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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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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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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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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…
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The Benefits of Not Caring
Maybe you shouldn’t invest so much of yourself in your writing. I mean, look at what it’s doing to you. You’re staying up until after one or getting up at four just to write “one more scene.” You were late picking up your kids from school, what, three times last week? You haven’t made a home-cooked dinner in a week, there are three fish floating at the top of the tank (Betty, Fred, and Barney – they’re not just sleeping), and the laundry in the washing machine has been awaiting transfer to the dryer for so long that it’s turned to penicillin.* Aren’t you tired of the punch to the…