Posts Tagged ‘ publishing ’

Writing Life: A Poster Worth Having

One of the joys of keeping a blog like this is that every once in a while someone forwards me something fun to put up on it.  There’s probably a way to actually embed that image, but the link’ll have to do until I figure it out — just click it; no reason to be shy.  It’s just a clever little poster called “Are You Absolutely, Positively, and Wholeheartedly Ready to Publish Your Novel?”  (the conclusion, obviously, will be “no” no matter how you do it).  The creator seems to have grasped most of the major stumbling blocks and made fun of them, though I’d enjoy a sequel that takes a look at agents, editors, and publishers.  But the overall point is that there’s stuff you haven’t thought of yet, no matter where you are in the process, which is probably a good lesson for everyone.

Happily, I’m still doing the fun part (or at least what I think of as the fun part), and have at least one more chapter to go before I have to switch from pouring out rough-draft words to mopping most of them up and replacing them with better-chosen ones.  It’s something of a mental exercise to keep from sticking in more plot points just so that I don’t have to edit yet, actually — I’m in comfortable territory as long as I’m just writing; it’s everything after that that gets a little uncharted.  Difference between a hobbyist and a professional, I suppose.  It’s been a good year for learning new things so far, so I’m keeping my chin up — and reminding myself that I only started this “hey, let’s be a writer” kick last fall.

So sign me up for one of those posters, if you’re thinking about my upcoming birthday — I could use the humor as the “creative writing” process shifts over into the “practical publishing” one.

Works in Progress: Irons in the Fire

Or was it pots on the stove?  Irons on the stove, for all you bachelors out there…the point is, there seems to be a fairly even split between writers who work obsessively on a single project until it’s done (or being sent out for editing, or otherwise out of the writer’s hand for weeks at a time) and the ones who have a half a dozen things going on at any given time, plus another half a dozen or so “this would be cool” ideas scribbled down somewhere.

I’m the latter; I think that’s probably obvious at this point.  I do try to be good about keeping the finished projects out and seeking publication rather than letting them sit on my desktop, but I bounce around the unfinished ones a bit.  Not as much as some people I’ve talked to — I read one (published and successful) author’s essay about working on a different project every day of the week — but enough that, even though there’s already too much on my plate (stove, fire, whatever), it’s never a bad thing when something new pops into my head.  The fairy story is definitely my main focus right now, but every once in a while I need to take some time off from it to let the ideas kick around a little bit, and it’s good to have something new to be working on, rather than going over the same stories-seeking-publication again and obsessing about why they were rejected last time.

This is one of the things that popped into my head, and is now in the queue of “things to work on when there’s time.”  I’ll write a few more notes below the original, scribbled-down summary I wrote about a week ago:

Notes on “Worlds Apart” (working title) — an idea for a novel in four books

Mon. 8 March 2010

Not a fully formed idea yet, but the basic thinking here:  the story of a successful pulp author’s personal life, told in four interwoven books:  his massively-successful third book in a fantasy series; the fourth book as ghost-written by the webmaster of a fanfic site who becomes his lover after meeting him at a convention; a new, non-genre novel that he works on while she does the majority of the work on Book Four; and the actual novel of his life, their relationship, the relationship that it destroys, etc.

To make that clearer for myself — each chapter comes from one of four books, none of which except the last (call it “The Frame”) gets told in full:

Book Three of the “Swords and Sorcery” (or whatever) series, a completed and highly-successful novel that bumped the author up from a rising star in the fantasy market to the Hot New Thing with legions of screaming fans.

Book Four of S&S, which is being primarily written by the former manager of (and frequent contributor to) a fanfiction site dedicated to the author’s world.  She became his lover after meeting him at a fantasy convention.

A non-fantasy novel being written by the author while the fanfiction writer puts together Book Four.  Call it “The Work.”

And, finally, The Frame, the novel that encompasses the other three and tells the story of the author’s miserable personal life, creative frustrations, and sexual neuroses.  Smaller than the rest.

Characters

The Author — short but athletically-built with a sharp-if-conservative dress sense, he deals well with the press and the public, and is able to deal with nerds without being much of one himself.  He’s a “rock star” of the convention circuit and literature-focused media, full of witty anecdotes and not a lot of substance.  Internally, he’s sexually repressed to the point of impotence, frustrated with his inability to write anything “good” (but still in love with the money and public recognition he gets for his “bad” stuff), and generally miserable.

The Ghostwriter — is a genuinely kind and loving person who starts off infatuated but winds up actually in love with The Author, though she probably comes to hate him by the end.  Initially she only approaches him because of a schoolgirl crush and too much to drink, but what starts off as an e-mail and instant messenger-based flirtation following a one-night stand turns into a genuine relationship, and, eventually, an agreement to ghost-write his fourth book while he focuses on “real literature.”  They are physically separate for most of the novel.

The Sister — isn’t actually The Author’s sister, but they lived next-door for the first eighteen years of their lives, and always had a brother-sister kind of relationship, which they at one point violated with a couple weeks of disastrous sex and romance.  She functions as his primary caretaker and friend, since she hates other people nearly as much as him, though she works in a much more “normal” corporate/legal job of some sort.  They share a very large house inhabited by only the two of them and their guests, lovers, and one-night stands, and often go weeks without seeing one another.  He downplays his relationship with The Ghostwriter to her, for reasons he isn’t even sure about himself, but winds up feeling justified when she’s furious after little clues finally add up to her figuring the whole thing out.  Of course, she’s mostly angry because he felt like he had to hide it, but they’re bad at communicating…

The Point

Fundamentally, it’s a novel about all authors being liars.  The Author is the best with written words of the three, but the least able to express himself; the Ghostwriter is a bland but pleasant writer and a bland but pleasant person who, because she was never very original to begin with, lets herself get talked into an unoriginal and subservient role in real life as well; the Sister is the most clear-headed and rational of the lot, but goes the longest without any understanding of the reality of her situation.  None of them are happy when they have to come to terms with anyone else’s perception of things.  Wherever it ends, it isn’t happily.

Why the Four Books

What the two writer characters produce should be the primary understanding the reader has of their characters.  Book Three of S&S can be powerful, charismatic, and sweeping — all the things that The Author is in public.  Book Four is a dedicated imitation, but plagued by sentimentality and a little bit more wishful thinking — it’s probably the one that critics will say “jumped the shark” when it comes out, partially because of some unconvincing romantic content.  The Work is bitter, awkward, and full of contradictions, but much more sincere, and The Frame exists to tell the behind-the-scene story in as brief and uncompromising terms as possible..  Each chapter of The Frame could focus on one of the three characters, and then back to one of the internal works for a couple chapters before popping out again to see what another of the Three Stooges are up to.  As a whole, it should be disjointed, echoy, and a little bit schizophrenic, just like the protagonists and their world.

So that’s what I wrote the other night; I touched a few punctuation things up, but otherwise left it as an example of what I’ll scribble down when a brand new book/story/whatever idea comes into my head.  “Comes into my head” makes it sound more sudden than it really is; something like this will often be kicking around in my head as little fragments of ideas for weeks before it comes together into a written form like this.  And that’s about as much outlining as I ever do; once I have something like this, I start writing.  And I often start writing without even this much; the fairy story was nothing more than a single character concept, a strong feeling for the kind of language I wanted to use, and an excitement about a world with no hard-and-fast rules to play around in.

But as far as the above goes — it obviously runs the risk of being one of those navel-gazing “novels about novelists” that make for bad first novels; it may well be an idea that doesn’t get used for years.  I’ll do some writing and see how it goes.  The key, I think, will be keeping The Frame as minimalist as possible and letting the other three books speak for the characters as much as possible; I’m not sure what to do for The Sister, who doesn’t have a written form for the readers to get to know her in.  Which might be okay; she’s going to be a sort of awkwardly-marginalized third to The Author and The Ghostwriter’s romance, so it may work out for her to be pushed off to one side in the structure as well.

The obvious influence here is the idea of epistolary novels, which theoretically use the same technique of presenting the characters through their written words rather than their speech and actions; having a more traditionally-narrated Frame in there will, I think, let me get away from the epistolary novel’s bad habit of featuring intensely-descriptive letters that no one would ever write.  Since Book Three, Book Four, and The Work aren’t there to advance the plot, they can be very distanced from the mechanics of advancing it, with only the occasional art-imitating-life mirroring or in-joke that The Author or The Ghostwriter slips in to tie them to The Frame.

We shall see!  But there’s a post for today, and bright and early too — we all know I’m too disorganized to always do the same sort of post every Monday, a different sort of post every Wednesday, and something else on Fridays, but I do think I’ll try to be more regular with these sorts of “things I’m working on or thinking about working on” posts, and maybe do weekly wrap-ups on Fridays too?  As the lead of the paragraph says, we shall see.

Blogging Basics: Blog Talk

Is a blog a journal, or half of a conversation?

Asking that, as if I were expecting a response, would seem to imply the latter; a sentence like this which simply lays out observations plays more to the former.  At least a handful of people whose blogs I follow (Cassandra Jade, Ex Libris Bookewyrme, etc.) mix and match the two, writing a couple paragraphs of journaling followed by an open-ended question at the bottom.  It certainly prompts feedback, which I suppose also encourages repeat readership (since people like things where they get to talk, too), but the reality of this particular blog is that it exists to provide a closer look at me, my writing, and my creative process for anyone who might have a vested interest in those things — potential publishers, agents, admissions committees at MFA programs, etc.  (I am not currently applying to or considering an MFA program, to clarify, but it’s the sort of person who might hypothetically Google my name and take a look at this thing).

So there is a very shamelessly commercial goal here.  I don’t mind talking to other writers and bloggers-about-writing; I often wind up enjoying it.  But the point of the thing is to be helpful to people who are trying to decide whether or not I’m a good investment as a writer, and I can’t help but feel that they don’t really want to read one-line, comment-inspiring questions at the bottom of short blog posts.  Or maybe they do!  I’ve never been in publishing (and damn if there aren’t two correct interpretations of that sentence, more’s the pity).  So like most things in this process beyond the actual putting-words-on-page part, I’m sort of feeling my way in the dark.

I wonder if people in other professions have similar problems.  Are there really good firefighters out there who just aren’t sure how to get fire departments to take a look at them because they keep washing out on the standardized-testing part of the application process?   Homebrewers lacking the first clue of how to turn their fantastic new recipe into a product that bars and liquor stores will sell?  My suspicion is yes; the hardest part of having a talent (flattering myself a bit, I realize) is marketing it.

At least when blogging about writing, everything you write is an example (sometimes good and sometimes bad) of your potential product.  So we have it that much easier than firefighters or homebrewers.

…don’t you think so?

Blogging Basics: “About the Author” Updates

Updated the “About the Author” page a touch; some of the items under “Projects” had gotten pretty outdated, and a few things weren’t there at all.  I think my instinctive keeping everything close to the chest until it’s polished and complete, if still in need of criticism and editing, works against the whole display-yourself-for-potential-employers aspect of blogging — looking back over some posts and the “About the Author” page, I do seem to be a little cagey about what the actual content of some of these projects is like.

Mostly, that’s just coming from my automatic assumption that people are only interested in news of note.  I never have anything interesting to say when people ask about my other jobs, either; it always feels like “eh, they’re going.”  The writing’s going.  If it goes somewhere (like a publication), I’ll talk about it; ’til then, it seems like not the sort of thing to encourage people to come look at.  All of which defeats the purpose of an internet presence, which is supposed to be kind of thrusting yourself into the public eye…I’m just not part of the MySpace generation, clearly.

Really, I just need to get a couple of stories run, and then I can say “look, I wrote these things, but you’ll have to go to this publication’s website and give them money to read it”…makes sure only the people who really care wind up seeing it, and supports the folks that are running my stories beside!  So expect those links just as soon as the miracle happens.

Short post today, because I’ve already talked about this subject before, and because I’ve been on a roll with some other writing but pretty frustrated with the blog lately.  No specific problems, just general writers’ block every time I sit down to post something.  It doesn’t seem to have crept into other writing yet, so I’m counting my blessings and getting back to that for now!

Works in Progress: Remember NaNoWriMo?

Apparently I posted this — in its completed form — as a “Draft” and not as a post.  I’m not really sure how I did that.  But that’s why it hasn’t gone up until now…

There’s a point in Anna Russell’s “The Ring of the Nibelungs (An Analysis)” where she pauses and says “D’you remember the Ring?”  And it’s hysterical, because the ring in question — the one the whole four-part opera cycle is about — hasn’t come up for about twenty minutes, or in actual Wagnerian time, for an entire opera.  And that’s sort of where I am on NaNoWriMo, that frenzied 50,000 word output from November — it’s been rather a long time since November, now hasn’t it?

I have not been entirely inactive on the 50,000 words since November.  Most of my efforts have turned it into rather less than 50,000 words, which is fine — Final Draft = Rough Draft – 25% +10%.  Or thereabouts, anyway; the point is that it’s no bad thing to cut, well, bad things.  Which there were a lot of.

Revision is an educational process.  When it’s a short work, I’m often tempted to just go through and make changes along the way, but the scope of the NaNoWriMo project is large enough that I need to make notes as I go.  The “Reviewing Toolbar” in Microsoft Word is invaluable here, not least because it saves me printing out a two hundred-odd page manuscript until I’m absolutely sure it’s ready to go.

So I get to make notes in the margins like I would for someone else’s work that they sent me for editing, and I’m thinking that I ought to do that for all my work, rather than the on-the-fly changes that I’ve been favoring.  Having to actually think about what you want to remember later about a particular editing choice encourages a lot more self-reflection, and discourages faith in the notion that whatever I wrote at a particular moment was probably just as good as something I can write now.  It often isn’t, particularly if I was distracted — NaNoWriMo is very output-focused, obviously, so there were certainly nights when I was banging out word count in the middle of something else, and the writing, predictably, suffered.

But it’s back on the table now, so I’ll try to bring it up every now and again over the next couple posts.  Any other “finalists” from November out there trying to figure out what to do with their giant, bloated, desperately-ready-for-cuts first draft?  Or was everyone else disciplined enough to get theirs edited and sent off for publishing right away?

EDIT:  All right, she doesn’t say “D’you remember the Ring?” in the performance on YouTube, but she does it for a couple of other things that vanish for whole operas at a time and then show back up.  It’s still a great routine.

Writing Life: Tea Dreams

Argh god crap dammit late argh.

Did anyone even notice?  Any road.  Today’s post is once again not about pony stories, but instead is about…tea.  Tea, and dreams of success.

I think anyone who’s gotten as far as mailing out submissions in a serious way (is “gotten” even a word?  Spellchecks always like it, but I just think it sounds awful…) has probably had their own private little success-fantasy, the dream-world moment where suddenly they’re the next Steven King/Neil Gaiman-style pop icon, or the next David Foster Wallace critical runaway, or whoever.  Maybe it involves going to conventions filled with screaming fans, or spending a year as a prestigious university’s Writer in Residence.  Maybe it’s more along the lines of making piles of money, buying a private property in the woods, and never speaking to anyone except your editor again (and can’t we all just wait to see what J. D. Salinger was cranking out in the bunker, now that some relative gets to sell it all off?).

I’m going to break the whole stream of thought here to draw your attention to the end of the last sentence — this is another formatting thing I wonder about; I know that when you have a parenthetical thought (and I have lots of them) you don’t end it with any punctuation, and if it falls at the end of the sentence, you put the final punctuation of the sentence outside the closing parentheses (parenthes?).  But (see, I just did it again) sometimes there’s a parenthetical that ends in punctuation itself, usually a question mark, but sometimes even something even more complicated:

“No!” she snapped, and tried not to think of Elizabeth (who would have just laughed and said “Tell him no, but don’t be rude about it.”).

Isn’t that awful?  Period, close-quotes, close-parentheses, period.  Four punctuation marks in a row; that’s practically a new form of sentence.  Anyway, you see what I’m getting at — just another of those more uncommon formatting situations that I’m never quite sure of the rules in, and haven’t had a lot of luck finding a solid answer on.  They say good things about Eats Shoots and Leaves, but during my bookstore leafing-throughs it struck me more as an interesting coffee-table book than a reference guide — anyway, back to the original train of thought here.  Just a quick two paragraphs or so of, well, parenthetical thought.

So fantasies of success.  Pretty natural in most fields, I assume — or maybe not; maybe the science Ph.D.s I know just do their work and never think about how awesome it would be to be That One Dude whose papers they all base their work on (it may also be a lot less fun to be That One Dude in, say, nuclear physics).  And mine always involve tea.

The love-affair with good tea is reasonably recent.  I moved to the city I live in now about two years ago with a bag-of-Twinnings standard for tea-drinking, which I still go back to once in a while.  But there are two tea-houses within walking distance of me (I know, right?) where you can kill a good afternoon relaxing and trying the different kinds out for a modest price, and that turns you into a snob awfully quickly.  So we went from microwaving water and dropping the bag in to getting an actual tea kettle and a little mesh ball for looseleaf, and a while later we added a couple of teapots (with matching cups), and now I’m starting to dream of the day where it can all be right there on my desk.

The desk in this vision is not very important; I use one of those Office Depot not-actually-wood desks that at least manages a passable impression, and that gets me by just fine.  It lacks drawers, but I just lose stuff if I have drawers.  But on top of the desk, I have a large mug, a little metal teapot with an infuser basket set into it (probably with dragons on it, ’cause why the hell not?), a couple of spice canisters of looseleaf, and an electric kettle (I’m not usually a big electric gadgets person in the kitchen, but saving trips to the stove is a big part of this fantasy).

It’s a nice, modest dream, I think.  Whatever else may come of the writing, enough success to ensconce myself with tea and tea-making paraphernalia that are mine, part of the basic supplies of my desk, not a subset of the kitchen (which, okay, is also my domain, but it’s not the same thing).  And realistically, I could probably go out and get all that today for under fifty bucks — I know where I can get a good deal on this stuff, after all.  But it wouldn’t be the same — and the cats would knock it all over anyway; a room with a door is also an integral part of this fantasy.  Sorry, sweetie.

And that’s the dream for today!  Sorry for the late post.  I would say that life got crazy, but honestly, I slept from midnight until noon — the usual “been burning the candle at both ends a little too long” shutdown response.  Hopefully things’ll get a little more consistent now.

EDITED ADDITION:  Also, why does WordPress think that a “possibly related entry” is “anime tour of my sexuality”?  I’ll admit, I was too much of a coward to click the link and look for connections…

Writing Life: Previews, Works in Progress, First Publishing Rights, and More

Poor WordPress, automatically turning every post title into the default URL for the post.  I hope there’s no character limit on these things.  Snappy titles were never something I was good at — in fact, if I could, I’d leave the space at the top of my stories blank, and let the editors just pick their own damn title.  They do a lot of the time anyway, and it would save me a lot of time wasted trying to find a title that, while not necessarily very good (I try not to let my ambition run too far ahead of my ability), at least didn’t make the story sound really campy and stupid.  I could have written great titles for 1960s horror movies.  That’s not what this post was going to be about, but now you’ve learned something else about me.

Headlines, though, those are fun.  I feel like headline writer for The Wall Street Journal would actually be my dream job.

Anyway.  I’ve been wrestling with re-creating a “Works” page on this blog to showcase a few stories, just so my (limited) audience at least has some idea what I’m talking about when I babble about my “writing” — whatever the hell that is, right?  Unless you happen to be in my editing group (love yas), you’ve never seen the prose in question.  And that puts me in a rather awkward spot, since most publishers of short fiction are pretty strict about not taking anything that’s ever seen the light of day before, including in small excerpts on your blog.  I feel like the options open to visual artists on sites like DeviantArt or even crafters on Etsy aren’t very useful to writers, especially short fiction writers.

One obvious solution is to write short samples specifically for the blog page, but in all honesty, I’ve got an ambitious writing schedule as it is.  There’s enough irons on the fire without adding another, and if I did, the results (since I would know in my heart of hearts that they didn’t need to be publication-worthy) would probably be half-assed and not an example of my work that I want to show the world anyway.  I’ve seen some people who have or contribute to free fiction blogs as a way of generating exposure, including some novel-length works, and I admire those people — but realistically, I think my deadline on proving I can make at least some money doing this is a little tight for that kind of time investment, and I don’t know that there’s any real proven correlation between running pieces in free e-zines and scoring professional publications, yet.  Maybe in a few years (after the iPad has changed the face of publication forever, right?  Just trying to stay topical this week…)

Another option is to sacrifice a few stories for the “Works” page and only submit them to the semi-professional sorts of publications that are willing to take previously-run stories, rather than First Serial Rights (or whatever), and I have considered that one.  Especially the really good one that keeps getting bounced, I think because it doesn’t fit as neatly into “themed” issues and most of the places I’ve sent it have been doing those lately.  That’s what I tell myself, anyway, but it might be time to just throw that one up in its entirety and offer it up to the semi-pro tier of things at this point.  Postage is starting to add up on that one (it’s kind of fun to do the math and figure out how many times you can submit a story of such-and-such length and so-many-cents-per-word before the postage costs outweigh the profit, but also kind of not).

“Previews” that aren’t directly from the text are another option — I can see a use for text pulled out of drafts that didn’t make it into the final version, but still capture the feel of a piece.  It does lock those chunks of text out of any published version for good, though, and I’m always reluctant to do that — you never know what’s going to be a good fit after a round of post-rejection changes (which I’m usually sparing with, but still, you never know).

Unfortunately, all of this is so much whistling in the dark if I can’t get a better handle on formatting WordPress pages — ideally, I’d like the “Works” page to be set up largely like the actual blog, with every work showcased in a separate “post” of its own, though obviously things like the date and time, tags, categories, and all of that are less important.  Failing that, I at least have to be able to do some basic centering, sizing, and formatting besides hitting “ENTER” to separate my paragraphs — currently, I can’t even get it to make a larger vertical space by hitting “ENTER” multiple times (though I suppose I could use good formatting habits, and just put a bunch of pound signs on top of one another).  So that’s another skill to acquire somewhere.

I’m gonna learn to play the guitar here some time, too.

So that’s another iron in the old fire for now, but maybe one that will wait on getting some drafts out to the editing group, because right now they all think I died.  Just wait until I send you the novel to look at, suckers!  Tune in Monday, when I talk about pony stories.

Seriously.

Devil’s Details: A Post About Formatting

As the title says, today’s post (which I’m getting a head start on by posting just after midnight) is mostly about formatting.

We live in the internet age, and there’s a limitless supply of opinions on how to do basically anything, but editors of short fiction are mercifully agreed — for the most part — on a pretty standard manuscript format; I’ve even been linked to the same couple of how-to essays by most of the publications I’ve looked at (William Shunn’s essay is the most common, with Vonda N. McIntyre’s coming in second).  So there’s at least a decent starting-point, but all of the essays and opinions I’ve looked at have left a few points unresolved, which while they probably won’t make or break a submission (or even be noticed by the majority of most editors) could still use settling in my mind.  For curiosity’s sake, if for no other reason; also because conventions are useful as a thing to occasionally break from when you need to signal something particularly important or strange going on in your text.

Of course, my biggest trouble with the whole thing is purely technological — I was a real computer whiz back around fifth or sixth grade, and I can still use my Mac like the best eleven year-old in the business, so getting it to do little things like, say, default to Courier instead of Cambria as the font in Microsoft Word hasn’t happened yet; likewise other defaults such as double-spaced rather than single, page numbers with my name and the title of the work, and that sort of detail.  I can at least set them all manually — I’m not that bad at this — but it would be nice not to have to reset four or five options every time I start a new work or a separate-file revision of an existing one.  And, realistically, when am I going to need to type in anything but double-spaced Courier?

But setting that aside, it’s mostly just finicky details I’m concerned with.  Dashes are a big one for me, since I could teach Emily Dickinson a thing or two about overusing them; there seems to be agreement on using two — like this, which I think WordPress automatically turns into a single, longer dash, but was achieved by hitting the button twice — but less agreement on whether or not to flank the double-dash with a space on each side.  Line breaks suffer from the same confusion; everyone likes the pound sign (“#”) as the indicator for a blank line in the typeset version, but I’ve seen it centered and I’ve seen it justified right, and I’ve seen it both with and without an empty line above and below it in the original manuscript as well.

Everyone likes a double-space after a colon and a single-space after a semi-colon; I’m not sure I agree with the explanation that this is to make them easier to distinguish (one would hope that context could do that), but I’m happy to follow the rule.  The double-space after sentence-ending punctuation can be a little harder to abide by, since quotations and parentheticals can make exactly what constitutes the end of a sentence somewhat dubious.  I’ve particularly run into this trouble in more “literary” attempts; it comes up less in straight genre fiction, where you’re not usually doing anything too terribly fancy with the structure of your paragraphs or your dialogue attributions or whatever.  Right now I default to picking one punctuation mark as the end of the whole-goddamn-thing per sentence, be it never so convoluted, and double-spacing after that; everything else just gets one space even if it seems to be concluding a subcontained sentence.

Whether or not the title is entirely capitalized seems to be in debate as well.  My general feeling there is that no one explicitly says it has to be all-caps, and therefore it shouldn’t be, in case you get the one editor that really hates it.  A final pound-sign or the phrase “The End” is even more of a conundrum, since I’ve submitted to publications that specifically requested it and publications that discouraged it (or at least linked to the Shunn essay, which discourages it); my general feeling is that while the argument that the end of the story should be clear from context is perfectly reasonable from a lit-crit point of view, there’s something to be said on behalf of the guy that drops the bundle on the floor and has to make sure he’s got it all put back together right.  Especially if the last sentence comes close to the end of the page, a neat little “End” indicator is maybe not such a bad thing to stick in there.  I can’t see anyone really knocking serious points off for it the way I can for more egregious flights of formatting fancy, so I’ll probably keep doing it.

I realize this is perhaps not the most interesting subject, but — and I’m saying this for the people who skipped the links, both of which also spend some time explaining exactly why you follow formatting guidelines — it makes editors happy when you get everything right, and happy editors are more likely to publish your story.  I can’t even blame them for looking in askance on minor mistakes, if they do (though my guess is that mostly people will be happy with twelve-point, double-spaced Courier with one-inch margins and no glaring typos); I just the other day clucked my mental tongue and shook my metaphorical head at the misuse of semicolons in a Wall Street Journal editorial (guest, not staff, in their defense).  It’s not like it made the piece any worse, but I noticed, and that made me feel a little more superior to the writer.  And who wants to run a story written by someone they don’t think that highly of?

ADDENDUM:  Some day, I will post one of these things with all the tags and categories and things already properly in place.  Speaking of formatting.

Personal Pages: That Torturing Angst

I don’t think of myself as a particularly tortured artist, other than by the usual pecuniary woes of someone who mostly wants to write and isn’t all that good at advancing other careers — most of my projects are meant at least primarily as entertainment; I don’t have a message or a movement or a vision that has to come out just right for my work to be fulfilling.  Pacing up and down the study (I don’t have one), tearing at my hair and cursing the gods that burdened me with this unbearable, frustrated genius is not in my cards.

And yet, there is angst.

It’s not really crippling angst.  Anxiety might be a better word, even.  But there’s definitely a nagging bad feeling associated with writing that bears exploring, which is what this blog post is going to be about. 

“Great,” you say, “a blog about an unpublished author’s personal angst; won’t this be fun.” Bear with me.  It’s not going to be weepy, or even particularly specific to myself; it’s just some thoughts about balancing writing and the irritating need to eat, and things of that nature, with a focus on how that feels to the person doing it rather than the practical details (although now that I say it, a post on the practical details of “Writing and Making Rent” might not be a terrible contribution for another day). For today, though, the introspective side of the equation.

Here’s the problem, I think — writing takes time. Worse, the stuff that comes after writing, but before publishing and getting paid for it, takes time, sometimes even more than the original putting-words-on-paper (computer, whatever) took.  So the aspiring writer is investing hours that could be spent polishing the resume, kissing up to the boss, or doing all those other getting-ahead-in-life activities in producing a product of unknown value, instead.  People don’t always like that, including people that have a vested interest in the would-be-writer’s life — parents, say, or spouses, or roommates who really don’t want to have to cover more than their share of rents; there’s a lot of interpersonal dynamics that can be fouled by “wasting time” on a thus-far profitless exercise.  And, worse, it’s usually well-meaning people who are providing the most pressure to do something that actually gets you “ahead,” and they’ve got a point.

It’s that point that’s the real source of the angst.  There is absolutely no question that time spent on writing and getting stories out for publication could be spent doing more directly profitable things.  And depending on how you measure it, life could probably be better if you made that switch.  There’d be more money, there’d be health insurance, there’d be some respect from your peers — many things that are, generally speaking, viewed as life-improving additions.  Certainly more tangible than piles and piles of word-processed manuscripts waiting to be gone over with yet another fine-toothed comb before sending them out for yet another rejection letter.

But — and this is speaking as someone who’s still on the smacked-down side of things, with no “look, it was all worth it” credits to validate my opinion yet — that’s really what’s going to separate the pimps from the wimps, isn’t it? (I’ve been writing for a YA audience tonight; forgive the lapses into playground motivational speech when they crop up.)  Any entrepreneur is gambling investment capital on the bet that his/her idea is a marketable one; people who don’t want to make that gamble need to find an entry-level job and start climbing the corporate ladder.  Writers-to-be have to pony up big chunks of “the best years of your life” as the starting investment.  Exactly what we get back if it does “pay off” — when we become published, perhaps even professional, authors — I’m not quite clear on yet; you would have to ask someone that’s “made it.”  Or read their book or their blog or whatever.  But there’s got to be a whole hell of a lot of satisfaction, at the very least, and the reassurance that you didn’t waste all that time.

Until then, there is angst.  There is anxiety.  There is the fear that you’re just kidding yourself, and that you’re going to be well and truly fucked (put the kids to bed; I work blue when I’m nervous) when the whole “writer thing” falls through and you’re where you were a year ago, with nothing to show for it and financial pressures building up.  I’m definitely living with that feeling now; I combat it mostly through dogged faith in my ability to get something out there eventually, and the rather childlike hope that all the fear will go away after that first validation of this life choice.  Using the phrase “life choice” also helps, even if it is a little self-deluding — I’m not going to try to convince anyone else that this is really how I’m going to Be A Person, yet, but I can at least get a head start selling myself on the idea.

So there’s some angst for the blog.  I really am going to have to write about making ends meet while spending most of your waking, non-work hours on an unprofitable enterprise, now — stay tuned!

Writing Life: Get it out the door and…where?

I think there’s enough people out there saying that the key to success as an author is persistence that I don’t need to say it again, though after the ninth or tenth rejection it does start to need a little re-emphasizing.  But what I dearly wish we had instead was a little more specificity as to where that persistence (a word I will always need spellcheck for) ought reasonably to be directed, during the starting phase.

I realize that I do not exactly have a clearly-defined authorial focus, but even taking a pretty specific example from my various flounderings to find a good medium — let’s go with “short genre fiction” –  there can be an overwhelming wealth of publications to submit to, each with their own standards, submission process, response time, and other little idiosyncrasies that make deciding exactly where to send the persistent resubmissions a little nerve-wracking.

The first big question, I think, once a work is finished, edited and re-edited by self and others, polished up, and in general ready to submit, is how crazy-optimistic to be.  Send it straight to the New Yorker?  (Or, if we stick with the genre fiction example, Fantasy & Science Fiction?)  Or is it better to start with the “easiest” markets, maybe an oddball independent that does just the sort of story you wrote, or a college-supported magazine from your alma mater?  And there’s a lot of middle ground between the two, categorizable by all sorts of things — cents-per-word payment, print versus online magazine, subscription versus per-story rates for readers; just a great big mess of things that might (or might not) make a particular publication the most likely to run a given story.

I’m still working on that first breakthrough, so I can’t really answer the questions I’m posing with anything like an authoritative voice.  I’ve mostly been trying to match submissions to publications that run things like them, regardless of the other specifics, though that can be hard on a tight budget — unless the local library happens to have back issues, or there are samples available online, I don’t always have an example of what to strive for.  But I read everything they give me on what’s desired and what isn’t, and see if I’m at least in the right ballpark, which sometimes has be aiming maybe a little high for where I’m at.  Publishers that explicitly state “no cover letter needed” are always my favorite; the lack of previous credits hurts less when they’re specifically asking you not to admit it!  Not that it’s hard to Google my name and confirm that there aren’t any, but hopefully most editors aren’t really that concerned with whether an author has been published before — it always seemed like one of those things that helps you if you’ve done it, maybe, but doesn’t hurt if you haven’t.  Maybe I’m wrong there; who knows.

But the short summary of it all is that persistence ain’t a problem — I can go on polishing and resubmitting stories all year; that’s just a matter of filling out online forms or mailing the occasional brown envelope (although the walk to the post office is pretty cold this time of year).  It’s figuring out where to put that persistence that I’m just not sure about — which magazines to hit with every helpful offering, and which to leave for the bright and beautiful future where I have a bunch of accepted stories and a good deal more confidence under my belt.

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