Fiction is the Best Way to Tell the Truth

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I want to be a writer. Or if I even want to be a writer. There are a trillion infinity reasons not to be a writer: it's a massive pain in the neck, it's a lonely thing to write all by yourself, if you haven't published something by the age of 30 people start looking at you like you're a gorgon, etc.


But then I stopped feeling sorry for myself and thought about the reasons why it's great to be a writer.


And nothing came.


Until I hit on this: writing is just about the only time in life you get to be totally honest.


Honesty is the best policy, right? Whoever made up that saying should be thrown into the deep end with cement water wings. Because if you're always honest, you will not live a comfortable life. For instance, people don't want to hear your "honesty" in the office:


"Hey Jane, you look really dumpy today. Did your whiny son keep you up all night because you don't show him enough outward signs of affection?"


No. You will be summarily fired. And you can't even be honest with your own family. Not even about the little stuff.


"Dad, let's drop the charade. I hate Duke basketball."


Your dad will look at you like you just kicked him in the solar plexus. I repeat: you cannot be honest.


Except when you write, that is.


When you write, all of the rules change. You can make the most outrageous, easily falsifiable claims ("Gee Nate, it looks like that asteroid made of gouda cheese is on a collision course with the planet Hamglubla!") and no one can say a darn thing about it.


Not that the above sentence drips with honesty: alone, it's a totally meaningless string of words. But if you couch it in the context of reality--say, if the cheese-filled asteroid is going to destroy a planet where people kill each other because they can't control their tempers--then you know what? It's good that that stinkhole of a planet blows up, because people need to be kind to each other.


Just try saying "people should be kind to each other" to your friends, and watch their faces drop. Witness the awkward silence that ensues. Before long, if you persist in your campaign for kindness, society will force you to go live in a hippy van out in the desert somewhere. Dress your mantra up in an apocolyptic vision of a cheeseball evicerating a whole planet, however, and now you've got their attention.


When else can you get away with such honesty? I'll tell you when: never. This is why you should be glad you're an artist, if an artist you are. Chin up.

Nostalgia, Thy Name is Autumn

It's turning out to be a gorgeous fall here in DC. This town, to my mind, is a gross, cement-lined mosquito nest of seething humidity for 3/4 of the year. On top of that, it's filled with busy-body technocrats who dress head-to-toe in black/gray/grayish black clothes. Honestly, you sometimes don't know whether you're following a funeral procession or people on their way to work.


But come fall each year, a cool wind blows in, the trees blaze up into reds and golds, and the whole place becomes awesome.


Nostalgia, thy name is Autumn. Hell yes it is.


I've always liked the Autumn. It's a time of death before renewal. There's something instructive in that. Something that lets us know on an intuitive level that after the Fall comes a rebirth of sorts. It unsettles us with its burst of beauty, its shrivel and decay, and its promise of a new, brighter world to come.


As authors, it's important for us to understand nostalgia. We should respect it, not toss it aside as base sentimentality. Because to me, the best books tap a reader's well of pleasant recollections, most especially from childhood. We should open our minds to what we've loved and lost, and try to recapture it in our writing. Because others will sense this sharp, sweet sense of loss too, and it will remind them of their own humanity if we do it right.


Communining with others in this most human way is what great writing is all about. Whether you're writing a post-modern novel or a picture book, your vulnerability has to be on every page, in every word. And nothing will make you feel more vulnerable than the pinch of nostalgia.

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!!

How to Beat the Apathy Monster

Hey all, I've been unplugged for the past few days. It was nice to take a break, but I'm happy to be back. While I was away, working hard on my WIP every free second I got, I was thinking about how there's nothing worse as an author than to be unpublished. I know this feeling first-hand because, well...I'm unpublished (outside of a few magazine articles). Telling people you're working on a WIP doesn't cut the butter. People want results. They don't think you're a "real" writer unless you've put yourself out there and published.


Which I get. Fine. You can talk about Emily Dickinson all you want (the great American poet had less than a dozen poems published in her lifetime, and yet she's been hugely influential), but no one is going to think you're the next Emily Dickinson. This is America, baby. We want results.


Enter: the Apathy Monster. Unpublished authors are stalked by this blood-thirsty predator. Some published writers are as well, but not as many. The beast is mostly bred from within: it's fertilized by self-imposed, unrealistic expectations, grows in the womb of our self-doubt, and comes to term when we most need to keep faith in ourselves. Thinking that all our hard work might go unnoticed is one of the most desolate feelings in the world. It derails people for years, making them question why they continue to put themselves through this.


The monster scares us so badly that we forget all the great lines we've written, all the wondrous forms we've painted, and worry only that people--if they notice us at all--will only notice our flaws.


Not that I'm a successful artist (yet), but my sense of this is that successful artists know they can't eradicate this hopeless feeling. So they don't even try. My guess is that they accommodate this emptiness, even use it to inform their work. Because I don't care who you are, whether you're the MVP of the Super Bowl or a window washer working up on the thirtieth floor, you have self-doubts. The wise artist understands this common human thread and weaves it into their work. In doing so, people recognize themselves in the work and connect with it.


Don't dismiss your doubts. Don't bury your fear of the Apathy Monster. Don't judge your feelings while you create because you can't allow your focus to waver. If you can befriend the monster, build him a little efficiency suite in your heart, then we'll all be better for it.


I'm here to tell you that you can succeed. I have crushing self-doubt sometimes, too. Don't worry. In fact, this past week there were a few moments where I felt like quitting. But we can't ever quit. There are too few of us artists to begin with.


You can do it.

The Creator's Manifesto

I've added a new page up above in the menu there. It's called "The Creator's Manifesto." As I say on the page, I don't much care for the word "manifesto", given its connection to politics, but it's a useful shorthand so I'll go with it.


I felt the need to outline some of my reasons for staying creative even when the world seems hell-bent on derailing you. Often times, when I feel like throwing in the towel, it's because I feel like I'm never going to be successful and make tons of money and prove to the naysayers that I'm a brilliant thinker.


But then I have to check myself. Success and failure seems like too rough an equation when it comes to art. The real reason we should make art is for others, not because we seek riches for ourselves. We should want to impart our wisdom/sense of humor/insights to other people so that they can become better people.


Usually, this does the trick for me.


Do you have core reasons for being an artist that you grapple onto for support when you're feeling down? Let me know.


Update: I wrote this manifesto late last night, and in retrospect, I think a lot of it had to do with my reflections on the 10th anniversary of 9/11 being today. In listening to the radio all morning and re-watching old footage of the attacks taking place, I'm reminded of how utterly hopeless and sad I felt that day, and in the months afterwards.


I was living nearly 2000 miles away from Ground Zero at the time, so obviously I wasn't directly impacted by the events. So I'm only speaking for myself here and not anyone who was directly affected. In my opinion, the only appropriate response to acts of horror like Sept. 11th is love. Do what you love every day. Be nice to everyone. Create art for the benefit of others, so that your love will spread around the world.


Some people think they can't do anything in response to 9/11. They feel weak, even ten years on. But the truth is, we can do something. We have the strength to drown out the sadness. We must align ourselves so that we project love into the world through our art. Unhesitating love is the best response to hate. We have to trust each other again.

The Value of Toothless Tonya

Being a hard worker does not make one great. After all, Mao Tse-Tung loved to roll up his sleeves and get to work, and Josef Stalin -- a busy beaver if ever there was one -- was a renowned workaholic. But there is something to be said for the art of work. Hard work gives us writers the opportunity to come out of our shells, to understand how real people really talk, to get a sense of their aspirations and their misery. And it humbles us, showing us that we must put in the hours day in and day out, that what we accomplished yesterday matters little next to the demands of the present.


These days, though, our society's reverence for hard work has waned, even as people are working more hours. I heard an NPR segment on Monday about meaning of Labor Day, and something clicked. E.J. Dionne, the writer and guest who'd written a Washington Post article on which the segment was based, argued that we no longer praise workers for their hard work, but instead we deify capital, i.e. money.


And I realized that's true. And also that it's sad and stupid, because people are working their ever-loving asses off right now and that wealth is being transferred to the super-wealthy, and if that keeps up, things will get bad. But I also realized it's stupid because, from the persepective of a writer, so much great literature has come out of examining the lives of workers: "Let Us Now Praise Famous Men" (if you haven't read this book, please do), the U.S.A. trilogy by Dos Passos, "The Jungle." And it's enduring literature, because almost everyone can relate to the characters in these books, regardless of time period or geography.


And anyway, like I was saying before, working hard -- whether that be at a minumum wage job or as an engineer -- gives us writers a window into how the world actually works. Hedge fund managers may think they understand how the world works, but they don't. They're up too high. No, that's not real life. Who would want to be way up there where the air is so thin?


I've worked a trillion minimum-wage jobs in my lifetime: bag boy, administrative assistant, waiter, bus boy, front desk worker at a hotel, mowing lawns, flipping pizzas -- you name it, I've done it. Once, in college, I worked as a bouncer (which is hilarious if you know how non-confrontational I am) and at the end of each shift, it was my job to clean the vomit out of a huge, trough-shaped urinal with a mop. Yes folks, that's how I paid for books and rent my senior year of college. The crowning glory of my four years in higher ed. Cleaning puke.


But what's interesting is that, at the time, my friends (all of whom also had crap jobs while working their way through school) and I looked at our jobs as badges of honor. We inevitably worked beside "townies" (people who'd spent their whole lives in the tiny town where our college was located), and we all wanted not to seem like jack-asses to them. So we tried our best to fit in, enduring last-minute schedule changes to give Toothless Tonya more hours, putting up with derisive laughs from folks who'd been making pizzas since age 9.


But all of this worked to my advantage. I now know how people other than myself think and feel, I know their hopes and aspirations and I know how they can suck sometimes. Which helps me when creating realistic characters. Because if you don't have the ability to deeply empathize with someone who's completely different from you, then you cannot create rounded, interesting characters.


So if you're stuck in a dead-end job or if you're a recent graduate, and if you like to write, try (I know it's hard and it sucks, but try) to see your current situation positively. Because who knows? Your boss Bernie McBastard may find his way into your book someday.

The Art of Gratitude

Gratitude is an art form. You have to work hard at it every day or else, just like any acquired skill, you'll forget how to do it. It's also like a relationship in that sense. It's easy to be flush with gratitude when times are good; it's when times are rough that you have to remind yourself how lucky you are.


What does gratitude have to do with writing? A lot. No, I'm not talking about an author's gratitude for their fans. That's important, of course, but you have to lay the groundwork first. If you're a successful writer, then kudos to you. Gratitude for fans becomes a much more meaningful notion at that point, so you're ahead of me there. But if you're like me, someone who's just hitting their stride with their writing, then things are still hazy on the fans front. So leave that aside for the moment.


And as for gratitude you may day-dream about for your as-yet-unrealized literary success (from time to time, I imagine myself being interviewed by Charlie Rose about my most recent literary smash success, so I'm as guilty as anyone), let's ignore that for the moment, too. Because there's no guarantee that all of your hard work will pay off in the form of critical accolades, and even if it does, that doesn't always translate into lots of money.


So forget about success and failure for a moment. Are you still with me? I know it's hard to stop thinking about success because we're programmed in this society with the need to achieve, achieve, achieve. That's fine for some people - for some, material success is like water to a fish. But for those of us who believe there's more to life, let me offer one simple piece of advice:


Be grateful for your interest in writing.


I'm careful to use the word "interest" here instead of "love" or "passion", because, in my opinion, at least in as much as they apply to writing, I think the words "love" and "passion" are over-used. What is it that Jack Nicholson once said about acting? If it's fun you're doing it wrong? That's my opinion on writing.


Not that it should be torture. There are moments when your mind seems to be hooked into some story-making machine, and those moments, for me, are divine. But they don't happen all that often, and in my experience, there are long stretches where I have to force myself to write when I really don't feel like it.


So forget about "love" and "passion". Just be grateful that the universe imbued you with an interest in the written word. Not that it gave you some pass to love words unconditionally (it's your job as a writer to control words, not to let them run free - to be too in love with words can be a problem), but be happy that it said, "All right, I think I've made enough Wall Street traders and tax attorneys and defense lobbyists and televangelists...what we need now are some writers!" And then you were born.


This is something to be extremely grateful for. You get to tell people's stories. Maybe not actual people's stories (unless you write biographies), but the stories of people who represent all of us in some way. This is a priviledge, even if you never get paid one penny to do so. You get to fill your free time with playing make-believe. Isn't that awesome?


And who knows if you're any good? Honestly, the word "good" as it's used in regards to writing is, again, useless. Being grateful for being a good writer is like being grateful for having "good" hair. If you have curly hair and you happen to be the kind of person who likes curly hair, then it's a boon; if you have curly hair but want straight hair, then it's a curse. And even if you like it, some days it just poofs out and you can't do anything with it. I'm fully aware that I'm a guy saying this, but whatever: I have curly hair and sometimes it's cool and sometimes I want to burn it off.


Ahem. My point here is that you have nothing to do, ultimately, with the curliness of your hair. It is what it is. It's how you approach it that matters.


Listen, some people will like what you write and some will not. There's no way to ever tell if you're "GOOD". But what makes a lot of sense is to be grateful that you have an interest in it (even if it's just a hobby for you, it's still important work you're doing).


And I'm not saying be grateful for what you're not; you shouldn't say, "Well, at least I'm not a window washer" (nothing against window washers). Just be happy that you have such a human-centric, empathy-building interest. If you can be grateful for this, you will always be successful.

Relentless

Skip ahead to the 2:20 mark to see this guy's genius at work. He makes it look easy, but doubtless this guy has spent hundreds and hundreds—more likely thousands—of hours relentlessly training himself to be able to have the dexterity to play the keys this way. Combined with his great voice, it's a sight to behold.


I don't have a lot to say about this, other than the fact that if this guy can achieve his dreams, you can too. There is literally no excuse. You may be facing tough odds (I don't want to presumptuous because I don't know you), but you'd be hard-pressed to be facing tougher odds than this guy.


So next time you think you can't do something, next time you're so frustrated that you just want to quit, think about him. If you watch the video from the beginning, you'll see that he swims, puts his clothes on by himself, and brushes his own teeth. And then he goes out and sings the hell out of songs.


I don't know about you, but I feel super inspired after seeing him go!

Why Artists are the Best People in the World

Ok, that’s a little grandiose. There are several artists I can think of right off the top of my head who are or were horrible a-holes (I’m looking at you, Paul Cezanne). Frigging two-timer. Anyway, what sets (most) artists apart from other people is our ability to speak the truth and appreciate beauty. This is an undervalued trait that should make people wish they were an artist.


I live in Washington, DC. For the most part, I try to ignore politics. But that’s a little like living in Minneapolis and trying to ignore Prince—hard to do. Right now, I’m sick to death of these moronic politicians trying to out-posture each other for the sake of getting what they want during the debt ceiling fiaso/crisis/crapstorm. This macho inability to show flexibility and acknowledge that each side has to give a little in order to make the deal work is so depressing, and it’s all happening mere miles from where I now sit.


But enough about politics. A true artist doesn’t have the luxury of “posturing”; they have to produce work that people will either like or dislike. It’s extraordinarily simple. They cannot utter platitudes and empty phrases and hope people will take them seriously. They cannot rely on an unthinking cadre of robots who have been conditioned to do anything they say. An artist has to put up or shut up. And this is a beautiful thing because you owe no one anything, and they don't owe you anything, but you have exchanged love in the bargain.


So thank the universe every day that it made you the way you are. Because what’s the alternative? I love this Tom Robbins quote:

“Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government
and business.”

Amen. Believe in the magic within you. You have the power to make people forget their troubles and give them hope, and that’s more power than any dopey politician has.

Genre Shmanre

Like most things in life, genres can be good or limiting concepts depending on how you look at them. From a consumer’s perspective, genres are helpful: they give the purchaser a snapshot of what a book/movie/play offers in terms of content, which helps them make a decision on what to buy.


From a writer’s point of view, genres can also be a good thing, depending on what type of writer you are and the goals you set for yourself. If you want to set out to tell a story that fits snugly within a certain set of parameters, if you want to emulate a certain author’s style and expand on their universe (and, of course, if you want to try and hit it big and make lots of money), then genres can provide you with the markers necessary to stay in bounds.


But if you’re anything like me, the concept of genres is an incredibly annoying thing. I’ve tried to write within genres before, but I always end up throwing fantastical or thriller or true crime elements in at the weirdest places, shaking things up (probably out of the boredom that comes from hewing too close to a formula) and thereby destroying the neat picket fence I’d constructed around my story.


Even now, I’m in the middle of writing what most people would probably call a young adult fiction book, but its got highly-whimsical aspects to it, as well as philosophical overtones, that I don’t think make for a snug fit in the YA genre. But you know what? I’m not sweating it.


Because rules were made to be broken. I once had a writing teacher who told me, “Don’t try to write within a genre. Once you’ve finished writing your book, let other people decide where it fits.” Like many other bits of wisdom from this teacher, his words have proven to be incredibly helpful over time. From a marketing perspective, writing exactly how I want to write without regard for genre may cause me headaches, but to me, what good is writing if you can’t do it exactly how you want to do it?


Look, we’re told how to live our lives 24 hours a day by people who claim to know better. We have to dress up nice and play within in the rules of a game in which we have absolutely no say throughout the better part of our lives. Why would I want to worry about playing by the rules when it comes to writing? “Because you won’t sell any books, that’s why!” you might say. “Readers won’t know what to make of your book unless it’s spelled out for them!”


Bah. I believe that readers are sophisticated enough to get what I’m saying, even if I don’t wave a huge red flag in front of their eyes with the words “YA Lit” screen printed on it. And as for making money? Well, that’s a value judgment, an extremely subjective point. Would be great if I could get an agent and a publisher to publish my writing? Sure. But in the age of self-publishing, I have options.


For my part, I don’t care about not becoming hugely wealthy from my writing. Becoming a millionaire is not why I write. I write because I want to express who I really am, what I really believe. If I can make some money while doing that, then bonus points for me. But it’s not what drives me.


Let me hasten to add that I don’t think my writing is groundbreaking or mind-bending; perhaps you’d look at it and say, “I don’t get what all the hoopla’s about; this is YA, hands down.” My point is that I would never go into writing a project thinking about how I’m ultimately going to market it. For me, that destroys the creative process. Marketing is important, don't get me wrong, but in my opinion, you should wait until you’re closer to finishing your novel before you start thinking about to whom you're going to market it.


At least, that's the approach I'm taking. And I'm very happy with that approach. For now, my advice is to just write. And don’t edit yourself too much as you write your first draft. Just live in the writing moment and worry about the business side of things later. Good luck!

Do or Do Not: There is No Try

Ah, Yoda. You have to love him. Even all these years later, whenever I watch Empire and/or Jedi, I still think, "Dag, that puppet looks so real!" Forget CGI: Yoda makes computer graphics look weak.


But still, the best thing about Yoda isn't how cool he looks, nor how much he may or may not resemble my sixth grade social studies teacher; no, it's the wisdom he dishes out. (And yes, I'm using the present tense on purpose because I believe his ghost still walks the swamps of Dagobah). My favorite line from Empire? "Do. Or do not. There is no try."


These are words to live by. When I was a kid I thought these words seemed over-simple and ignored them, choosing instead to concentrate on the flashier elements of Empire, like Cloud City and Luke getting his hand chopped off. But over the years, the little green guy's words have come back to me. And I believe they are absolutely right: there is only "do," there is no "try."


Even though my last blog post was called "Just Try", I really should've amended it "Just Do", but then I thought the Nike folks might sue me (joke). Set your mind to what you want to do and just do...well, you know the rest.

Given all of the distractions we encounter in life, you have to set your jaw and attack your goals head-on. You have to carve out time for them on days when there seems no time available, putting off that haircut so you can shoehorn a half-hour writing session into you day, whatever. You can't just dream it: you have to know that you will succeed.


Ever since I've adopted this approach, I've felt a huge sense of purpose in working on my WIP. And I've been much more productive. Even though I haven't published anything yet, I know without a doubt that I will, and I get one step closer every day. And I have a 900 year-old talking iguana to thank for it!

Just Try

It sounds simple. Just try. Every day, day in and day out. Whatever you've set your mind to doing—starting a garden, writing a novel, organizing a charity event—just try, and be consistent in your efforts. You don't have to be perfect. The reason the notion of "just trying" is so important is because most people don't. At least, most people are not trying to do what you're trying to do. And if they are giving it a go, most won't stick with it.



So you have to stick with it. That's the key. And also don't go through the motions: really try. I used to teach English to adults, and that was the biggest criterion that separated "A" students from "F" students: is this person trying? Rare was the student who came into the class knowing how to write at the college level. Most started at ground level.


I once gave an "A" to a guy from another country who couldn't string two sentences together without shredding the language. His ideas would start out great, then quickly disintegrate into a jumble. At least in the beginning. But he came in a few times before class for one-on-one help, he emailed me outside of class if he had any questions, he visited the school's writing lab, and he always came to class ready to participate, showing that he'd read the material. And his writing improved a little. Not a lot, but a little. And he walked out of my class with an "A".


Grades are subjective things and not at all a good judge of someone's intelligence. But a big component of intelligence and a great indicator of future success is if someone gives a damn. If they make a commitment and see that commitment through to the end.


That being said, you also have to recognize when to give yourself a break. If you don't feel 100% up to the challenge on a given day, don't berate yourself and get frustrated and quit. Quitting doesn't make you dumb, but it will make you unsuccessful. And no one wants you to be unsuccessful (all right, maybe there's some jerk out there who doesn't want you to be successful, but they're an idiot and you should ignore them).


All this is to say what Woody Allen said so succinctly: 90% of life is just showing up. In other words, if you just show up, if you show you give a damn, that's a great start. The other 10% is where the wheat is separated from the chaff. But you have no wheat—heck, you don't even have chaff (whatever that is)—if you don't show up.


Me? I write one hour every day. And for that hour I try to stay completely focused on writing the best hour's worth of writing that I can. Some days I'd rather do anything other than write. But I force myself to write anyway, and you know what? Those are usually the most rewarding writing days once I'm done. I know that writing only one hour per day is not ideal, but it's all I can manage in my hectic life, so I make the most of it. Some people would look at one hour and say, "That's not nearly enough time to write something great," and they'd give up. But I choose to see it as an opportunity. Yeah, it might take me longer to finish my novel, but I'm determined to write it and I'm going to make it happen.


Be as good as you can possibly be, but also realize that no one is perfect and be kind to yourself. You can do it. So do it!

The Secret to Success: Don't Die

At least according to an old writing professor of mine, that's the secret. He had a way of taking your doubts and pulverizing them beyond recognition. His complete equation for finding success as a writer, which he imparted to us during class once, went like this: just keep writing and don't die.

I like that. What he's talking about is persistance and never wavering from the straight path and minimizing the distractions in your life. All of that is in there, but reduced to digestible proportions. And, in a weird way, he's right. And also, the alternative is death and really, once you die, you won't have to worry about writing anyway. Because you'll be dead. Everyone wins!

Of course, this is the same man who wrote some of the most depressing stories I've ever read (chock full of alcoholics and collapsed marriages) and proceeded to cheat on his wife of several decades, with whom he had lots of children, and run away with his mistress. So take it with a grain of salt.

I think that completing stories is also important. Don't just start one story/poem/screenplay/whatever after another without completing anything. I'm guilty of this, but I've decided to stop. Once I get going on a project, I've resolved to see it through to the end, even if it's not going well. Finishing is a huge component of success, in my estimation, so that's important too. Now go forth and conquer!

It Doesn't Matter If No One Believes In You

It really doesn't. I'm lucky because I now have someone in my life who does believe in me, and that's a blessing. But for years and years I did not. And yet I wrote like my life depended on it, publishing magazine and newpaper articles and working on tons of other projects. And I'm still standing here, working hard on my WIP, a YA fantasy novel that I hope to publish by 2012. Would it be great to have been considered a child sensation, publishing my first book at the age of 15? Would it have been incredible to have sparked bidding wars over the diary I kept while writing my first bestseller? Sure. Is it necessary? No.
Because what it comes down to is how you feel about yourself. And your writing. There are plenty of published writers who get all the accolades in the world but who, at the end of the day, feel as though they're frauds. I remember a story a friend of mine told me about a relatively famous writer who will go unnamed. Writer X, a well-known crime/mystery novelist, was a good friend of his family's. He'd sold millions of books in his career and had legions of fans.
Great, right? Not so, at least not for Writer X. You see, X was tired of churning out mystery novel after mystery novel, having done so for over 20 years and, in the end, finding himself, against his will, pigeon-holed by his publisher. He felt like a hack and yearned to break free, to write something of "substance."
Lots of people believed in him, gobs of folks bought his books, yet where did it get him?
Which is to say that it wouldn't much matter if even Mahatma Gandhi himself, reanimated by a secret Army experiment deep in the heart of the Congo, slipped free from his captors, booked a flight to your hometown, and laid palm fronds before you as you walked. If you didn't believe in your heartiest of hearts that you were writing what really mattered to you, you'd lose respect for Frankenstein Gandhi.
Look: it's probably a good sign that not a ton of people are throwing themselves at you. It's cool to strike a nerve and have everyone talking about your work (I'm guessing), but again, it's not necessary in order to live a satisfied life.
No one will get what you're doing until you've published it. And even then, even if Virgil found a wormhole from his dimension and slipped through time and space and, on his way back to Rome, took a pit stop in your backyard and then, upon landing, he read your book and declared, "I hereby give my mantel of greatest poet of all time to you" and literally took his gold metal of poetry from around his neck and put it on you--even then, if you didn't like your own book, who cares about the gold metal of poetry?
Don't listen to anyone else but your own inner writerly voice. Trust it. If it tells you that your book is on the right track even though no one else likes it, stick with it. Because everyone has moments of doubt. It's those who push through that doubt who reap the rewards.

Agents: Meh

Lately I've been noticing lots of people on the intertubescape bemoaning the fact that literary agents suck. They suck because they won't look at writers' work unless they're already published. They suck because they live in New York. They suck because the economy sucks…or something. I wouldn't know based on experience, since I've never courted a real-life agent. Usually it's people who have gotten tons of rejection letters who hold a deep grudge against agentdom. But I've even seen honest-to-goodeness published writers lashing out against these gatekeepers. And it leads me to ask a very simple question.

Why do you care if agents suck?

I can't believe that all agents suck. If they did, people would've found a way around them a long time ago. They still serve a function. And yes, some of them probably aren't the greatest people in the world. There's probably a lot of pressure on them to represent the most bankable books right now since that's all that publishers are buying since, well, people aren't spending much dough on books these days.

So the situation sucks for writers who want to expand their imagination and be super creative. Ok. Now what? I don't begrudge anyone their need to vent, but once you're done freaking out, it's time to hit the IDGAS button.

I've talked about the IDGAS button before here. It's the ever-useful I Don't Give a Sh!t button. It can be deployed in a variety of situations, after you've bitched and moaned and reached a place where bitching and moaning won't get you one inch further toward your dreams. If you've tried and failed at getting an agent (which I admire, since I've never even tried), take some advice from me: hit the IDGAS button.

That's what it's there for.

If your book is anything like the one I'm currently writing, it doesn't fit comfortably into a genre. It's not that I'm writing radical post-modern fiction. It's a lot more like Alice in Wonderland with a modern twist. But have you read Alice in Wonderland? It's a regular freak-fest. I don't even know if it would get published today. I can't imagine an agent looking at that book and being like, "The world needs a book about a queen who's actually a playing card who wants to cut off everyone's head! Start the presses!"

My point: my book is weird and I don't automatically expect any agent to fall in love with it. Well, maybe they'll love it but I doubt they'll see dollar signs when they read it. Which leads me to the part of this blog post where I massively generalize:

There are two choices here: either write a book in a very formulaic way so you can increase the odds of publishing traditionally, or write from your heart and let the chips fall where they may.

Decoded: don't expect to get an agent if you're going to take a chance and write what you really want to write. That's not to say that people who get published all write to some crappy formula; obviously some unique books break through. But if you're not following an instruction manual to write your book, odds are, in this broken economy, no publisher will take a chance on you.

So take a chance on yourself.

Go ahead and self-publish. If you can get enough people to like your books, agents may become interested in your stuff. And then you'll be in a position of strength, because you can pick an agent who doesn't force you into a box.

Look, if we were actors instead of writers, we'd be up a creek much more clogged with fecal matter than our creek is. We can self-publish. We can even give away our stuff for free and we're virtually guaranteed an audience. What does an actor do? Tapdance on a piece of cardboard on some sidewalk? Make YouTube videos of themselves reciting soliloquies from Hamlet?

I mean, come on. We have it really, really good. If we pay a few hundred bucks, we can have our words formatted and printed in book form with an awesomely-designed cover.

Caution: I talk from zero experience when it comes to agents, but my gut tells me that if they don't like your work, that's actually fine. Take it as a sign that your work is original and someone somewhere will be excited and moved by it. You'll still have to get it edited by a professional because, news flash, you're not Ernest Hemingway. You need help. Give your novel to writers you trust and get their opinion. Because the last thing you want to do is publish a crappy book.

The great news is that once you have a solid book, you can take your business online and almost definitely make money. I'm still writing my WIP so I'm not in agent mode yet, but will be soon. I haven't decided if I'll be going the traditional legacy route or the self-pubbing route yet, but I'll keep you posted!

Are You Waiting for an Invitation?

This is a question I often ask myself.  For years I wrote at a leisurely pace, unwilling to rush myself because I thought that, much like catching a big fish or taking a good nap, writing should not be rushed.  I’d work on two or three projects at once without giving myself any timetable for finishing. 

I’d finally finish a screenplay or a short story, not like it, and trash it, comforting myself by saying, “Oh well, I’ve got these other manuscripts going over here.  This one didn’t work out, but maybe these other ones will!”  But guess what?  They sucked, too.

Then I had a realization.

Maybe I’m a slow learner, but it never dawned on me that I’d be best served by pouring my heart and soul into one manuscript at a time.  More is better, I thought.  Multi-tasking is king!

But it’s not.  At least not when it comes to writing.  Not when you’re first starting out.  Was I thinking that an agent, of his/her own volition, would come to my apartment and knock on the door with book contract in hand?  That I could write an endless string of mediocre novels/short stories and then sit on them in the hopes that a friend would hook me up with his publisher?? 

It’s all good and well that Neil Gaiman likes to hammer away at multiple projects at once.  But until you get to his level, I’d recommend what I’m currently practicing: the one-at-a-time approach.

Just so you know, this is not the most satisfying approach in the world.  If you’re like me, story ideas present themselves to you all the time.  You see a squirrel run across the road and you think, “Oh, man!  That would make a great story: a squirrel who has to cross the world to find the golden acorn!”  And they just keep coming and, much like Lord Byron, you have to unload these ideas out of your brain or else you’ll go crazy.

Here’s what I suggest: incorporate these disparate bits of inspiration into the work currently in front of you.  If there’s no place for a squirrel and a golden acorn in your current work (believe it or not, not every story lends itself to both a squirrel and a golden acorn), then use the spirit of that idea.  Or maybe even use it as a metaphor to describe a situation your protagonist finds themselves in: “Maggie had to scramble across the park like a squirrel scampering across the road."  Or whatever.

Maybe it’s a consequence of getting older, but looking back, I wish I’d had more discipline and put my focus on one manuscript and just gone to town on it.  At any rate, that’s what I’m doing now and it’s working really well. 

Believe me, I know it sounds cool to have several things in the works, to have a dozen pots boiling at the same time.  But as I told my students back when I was a teacher, you can’t plumb the depths of any one story—of any one character, even—when you have so many distractions hovering over you.  So just cut down the background noise and get to work!

Mr. Personality

I have a confession to make: I recently took a Myers-Briggs test. To be more honest, I took several; not just the official one (which you have to pay for) but several other knock-off ones. I became a little obsessive. Why? Because I wanted to find out, once and for all, why I am the way I am--which is a little scatter-brained, especially when it comes to writing.

I've written many things that I've never thought were good enough to publish. But still, I'm glad I wrote them. What I found in writing them, though, is that they were arduous battles of will. I try to outline as best I can, but despite my best efforts, my writing always gets out of hand--like an overgrown nettle bush blocking a perfectly good path--because I allow a million tangential plot lines to weave their way into my writing.

"Oooh! I wonder where this weird mobster with only one eye came from?" I'll ask myself, the character just having popped into the story out of nowhere. "And why does he only have one eye?"

I can't help myself. I have to know where my characters come from. I've tried writing up character bios, but they're always boring. I can only understand a character once they walk onstage and stare me in the eye (no pun intended).

So anyway, back to the Myers-Briggs business. I wanted to find out if writing was really for me. We've all read a million quotes from authors saying how hard writing is for them, and that's fine. But sometimes I'd find myself in the midst of writing wondering if I shouldn't be off fly fishing somewhere. Or parachuting into a canyon. Or ANYTHING other than sitting in a room staring at a computer screen.

The results of the test seemed to confirm my misgivings. As it turns out, I'm split between two personality types; that is, 40% of the time I'm one personality type, 60% of the time I'm another. The 60% personality type is a dreamer, a lover of aesthetic beauty, and a thirster-after of adventure.

But the other 40% of my personality is nerdy writer all the way. So I felt vindicated. Sort of. I could now justify to myself why I often felt so antsy while sitting at the computer, why I so looked out my window and wished I was somewhere surfing.

And I tried to stay away from writing. For a solid month I sketched pictures, watched movies, played Pac-Man: anything to destract myself from writing.

But here's the thing: I couldn't stay away. I went crazy not writing, because it's the way I process information, it's my filter for reality. Even if it is technically the minor part of my personality, it's still crucial to my well-being.

Who cares? you ask. Here's my point: just keep writing. Stop fighting it tooth and nail. Even if you think you suck at it, even if you'd rather be parasailing in Aruba or whatever--if there's a voice telling you to write, then write. Because that voice that's itching at your brain, that gnawing sense of failure, is an indication that you have wisdom to give the rest of us. So share it!

Mr. Personality

I have a confession to make: I recently took a Myers-Briggs test. To be more honest, I took several; not just the official one (which you have to pay for) but several other knock-off ones. I became a little obsessive. Why? Because I wanted to find out, once and for all, why I am the way I am--which is a little scatter-brained, especially when it comes to writing.

I've written many things that I've never thought were good enough to publish. But still, I'm glad I wrote them. What I found in writing them, though, is that they were arduous battles of will. I try to outline as best I can, but despite my best efforts, my writing always gets out of hand--like an overgrown nettle bush blocking a perfectly good path--because I allow a million tangential plot lines to weave their way into my writing.

"Oooh! I wonder where this weird mobster with only one eye came from?" I'll ask myself, the character just having popped into the story out of nowhere. "And why does he only have one eye?"

I can't help myself. I have to know where my characters come from. I've tried writing up character bios, but they're always boring. I can only understand a character once they walk onstage and stare me in the eye (no pun intended).

So anyway, back to the Myers-Briggs business. I wanted to find out if writing was really for me. We've all read a million quotes from authors saying how hard writing is for them, and that's fine. But sometimes I'd find myself in the midst of writing wondering if I shouldn't be off fly fishing somewhere. Or parachuting into a canyon. Or ANYTHING other than sitting in a room staring at a computer screen.

The results of the test seemed to confirm my misgivings. As it turns out, I'm split between two personality types; that is, 40% of the time I'm one personality type, 60% of the time I'm another. The 60% personality type is a dreamer, a lover of aesthetic beauty, and a thirster-after of adventure.

But the other 40% of my personality is nerdy writer all the way. So I felt vindicated. Sort of. I could now justify to myself why I often felt so antsy while sitting at the computer, why I so looked out my window and wished I was somewhere surfing.

And I tried to stay away from writing. For a solid month I sketched pictures, watched movies, played Pac-Man: anything to destract myself from writing.

But here's the thing: I couldn't stay away. I went crazy not writing, because it's the way I process information, it's my filter for reality. Even if it is technically the minor part of my personality, it's still crucial to my well-being.

Who cares? you ask. Here's my point: just keep writing. Stop fighting it tooth and nail. Even if you think you suck at it, even if you'd rather be parasailing in Aruba or whatever--if there's a voice telling you to write, then write. Because that voice that's itching at your brain, that gnawing sense of failure, is an indication that you have wisdom to give the rest of us. So share it!

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!