Category Archives: Writing

“Now the Monkey on My Back Has a New Act”

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We’ve all heard the old chestnut “Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.”

Expectations. In my personal opinion, expectations can kill a career as dead as Ordering to the Net, only quicker. It’s perfectly normal that you start selling stories and think “Now what?” Ok, so you’ve sold a story? Have you qualified for Active in SFWA? Ok, that’s three stories, good. The first two weren’t flukes, that’s nice to know. So. Have you sold a collection? Ok, now you’ve sold a collection? Marvelous! Have you sold a novel? Won a Nebula or Hugo? Been nominated for any darn thing? Sold a Movie Option? Done… well, you get the idea. My friend and mentor Parke Godwin once described this as the “Now the Monkey on My Back Has a New Act” syndrome. This is perfectly normal. What’s not normal is when the monkey, so to speak, thinks the show’s over.

We tend to forget that the sole purpose of a goal is to be a target, but once you hit the mark, its job is done. A goal in its pure essence is a direction, not a destination. One you reach a goal you don’t clear a plot of land on the site, build a split-level with a pool in the back yard and move in. That way lies stagnation. If you don’t want to stagnate, you have to look for the next goal or retire. Those are your choices. Pick one. Continue reading →

Writing Exercise #4

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We had a little more time on this one (I think there was an operational error on the timer), and I took advantage. The challenge was “What frightens you?” To which my immediate reaction was “Hell, what doesn’t frighten me?” And so it went.

Dr. Louis asked his first question, “Mr. Crenshaw, what are
you afraid of?”

I almost walked out then and there. I didn’t care how  highly recommended the guy was, I thought it was a stupid thing to ask. What was I afraid of? Hell, what wasn’t I afraid of? But I was on the hook for the first session whether I was there or not, so I decided to play along.

“Well, there’s spiders.”

“That’s a common one—“ Dr. Louis began, but I didn’t let
him finish. “And mice. And Cats. And… snakes. And dark holes where snakes might
be hiding. Let’s see…. Wasps. Bees. The entire hymenoptera family, really.”

“Your chart doesn’t mention an allergy.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Now, where was
I…right. Hymenoptera, and lepidoptera too—that’s butterflies and moths.  Plus cattle prods. Cattle. Herd animals of any kind. Dust. Mold. Germs. Sterile environments. Polyester–”

“Out of curiosity,” Dr. Louis asked, “Why polyester?” Continue reading →

WTF Was I Thinking?

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Am I dogmatic? Sure looks that way sometimes. This or that discourse on the process of writing, filled with sturm and drang about “this is how that works” or “that is how that does not work,” and avoiding mistakes, and making the right mistakes…

While it hardly needs mentioning, I’m going to mention it anyway–when it comes to writing or most anything else, I don’t have the answers. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t understand the questions. And “promotion”? Puh-lease. My canned response on any panel about authorly self-promotion is this: “Watch what I do very carefully, and then for the love of heaven do something else.” Whatever career I’ve put together has been mostly work, trial and error, and dumb luck. So just what is it I’m doing here? Continue reading →

In Which I Cop an Attitude

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Something I read a while back in Kate Wilhelm’s book on the Clarion workshop, On WRITING, got me thinking about attitude. I don’t mean “Attitude” with a capital “A,” but rather a writer’s attitude toward the work. Her premise was related to Damon Knight’s concept of “Fred” as the subconscious, though she referred to hers as “SP” or Silent Partner. It’s the part of the brain this stuff (whatever this “stuff” may be) bubbles up from, and it has to be encouraged and reinforced.

Simply put, the more you use story ideas/notions the more you get story ideas/notions, because doing so is positive reinforcement for your own “Silent Partner.” The SP wants to give you what you can use, and if you use what it gives, it cheerfully gives more. Let’s leave the speculations on neural pathways and closed feedback loops for another day, but as anyone who’s been doing this a while can tell you, it just works. So how do you make it work for you? Continue reading →

Writing Exercise #3

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The challenge at writer’s group this week was “Assuming you knew you were going to die, what would your last meal be?”  Time limit, as usual, 15 minutes. Some people actually described an ideal last meal, but seriously, where’s the fun in that? So with only minor tweaking, here’s my response:

Kenneth was being stubborn. I expected no less. he was, after all, Kenneth. So I explained the situation one more time in the name of sweet reason.

“This is tradition. They do it in prisons all the time.”

“This isn’t prison!”

“I was speaking of tradition, not location. I’m about to be executed by the State. Therefore, I’m entitled to a last meal. As my prosecutor, surely you recognize this fact?”

“Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go. You need help.”

I tested the ropes. “No, I think I can manage this on my own. After all, I managed to get free long enough to find you, didn’t I?”

Kenneth tried again. “Michael, I know you’re angry–”

“Angry? I was innocent, Kenneth. You knew that. The DNA evidence cleared me. Evidence you suppressed.”

“It wasn’t conclusive!”

“Even if true—and we both know it isn’t—there was reasonable doubt. Shouldn’t the jury have decided that?  No matter. Water under the bridge. Funny how fate brought us together this way. Oh, don’t fret. The police will be here soon. I know. I called them.”

Kenneth looked relieved. “You’re going to give yourself up?”

“No, I’m going to die. I told you that. But I get my choice of last meal. Now hold still, I’m in the mood for liver.”

Kenneth was still. He didn’t have a choice. Later I was sure to show the responding officers the remains of the liver, and the gun. I even fired a few shots in their general direction to get their attention. Kenneth botched my trial. Let it never be said I’d botched my own execution.

The End

 

(c) 2011 Richard Parks