The Room in the Elephant
It lies on the kitchen table like a tipped tombstone, this year of late nights and early mornings, of exhilaration and frustration, of too much coffee and too few showers. The Froot Loops box is prostrate, casualty of another rushed breakfast. The kids are out the door. The dog is bark-begging back in. The spouse is gridlocked, Van Halen blasting him into the past if only for one more exit. His parting word to you, “finally.” You repeat the word in whisper even though you know better. This is just another beginning. But it’s done. Your first novel. Or your tenth. Drafted, redrafted, written and re-written. You run your finger across the title, printed in 16 point Times New Roman. The Room in the Elephant. You are so clever. It’s a story...
A Word, Please
Think of a word you don’t like - one that makes you squirm. Sure, it could be a common word like “moist” or “chalky,” but choose something edgier – something you almost never say in real life. Got it? Okay, have a seat. Your word would like to have a word with you. Word: Hey. You: Um…hey? Word: Do you know why you’re here? You: Not exactly. Word: We need to talk about me. You: I don’t think we do. Word: Oh, right. This is where you tell me you don’t need me; that you never need me. You: Um…yeah. Something like that. Word: Because there are millions of words out there and you don’t have to use any you don’t want to. Is that it? You: Yup. Word: What if I’m the right word? You: I...
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. A brick isn’t perfect. It’s okay with that. 9. With a little help, a brick can fly. 10. Bricks...
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 ago, when all it means is what it is. And then in a flash it becomes something else. It becomes an idea for a...
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 innate and immutable beauty to their imperfection. They know this. They breathe it. They choke on it. The...
