School's out for a month, and I already have plans. Because what would a long layoff be without plans?
Other people have ambition. I have my own kind of ambition. Specifically, a new novel.
I'd like to get it done before the beginning of the year, but if that doesn't work, I'll take before school gets back in, on January 11th. And lest you think I can't do it, I'm already a third of the way through it.
The key is momentum. And the other key is being inspired. And the other key is shutting yourself off from the world and going to town.
On a separate, but related note, this has been an up and down year for me on the writing scale. I finished one novel, seriously started one novel and didn't get through it, completed various parts of other novels, and wrote a lot of short stories. I found new sites to help me, and found out that my first novel was probably a bit too radical to get published. Well, whatever. It accomplished what first novels are supposed to do. It got my feet wet. If I finish this novel, which is simply a matter of keeping up the momentum, I'm confident that its subject matter will be relevant to today's reading audience. Also, it's freaking hilarious.
So that's where I am at the moment. I'll keep you posted as more of the novel gets written.
14.12.09
29.11.09
Suicide Watch
I've heard it said that the holidays are the time when most people decide to off themselves. I think it's probably true. People with nothing, or who used to have somebody but now have nobody, or people who don't want to be with anybody and can't find a way out--these are the particularly susceptible ones.
It strikes me that those kinds of people are very sad...
Okay. Now that I got that ridiculously obvious observation out of my system, I have a story for you.
A couple weeks ago I was on Facebook, since I do that again, and decided to try out some new apps. There was this one app, a hilarious-looking piece of work called suicide test. Since I had just read A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, and he talked about suicide tests, I decided to try it out.
And I answered the questions as honestly as I could.
And it told me I was at medium risk for suicide.
Bullshit.
That was the first thing that went through my mind. I'm one of the happiest people I know. I have never even considered suicide. Never even joked about it for more than a couple seconds at a time. I've never manipulated girls into liking me or staying with me by saying that I would kill myself. I've never even made emergency plans, like, "If I'm not where I want to be in life by the time I'm thirty-two, I'll start to consider self murder as an option." I'm just not like that.
And the second thing that went through my mind was, "This is a terrible app." It had just posted that I'd scored a medium risk of suicide to all my friends. What are they supposed to do about that? It's just a terribly awkward situation. It looks like a cry for help, or a call for pity, and I can't hold with that nonsense. If I need help, I know where to get it. The liquor store.
That was half of a joke.
Seriously, though, that app should be banned. Personally, I don't want to know if someone is thinking about killing themselves. If they do it, then I'll be sorry, but most people don't, and that's just another thing to worry about.
Maybe I should discuss sometime soon about how people mistakenly perceive that I have a lack of empathy.
It strikes me that those kinds of people are very sad...
Okay. Now that I got that ridiculously obvious observation out of my system, I have a story for you.
A couple weeks ago I was on Facebook, since I do that again, and decided to try out some new apps. There was this one app, a hilarious-looking piece of work called suicide test. Since I had just read A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, and he talked about suicide tests, I decided to try it out.
And I answered the questions as honestly as I could.
And it told me I was at medium risk for suicide.
Bullshit.
That was the first thing that went through my mind. I'm one of the happiest people I know. I have never even considered suicide. Never even joked about it for more than a couple seconds at a time. I've never manipulated girls into liking me or staying with me by saying that I would kill myself. I've never even made emergency plans, like, "If I'm not where I want to be in life by the time I'm thirty-two, I'll start to consider self murder as an option." I'm just not like that.
And the second thing that went through my mind was, "This is a terrible app." It had just posted that I'd scored a medium risk of suicide to all my friends. What are they supposed to do about that? It's just a terribly awkward situation. It looks like a cry for help, or a call for pity, and I can't hold with that nonsense. If I need help, I know where to get it. The liquor store.
That was half of a joke.
Seriously, though, that app should be banned. Personally, I don't want to know if someone is thinking about killing themselves. If they do it, then I'll be sorry, but most people don't, and that's just another thing to worry about.
Maybe I should discuss sometime soon about how people mistakenly perceive that I have a lack of empathy.
24.11.09
I swear, if I see...
Another blog with nothing but pictures of adorable, cherubic little kids, and some title like "The Cutest Family Ever Blogs Here," I think I will do something violent.
And you know what? I won't feel guilty.
And you know what? I won't feel guilty.
23.11.09
Better Than (3)
So now we come to the ugly truth. Most people think they are better than everyone else. If they don't, they have inferiority problems, and need help. It could also be that they have the tendency to think they're better, and are simply really good at fighting it. I envy the people in the second category, but I don't think it exists. I only list it here as a hypothetical example for any who want to say I'm being too broad with my categories.
Ego is part of us. And it's needed, just like every other part. But if it's not balanced, then it becomes too much. Our opinion of ourselves, to a great degree, dictates our aspirations and ambitions. It really does. The people who have no opinions of themselves, or low ones, are fakers or in nut houses. If it is possible to get rid of a good opinion of ourselves, through years of inhumane treatment, which isn't fun at all, I'm guessing, then our spirits get taken as well. Where does our will go? Our obstinacy? We become the teacup poodles and golden retrievers of the human world.
So this is why I'm mad that some people can boldly (read, immaturely) say that whole groups of people are beneath them. Yeah, so, everyone thinks in some way they're better than others. That doesn't do the person on the receiving end very good.
The fact is, everyone is better than everyone else, and this is not a contradiction, no matter how it might sound. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses, and when compared to another person, these make for great combinations. If everyone was a writer, I'd be out of luck. If everyone was a lover, nothing would get done. Etc. You know what I'm getting at.
The person who's writing their first novel doesn't need to have their balls busted at every opportunity, just because someone else can't get their novel off the ground. They don't need to be told it's simply perfect and that nothing added or taken away from it could make it any better--that would be pandering, and won't give them any help.
I guess that's what I was getting at.
Ego is part of us. And it's needed, just like every other part. But if it's not balanced, then it becomes too much. Our opinion of ourselves, to a great degree, dictates our aspirations and ambitions. It really does. The people who have no opinions of themselves, or low ones, are fakers or in nut houses. If it is possible to get rid of a good opinion of ourselves, through years of inhumane treatment, which isn't fun at all, I'm guessing, then our spirits get taken as well. Where does our will go? Our obstinacy? We become the teacup poodles and golden retrievers of the human world.
So this is why I'm mad that some people can boldly (read, immaturely) say that whole groups of people are beneath them. Yeah, so, everyone thinks in some way they're better than others. That doesn't do the person on the receiving end very good.
The fact is, everyone is better than everyone else, and this is not a contradiction, no matter how it might sound. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses, and when compared to another person, these make for great combinations. If everyone was a writer, I'd be out of luck. If everyone was a lover, nothing would get done. Etc. You know what I'm getting at.
The person who's writing their first novel doesn't need to have their balls busted at every opportunity, just because someone else can't get their novel off the ground. They don't need to be told it's simply perfect and that nothing added or taken away from it could make it any better--that would be pandering, and won't give them any help.
I guess that's what I was getting at.
22.11.09
Better Than (2)
I have enemies, yes. I didn't have enemies for a long while, then I thought what fun it might be to have some. So I got some. And they're great. They really help me with my life.
Okay. That's shit. All of it. I got enemies the old fashioned way-- by getting on peoples' bad sides. Yeah. And some people, it seems, have large bad sides when I'm involved.
Anyway, an enemy of mine told me once, in the guise of helping me out, that my family feels it is better than other families, and this isn't justified. I asked this enemy what they meant by it not being justified, and they said my family is poor, my family doesn't do socially acceptable things (aka, we're inferior), and my family, for the most part, doesn't have an education. Well, we all have an education of some sort, but it's not the standard college education that people really look at when deciding if someone is worth knowing or not.
So my enemy must have felt that my family is completely deluded, believing that they are something when really they're quite the opposite of it. How sad. I can't believe we could be that thick!
Hold on. Since when does an enemy try to help you out?
This calls for further thought. First, are we better than other people? I think the answer is no. Okay, I'm sure the answer is no.
But-- do we think we're better than other people? This is a more difficult question, and it has to be answered by a history lesson. We, for a long time, not because of our family, but because of our "church" environment, were judgmental. Now, the great thing about Christians being judgmental is that they are, but at the same time, they know it's wrong. So I know we were judgmental because I was judgmental, and I felt the guilt, and I hated myself, while at the same time hating others.
Now we're out from that, and free to be who we want to be. I think that my family is just a bunch of really nice, terribly scarred people now. We have problems, but we're learning that we let stuff define us for so long when it never should have defined us, and we're learning to define ourselves as we really are. I don't think we're judgmental anymore.
So never listen to what enemies say about you. When you start letting people read your writing you'll find that there are two kinds of people: The good critics and the bad ones. The good critics will tell you what you're doing wrong, and then they will give you suggestions on how to fix it. The bad ones will tell you that your work is shit. They are poisonous, and if you listen to them, you're hurting yourself big time.
The sad thing is, you'll have to find that out on your own, because enemies rarely come out and say that they're enemies.
Now this is definitely going somewhere...
Okay. That's shit. All of it. I got enemies the old fashioned way-- by getting on peoples' bad sides. Yeah. And some people, it seems, have large bad sides when I'm involved.
Anyway, an enemy of mine told me once, in the guise of helping me out, that my family feels it is better than other families, and this isn't justified. I asked this enemy what they meant by it not being justified, and they said my family is poor, my family doesn't do socially acceptable things (aka, we're inferior), and my family, for the most part, doesn't have an education. Well, we all have an education of some sort, but it's not the standard college education that people really look at when deciding if someone is worth knowing or not.
So my enemy must have felt that my family is completely deluded, believing that they are something when really they're quite the opposite of it. How sad. I can't believe we could be that thick!
Hold on. Since when does an enemy try to help you out?
This calls for further thought. First, are we better than other people? I think the answer is no. Okay, I'm sure the answer is no.
But-- do we think we're better than other people? This is a more difficult question, and it has to be answered by a history lesson. We, for a long time, not because of our family, but because of our "church" environment, were judgmental. Now, the great thing about Christians being judgmental is that they are, but at the same time, they know it's wrong. So I know we were judgmental because I was judgmental, and I felt the guilt, and I hated myself, while at the same time hating others.
Now we're out from that, and free to be who we want to be. I think that my family is just a bunch of really nice, terribly scarred people now. We have problems, but we're learning that we let stuff define us for so long when it never should have defined us, and we're learning to define ourselves as we really are. I don't think we're judgmental anymore.
So never listen to what enemies say about you. When you start letting people read your writing you'll find that there are two kinds of people: The good critics and the bad ones. The good critics will tell you what you're doing wrong, and then they will give you suggestions on how to fix it. The bad ones will tell you that your work is shit. They are poisonous, and if you listen to them, you're hurting yourself big time.
The sad thing is, you'll have to find that out on your own, because enemies rarely come out and say that they're enemies.
Now this is definitely going somewhere...
20.11.09
Better Than (1)
I buy a lot of crap. Crap, for my purposes, is simply a term for things I don't need. I buy an awful lot of things I don't need.
I bought two books yesterday. I love books. It's hard to justify spending upwards of thirty-three dollars on new books, however, when I have many books I haven't read, I know about Amazon, and I know about book sales. I felt kind of bad about it, but at least I'll have something to do this weekend. I want to buy a Kindle. I think buying a Kindle will make me a real boy, but my secret fear is that I won't use it and it will be 260 dollars gone to waste. I want to buy a new laptop, too, because mine is old news. 2005. That's too old. I need to upgrade. Right?
I was going to buy another coat yesterday. That would make five coats. That's a lot of coats, considering I can probably only wear at the most two at a time. I decided against it--not because I had any discipline, because I don't, but because I decided it was a tiny bit too large, and I'm always looking for the perfect fit.
What's my excuse? How can I buy crap when I'm not rich? Okay, I'm downright poor. Broke as a joke.
I buy things and it becomes a way for me to feel not poor, at least for a while, because I can put it on credit and then the credit card companies will love me even more. But it's funny, because buying things prevents me from actually saving money, which in turn makes it harder for me to be anything but poor.
Everyone needs to buy things, and I guess that means me too. But do I need luxuries? Do I need the crap I fill my life with? If luxuries make me feel like a person, you could make an argument that I do need luxuries. But who needs to feel like a person? Silly question. I guess everyone does. I don't want them to feel like animals, that's for sure. So everyone should have luxuries, not just the rich.
Great. So I'm supposed to buy crap I don't need.
One could argue, though, that my luxuries will never compare to a rich person's luxuries. My luxuries are very small, indeed. And small luxuries, since they never give me what I want, will just make me more upset in the end. They will just make me more and more jealous at not being able to have what I can't afford.
I could scream right now.
Whatever happened to the virtues of suffering? What if all of these small luxuries are just anaesthetizing me from my actual condition? I'm sure it's possible for the poor to be happy, just like the rich are sometimes sad, but I'm not sure people are supposed to be happy with their condition.
I'm sure this is leading somewhere.
I bought two books yesterday. I love books. It's hard to justify spending upwards of thirty-three dollars on new books, however, when I have many books I haven't read, I know about Amazon, and I know about book sales. I felt kind of bad about it, but at least I'll have something to do this weekend. I want to buy a Kindle. I think buying a Kindle will make me a real boy, but my secret fear is that I won't use it and it will be 260 dollars gone to waste. I want to buy a new laptop, too, because mine is old news. 2005. That's too old. I need to upgrade. Right?
I was going to buy another coat yesterday. That would make five coats. That's a lot of coats, considering I can probably only wear at the most two at a time. I decided against it--not because I had any discipline, because I don't, but because I decided it was a tiny bit too large, and I'm always looking for the perfect fit.
What's my excuse? How can I buy crap when I'm not rich? Okay, I'm downright poor. Broke as a joke.
I buy things and it becomes a way for me to feel not poor, at least for a while, because I can put it on credit and then the credit card companies will love me even more. But it's funny, because buying things prevents me from actually saving money, which in turn makes it harder for me to be anything but poor.
Everyone needs to buy things, and I guess that means me too. But do I need luxuries? Do I need the crap I fill my life with? If luxuries make me feel like a person, you could make an argument that I do need luxuries. But who needs to feel like a person? Silly question. I guess everyone does. I don't want them to feel like animals, that's for sure. So everyone should have luxuries, not just the rich.
Great. So I'm supposed to buy crap I don't need.
One could argue, though, that my luxuries will never compare to a rich person's luxuries. My luxuries are very small, indeed. And small luxuries, since they never give me what I want, will just make me more upset in the end. They will just make me more and more jealous at not being able to have what I can't afford.
I could scream right now.
Whatever happened to the virtues of suffering? What if all of these small luxuries are just anaesthetizing me from my actual condition? I'm sure it's possible for the poor to be happy, just like the rich are sometimes sad, but I'm not sure people are supposed to be happy with their condition.
I'm sure this is leading somewhere.
People I will never lend books to again.
1. Chrissie Bailey. 21.95 +tax, omnibus edition of The Chronicles of Narnia, borrowed in December, 2005.
2. Michele Jancie. 16.00 +tax, paperback copy of On the Road, borrowed in February, 2007.
You can keep them, ladies. I have new copies. Doesn't mean I will ever let you borrow from me again.
2. Michele Jancie. 16.00 +tax, paperback copy of On the Road, borrowed in February, 2007.
You can keep them, ladies. I have new copies. Doesn't mean I will ever let you borrow from me again.
18.11.09
Which Type of Writer Am I?
So if I don't want to write shite science-fiction novels, what do I want to write? I mean, what else is there? It's not that science-fiction is bad, it's just not for me to write about something when I hate half of its name (science). And it's not that I hate science, either, it's just, well, I'm not too good at it and I don't think people want to read my ignorant ideas about how spaceships work, although they could possibly be entertaining. Can you imagine a squirrel-powered spaceship? I can. That's really the sad thing. Douglas Adams imagined a bistromathic spaceship, and it was awesome, but I'm not as awesome as he is. But I do have the advantage of still being alive, so that does make me more awesome on at least one count. Too soon?
I don't hate the other half of the name (fiction. We're still talking about science-fiction here. Pay attention). Which is not to say that I'm terribly good at writing fiction, which is why I'm still in school, but we already covered that. I am good at making shit up, however, and lying is one of the key elements of being an author. The trick is to lie consistently and with good grammar, and then you're in.
So I want to write fiction, but what types. Genre fiction? I don't know. I've toyed with the science-fiction, but I don't want to write it as a career, because it's a hobby thing with me, like how some people play video games. I've heard that some "serious" writers start writing romance novels because they're easy and zero stress. I guess that's me with other types of writing. I started a fantasy novel and got quite a long way in it (75,000 words, no joke). I have outlines for quite a few projects that one would consider being science-fiction or fantasy. That's another thing I do as a hobby- I write outlines. The more complicated the better. For the book I started writing for NaNoWriMo, my outline was thirty pages long, and consisted of 150 chapters, in five parts, which is part of the reason I was calling it "War and Peace and Starships."
So the books in which I don't have to know about anything are the potentially longer ones, if I ever get around to writing them, and the books which I want to write will end up being tiny, because I know nothing about anything serious. Wow. This is depressing. I do have life experience-- as much as a twenty-something year-old should have. I pity the people with more than me. And I'm constantly gathering more, so that's fun. I'm not worried about the future, I guess I'm just worried about right now. I want to be doing and writing, and I'm stuck at the moment, because I'm a good student.
Maybe I will write something over Christmas break. I don't know. I don't know anything.
I want to write meaningful fiction, I do. I want to write books that stand the test of time. Is that too big a wish? Am I asking too much?
The other unique thing about me (I think) is that I would actually like to be a success while I write. I'm not one of those annoying bastard artist types who rejects every chance of making money. I'm just a regular annoying bastard. I'll take money, but I won't stop doing what I need to do, which is write meaningful stuff. I think the less consequential can exist right next to the consequential, and the literary can be accessible. That's my aim. I think that's fair.
I don't hate the other half of the name (fiction. We're still talking about science-fiction here. Pay attention). Which is not to say that I'm terribly good at writing fiction, which is why I'm still in school, but we already covered that. I am good at making shit up, however, and lying is one of the key elements of being an author. The trick is to lie consistently and with good grammar, and then you're in.
So I want to write fiction, but what types. Genre fiction? I don't know. I've toyed with the science-fiction, but I don't want to write it as a career, because it's a hobby thing with me, like how some people play video games. I've heard that some "serious" writers start writing romance novels because they're easy and zero stress. I guess that's me with other types of writing. I started a fantasy novel and got quite a long way in it (75,000 words, no joke). I have outlines for quite a few projects that one would consider being science-fiction or fantasy. That's another thing I do as a hobby- I write outlines. The more complicated the better. For the book I started writing for NaNoWriMo, my outline was thirty pages long, and consisted of 150 chapters, in five parts, which is part of the reason I was calling it "War and Peace and Starships."
So the books in which I don't have to know about anything are the potentially longer ones, if I ever get around to writing them, and the books which I want to write will end up being tiny, because I know nothing about anything serious. Wow. This is depressing. I do have life experience-- as much as a twenty-something year-old should have. I pity the people with more than me. And I'm constantly gathering more, so that's fun. I'm not worried about the future, I guess I'm just worried about right now. I want to be doing and writing, and I'm stuck at the moment, because I'm a good student.
Maybe I will write something over Christmas break. I don't know. I don't know anything.
I want to write meaningful fiction, I do. I want to write books that stand the test of time. Is that too big a wish? Am I asking too much?
The other unique thing about me (I think) is that I would actually like to be a success while I write. I'm not one of those annoying bastard artist types who rejects every chance of making money. I'm just a regular annoying bastard. I'll take money, but I won't stop doing what I need to do, which is write meaningful stuff. I think the less consequential can exist right next to the consequential, and the literary can be accessible. That's my aim. I think that's fair.
16.11.09
Priorities (3)
So I'm in college, back in the school I went to first, before I decided to become a person with religious zeal and drop out of college and go to a new, worse college, and then get dissatisfied with that college, come back home, get a dead-end job, and decide, four years later that i should go back to college again at the first one. Breathe, Drew. Long sentences weren't designed for people of limited intelligence.
And the question of writing keeps coming into my mind. None of my credits transferred from the worse college. I wasn't expecting them to, but that leaves me as a freshman again. I have a lot of general education requirements to get out of the way, and some of them are as dull as dirt. I thought this semester would be easy, with classes that perfectly re-acclimated me into the college mindset. Turns out, no. I'm stuck doing hard work in classes that have nothing to do with what I want to do.
The spoiled person's mindset would say, "I don't care. I'll find a way to take the classes I want to take and leave the boring ones out, and fuck the degree." I have a friend who did that. The problem is, those kinds of people don't last. They really don't. He does nothing, and he doesn't plan on doing anything.
In the end, getting spoiled doesn't give one anything, does it? I mean, I could do that, but what would I get? Would I get a degree? No. Would I learn self-discipline? No. I would end up thousands of dollars in debt with nothing to show, and that would put me farther away from where I want to be.
So I have to take the shit classes, don't I? Yes, Drew, you do. Even if by taking them it means I can't write as much as I'd like--in the short term. Yes, Drew, it does.
This sucks. It's funny how, four months into the thing, I'm just picking up on the fact that it sucks. But it's necessary, to do what I want to do in life.
Dreams, dreams are tough animals. They either become your best friends or your continual torturers. If you do what it takes to achieve them you get the satisfaction of moving on and knowing you're going in a good direction. If you don't, you go crazy. I've been going crazy for four years. I might be crazy now, but I'm going back to sanity. Slowly. But I'm going there.
So that's what started me on this line of thinking. I started writing a novel for National Novel Writing Month. And guess what? It took over my life, made my school suffer, made me not care about the crap classes. It did that for a week, then I started thinking, and had to think about it for about three days before I came to a decision. What kind of writer do I want to be? A science-fiction writer? Because that's what the book was about. I don't want to be a science-fiction writer. It's fun to do stuff like that once in a while, but really, letting it take over your life? Letting yourself get sucked into something that will never go anywhere, and letting it ruin your actual life in the process?
National Novel Writing Month is a great thing, I'm sure, but not while I'm in school. Right now I have to keep focused on the goal. The thoughts that berate me now are the same thoughts I had seven years ago, when I was first in school. I dropped out (basically) after one semester. This time I want to go to completion. The future is at stake. How many more chances are there, for someone my age? I don't want to get married right now, I don't want to have kids. If I'm going to do anything, I still have a chance now, and I'd better do it. That's it. That's the end. No matter how unpleasant the situation might be, no matter how hectic my life might get, I need to stick with it, because the future is at stake.
And the question of writing keeps coming into my mind. None of my credits transferred from the worse college. I wasn't expecting them to, but that leaves me as a freshman again. I have a lot of general education requirements to get out of the way, and some of them are as dull as dirt. I thought this semester would be easy, with classes that perfectly re-acclimated me into the college mindset. Turns out, no. I'm stuck doing hard work in classes that have nothing to do with what I want to do.
The spoiled person's mindset would say, "I don't care. I'll find a way to take the classes I want to take and leave the boring ones out, and fuck the degree." I have a friend who did that. The problem is, those kinds of people don't last. They really don't. He does nothing, and he doesn't plan on doing anything.
In the end, getting spoiled doesn't give one anything, does it? I mean, I could do that, but what would I get? Would I get a degree? No. Would I learn self-discipline? No. I would end up thousands of dollars in debt with nothing to show, and that would put me farther away from where I want to be.
So I have to take the shit classes, don't I? Yes, Drew, you do. Even if by taking them it means I can't write as much as I'd like--in the short term. Yes, Drew, it does.
This sucks. It's funny how, four months into the thing, I'm just picking up on the fact that it sucks. But it's necessary, to do what I want to do in life.
Dreams, dreams are tough animals. They either become your best friends or your continual torturers. If you do what it takes to achieve them you get the satisfaction of moving on and knowing you're going in a good direction. If you don't, you go crazy. I've been going crazy for four years. I might be crazy now, but I'm going back to sanity. Slowly. But I'm going there.
So that's what started me on this line of thinking. I started writing a novel for National Novel Writing Month. And guess what? It took over my life, made my school suffer, made me not care about the crap classes. It did that for a week, then I started thinking, and had to think about it for about three days before I came to a decision. What kind of writer do I want to be? A science-fiction writer? Because that's what the book was about. I don't want to be a science-fiction writer. It's fun to do stuff like that once in a while, but really, letting it take over your life? Letting yourself get sucked into something that will never go anywhere, and letting it ruin your actual life in the process?
National Novel Writing Month is a great thing, I'm sure, but not while I'm in school. Right now I have to keep focused on the goal. The thoughts that berate me now are the same thoughts I had seven years ago, when I was first in school. I dropped out (basically) after one semester. This time I want to go to completion. The future is at stake. How many more chances are there, for someone my age? I don't want to get married right now, I don't want to have kids. If I'm going to do anything, I still have a chance now, and I'd better do it. That's it. That's the end. No matter how unpleasant the situation might be, no matter how hectic my life might get, I need to stick with it, because the future is at stake.
15.11.09
Priorities (2)
When I say that I thought I was another Steinbeck, Hemingway, or Kerouac, it's not to say that I thought I was as good as them. It's to say that I thought what would work for them would work for me. If I just followed the Steinbeck plan for success... blah blah blah. Yeah. That's what won't work. That's what I was trying to get to in my last post. For so long I'd been simply floating, content to be passive and think that by soaking in life I could get what I wanted. The life around me was getting stale, though, and that's no kind of life.
So, if my last blog was too sappy, I apologize. Really. I don't want you to be the victim of excess sappiness, oh hypothetical reader.
But there is a larger point to be made. The point of priorities. I knew I was not a good writer. Or, I knew that I was better than some, but with obvious flaws, and these flaws would prevent me from doing something with any sort of talent I'd been given. When I started writing again, seriously, last year in the autumn, I was not as good as I am now. In another year, I will look back and say this fall was not such a good time. It will be a continual improvement.
Last January I decided to take a book that I had, about writing fiction, and read a chapter every week and do the exercises, and this would make me an awesome writer. Things happened. I got through to about week six (out of twelve) and then stopped. Don't worry. I quit most things. I get bored. And then hopeless. I was writing a lot at the time so I figured I didn't need it, anyway.
Then I wrote my first novel, and did a re-write, and then another, and then another, and thought it would go somewhere, and it didn't. Because, really, I'm no Steinbeck.
When a person who rents himself out as a proofreader/editor talked to me on Writer's Cafe, he told me that I was good, but not great. Maybe 85% better than anyone else on the site (which isn't saying much--the site is fun, but not great literature). 85% sounded fine, until I realized that it was a "B." And nobody gets published with a "Competent," "Satisfactory," or "Eh, Good, After a While," ranking. It has to be excellent. Now, this person was not a liar or a fraud. I've worked with him and I've enjoyed it and it has been helpful. I've taken the ranking, which was given off hand, and made it my challenge. Ten percent better. At 95%, publishers could do a hell of a lot worse.
So what do I do to get to 95%? I go to college. I avoid the bullshit as much as I can and take what valuable things I can get. As much as I hate the thought, degrees count. Nobody likes the fact that what other people think of them actually matters, but at the end of the day, it's true.
It's very true. And the college question will have to be left for another post.
So, if my last blog was too sappy, I apologize. Really. I don't want you to be the victim of excess sappiness, oh hypothetical reader.
But there is a larger point to be made. The point of priorities. I knew I was not a good writer. Or, I knew that I was better than some, but with obvious flaws, and these flaws would prevent me from doing something with any sort of talent I'd been given. When I started writing again, seriously, last year in the autumn, I was not as good as I am now. In another year, I will look back and say this fall was not such a good time. It will be a continual improvement.
Last January I decided to take a book that I had, about writing fiction, and read a chapter every week and do the exercises, and this would make me an awesome writer. Things happened. I got through to about week six (out of twelve) and then stopped. Don't worry. I quit most things. I get bored. And then hopeless. I was writing a lot at the time so I figured I didn't need it, anyway.
Then I wrote my first novel, and did a re-write, and then another, and then another, and thought it would go somewhere, and it didn't. Because, really, I'm no Steinbeck.
When a person who rents himself out as a proofreader/editor talked to me on Writer's Cafe, he told me that I was good, but not great. Maybe 85% better than anyone else on the site (which isn't saying much--the site is fun, but not great literature). 85% sounded fine, until I realized that it was a "B." And nobody gets published with a "Competent," "Satisfactory," or "Eh, Good, After a While," ranking. It has to be excellent. Now, this person was not a liar or a fraud. I've worked with him and I've enjoyed it and it has been helpful. I've taken the ranking, which was given off hand, and made it my challenge. Ten percent better. At 95%, publishers could do a hell of a lot worse.
So what do I do to get to 95%? I go to college. I avoid the bullshit as much as I can and take what valuable things I can get. As much as I hate the thought, degrees count. Nobody likes the fact that what other people think of them actually matters, but at the end of the day, it's true.
It's very true. And the college question will have to be left for another post.
13.11.09
Priorities (1)
So I know nothing. I know that now. I've known it before at various times, but I know it now, too. I need to tell a story, so please oblige me. It won't take long. This story is a confession. It's been told many times in many ways, and the only time a story is told more than once is because it's true in some way. I've never told this story before. I've never told anything true. But I want to. I want to do one true thing. This story is a true thing.
I'm a 26 year-old who hasn't done anything with his life yet. Other 26 year-olds have. I'm kind of slow when it comes to achievement, perhaps. What was I thinking? Did I really think that I could make a name for myself without some kind of training? Was I thinking that I could get away with not having a bachelor's degree? I know what I was thinking. I was thinking, Steinbeck dropped out of college.....
Jesus, who's Steinbeck? He wrote some good novels and died. I'm not Steinbeck. I'm someone else. Dropping out of college worked for him. It didn't work for me.
So it's taken me a while to get out of the mindset that I am another Steinbeck, or Hemingway, or Kerouac, or anyone else among the writers I love. I'm a Wade. Goddamnit, I'm a Wade. No Wade, as far as I know, has ever been a writer. But ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be one. Seriously, in First Grade I was writing books about Native Americans. I'm not even kidding. I loved them, but more importantly, I loved writing about them.
Maybe I'm alone among Wade's. My mother's mother, a Wellman, loves books--mysteries, romances, historical romances, etc. She's read thousands of them in her time. But there's something wrong with her, something that makes me so sad. She's never written anything except grocery lists and letters. A person who's read that much, and lived that long, must have something wrong with them not to write. I mean, there must not be a connection being made. Or maybe I'm the weird one that I do have a connection. Like eating and crapping, reading and writing go together for me. Maybe they don't go together for her.
I once asked her why she doesn't write anything. She said, "What would I write about?" Er.. Umm. A mystery, perhaps? A romance, perhaps? I know she'd be good at it. But she doesn't think she can, and that just kills me.
My mom--my mom used to write stories, when she was younger than me. I asked her one time what kinds of stories she wrote, and she told me she couldn't remember. All she remembered was that she enjoyed writing them. And then I asked her why she stopped, and she said she doesn't know enough, and she's not in the habit, and she doesn't have enough time. Excuses. Excuses all. But there's nothing I can do about it. That falls on her.
I can't do anything about anything. The only thing I can do is (try to) take care of myself.
If I'm going to ever be a success in life, I can't wait for some ship to come in. I have to get better at my chosen field. I have to take the opportunities I'm given. I have to fight and never give up and keep fighting, and if I fail, then I will fail miserably. But at least I will know I failed, and won't have to live the rest of my life without ever having done anything, wondering what would have happened if I had tried.
I'm not saying I will be a success in life, but I hope to be. More on this later.
I'm a 26 year-old who hasn't done anything with his life yet. Other 26 year-olds have. I'm kind of slow when it comes to achievement, perhaps. What was I thinking? Did I really think that I could make a name for myself without some kind of training? Was I thinking that I could get away with not having a bachelor's degree? I know what I was thinking. I was thinking, Steinbeck dropped out of college.....
Jesus, who's Steinbeck? He wrote some good novels and died. I'm not Steinbeck. I'm someone else. Dropping out of college worked for him. It didn't work for me.
So it's taken me a while to get out of the mindset that I am another Steinbeck, or Hemingway, or Kerouac, or anyone else among the writers I love. I'm a Wade. Goddamnit, I'm a Wade. No Wade, as far as I know, has ever been a writer. But ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be one. Seriously, in First Grade I was writing books about Native Americans. I'm not even kidding. I loved them, but more importantly, I loved writing about them.
Maybe I'm alone among Wade's. My mother's mother, a Wellman, loves books--mysteries, romances, historical romances, etc. She's read thousands of them in her time. But there's something wrong with her, something that makes me so sad. She's never written anything except grocery lists and letters. A person who's read that much, and lived that long, must have something wrong with them not to write. I mean, there must not be a connection being made. Or maybe I'm the weird one that I do have a connection. Like eating and crapping, reading and writing go together for me. Maybe they don't go together for her.
I once asked her why she doesn't write anything. She said, "What would I write about?" Er.. Umm. A mystery, perhaps? A romance, perhaps? I know she'd be good at it. But she doesn't think she can, and that just kills me.
My mom--my mom used to write stories, when she was younger than me. I asked her one time what kinds of stories she wrote, and she told me she couldn't remember. All she remembered was that she enjoyed writing them. And then I asked her why she stopped, and she said she doesn't know enough, and she's not in the habit, and she doesn't have enough time. Excuses. Excuses all. But there's nothing I can do about it. That falls on her.
I can't do anything about anything. The only thing I can do is (try to) take care of myself.
If I'm going to ever be a success in life, I can't wait for some ship to come in. I have to get better at my chosen field. I have to take the opportunities I'm given. I have to fight and never give up and keep fighting, and if I fail, then I will fail miserably. But at least I will know I failed, and won't have to live the rest of my life without ever having done anything, wondering what would have happened if I had tried.
I'm not saying I will be a success in life, but I hope to be. More on this later.
8.11.09
War and Peace and Starships.
Time for a new post. So what has been happening with me? Good question. I'm glad you asked.
I've found out about a couple of contests. The first is this three day novel writing contest, and it takes place on Labor Day every year. I'm already training for it, by participating in... The National Novel Writing Month (Or NaNoWriMo), which isn't really a contest, but what the heck, I'll call it that because I can.
I already knew about nanowrimo, but I wasn't interested in it until yesterday. Now I'm in, for better or for worse, with a five day handicap and a chip on my shoulder. Just kidding about the chip, but really, yes, it's there.
And the wonderful piece of literature I've chosen for this month? A science fiction novel. Umm. Err. Why? I don't know. Because I wrote an outline three years ago and knew I'd never get around to it until something extraordinary presented itself, and, well, look what's presented itself. My goal is twenty-five hundred words a day, which I'm easily surpassing in the second day, but there's a lot of time left, and I can easily slip up if I so choose.
Anyway.
The novel is untitled, but I'm calling it War and Peace and Starships for now, as a shout out to Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Don't worry. It's not going to stay that way, but I wish the latter book had never been written because it's a great title. Let's face it. The addition of something almost entirely unrelated gives a book a certain charm.
Meanwhile, I'm on Facebook again, finishing up this semester at school, and wondering what to do over Christmas break. Why the heck couldn't the organizers of NaNoWriMo do it then? I don't know. Maybe some college people should get together and do something like that. It would be fun, sort of a miniature Wonder Boys, or whatever that movie was called. The kid wrote an amazing novel over Christmas break. Hey, I wonder...
I've found out about a couple of contests. The first is this three day novel writing contest, and it takes place on Labor Day every year. I'm already training for it, by participating in... The National Novel Writing Month (Or NaNoWriMo), which isn't really a contest, but what the heck, I'll call it that because I can.
I already knew about nanowrimo, but I wasn't interested in it until yesterday. Now I'm in, for better or for worse, with a five day handicap and a chip on my shoulder. Just kidding about the chip, but really, yes, it's there.
And the wonderful piece of literature I've chosen for this month? A science fiction novel. Umm. Err. Why? I don't know. Because I wrote an outline three years ago and knew I'd never get around to it until something extraordinary presented itself, and, well, look what's presented itself. My goal is twenty-five hundred words a day, which I'm easily surpassing in the second day, but there's a lot of time left, and I can easily slip up if I so choose.
Anyway.
The novel is untitled, but I'm calling it War and Peace and Starships for now, as a shout out to Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Don't worry. It's not going to stay that way, but I wish the latter book had never been written because it's a great title. Let's face it. The addition of something almost entirely unrelated gives a book a certain charm.
Meanwhile, I'm on Facebook again, finishing up this semester at school, and wondering what to do over Christmas break. Why the heck couldn't the organizers of NaNoWriMo do it then? I don't know. Maybe some college people should get together and do something like that. It would be fun, sort of a miniature Wonder Boys, or whatever that movie was called. The kid wrote an amazing novel over Christmas break. Hey, I wonder...
19.9.09
Jesus God, Where Have You Been?
So, the thought's just occurred to me that I haven't been on the blog for about two months, give or take. This makes me sad because I really do like keeping a blog about where I am in my writing. Does this mean I've stopped writing? No, not really. I am a lot busier now. I'm going to college full time and working full time, and that leaves little time for blog pursuits, but I'd stopped writing in my blog for at least a month before that happened.
Does this mean I've lost interest? I hope not. I mean, I was so happy when I turned twenty-five and really started pushing myself to write again. The main reason for my joy was because I was able to keep myself focused for longer periods of time. I started writing a novel, and completed twenty four decently-sized chapters before I stopped. That was around 260 something pages, and that was before I actually even completed my first novel. It was like when I turned twenty-five I somehow became an adult in my mind. So I hope I'm not losing interest, because that would mean I'm regressing.
To quote somebody famous, "Wha' happen?"
Well, for starters, nothing happened. I got my edits back too late to get anything effective done in my book before school started, so I didn't send out the would-be fifth draft to agents. My story got rejected from 'Glimmer Train', which I know they'll regret, but every writer says that. Basically, I think I felt like I just didn't have anything to write about, and if the purpose of the blog was about writing about my progress, I wasn't going to keep writing, "Nothing happened today."
Whatever. Nothing's still happened, but I feel like writing a blog today, and that's the reason.
I'm writing a novella. It's based on a poem I wrote about four years ago, which made me realize I could write poetry without sounding like a robot. The poem had eight sections, so I figured the novella could have eight chapters. I finished chapter seven last night. Maybe chapter eight will happen today?
It's a weird novella. Picture 'Naked Lunch' meets 'Huckleberry Finn' meets 'The Gospel of John.' Yeah. Just what I thought. You can't.
I'm really enjoying it. As the second draft's being put down on my computer at home, I'm starting to think of the possibilities for my protagonist. His name is only mentioned once, and at that point he's only called E. His appearance seems to mirror everyone he talks to, which I think bolsters the argument that E could stand for 'Everyman', if I choose to go that route. I don't know, but it does seem like a possibility at this point.
I'm going to drop it all at once, so I'm not going to post it at Writer's Cafe until it's all finished. It's already behind schedule, but good writing takes time, right? Eh. Maybe. I think there's something to be said for the feverish night-time, coffee-dazed style of Balzac, too, but who reads Balzac anymore?
So that, in a nutshell, is what I'm up to these days. I don't feel like writing anymore for now.
Does this mean I've lost interest? I hope not. I mean, I was so happy when I turned twenty-five and really started pushing myself to write again. The main reason for my joy was because I was able to keep myself focused for longer periods of time. I started writing a novel, and completed twenty four decently-sized chapters before I stopped. That was around 260 something pages, and that was before I actually even completed my first novel. It was like when I turned twenty-five I somehow became an adult in my mind. So I hope I'm not losing interest, because that would mean I'm regressing.
To quote somebody famous, "Wha' happen?"
Well, for starters, nothing happened. I got my edits back too late to get anything effective done in my book before school started, so I didn't send out the would-be fifth draft to agents. My story got rejected from 'Glimmer Train', which I know they'll regret, but every writer says that. Basically, I think I felt like I just didn't have anything to write about, and if the purpose of the blog was about writing about my progress, I wasn't going to keep writing, "Nothing happened today."
Whatever. Nothing's still happened, but I feel like writing a blog today, and that's the reason.
I'm writing a novella. It's based on a poem I wrote about four years ago, which made me realize I could write poetry without sounding like a robot. The poem had eight sections, so I figured the novella could have eight chapters. I finished chapter seven last night. Maybe chapter eight will happen today?
It's a weird novella. Picture 'Naked Lunch' meets 'Huckleberry Finn' meets 'The Gospel of John.' Yeah. Just what I thought. You can't.
I'm really enjoying it. As the second draft's being put down on my computer at home, I'm starting to think of the possibilities for my protagonist. His name is only mentioned once, and at that point he's only called E. His appearance seems to mirror everyone he talks to, which I think bolsters the argument that E could stand for 'Everyman', if I choose to go that route. I don't know, but it does seem like a possibility at this point.
I'm going to drop it all at once, so I'm not going to post it at Writer's Cafe until it's all finished. It's already behind schedule, but good writing takes time, right? Eh. Maybe. I think there's something to be said for the feverish night-time, coffee-dazed style of Balzac, too, but who reads Balzac anymore?
So that, in a nutshell, is what I'm up to these days. I don't feel like writing anymore for now.
23.7.09
Stories and a Kid's Book
Well, since I last posted, a lot has happened. Still haven't heard back from Glimmer Train. Still haven't snagged an agent. Those are both fine. I wasn't expecting those.
I wrote two stories. One was a story I started writing four years ago called 'Our Gang'. I think it's pretty entertaining, but I also think I was at a darker place in my life at that time.
The other was a first person perspective of basically someone looking out of a window and wondering what he's doing with his life. I don't know where I got the inspiration for it, honestly. I never look out the window, and I know exactly what I'm doing with my life. heheheh.
Oh well.
Oh, I'm now really in the thick of writing 'Faeriemerica' again. I've developed the style, I've got the action, I've got the little pieces in place that make my characters pop with life. It's going to be awesome. I'm going to be working on chapter five tonight, and I'm not going to lie, I'm actually excited about doing it.
The other thing I've been thinking about is all the stories I have. I have eighteen short stories, fifteen of which are more than flash fiction- and probably thirteen of which I'm really, really happy with. That doesn't mean they don't need improvement. They do. But it means I have confidence in them. The whole collection comes out to about 151 pages, in 12 pt. Arial 1.5 spacing (what I type in). It's about 9,000 words short of novel length, and I figure four or five more stories should do it.
One of those stories is a real beast. It's called 'Muse', and I've been working on it since January. It might kill me. It might be amazing. I'm not sure. I worked on that today at the cafe I walk to to work in.
One of those stories will be another African story. I need to write it before it's gone from my memory, and it was a genuinely terrifying experience which I think needs to be written about.
And yet, with all of the work I've been doing, I still felt at most points in the last few days that I wasn't getting enough done. I don't know why I'm beating myself up over it, but I am. I finished two stories on Tuesday, and that was the day I felt the most unproductive. It's a weird feeling, but I'm in control of it for now.
I wrote two stories. One was a story I started writing four years ago called 'Our Gang'. I think it's pretty entertaining, but I also think I was at a darker place in my life at that time.
The other was a first person perspective of basically someone looking out of a window and wondering what he's doing with his life. I don't know where I got the inspiration for it, honestly. I never look out the window, and I know exactly what I'm doing with my life. heheheh.
Oh well.
Oh, I'm now really in the thick of writing 'Faeriemerica' again. I've developed the style, I've got the action, I've got the little pieces in place that make my characters pop with life. It's going to be awesome. I'm going to be working on chapter five tonight, and I'm not going to lie, I'm actually excited about doing it.
The other thing I've been thinking about is all the stories I have. I have eighteen short stories, fifteen of which are more than flash fiction- and probably thirteen of which I'm really, really happy with. That doesn't mean they don't need improvement. They do. But it means I have confidence in them. The whole collection comes out to about 151 pages, in 12 pt. Arial 1.5 spacing (what I type in). It's about 9,000 words short of novel length, and I figure four or five more stories should do it.
One of those stories is a real beast. It's called 'Muse', and I've been working on it since January. It might kill me. It might be amazing. I'm not sure. I worked on that today at the cafe I walk to to work in.
One of those stories will be another African story. I need to write it before it's gone from my memory, and it was a genuinely terrifying experience which I think needs to be written about.
And yet, with all of the work I've been doing, I still felt at most points in the last few days that I wasn't getting enough done. I don't know why I'm beating myself up over it, but I am. I finished two stories on Tuesday, and that was the day I felt the most unproductive. It's a weird feeling, but I'm in control of it for now.
19.7.09
Motivation
I've been thinking about why I'm not exactly inspired to work on my new WIP. It's concept is awesome, as I've stated before. I think it's accessible and ready to be consumed by the masses. I just haven't found the motivation to actually work on it lately.
I know exactly what's going to happen. I know all about the characters. I know what motivates them. I just don't know what motivates me. Why am I holding back?
The thought occurred to me today that I might have been approaching this thing the wrong way. I have my main character jumping into a world that is completely unrealistic. Sure, it's a fantasy, but even fantasy needs to be plausible. The reality of it is, if a child is going from a modern day world, and the world he is going to is populated by a mix of modern day people and fairies, the people aren't going to be running around with swords.
In short, I need rules.
What goes into the new world? What stays out?
Austin's (my main character) method of entering the world is through a small pool, and it stands to reason that other entrances to the world are through the same method. So anything bigger can't come. Cars won't be there. Motorbikes won't be there. Packs can come. Guns can come. Ideas can come. If someone's a big enough genius, they can manufacture what they remember from their old world.
The other thing I need rules for is that there's going to be a certain style to this world. It's a mix of fairy style and dispossessed, disgruntled, disgusted people style. After all, the dispossessed are the ones that want to leave our world, are they not? So there's definitely going to be a style, but it's going to be weird. It's going to be very natural and very artistic. It's going to be funky and fresh, and unlike anything fantasy has ever seen.
I think these rules are going to help me motivate myself. I hope. Keep on trucking, right?
I know exactly what's going to happen. I know all about the characters. I know what motivates them. I just don't know what motivates me. Why am I holding back?
The thought occurred to me today that I might have been approaching this thing the wrong way. I have my main character jumping into a world that is completely unrealistic. Sure, it's a fantasy, but even fantasy needs to be plausible. The reality of it is, if a child is going from a modern day world, and the world he is going to is populated by a mix of modern day people and fairies, the people aren't going to be running around with swords.
In short, I need rules.
What goes into the new world? What stays out?
Austin's (my main character) method of entering the world is through a small pool, and it stands to reason that other entrances to the world are through the same method. So anything bigger can't come. Cars won't be there. Motorbikes won't be there. Packs can come. Guns can come. Ideas can come. If someone's a big enough genius, they can manufacture what they remember from their old world.
The other thing I need rules for is that there's going to be a certain style to this world. It's a mix of fairy style and dispossessed, disgruntled, disgusted people style. After all, the dispossessed are the ones that want to leave our world, are they not? So there's definitely going to be a style, but it's going to be weird. It's going to be very natural and very artistic. It's going to be funky and fresh, and unlike anything fantasy has ever seen.
I think these rules are going to help me motivate myself. I hope. Keep on trucking, right?
14.7.09
Take That, Writer's Block
So I beat it. I smacked it around and talked trash to it a little, first. Talkin' about my writer's block, here.
I got the answer in a dream. After trying to work on the new novel yesterday and only getting three paragraphs done (two dialogue ones, so very short), I went to bed. I woke up, and knew what I had to do. I'd take the writing I'd done on the computer, write it down in a notebook, and go to the cafe where I write sometimes. It worked. I didn't have all the thoughts about having to integrate different parts of the previous second chapter. I just wrote.
Six pages later, the chapter is almost done. I'm going to finish it up here at the Inn, and then type it up, and that should be most of the tough stuff involved in revamping 'Faeriemerica'.
Oh well. Should be fun.
I got the answer in a dream. After trying to work on the new novel yesterday and only getting three paragraphs done (two dialogue ones, so very short), I went to bed. I woke up, and knew what I had to do. I'd take the writing I'd done on the computer, write it down in a notebook, and go to the cafe where I write sometimes. It worked. I didn't have all the thoughts about having to integrate different parts of the previous second chapter. I just wrote.
Six pages later, the chapter is almost done. I'm going to finish it up here at the Inn, and then type it up, and that should be most of the tough stuff involved in revamping 'Faeriemerica'.
Oh well. Should be fun.
13.7.09
Weekend Battles
Yeah, well, I guess I'm not that disciplined. For some reason I had a hard time getting into working on the new WIP. I finished updating the first chapter, and nothing else. I think I'm having a hard time getting into the book because I don't quite know how to start. My normal method is to work long hand first, but I don't think that's going to work this time because most of the elements of the second chapter are there already. It makes a lot more sense to just write out the parts of the second chapter that I need to write on my computer, because I can integrate both of them that way. Which I guess is what I'm dreading. I'll figure something out.
Meanwhile, I wrote a new poem, and started a new story, so those are both pluses. The poem can be found at www.writerscafe.org and I like it. It's a bit of a departure from my usual style, more conversational and less overtly poetic. I also started thinking about my different philosophies of poetry and fiction, and I'll be talking about them soon.
Meanwhile, I wrote a new poem, and started a new story, so those are both pluses. The poem can be found at www.writerscafe.org and I like it. It's a bit of a departure from my usual style, more conversational and less overtly poetic. I also started thinking about my different philosophies of poetry and fiction, and I'll be talking about them soon.
9.7.09
Fourth Draft Complete (now on to other pastimes)
On Tuesday I did what I said I would do. I finished the fourth draft of Vanheim. I'm finding that that is how I'm disciplined. When I tell myself to do something, I do it. I may not be able to keep to a schedule (at least on a regular basis), but when it comes to setting a goal for a day, I'm able to accomplish it usually.
Now my latest story is finished, and I'm still waiting on word for 'Purple Heart', and the check is in the mail for Vanheim to get some pro eyes looking at it. Now what?
Now it's back to one of my secondary projects, a childrens' novel about fairies, that I'm actually quite far along in. Since Tuesday I've been working on a new outline, because to me the story was too boring. The concept wasn't boring. The concept was awesome- it still is. I've had this thing in my head since 2004, and this will be the third outline for it. I destroyed the first outline in one of my fits, along with the sketches and ideas for the characters. When I remade the outline this spring, I had to remember everything, and it's going to be different in some respects. The third outline is packed with action, while still being true to all the events of the second outline. It has to have the action to keep interest. Kids can't handle a ton of explanation at the beginning, and I'm writing this for them, not me. That's the difference between this novel and Vanheim. I started Vanheim on a lark, and this one has so much thought and preparation behind it. The potential is there for this novel to be the most beautiful thing I've written to date.
When I say I'm far along in the novel, I mean I've already written six full chapters, out of twenty (in the early version.) The new outline makes it come out to twenty-two chapters, but most of the chapters only need to be modified slightly to accomodate the newer scenes.
I'm setting a goal of one chapter a day for the brand new chapters I have to write. That should give me a full first draft in about two weeks. Sounds fun. Let's do it!
Now my latest story is finished, and I'm still waiting on word for 'Purple Heart', and the check is in the mail for Vanheim to get some pro eyes looking at it. Now what?
Now it's back to one of my secondary projects, a childrens' novel about fairies, that I'm actually quite far along in. Since Tuesday I've been working on a new outline, because to me the story was too boring. The concept wasn't boring. The concept was awesome- it still is. I've had this thing in my head since 2004, and this will be the third outline for it. I destroyed the first outline in one of my fits, along with the sketches and ideas for the characters. When I remade the outline this spring, I had to remember everything, and it's going to be different in some respects. The third outline is packed with action, while still being true to all the events of the second outline. It has to have the action to keep interest. Kids can't handle a ton of explanation at the beginning, and I'm writing this for them, not me. That's the difference between this novel and Vanheim. I started Vanheim on a lark, and this one has so much thought and preparation behind it. The potential is there for this novel to be the most beautiful thing I've written to date.
When I say I'm far along in the novel, I mean I've already written six full chapters, out of twenty (in the early version.) The new outline makes it come out to twenty-two chapters, but most of the chapters only need to be modified slightly to accomodate the newer scenes.
I'm setting a goal of one chapter a day for the brand new chapters I have to write. That should give me a full first draft in about two weeks. Sounds fun. Let's do it!
6.7.09
First vs. Third
This weekend I've been working on two writing projects. The first is, of course, the fourth draft of my WIP (all the writing in it will be finished Tuesday, then I just have to give it the old once over to make sure its drawers aren't hanging out), and the second is typing up a new short story I wrote. I'm really excited about the short story, which will be available to read on www.writerscafe.org within the next couple of days, and I'm really excited about the novel, but who knows when that monkey will be ready to read?
The main difference between these two projects is, the short story is in First Person Present tense, and the novel has a majority of its scenes in the Third Person Past tense.
I like all styles of writing, and I do try to switch up tenses for different projects so I don't get bored. It is very hard to use the Second Person viewpoint in a novel without making it gimmicky, so I haven't used that one, yet. My point is, there are different strengths and weaknesses inherent to each viewpoint.
I've found that First Person viewpoint works really well in short stories, because it allows me to quickly get inside the character's head. In a short story, there's not that much time to work with, and I can't focus on too many characters, so it levels the playing field a bit. In contrast, the Third Person viewpoint works well in longer works- works that by their nature tend to want to focus on more characters, and different aspects of the story.
In the Third Person, you can be omniscient, which is an amazing tool. In a short story, I guess you could be omniscient, too, but believability is key when it comes to length. You have at most 15,000 words to get your point across, and you're going to waste that by spreading yourself so thin on characterization? In my view, be omniscient in a book whose concept is worthy of that omniscience, not a small story.
In the FP, you can tell, and you can rejoice in the telling. This is my absolute favorite part of writing in the FP. Not only can you tell, but you should tell. Telling is different in the First Person. It's not about just giving the reader an easy out and not making them think- it's about perspective. A person, by their nature, is going to tell you what they think. People are opinionated, that's what they do. Why would a story narrated from a first person perspective be any different? But here's the great great thing about telling from a FPV- who's to say that it's the truth? Opinion can be truth, or it can just be opinion. It's the reader's job to sort out the fact from the fraud, so the reader still has to think. A First Person narrator cannot help but tell the reader what's going on in his mind, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's true. That is what I love most about the FPV.
Now, try get away with telling in the 3PV. I still have problems with this because I love to tell people something- bash them over the head with the information, if you will. You can still tell in the 3P, but it won't be good writing. It will be a cop-out. It will be giving the reader license to not have to think about what they're reading. Arguably, there's a place for this kind of writing. People on vacation might just want to relax and have something to do with their time. That's the whole reason Danielle Steel exists, to give bored people something to do.
Here's the crazy thing about telling in the 3PV. It can be done, and it can be done well. Look at Hemingway. He brought home point after point by just putting it out there- telling it to the reader. Remember when he called the bull fighter a coward in "The Capital of the World"? That was used to great effect.
I guess in a Third Person narration, you can tell if you have a point to make, and if you only use it rarely so as not to dilute its meaning. If possible, it should not be as it appears. It could be deeper- essentially an ironic twist on what you're presenting on the face of it. (Think the Cowardly Lion in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz- his very name said what he was, and yet he was anything but. Also, the Scarecrow was the smartest one, and the Tin Man was the most caring. Do you think this happened on accident? No. It was there to be ironic.)
Tell if it means something. If it's just lazy, don't tell. You as the writer have to make that determination, and you have to trust what you write even if some stupid critic says 'Show don't tell' without even thinking of what it means.
That's all I have for now. Peace.
The main difference between these two projects is, the short story is in First Person Present tense, and the novel has a majority of its scenes in the Third Person Past tense.
I like all styles of writing, and I do try to switch up tenses for different projects so I don't get bored. It is very hard to use the Second Person viewpoint in a novel without making it gimmicky, so I haven't used that one, yet. My point is, there are different strengths and weaknesses inherent to each viewpoint.
I've found that First Person viewpoint works really well in short stories, because it allows me to quickly get inside the character's head. In a short story, there's not that much time to work with, and I can't focus on too many characters, so it levels the playing field a bit. In contrast, the Third Person viewpoint works well in longer works- works that by their nature tend to want to focus on more characters, and different aspects of the story.
In the Third Person, you can be omniscient, which is an amazing tool. In a short story, I guess you could be omniscient, too, but believability is key when it comes to length. You have at most 15,000 words to get your point across, and you're going to waste that by spreading yourself so thin on characterization? In my view, be omniscient in a book whose concept is worthy of that omniscience, not a small story.
In the FP, you can tell, and you can rejoice in the telling. This is my absolute favorite part of writing in the FP. Not only can you tell, but you should tell. Telling is different in the First Person. It's not about just giving the reader an easy out and not making them think- it's about perspective. A person, by their nature, is going to tell you what they think. People are opinionated, that's what they do. Why would a story narrated from a first person perspective be any different? But here's the great great thing about telling from a FPV- who's to say that it's the truth? Opinion can be truth, or it can just be opinion. It's the reader's job to sort out the fact from the fraud, so the reader still has to think. A First Person narrator cannot help but tell the reader what's going on in his mind, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's true. That is what I love most about the FPV.
Now, try get away with telling in the 3PV. I still have problems with this because I love to tell people something- bash them over the head with the information, if you will. You can still tell in the 3P, but it won't be good writing. It will be a cop-out. It will be giving the reader license to not have to think about what they're reading. Arguably, there's a place for this kind of writing. People on vacation might just want to relax and have something to do with their time. That's the whole reason Danielle Steel exists, to give bored people something to do.
Here's the crazy thing about telling in the 3PV. It can be done, and it can be done well. Look at Hemingway. He brought home point after point by just putting it out there- telling it to the reader. Remember when he called the bull fighter a coward in "The Capital of the World"? That was used to great effect.
I guess in a Third Person narration, you can tell if you have a point to make, and if you only use it rarely so as not to dilute its meaning. If possible, it should not be as it appears. It could be deeper- essentially an ironic twist on what you're presenting on the face of it. (Think the Cowardly Lion in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz- his very name said what he was, and yet he was anything but. Also, the Scarecrow was the smartest one, and the Tin Man was the most caring. Do you think this happened on accident? No. It was there to be ironic.)
Tell if it means something. If it's just lazy, don't tell. You as the writer have to make that determination, and you have to trust what you write even if some stupid critic says 'Show don't tell' without even thinking of what it means.
That's all I have for now. Peace.
30.6.09
Tuesday is my ambitious day.
I finished the story that I started working on on Saturday! Yep. It's pretty weird, so in the end it should come out pretty awesome. It's long right now, but it's a first draft, and I know where the fat needs trimmed.
Now, for my next trick, I'm going to finish typing up all the new parts of Vanheim, and then start arranging them. With luck and stick-to-it-iveness, I'm going to accomplish a lot tonight. And I'm at the Inn, of course, so that's going to help. And I took out the computer game that I've been playing when at home. Nothing, if I've calculated it right, will be able to distract me. Hahahah.
My plan will come to fruition at last!
Also, I've decided to have someone who's good at that kind of thing give me a thorough and technical read-through of the novel, once I've finished it. I figure it's going to be hard for me to see the problems with fresh eyes since I've already done it three times. Now I'll let someone else do it. I don't think it's going to come cheaply. Well, sometimes you've got to spend money.
And tomorrow's July 1.. I'm going to send 'Purple Heart' into 'Glimmer Train'. Oh yeah. Things are about to start happening.
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go.
ps. (If you like it then you shouldn't put a ring on it.)
Now, for my next trick, I'm going to finish typing up all the new parts of Vanheim, and then start arranging them. With luck and stick-to-it-iveness, I'm going to accomplish a lot tonight. And I'm at the Inn, of course, so that's going to help. And I took out the computer game that I've been playing when at home. Nothing, if I've calculated it right, will be able to distract me. Hahahah.
My plan will come to fruition at last!
Also, I've decided to have someone who's good at that kind of thing give me a thorough and technical read-through of the novel, once I've finished it. I figure it's going to be hard for me to see the problems with fresh eyes since I've already done it three times. Now I'll let someone else do it. I don't think it's going to come cheaply. Well, sometimes you've got to spend money.
And tomorrow's July 1.. I'm going to send 'Purple Heart' into 'Glimmer Train'. Oh yeah. Things are about to start happening.
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go.
ps. (If you like it then you shouldn't put a ring on it.)
29.6.09
Further Advantages
Other advantages have shown up since I haven't had a tv.
I'm using my breakfast table again. For a while it was just a catch all, and I ate all my meals on my couch, watching the tv. Not anymore! Now it's a table, and I'm cleaning it little by little and eating meals on it, and reading books as I eat those meals... It's indescribably awesome, and yet, I think I just described it.
I don't have to watch Hannah Montana anymore. Okay. No one ever said I had to watch her, but I did. Because, umm, I did. Not because I like her or anything. She's far too young and pretty for me. Anyway. Listen, it's not my fault that her show is one of the most sharply written on television. I can't help that, honest. I couldn't help a lot of things when it came to Hannah Montana, like singing 'The Best of Both Worlds' in the shower, like watching the show whenever it came on and thanking my lucky stars that Billy Ray is back in the public eye again.. I know, creepy, right? Well, I don't have to be a creep anymore!
Another advantage that has presented itself to me is that the tv was on an organ bench. This same organ bench, if moved strategically, will make a great end table! So, hiyah! And an end table is just what I needed!
I'm using my breakfast table again. For a while it was just a catch all, and I ate all my meals on my couch, watching the tv. Not anymore! Now it's a table, and I'm cleaning it little by little and eating meals on it, and reading books as I eat those meals... It's indescribably awesome, and yet, I think I just described it.
I don't have to watch Hannah Montana anymore. Okay. No one ever said I had to watch her, but I did. Because, umm, I did. Not because I like her or anything. She's far too young and pretty for me. Anyway. Listen, it's not my fault that her show is one of the most sharply written on television. I can't help that, honest. I couldn't help a lot of things when it came to Hannah Montana, like singing 'The Best of Both Worlds' in the shower, like watching the show whenever it came on and thanking my lucky stars that Billy Ray is back in the public eye again.. I know, creepy, right? Well, I don't have to be a creep anymore!
Another advantage that has presented itself to me is that the tv was on an organ bench. This same organ bench, if moved strategically, will make a great end table! So, hiyah! And an end table is just what I needed!
The TV is dead.
This weekend I got rid of my tv. I realized I just watch it all the time, and nothing's ever on, and I'm doing nothing productive when I'm watching it. VH1 is a cancer on my soul! Shame on them. I don't love New York, and I don't want to get on a bus with Brett Michaels. I don't think Daisy is hot or funny. I'm sick and tired of all night Michael Jackson tributes. Good riddance, tv.
Now, the great thing is, I feel unlimited potential again. Yeah. I figure this will force me to read. I'm crossing my fingers. I figure it will also force me to write more. In fact, I started writing a short story (which I haven't done in a while) just a few hours after I got rid of the tv.
That's about the only update I have. Everything else is moving slow as a snail.
Oh, I guess one other thing. I've been getting a lot of positive help on my story 'Purple Heart', and in a couple days I'm going to send it to 'Glimmer Train.'
Now, the great thing is, I feel unlimited potential again. Yeah. I figure this will force me to read. I'm crossing my fingers. I figure it will also force me to write more. In fact, I started writing a short story (which I haven't done in a while) just a few hours after I got rid of the tv.
That's about the only update I have. Everything else is moving slow as a snail.
Oh, I guess one other thing. I've been getting a lot of positive help on my story 'Purple Heart', and in a couple days I'm going to send it to 'Glimmer Train.'
24.6.09
Update. Big Time Stuff!
Oh yes, Tuesday nights are very good to me. After I talked about what I was going to do, I went up to the solitude of the third floor, looked out the window for a little bit, and wrote the last two new scenes. Now the real process begins. Hahah.
I'm typing them up, treating the typed copies like a second draft (like I did for the rest of the novel), and I think it's amazing how they change. The chapters are like living, breathing wonders. It doesn't matter what I wrote in the first draft. The second draft always changes. It's like the first, handwritten copy was the little kid- still with personality, but smaller and less developed. And then the second draft becomes this teenager. It has tons of developments, and often a lot of anger issues, and sometimes it talks more than it should, but it's still the same little bugger, and still lovable for all that. I still haven't thought of a proper analogy for all the third draft chapters that need revising.
Anyway, getting the chapters typed is only the first half of the process for the fourth draft. I have a whole list of chapters that need changes, anywhere from putting a small detail in, to changing the whole perspective it in which it was written. I don't know when it will end, but I look forward to the challenge of making this novel everything I know it can be.
Tonight I am going to do a ton of research. I'm trying to make my locations as real as possible, without physically being able to go to most of them. That means the southeast of England will be visited, also a greenmarket in Union Square, NYC..
A place that I might actually be able to visit this weekend is Assateague Island. It's only one of my favorite places in the world, and just happens to figure prominently in the novel. I just have to decide if I have the balls to go and do it. I think I do, but I'm often subject to the whims of laziness, which have prevented me from going there three times already this summer.
I'm typing them up, treating the typed copies like a second draft (like I did for the rest of the novel), and I think it's amazing how they change. The chapters are like living, breathing wonders. It doesn't matter what I wrote in the first draft. The second draft always changes. It's like the first, handwritten copy was the little kid- still with personality, but smaller and less developed. And then the second draft becomes this teenager. It has tons of developments, and often a lot of anger issues, and sometimes it talks more than it should, but it's still the same little bugger, and still lovable for all that. I still haven't thought of a proper analogy for all the third draft chapters that need revising.
Anyway, getting the chapters typed is only the first half of the process for the fourth draft. I have a whole list of chapters that need changes, anywhere from putting a small detail in, to changing the whole perspective it in which it was written. I don't know when it will end, but I look forward to the challenge of making this novel everything I know it can be.
Tonight I am going to do a ton of research. I'm trying to make my locations as real as possible, without physically being able to go to most of them. That means the southeast of England will be visited, also a greenmarket in Union Square, NYC..
A place that I might actually be able to visit this weekend is Assateague Island. It's only one of my favorite places in the world, and just happens to figure prominently in the novel. I just have to decide if I have the balls to go and do it. I think I do, but I'm often subject to the whims of laziness, which have prevented me from going there three times already this summer.
23.6.09
On the Cusp of the World
Today I received a fifth rejection, but this was a good one. For starters, I sent it to one person at an agency, and it came back from another one. And it was in the third person. They said they read it, they considered it, then decided that it wasn't the right fit for them. So, this leads me to believe that it's a possibility- however slight- that the first person gave it to the second one to read saying, "what do you think about this?" and the second person said, "I don't think so."
Which to me is gold. Because, BECAUSE- I don't expect any of the agents I sent this thing to to accept it. I don't think what I submitted was good enough as it was. The only way anyone is going to give it a chance is if they see the potential in it. Which is a long shot. So if two out of five have at least considered it and not sent me just the standard rejection back, I feel I'm on the right track. So the fourth draft is going to make the manuscript kick so much ass.
I'm not getting down with these rejections because I believe in the concept. I'm not stupidly unrealistic about it. I know the novel has flaws, but I also think I know how to fix those flaws and make the truth of the work shine through more.
Speaking of the fourth draft and making changes, I am very very close to finishing the new scenes. As of this moment, I have two left, out of eleven original new scenes. I plan on going to do them right now. I'm at the hotel at the moment, where I find it's easiest to work. I'm going to go up to the third floor, lock myself in the Legacy Room, and write until the damn thing is finished. And then I'm going to laugh and say "Tuesday Nights, once again you have proven how much you love me!"
I might have just got carried away there.
Off to write. Ta-ta.
Which to me is gold. Because, BECAUSE- I don't expect any of the agents I sent this thing to to accept it. I don't think what I submitted was good enough as it was. The only way anyone is going to give it a chance is if they see the potential in it. Which is a long shot. So if two out of five have at least considered it and not sent me just the standard rejection back, I feel I'm on the right track. So the fourth draft is going to make the manuscript kick so much ass.
I'm not getting down with these rejections because I believe in the concept. I'm not stupidly unrealistic about it. I know the novel has flaws, but I also think I know how to fix those flaws and make the truth of the work shine through more.
Speaking of the fourth draft and making changes, I am very very close to finishing the new scenes. As of this moment, I have two left, out of eleven original new scenes. I plan on going to do them right now. I'm at the hotel at the moment, where I find it's easiest to work. I'm going to go up to the third floor, lock myself in the Legacy Room, and write until the damn thing is finished. And then I'm going to laugh and say "Tuesday Nights, once again you have proven how much you love me!"
I might have just got carried away there.
Off to write. Ta-ta.
19.6.09
WIP Status Report
Another day, another rejection (that makes four so far), and I'm still feeling pretty good. The
new scenes are going well. I have six written, out of eleven, and four actually typed. The first chapter has been completely changed, and some other ones are on the schedule for getting changed. The fourth draft is going to be one hell of an interesting thing. I'm focusing on making the prose leaner, tighter, stronger, and not shying away from making the plot as nutso as I need it to be as long as it helps the overall effort. All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about the novel.
Now, on another note- I'm going to be recording fifty songs with my cousin very soon. It'll be me and an acoustic, like the old days, and I aim to have them be the last songs I record. I'm retiring from solo musical endeavors. They just make me too sad anymore. There's no joy in Mudville. Not when it comes to playing music by myself. Devonshire, however, Devonshire still kicks my ass. I just came up with a new tune last night, and I think it's the catchiest, grindiest one we have so far.
That about does it for developments as of 6.19.09
new scenes are going well. I have six written, out of eleven, and four actually typed. The first chapter has been completely changed, and some other ones are on the schedule for getting changed. The fourth draft is going to be one hell of an interesting thing. I'm focusing on making the prose leaner, tighter, stronger, and not shying away from making the plot as nutso as I need it to be as long as it helps the overall effort. All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about the novel.
Now, on another note- I'm going to be recording fifty songs with my cousin very soon. It'll be me and an acoustic, like the old days, and I aim to have them be the last songs I record. I'm retiring from solo musical endeavors. They just make me too sad anymore. There's no joy in Mudville. Not when it comes to playing music by myself. Devonshire, however, Devonshire still kicks my ass. I just came up with a new tune last night, and I think it's the catchiest, grindiest one we have so far.
That about does it for developments as of 6.19.09
16.6.09
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
I fixed what needed to be fixed on 'Purple Heart', and I still think it holds up well, though my writing style has changed a bit in the year or so since I wrote it. I tried to submit it to 'Glimmer Train' and was disappointed that I forgot about their submissions policy. Essentially, they're just submitting for two contests right now. They won't be doing general submissions until July. So it's a waiting game.
The other thing... I was gathering materials last night to start working on the new scenes of Vanheim, and, yeah, I found a whole chapter in the back pocket of pants I had just washed. It was completely ruined. So it hurt a little, but the good thing was it was the only non-original chapter in the whole book, actually being a mythological story. And at this moment I've almost written two chapters today (remember, they're teensy weensy). So things are looking up. That was the first time I've ever lost anything like that, and it did make me sad. But I'm over it! Hah.
The other thing... I was gathering materials last night to start working on the new scenes of Vanheim, and, yeah, I found a whole chapter in the back pocket of pants I had just washed. It was completely ruined. So it hurt a little, but the good thing was it was the only non-original chapter in the whole book, actually being a mythological story. And at this moment I've almost written two chapters today (remember, they're teensy weensy). So things are looking up. That was the first time I've ever lost anything like that, and it did make me sad. But I'm over it! Hah.
14.6.09
Tsunami!
This was the other thing I needed to post about: Tsunamis. Yeah. They're a real drag. To write about. I mean, sure, they're probably also a real drag to survive, or not survive, as the case may be, but they're a real drag to write about.
Allow me to explain.
One of the main points in my novel is a tsunami. It happens right at the beginning and serves to get the ball rolling, so to speak. I also discuss its effects later on in the book. The tsunami, at least to me, has never been what the book is about, so I don't care to discuss it that much. When I wrote about it I wasn't going into detail, I was just using it as the trigger for the action. It wasn't that any of the information was inaccurate, it was just not detailed.
The problem with this approach was two-fold. First, I was writing this book for myself, at least at first, and not for the reader. The book didn't confuse me, but that's because I knew what was going on. Now that I'm doing edits, I find that everything that needs work is the stuff I wrote just for myself. It's a pain in the ass, but it's going to make the book far better in the long run. So when I was making the tsunami just a vague wall of water in the beginning, that was all I needed, but it wasn't what other people would necessarily need. Second, the tsunami came in the first chapter. It doesn't matter if it's not a central point of the plot from that moment on, it matters that that's all the reader is going to know up to that point, and if I don't do a bang up job on it, they're not going to buy the rest of the story.
So I rewrote the first chapter completely. There were other problems. I'm trying to make it at least five pages, and trying to go into the nature of Timmy's relationship with his family, and trying to make it more detailed. The first five pages, as I've discussed in previous blogs, have to be the best writing I can muster. They have to be. They're what the agent is going to see and they're what is going to stick in the agent's head.
One other problem with the tsunami as it stood was the type of tsunami I envisioned. There are two main types: One with the trough-first, and one with the peak-first. My original tsunami had the peak first- that is, nothing changed about the sea until the wave came. The new tsunami has the trough leading. The trough-first kind is the most famous kind, as evidenced by the Java Trench Tsunami of 2004. A trough-first tsunami sucks the water back a few hundred feet, so the ocean life is exposed, and people come out to see the novelty of it. Then the wave comes and traps them. The sucking of the water back takes a few minutes, so the tension mounts. As a disaster opener, you have to understand the drama of this! I had no choice, I had to put it in!
Of course, the thought that some ignorant people whose only brush with tsunamis was the 2004 event would say that I was being inaccurate with my depiction of a peak-first tsunami did come into my mind. But only about ten percent.
So, let this be another reminder that the fourth draft of Vanheim is going to be completely different than the third draft.
Allow me to explain.
One of the main points in my novel is a tsunami. It happens right at the beginning and serves to get the ball rolling, so to speak. I also discuss its effects later on in the book. The tsunami, at least to me, has never been what the book is about, so I don't care to discuss it that much. When I wrote about it I wasn't going into detail, I was just using it as the trigger for the action. It wasn't that any of the information was inaccurate, it was just not detailed.
The problem with this approach was two-fold. First, I was writing this book for myself, at least at first, and not for the reader. The book didn't confuse me, but that's because I knew what was going on. Now that I'm doing edits, I find that everything that needs work is the stuff I wrote just for myself. It's a pain in the ass, but it's going to make the book far better in the long run. So when I was making the tsunami just a vague wall of water in the beginning, that was all I needed, but it wasn't what other people would necessarily need. Second, the tsunami came in the first chapter. It doesn't matter if it's not a central point of the plot from that moment on, it matters that that's all the reader is going to know up to that point, and if I don't do a bang up job on it, they're not going to buy the rest of the story.
So I rewrote the first chapter completely. There were other problems. I'm trying to make it at least five pages, and trying to go into the nature of Timmy's relationship with his family, and trying to make it more detailed. The first five pages, as I've discussed in previous blogs, have to be the best writing I can muster. They have to be. They're what the agent is going to see and they're what is going to stick in the agent's head.
One other problem with the tsunami as it stood was the type of tsunami I envisioned. There are two main types: One with the trough-first, and one with the peak-first. My original tsunami had the peak first- that is, nothing changed about the sea until the wave came. The new tsunami has the trough leading. The trough-first kind is the most famous kind, as evidenced by the Java Trench Tsunami of 2004. A trough-first tsunami sucks the water back a few hundred feet, so the ocean life is exposed, and people come out to see the novelty of it. Then the wave comes and traps them. The sucking of the water back takes a few minutes, so the tension mounts. As a disaster opener, you have to understand the drama of this! I had no choice, I had to put it in!
Of course, the thought that some ignorant people whose only brush with tsunamis was the 2004 event would say that I was being inaccurate with my depiction of a peak-first tsunami did come into my mind. But only about ten percent.
So, let this be another reminder that the fourth draft of Vanheim is going to be completely different than the third draft.
Semi-Literary Garbage
Okay, so I finished the edits on 'Purple Heart', which is my favorite story so far. I like it because the protagonist is an "amoral piece of shit" (someone who read it called him that), and because he says the most clever things. I guess I like clever pieces of shit. Never knew that, did you?
I'm going to submit it to 'Glimmer Train' after I post this blog. 'Glimmer Train', along with 'Zoetrope: All Story", is the top of the heap when it comes to short fiction these days. I have no idea if my story is even good enough, but I know that if I get into it, that's a massive plus on my next query letter.
Here's what I hope: I hope that the magazines I'm trying to submit to aren't all about shitty semi-literary works that mean absolutely nothing except that the writer doesn't know how to write. I'm tired of "writers" like that wasting everybody's time. I love literature. I happen to think that the best literature should both mean something and be completely accessible. Just like I think the best music should be that way.
So, I'll let you know what happens. There are tons of short fiction magazines out there, so I know somewhere down the line I'll end up getting published, but I don't think there's any harm in trying to shoot for the best.
I'm going to submit it to 'Glimmer Train' after I post this blog. 'Glimmer Train', along with 'Zoetrope: All Story", is the top of the heap when it comes to short fiction these days. I have no idea if my story is even good enough, but I know that if I get into it, that's a massive plus on my next query letter.
Here's what I hope: I hope that the magazines I'm trying to submit to aren't all about shitty semi-literary works that mean absolutely nothing except that the writer doesn't know how to write. I'm tired of "writers" like that wasting everybody's time. I love literature. I happen to think that the best literature should both mean something and be completely accessible. Just like I think the best music should be that way.
So, I'll let you know what happens. There are tons of short fiction magazines out there, so I know somewhere down the line I'll end up getting published, but I don't think there's any harm in trying to shoot for the best.
12.6.09
New Strategy
Alright, I have a new writing strategy, which is the same as my old strategy with one minor variation. Perhaps I should tell you my old strategy first.
My old strategy was to get started in the writing business by sending in stories to magazines. I looked at the old writers and saw what they did, and how they supported their novel writing endeavors by selling stories. Now, I'm not stupid enough to believe that anyone can support themselves by selling short stories anymore. That train has left the station. People don't buy the short story magazines like they used to. They watch tv. Novels still sell, though. People still read short stories, but not as much, and certainly not so much as to make someone rich.
That's fine. I don't want to get rich off my short stories. Hell, I don't even care if I get paid. That's the main difference now. I just want resume fodder. I have sparse publishing credits. And 'sparse' is a really nice word to describe what I have. I wrote a poem that got published in a tiny poetry magazine. And that's it. Nothing else.
So, I'm trying to get an agent interested in my new novel, and for the life of me I can't figure out why what I have would be compelling enough for them to want to. Sure, the concept might intrigue them, but there's nothing in my cover letter that inspires faith on the part of the agent to give me a chance.
Agent: This dude got a poem published? What the hell is 'Mastodon Dentist,' anyway? Doesn't this cat know that a novel isn't the same as a poem?
Yeah. Does this need explained any more?
So my wonderfully ambitious plan is this: I will find the three best literary journals or story magazines that I can, and send my three best stories. I've been meaning to edit the kinks out of my stories for a while, anyway, and this adventure will give me the excuse. So 'Glimmer Train' is going to get something. So will a couple other ones. And then, with a little luck and a little chutzpah, I'm going to get myself a few publication credits and make the agents happy.
Sound good? I guess you know what my plans for the weekend are.
My old strategy was to get started in the writing business by sending in stories to magazines. I looked at the old writers and saw what they did, and how they supported their novel writing endeavors by selling stories. Now, I'm not stupid enough to believe that anyone can support themselves by selling short stories anymore. That train has left the station. People don't buy the short story magazines like they used to. They watch tv. Novels still sell, though. People still read short stories, but not as much, and certainly not so much as to make someone rich.
That's fine. I don't want to get rich off my short stories. Hell, I don't even care if I get paid. That's the main difference now. I just want resume fodder. I have sparse publishing credits. And 'sparse' is a really nice word to describe what I have. I wrote a poem that got published in a tiny poetry magazine. And that's it. Nothing else.
So, I'm trying to get an agent interested in my new novel, and for the life of me I can't figure out why what I have would be compelling enough for them to want to. Sure, the concept might intrigue them, but there's nothing in my cover letter that inspires faith on the part of the agent to give me a chance.
Agent: This dude got a poem published? What the hell is 'Mastodon Dentist,' anyway? Doesn't this cat know that a novel isn't the same as a poem?
Yeah. Does this need explained any more?
So my wonderfully ambitious plan is this: I will find the three best literary journals or story magazines that I can, and send my three best stories. I've been meaning to edit the kinks out of my stories for a while, anyway, and this adventure will give me the excuse. So 'Glimmer Train' is going to get something. So will a couple other ones. And then, with a little luck and a little chutzpah, I'm going to get myself a few publication credits and make the agents happy.
Sound good? I guess you know what my plans for the weekend are.
11.6.09
Massive Fail
So, you know how they say to work on your query letter for a month? I chose to throw that advice out the window. I worked on my letter for four days, got some people to read it, edited it and sent it out. How professional of me. And the weird thing was, it wasn't the worst query letter I've ever seen. It wasn't great, either, but it wasn't terrible. People have gotten published on a lot less (or so I hear. I'm not published yet).
Of course, after going to different sites and reading successful query letters from other authors over the past few days, I've seen areas that do need improved upon and will be changed next time I send out letters. For one thing, I spent all this time working on making sure I didn't sound like an idiot, and I forgot to put my contact information on the first four I sent out. I guess it wasn't that bad, because I sent the letters via email, and the agents probably will just email me back if they're interested, but it's the principle of the thing that counts, in my opinion. For another thing, I got stuck with the idea that I had to keep my synopsis to one paragraph, for all the good that did me. A lot of successful query letters have more than one paragraph, which helps when your book can't be pigeonholed into one topic (like mine). One other thing: I forgot to write to the two agents who cared that I was sending out the letter to other agents. I wasn't intentionally lying, but that doesn't matter. They're still calling me a liar face behind my back. I can feel it.
And how did the agent responses go? About how one would expect for only working four days on a query letter. The first response I got back asked for some pages, and I figured that was awesome. I sent them to the lady, and she wrote back a few days later saying the pages didn't grab her like she thought they would, and that she had reservations about the project, so she probably wasn't the right agent for me. Which was fine. She was super cool and polite about the entire thing, and I appreciated that she was prompt and honest with me. The second agency gave me a standard rejection letter.
Two out of ten. The whole process has made me realize something, though. I can write a whole hell of a lot better than what I sent. It's not making me depressed, because I realize that it wasn't the most terrible letter these agents have ever read, and the concept interested at least one of them. I believe in the concept. I'm just starting to falter in my belief about how to go about it.
So I'm not sending out any more query letters for the time being. I'm going back to work- fourth draft time. I know Miss Snark says query widely, and send it out to 100 agents, but I know the problems and I know how to fix them. In my opinion, it's better to put out the best piece of work I can than open myself up for an easy rejection. And then, once I finish the fourth draft, and the writing is impeccable, and the story is less confusing, and the ending is less deus ex machina-ish, I'm going to go on a blitzkrieg of awesomeness.
Of course, after going to different sites and reading successful query letters from other authors over the past few days, I've seen areas that do need improved upon and will be changed next time I send out letters. For one thing, I spent all this time working on making sure I didn't sound like an idiot, and I forgot to put my contact information on the first four I sent out. I guess it wasn't that bad, because I sent the letters via email, and the agents probably will just email me back if they're interested, but it's the principle of the thing that counts, in my opinion. For another thing, I got stuck with the idea that I had to keep my synopsis to one paragraph, for all the good that did me. A lot of successful query letters have more than one paragraph, which helps when your book can't be pigeonholed into one topic (like mine). One other thing: I forgot to write to the two agents who cared that I was sending out the letter to other agents. I wasn't intentionally lying, but that doesn't matter. They're still calling me a liar face behind my back. I can feel it.
And how did the agent responses go? About how one would expect for only working four days on a query letter. The first response I got back asked for some pages, and I figured that was awesome. I sent them to the lady, and she wrote back a few days later saying the pages didn't grab her like she thought they would, and that she had reservations about the project, so she probably wasn't the right agent for me. Which was fine. She was super cool and polite about the entire thing, and I appreciated that she was prompt and honest with me. The second agency gave me a standard rejection letter.
Two out of ten. The whole process has made me realize something, though. I can write a whole hell of a lot better than what I sent. It's not making me depressed, because I realize that it wasn't the most terrible letter these agents have ever read, and the concept interested at least one of them. I believe in the concept. I'm just starting to falter in my belief about how to go about it.
So I'm not sending out any more query letters for the time being. I'm going back to work- fourth draft time. I know Miss Snark says query widely, and send it out to 100 agents, but I know the problems and I know how to fix them. In my opinion, it's better to put out the best piece of work I can than open myself up for an easy rejection. And then, once I finish the fourth draft, and the writing is impeccable, and the story is less confusing, and the ending is less deus ex machina-ish, I'm going to go on a blitzkrieg of awesomeness.
Aggghh.
Aggghh is my favorite word. I think it needs to be said when one is aghast at a situation, but so aghast that the word can't come to one's head. For this reason, I say 'aggghh.'
"Now, why are you so aghast?" You assed.
I find myself in the process of writing a novel. This novel is the weirdest thing I have ever written, and trust me, I know weird.
To begin with, I started this thing about three months after getting back into writing seriously. Which would make it late January. I don't know why I started it. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have an outline. And trust me, I know plans and outlines. I've got them coming out my ears. I was looking through my word processor for projects I had started a long time ago, and Vanheim popped out. In 2006 I wrote three chapters of it, and left it there, bleeding on the figurative literary backstreets. I do that with a lot of projects. Don't feel too bad for it.
Anyway, something in my head just clicked upon picking up the writing again, and I wrote like a madman for about three weeks, handwriting the damn thing, actually, because I think it helps for some reason. By the third week, I was finished with the first draft, and had already started the second draft. I had never finished a novel before, so a first draft, handwritten though it was, was something that made me very proud. It wasn't something that I could just tell my friends, though.
Drew: I just wrote a novel.
Isaac: Prove it.
Drew: It's handwritten, and I know you can't read my writing.
Isaac: You're full of shit, man.
So the real, real joy came when I finished the second draft. Because then it was typewritten and wasn't just a glorified sketch of events. The completion of the second draft came in early April. I printed up a copy and gave it to a friend, who's still reading it, or so he claims. Of course, if he put it down in disgust, I would understand completely, because second drafts are usually still far from good.
After that, contented with myself, I started working on a second novel, this one more traditional. That worked, until I met with an author friend of mine, who told me all kinds of cool new things, about getting agents, and getting published, and all of that stuff. In my haste, I went on to Predators & Editors, found the first agent with an email submission form, and sent a query letter I made up on the spot. Give me a break! I'm new at this! (And I wonder why I haven't heard back from them yet?)
In the first thirty seconds after I sent the query letter, I realized that the second draft was in nowhere near sendable condition. So I started working on the third draft. That phase ended late last week. I believe on a Thursday night. And while the third draft is by no means perfect, I don't think it sucks, either.
Now, why am I saying "Agggghhhh?" Well, though I think the quality of my writing is good, as I've mentioned before, the book is weird. And that's being polite. Psychotic is probably the more accurate term. I didn't work from an outline, and when I did start saying, 'Where do I want the stupid thing to go?', I was already around chapter 40. (Did I mention that the book has 106 chapters? Don't worry. In full manuscript form the average page length per chapter is 3. The stupid thing only has 73,000 words). To top the rambling, frenetic pace that the book attains, I liberally switched perspectives almost every chapter. Blame my upbringing. I don't know. I know that perspective changes can be awesome, but it's not something that first-time authors are usually advised to attempt. I took that advice and threw it out the window, because I know I can do it. I know the rules of perspective change- wait until a new chapter and keep it consistent, to name the main ones. Also, to add to my woes, there are many, many asides in it. There are whole chapters devoted to side stories. I love asides. If I could figure out the footnote function on my word processor, I would rock them so hard.
I always knew it would be called Vanheim, because the name Vanheim has been in my head since high school, when I first imagined the concept of this character. The problem with a book being called Vanheim is mostly brought to awareness when one realizes the main character's name is Timothy Vines. So, I guess you can blame a lot of the book's weirdness on me wanting to stay true to my high school self's concept of the book. (Did I mention there's plenty of stream of consciousness ranting in it?)
I guess now I should wrap this post up by telling you what my book is: It's a supernatural thriller with humorous and science fictional elements. You could probably add to that: Literary fiction with a commercial bent, apocalyptically religious mystery. Did I mention that two of the main characters are God and the Devil? And another main character is Judas Iscariot.
How many books about the end of the world have all that in them?
Did I mention that I fit as much swearing as I could into the stupid thing? Just because I could!
Oh, to finally sum up why I am aghast, it's because, though I'm proud of my novel, I have no idea how anyone would go about selling it. It might be my little orphan baby for a long, long time.
"Now, why are you so aghast?" You assed.
I find myself in the process of writing a novel. This novel is the weirdest thing I have ever written, and trust me, I know weird.
To begin with, I started this thing about three months after getting back into writing seriously. Which would make it late January. I don't know why I started it. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have an outline. And trust me, I know plans and outlines. I've got them coming out my ears. I was looking through my word processor for projects I had started a long time ago, and Vanheim popped out. In 2006 I wrote three chapters of it, and left it there, bleeding on the figurative literary backstreets. I do that with a lot of projects. Don't feel too bad for it.
Anyway, something in my head just clicked upon picking up the writing again, and I wrote like a madman for about three weeks, handwriting the damn thing, actually, because I think it helps for some reason. By the third week, I was finished with the first draft, and had already started the second draft. I had never finished a novel before, so a first draft, handwritten though it was, was something that made me very proud. It wasn't something that I could just tell my friends, though.
Drew: I just wrote a novel.
Isaac: Prove it.
Drew: It's handwritten, and I know you can't read my writing.
Isaac: You're full of shit, man.
So the real, real joy came when I finished the second draft. Because then it was typewritten and wasn't just a glorified sketch of events. The completion of the second draft came in early April. I printed up a copy and gave it to a friend, who's still reading it, or so he claims. Of course, if he put it down in disgust, I would understand completely, because second drafts are usually still far from good.
After that, contented with myself, I started working on a second novel, this one more traditional. That worked, until I met with an author friend of mine, who told me all kinds of cool new things, about getting agents, and getting published, and all of that stuff. In my haste, I went on to Predators & Editors, found the first agent with an email submission form, and sent a query letter I made up on the spot. Give me a break! I'm new at this! (And I wonder why I haven't heard back from them yet?)
In the first thirty seconds after I sent the query letter, I realized that the second draft was in nowhere near sendable condition. So I started working on the third draft. That phase ended late last week. I believe on a Thursday night. And while the third draft is by no means perfect, I don't think it sucks, either.
Now, why am I saying "Agggghhhh?" Well, though I think the quality of my writing is good, as I've mentioned before, the book is weird. And that's being polite. Psychotic is probably the more accurate term. I didn't work from an outline, and when I did start saying, 'Where do I want the stupid thing to go?', I was already around chapter 40. (Did I mention that the book has 106 chapters? Don't worry. In full manuscript form the average page length per chapter is 3. The stupid thing only has 73,000 words). To top the rambling, frenetic pace that the book attains, I liberally switched perspectives almost every chapter. Blame my upbringing. I don't know. I know that perspective changes can be awesome, but it's not something that first-time authors are usually advised to attempt. I took that advice and threw it out the window, because I know I can do it. I know the rules of perspective change- wait until a new chapter and keep it consistent, to name the main ones. Also, to add to my woes, there are many, many asides in it. There are whole chapters devoted to side stories. I love asides. If I could figure out the footnote function on my word processor, I would rock them so hard.
I always knew it would be called Vanheim, because the name Vanheim has been in my head since high school, when I first imagined the concept of this character. The problem with a book being called Vanheim is mostly brought to awareness when one realizes the main character's name is Timothy Vines. So, I guess you can blame a lot of the book's weirdness on me wanting to stay true to my high school self's concept of the book. (Did I mention there's plenty of stream of consciousness ranting in it?)
I guess now I should wrap this post up by telling you what my book is: It's a supernatural thriller with humorous and science fictional elements. You could probably add to that: Literary fiction with a commercial bent, apocalyptically religious mystery. Did I mention that two of the main characters are God and the Devil? And another main character is Judas Iscariot.
How many books about the end of the world have all that in them?
Did I mention that I fit as much swearing as I could into the stupid thing? Just because I could!
Oh, to finally sum up why I am aghast, it's because, though I'm proud of my novel, I have no idea how anyone would go about selling it. It might be my little orphan baby for a long, long time.
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