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Summoning the Muse
A muse is a lot like that friend you had back in junior high. You know the one. She wore stripes and polka dots and plaid simultaneously and welcomed open-mouthed stares as obvious evidence of jealousy. She yelled “penis” at lunch, causing you to snort milk out your nose. She taught you the real value of compound words: more colorful swearing. She introduced you to punk music, country line dancing and cloudbursting – all on the same day. She smoked cigarettes, but only when doing so might get you in trouble. She was the friend your parents gave polite smiles to, but weren’t so sure about. And she was totally…
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How To Be a Good Editor
Ever wanted to be an editor? No? That’s probably wise. But just in case all your other options suddenly fall through (ie: the bowling alley installs an automatic pinsetter, the crash test dummy program stops accepting applications from humans, the professional dog walker eliminates her “Assistant Dog Walker In Charge Solely of Scooping Poop” position), here are some tips on how to be a good one. (If, perchance, you would rather be a bad editor, just do the opposite of what I suggest. And good luck with that.) Be selective. Edit the books you love; work with writers you like. This makes the job of editing embarrassingly enjoyable and reduces…
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Finding Stories
I don’t know where you find your stories, but I find mine everywhere. All I need is a little prompt – an object, a smell, a look from a stranger. Some of my favorite stories are inspired by listening to the words people don’t say. Here, I’ll show you what I mean. I’m sitting in a Panera restaurant. I have a window seat. It’s just after the lunch rush. I’m going to look around and eavesdrop and see what stories appear. I’m sure I could find a hundred, given time, but I’ll limit myself to the first five that appear. And so you can see how my brain works (don’t…
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Something About Success
Maybe you’re like many aspiring writers. Maybe articles like this one by Amanda Hocking (or the revelation that she recently signed a publishing deal with St. Martin’s Press) simply inspire you. Perhaps this sort of news taps you on the shoulder, offers a sly smile and whispers, “you’re next.” If so, you don’t need this post. Go write a bestseller. I don’t mean that sarcastically. I mean it sincerely. Be encouraged and write brilliantly and sell a squillion books (e- or otherwise). The rest of you? Have a seat on the floor. I’d offer the couch, but it’s much too comfortable. You’re liable to enjoy sitting on the couch. The…
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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…