The Relief of Submission

So I finally submitted my first novel to a literary agent. I've been putting it off for nearly a year, going back and forth about how good I thought the book was. I should have done this a year ago. I haven't heard back yet, and that's not that point. I'm prepared for rejection. I've had it before. I'll have it again. It's just the complete and utter release of tension of having one less bit of drama in my head.

Of course it's not like the release of tension that comes from, lets say, sitting in a hot tub. This is more like the relief you get when your irritable bowel switches from constipation to diarrhea. The relief that just keeps coming till you are left as an empty shell.

OK, I lied. If it gets rejected I will cry. But I'll get over it and submit again.

What I'm Reading: IT WAS GONNA BE LIKE PARIS by Emily Listfield

There is nothing surprising in the story of this book. What is surprising is that this novel is written as a sort of free-form journal and that the format enhances the story rather than detracts from it. I've read several novels written in journal form, both structured and unstructured, and liked very few of them. For the ones I didn't like it seemed to me that the story had been forced into the format like a pair of uncomfortably small shoes. In the good ones, like Ms. Listfield's, the story seems to be organic to the format, in this case reinforced by the lack of quotation marks.

Throughout the book we maintain the impression that this isn't a book that was “written” but was jotted down over a period of time. However, when reflecting back you see the well-plotted story structure. Three acts. Character development. The whole deal.

I enjoyed reading this book very much. The story wasn't great, but they way it was presented was.

IT WAS GONNA BE LIKE PARIS
Emily Listfield
Published: 1984
Cost: $1
Bought at: SF Public Library big book sale

The Perfect First Draft

Have you ever finished a first draft and upon rereading it you say to yourself, "Yes, that's exactly what I wanted it to be." Me neither, till last night. I'm not saying it's finished by any means. Typos and unwieldy sentences abound, but the story turned out exactly the way I wanted it. I even reread it just before I posted this to make sure I wasn't in some delusional state last night. I still like it.

Of course, today's chapter remains unfinished. I just can't get it quite right. Ah well, back to work.

THE SAX HEALER eBook

My book of short stories, THE SAX HEALER, is no available for Kindle for a mere $1.95.

Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. Tell random people on the street.

Why writers won't give you constructive criticism

Because they like you, and do not want to make you cry. Oh yes, they will make you cry. If they are as honest as you need them to be, they will, sooner or later, make you cry. That's a lot to ask of someone you hardly e-know.

You can ask my wife. When I'm into a story or novel she is forced to read my first drafts. I have come to know the look all too well, the drooped barely-making-contact eyes. She knows what she is about to tell me will make me cry. What I thought to be my latest and greatest gift to the literary world is actually incomprehensible drek. She knows it, and now I know it. She apologizes and tries to make me feel better. The horrid, "It's not all bad" speech.

Of course, an hour later, I'm over it. She was right. I figure out how to fix it. She reads it and likes it. I know she really likes it because I know she'd tell me if she doesn't. Having an honest reader is the greatest help to a writer, and I wouldn't wish that task on my worst enemy.

So does this mean, when you get no comments to your posted story, that your writing is bad? No, not at all. Even if we like your story, we fear what might come next. If we give you some insightful comment, you might remember us and send us your next piece of writing, and then we might have to make you cry.

Hope for Degeeking

I admit it. I'm a geek. Specifically, I'm an information geek. I am driven to know and understand as much as possible. Every topic gets dissected and deconstructed to the point where it no longer has any meaning as whole, but is merely the sum of its easily-understood parts.

But this is not how writing works. The story, if written well enough, is more than the sum of its parts. There are hidden, even unknown, meanings and feelings. There are often unexpected emotional responses. All this is very scary to someone like me who needs everything to be ordered and predictable.

But there is hope. I was watching TV yesterday and saw something that I did not understand and, for the first time ever, had no desire to understand. It was the first round of Winter Olympics Curling.  

OK, the rules are simple enough. The strategies aren't beyond my grasp. What I don't get is why anyone would even do this, and then, having done it, care to do it again, and further, create an Olympic sport out of it. It was at the point of having this thought that I realized that my opinion was based on ignorance. It became obvious to me that there was some zen of curling which I didn't get, and I realized that it didn't matter if I didn't "get" curling. I should just get on with my life and let the curlers curl in peace.

So maybe there's hope for me after all.

Finding your "Voice" vs. learning to write

Thirty years ago I believed what I was taught, that if you wanted to have a unique voice as a writer you had to avoid reading books and not listen to any of the "how to be a writer" advice. It took twenty-five years to shake that off.

I had thought, or perhaps hoped, that the theory of developing your skill/style/voice in a vacuum had been disproved long ago, but today I spoke to a young wannabe writer whose high school English teacher told him that reading too much would dilute his skill as a writer. He had me read a short story he wrote. There wasn't a single sentence that was properly constructed. The story itself seemed non-existent. When I asked him what he was trying to say, he responded that he didn't try to say anything, he just wrote.

My question is; from where does this illusion of spontaneous genius spring? Was there ever some wolf boy that emerged from the woods, pen in hand, scribbling magnificent prose? What made my teachers, as well as this young man's, think they were/are doling out good advice? My only explanation is that they, being frustrated writers themselves, are doing their best to prevent anyone else from becoming a successful writer.