Category Archives: Writing

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

We’re All Animals in this Atlas

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This is a subject I’ve talked about before. Likely I’ll talk about it again, so don’t think of it as a rerun. Think of it as emphasis.

Have you ever noticed that, now and then, a really good new writer will appear on the scene with the sfnal equivalent of fireworks? They get people’s attention right from the start. People seek out their work, talk about it, it comes to the attention of awards judges and publishers alike. Not too surprising; sometimes really good writers appear as if sprung from the head of Zeus, fully grown, armored, and ready. Never mind how long they spent working and improving their craft; that’s between the writer and his or her word processor. So far as the rest of us are concerned–poof! there they are.  Actually it is a little surprising. Because in this field, being “really good” isn’t good enough and never has been. Being “really good” and working hard will usually get you published regularly and well, but it doesn’t bring you the kind of attention I’m talking about here. What does? After much thought and discussion, I’ve come to the conclusion that the answer is: voice.

 

Now, don’t misunderstand this: it’s almost certainly necessary for such a writer to be “really good” (though better of course to be like Kelly Link, arguably a genius) for all this to happen. But it’s not enough. Neither is “voice,” for that matter, at least when considered by itself. There’s more to it, as there usually is. Continue reading →

It Ain’t Official Yet, But It’s Real

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“When a man carelessly steps in front of a speeding garbage truck, that’s usually the end of his story. For Jake Hallman, that’s just the beginning. He awakens on a metaphorical stretch of the Afterlife called the Golden Road, where the angel Brendan comes to escort him to Heaven. But Jake isn’t having any:

“Heaven sounds like a good thing in theory, but what is it really? What will I do there? Can I leave if I don’t like it? Under what circumstances? Can you force me to go?”

Brendan scratched his head. “I don’t think this has come up before.”

Continue reading →