Some Assembly Required

filing-cabinet2That mess of veneered particle board you’re looking at is about to become a rather dashing two-drawer filing cabinet. I know this because I’ve already put one together, so I have faith that this one will turn into its twin, and I’ll finally…finally! Be able to put my old story files and contracts in order.

I said I have faith because I’ve done this before, but little certainty because it was a couple of months ago. I was…interrupted, shall we say, by events beyond my control. I barely remember how I got the first one together and the instructions, to put it mildly, are rather lacking. No matter, now that I can lift my left arm again, I have confidence that I’ll puzzle this one out as well, and finally have the storage I need. Yet I have no doubt it won’t be easy, but that’s not important. I’m used to it. Hard? Sure. Except….

Writing a story is harder. You don’t have any directions, unless you’re one of those lucky sorts who can plot out an entire trilogy before you’ve written a word of it. I am not one of those people. I don’t even have ideas that any rational person would recognize as such. Usually it’s just a notion, but more often a character. I set them loose and follow them. If I’ve chosen well, they go to interesting places and do interesting things, and meet interesting characters, and my job is mostly chronicler. If I do that right, they’ll usually let me in on what they’re really up to, because a story–one worth its salt, that is–has two main components: what happens, and what it’s about. They are almost never the same thing.

Unlike the filing cabinet and its instructions, which say what they are and they are no more than that, just get the parts together in the right order, and you’re done. Writing really does not work that way. Sometimes I find myself praying for a good set of instructions, but then I usually remember that is not the point. Some days that’s harder than others, but if wanted easy I’d put together another filing cabinet.

Business As Usual — For Some Things

WRITING 02There’s something about a deadline that focuses the mind wonderfully. Even a self-imposed deadline, like this one. I am determined, whenever possible, to have these blog posts done and ready to post every Monday. Why Monday? Because it’s better to start at the beginning, which is what Monday is for most people on a weekly schedule. There’s some logic to it.

Business as usual, right? Like before I started this post, I processed a rejection and got the story back under submission. Everyone gets rejected at some time or another, or even regularly. If you want to write for publication and can’t deal with that, find another avocation. You can’t even dodge it by self-publishing, since then readers have a direct chance to reject what you’re doing.  It’s always going to hurt, even after you’ve done it for years and years and develop the thick skin necessary to keep going. I could even say “get used to it” but that would be hypocritical, since I never have. I accept it, since the irony is this is all you can do with rejection. Just move on to the next possibility, and keep working so there always is another possibility.

Speaking of which, time to figure out what the next novel is going to be. I think I know. I hope I’m right. Back to business….

I’d Rather Be Wrong

IMG_0486I made a mistake. Not career-ending or soul-crushing, but just an idea that didn’t work out. See, as some who follow this blog know, I’m a student guitar player. By which I mean I’m not good enough to just say “I’m a guitar player,” because that would be a lie. It can hardly be said that what I’m doing is playing the guitar. More of playing “at” it, so that sometimes it vaguely sounds like music. A lot of the time it doesn’t. Regardless, getting to the mistake—not too long ago I bought a parlor size guitar because I liked the idea of keeping one downstairs so I could practice or just noodle about whenever the mood struck me (and needless to say, my wife is a very patient woman), but there was a problem—a parlor size guitar is just too small for me. Now, in some ways it was good practice, because it made me be super-precise in my left hand fretting, since the strings were so close together that I’d mute adjacent strings unless my fingers were exactly perpendicular—and sometimes even then. In short, the guitar was unforgiving, and in this stage of my development, I could really do with a bit of forgiveness. Continue reading

Unfinished

In the Realm of Legend

In the Realm of Legend

Stories, that is. You have this flash of an image, or a snip of dialogue, or whatever seed corn works for you that gets a story started, and you’re off. The words flow, one scene follows another and…

Nothing. You got nothing.

This isn’t writer’s block, or something of that sort. Nope. The story just died on you. Whatever you thought was there, that spark you were following through the scene like the will-o-wisp it was, vanishes. It’s not even that you can’t write the story. So far as you can tell there’s no story to write. We hate when that happens. It’s a bad thing. But it’s a long way from the worst.

You’re kidding, right? You just lost a promising story. You wasted…what? Two days? More? Of precious writing time that you’re never going to get back. What could be worse than that? Continue reading

Third Time’s Not Necessarily Charming

esc-skunkThird time refers to one more medical incident I won’t go into detail about and yes, I’m fine, but I am so over 2016. Far too many people passed whose work had meant a lot to me and that hurt. Too many people in this country have apparently lost their minds and that also hurts. I hope 2017 is a better year, but there is a chance, if for no other reason than the bar is so low.

Considering how things were going, it seemed very prudent for me to finally get that $#%# story finished and sent out. I had almost forgotten how freeing it feels to get a story out into the world. Once it leaves your hands you’re no longer bound to examine and second-guess yourself and what you did or should have done. It’s time to move on to the next project, and progress is always a potential in the next thing you do, never in what you’ve already done. That’s how progress works. Proud as I am of the work I’ve produced over the last few years—and I do think the story turned out well–the work I’m mostly excited about is what I’m going to do next, and that is the way it should always be, for all of us.

Interesting times are ahead, but then we’re interesting people. So buckle up, and don’t forget to tell your stories.

Happy Holidays.