What to Do When You Feel Like Giving Up

Don't.

Keep fighting.

Unless it's driving you crazy, then take a break. But don't give up entirely. If you're breaking your neck to write three or four blog posts a week, just write two. What's the big deal? Will the world not be as interesting without one or two of your blog posts each week? No it will not.


Because the world is just fine without you.


But that's all it is. Just fine. You'll make it much, much better by producing your art, but let's face it: the world will not explode into a billion bitty pieces because you didn't tell us how many pages you wrote last night.


Which is liberating! It's not negative in the least. Nope, it takes all the stress away. I think when people get all stressed and down about not having achieved enough, they forget that even when people achieve a lot, these achievements may linger on in the memories of their kids or friends or colleagues, but after they die or go insane, unless they're very, very lucky, not many people will remember what they did.


After all, do you know who invented the can opener or who developed modern atomic theory? No? These were massively important inventions. And no one even pays homage to these titans anymore.


Sure, you might write something that transcends the ages, but odds are you won't. And even if you do, you may be ridiculed in your own lifetime, or, if the stars are shining on you, your books may go unread only for some nerd to stumble upon your masterwork in the future and, through sheer force of nerdy intellectual will, get you some mad props.


I'm not going to sit here and tell you why you should write—there are lots of reasons to write. But for me, I couldn't bank on the slim hope of getting famous or rich from writing to sustain me spiritually. I want to write for the sheer happiness it (hopefully) will bring people. That may sound hippyish and cloying, but it's true. What other more tangible goal can there realistically be?


The point here is not to give up. For even trying to become a published writer, you are awesome. Scale back the work if you have to; there's no shame in that. Heck, I only blog twice a week nowadays. No, I'm not burning the world up with followers (thanks, by the way, to my loyal band of 6!), but I also don't have a product to sell right now (am working on that), so whatever. Forcing yourself to spew up content is like telling an elephant to sit on an almost-empty tube of toothpaste: sure, something will come out, but it won't be much, and you will have angered a three-ton animal in the process.


I used to think I had to be all over Twitter every third second in order to catch eyeballs, but the weird thing is, when I take a couple of days off from tweet-land, I often come back to find that I have more followers.


Sure they're spambots...but they count too, dammit! Don't you dare dismiss spam. And that's not entirely true, some of them are actual people. So.


Don't give up, intrepid ranger! If you just can't think of a subject to fill your weekly quota, embed a cool-ass YouTube video. Or a timely picture like this one. Do something to let us know you're still kicking.


Don't quit!!

Stop Trying to Justify Yourself

If I could go back and say one thing to my 25-year-old self, it would be this: stop worrying about what people think of you. Everyone else is not you. You have needs that the vast majority of them don't. You need to fill yourself up with words and then write them out. You need the ocean. You need the open sky and you need people to be nice to you. You need to feel the brush gliding across the canvas. Stop worrying about what other people think you need.


And for cripes sake, stop trying to justify your life to everyone!


Because they'll never get it. They're not you. All they need to be happy is a job that makes them feel special. A nice car. An XBOX and golf every other Sunday. A big title; a fat raise.


Your needs are important, despite what they may say. They'll call you flaky. They'll say you have no drive, no plan for life. How wrong they are. You know exactly what you need, and you must banish any guilt you feel for needing it. You need to express yourself. Why? Who the hell cares why? You need it, OK? Stop trying to explain the unexplainable. Just do.

What if Writing was Just Fun?

I'll admit it: I'm a lurker on Twitter. And on Facebook, for that matter. I don't have a ton to add to the conversation. I follow a bunch of writers mostly, and though many of them crack me up, a lot of folks complain a LOT about how hard writing is, how much legacy publishers suck, how they're disappointed at their sales numbers. Criminy, it's like they've displaced all of their anxieties and crushing hopelessness from other aspects of their lives over to their writing.

Breathe. All of you. Just breathe.

This is writing. It is not breaking stones in a gulag. It can suck as much as you want it to suck, or it can be joyful. You can write for one hour a day (as I do) or you can write for 10 hours a day every day except holidays (as Stephen King does). You can self-publish or you can go the legacy route (if you're extremely patient). You can make the experience of writing fun, or it can be a slog through waste-high pig crap.

The point is, it's a choice. I read an interesting post the other day about the top five regrets people have on their deathbeds. It was written by a former palliative care worker who has nursed countless people until their deaths, absorbing what they say as they reach the final precipice. The number 5 regret people had was that they wished they'd allowed themselves to be happier.

Yes, happiness is a choice.

I'll say it again: happiness is a choice. I know what you're thinking: Chris must be the happiest guy in the world! He's chosen to be happy! Wrong. I'm still learning how to be happy. I'm evolving. But what I've discovered is this: you can either subject yourself to a style of writing that makes you miserable--for me, if I have to do a ton of research to write a book, I will hate life--or you can choose to write in a way that makes you feel fulfilled and happy and screw what Harold Bloom thinks of your writing.

You're not gonna please everyone anyway.

I once had a writing teacher who chastized me when I said that I wasn't having fun writing a certain short story I was working on.

"Fun?" he snarled, giving me what I would come to learn was his signature withering look. "Writing shouldn't be fun. Think of it more as prostitution. No matter how you're feeling on any given day, you have to write."

Pardon me while I hurl.

Look, the cliche is true: we only have a finite number of years here on earth, so why not make them happy ones? One counter-argument to this is that we work hard and drive ourselves into oblivion now in the hopes that it'll pay off later in terms of critical love, industry respect, etc.

I say to hell with that.

Be happy. Writing will still be hard once you've discovered the kind that makes you joyful, but at least you won't be beating your head against the wall every step of the way. And that love will come through in your stories, and it'll keep readers engaged. So go forth and be happy!

What if Writing was Just Fun?

I'll admit it: I'm a lurker on Twitter. And on Facebook, for that matter. I don't have a ton to add to the conversation. I follow a bunch of writers mostly, and though many of them crack me up, a lot of folks complain a LOT about how hard writing is, how much legacy publishers suck, how they're disappointed at their sales numbers. Criminy, it's like they've displaced all of their anxieties and crushing hopelessness from other aspects of their lives over to their writing.

Breathe. All of you. Just breathe.

This is writing. It is not breaking stones in a gulag. It can suck as much as you want it to suck, or it can be joyful. You can write for one hour a day (as I do) or you can write for 10 hours a day every day except holidays (as Stephen King does). You can self-publish or you can go the legacy route (if you're extremely patient). You can make the experience of writing fun, or it can be a slog through waste-high pig crap.

The point is, it's a choice. I read an interesting post the other day about the top five regrets people have on their deathbeds. It was written by a former palliative care worker who has nursed countless people until their deaths, absorbing what they say as they reach the final precipice. The number 5 regret people had was that they wished they'd allowed themselves to be happier.

Yes, happiness is a choice.

I'll say it again: happiness is a choice. I know what you're thinking: Chris must be the happiest guy in the world! He's chosen to be happy! Wrong. I'm still learning how to be happy. I'm evolving. But what I've discovered is this: you can either subject yourself to a style of writing that makes you miserable--for me, if I have to do a ton of research to write a book, I will hate life--or you can choose to write in a way that makes you feel fulfilled and happy and screw what Harold Bloom thinks of your writing.

You're not gonna please everyone anyway.

I once had a writing teacher who chastized me when I said that I wasn't having fun writing a certain short story I was working on.

"Fun?" he snarled, giving me what I would come to learn was his signature withering look. "Writing shouldn't be fun. Think of it more as prostitution. No matter how you're feeling on any given day, you have to write."

Pardon me while I hurl.

Look, the cliche is true: we only have a finite number of years here on earth, so why not make them happy ones? One counter-argument to this is that we work hard and drive ourselves into oblivion now in the hopes that it'll pay off later in terms of critical love, industry respect, etc.

I say to hell with that.

Be happy. Writing will still be hard once you've discovered the kind that makes you joyful, but at least you won't be beating your head against the wall every step of the way. And that love will come through in your stories, and it'll keep readers engaged. So go forth and be happy!

Proud of Being Slow

I started a hashtag on Twitter today called #proudofbeingslow. So far, no takers. Which I expected. Because, to be honest, we're not allowed to be slow. To most Americans, being called "slow" is worse than being a trash picker in Indonesia. And I'm not just talking about being dumb, which, I'll admit, it's not ideal to be dumb, but who's to say that someone with a limited mental capacity is "bad", to be held up as an example of what NOT to be? But that's a different talk show.

What I'm talking about is plain old, run-of-the-mill slow. As in: someone who takes their time. Ok, when I say it like that it probably doesn't sound bad to you; of course you should take your time and do something right. But good craftmanship is in direct conflict with the directive to be fast and I'm sorry ladies and gents, but you cannot have it both ways.

But the more I talk to people, the more I read blogs, I feel like people see taking one's time as more of a virtue to be admired in others than it is an ideal to strive for themselves. Because they want to belong to this insane world of super-fastness. As Newt Gingrich used to say, "If you're not in the Washington Post every day, you may as well not exist."

By all means, if you want to be the fastest fasterson who ever fasted, then do it. I'll even strap roller skates to your feet and push you down Mt. Kilimanjaro to help you build speed. But listen: you have to draw the line somewhere. You cannot push yourself so hard that it affects your health and/or your loved ones' lives. If you're anything like me, I can push myself now and then, but I cannot sustain it. It's way too draining. And I imagine (I have no peer-reviewed study at hand to back this up) that most writers, in their heart of hearts, feel the same way as me. But yet they hop into the slipstream anyway and write, write, write, fast-fast-fast-fast-fast until they have 20 books for sale on Amazon, none of which, shall we say, their grandchildren will be proud of.

Not that your grandchildren being proud of you should be your driving ambition. I mean, who the heck knows what will be cool or laudible once they come of age? But then again, some things don't change; most of us can look at something made a hundred years ago and tell in two seconds if the craftsman(-woman) who made it really cared about it. Really put in the time to make it extra useful, extra beautiful, whatever. There are barns still standing in my home state that have been there for a hundred fifty years. And there are others that aren't standing. Which do you think people put more time and effort into building and maintaining?

My bottom line is this: don't feel bad if it takes you longer to do things than other people. It's O.K., even if your mom and dad told you it wasn't O.K. growing up. Trust me: it's fine. Especially if you're in the business of writing (and most especially if it's a craft you're working on while you hold down a full-time job, the way I do). It's easy to look at people like J.A. Konrath and whoever else you want to pick and see that they've got twenty billion books up on the Kindle and worry that the reason they're filthy rich is because they pull a book out of their body cavity every two days.

But please, for those of us who care about quality in our books (and I'm not saying Konrath sacrifices quality; I've never read his stuff, but from all accounts it's good) for those of us who look for beauty and novelty and insightfulness in our books, please don't become a book-making factory. I'm not going that route with my own writing. I'm naturally a slow writer, and, though it is admittedly tempting to try to crank out product so I can become a millionaire, I cannot at the end of the day let myself do this. I just want to let you know you're not alone, and that your way of writing is just as valid as Konrath's.

Keep on plugging and so will I!

Proud of Being Slow

I started a hashtag on Twitter today called #proudofbeingslow. So far, no takers. Which I expected. Because, to be honest, we're not allowed to be slow. To most Americans, being called "slow" is worse than being a trash picker in Indonesia. And I'm not just talking about being dumb, which, I'll admit, it's not ideal to be dumb, but who's to say that someone with a limited mental capacity is "bad", to be held up as an example of what NOT to be? But that's a different talk show.

What I'm talking about is plain old, run-of-the-mill slow. As in: someone who takes their time. Ok, when I say it like that it probably doesn't sound bad to you; of course you should take your time and do something right. But good craftmanship is in direct conflict with the directive to be fast and I'm sorry ladies and gents, but you cannot have it both ways.

But the more I talk to people, the more I read blogs, I feel like people see taking one's time as more of a virtue to be admired in others than it is an ideal to strive for themselves. Because they want to belong to this insane world of super-fastness. As Newt Gingrich used to say, "If you're not in the Washington Post every day, you may as well not exist."

By all means, if you want to be the fastest fasterson who ever fasted, then do it. I'll even strap roller skates to your feet and push you down Mt. Kilimanjaro to help you build speed. But listen: you have to draw the line somewhere. You cannot push yourself so hard that it affects your health and/or your loved ones' lives. If you're anything like me, I can push myself now and then, but I cannot sustain it. It's way too draining. And I imagine (I have no peer-reviewed study at hand to back this up) that most writers, in their heart of hearts, feel the same way as me. But yet they hop into the slipstream anyway and write, write, write, fast-fast-fast-fast-fast until they have 20 books for sale on Amazon, none of which, shall we say, their grandchildren will be proud of.

Not that your grandchildren being proud of you should be your driving ambition. I mean, who the heck knows what will be cool or laudible once they come of age? But then again, some things don't change; most of us can look at something made a hundred years ago and tell in two seconds if the craftsman(-woman) who made it really cared about it. Really put in the time to make it extra useful, extra beautiful, whatever. There are barns still standing in my home state that have been there for a hundred fifty years. And there are others that aren't standing. Which do you think people put more time and effort into building and maintaining?

My bottom line is this: don't feel bad if it takes you longer to do things than other people. It's O.K., even if your mom and dad told you it wasn't O.K. growing up. Trust me: it's fine. Especially if you're in the business of writing (and most especially if it's a craft you're working on while you hold down a full-time job, the way I do). It's easy to look at people like J.A. Konrath and whoever else you want to pick and see that they've got twenty billion books up on the Kindle and worry that the reason they're filthy rich is because they pull a book out of their body cavity every two days.

But please, for those of us who care about quality in our books (and I'm not saying Konrath sacrifices quality; I've never read his stuff, but from all accounts it's good) for those of us who look for beauty and novelty and insightfulness in our books, please don't become a book-making factory. I'm not going that route with my own writing. I'm naturally a slow writer, and, though it is admittedly tempting to try to crank out product so I can become a millionaire, I cannot at the end of the day let myself do this. I just want to let you know you're not alone, and that your way of writing is just as valid as Konrath's.

Keep on plugging and so will I!

What Writing Is

I thought it would be a good idea to give you a run-down of just what I believe writing is, and what it is not. I've been in this game for a while now (not as long as some, but long enough to have formed opinions about it that may be of help to people). I've published magazine and newspaper articles and written some un-published manuscripts, so I'm no guru. That being said, I hope both newbies and seasoned vets alike can get something of value out of my experiences. So, without further ado, here are 25 things your writing won't achieve, and ten things it might:

Things Your Writing Will Not Do:

1.) Your writing will not save the world

2.) Your writing will not make you rich (probably)

3.) Your writing will not save anyone's life

4.) Your writing, on its own, will not start a revolution

5.) Your writing will most likely not make your children proud of you

6.) Your writing will not save your marriage

7.) Writing well will not make people who crapped on you in high school envious of you

8.) Your writing will not make your parents proud of you (unless you become a millionaire; see number 2 above)

9.) Writing well will not humble your ex-girlfriends--they'll still be glad they broke up with you

10.) Your writing will not make you popular

11.) Your writing will not pay your bills (probably)

12.) Your writing will not make you as famous as Kim Kardashian (maybe Khloe though)

13.) Your writing, no matter how persuasive, will not stop global warming

14.) Your writing, no matter how persuasive, will not make the upstairs neighbor stop blasting Creed until 4 A.M. every night

15.) Your writing will never fully capture the beauty of nature

16.) Your writing will not make you parent of the year

17.) Your writing will not bring you more in tune with humanity

18.) Your writing will not make it so you're recognized when you pop into Starbucks for a grande iced half caf quadruple mocha latte macchiato

19.) Your writing will not make anyone want to be your friend

20.) Writing well, on its own, will not guarantee you a fulfilled life

21.) Your writing will not make anyone fall in love with you

22.) No one will build a huge sculpture of you when you die just because you were a good writer

23.) You will not be buried in an ornate mausoleum when you die just because you were a good writer (don't believe me? check out Kafka's grave).

24.) Chances are, your writing will go out of print within your own lifetime (unless you self-publish, of course)

25.) No one can marvel at your progress as a writer until you're in print--so if you're someone who needs constant praise and encouragement, you should become a figure skater


Things Your Writing Might Do:

1.) Writing that perfect line will make you happy for exactly one hour

2.) Writing often will ensure that your golf game sucks

3.) Writing often will leave less time for you to pick up hobbies like playing the harmonica (this is a good thing for those of us with eardrums)

4.) Writing something clever will secure you the esteem of your boss for precisely ten minutes

5.) Writing jokes well can make you rich, if you're into that

6.) Writing often will ensure that you will be seen by most people as a hermit

7.) Being a writer will guarantee that at least one person in the world, upon hearing the news that you're a writer, will say in a bored tone of voice, "Well, at least he's doing what he loves."

8.) Writing a lot will lessen the odds that you're shot by a sniper

9.) Writing often may help fight the causes of dementia (but I'm no doctor)

10.) Your writing has an outside shot at elevating a moment of everyday life into something unique

And it is for this last reason that I write. That one chance in a thousand that if you work hard enough, if you put in enough hours writing, you'll create art that endures. To me, this makes everything in the first list above irrelevant. But it's a good idea to know what you're up against from the start (or to be reminded of what you're up against if you're in the thick of writing). I hope these lists didn't discourage anyone from writing, because like I said before, it's the greatest job in the world. But you need to take it seriously and stay humble.

Now go write!

What Writing Is

I thought it would be a good idea to give you a run-down of just what I believe writing is, and what it is not. I've been in this game for a while now (not as long as some, but long enough to have formed opinions about it that may be of help to people). I've published magazine and newspaper articles and written some un-published manuscripts, so I'm no guru. That being said, I hope both newbies and seasoned vets alike can get something of value out of my experiences. So, without further ado, here are 25 things your writing won't achieve, and ten things it might:

Things Your Writing Will Not Do:

1.) Your writing will not save the world

2.) Your writing will not make you rich (probably)

3.) Your writing will not save anyone's life

4.) Your writing, on its own, will not start a revolution

5.) Your writing will most likely not make your children proud of you

6.) Your writing will not save your marriage

7.) Writing well will not make people who crapped on you in high school envious of you

8.) Your writing will not make your parents proud of you (unless you become a millionaire; see number 2 above)

9.) Writing well will not humble your ex-girlfriends--they'll still be glad they broke up with you

10.) Your writing will not make you popular

11.) Your writing will not pay your bills (probably)

12.) Your writing will not make you as famous as Kim Kardashian (maybe Khloe though)

13.) Your writing, no matter how persuasive, will not stop global warming

14.) Your writing, no matter how persuasive, will not make the upstairs neighbor stop blasting Creed until 4 A.M. every night

15.) Your writing will never fully capture the beauty of nature

16.) Your writing will not make you parent of the year

17.) Your writing will not bring you more in tune with humanity

18.) Your writing will not make it so you're recognized when you pop into Starbucks for a grande iced half caf quadruple mocha latte macchiato

19.) Your writing will not make anyone want to be your friend

20.) Writing well, on its own, will not guarantee you a fulfilled life

21.) Your writing will not make anyone fall in love with you

22.) No one will build a huge sculpture of you when you die just because you were a good writer

23.) You will not be buried in an ornate mausoleum when you die just because you were a good writer (don't believe me? check out Kafka's grave).

24.) Chances are, your writing will go out of print within your own lifetime (unless you self-publish, of course)

25.) No one can marvel at your progress as a writer until you're in print--so if you're someone who needs constant praise and encouragement, you should become a figure skater


Things Your Writing Might Do:

1.) Writing that perfect line will make you happy for exactly one hour

2.) Writing often will ensure that your golf game sucks

3.) Writing often will leave less time for you to pick up hobbies like playing the harmonica (this is a good thing for those of us with eardrums)

4.) Writing something clever will secure you the esteem of your boss for precisely ten minutes

5.) Writing jokes well can make you rich, if you're into that

6.) Writing often will ensure that you will be seen by most people as a hermit

7.) Being a writer will guarantee that at least one person in the world, upon hearing the news that you're a writer, will say in a bored tone of voice, "Well, at least he's doing what he loves."

8.) Writing a lot will lessen the odds that you're shot by a sniper

9.) Writing often may help fight the causes of dementia (but I'm no doctor)

10.) Your writing has an outside shot at elevating a moment of everyday life into something unique

And it is for this last reason that I write. That one chance in a thousand that if you work hard enough, if you put in enough hours writing, you'll create art that endures. To me, this makes everything in the first list above irrelevant. But it's a good idea to know what you're up against from the start (or to be reminded of what you're up against if you're in the thick of writing). I hope these lists didn't discourage anyone from writing, because like I said before, it's the greatest job in the world. But you need to take it seriously and stay humble.

Now go write!

Don't Worry if You're Not Tolstoy

I'm not an idealist anymore. At least not about writing. That's right, you heard it here first. Back when I was a grad student--I have an MFA in creative writing--being the Great American Novelist who wrote the Great American Novel was all that mattered to me. I read Hemingway and Mailer and Dos Passos wanting to be in the forefront of my generation of Post-Post-Post Modern writers. I wrote pastiches of Elizabeth Tallent, emulated everyone from Sherman Alexie to Edgar Allan Poe in my short stories.

And then I woke up.

My first dose of realism came when I found that I had no idea what to write as a master's thesis (see, in my program, us fiction students either had to write a novel or a collection of short stories and then hand it over to a thesis director for their approval). I re-read several short stories I'd written and decided they were all crap. Worse than crap, actually: pretentious crap. I'd always liked Dickens, so I figured maybe instead of short stories, I could write a sweeping epic that would enshrine the times in which I lived for the ages.

And nothing came to me. I started to get worried. So I told myself: screw it. Just write what comes to you and stop asking questions. So what did I do? I wrote an expansive, uber-massive 617 page Mafia novel.

Yeah, you heard that right. Mafia novel.

One member of my thesis committee, after I'd handed it in to her, called it "ginormous." She was of Italian descent, so I knew she'd at least show a passing interest in it. My biggest concern was my thesis chair, a man who other novelists know and respect, a prominent novelist himself who works for a nationally-known news outlet as their literary reviewer. A man who, in his classes, actively railed against the very notion of genre. One time, someone compared a book we were reading to Star Wars, and I thought he was going to throw up. Would this same man throw my Mafia book in the trash, douse it in lighter fluid, and sing "That's Amore" as he danced around the inferno?

Not exactly. Instead, he took one look at it, told me to chop it in half if I ever hoped to get it published, and signed his name to the approval slip without so much as opening the first page.

I have since seen a blurb written by this guy on the back of one of the most popular genre novels in modern times, giving it a stellar review. What is my point in writing this? That even the most staunch critics of popular culture secretly like it. Ok, maybe not Harold Bloom. But this guy, he likes well-crafted stories, even if they're--gulp!--genre fiction. And the title of my piece--which screamed, "Hey, this is a Mafia novel!" wasn't the thing that put him off: it was its sheer size.

His reaction gave me heart. After years of writing "sophisticated" screenplays and tales of woe that went nowhere, after feeling that I was somehow inferior to my classmates who'd written volumes about American angst and the dissolution of marriages, I've now turned my attention to young adult fiction. And I don't feel any of the misgivings I'd have felt just ten years ago. Because as long as a story is good and it transports the reader and provides them with a happy escape, that's just as important as writing War and Peace II.

Don't Worry if You're Not Tolstoy

I'm not an idealist anymore. At least not about writing. That's right, you heard it here first. Back when I was a grad student--I have an MFA in creative writing--being the Great American Novelist who wrote the Great American Novel was all that mattered to me. I read Hemingway and Mailer and Dos Passos wanting to be in the forefront of my generation of Post-Post-Post Modern writers. I wrote pastiches of Elizabeth Tallent, emulated everyone from Sherman Alexie to Edgar Allan Poe in my short stories.

And then I woke up.

My first dose of realism came when I found that I had no idea what to write as a master's thesis (see, in my program, us fiction students either had to write a novel or a collection of short stories and then hand it over to a thesis director for their approval). I re-read several short stories I'd written and decided they were all crap. Worse than crap, actually: pretentious crap. I'd always liked Dickens, so I figured maybe instead of short stories, I could write a sweeping epic that would enshrine the times in which I lived for the ages.

And nothing came to me. I started to get worried. So I told myself: screw it. Just write what comes to you and stop asking questions. So what did I do? I wrote an expansive, uber-massive 617 page Mafia novel.

Yeah, you heard that right. Mafia novel.

One member of my thesis committee, after I'd handed it in to her, called it "ginormous." She was of Italian descent, so I knew she'd at least show a passing interest in it. My biggest concern was my thesis chair, a man who other novelists know and respect, a prominent novelist himself who works for a nationally-known news outlet as their literary reviewer. A man who, in his classes, actively railed against the very notion of genre. One time, someone compared a book we were reading to Star Wars, and I thought he was going to throw up. Would this same man throw my Mafia book in the trash, douse it in lighter fluid, and sing "That's Amore" as he danced around the inferno?

Not exactly. Instead, he took one look at it, told me to chop it in half if I ever hoped to get it published, and signed his name to the approval slip without so much as opening the first page.

I have since seen a blurb written by this guy on the back of one of the most popular genre novels in modern times, giving it a stellar review. What is my point in writing this? That even the most staunch critics of popular culture secretly like it. Ok, maybe not Harold Bloom. But this guy, he likes well-crafted stories, even if they're--gulp!--genre fiction. And the title of my piece--which screamed, "Hey, this is a Mafia novel!" wasn't the thing that put him off: it was its sheer size.

His reaction gave me heart. After years of writing "sophisticated" screenplays and tales of woe that went nowhere, after feeling that I was somehow inferior to my classmates who'd written volumes about American angst and the dissolution of marriages, I've now turned my attention to young adult fiction. And I don't feel any of the misgivings I'd have felt just ten years ago. Because as long as a story is good and it transports the reader and provides them with a happy escape, that's just as important as writing War and Peace II.