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10 Things Writers Can Learn from a Brick
All those “list” posts for writers annoy me. Especially the ones I’ve written. Most especially, this one: 1. A brick is skilled at staying on task. Put one in front of a computer, it will sit there for hours. 2. A brick doesn’t jump in front of a truck when it gets a rejection letter. 3. A brick understands the importance of structure. 4. A brick rarely complains on Twitter and Facebook about the unfairness of bricklayers. 5. A brick isn’t jealous of other bricks. (Except those at J. K. Rowling’s house.) 6. A brick doesn’t stress over its Amazon.com ranking. 7. A brick can build a bridge or start a revolution. 8.…
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A Life of Its Own
It begins as an idea in your head. Wait, back up. That’s not entirely accurate. It starts long before that. It begins as a childhood daydream, as a parade of clouds, as a balance-beam walk along a railroad track. It begins with rock-skipping, dirt-digging, butterfly-following. It begins in beautiful words and hard words. In complaint and compliance. In monsters hiding under the bed. In hiding under the bed from monsters. It begins in the infinite space after the yes and before the kiss. In the thrill of discovery, the fear of begin discovered. The uncertainty of one moment and the certainty of another. It begins five minutes or two decades…
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Absent Brilliance
Brilliance isn’t something you can buy for yourself. You can only receive it as a gift. Some writers – I’d call them The Lucky Ones except for the fact that their brilliance is usually accompanied by a corresponding (and non-returnable) insanity – are granted the gift by the gods. Or The God. Or the universe. Or fate. (Pick one.) They’re born with it. They can’t deny it. They can’t escape it. It is woven into their being. Tell them to write something bad, they’ll try, and brilliance will whisper in the words they choose to leave out. The naturally brilliant are not perfect. Far from it. But there is an…
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Saturation Point
Sit down, we need to talk. Recently I’ve been observing some rather disturbing patterns in your behavior. It all started out innocently enough. You had an idea, then a dream, then a plan. You were going to be a writer. In the beginning, you wrote. And verily, your writing was crap. So you started hanging out in a dimly-lit bookstore, trying to look casual leaning against the shelf while stealing secrets from books on writing. You fully intended to buy one or two. Eventually. But books are expensive and you weren’t a wealthy author yet. Did you notice the stares from bookstore employees? No, they weren’t upset that you were stealing…
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Listen
A good writer is always listening. She listens to the voices of the long-dead, straining to hear writerly wisdom that only time and tide can reveal. She leans a little closer to Hemingway to discover the curious power of understatement and word economy. She plops down next to Dostoyevsky with her moral compass in hand and looks for truth in the floating needle that only points north when Fyodor tells it to. She listens to the voices of the successful. Stephen King raises an eyebrow in reply when she removes a dozen sharp objects from her purse and asks, “which would you use to kill a clown?” James Patterson and…
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Vivisection
If you watch a writer in a coffee shop, you won’t be particularly impressed by her work. You might not even notice that she’s working. The external act of writing is a mundane thing. It is quiet, often deathly so. ten fingers tapping long sighs and silent swearing insomnia cure You have to slice a writer in half to reveal the invisible truth. Writing is sudden bursts of brilliance racing ahead with yellow-jersey speed while you labor to catch up with tricycle typing fingers. It’s a magnificent ache and pointless pursuit sandwich smothered in what-the-hell-was-I-thinking sauce. It’s creation and destruction. Hope and despair. Love and love and more love. And…
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7 Words You Probably Shouldn’t Use in Your Query
So you’re ready to query an agent. Good for you. I’m not going to tell you how to do that. There are plenty of excellent articles elsewhere on this subject. (Google it.) But I do have a smattering of advice, as indicated ever so subtly by the title of this post as well as the redundant sentence that follows this one. Here, now, are seven words you probably shouldn’t include in your query. Brilliant – I know. Your novel is brilliant. In fact, it’s so incredibly brilliant, Harper Lee decided not to publish a second novel because there was no way she could compete with your novel’s brilliance. Yes, this…