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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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The Definitive Post on Definitive Posts on Writing
No, I didn’t stutter when I wrote that title. This is THE definitive post on definitive posts on writing. You won’t need to read any other posts about definitive posts on writing. Just this one. Because it’s definitive. If I write the word definitive a few more times, it will start to sound funny when you read it. Definitive. Definitive. Definitive. Definitive. See what I mean? I’ll bet you’re even starting to mistake it for diminutive. Maybe I should re-title this post: The Diminutive Post on Definitive Posts on Writing. Then I’d be compelled to keep this under 200 words. I’m not going to re-title it. Sorry. Definitive. This is the…
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DON’T PANIC
Writing fiction can make you crazy. Here’s how. Step One – Over the course of your next three lifetimes, visit a few thousand publishing-related blogs and read every nugget of writerly wisdom you can find. Pay particular attention to literary agents’ blogs. They’re jam-packed with practical tips, such as: “If your novel includes a prologue, you’re obviously a demon from the pit of hell. I don’t represent demons. At this time.” “Don’t even think of misspelling the word query. Seriously, stop thinking about it. Have you stopped thinking about it? I didn’t think so. Please go away.” “Backstory in a novel is like back hair on a competitive swimmer. It…
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Write Where You Are (But Don’t Stop Moving)
I blame Winesburg, Ohio. Not the city; the short story cycle by Sherwood Anderson. Of course, that blame would be misplaced. It was my fault – my ignorance – not someone else’s brilliance that sent me down a wrong path. I had been writing (and editing) for years. Non-fiction, mostly, since fate and opportunity had conspired to offer me relative success there. But one day I decided to pursue the dream I’d harbored since grade school – to become a published author of fiction. First, I would have to overcome a few obstacles, most notably, my complete lack of fiction writing ability. Perhaps that’s overstating it. I was reasonably skilled…
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Exception Al
So there’s this unpublished writer. Let’s call him “Al.” (Stop rolling your eyes. It’s my blog. I can be as precious and quasi-clever as I want.) Al recently completed his third novel. His first, The Monkey on Her Back (which he never actually finished), wasn’t particularly amazing. Despite the clever title (the protagonist is a celebrated zoologist who loses her faith in evolution), the plot was predictable and the characters, plastic. The writing, however, wasn’t bad. Al had a natural gift. Al didn’t know much about publishing when he decided he was meant to be a writer, so he was universally rejected when querying his unfinished novel to several well-known…
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The End of the Affair
Your novel doesn’t love you anymore. There was a time, once, when you were inseparable. Back then you’d stay up late, long past midnight, talking about everything and nothing, dreaming big dreams, telling each other “you’re brilliant” until the words started to sound funny. You spoke often of traveling together. We’ll take a cross-country tour of bookstores. Local bookstores with cute cafés. You couldn’t wait to sip coffee and talk with readers. Your novel couldn’t wait to make new friends. Every morning, long before the sun, you’d rise and sit across from each other, pillow creases wrinkling your forehead, adverbs wrinkling your novel’s pages. You’re beautiful, you’d say. No, you are,…
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The Way I Walk
I write the way I walk. When I know where I’m going, every step is purposed. I am not easily distracted. My footfalls are metronomic. And when I get to my destination? I feel good. I feel capable. I feel smart. I treat myself to a cookie because I deserve it. Hey, every little accomplishment means something. Most of the time I don’t know where I’m going. I walk in circles. I take the easy path. The impossible path. I stare at a sidewalk crack. I climb a tree. I sit on a fence. I hide in a bush. I chase nervous rabbits. I pet rabid dogs. I look for…