Simmering on the back burner is something I’ve been working on for over a year. It’s relatively complete. It’s got a beginning, a middle, and (in my opinion) a pretty cracking end. I’ve gotten people to look it over and agree it’s at least decent. And yet it sits there. It simmers. It waits.
Because it isn’t ready yet.
Cold Streets is going to be my second self-published novella. And as veteran self-publisher Chuck Wendig will tell you, there’s nothing second tier or ‘minor leagues’ about it. While you don’t have to go through the rigors and the wait and the hoops of the traditional publishing model, part of the trade-off is that the onus of the actual publication process is on you, the writer. You have to be your own PR. You have to be your own editor. And you have to be your own critic.
Despite the good words from my test readers, regardless of what polish and improvements I plan on making, the fact of the matter is, I am the sole arbiter of quality when it comes to what I write. And if something I’ve written isn’t good enough, it won’t see the light of day. That’s why I shut down Godslayer, and it’s why Cold Streets continues to simmer. I want to publish it, sure – it’s decent enough to warrant that – but I don’t feel it’s quite good enough yet.
They say you only get one chance to make a first impression. With Cold Iron, I held back on lining up the cover and arranging publication until I felt it was ready. And even as I fired it off, I felt there were things I could change about it. But it was prepared, and worked over, and good enough for other eyes. It may not be perfect – most of my work may never be perfect – but it worked well enough to earn some decent sales and good reviews. Cold Streets needs to be better. It will be, but it isn’t yet.
That’s the price we pay for publishing ourselves.
Well, that, and paying for talented folks to help us with our covers and whatnot.
Another nasty winter storm has slapped the area, leaving people buried in snow and shivering in near-zero temperatures (negative teens or lower in Celsius). Today sees the sun shining, but there’s a nasty wind out of the north-northwest and temperatures show no signs of going up. Local traffic is certain to be dicey at best. Thankfully, I am in a position where I am capable of working from home.
Doing so not only allows me the opportunity to feel more like a novelist, as they are a reclusive breed who rarely leave their homes, but also preserves energy that would otherwise be expended on my least favorite part of working in an office: the commute. Even though I moved closer to the office at the end of 2012, it can still be a major pain to get there even when conditions are good. And today, conditions remain dicey at best.
After doing so yesterday, I was able to make more headway in the new project (which needs a title at some point) and get a post over to Geekadelphia for the opening of the Hearthstone beta. Now, anybody can play! I’ve been trying to balance out my leisure time a bit more, and despite the advantages of working from home, I’m looking for ways and means to get out and about a bit more. Going strictly from home to the office and back again with deviations existing only in the context of errands can get tiresome.
Which is why I went to the cinema on Sunday night, and when Friday rolls around, I’ll tell you all about that.
A late night working plus working from home today equals headaches and other complications, the least of which is the fact that I didn’t prep a blog post yesterday. So while I brew coffee and hunt down painkillers, enjoy reading this post about what writers are.
Living with writers is a tricky business at times. Look here, here and here for some of the proof. Over and above any cautionary tale you might here from the trenches is a deeper truth that is ever-present but rarely discussed. Writers, especially creators of fiction, for all their imagination and altruism and creativity and willingness to share their inspiration to inform and entertain, share a common bond that has nothing to do with what they drink and everything to do with how they do what they do.
I know I may be exaggerating somewhat, but bear with me through the metaphors. Writers, you see, are criminals.
Writers are Thieves
A writer may talk about someone or something that inspires them. What they’re really doing is confessing to theft. Now it’s rarely wholesale thievery, and you may need to look very carefully to see the seams between ideas stolen from other sources, but trust me, the wholly original idea presented by a writer is exceedingly rare.
Many writers have talked about this, at times obliquely, but Joseph Campbell is probably the best-known whistle-blower for this sort of thing. The idea of the hero’s journey is nothing new in the slightest, with the task of the writer being to modify that narrative through-line to make it interesting and relevant. Often the words being used have their roots in outside sources. However, the important part is not the words themselves, but rather what they are talking about.
Writers are Voyeurs
When you pick up a work of fiction, be it rattled off by a fan of a particular current narrative or a story spanning multiple volumes and years, you are looking into the lives of other people. You are seeing as much or as little as the author wants you to see. At times, you’ll be witnessing moments and aspects the people in question may not wish you to witness. You’ll be watching them at their most vulnerable, their most monstrous or their most intimate.
What is this if not voyeurism?
We often find or are told that the act of watching another person, especially if they are unaware of our presence, is something abhorrent. It’s invasive and we should be ashamed of ourselves. Yet we do it all the time. And it is writers, of stage and screen and page, who encourage us to engage in this sort of sordid, vicarious living.
It’s not all steamy windows and heavy breathing, though. When we see the lives of others unfold, the possibility exists for us, despite only being involved as observers, gaining something from the experience. The exploration of these fictional people can give us insight into our own perspectives and motivation. If we can relate to, understand and care for original characters, there’s no reason we can’t relate to, understand and care for our fellow man.
Writers are Murderers
George RR Martin, I’m looking at you.
What are writers if not gods of their own little worlds? They create the people that populate their stories, give them backgrounds, motivations and personalities, sometimes to the point of being all but living and breathing in the minds of the audience. Then, for the sake of the plot or to drive home a point, the writer kills them. Don’t be fooled by something like old age or heart failure or an “accident” – the character is only dead because the writer murdered them.
You can smooth over the stealing in a few ways, and the voyeurism is victimless, if a bit creepy. But murder? Man, that’s serious business. The writer is destroying something they themselves have created for the sake of telling a story.
Or rather, if they’re any good, for the sake of telling a good story.
The only two true inevitabilities in this life are that you are going to die and you are going to pay taxes. And writing about taxes isn’t very sexy or exciting. It goes back to the vicarious nature of experiencing fiction: by seeing how others deal with death, we can gain some measure of peace, understanding and even inspiration to apply to our own lives. The writer’s murders take on an edge beyond this due to the finality of death, but it can still be to the ultimate benefit of the audience.
There’s also the fact that it can be a hallmark of a writer doing their job well. If people are truly outraged by the death of a character, if they cry out in protest or flip tables or what have you, the writer’s done something very special. They’ve made the audience care about an imaginary person. The people experiencing the story feel something on a personal level, have become engaged if not immersed in this tale, which means the writing has done more than convey a story. It’s drawn people into it and inspired them to care.
You can’t make an omelet without making a few eggs, and you can’t tell a truly compelling story without characters dying.
Writers are dark. They’re dastardly. They’re absolutely despicable.
It can be difficult to start over. The process consumes both time and energy, something that an individual may not have in abundance. It can even be frightening. Yet it’s something we have to do on a regular if not constant basis, to continue on our journey from where we are to where we want to be.
I’m struggling to maintain the groove of writing every day. Things were sporadic at the end of last year and I’m telling myself it’s okay to ease off of the throttle of some areas so I can focus more on others. I have big changes lining up for the year, and I want to be prepared so I can enjoy the benefits they’ll bring. I’m trying to recoup lost energy, and conserve it so I have some when I get done with the daily work.
I’m writing every day, and I feel like I’m doing a bit more than I have in months, but I’m still not quite up to 1000 words a day. I’m also easing back into a daily routine of exercise, and some parts of that are proving difficult. It’s going to get easier and I’ll see more progress, it’s just slow going right now. New beginnings are difficult.
To me, however, they’re always worth embarking upon. Every year, even every day, is a chance at a fresh start. I commented on this theme last year and I still hold to what I said. We have to keep trying. We can’t give up. When things are difficult or daunting or even just inconvenient, and the benefits are certain, we have to keep going until we attain those benefits.
I’m going to tell you a secret. You might already know what I’m going to say, but it’ll be said anyway, as it needs to be repeated.
Come on, get closer. Don’t be shy.
You ready?
Here it is:
Being a writer is not about publication.
Being a writer is about one thing, and one thing only: writing.
To be a writer, you must write. What is a fighter who does not fight? What is a designer who does not design? It’s less about what these labels mean to the outside world, and more about what they mean to the individual. It’s important to do what motivates and drives us, even if it doesn’t immediately turn a profit or satisfy a client. As Howard Thurman put it (and I’m paraphrasing), “the world needs people who come alive.”
So you need to write. You need to write whenever you can. And you even need to write when you can’t.
This last part may seem confusing, but consider the following scenario. It’s been a long day. Maybe you commute to and from a dayjob, maybe you maintain a household, maybe you have studies that consume most of your time. None of these things are bad. But these things are not writing. And they can sap your energy and your will to be productive.
It’s times like these you simply need to keep writing.
Jot down notes by hand. Cram a line in here and there on coffee and lunch breaks. Carve time out of the mornings and evenings, in bloody chunks if you have to, so you can write more. Convert some of the time in which you “can’t” write into moments where you deliver the facts, breathe life into characters, or open up a new world for readers to explore.
It’s a lot like physical fitness. The more you do it, and the more you work to establish a routine, the more it becomes a part of your life and the harder it is for you to quit. And if I had one true piece of advice, one thing that I know from experience that can be applied to the lives of others, it’s this:
