We have more than one book lying around that encourages my kids to ponder their future vocation. Doctor, race car driver, generic 'scientist,' and on. They all focus on what you want to do with your life, and never include the soul killing details. When we grow up, we find it isn't so simple as "do what you want to do." There are so many factors at play, conflicting with what we want.
Take the classic option of fireman. I'm sorry, fireperson. Fire people are the most beloved of public servants. Politicians want to tax you to oblivion and strip your civil liberties, the police are only interested in writing traffic tickets, arresting you for public intoxication and being generally racist, but fire people? They just want to put out your fire, and who doesn't love that? They get to ride giant red trucks and everyone has to get out of their way because, you see, there is a fire. They get to haul hoses, whack down doors, use the awesome Halligan tool and be BDH's*, all while wearing a bitchin' pair of pants. If that's what being a fire person is all about, where do I sign? But, and there's always several buts, there's more to the story than the good stuff. They have a risky job and terrible hours, and oh yes, the compensation is abysmal. This means nobody wants to marry a fireman. But if the calendars are to be believed, plenty of women want to sleep with a fireman, and that counts for something. Right? You guys?
Or, let's look at another popular option; astronaut. Sounds great, right? Be one of the few people to actually see the world from space. Play zero gravity tennis, eat freeze dried turkey, say "countdown to launch" without irony, and have you seen those pants? How does one become an astronaut, anyway?
Turns out, becoming an astronaut is like joining the Rockettes, if Radio City were more interested in how you rocked your math thesis more than your pair of five inch heels. If you happen to have the right combination of favorable genetics, acumen and work ethic to make you into a perfect candidate, there's still a long list of other perfect candidates in front of you. Not happening.
How about archaeologist? But when you learn that archaeology is less about bullwhips and melting Nazi faces, and more about grant writing and scraping potsherds with a toothbrush, it kind of loses some appeal. And oh yeah, the long, expensive education for a less than glamorous paycheck. You still get a neat pair of pants, though. Cargo pockets.
It turns out career 'choice' is awkward compromise of ability, location, compensation, aptitude, and convenience. Otherwise, I assume we'd all be Batman and none of us would be insurance salesmen. I mean insurance salespeople.
Even when we are lucky enough to find a vocation that we are good at, pays well enough, is available in the area we want to live, and doesn't have so much competition in it that work is unavailable, there's still the question of whether you like it. I tried respiratory care, as an example. It made all kinds of sense. Anywhere there's a hospital, there's work. It only requires a BS. The pay is not amazing, but good enough. I was even decent at the actual work, but some aspects of getting the degree itself drove me insane.
Instead, I found myself with the aptitude and enjoyment of writing. Fiction, mostly. This is great, because you can do it anywhere, although coffee shops seem to be the preferred location. Extra points if it's NOT a Starbucks, but a locally owned joint. The problem is the sometimes stiff, but mostly overwhelming competition, and the pay. There isn't any.
To make matters worse, I keep blogging instead of working.
I don't even know where I am going with this, other than to say that that "be what you want to be!" line is a dirty, stinking lie. At least for me, the thing I want to be doesn't exist in reality.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Saturday, September 17, 2016
The Process
Some writers adore their first drafts while writing them. They feel like literary geniuses, authorial divinity as they lavish their empty pages with words fit to make Olympus rejoice. Then, next day, as they review their work with an editorial eye, they retch a little because first drafts are nearly always atrocious. This is not how I work. Perhaps one of the biggest reasons I'm so slow in writing is because I abhor my first draft, even as I strike the keys. I loathe it, weeping in frustration at the despicable hack who dares pose as an author*. Then, next day, the editor in me breathes a sigh of relief because he can at least work with this. Usually.
This most recent project was especially frightening. I started it not because I was inspired to write a special story, but because it needed to be done. I want to offer a free introduction to the Strategy Series, essentially an elaborate advertisement. I had a bare plot, and only a narrow, ill defined notion of character. I know what needs to be included to make a compelling story; crisp, distinct voice, likeable, charming characters. Knowing what to do, however, and executing, are two different things. I began writing and ground my teeth at the absence of soul or cheer or incisiveness, or anything that makes a story interesting. It was shaping up as both long and boring, the opposite of what we need to sell the series.
However
I can work with this. I see where I have gone wrong. I've adjusted details at least half a dozen times. Characters are taking shape now, in the bottom 1/4 of the draft, so I have time to wrap back around and infuse it in the top 3/4. I'm confident. It's going to be great.
*perhaps I'm being a teensy bit hyperbolic
This most recent project was especially frightening. I started it not because I was inspired to write a special story, but because it needed to be done. I want to offer a free introduction to the Strategy Series, essentially an elaborate advertisement. I had a bare plot, and only a narrow, ill defined notion of character. I know what needs to be included to make a compelling story; crisp, distinct voice, likeable, charming characters. Knowing what to do, however, and executing, are two different things. I began writing and ground my teeth at the absence of soul or cheer or incisiveness, or anything that makes a story interesting. It was shaping up as both long and boring, the opposite of what we need to sell the series.
However
I can work with this. I see where I have gone wrong. I've adjusted details at least half a dozen times. Characters are taking shape now, in the bottom 1/4 of the draft, so I have time to wrap back around and infuse it in the top 3/4. I'm confident. It's going to be great.
*perhaps I'm being a teensy bit hyperbolic
Monday, September 12, 2016
Inspiration
I mentioned that I read Earnest Cline's "Ready Player One" recently. It was both invigorating and disheartening, because the book is so good.
Reading this incredible breakout novel reminded me of a few things. Foremost, beyond plot, character, setting, pacing, structure and even voice, the main thing we are after is immersion. I've read a lot of good books this year. Aside from Plath, who I mentioned last week, I've read Octavia Butler, Stella Gibbons, and William Goldman. I've also read local authors Adria Waters and C.J Weiland, and these are just a few. All fine books. They are thought provoking, clever, sometimes a lot of fun, but aside from that one I've been talking about four posts running now, the only one that got close to the same immersion was Weiland's. "Player One" shouldn't have, either. It was a stock protagonist, and from page one, any half-savvy reader could predict the end. It is packed with long digressions into eighties pop culture, full of inside jokes and references I could see being made, but couldn't appreciate because I was four years old in 1989 and my mom was so uptight she wouldn't even let me watch TMNT. It's a wish fulfillment fantasy, but I bought into it part and parcel. It reminded me of the magic of books.
Cline's first novel also reminded me to stick to my instincts. I liked this book, and a lot of other people liked this book. They like it a lot. He sold the manuscript in a bidding war; major publishing houses smelled success and tripped over themselves for the privilege of publishing it. It won awards. It's an NYT best seller. The paperback is in its 17th printing, and it's being made into a film. Maybe if I write something I like, those same people will like it, too.
But let me return to earth for a second. In all honesty, I don't think my own work is that good. I know, that novel was probably years in the making. The author mentioned several lesser drafts, and it was a major house with major editors, ensuring he did stick with that predictable plot and wish fulfilling ending. That's what sells, honestly, and I have not the luxury of an editor to hold my artistic sadist in check. Additionally, success like that is incredibly rare. Not every huge seller like this deserves the attention it gets, and not every book that does deserve attention receives it. Life is not fair. If you build (or write) it, they may or may not come.
Still, if you don't write it, it's a guarantee they won't.
Reading this incredible breakout novel reminded me of a few things. Foremost, beyond plot, character, setting, pacing, structure and even voice, the main thing we are after is immersion. I've read a lot of good books this year. Aside from Plath, who I mentioned last week, I've read Octavia Butler, Stella Gibbons, and William Goldman. I've also read local authors Adria Waters and C.J Weiland, and these are just a few. All fine books. They are thought provoking, clever, sometimes a lot of fun, but aside from that one I've been talking about four posts running now, the only one that got close to the same immersion was Weiland's. "Player One" shouldn't have, either. It was a stock protagonist, and from page one, any half-savvy reader could predict the end. It is packed with long digressions into eighties pop culture, full of inside jokes and references I could see being made, but couldn't appreciate because I was four years old in 1989 and my mom was so uptight she wouldn't even let me watch TMNT. It's a wish fulfillment fantasy, but I bought into it part and parcel. It reminded me of the magic of books.
Cline's first novel also reminded me to stick to my instincts. I liked this book, and a lot of other people liked this book. They like it a lot. He sold the manuscript in a bidding war; major publishing houses smelled success and tripped over themselves for the privilege of publishing it. It won awards. It's an NYT best seller. The paperback is in its 17th printing, and it's being made into a film. Maybe if I write something I like, those same people will like it, too.
But let me return to earth for a second. In all honesty, I don't think my own work is that good. I know, that novel was probably years in the making. The author mentioned several lesser drafts, and it was a major house with major editors, ensuring he did stick with that predictable plot and wish fulfilling ending. That's what sells, honestly, and I have not the luxury of an editor to hold my artistic sadist in check. Additionally, success like that is incredibly rare. Not every huge seller like this deserves the attention it gets, and not every book that does deserve attention receives it. Life is not fair. If you build (or write) it, they may or may not come.
Still, if you don't write it, it's a guarantee they won't.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Traction
I've had surgery, which means I've been laid up on my easy chair and only able to type with my left hand again. Therefore, writing isn't nearly as time efficient as it was before, so I've been doing other things, namely reading. It had been a few months since I read, but I just knocked out literary poet Sylvia Plath's novel "The Bell Jar" followed by Earnest Cline's NYT bestselling "Ready Player One."
It's a departure from what I've been reading this year, which has been mostly local authors. I've been making it a point to read and review as many of them as I can for the karma. It is my hope that, if I review all these books, when I publish my own full novel they will feel obligated to review mine. Yeah, that's a compromise from my original high minded ideals. All things being equal, I wouldn't want anyone to read a book unless they good and felt like it, but there's a problem with that for the new author. The market is absolutely choked with books, and it has never been enough to simply write a brilliant one. It has to be noticed.
Take "Pawn" as an example. It's a pretty great book. Everyone I have convinced to read and later been able to inquire has agreed; they were pleasantly surprised. However, they would never have read without my fanatic campaigning. It's a self published first novel from a local author. You wouldn't know to type her name in the Amazon search engine, because you've never heard of her. The title is a nice fit for the story inside, but it's so common it shows up on the third page of an Amazon book search. Be honest, you never look past page one, because there are plenty of other books with the word "pawn" in the title, with a lot more favorable reviews. Speaking of which, over a year after its release this one only has eleven, which means it has incredibly little chance of showing up in the "recommended for you" or "customers also bought" columns. The only reason I read it was because the author is in my critique group, and I read the first couple pages of the first draft of the second book in the series, "Royals." I couldn't have read it before, because I didn't even know it existed. It struggles for traction.
I liked "Pawn" so much, I wrote a supplemental short story for the series, with the author's blessing of course. It has an equally common title. It's published under her account so I don't have direct access to the data, but last I checked it had eight (mostly free) downloads, two reviews (one was my mom), and generated just a couple new downloads and one review for the actual novel (also my mom). Does this mean I suck? That we suck? That the only people who can tolerate our crapburger stories and novels are people who know us and are invested in a personal relationship? Well, maybe. But I posit that it is because nobody has a reason to pick our stuff up in the first place. See, I wouldn't have given "The Bell Jar" a second glance if I hadn't heard Sylvia Plath mentioned seven or eight times in the course of my education, and had the opening line,
"It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenburgs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York,"
quoted by multiple sources as one of the best opening lines in literature, ever. I enjoyed "The Bell Jar." Four point five stars, would read again. I only read "Ready Player One" because it's an NYT bestseller, and a friend loaned it to me. Five stars, immersive experience, reinvigorated my passion for writing and my awe for what can be accomplished with the written word. Wouldn't have read either of them if I just stumbled over them in the marketplace which, in the case of "Pawn" and "Fool's Game," would be unlikely since hard copies of the former appear only in one book store, and digital copies of both appear only in the backwaters of the turbid Amazon.
I am of the opinion that "Pawn" would be a bestseller if it came from a well established brand, so let's test that theory. If you have enjoyed soft sci-fi action before, give it a shot. If it isn't as good as "Divergent" or "The Maze Runner," or any of those other touted titles, denounce it. For the low price of $3.99 and a few hours, your faith in the system can be reaffirmed and you will be justified in sneering at any title not offered by a major publishing house. If you enjoy it, though, and want the next installment, please, please leave a review. It's not fanmail, and it's not redundant. Reviews mean traction, and if there aren't at least fifty, there aren't enough.
It's a departure from what I've been reading this year, which has been mostly local authors. I've been making it a point to read and review as many of them as I can for the karma. It is my hope that, if I review all these books, when I publish my own full novel they will feel obligated to review mine. Yeah, that's a compromise from my original high minded ideals. All things being equal, I wouldn't want anyone to read a book unless they good and felt like it, but there's a problem with that for the new author. The market is absolutely choked with books, and it has never been enough to simply write a brilliant one. It has to be noticed.
Take "Pawn" as an example. It's a pretty great book. Everyone I have convinced to read and later been able to inquire has agreed; they were pleasantly surprised. However, they would never have read without my fanatic campaigning. It's a self published first novel from a local author. You wouldn't know to type her name in the Amazon search engine, because you've never heard of her. The title is a nice fit for the story inside, but it's so common it shows up on the third page of an Amazon book search. Be honest, you never look past page one, because there are plenty of other books with the word "pawn" in the title, with a lot more favorable reviews. Speaking of which, over a year after its release this one only has eleven, which means it has incredibly little chance of showing up in the "recommended for you" or "customers also bought" columns. The only reason I read it was because the author is in my critique group, and I read the first couple pages of the first draft of the second book in the series, "Royals." I couldn't have read it before, because I didn't even know it existed. It struggles for traction.
I liked "Pawn" so much, I wrote a supplemental short story for the series, with the author's blessing of course. It has an equally common title. It's published under her account so I don't have direct access to the data, but last I checked it had eight (mostly free) downloads, two reviews (one was my mom), and generated just a couple new downloads and one review for the actual novel (also my mom). Does this mean I suck? That we suck? That the only people who can tolerate our crapburger stories and novels are people who know us and are invested in a personal relationship? Well, maybe. But I posit that it is because nobody has a reason to pick our stuff up in the first place. See, I wouldn't have given "The Bell Jar" a second glance if I hadn't heard Sylvia Plath mentioned seven or eight times in the course of my education, and had the opening line,
"It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenburgs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York,"
quoted by multiple sources as one of the best opening lines in literature, ever. I enjoyed "The Bell Jar." Four point five stars, would read again. I only read "Ready Player One" because it's an NYT bestseller, and a friend loaned it to me. Five stars, immersive experience, reinvigorated my passion for writing and my awe for what can be accomplished with the written word. Wouldn't have read either of them if I just stumbled over them in the marketplace which, in the case of "Pawn" and "Fool's Game," would be unlikely since hard copies of the former appear only in one book store, and digital copies of both appear only in the backwaters of the turbid Amazon.
I am of the opinion that "Pawn" would be a bestseller if it came from a well established brand, so let's test that theory. If you have enjoyed soft sci-fi action before, give it a shot. If it isn't as good as "Divergent" or "The Maze Runner," or any of those other touted titles, denounce it. For the low price of $3.99 and a few hours, your faith in the system can be reaffirmed and you will be justified in sneering at any title not offered by a major publishing house. If you enjoy it, though, and want the next installment, please, please leave a review. It's not fanmail, and it's not redundant. Reviews mean traction, and if there aren't at least fifty, there aren't enough.
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