It can cause more problems than it solved.

The Uncle Karl Fix: Okay, so you’ve looked back at the story, you’ve looked at what the character has accomplished in the story. Here are a few ways to Uncle Karl this: 1) the character sends them a message about the attack, but is a coward and is in hiding so they aren’t with them to make the decision that puts them in the ambush’s path. It’s quick and we lose the character for the rest of the story, but it accomplishes the exact same thing without making the problem later on. 2) Have one of the existing characters get the vision, then stay behind to ensure the main character’s escape. This is a classic, and would put more tension and emotion into the story. 3) Don’t have the character with precognition. This does two things, one it gets rid of the character, and two the story gets a massive battle scene (because no one warned them it was coming). This was the path I advocated in group. I’m sure there are other Uncle Karl Fixes, but these are the ones that come to mind.

Rolling with it (writing until the corner becomes a door): There are a few ways to write yourself out of this particular corner. 1) Of course the precog character saw the ambush, but they had to get ambushed for the next part to happen, and the “next part” is what’s important. 2) The precog character didn’t see the ambush because they saw something that happened after the ambush (like the first one, but slightly different. The first solution makes the person less sympathetic, but more guide/one-with-everything-y. While the second one keeps the character sympathetic but makes the power useful but unpredictable/unreliable.) 3) Of course the precog character saw the ambush, but they’re a traitor. Oh no! World rocked! But, in this case, in a good way. This third choice is another one I advocated for in group.

As you can see, writing yourself into a corner isn’t a death sentence for a story. There are multiple ways to make a corner into something else. You just have to be willing to do the work, and look at your story from different angles.

SECONDARY DISCLAIMER: I would like to mention that this specific example had multiple ways of “rolling with it.” Not all corner problems will be able to be written out of. Some—I’m going to go with most—you will either have to “go up the wall” , or do an Uncle Karl Fix.

Until next time: remember that a corner is only a corner if you stay there, and: Be you, be well. Write you, write well.

Taking that Burger with a Side of Characterization

29 Monday Aug 2016

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Hey, all! Today I want to talk to you about characterization. For those of us who need a quick reminder/definition: Characterization is how and what we learn about someone in a story that makes them feel/seem like a real person; details about a character in your story.

Everybody got it?

Need an example?

How do we know the main character’s best friend is in love with them? Because they run out of a date to help the main character, and other “above and beyond” type of things that a friend wouldn’t normally do.

A big part of characterization, I believe (but I’m sure most others would agree with me-if I could ask them-which I can’t-so we’ll just assume), is (and here’s the phrase you’re probably tired of hearing) showing not telling. Quick reminder: the “show don’t tell” advice is straight forward, show the readers something in the story don’t tell the readers about something that we didn’t see.
For instance, if you end a chapter/scene with the main character going off to break into the bio-tech lab, don’t start the next chapter/scene after the break in and tell us it went well, show us the break in.

The same thing goes for characters in your story. Don’t have a character tell us another character is a jerk, show us that character is a jerk by their actions and interactions with the other characters. And here’s the thing, if you are having a character tell us another character is a jerk, then it says more about the character telling us about the other character than it does about the character they’re telling us about.

Sometimes coming up with what your character is like is tough (you can’t characterize your character to yourself). You just can’t figure out how your character would react in a scene. In these cases it can be a good thing to take them out of the story for moment and think about them doing something completely mundane. In this example let’s say their eating lunch. What do they eat for lunch? Are they are a fast food type of person? If they are, are they not concerned with their weight/health? Or are they a salad type of person? What kind of salad? Do they go out to a restaurant to eat lunch or have it delivered to where they work? Do they like to eat with people, or do they eat alone in their car to have a few minutes to wallow?

As you can see, when it comes to characterization lunch can be so much more than just something that happens. Lunch can be another way to show us what your character is like.

I hope this helps.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

I’ve Got a Krampus in My Writing Hand

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

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Merry Happy and a Happy Merry to all!

I hope the new year has started off well for everyone. I’m sure there are many a resolution about writing more (or taking more chances with your writing) out there.

In that vein, and in light of this Christmas’s horror movie release Krampus, I want to talk to you about taking chances with your writing and not holding back on your ideas.

All of us are guilty of falling into thinking sink holes. You know what I mean. We’ve read, and grew, up with horror/fantasy/sci-fi stories being a certain way so we think that’s the way they’re supposed to be. As a base for writing that’s not a bad place to start. Just like with anything else, you have to know the rules for something before you can start breaking them.

And that’s exactly what a story like Krampus does: it takes a subject/genre and turns it on its head. Let me ask you a question: Is Krampus a Christmas movie you can show at Halloween, or is it a Halloween movie you can show at Christmas? The answer is: yes. This is exactly the same question I have fun answering when it comes to one of my favorite movies: The Nightmare Before Christmas. It’s a question I pondered when I read Al Sarrantonio’s stories Wish and Snow both take place during Christmas but both are clearly horror stories.

One of the questions you might be asking yourself right now is: Why a Christmas horror story? And I shall counter this question with a question of my own: Why not? At the core of horror is the desire to frighten, to shake a person’s view of the world, to take the ordinary and make it feel out of place, or make a person feel out of place in the ordinary. What makes movies like Krampus and The Nightmare Before Christmas scary/creepy is that Christmas is supposed to be a safe time. It’s a time for kids to learn faith, a time when your fellow people are encouraged to be caring and selfless. This makes the introduction of monsters into the mix even more frightening, it’s the juxtaposition of beauty and peace next to death and destruction that makes the destruction so much more meaningful. Look at the toys in The Nightmare Before Christmas: they are creepy as all get out! I mean, I love them, but they are creepy as hell. Their black and white design (with touches of red blood) don’t really stand out in Halloween Town, but when put next to the Christmas decorations a few scenes later, suddenly they are hideous. On the other side of the coin, everything in Christmas Town looks so bright in comparison to Jack.

The point of me bringing all this up? Don’t put limitations on your stories. If you’ve got an idea for a horror story that takes place at Christmas, do it. If you’ve got an idea for a steampunk fairytale, do it. (There’s actually a popular teen series that does just that.) There are no limits to stories. That’s why I love them. And I’m sure that’s why you love them too.

Go forth! Write without limits!

And as always: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

The Expectations of Failure

04 Wednesday Nov 2015

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Oh yes! We are still on this topic. I could mine this topic for the lifespan of this blog and probably never run out of things to say about it. I probably will too, but this is the last one in the series for a while. I just figured we’re on a roll here.

So today I want to talk to you about my failed novel.

Oh no, not you! You don’t have a failed novel. I don’t believe it! You’re awesome!

Stop. You’re embarrassing me. I’m blushing.

Ahem! Yes, it’s true. I have a failed novel. Most writers will have a failed story, possibly more than one during the course of their careers. I’d like to talk to you about my first failed novel, because I learned a few interesting things during the whole process of writing it.

First, I’d like to introduce you to my novel: Endgame. Those super fans of mine might recall me mentioning this book a few years ago. I’m sure I posted about it on here; so if go back into the archives you’ll find the post about it coming soon (I’m a bad blogger because this is the first time I’m ever mentioning it’s not).

For those of you who don’t know it, let me give a synopsis of the novel. Endgame was supposed to be my third novel set in the Superior Universe (for those of you drawing a blank on that: go right not to the works page and read the synopsis for Superiority Complex and The Man with the Invincible Gun. Go ahead. The rest of us will wait. All caught up? Good.). So Endgame was about a superpowered game show like Survivor. The main character, one of the main characters, was a guy who started out as a scientist who studied superpowers as a possible next step in evolution for humans. He invented a laser that gave people temporary superpowers so he could study the physiological and genetic changes. When his funding got cut, a friend of his who worked in entertainment thought it would be a good idea to have a TV show about giving people superpowers. That turned into a show like Jeopardy only if you lost the question round you had to fight your way to the next question round with crappy superpowers. This became a hit and was on the air for a couple decades. Then a new company came in and fired the main character. He then sunk his money into building a more powerful laser that could grant people permanent superpowers and took his Survivor-like show to the TV company. Basically they give normal people superpowers, put them on a deserted island, and have them compete in superpowered challenges to gain points until one comes out the winner. The prize being they get to keep their powers. What could go wrong, right? Well, lots. The book deals with the people coming to grips with controlling said powers and what it truly means to be superhuman. There’s also a thing where one of the contestants goes crazy and kidnaps another contestant to torture (and eventually kill, but the other contestants band together to save her). Then there’s the religious group that thinks the show is an abomination, hacks the feed, and sends armored zealots to kill the contestants. Then there’s the gang that kidnaps the creator of the show/laser and forces him to build them a superpower bestowing laser, which doesn’t work because the guy isn’t crazy, but really the only way he can escape is by giving himself superpowers. Then the show airs and does so well that the company renews it for a second season.
Whew! Still with me?

Okay, so some of you may be saying: Wow! How could that be a failure? That sounds awesome!

I want to assure everyone that the novel was, indeed, epic. I mean this in every way, even the sarcastic sense.

All told the novel (after a couple rounds of editing) came out to be four hundred and twenty-five pages. Yes, I finished it. And I will tell you, it was not a hot mess of a novel (which is bad-good phrase which implies bad execution but good potential in the concepts or vice versa). What the novel was/is was/is a nuclear meltdown.

Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell you why.

First off, it’s over four hundred pages long. It’s not a book of short stories that compiled gets to four hundred pages; it’s a novel whose themes (humanity, being superhuman vs. superheroic, dealing with that level of power, addiction in this case the feeling of being powerful) never let up. For four hundred pages. While there is action-we’ll get to that in a moment-there’s a lot of discussion about the ethics of superpowers, and reality TV, and what they could be doing with the power instead of beating each other up on a deserted island. I really wanted to talk about those issues. At some point in the writing, the novel became my dissertation to all those writers who write “superhero” stories that are from a normal human’s perspective living in a world with superpowers and the implications of that. I’m sorry but those stories are supremely boring to me. If you’re going to the trouble of writing in world with people with superpowers why would you write about a normal human? We know how they feel: weak, irrelevant, impotent. Not to be too conceited, but I think my version (giving said normal humans powers to deal with) is much better. So there’s a lot of that type of philosophical talk in the novel. I think it comes off well, but if the contestants weren’t beating each other up over the challenges that’s really all they were doing. It’s more than a bit much for four hundred pages.

Now let’s get to that action I mention earlier. Here’s where my wife (my first, sometimes only, editor) came close to giving me a compliment about Endgame. She described the action as being almost hyper-realistic. This too was by design. I did my best to make the action of the book less action-y and more like violence. What’s the difference you may ask? A Summer blockbuster starring Will Smith, Bruce Willis, or Jeremy Renner-more likely than not-is an action movie. A Lifetime movie of the week about an abusive relationship depicts violence. So even though people were getting hit with fireballs conjured out of thin air, a laser eyes, or shadow knives, I describe it happening in such a way that took all the comic-y awesome stuff out of it and left the festering, gruesome aftermath of the wound in. I did this to show the absolute destructive power of superpowers. I wanted the reader to dread the next challenge for the contestants because they got so hurt during them. I succeeded, but I have to be honest with you even I have to admit after doing the third read through of the novel it was getting to be a bit much for me.

Then there’s the superpowers. I wanted to show that there is more to having superpowers than just being powerful. I wanted to show that just because you have powers doesn’t mean you’re automatically great and happy. Don’t get me wrong every one of the characters started off feeling great, but by the end of the book that was a different story. Let me give you an example from the book. I gave one of the contestants super speed. One of the coolest powers in my opinion. Except the power was killing her. She had to consume massive amounts of calories to keep her body functioning. Which was near impossible on an island with limited food sources. She scavenged as much she could of the fruit and nuts, and the network did weekly supply drops, but it was enough to keep her going. Throughout the book she wastes away, even going so far as to stop using her speed to keep herself going a little longer. She ends the book in a coma as her body shuts down completely. That’s one of the extreme cases, but all the contestants had to deal with unforeseen side effects of having their powers. Mission accomplished, I made having superpowers a depressing responsibility.

Here’s the last thing I did with the book that I’m going to bring up. One of the things I hate about some books and movies is missing out on the action. The biggest perpetrator of this, for me, is the last book of Harry Potter. Where-SPOILERS-at the end several of our favorite characters are dead, and we don’t get to see how or why. You just read along, you turn the page and-BAM-eight people are dead. Another book series to do this is The Hunger Games (don’t get me wrong I love The Hunger Games), but we miss so much of the war and the world it’s set in because it’s just from Catness’s point-of-view. So what I did was have the novel with fifteen characters have fifteen viewpoints. That’s right. 15 VEIWPOINTS! Every contestant got at least one scene from their point-of-view. I made a deal with myself that I would go backwards, all the scenes would move forwards, but that means the reader got at least two perspectives for each scene. I think during one action scene I change viewpoints five times. It actually made a really good patchwork of an entire scene. I liked it.

There still may be some of you out there thinking: Yeah! That sounds great! Where’s this novel?

It’s sitting in my file box, dead. All the things I described above, while not bad in and of themselves, just don’t work as a good novel when I put them all together. I wish it weren’t so, but it’s the truth. You could read it, but I doubt you would enjoy it. Many would walk away very confused. And some (the biggest sin of all) would think they don’t like superhero literature, or reading in general. It just does not work as a novel. It doesn’t make a good story.

This isn’t what makes it a failed novel. Remember, a “failed novel” is one that you’ve stopped working on. As it is now Endgame is just a bad novel. Anyone can fix a bad novel if they have the will and the drive to keep working on it. I’m not working on Endgame, and I doubt I ever will.

Some of you might be asking yourself: why?

That’s a very good question. The answer: I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix it because (and here’s the rub) it’s not broken. Oh you heard me. It’s not broken. There’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, it’s all wrong, but there’s nothing wrong with it. I accomplished everything I wanted to with it. I, as a writer, succeeded. So because I succeeded I can’t begin to fathom how to fix the novel. It isn’t broken; it just isn’t good. How’s that for irony?

That’s the weird thing I wanted to share with you about the experience all the way at the beginning of this post. Even though I succeeded I came to recognize that what I succeeded at wasn’t very good. I fought with my wife several times about the novel. I fiddled with scene placement. I sent it out to agents and got rejected (nothing new there, really). After several months not looking at it I had to clear my mind, get as objective as possible, and re-re-re-read the manuscript. As an experienced writer, as someone who knows my own writing, I had to admit that the novel didn’t work.

I must stress that you have to be your own worst critic. After all, no one knows your work like you do. You have to have the maturity and the awareness to look at your work and acknowledge when it’s bad. I was convinced for months that I had succeeded with Endgame. And I had, but I was confusing succeeding in what I set out to do with making something good. I hadn’t, and it took a while to realize it wasn’t working.

Now that being said I like the concept I had and some of the themes in the story. So I’ll be putting them in other stories, but Endgame is dead. I hope this helps you through whatever you’re doing.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

The Rejection Reflection Injection

07 Friday Aug 2015

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Okay, so, since I took us out of the beautiful ephemeralness of the writing process and thrust us into the concrete really-realness of putting yourself out there I thought this time I’d put out a life jacket.

I mentioned that my preferred way of putting yourself out there for the public was getting published. This was a tad full hardy, and easier said than done. Putting yourself out there through publishing is hard. You’re going to get rejected a lot.

Let me say that again: YOU’RE GOING TO GET REJECTED A LOT.

Alright. Deep breath. Now everyone say it with me…

I’m going to get rejected a lot.

This does not make you a failure. … … Trust me, I know how that sounds. Even I have trouble believing that every now and again. Because, and this is just the truth, you’re going to feel like a failure after your umpteenth rejection.

One of the things you should keep in mind during this whole process is: our work is subjective. As much as publishers and agents may look at Harry Potter and say that it was successful because of x, x, and x. Or the Twilight series. Or the works of Michael Chabon. (and I’m showing my age here.) It is really up to the taste of the public what becomes popular, and with small publishing—short stories in a maga/e-zine—it’s up to the editor what goes into the publication. For instance: I have a zombie-ish story—Issues of Revanantcy—which I sent to the publication Brave Blue Mice. It was accepted to the webpage portion of the publication, but in the acceptance letter, and I’ll never forget this, the person who read it said they almost rejected it without reading it. And why, you may ask, would they do that? Because it was about zombies—well revenants, which are slightly different, but I digress. And they just get so many zombie story the person didn’t want to read yet another story about them. In the end they did, and found out that zombie stories can be more than: “high school kids running around screaming and getting eaten in the goriest ways possible.” (Or something to that effect.)

So yeah, subjectivity plays a big part in what we do. The above story also illustrates another thing to keep in mind about writing and rejection: you’re not alone. There are so many people out there writing, and the Interweb has made it much easier to put your/their/everyone’s writing in the hands of the people. So if you’ve written a zombie story someone else has too. If you’ve written a lesbian vampire story someone else has too. If you’ve written a Suesian jaunt through the mind of psychopathic killer haunted by the ghosts of victims who finds love with one of the ghosts and attempts to resurrect said ghost in a new body well…you should really get that published because I kinda want to read that. The point I’m going for isn’t you should shelve your zombie story because everyone is doing zombie stories (or anything really zombies just seems to be the theme today), but you should highlight what makes yours different, and you have to fight that much harder for it.

By the way, this also means there are hundreds, at least, of writing blogs out there. So if you’re reading this one: THANKS FOR READING THIS ONE!

I’m going to finish with the point I made all the way at the beginning of this: rejection doesn’t make you a failure. Stopping writing makes you a failure. Rejection can’t make you stop writing, only you can stop you from writing. The worst rejection can do is tell you that this editor of this mag/e-zine doesn’t think this story is right for them. Take that as a challenge to find one your stories, or write a new one, that the editor will think is a good fit for the publication.

Don’t stop writing.

And: Be yourself, be well; write yourself, write well.

Platforming isn’t just for Plumbers and Hedgehogs

09 Thursday Jul 2015

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So we’re going to change gears (sorta) for a second here. We’ve talked a lot about writing, as you might expect from a writing blog, but I’d like to talk about what comes after. That’s right, now that you’ve wrote something you’re proud of you have to show it to people.

Cringe, gasp, heart palpitations, rising blood pressure, glee, confidence.

Okay. Finished? Take a minute. Take a deep breath. Get a glass of water.

Better? Good.

So let’s talk about publishing and finding an agent, or, at least, one part of it. Most publishing companies, and some agents, will ask you about your marketing platform. Don’t get all sweaty over the jargon. What they’re asking you, basically, is what are you willing to do to promote yourself and your work.

I know, you thought that was their job.

So one of the ways you can respond, if you’ve been doing that, is that you have exposure. This means you and your work are out there. For instance you have a blog, even if you just review books you’ve read on it, you have a Twitter following (again talking about writing or books or daily thoughts/ideas about your writing) where you interact with your fans. Some of you might want to start a YouTube channel where you dispense advice about writing, rant about your writers’ block, or do quick reviews of books (I hear some people are very successful at the YouTube).

Part of the reason for this blog is to put me out there so agents and publisher can see that I’m out there. I don’t do book reviews because I’m not really in to telling you how I didn’t like a book. I get yelled at enough by my wife when I do that with her. Plus, I like to feel like I’m contributing, so I try to put some (reasonably) good advice.

The oldest way to expose yourself, and the one I recommend, is getting your writing (the shorter stuff obviously) in print. Who would have thought you could get fans by doing what you’re good at?

Yeah, so getting your work out there is just as useful (and I would say the most useful) as getting your name out there. It has the benefit of putting your name out there, and your work at the same time. Also it keeps you writing. This is always a good thing!

So the point is this: there is more to being a writer than just writing. You have to be “out there.” You have to be willing to be out there. There’s old saying about you being your best promoter, and it’s just as true now as it was when whoever said it said it.

I know for some of you this might be scary. I still worry that I’m doing something wrong whenever the cursor hovers over the publish button. You have to get over that. Being a writer is about putting yourself on the page; about putting yourself out there anyway. So put yourself out there.

Until next time: Be you, be well; write you, write well.

Is That An Echo…echo…echo…echo…o…o

18 Monday May 2015

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So let’s talk about your reading requirements for a second. As a writer one of your main jobs is reading. Ask any professional it’s an important part of the job. Teachers read teaching magazines and look online to see how other teachers taught a subject. Doctors read medical journals to keep up to date on the newest research and medical procedures. You get the picture. As a writer your reading requirements are much more fun because you should read the books in your subject so you know what’s out there. For instance: if you write historical fiction you should read historical fiction; if you write contemporary fiction, read contemporary fiction; if you write horror, read horror. Again picture had.

So you’re doing that. You’ve been doing that. You’ve read so-and-so’s story that inspired you to write in the first place. That’s great. That’s wonderful. That’s exactly what I want to talk about.

As beginning writers it is natural to mimic the writers/stories that inspire us to write. Firstly, I want to say that this is a good first step, a needed first step, in the process to becoming a writer. We mimic to become. As humans it’s what we do.

However, eventually you have to step away from that and actually become.

Recently, in my writing group a fellow writer turned in a couple stories that clearly had been influenced by H. P. Lovecraft. I was more than a bit excited to see them since I too am influenced by Lovecraft. Unfortunately they were so influenced by Lovecraft that I might as well have been reading Lovecraft. I knew the stories weren’t written by Lovecraft, obviously, but the writer’s voice who did write them was nowhere to be found.

That is the downside to mimicry: you don’t get to be you. If I’m, or anyone, is reading a story that you wrote it’s because we want to hear the story you’re telling. It’s your take on the story, your insight, the outlook of the world that only you can provide.

So just keep that in mind as you continue to write. Mimicry is a part of becoming a writer, but only until you wings fully develop, only until you find your sea legs, only until you have the basics. Then the hard part comes, and you have to write as you.

Be you, be well; write you, write well.

You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

13 Tuesday Jan 2015

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I was editing a story the other day. I knew I liked this story, otherwise why the hell would I bother editing it. While I was editing it though I found out that I loved the story.

It’s a leap of a distinction. It was a surprised (like all good love is supposed to be).

This is how I could tell I loved the story. Usually in the editing process I’ve read the story, re-read the story making corrections, and had at least one other person (my spouse, the saint) read and edit the story. So in the “editing process” I’m sitting down and making all the corrections. Since I’ve read the story I’m editing so many times I just scan the pages for the colored ink corrections, delete, add, or change accordingly, move to the next one. However with this story I made the corrections and just automatically started reading the story from that point. It happened several times before I realized I was doing it and why. That’s when I kicked the editing into “serious mode.”

That’s how I know I love my stories. You’ll have your own indicators, but it will happen. ‘But, Mr. Eden, sir. I love all my stories.’ Of course you do otherwise why waste the time on them. You’re their parent, they sprung from you, made you laugh, made you cry, made you frustrated; and like any parent you love every one of the little buggers. But…but…but there will be some you love more than the others.

This brings me to my point: You have to be twice as hard on the stories you love than the others. You have to be twice as hard for reasons I will now talk about. The first is you need to be twice as hard because loving the story like you do you’re probably pulling your punches when it comes to the editing already. So you have to be (what feels like to you) twice as hard, more than likely, to get to the normal editing level of your other stories. Loving Edits the Second Requirement: Remember when I said you need like two to three people reading your stuff, try to double that for this story, just to be sure. Loving Edits the Third Requirement: Listen to every suggestion and change twice. That’s right, even the ones that you realize were just opinions and not critiques. Again this is a just in case measure but it needs to be done, because with the love comes overprotectiveness. You might discount a critique as an opinion without realizing it. When all the critiques and edits are in, and you’ve made all of them. Then you read the story again, keeping an implement ready for more editing. Yes, you have to be critical of your shining baby again.

The reason for all the criticalness is very simple: you want the world to love the story as much as you do. For that to happen, you have to be ready to hack and saw away at your baby so the world can see it in all the glory you did when it had all the rough edges and baby chub.

Trust me there’s nothing more satisfying than putting in all this work on your story, worrying over it in your sleep, editing it and re-editing it, to the point you know there’s nothing more you can do with it; hearing someone say they didn’t like it, and knowing they didn’t like it because they have no taste and not because there’s anything wrong with your writing. Oh, you’ll still want to ram various parts of their facial region with your fist, but what will hold you back is knowing they’re just wrong.
So love all your stories, but keep an eye out for the ones that keep even your attention.

Write well and be well.

The Subject of Objectivity; The Object that is Subjectivity

21 Friday Mar 2014

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Being a part of a writing group is very insightful. One of the things it has taught me is that a writer can only be objective about other people’s writing.

That’s not to say it won’t make a person more critical of their own writing, but I’m going to be honest with you, it won’t be enough.

No one is quite as objective towards something as someone who has nothing invested in what they’re doing. After spending hours upon hours of figuring out your characters and your stories, and then hours upon hours of writing them and putting the story together the way you want it, there’s going to be a ceiling of objectivity for you.

This is absolutely fine. You shouldn’t be objective about your writing. It’s your baby. It’s a piece of you. At the end of the day we write because we have something to say. Let’s face it there are easier ways to get fame and money. So the fact that you can’t see that crazy Uncle Karl character is too clichéd and cluttering the scenes is to be expected.

What you have to do is stay objective about the process of writing. When you give your story to someone else and they tell you that crazy Uncle Karl is clichéd and clutters the scenes he’s in you have to be able to hear that critique, go back, and look at Uncle Karl with the eyes of your reader. Maybe the fix is as simple as just having Uncle Karl in the background; maybe the fix is fusing Uncle Karl with another character; maybe the fix is getting rid of Uncle Karl altogether.

The point is: you have to be open (and objective) about the process of your story’s development. To that end you have to pick the right readers. Inevitably our loved ones become the first ones to read our stories. This is good and bad. The positive: they have a vested interest in you and in encouraging you so there’s that. The negative: they have a vested interest in you and in encouraging you, so they might not be as harsh on your story as someone else. So be sure you’re having the right people reading, not that your loved ones shouldn’t read your stories, but you should have others too. You need other people to read your stories, because you’re going to need someone to be harsh on your stories for them to get better.

There’s an inspirational sports poster I remember seeing in my high school: Pain is weakness leaving the body. The same can be true of the harshness of a critique. The reason for editing is to get the best story possible.

Who doesn’t want to put out their best work?

So stay open to the process (no getting mad at people for helping). And remember, very few books are their best on the first draft.