How the Writer Survives
So it’s your dream to write novels? Be a freelance writer and make a living off of your articles? Or maybe you nurture an ambition to write and sell enough short fiction to put bread on the table, like those writers of the golden age of the pulps?
Well, those are all noble dreams to have. I’m smitten by the writer’s glamour myself. Also I’m grateful for the others who were, those authors whom I love to read and return to time and again. I’m grateful that they possessed not only their artistic vision, but also the sheer stubbornness and will to persevere and see their dreams become reality.
So we’ve settled on the fact that we want to be writers, and that no other dream will do. Now let’s take a look at what this is likely to mean in terms of the sacrifices we’ll have to make along the way.
1. Misunderstanding.
Make no doubts about it – even those closest to us may not understand or even sympathize with our dream. Young authors still in school or living at home should prepare themselves for the advice of well-meaning but frightened parents; which typically will be encouragement in ANOTHER direction. With all that time spent on the computer, you could build a career as a typist. How about data entry? Web design? They have a lot of great courses at the college for that.
Adult writers can oftentimes expect a similar reaction from their significant others; though in this case, the motivation might be someone different. Why don’t you pursue something that there’s a FUTURE in?
People who give this sort of advice are doubtlessly well-steeped in all the lore of the suffering artist. Parents don’t want to see their children go through it; husbands and wives aren’t all that eager to see their spouses get caught up in that trap either.
But the real question here is this: are YOU ready to believe in yourself enough to persevere even in the face of this negative (though well-meant, perhaps) feedback?
2. A social life? What’s that?
To finish a novel could easily take up a thousand hours or more of your time. That means almost three hours a day if you want to get it done in a year. And this is a modest estimate. Now maybe you’re willing to give up T.V. time, leisure reading, evenings out with your sweetheart, etc. You want to be a novelist that badly. But wait! The trials don’t stop there.
Your friends and family will want explanations. WHY can’t you go over to Lucky’s and hang out tonight? Why do you never pick up the phone at night (or in the morning or whenever you write)?
Now it’s one thing to have college papers to write, or mid-terms to study for, or overtime hours at work. Those are all socially acceptable obligations. But tell your friends that you’re staying in every evening to write and probably the best reaction you can hope for is a blank stare.
Are you ready to say: “Too bad if they can’t understand”?
3. Rejection upon rejection.
Let’s say we pass the first two hurdles. We don’t listen to people’s attempts (however well-intentioned) to dissuade us, and we plug away at our stories even though it means we can’t enjoy the leisure and down time of “normal” people. We put those thousand-odd hours into our work, and when it’s all done we’re proud of it. We write query letters, mail submissions, and sit back and dream of that fat advance, the book signing tour and the movie offers.
Then the unthinkable happens. We get one return letter after another, and all of them are variations of this: “Thank you for sending us [our work]. It was indeed interesting, but not quite what we’re looking for at this time.”
This happens to everyone. It has happened to me numerous times, and if it never happens to you then you will be entered into the history books of publishing. You may reach the point where a PERSONAL rejection letter instead of a pre-printed rejection feels like an accomplishment.
Remember the dream. Remember the passion that drove you to devote all those hours to writing in the first place, at the expense of your social life and leisure. Then send your work out again, because you didn’t pass the first two tests for nothing. When and if you get feedback, see if there’s anything constructive within it and learn for next time. You’ll be another rung up the ladder to success.
We writers survive and find our way because we weren’t meant to BE anything else
Monday, December 26, 2005
Finding Your True Voice
Finding Your True Voice
There's a prevailing sense in the world of writing that everything has already been said. Truly, it has. The human race has always experienced birth, the triumphs and tragedies of life in a transitory world, and death; and mankind has written of these experiences for as long as there has been the written word.
The themes are universal. Comparative mythology has demonstrated that they've cropped up, throughout history, within all cultures around the globe.
But look around at our own culture in this day and age. There has never been a human situation to replicate this one, not since the dawn of time. And our age needs the nourishment of stories as much as any other that has been or is yet to be. What I'm describing here is the artist's imperative to capture the spirit of the moment, to clothe something universal to human experience in a form that's relevant to people in the modern day.
Find your own voice. There has never been - nor will there ever be - another person like you. Perhaps everything has been said before, but not in the unique and particular way that YOU can say it when you're allowing your own true voice to ring through in your writing.
Our world is in constant flux, ever evolving. There can never be a definitive statement made on any topic to stand for all time. The spirit of invention must constantly be revived, else all humanity flounder in the mire of fixed ideas and beliefs, like old fossils and stones in the river that the flow of life rushes passed.
Don't worry about being original; to be yourself should be your only concern. You came into this world to express something that no one else could. If you stifle that inner need to communicate out of fear of retreading old ideas, then we'll all be made the poorer for it.
There seem to be dual personalities existing within many writers. There is the exhibitionist self that always has an eye on the readers and the market at large. "Look at me!" it says. "Look at what I wrote!" It's easy to identify writing that comes from such an ego place; it smacks of self-satisfaction, and though the prose may be immaculate it resembles a kind of exotic flower - something to be admired from a distance. Luckily there is another self within the writer that is motivated by the desire to communicate. When we're in touch with this aspect of ourselves then we understand, intuitively, that art is meant to bring people together and create a sense of unity. Then we write with gracious humility, offering what knowledge and skill we have towards the purpose of touching others.
THIS kind of writing is easily perceived, too, because it reaches directly into the heart. It honors and dignifies the soul of writer and reader alike.
In other words, if we write for love of art and humankind - and not primarily from a place of desiring recognition, wealth or fame - then we come into our own authentic voices. That's where the true potency of our words is derived from
There's a prevailing sense in the world of writing that everything has already been said. Truly, it has. The human race has always experienced birth, the triumphs and tragedies of life in a transitory world, and death; and mankind has written of these experiences for as long as there has been the written word.
The themes are universal. Comparative mythology has demonstrated that they've cropped up, throughout history, within all cultures around the globe.
But look around at our own culture in this day and age. There has never been a human situation to replicate this one, not since the dawn of time. And our age needs the nourishment of stories as much as any other that has been or is yet to be. What I'm describing here is the artist's imperative to capture the spirit of the moment, to clothe something universal to human experience in a form that's relevant to people in the modern day.
Find your own voice. There has never been - nor will there ever be - another person like you. Perhaps everything has been said before, but not in the unique and particular way that YOU can say it when you're allowing your own true voice to ring through in your writing.
Our world is in constant flux, ever evolving. There can never be a definitive statement made on any topic to stand for all time. The spirit of invention must constantly be revived, else all humanity flounder in the mire of fixed ideas and beliefs, like old fossils and stones in the river that the flow of life rushes passed.
Don't worry about being original; to be yourself should be your only concern. You came into this world to express something that no one else could. If you stifle that inner need to communicate out of fear of retreading old ideas, then we'll all be made the poorer for it.
There seem to be dual personalities existing within many writers. There is the exhibitionist self that always has an eye on the readers and the market at large. "Look at me!" it says. "Look at what I wrote!" It's easy to identify writing that comes from such an ego place; it smacks of self-satisfaction, and though the prose may be immaculate it resembles a kind of exotic flower - something to be admired from a distance. Luckily there is another self within the writer that is motivated by the desire to communicate. When we're in touch with this aspect of ourselves then we understand, intuitively, that art is meant to bring people together and create a sense of unity. Then we write with gracious humility, offering what knowledge and skill we have towards the purpose of touching others.
THIS kind of writing is easily perceived, too, because it reaches directly into the heart. It honors and dignifies the soul of writer and reader alike.
In other words, if we write for love of art and humankind - and not primarily from a place of desiring recognition, wealth or fame - then we come into our own authentic voices. That's where the true potency of our words is derived from
Preserve Your Artistic Vision
Preserve Your Artistic Vision
Our culture has always had a curiously ambiguous attitude towards its artists, who are alternately reviled or else elevated to nearly god-like status. They seem to be perceived as other-than-human, able to dispense with leisure, comfort and normal security and happiness in order to function within society AND bestow the gift of their insights upon everyday folks. People don’t generally ask their plumbers whether they’ve painted any wondrous canvasses lately, or ask their tax consultants if they’ve been inspired with mystical poetry. Yet modern-day artists are expected to magically fulfill their creative vision AND be shrewd, practically-minded and business-savvy.
Let’s consider this two-fold demand within the realm of the writing and publishing world. It takes a very different faculty of the mind to conceive of – and realize – a fictional novel or short-story than to draft a query letter or book proposal. Writers of genius might flounder in obscurity because they can’t grasp the intricacies of the publishing game, while writers of lesser talent thrive because they’re business-minded and know how to produce sleek press releases; or because they’re social butterflies at writer’s retreats or build up a coterie of influential contacts in New York.
When people write with one eye on the market, their books are robbed of something essential. The resulting work finds its niche – it becomes popular because it appeals to a ready-made audience – but it’s already lost its soul.
Writers who refuse to compromise their artistic vision will oftentimes be obliged to promote their work at a grass-roots level. This takes time; not only for people to become aware of the existence of these books, but also to open their minds to something they’ve not been exposed to before.
What’s seldom pointed out, though, is that every genre that exists today began with a groundbreaking book or story that no one knew how to categorize. J.R.R. Tolkien’s publishers hailed The Lord of the Rings as a work of genius, but also admitted that they didn’t know who the work would appeal to. Nowadays all the major booksellers boast at least one rack devoted to epic fantasy, and a high percentage of the books filling those shelves are an imitation of the seminal Middle-Earth trilogy. Pulp writers like H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard also found a much wider readership – and hosts of disciples – after their deaths.
It’s been a long time since I’ve even purchased a book that came off the press of a major publisher. I do a little more footwork, these days, when searching for reading. I browse e-zines, author websites, discussion forums and blogs. What I often find are groundbreaking works that never got the “seal of approval” from a big house because they couldn’t be easily categorized and labeled. They weren’t “the next” Harry Potter.
Perhaps it would be prudent for me to advise you, fellow writer, to educate yourself in all aspects of the publishing industry; to go to retreats (if you can afford them) and consult with agents and editors; to learn to polish that perfect query letter and, later, press release; to research the marker for publishing trends and reader tastes…
But, as I intimated earlier, the hand that wields the pen is sometimes not so adept at guiding the plow. A fertile imagination makes conformity difficult, if not impossible; and adapting your creative impulse to a popular genre - or to an editor or agent’s idea of sellable material – is conformity.
Instead I’ll offer a piece of imprudent encouragement. If you have a burning desire to write a story, then that is a story that WANTS to be born. Forget considerations like “what sells?” or “what do agents/editors look for?” Ideas have energy and life-force; once given birth to, they tend to find their own way in the world. Your audience is waiting. They might not even know it yet, but they are. Your inspiration has arisen as the answer to someone else’s prayer. Honor your vision.
Our culture has always had a curiously ambiguous attitude towards its artists, who are alternately reviled or else elevated to nearly god-like status. They seem to be perceived as other-than-human, able to dispense with leisure, comfort and normal security and happiness in order to function within society AND bestow the gift of their insights upon everyday folks. People don’t generally ask their plumbers whether they’ve painted any wondrous canvasses lately, or ask their tax consultants if they’ve been inspired with mystical poetry. Yet modern-day artists are expected to magically fulfill their creative vision AND be shrewd, practically-minded and business-savvy.
Let’s consider this two-fold demand within the realm of the writing and publishing world. It takes a very different faculty of the mind to conceive of – and realize – a fictional novel or short-story than to draft a query letter or book proposal. Writers of genius might flounder in obscurity because they can’t grasp the intricacies of the publishing game, while writers of lesser talent thrive because they’re business-minded and know how to produce sleek press releases; or because they’re social butterflies at writer’s retreats or build up a coterie of influential contacts in New York.
When people write with one eye on the market, their books are robbed of something essential. The resulting work finds its niche – it becomes popular because it appeals to a ready-made audience – but it’s already lost its soul.
Writers who refuse to compromise their artistic vision will oftentimes be obliged to promote their work at a grass-roots level. This takes time; not only for people to become aware of the existence of these books, but also to open their minds to something they’ve not been exposed to before.
What’s seldom pointed out, though, is that every genre that exists today began with a groundbreaking book or story that no one knew how to categorize. J.R.R. Tolkien’s publishers hailed The Lord of the Rings as a work of genius, but also admitted that they didn’t know who the work would appeal to. Nowadays all the major booksellers boast at least one rack devoted to epic fantasy, and a high percentage of the books filling those shelves are an imitation of the seminal Middle-Earth trilogy. Pulp writers like H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard also found a much wider readership – and hosts of disciples – after their deaths.
It’s been a long time since I’ve even purchased a book that came off the press of a major publisher. I do a little more footwork, these days, when searching for reading. I browse e-zines, author websites, discussion forums and blogs. What I often find are groundbreaking works that never got the “seal of approval” from a big house because they couldn’t be easily categorized and labeled. They weren’t “the next” Harry Potter.
Perhaps it would be prudent for me to advise you, fellow writer, to educate yourself in all aspects of the publishing industry; to go to retreats (if you can afford them) and consult with agents and editors; to learn to polish that perfect query letter and, later, press release; to research the marker for publishing trends and reader tastes…
But, as I intimated earlier, the hand that wields the pen is sometimes not so adept at guiding the plow. A fertile imagination makes conformity difficult, if not impossible; and adapting your creative impulse to a popular genre - or to an editor or agent’s idea of sellable material – is conformity.
Instead I’ll offer a piece of imprudent encouragement. If you have a burning desire to write a story, then that is a story that WANTS to be born. Forget considerations like “what sells?” or “what do agents/editors look for?” Ideas have energy and life-force; once given birth to, they tend to find their own way in the world. Your audience is waiting. They might not even know it yet, but they are. Your inspiration has arisen as the answer to someone else’s prayer. Honor your vision.
Writing A Book - Tips From An Author #2
Writing A Book - Tips From An Author #2
Writing a three act story - dealing with the middle act. In the second or middle act, you get to expand the story past the initial 'inciting incident', and develop the characters and their various drives and needs. Scenes are a good way of writing the middle act. In the same way as a 3 act story itself, a scene is a 'fractal' mini-version - it has a 'purpose' (the scene's inciting incident, i.e. what the point of the scene is), an obstacle (a conflict to make it interesting) and a resolution. Action and dialogue are the way to go here. Never write flat prose simply explaining what's going on, describe it in actions and dialogue. For example, "Harry Potter was frightened. He'd didn't like spiders. This spider was gigantic" is frankly rubbish. "8 pairs of shining eyes appeared in the gloom, in a rough semi-circular shape. Against the dim light of the moon, Harry also thought to see legs - lots of them. Maybe eight. 'Harry - we need to get out of here - now!' said Ron, tugging at Harry's sleeve. Harry's mouth was too dry to answer, and his legs were turning to jelly, literally." is much better.
Don't constantly surprise your audience by omission. In other words, if Harry Potter can only escape from the spider's lair using a semi-intelligent Ford Fiesta, it's no good dumping it in the scene 2 minutes before you need it. Introduce it well ahead, so your audience won't start thinking 'that's cheating'. Also, make your characters realistic, no matter how outlandish the scenario. Your audience need to be able to identify with them if they are to feel any empathy. It's been said that "Drama is people doing amazing things for sound reasons. Melodrama is people doing amazing things for unconvincing reasons". Suspension of disbelief can turn to outright incredulity unless your characters act from motives that are familiar and believable to the audience. Characters can be difficult to come up with. your story.
A good plot, like a good song, grows at it progresses. Challenges should get increasingly difficult until the final resolution. The solution to a previous problem may set the scene for the next problem. For instance, Bill may jump into the water under the pier to escape the attentions of the octogenarian yankee widow. Problem solved. But... these waters have sharks - what will Bill do now? Even though deep down the reader knows the hero will probably survive, make it doubtful. This creates suspense. Bill is a strong swimmer, but the pier is too steep sided to climb up, and the sharks are circling. Can he make it to the dinghy 50 yards away across open sea? Problems have to be solved in convincing ways too. If you already established that Bill isn't a strong swimmer, getting him to do the 100 yard crawl in 11 seconds to escape sharks isn't going to work for any reader
Writing a three act story - dealing with the middle act. In the second or middle act, you get to expand the story past the initial 'inciting incident', and develop the characters and their various drives and needs. Scenes are a good way of writing the middle act. In the same way as a 3 act story itself, a scene is a 'fractal' mini-version - it has a 'purpose' (the scene's inciting incident, i.e. what the point of the scene is), an obstacle (a conflict to make it interesting) and a resolution. Action and dialogue are the way to go here. Never write flat prose simply explaining what's going on, describe it in actions and dialogue. For example, "Harry Potter was frightened. He'd didn't like spiders. This spider was gigantic" is frankly rubbish. "8 pairs of shining eyes appeared in the gloom, in a rough semi-circular shape. Against the dim light of the moon, Harry also thought to see legs - lots of them. Maybe eight. 'Harry - we need to get out of here - now!' said Ron, tugging at Harry's sleeve. Harry's mouth was too dry to answer, and his legs were turning to jelly, literally." is much better.
Don't constantly surprise your audience by omission. In other words, if Harry Potter can only escape from the spider's lair using a semi-intelligent Ford Fiesta, it's no good dumping it in the scene 2 minutes before you need it. Introduce it well ahead, so your audience won't start thinking 'that's cheating'. Also, make your characters realistic, no matter how outlandish the scenario. Your audience need to be able to identify with them if they are to feel any empathy. It's been said that "Drama is people doing amazing things for sound reasons. Melodrama is people doing amazing things for unconvincing reasons". Suspension of disbelief can turn to outright incredulity unless your characters act from motives that are familiar and believable to the audience. Characters can be difficult to come up with. your story.
A good plot, like a good song, grows at it progresses. Challenges should get increasingly difficult until the final resolution. The solution to a previous problem may set the scene for the next problem. For instance, Bill may jump into the water under the pier to escape the attentions of the octogenarian yankee widow. Problem solved. But... these waters have sharks - what will Bill do now? Even though deep down the reader knows the hero will probably survive, make it doubtful. This creates suspense. Bill is a strong swimmer, but the pier is too steep sided to climb up, and the sharks are circling. Can he make it to the dinghy 50 yards away across open sea? Problems have to be solved in convincing ways too. If you already established that Bill isn't a strong swimmer, getting him to do the 100 yard crawl in 11 seconds to escape sharks isn't going to work for any reader
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