Tuesday Morning Ramblings


This is my opinion and nothing more.  I don’t typically write advice to other writers or aspiring writers because it feels too pretentious on my part.  Also, the world is already full of authorities who spend the majority of their time and energy telling others how to write, but this particular topic is rather important to me, so here goes:

Writing at its essence is a solitary endeavor, one of the most intimately solitary activities a person can do.  If you need applause and cheers to motivate you to create, you should be a musician or a stage actor, not a writer.  Live performers have live audiences.  Writers spend the vast majority of their creative time alone staring at a computer screen or notepad, allowing ideas to flow through them onto their medium, with virtually no feedback from anyone until after the project is complete.  This solitude can lasts weeks, sometimes even months or years, before an author gets feedback on their project, and usually that first round of feedback is from an editor or first reader who points out most of your mistakes.  It can take literally years before your work reaches its intended audience, if it ever does.

If you need instant gratification, prose writing is not the creative endeavor for you.

That’s not meant to be harsh or put anyone off from attempting to write.  However, it’s a basic reality all serious writers must accept.  You will create alone in a vacuum with no promise of your work ever being read by the people you want to reach.  If that seems too daunting, do something else with your time and save yourself a lifetime of frustration.  Writing is not a glamorous profession.  It’s not hip or cool or sexy.  It’s damned hard work that requires a level of commitment and personal sacrifice that can crack the souls of even the most ambitious and talented who attempt it.

I’m a writer.  At the core of my soul, that’s who I am.  For twenty-two years, I’ve dedicated my life to learning my craft, honing my skills, practicing, failing, getting up, failing again, trying harder, failing again, absorbing criticism, learning, growing, failing even more, and scratching out a meager existence.  A smarter person would’ve given up years ago, but my Scots-Irish obstinate nature won’t allow me to quit.  I’m proud of each and every small victory of my career, but those are not what motivate me to write.  I do it because I must, because the story and the characters demand to be shared.

As I wrote book four this summer, I posted updates each night on Facebook and Twitter to let my friends and readers know how the book was coming.  I did this not because I needed their “likes” and words of encouragement but because, after the years of delays that plagued books two and three, I wanted to assure them that I was working as hard as I could to make certain book four was completed on time.  While their feedback was appreciated, it wasn’t needed for motivation.  The only sustainable motivation is that which comes from within.  External motivators are temporary bandages that can never bolster long-term success.

All that said, if you want to write and need writers’ groups or NaNoWriMo or any other social network to prop up your self-esteem to get you through the draft, then, by all means, use whatever helps you.  If you need to dream of instant riches and overnight arrival to keep you focused, then dream of those things.  You may be that one-in-a-million who gets lucky and has sudden success, but in my experience and after a lifetime of studying the careers of other writers, I know the odds say you will be disappointed.  As for me, I’ll write because I have to.  I’ll follow my personal process for self-discipline.  I’ll edit and spit and polish until I’m tired of looking at the words.  And then, I’ll do it one more time just for good measure.  After I’m happy with the manuscript, I’ll send my baby out into the world to be enjoyed, criticized, praised, ripped apart, lauded, and laughed at.  I will do all of this with no expectations of monetary reward or literary awards or delusions of immortality.  I’ll do it simply because it’s who I am.  I’ll do it because I’m a writer.

Monday Night Ramblings


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our country, the economy, the lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming election, democracy, homosexuality, Chik-Fil-A, and all the crap we as Americans deal with on a daily basis.  First and foremost, let me say that this post is not intended to be inflammatory or sensational, so if you get offended, you probably need to grow a thicker skin because I’m not intending to be offensive.

We live in crazy times, an era defined by rampant intolerance.  That intolerance is not restricted to one political party as some would have you believe.  It comes from both sides.  Look at the recent uproar over a fast-food chicken restaurant.  One side wants the company put out of business, while the other created traffic jams to get their unhealthy glob of grease.  It was sheer insanity, a classic example of irrational hate mongering by both extremes.  In America, if you truly want to be free, you have to drop this us versus them mentality.  If you don’t like a company’s policies, simply don’t do business with them.  Soberly and politely encourage your friends who share your values to do the same.  But don’t try to infringe upon that person’s rights to think and believe as they see fit.  That’s not democracy; that’s called fascism.

On the other hand, if you think you’re ordained with an inherent right to dictate to others what is right or wrong because you think your invisible man in the sky told you to, you need to back up.  In this country, we have the right to believe or not believe as we see fit, and you don’t have the right to shove your religion down anyone else’s throat.  You can believe in your guilt-god all you want.  That’s your right.  The moment you start telling me how to live my life based on your beliefs, we’ve got a problem.  I don’t believe it and refuse to live my life based on ancient books written by barbaric peoples and rewritten by feudal kings to control peasants.  Fortunately, based on our Constitution, we each have the right to our individual beliefs.

Our economy is about to collapse.  I really believe that.  We’re too out of balance, and the wealthy are too convinced of their divine right to more for anyone to fix it.  The only way to fix our economy is to fix wages and get more people earning a livable wage.  Everything else is just a photo op.  Until the average worker can once again own homes and save for retirement and afford healthcare, our economy will continue to spiral out of control.  By the end of this year, many of us will be facing hard choices between buying a tank of gas or buying enough food for the week.  That’s not a sustainable economic reality, and it’s about to come crashing down.

This coming election is the biggest farce I’ve ever seen, laughable if not so tragic.  If those two men are the best we can do for the leader of the free world, then we’re already too far gone to save.  Politics has become theater of the grotesque, and I’m done being part of it.  Until we remove money and lobbyists from controlling elections and policy, we have no hope of a government that serves the people.  All we have is a circus sideshow, going through the motions of pretending to govern, closer to a Banana Republic than a functioning democratic republic.

All I can control is my own life.  I will continue to write my books and try to grow my own food and prepare for the New Dark Ages as best I can.  I won’t worry about whatever is coming because I can’t control it.  I won’t worry about who others choose to love because that’s none of my business.  I won’t boycott or support a fast-food joint out of irrational rage at “them.”  I’m simply going to live.  I’m going to work on forgiving those who’ve wronged me and bettering myself as a man.  That’s all I can do.  The rest is just a theater of mass distraction to keep the peasants bickering amongst themselves, while the plunderers finish emptying the coffers.

Thursday Afternoon Ramblings


I’ve reached a point with this manuscript where I feel like the story is either coming together perfectly or splintering into something incoherent.  I can’t tell which right now.  Up to this point, I’ve felt pretty good with the focus and direction of the plot points, but right now, as everything compresses together for the climax, it feels unruly, and for the first time in my writing career, I feel like I’ve painted myself into a corner without being certain how to paint myself back out.  Part of that is because of the twist that occurred around chapter nine, one which I kind of anticipated but wasn’t certain would happen.  Once it happened, it has taken on a life of its own and completely changed the ending of this book from what I had envisioned.  From experience, I know that can actually be a good development, but I also know that if I lose control of the natural flow, the ending could disintegrate on me.

It’s a delicate balance between allowing the story to develop naturally and steering it in the proper direction.  On the one hand, I feel like this twist has been pretty powerful and will change the entire complexion of Roskin as the protagonist.  On the other, I don’t want to force the climax to happen in a way that seems contrived.  The biggest obstacle I’ve encountered is making the time of the various plot points come together precisely without relying on some cheap trick to have it work.  Over the next few nights, I have to figure out how to blend it all together or risk losing the tension that’s coming to a head.

This is one half the exhilaration of writing and one half the madness of it.  I love when these surprises happen, and I know my best course of action as a writer is to get out of the way and let the story tell itself.  However, for four books, I’ve been juggling various plot threads to bring them together at this moment, and now that I’m there, it feels as if the threads are unraveling on me.  These next two and a half chapters will determine what quality of writer I am.  If I can make this work, I feel like this will a very good book.  If I can’t, the whole series could implode on me.  And I only have a week and a half before the semester begins.

No pressure.