Whittling with Play Doh or “Man, I Am So Burned Out…”

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Never Giving Up, Overcoming Obstacles, Perseverance, skill, Struggling Writer, Writing

My brain feels like spaghetti.

Bright red Play-Doh spaghetti stomped through the “Devil’s Sphincter” extruder toy by a five thousand pound woolly mammoth on steroids.

You ever have a story that doesn’t want to end? A story that has a defined lifespan but just like the infamous nexus model robots in Blade Runner, it wants more life than it has been given.

At this point I am just glad my story doesn’t have hands or I would surely start to worry about having its thumbs plunged deep into the brain via my eye sockets.

At first, I had been having such a hard time getting this tale started; its characters unfamiliar, locations beyond my experience, but I just knew there was a great story in there. Once it kicked over; finally roaring to life, I was exhilarated.

That was two weeks and fifty pages ago…

The ending is so close I can almost smell the green grass and hear the trumpets playing taps, yet this thing just will not stop breathing. I should be happy. Every page is confirmed content for the book.

I am not happy.

I want this story to end so I can move on to the next tale. I want that story to end quickly as well, and this was what I was afraid of when I started the whole “five page a day” system. I have built up this expectation in my mind that the creative successes I have had recently are controllable.

I have forgotten the number one rule of creativity…

It lives, breathes, and cannot be tamed.

Creativity cannot be forced to work like a machine; putting together stories, songs, paintings, and sculpture like they were a car or motorcycle on a robotic assembly line. Like fire, creativity consumes; it talks, brings life in its wake and destroys everything else that came before it in your mind.

This force cannot be told how to exist. It is our responsibility as creators to learn how to co-exist or pay the price.

Today I am paying the price.

I am burned out…

P.S. For those interested, two people voted in last week’s poll…One Hundred and Nine individual visitors last week and only two people had an opinion. Experiment failed.

“To choose art means to turn one’s back on the world, or at least on certain of its distractions.” Melvin Maddocks

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Aging Writer, creative tension, Distractions, Do…or Do not. There is no try, Dreams, Finish, Knowing the difference between a distraction and an opportunity, literary success, literature, Never Give Up, Never Giving Up, Opportunity, Overcoming Obstacles, Perseverance, Planning out a novel, skill, Struggles, Struggling Writer, Success, Writing, Writing Method

I am troubled, readers.

For those that have been reading for awhile, you know that I; just like everyone else, have my doubts and struggles with confidence. Today’s conundrum, is in my opinion the complete opposite; I am not suffering from any lack of confidence in my ability, I am actually worried that my new found streak of confidence is getting in the way of my long term goals.

Back in November; when my Mac died, it put me in a strange position. Right in the middle of my push to try and get anything published anywhere, I was suddenly cut off from the lifeblood of the internet and that instantaneous sense of accomplishment that comes along with E-Submissions.

Yes…I alleviated the creative tension in my life by using my daughters netbook for writing while keeping in contact with the outside world via my mobile phone, but the concept of doing any real 2nd or 3rd draft editing died without my computer and that essentially stopped my outflow of submissions.

I’m a strange creature; having my work environment disturbed really messed with my “mojo”, so I decided then to do my best with what I had. Throwing myself headlong into the idea of this e-published short story book, I temporarily abandoned the idea of publishing each story individually until I could get back to my comfort zone.

Now back at the helm of the S.S. Frankenputer; I am being tempted by the idea of sending out my short stories again.

Contests, publishing in the ‘zines, claiming a spot in an anthology; I know the reality of actually getting your work out there in this capacity. Recognition, awards, cash prizes along with the possibility of being “discovered”; all of these are great things to strive for and are all essential parts of my end goal as a writer.

Unfortunately, right now they are distractions to me.

Nipping, yipping, snapping, slavering, annoying African Hyenas that bray and laugh as they taunt me; circling me, daring me to make a move, to come out and play so they can kill my stories, my belief in them and all the confidence I have built up in this project since I started in November.

Thoughts like; “I could really use that 70 dollars Amazon gift card,” or “Just a single good run in one of the major mags could really open the door for S.P.” (S.P. is my short story book for those just tuning in), nag at my mind. They cause me to question my path and before I know it I am going back to start editing on previous stories when I should be pushing forward with the seven stories I have left to finish the book.

So is it a question of too much or too little confidence?

If I have such confidence than the idea of sending off edited, sharp, fresh stories to publishers is the goal, right? Or…is it sticking with the plan; ignoring the possibility of short term success to stay the course and finish the book?

Or is it just a question of not really recognising a real distraction?

My heart tells me to ignore these distractions…

It reassures me that there will be time when the book is finished to share these stories with the public, but only after they have been beaten, sanded, scrubbed, and shined as a whole work. The plan since November has been to finish it, e-publish it, and then find an artist to convert it into a graphic novel; my heart calls out to my mind, “Stay the course to succeed!”

My wallet; however, screams a completely different tale…

It tells me that I owe money to just about every living human being on the planet, that I haven’t cashed a check in over a year, and my better half; despite being a slave to her job because she love it like Glenn Close loves Michael Douglas in “Fatal Attraction”, struggles every day just to make ends meet. My wallet demands a win folks and I can’t really argue with its logic.

I need a win like Boba Fett when he makes the deal for Han Solo with the Empire (before the Sarlacc Pit of course). I need a win like Tesla needed an investor in Wardenclyffe Tower. I need a win for the family, for my honor, and above all else for myself..

But do I need a win at the expense of all the hard work I have put in this winter?

This conundrum has literally stopped my forward progress but I am resolved to making a choice today.

Should I continue forward and put these distractions in the rear view; faithfully staying on course and following through with the plan, or should I go back to submitting the individual works piece meal hoping for a pay check and a lessening of my burdens of everyday life?

What would you do?

Seek and Ye Shall Recieve or “I didn’t know all I had to do was ask…”

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Dream, Dreams, Finish, Growing up with Vietnam Veteran, March of Time, middle age, Never Giving Up, Overcoming Obstacles, Perseverance, PTSD, Struggles, Struggling Writer, Surviving Life, Surviving War, Veteran, Vietnam Vets, War, Writing, X how to jab your reader to death with spectacularly snappy verse

A strange thing happened to me this weekend.

For the first time since starting this blog, I actually had a moment this weekend where I stopped and seriously thought about what content I was going to add this afternoon. It struck me like an epiphany as I sat there watching old movies on a saturday night, and I was so proud of myself for thinking ahead…

In fact, to prove my foresight, here is the direct quote from my iPhone notes on the subject (via email):

“Monday’s blog ideas:
Discuss the idea of sharp writing; example ind. jones & last crusade after nazi chooses wrong grail cup and disintegrates, the camera pans to knight, and he says simply “He chose…poorly.”

The way using short concise, almost jab like phrases and/or descriptions can make or break a work.

Examples:

Ghostbusters
“back up man…I’m a scientist…”
“Listen!..Smell something?”

As you can tell, this was well on its way to being a Pulitzer Prize winning blog about how to jab your reader to death with spectacularly snappy verse or at least that was the plan when I woke up this morning.

I got up, got the kids and Barb out of the house, turned on some BBC Scotland Radio at the recommendation of a friend and opened up a short story I have been working on all weekend. There aren’t any problems with the story, it’s first draft drivel but it fills out the page count on S.P. so I’m happy with it; I am just having minor issues with transitioning to the end.

Like most of my work, it’s kinda Twilight Zonish; weirdness in the midst of a starkly realistic universe and this time it was the starkly realistic universe part I was having trouble transitioning to. The Internet has a bounty of information to give, especially if one has the tenacity or training to “really” look for what they need; and yet I still couldn’t find the answer to my question.

So I did the unthinkable…Picking up my iPhone, I called the only person who had the information needed, my dad.

A smidge of background here will help you get to where I’m going with all this, so down the rabbit hole we go.

I don’t know how many readers out there are children of veterans; be it Vietnam, WWII, Korea, Desert Storm, or Iraq and Afghanistan; but there is one thing all of us can commiserate on and that is the difficulties of growing up with a war torn vet.

I am very lucky in the sense that now, as I enter into middle age, my father is a much different individual then he was when I was growing up in the eighties and nineties. He has gained a serious sense of dignity and reproach when dealing with the horrors of war he witnessed, not allowing it to be the center of his life while having the ability to look at it introspectively as well as retrospectively.

However, growing up in the shadow of a PTSD Vietnam vet trying to gain a toehold over the darkest part of his mind was a completely different story. There were things we just didn’t talk about, movies we didn’t watch, and times when we just knew “not to fuck with dad”. Having my parents split up kinda saved my sister from the brunt of his worst times; (not that she was spared completely, she carries her own scars), but even she has no idea what it was like to be on the front lines for all those years growing up.

One of those things we never did was sit down and actually talk to my dad about his experiences. It wasn’t because none of us wanted to know; in fact, in my case it was the complete opposite…not knowing was and is the biggest mystery in my life.

In my sixteen years of growing up under my father’s roof I had picked up glimmers; tiny fragments of stories, often when he didn’t think I was around or listening, but these did nothing except fuel that fire within me that so desperately wanted to know.

It was this separation; this unyielding brick wall, that shaped a great deal of my interests and the manner in which I learn about things forever. I have spent the majority of my life in search of knowledge military, historical, and political; I know there is no Black or White in the world because I have witnessed enough variable gradient in the actions of history to know if you dig long enough there is something out there just waiting to turn your clean Black & White universe into a mass of gray.

I delve deeply into subjects that other people might find repugnant or unsavoury just because I can; I have file folders filled with the brightest moments and darkest lows of humanity, all just waiting to be incorporated into my fictional universe somehow.

There isn’t a topic I am afraid of reading about or writing about…except for my father’s experiences in Vietnam. Even breeching the topic is uncomfortable for me, and not just because of the respect I afford him due to my belief in the idea that every man has the right to share only what he wants to share with the world.

It is because no matter what I write or how much I research, I can never know what it was like for him and in a way; a very masculine, real survivor sense, I have always believed he didn’t think I could be enough of a man to open his box of secrets even if he gave me the key.

I have read stories in the past about other fathers and sons struggling with overcoming traumatic experiences in their familial past but the one I really connected to was the graphic novel MAUS by Art Spiegelman.

I know it involves a completely different issue (survivor guilt vs combat induced PTSD) but at its core the strained relationship between Art and his father on those pages were what drew me back to its pages over and over again, searching desperately for an answer to a problem I felt we shared.

The little things his father would do because of his experiences in the Holocaust, like stockpiling food and not wasting anything, that drove Art crazy in the book reminded me of learning not to grab hold of my father while he slept because of his tendency to wake up swinging, or him teaching me to put my left boot on first because other wise it was unlucky. The time he shot me in the ass with a BB gun because I crossed into the “line of fire” to set up more cans for us to practice with will live on forever thanks to the many times my tale of “tail” has been told at family reunions.

Life shapes each and every one of us, and not always in the ways we would like it to. We must learn to adapt, to evolve and for those of us who have these special people in our lives we must learn to live with their dark shadows in our world. Art’s story is just as telling as his father’s; his mother’s suicide, dealing with the magnitude of the world of evil his parents had to learn to survive in, how it shaped the man he was to become and the art that gave him the ability to express it.

Over my lifetime I have come to accept the realities of dealing with my father and his shadowy world that shaped not just his life but mine as well. However, I don’t want you to think I haven’t tried to bring it out into the light.

I assure you that despite my father’s insistence on keeping the details of this part of his life his own, I have on many occasions floated the idea of writing his experiences just so others could have the benefit of learning from it. On all such occasions I have received a resounding “No Thank You”; which in Dutch speak generally includes several colourful obscenities.

He doesn’t want to share those experiences with the world and I don’t blame him…but he and I are completely different creatures.

My whole life is based around the idea of expressing myself, generally in a manner that entertains as well as enlightens. His life shaped mine, so there will always be this little olive drab box in the back of my mind with “Vietnam” printed on it in big block military stencil waiting to escape out on to the page.

Back in real time; as his ring tone of Toby Keith’s “How do you like me now?” blared over my iPhone’s speaker phone, I sat there waiting in nervous apprehension for him to answer but smiling just a little. It’s funny the little things he does to give the world the bird; this song was his way of telling the whole world exactly what he thought of it before picking up with a cordial “What you doin’ Bones?” in his gravely Texas baritone.

Restively making small talk, joking about how I caught him with his check book in front of him doing the bills and should I call him back so he didn’t accidentally bankrupt himself; I slowly built up my courage to ask him the questions I needed answered for my short story.

I stuttered and stammered before finally getting around to asking my question when a miracle happened. For an hour today he picked up the box, unlocked it, and answered everyone of my questions; even adding in stuff along the way I never asked but always wondered about.

I don’t know what made today different then any other day for him, I just know that it was. For the first time in my life, that wall that hid a large part of what shaped my dad as a young man cracked just a little and I am very grateful.

I will never get the whole story out of him… I’m certain if you asked Art Spiegelman does he think he got the entire story out of his father, his answer would be “Hell no!” There are always going to be things, dark desperate moments in the lives of some people, that they will never share with another soul.

The key is being happy with the parts of the tale you do get.

“Have I Been Here Before?” or Meeting Yourself Halfway…

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Adrianne Curry, Aging Writer, Believe, Do…or Do not. There is no try, Dream, Dreams, Fans, literary success, Never Give Up, Never Giving Up, Overcoming Obstacles, Perseverance, Read As A Writer Write Like A Reader, Rejection, skill, Stephen King, Struggles, Struggling Writer, Success, Talent, Writing, Writing Method, Yoda

So how did last week go for you? Did you sit down with your inner Jedi and have a little discussion about productivity and positivity? Did that trickle of consciousness turn into a river, burying you in a mound of first draft pages, and a clue to where your end goal actually resides?

If you scored some success with the five pages a day plan than “Hurrah!” for you, I am so feeling your energy and excitement. If not…go back to the Yoda video, figure out the difference between trying and doing, then start over. You have it in you; you know it, I know it…Hell your cat and dog know it from the amount of time you have spent bitching about it for years.

Never give up hope, get back to work, and put out your five today. Any work will begat better work; a short story you finish and hate this week might end up a big fat ruby in your treasure pouch come summer.

Finish it, put it away, and then come back later.

If there was one valuable thing I learned in college it was “finish it, put it away, and then come back later.” I don’t have a lot of positive things to say about my college experience; I waited too long to go back and missed out on all the positive social aspects of collegiate life. I did, however manage to meet two people that made a massive difference in my life as a writer and surprise, surprise…they were both English professors.

My initial experience with academia was not a success. A grizzled old man; who just happened to be the most respected member of the English department at the University of Cincinnati, Herr Professor made up his mind about my skills as a writer within the first two weeks. So convinced of his own opinion on my ability, he went so far as to pull me out of the class and away from the other students to politely let me know there was no chance in the world that I would ever be a real writer.

In his words, “It was time for me to start seeking out a new profession.”

This devastated me and to be completely honest was the main reason why I dropped out of college in 1996. What was the point of going through the motions trying to get a degree in a field that I had no capability to succeed in?

Then a strange thing happened…

Yes, I walked away from academia. Yes, I walked away from my dreams. Life was all I concerned myself; the working, partying, and general monotony of making it though every day filled the majority of my waking hours. To my surprise, despite being humiliated in front of my peers, despite having all my confidence ground under the boot heels of authority…I couldn’t put down the pen.

I still needed to tell stories.

Over the next decade I finished a novel (which was terrible but I still finished it!), and began to love the creative process again. By the time I made it back to college the second time, I had no illusions about what I was in for. I wasn’t there for old men to judge me for my dreams, I was there to get that piece of paper that could get me a job that might afford my family the time and finances we needed to be comfortable while writing. Didn’t quite work out the way I wanted it to, but that’s life right?

What I did find in those tiny classrooms was the man who would open the gates to my confidence reborn. I had finished all my required course load, including almost every class you could take in history, before facing off with the dreaded English classes. I literally broke out into a cold sweat and could feel the bile rising in my throat waiting for class to begin when the professor walked in.

He was a tall lanky guy with no pretensions and a splash of silvering blond hair, the very vision of a journeyman english teacher who worked wherever he could get the gig. He slung his beat up leather messenger satchel on the desk before taking a seat on its edge, engaging all of us with his sharp graying eyes and piercing stare.

As a writer I have had very few mentors. A million influences and muses have come & gone in my creative life but real mentors are rare. This man would become the most influential; this “ordinary” guy with his witty personality and straight from the cuff style brutal honesty would help me pick up the pieces of my shattered confidence and turn me around as a writer.

If it was crap, he told you; just like if it was a home run, he would give you respect. Most importantly, over the course of the next year he taught us the tools we needed to objectively create and edit, to give our work a break on the creative front, and made the concept of believing in ourselves a priority.

One theme he expounded on at least once a week was that most struggling writers make the same mistake, we do not look at our own work with objectivity.

This is why it is so important to put it away and come back to it.

Putting away your story after finishing the first draft in order to concentrate on something else before editing is like clearing ones palate. All the irritating plot holes, character flaws, and tongue tripping run on sentences are replaced with new problems, creative crises, and fantasy waiting to happen.

Once you have successfully moved on to the next project and enough time has passed (I have to wait at least a week before going back and looking at a first draft) then the hard part begins. The key to a great first draft edit is to “Read like a writer and then write like a reader”.

You have to separate yourself from the work after you finish and read your own work like someone else wrote it. If it bores you when you read through it or you trip over it in your mind, then you have identified things that need to be worked on.

There cannot be any feeling in this process; remember this is not your work anymore, you are the reader. It doesn’t matter that you spent two days trying to create this really snappy intro for a secondary character you think is the heart of the story. If your brain can’t wrap itself around what you wrote during that initial read through then its gotta go back to the forge and hammer.

Once you have identified the problems, let the reader in you solve those problem. It’s in there…You have read enough great stories, watched enough brilliant television & movies and played enough games to know what you want in a good tale. What you expect as a reader is exactly what your neighbor, buddy at work, and random cab driver in Savannah, Georgia wants.

Whoever buys your book and/or story has probably exposed themselves to the same stuff you have been reading and watching for years; they know the ending to IT by Stephen King sucked and got the goose pimple shivers the first time through Event Horizon, so trust your gut on the re-write.

You can smooth it out and make it come together but only as long as you are honest with yourself as a reader as well as a writer.

Personal Moment of Accomplishment Last Week: While working on S.P. I put together a working Table of Contents and was greeted by the warmest feeling of accomplishment. It almost looks like a real book!

Writing Plans or “I Really Don’t Know How to Read A Map”

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Believe, blogging, Do…or Do not. There is no try, Dream, Finish, Geek and Sundry, Learning, literary success, Never Give Up, Planning out a novel, Struggling Writer, Success, Sword and Laser, Talent, Writing, Writing Method, Yoda

So after many months; thanks to my significant other, I have managed to scrap together a functional desktop computer out of a miscellaneous pile of techno-trash. With manufacturing dates as far back as 1996 I had my doubts but this Shelley-like monstrosity fired right up with a little help from the good folks at linux and Ta-daa! “We are back on the air!”

Yay! No more struggling with child sized devices to confess my sins and genius with my colleagues out there in the world; my giganto hands are once again free to run gazelle-like across the savanna of a real keyboard. On the downside, I do have to rebuild stuff again but right now none of that matters because a back-up thumb drive with my work has already been downloaded on to the new system and that puts a smile on my face.

So I was thinking about creative methodology this week, in particular how some writers can plan out their work years in advance and other writers (like myself) have no idea what is going to come out until the words actually hit the page.

While watching Sword & Laser on the Geek and Sundry channel via Youtube; which I highly recommend you take a look at if you aren’t in the know already, and was fortunate to catch an interview with author Scott Sigler concerning his new book “Nocturnal“, his creative methods, and his future as a writer.

Great interview right? What blows me away is when Mr. Sigler talks about multiple books down the road, and how he has already planned out weaving characters that are secondary elements in his current work into upcoming work. This thinking is so beyond me.

When I sit down, it is literally like turning on a movie in my head I have never seen while my hands try to be quick enough to capture all these images before they disappear forever. The concept of stringing out a world like glittering christmas lights on the floor before even starting to work on it is an absolutely alien concept in my mind. How does one plan out a wildfire?

More importantly how does one learn this skill? Was this something Mr. Sigler learned from a teacher or professor at some point in his past or is it just a fundamental part of his nature as a writer? Can one learn how to plan out five novels in advance without getting so caught up in the nuance of world building that one loses track of the ultimate goal, writing a finished work?

A couple weeks back I read an article by a hugo nominated Sci/fi writer (I cannot remember his name for the life of me or there would be a link here) who talked about his writing mechanics and I found it interesting the way he loosely managed his schedule around the concept of putting out five pages of work a day. Regardless of length of time, everyday without fail this man puts out five pages on something he is working on.

So I decided last thursday; after finding one of the stories I wanted to work on was lost in format hell, to put his method to the test. With the exception of sunday (which was especially busy because of Frankenputer at the same time as my daughter being lovably crazy), I managed to produce five pages a day on thursday, friday, and saturday!

The hardest part is getting the engine started instead of just waiting for the mood to overtake me but after a little while the keys clacked away all the same. As of this morning, a story that was completely lost has been reborn in first draft mode almost completely finished. It worked…the process worked and an old dog learned a new trick, so if I can do it so can you!

Just do it! Find a comfortable place with your laptop or sit down at your desk and go Yoda on yourself. Remember, “Do…or Do not. There is no try.”

Breathe Fire Like A Dragon Before The Inevitable Happens

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Aging Writer, Believe, Dreams, Finish, impending doom, KickStarter, literary success, literature, March of Time, middle age, Never Giving Up, Overcoming Obstacles, Perseverance, Publishing, Struggling Writer, Success, Talent, Writing

I don’t sleep really well.

I know I have mentioned this in the past but the longer it goes on, the more of a concern it becomes to me. It affects everything that happens in my world because unfortunately I am one of those people whose whole day is shaped by how I feel in the mornings.

After a night of repeatedly waking up and falling back to sleep as my body tries to dissolve itself from the inside out, getting my mind right and in a positive state is an absolute chore. After a couple of hours the residual pain melts away; soothed by silence, writing, and slowly replaced by the general aches and pains of everyday middle age, my mind clears but the mental stain of exhaustion lingers.

It is these small signs of impending doom, sharp stabbing pains that breach the wall between the invincibility of youth and ones own delicate mortality that drive me. ”How much longer do I have to beat the odds?” or “How many more productive years will I get?” have started to replace thoughts like “Many writers don’t gain real literary success until their thirties…” or “I’ve got a novel in there somewhere, I just need a little more time to figure it out” in my mind.

If you have had some success; either online publishing or with a physical publishing house, then you have a completely different set of problems. That terrifying pressure of never finishing anything of worth, or seeing the project all the way through to the end has been banished from your life, only to be replaced with a new and fearsome adversary: Following up on your success…

Oh how I dream of that moment…I do not, however, deny it has its own unique set of troubles and tribulations. I am not at that point yet and try to only write about what I know, so we will have to leave that conversation for a later date.

On a brighter note, I have noticed that the influx of visitors to this site is slowly changing. More readers are making here it because of phrases like “Struggling Writer” than some random picture I used to illustrate a post six months back and that makes me happy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad that anyone can find a reason to come here; that’s why I go looking for the pictures that I put on the blog, but it is far more gratifying to know that other writers can see they are not alone.

That having been said; I read every comment, email, twitter, and facebook post. So if you need a place to get it out, let it roll brothers and sisters. I will do whatever I can to help, even if all you need is someone to hear your voice and see your words. : D

Future plans: I have been thinking about the blog a lot and I think it needs a little more love and affection. So I’m going to try to post a little more often from now on. Right now I have my mind set on posting Monday mornings, I will do my best and see how it goes.

The Short Story Book: S.P. is still in first draft mode. Having a real difficult time finishing out the stories because in my mind the individual voices of each character seem to melt together into one voice when I work on too many things at one time. Am hoping this is just a writer thing and when someone actually sits down to read the book each individual rings true.

Caught something a couple weeks back on the TOR newsletter about a prolific short story writer (wish I could remember his name) who only gives himself a week to complete each story he works on in first draft. By writing everyday at the exact same time of day and a setting a reasonable word count, he manages to finish some really great work. I Think I’m gonna try it now that spring break is over and my daughter is back in classes.

Am in a small panic about recovering the original cover art off my dead computer. It took me quite a bit of time to actually create it, looks awesome, and really don’t want to lose it.

Comic Book Project: Still on hold, don’t have the guts to start a KickStarter project around it. Don’t know if it’s the fear of rejection or acceptance that keeps me from pushing forward.

Into another week we go dear friends…What will you do?

Will this be your time to shine?

Can you defeat your dragon and ride?

We can always hope…right?

Misery Loves Company or Rejection Sucks

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Believe, Finish, Perseverance, Publishing, Rejection, Rejection Letters, Struggling Writer, Success

Two posts! Back to Back! Something must be wrong. Did he finally get published and like Caesar returning to Rome as a conquerer, is this his victory march?

Nope. Just got to thinking about something I wrote last night, which got me to thinking about my own behavior, and BAM! before I knew it I was flying down a rabbit hole of introspection.

Before delving into the darkness, let me ask you a question first.

Be honest because nobody is actually in your head while reading this…How many times have you actually gone through all the motions of getting published? Seriously.

Not just sit in the chair, pound the keyboard, rewrite, rewrite, and rewrite some more. The polish/scrub and out the door is what I’m talking about. Licking the envelopes, affixing the stamps and wave goodbye moment.

I know a lot of writers that talk constantly about how they are working. I also know that generally when asked who they have sent stuff out to their faces goes blank and some terrible story about query letters, agents as well as the indignity of the modern publishing houses come spilling out.

I am never surprised by this reaction. Writers are solitary creatures by nature, so the concept of having to be judged by some faceless entity just to make a living at something so ingrained in one’s being is a living hell.

Let no one tell you different, rejections have killed more writers than natural causes, alcoholism, drugs, insanity, suicide, depression, murder, and Philly cheese steaks combined.

I know writers that work all their lives but die as seamstresses, accountants, insurance salesmen, pharmacists and police officers. Hidden in their desks, beat up old file cabinets, and computers are a treasure trove of fantasy worlds, wrenching crime dramas, and history books that rival anything on a collegiate syllabus.

For some, this is an acceptable life. They paid their bills, took care of their families, and with the time left over accomplished something that was a personal milestone. If you are reading this, I have to imagine that you are interested in actually publishing your work and so this future is not a palatable option for you.

Bearing this in mind, I know for a fact just by looking over the stats on this blog, that those people that do manage to make it here on purpose look at the category “Rejected” more than any other. This says to me, “Tell us how you deal with rejection?”

Honestly…I don’t.

This is why I am not successful. After writing so passionately about unstoppable drive and will, I stood there in my sea foam green shower last night thinking and realized I don’t have any. With the exception of last year, I haven’t really followed through and the reason for that…fear.

I talk a big game about how hard I am working and do produce written material but that’s not the whole job and I know it. Do you know how many times in my life I have actually been rejected over my creative endeavors?

Taking out the TOR incident with my terrible first novel, (which was really a friend of friend kinda thing and in reality my manuscript would have never gotten on that poor editors desk without it) as well as the City Pages incident (which was more a rejection of me as a person not as an artist because they never really gave me a chance to do what I do best), the count is actually seven times.

Every other opportunity I have been given to write; be it the community or collegiate paper, Blogcritics…whatever, I have knocked it out of the park. But those opportunities have been few and far between so like everyone else out there I have hidden behind my bravado and words, never allowing myself to be tested by the true slings and arrows of rejection.

I have avoided that moment where the hundred and thousands of rejections talked about by the good and greats in the industry flow through my inbox like a raging torrent. Rejection on that level is more frightening in my mind than the thought of Cujo + me trapped in a tiny room.

You know you feel it too…That unbearable ick you get every time you get close to finishing a piece or if you actually get the guts up to send it off. It can manifest itself as subtly as continually polishing a query letter or out right panic attacks freezing you physically in place.

What we need to do as writers is banish this fear from our lives. We must stop seeing the process as feeding ourselves to some uncaring machine.

There is only one path to success in this industry, perseverance. We live in a time where digital communication has opened up the world for any writer with talent. Bands are recording whole albums with the help of iPads, movies are being made at a fraction of the budget Hollywood has convinced us has to be spent, and writers are in a better position than ever to escape from the oppressive system that has kept so many from ever coming close to achieving their dreams. Don’t believe me, ask Felicia Day and the folks at Geek and Sundry on YouTube.

Banishing the fear, take away its power, and realize our own. Let’s try to achieve these goals together this year by facing that fear in any way you can imagine. Blog, novel, short stories, script, movie, self-publishing, YouTube, Tumblr, Instamatic, Twitter, Facebook…Just find a way.

“Winter is Here!” or Damn, How is That Guy So Damn Good…

Tags

Game of Thrones, Never Giving Up, skill, Stephen King, Struggling Writer, Talent, top of the mountain

March is gone and I did not post once in the month of my birth. The weather here in Minnesota was so nice that I just couldn’t wrap my head around sitting down and tapping out the blog on my iPhone. That action has become to me something akin to morse code, as the keyboard of my “smartphone” and my giganto Oscar Meyer hot dog fingers produce a mish-mash language that I have to translate three times before I publish it.

Generally my birthday month is not a time I look forward to for the obvious reasons; weather, aging, my approaching mortality, being stuck in my house for a week over spring break with my tween daughter who believes the response to every situation is either one of absolute disgust and exasperation or inappropriately timed, rapid fire, machine gun like conversation that moves faster than the Millennium Falcon on Kessel Run.

So the fact that I skipped out entirely on my blog in March doesn’t surprise me at all but I still apologize for those that came here last month looking for whatever people who end up here are looking for.

With that out of the way, on to the topic of the month: the return of Game of Thrones on HBO.

This is not a blog dedicated to talking about, theorizing or analyzing the writings of George R.R.Martin; so do not fear the fanboy in me coming out for just a moment. I have had a couple of experiences recently that reminded me in no uncertain terms why I wanted to become a writer in the first place and Game of Thrones is one of them.

George R.R. Martin’s grasp on his universe and the method in which the producers at HBO have translated it on screen is a magnificent accomplishment. One of those true moments in which the mediums of writing and film making align themselves like a celestial event, producing the most exquisite of light shows. Unlike the majority of great fantasy epics, (The Tamuli by David Eddings & The Dragonlance Saga by Weis and Hickman just to name two) that will never get the chance to make a real impact on the world; Martin and HBO has given Game of Thrones the opportunity that only Tolkien has managed to achieve in our time. All this is due to the strength of Martin’s creative world building and dedication to his craft.

The other Dickensian like spirit that came to visit me was Stephen King’s 11/22/63.

I know…He’s the king of mass produced fiction, the juggernaut of modern writing and because of his lasting success am I supposed to dislike him? There is a reason why Master King has sold millions of copies of his works worldwide.

Simply put…it’s the work. We may not always agree as readers on whether Stephen King has stretched his creative genius a little thin at times but his ability to build memorable worlds along with his capability for ultra-realistic character creation is truly unparalleled in the industry.

Haters are gonna hate. People attack the top of the mountain. That is a fact of life but it does not take away from the reality of the situation. Stephen King is a master at his craft because he has over forty years of dedication to his craft. Just like Harlan Elllison, J.K. Rowlings, Dean Koontz, Stephanie Meyer, Anne Rice and all the other names you traditionally see at the top of the sales list.

Yeah, now they got the advantages of agents and publishing houses that take over the market like an invading army but they got there with hard work. There was a time when they dreamed of the same things you and I do struggling writers, the difference between us and those at the top is simple.

An unstoppable will and drive for completion. Never give up because “Winter is coming” and the question really is, do you want to stand at the top of the mountain when your time comes or are satisfied with the view from the bottom?

The Times They Are A Changing or Them Cards Be Burning

Tags

Dreams, Overcoming Obstacles, Struggles, Struggling Writer, Writing

I can’t tell you how many nights I spent sitting around an old table when I was a kid getting high while risking the nights tips on bad hand after bad hand of nickel, dime, quarter poker. Looking back on it now, those nights best describe my twenties and most of my thirties…Bang or bust, you rode the ride just to see where you would end up.
Inevitably, much like in real life, it soon became obvious when somebody was on a bad run as they dug into their folding money just to stay at the table. That would start the catcalls of “Them cards…oh yeah they be burnin’!”; digging at the financial wounds of the night with a little emotional salt just for the fun of it.
There was never a rhyme or reason behind the rejection, the cards would just keep staring back at you as your hard earned cash would wash away in a silvery tide; no apologizes coming from their static stoic faces. There was also no guarantee that the cards would burn forever…
But at the time it sure feels like it.
In my opinion that is what living is like till one becomes aware of the cyclical nature of life…
Everything seems personal, every bump and jolt on the roller-coaster of living is an affront. To this day, I still fall victim to the idea that the world has it out for me in my weaker moments.
But the reality of the world is that it’s not personal, it’s cyclical. There are an infinite number of factors playing upon everyone’s lives yet somehow patterns form, everything old becomes new again and the wonder of life blooms fresh its beautiful bouquet of opportunities before withering again.
The key is recognizing the change of cycles and putting one’s self in the right position to take advantage of the change. This is not something I have always had a talent for.
Age, however, has bequeathed to me the gift of at least recognizing when tides have begun to shift or storms are on the horizon and I am fascinated by the cycles now that I have started to notice them.
My son wandering around in the very beginnings of his life (he’s 20); not quite aware of the power he has on the world, reluctant to reach out and embrace it.
My daughter; barely ten, still a little girl but becoming a young woman with every tentative step into a great big world of endless confusing possibilities.
Childhood idols fall to the scythe of time, age, and health while new influences take their shadowy place in my already over crowded mind.

Funny how in a year universally recognized as the physical as well as meta-physical embodiment of change, I; the dark brooding piscean, is suddenly so touched by the concept of change. Am I driven by some silent hidden animalistic urge, reacting to a sub-conscious threat to my own existence?
Have I reached a point in my life where the very idea of “possibility” is the only hope brightening an otherwise somewhat bleak outlook?
Hell…Who am I kidding? I am just getting old.
Update on the writing front:
Still no computer (five months and counting, if you are counting), but my idea for a short story book to publish online is really coming together. It is a little piecemeal on my notes app for the iPhone but it is really shaping up into a solid work.
Nine short stories so far; most in the working first draft stage but a few of them shined and polished. I figure at around twenty five to thirty pages per story, S.P.; as I am calling it now, should have a pretty healthy page count when finally finished.
As far as the zombie animation movie…well that is a dream perhaps reserved for a later date. I have been thinking that I should aim a little lower, perhaps a Kickstarter project to fund a graphic novel version of S.P.
(If there is a struggling artist out there looking to make their mark, get in touch. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure out how to get you paid and me published at the same time!)
I really hope my new found faith in the internet, social media, and all the success that is to be found within pans out. I know there is weeks and months of hard work ahead fraught with challenges I have yet to imagine but I believe something is about to change.
Them cards, they sure have been a burnin’ but I believe in an ace on the river.

CAROUSEL!

So January has come and gone…good riddance.
I’ll admit, for Minnesota, this has been a rather uneventful winter so far. However, regardless of recent events, I will never underestimate the ability of this place to become physically painful with little or no notice.
Winters here are never easy.
Now, I know you are thinking, “You are a writer, that should be perfect. Where else does the world itself force you to sit down and work because the alternative is far too unpleasant to think about?”
Ordinarily you would be correct.
In the six years I have lived here, (damn has it really been six years?); even when employed, this is always my most productive time of the year creatively. Winter induced depression + me + Minnesota = many dead, disturbed, and/or tortured sci/fi characters.
Unfortunately I am knee deep into month three without a working computer and as a result hundreds of fictional souls roam free of their fates.
This does not make me happy…
Working on paper almost feels alien after years of retraining myself to work on a computer, (yes I am old enough to remember the good ol’ days when a #2 pencil and a yellow legal pad was the creative media of the day) and creating via iPhone is almost unbearable.
Beyond just the ordinary cabin fever associated with living here, I now feel stifled creatively and all that energy I should be using to write is building to critical mass. So letting imagination take flight from this prison of boredom, I find my mind lingering on Logan’s Run, and living beneath the great dome.
Imagine it…Every pleasure in life available to you, and the only price to pay for this luxury is to voluntarily take a leap of faith on your thirtieth birthday.
My question is; if you lived beneath the dome, could the act of surrendering to the electric sparkling weightless trial of Carousel be a relief from a lifetime of routine and monotony?
I think the mindless repetitive nature of a life with seemingly no boundaries could easily become the same kind of hell depicted in the classic Twilight Zone episode “A Nice Place To Visit”.

You know the story; wiseguy bites it in a heist only to wakes up in world of unlimited dames, luck, and luxury. Heaven right? Or is always getting what you want as much a Hell as not getting what you need at all?
Don’t you think old Rocky there would have volunteered for the chance at freedom through change even if his death could be a consequence?
Hell yes he would!
I’ve got a decent life. Not easy, not filled with luxury but I have no real wants thanks in no small part to my partner. But at this point, I would gladly ride the lightning of Carousel if there was a chance of a Mac being found at the other end.

I need the glowing love of my electronic companion; to tap away lovingly at the keyboard as I fill up ream after ream of digital pages in my desperate bid to escape from anonymity.
A computer is my Carousel, a fresh start on the horizon every day. Lives hang in the balance, worlds are born and die as adventurers suffer the passions of their obsessions but no one will ever know.
The longer I go without it, the farther away from myself I actually feel.
Being poor and unemployed sucks…