Category: Writing (page 52 of 81)

Breaking That Damn Block

Courtesy West Orlando News

I know for a fact that writer’s block doesn’t exist.

It’s a phantasmal construct, a conjuration of minds desperate to make words appear on pages but struggling with an inability to do so. Every writer, from the best-selling novelist to the mommy blogger to the spinner of rhetoric deals with it now and again. The desire to write is there, hungry and unplacated, but the words are not. They simply do not appear.

Those are the times when a writer is tempted to reach for the “writer’s block” excuse.

The fact of the matter is that many factors can contribute to a lack of words. Too many distractions. Not enough rest. Too much caffiene. Or not enough. Hunger, frustration, despair and doubt. Tangled emotions can wad up in the neurons of the writer and, yes, block the flow of creativity.

It’s the closest writer’s block ever comes to being real.

But along with the term comes the notion that it’s wished into being by malevolent forces. A writer can believe that if writer’s block is indeed the cause for a lack of productivity, there’s little that can be done about it. Here’s proof that you couldn’t be more wrong.

That’s another thing that can cause a writer to believe in the so-called “block”. A sense of futility. It can seem like there’s no new stories to tell. An article on politics or gaming or frighteningly effective sex toys can appear redundant. This very post on writer’s block feels a bit like repetition.

So what?

Just because a particular story has been told doesn’t mean you can’t tell it differently. Maybe even better. You won’t know until you try, and the alternative is making nothing happen at all.

In the words of XKCD, fuck that shit.

We all have bad days. Everybody struggles. Not every moment is going to be full of the creative juices flowing freely from your brainpan through the dream-tubes in your arms to the paper or keyboard or tablet or paint-stained wall.

And you know what? That’s okay.

What’s not okay is letting it stop you from doing something about it.

Maybe you won’t write today. Maybe you feel your drawings suck. Maybe you think you suck hard at something you enjoy or want to excel in doing. Welcome to the human race, now stop beating yourself up over not being perfect.

Let the issue drop. Stop worrying about it. Gnaw no more on your fingernails and insides. Take a break. Grab some food. Make yourself a drink. Find something pleasurable to do. Go the fuck outside.

When you get back, the work will still be waiting for you. But you will no longer feel ill-equipped to deal with it.

You will, instead, kick its ass.

If writer’s block did exist, consider sentiments like this your sledgehammer. I’ll happily help you swing it.

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey

Courtesy terribleminds

You know those books about writing out there? Novels and Groupies for Dummies? The Idiot’s Guide To Being The Next Stephen King? How I Did It by Stephenie Meyer? That’s amateur hour. Kiddie stuff. On the battlefield of serious writing, where the freelancers struggle every day to make something happen, to feed themselves through words, to put bloody words on the page, they’re the armchair generals.

Chuck Wendig, on the other hand, is down in the trenches, right next to you, asking why in the hell you weren’t issued booze and an iPad along with the spades to dig your foxholes.

Revenge of the Penmonkey is the third book of writing advice he’s put on Kindles, and the veteran status of his work shows. This is a guy who’s been through the wringer. He’s struggled, hand over hand, one word at a time, to carve out his own place as a storyteller and an iconoclast. He doesn’t just show you how to make it as a novelist, short story writer, freelance penmonkey and menace to society – he shows you why.

He gives you a “day in the life” entry that puts any office experience to shame. He explains in exhausting, knuckle-popping detail why your action scenes need to jump up, crane-kick and actually mean something. He shows you why self-publishing that limp piece of purple prose in your hand is a really, really bad idea. And he explains why he can say as much as he does with as much authority as he does. He’s been there, man. He’s seen the enemy. Looked it in the eyeballs. And it’s us.

Read between the lines of Revenge of the Penmonkey, moreso than his first two advice books, and you’ll see what Chuck is really trying to tell us, what he wants to scream at us while shaking us by the lapels: Snap out of it. The words won’t write themselves. Nobody can tell your stories but you. Forget the fact that the market’s flush with the kind of thing you want to do. You can do it better. You can. But you have to take the first step. Write the words. Make the magic happen. Get off your ass. DO SOMETHING.

The fact that he laces his heartfelt plea with anecdotes, the praises of gin and bucketloads of profanity is, really, just icing on the cake.

Putting the “Dead” in Deadlines

Courtesy monkeyc.net
Courtesy monkeyc.net

I am very, very good at procrastination.

Even as I write this I’m debating putting it off. I need to go to the post office and the library, the little voice says, the blog can wait. Who reads this stuff, anyway? Oh, and it’s about time for a fresh cup of tea. Wasn’t scratching behind the kitten’s ears fun? Yeah, let’s do that some more, then sort some Magic cards. Screw the job search and the writing, that stuff’s just depressing.

Allow me to give that sentiment – and maybe yours – a mental steel-toed kick to its metaphorical balls.

I wasn’t a fantastic student in university. Of the many papers I wrote, only a few were heavily researched and edited before turning them in. Most of them were dashed off based on scribbled, Ramen-stained notes the night before. Still managed to pass, though.

Having milestones, deadlines and checkpoints always helps. They can be major or minor, but like achievements in video games, they’re something to work towards. Sometimes I’ll make it, other times I won’t. But how does one hone a work ethic when there’s no set work to be done?

You set the deadlines yourself.

And you stick to them.

A couple weeks ago I hemmed and hawed about my to-do list. Since then I realized I do, in fact, want to write a sixth story for my anthology. But Red Hood took a lot longer than it should have to put together and a little reading of Revenge of the Penmonkey (available on Amazon and Nook, review later this week, short version: YOU GO BUY NOW) helped me realize why. I’d given myself no deadline. I spent mornings on Monster and Jobfox and whatnot, letting the best and most active period of time for my brain dribble away in a drab, seemingly hopeless and endless search for a new dayjob while Unemployment jerks me around.

Resolved to fix this after last night’s unfortunate turn of events with Building New Worlds (reschedule pending), I jotted down some titles and dates on a Post-it and stuck it onto my desk, opposite my StarCraft 2 reminders and the big one saying I need to write 1000 words that aren’t in the blog every day. I consider that a bare minimum.

Now I’ll be doing it in the mornings because dammit, I have deadlines to meet.

Specifically I’ve given myself until the 11th to finish this last short story. I’ve set Halloween as the date to send the veteran his edited manuscript, and while that’s going on I have until Thanksgiving (almost two months) to tackle the rewrite of Citizen in the Wilds. And after that, Valentine’s Day 2012 is the drop-dead date to complete the first round of edits and second draft of Cold Iron.

See, the thing is, if you don’t establish deadlines, especially if you’re doing something where they’re not established for you, the ‘dead’ part of the word rises from the rest and may very well choke the life out of your endeavor. We get distracted. Important things get our attention. Kitchen appliances explode. Earthquakes, typhoons, hurricanes, smog. Cats rubbing on our shins. Spouses, too.

I’m not saying chain yourself to your desk, glue your wrists to the bottom portion of the keyboard and type until your fingers bleed. Unless you have to. What I’m saying is impose some sort of structure on what you’re doing. Make promises to yourself about the amount of work you’re going to do, and for the love of whichever muse you think visits you in the night to whisper sweet writerly nothings in your ear, do not break them.

When you do, it’s not the deadlines who have the upper hand. It’s you. And when the deadline arrives and your work is done, you’re the one pointing and laughing at the deadline’s postmortem twitches and spasms, rather than being the victim of your own procrastination.

With me? Good. Once again, let us pray.

Courtesy terribleminds
Courtesy terribleminds

A Writer’s To-Do List

Checklist

So last week’s ICFN was delayed. It’s still on hold. I’m waiting to hear back from third parties that were interested in conveying it to a different format. Awaiting correspondence always makes days or weekends feel longer, from responses to job postings to queries about Magic trades.

But while I was waiting I took a look at the various projects I’ve lined up for myself.

There are three things that go against me when I try to sit down and get my writing pants on: I’m always thinking of new ideas, I’m not terribly organized and I’m easily distracted. All it takes is a cat darting across the floor, a ringing phone or a stray thought on something awesome unrelated to the project at hand to force me to refocus my efforts. I do turn off HootSuite and other things when I’m actually writing, but that only addresses the distraction problem.

You can take a look at my desk, my kitchen sink or either basement I have stuff in (here in Lansdale or at the ancestral place in Allentown) as silent testament to my lack of organization and pack-rat nature. This also ties in to my ideas. New ones creep into my brain all the time. An action sequence, a bit of dialog, a new character in an old setting… this stuff floats in and out from time to time. It takes conscious effort to nail it all down. And once I do, I need to get it into some sort of organized sequence.

Obviously I want to finish things I’ve started before I begin anything new, so let’s get some priorities straight here. This is pertaining mostly to my own publishable (eventually) writing, not other projects I’ve taken on (the Vietnam manuscript) and the weekday drivel in this blog.

I feel I should finish Red Hood first. It’s the shortest piece, and with it my collection of mixed-myth stories reaches a total of five. Akuma (Japanese oni in a period slasher story), The Jovian Flight (Greek myth IN SPACE!), The Drifter’s Hand (Norse myth in the Old West) and Miss Weaver’s Lo Mein (Chinese myth as a modern romance) round out the rest. That may be enough for an anthology, but I’m uncertain. I may want to do a sixth story.

The rewrite of Citizen in the Wilds must come next. I’ve started outlining the new opening, and will track the appearances and growth of characters to ensure they’re consistent and sympathetic, two problems pointed out by at least one review on Book Country. The problem with the way it opened before was I was cramming too much exposition into the first few pages and not giving the characters enough time to develop and establish connections with each other and the reader – in other words, I opened too late. So I’m starting a bit earlier. Giving these people more breathing room. You know, before I kill most of them.

I have an idea for a Magic: the Gathering piece but as it may be nothing more than fan fiction and Wizards has better things to do than entertain the notions of a relatively unknown hack like myself (as opposed to known hacks like Robert Wintermute), I’ll try not to devote too much time to it.

Once I finish up with the other stuff I’ll go back to Cold Iron. I plan on taking this lean, mean and well-intentioned supernatural noir thing I threw together during my commutes of the last few months and putting it through the prescribed Wendig cycle of editing my shit. The Wendig cycle, by the way, has little to do with Wagner’s cycle. More whiskey and profanity, less large sopranos and Norse symbolism.

Meantime, the blog will keep the writing-wheels greased. More Westeros fiction for the Honor & Blood crowd. More flash fiction challenges. Reviews of movies, games and books. Ruminations on trying not to suck as a writer.

And Guild Wars 2 stuff, because that MMO looks pretty damn awesome, not to mention damn pretty.

Stay tuned. I may be down, but I ain’t licked yet.

Take A Walk

Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr

Writers: when was the last time you went for a walk?

Some of you may do it every day. Some of you might go to a gym so what do you need a walk for? Others? Pfft, that’s what I bought a car for, son. Pedestrians are bonus points to me. I decorate the grille of my Audi with the finger bones of hippies too stupid to get a vehicle themselves.

Probably not that last one so much, but the point is walking is something we all do and are all capable of. Also? It’s one way to meander right past so-called “writer’s block.”

This is especially true if you live near a major city. There’s some saying about there being a thousand stories in it. Feeling stuck in your current narrative or unsure of how to start one? Go find one of those stories.

It could be anything. A gaggle of tourists. A toothless hobo. Some trendy gal in jogging shorts pulling a small yappy dog along at the end of a leash signed by every cast member of the Jersey Shore. A bunch of guys at a halal food truck. The old church on the corner unruffled by the ultra-modern apartments next to it. A street that suddenly changes from macadam to cobblestones. Inspiration can come from any of these things. Or all of them.

Maybe the tourists get jumped by a werewolf. Maybe that hobo is the werewolf. Or maybe it’s Miss Trendy, and she dreams of going furry on The Situation next time he pops a girl in the mouth. The church on the corner my house a weathered by deadly monster hunter and those cobblestones stay there because it’s holy ground.

That’s just an example. But none of these ideas would have come to fruition if it hadn’t been for the stroll you’d taken.

So what are you waiting for? Grab some tunes, some water, an umbrella if it’s raining. Walk a few blocks, or just around yours. As the body moves of its own accord, the mind’s free to do whatever it wants. Let it. You’re only as fettered to your limitations as you choose to be, and if being in your chair feels limiting, get the hell out of it.

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