Writings

Bibliography

Appearances

Links

An Irregular Blog

2010

2009

2008

2007

Thoughts on Writing

December 12, 2011

As 2011 draws to a close, I thought it would be nice to leave you with some writing quotes:

• The sum of the whole matter is this: write quickly and you will never write well, write well and you will soon write quickly. -- Quintillian
• My Books. I never make them: they grow; they come to me and insist on being written, and on being such and such. --Samuel Butler
• A man may write at any time, if he will set himself doggedly to it. -- Samuel Johnson
• [The secret of style] lies in the use of the pen; whatever the form, whether prose or verse, or whatever the theme, write, write, and again write. -- Erasmus
• Style is the invariable mark of any master; and for the student who does not aspire so high as to be numbered with the giants, it is still the one quality in which he may improve himself at will. -- Robert Louis Stevenson
• It should be our earnest endeavour to use words coinciding as closely as possible with what we feel, see, think, experience, imagine, and reason. It is an endeavour which we cannot evade, and which is daily to be renewed. -- Goethe
• The written symbol extends infinitely, as regards time and space, the range within which one mind can communicate with another; it gives the writer's mind a life limited by the duration of ink, paper, and readers, as against that of his flesh and blood body. -- Samuel Butler
• To begin a novel is delightful. To finish it is the devil. -- Arnold Bennett
• The next point which we have to consider is the correction of our work. . . for there is good reason for the view that erasure is quite as important a function of the pen as actual writing. -- Quintillian
• The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. -- George Orwell

Have a great and profitable 2012!

November 16, 2011

"So what writing software do you use?" is a question writers sometimes ask each other at conventions. Just like skeet shooters or ham radio operators or carpenters, writers like to get together and talk about tools. It's something that happens in every field of human endeavor. And there's an element of competition in it, too. We see those who've done well (won a shooting match/bounced a signal off of Jupiter/sold a novel) and wonder what gave them "the edge." We think that if perhaps we had the same choke or antenna configuration or outlining program, we could do just as well.

But people tend to get caught up in the minutae of their tools to the point where it gets in the way of actually doing something with them. To be honest, how and how much the tool is used is much more important than the tool itself. The best shotgun in the world won't help you get on the Olympic team if you don't get out and break a lot of clay pigeons with it. Nor will a top-shelf outlining/writing program help you crank out a best-selling novel if you only get around to using it a half-hour a week.

As with many fields of human endeavor, we worry about the wrong things. For a person who's already hitting 95% of their targets, the extra percent that comes from this or that choke/ammo combination makes a lot of difference. For someone who's hitting only a third of their targets, practicing until they can hit three-quarters would make more. For the writer who's already cranking out ten-thousand words a day, having a program that allows two-keystroke macros which save them typing sixteen-letter alien names makes a lot of difference. For someone who's only writing a page a week, an extra half-hour a day of writing--even with pen and paper--would make more.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't go looking for tools that make you feel comfortable or productive. By all means, try out different combinations of programs, writing schedules, techniques--and stick with those that work for you. Just don't spend all your time nibbling around the edges of your productivity when focusing on something more fundamental will have a much greater effect.

October 4, 2011

There's a saying that before you begin to study Zen, a mountain is just a mountain; as you progress, a mountain becomes no longer a mountain; and when you reach enlightenment, it becomes a mountain again. The same could be said about writing.

Think back to the first story you ever wrote. I cringe when I do--it was a cyber-punky mess, with yakuza "muscle" in sunglasses and suits being outwitted by a brilliant hacker who had discovered their big secret after "burning the server." I was innocent of the ideas of plotting and characterization and foreshadowing then, and the story came out in one tumbling, beginning-to-end gush. It made the rounds, was rejected every time, and went into the trunk, never to be seen again. I'm sure your first story-writing experience was similar. When we first begin, our "stories" flow out of us effortlessly--they come straight from the heart and their voice is true--but generally speaking, they are completely unpublishable.

If we continue writing, we begin to grasp the mechanics of storytelling. We learn that a plot isn't just a bunch of events strung together; that a character has to act and react in certain ways based upon their natures; that you have to mention the gun on their hip at some time before they whip it out and shoot the bad guy. We learn why our first story was completely unpublishable and how to improve the next one, and maybe even the one after that. Our writing becomes intentional--moving the blocks around, making the pieces fit. And at that point, a story is no longer just a story.

But if we're lucky, we reach the point where we internalize all the mechanics and no longer even think about them. (I'm certainly not there yet....) We don't have to consciously remind ourselves about plot or characterization or foreshadowing because we do it automatically, as we write. We find our voice again and the stories flow out of us, straight from the heart--but more powerful this time, because we know how to write. And once again, a mountain becomes a mountain; and a story, just a story.

September 01, 2011

So you've finally put your manuscript in the mail, and it's on it's way to an agent or a publisher. Your baby is going out into the world. Now what?

The first thing to do is to celebrate a little (but just a little). If you've actually sat down, plotted out, written and typed up a manuscript--be it a four-page short story or a War-and-Peace-sized novel--you've accomplished more than anyone who says they're going to write "someday" ever does. So celebrate your success with a piece of chocolate or a favorite dessert or even a short vacation.

Then get back to work as soon as you can. If you're like me, you're probably on a writing high, one of those damn-straight-I-finished-that-thing moods that will propel you on to your next project if you make use of it. Keep your momentum going. Somewhere in the middle of your now-finished novel or short story, writing probably started to feel more like a grim duty than fun, but you kept going, if only just to finish, and suddenly everything clicked and your writing took off again. If you get back to work before that feeling fades, it'll carry you well into your next project.

And prepare yourself for the possibility that your work will be rejected. There's no law that says that six months (or even six years) of hard work equals a guaranteed publication. You only control one portion of the equation; the rest is in the hands of other men. The Stoic philosophers can be a great source of comfort here, as can chocolate. But the best comfort is knowing that if your work is rejected, as long as you keep writing, your skills will improve and the next story will be even better.

August 4, 2011

A writer ends up living with his novels. You spend weeks, months, years thinking about your characters, running forward and back along the plot, writing and rewriting to get the story just right. Your novel is the child of your mind, and like many parents, you become blind to its faults as it grows. A novel can go wrong for many reasons, but the most common is that while you know exactly what's going on, you've failed to convey that information to the reader. There are a number of ways of discovering the faults in your work, but the best for novels is, in my opinion, a beta-reader.

A beta- (or first) reader is someone you ask to read your finished manuscript before you send it out to an agent or publisher. Someone who will be reading your manuscript for the first time, cold, the same way a person who picks up a copy in a bookstore will read it. Someone who will catch the mistakes and weak spots you've become blind to, so that you can fix them before the manuscript goes out.

Finding a good beta-reader isn't easy. You have to find someone who will give you an honest assessment of your work. They don't have to tell you how to fix any problems they find--as author, that's your job. But they can't shy away from telling you where the plot holes are, or where a character suddenly acts out of character. You have to convince them that you want them to be honest and that their honesty won't anger you, otherwise you'll end up with a pat on the back and no improvement.

If you're lucky and find a good beta-reader who gives you honest feedback and makes your book better, you have found a treasure. Thank them profusely, and pray that they're willing to do it again the next time you have a manuscript. It's also a good thing to thank them in the acknowledgements if the book gets published, or if that's not possible, to send them a signed copy.

July 4, 2011

I talk a lot about reading (and writing) in other genres. Recently, I read Thomas Campion's 1602 work, "Observations in the Art of English Poesie." Campion lays out his ideas on the construction of English poetry and describes how to determine if a syllable is "long" or "short" (today we call them stressed and unstressed). Among his interesting suggestions, is that English poetry follow the earlier Greek and Latin forms and not rhyme. If you're interested in reading "Observations" for yourself, you can find a copy through the "Renascence Editions" link on the Luminarium website.

Reading Campion inspired me to write the following:

A Meditation upon Campion's "Observations"

Tom Campion said blank verse was the key
To poesie, that like the seven hills of Rome
Could move the minds and ears of Englishmen.
And Greeks, who did before them teach the use
Of feet metrical but did not descend
To sing-song endings and hard-forced rhyme
Could light the path for Albion's sons
Creating their own songs heroical.

Iambic and Trochee but not the Dactyl,
Were natural and native to th' English tongue.
The shorter words of English too, made right
Pentameter, he finding in this
Less bulk than in the Roman feet of six.
And modified, these lines could be by use
Of Tribrach, Spondee and Anapest.
He calling these lines "Licenciate."

Iambic Dimeter or "English March"
Two feet and one lone syllable did make.
While Epigrams of Trochee should be spun
Pentameter-wise like heroic verse.
An Elegy moves on stately foot, two
Verses needed here, the first Iambic
The second of double dimeter hung.
And Odes and Ditties have many feet
(Here best to read the man's own words on't).

The Anacreontic or madrigal
Is but a biped, the first spondee
Or trochiacal, the second trochee
Must ever be used if it is to fit
The pattern given. And here, with review
Of the several feet that went before,
Does Thomas lay down his pen, excepting
How to tell syllables be long or short,
Which having done, he ends his glorious work.

FINIS

May 3, 2011

Wow, once again, more months than I planned have gone by since I last updated this blog. I wanted to make more regular updates--even filled in reminders on my calendar--but somehow I lost momentum.

Which gave me the topic for this post. Losing momentum, that is. Though I soap-box about constantly chipping away at writing -- Nulla Dies Sine Linea and all that, face it, sometimes you just lose steam. A promising short story dies after a couple of hundred or (worse) a couple of thousand words. The novel that you were sure was going to be the next Hugo Award winner slows to a crawl, then peters out. Or worst of all, the muse takes a holiday and forgets to leave you the number to her beach-side hotel.

What do you do when things are at a standstill? After you've taken a deep breath, poured yourself a scotch, or done whatever it is you do to relax, you go looking for the problem.

"I know what the problem is!" I hear you yell. "The problem is I'm not writing!" Actually, it's not. Not writing is a symptom.

Ask yourself "Why am I not writing?"

Sometimes the answer is craft-based. "I couldn't go on because I didn't know what was going to happen next," or "I couldn't go on because I lost interest--" all signs that there's something mechanically wrong with the story that needs to be fixed.

And sometimes the answer is bigger and painfully personal. "It'll take months to finish and I don't want to do that much work;" or "I'm afraid it's no good, so why should I waste my time?" or "I enjoyed writing for a while, but now I want to do something else."

In either case, knowing why you've come to a standstill points you in the direction of what to do next, be it to re-plot your story and make your main character more sympathetic; or to create a scene-by-scene breakdown of your novel and devote yourself to writing a single page a day; or to pack away your half-finished manuscripts and throw yourself body and soul into the practice of kendo.

So if your writing has come to a standstill, ask yourself "Why aren't I writing?" and move on from there.

(Oh, and as for why I was at a standstill with my blog posts: I thought I'd run out of ideas.)

January 29, 2011

My personal motto for writing has always been "write, submit, repeat as necessary." In this irregular blog, I've spent a lot of time talking about the mechanics of writing, of perseverence in writing, and ways to become a better writer. But I haven't spent much time at all talking about the mechanics of submission.

Writers have submitting styles as different as the way they put words together. Some have short bibliographies that read like a "who's who" of famous magazines, while others have arm-length bibliographies of "mid-list" and lesser well-known markets.

Where you choose to submit depends on what you consider success in writing. If prestige is more important to you, it makes sense to limit your submissions to top-tier magazines and ones that have a reputation for awards or providing stories for "year's best" anthologies. If you define success by having as many readers as possible, obviously you'll have to broaden the scope of your submissions.

Each method has its advantages and disadvantages. If you choose to submit only to top-tier markets, you may go a long time between publications, and you'll end up with a large number of unsold "trunk" stories. But when you do make a sale, your name will appear in the table of contents of Asimov's or Ellery Queen or the Atlantic or New Yorker; and the pay will be commensurate. If you'd rather have your story seen by as many people as possible, you'll have a great number of publications and fewer "trunk" stories, but some of your credits will be in relatively unknown magazines or websites and that may pay only in copies.

Personally, I believe a writer should be paid for their work, so with rare execptions I don't submit to for-the-love markets. I sat down and decided which markets I'd be willing to see myself published, then made my own list, putting them in order--highest-paying and most famous at the top. When I have a story ready to go out, I pick the first appropriate market and submit. If the first market doesn't buy my piece, I move on to number two, then three, then four. If I exhaust the list without a sale, the story goes into the trunk. Perhaps it'll be re-written some day, or parts of it used for another story, or the whole thing chalked up to practice.

Your submission style is part of defining what you think a successful writer looks like, and how you're going to get yourself there. But whatever definition you come up for yourself, best of luck in writing for 2011.