“Once a Knight” on Sale

My (if you ask me) incredibly funny fantasy novel, “Once a Knight,” is currently on sale for $.99 for a limited time. Thrill to the adventures of the Legume brothers, two long-lost siblings who should have stayed lost. They are proof that the Universe has a sense of humor, and we’re the joke.

After Bruce has been exiled from his adopted home in Japan, and Stephen has been exiled from every bar that has a dress code (“No Shoes, no Shirt, no Stephen”), they endure life as pirates, explorers, and male models before riding to the aid of a besieged kingdom which holds the truth behind the Legume Family Secret.

Honestly, if these guys are your only hope, you should just move away and start a new kingdom.

 

 

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“Relative Fortune” at Escape Pod

I’m proud to announce that “Relative Fortune” has its audio debut today in the Hugo-nominated magazine, Escape Pod. “Relative Fortune” is a story of space travel, broken dreams, and the possibility of long-overdue redemption. If you’ve ever had to abandon your dreams of space exploration only to see someone live it in your stead, this is your story.

 

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The Plotting Pantser

More like a plodding pantser, actually, but I couldn’t figure out a way to express the pun in the title, so score another point for pantsing instead of plotting.

I’ve been trying to figure out why, despite my best efforts, all my attempts at plotting a novel seem to expire after after the first 1/4 of the plot is figured out. I mean, this is great for planning the first 20,000 words, but then I just stop. (I’ve already discovered that if a book isn’t working for me, it’s usually around the 20,000-word mark that this becomes apparent, and that’s even if I haven’t outlined at all. It’s happened every time I’ve had to abandon a book, or start over.)

I have one theory: At some point, I can’t go on unless my characters tell me what happened next.

There was a survey of authors that found the majority hear their characters’ voices in their heads. Somehow, people thought this was odd; obviously they’ve never tried to write. But it’s not that I hear their voices in my head so much as it’s they write their stories through me. I can’t count the number of times I have written a sentence that I had no idea was lurking in the back of my head until it came out on paper. And I’m not talking about, “I didn’t know how to express that thought so I just threw something at the page,” I mean to say that, “I didn’t know that about that character!” or “I had no idea he was going to do that…,” and then I have to determine if what the character did advances the plot and should I go with it. (Generally, the answer is yes.)

So how can I outline an entire novel? How can I figure out character motivations if they won’t tell me how they feel? I don’t create stories, I write down the stories other people in my head tell me, so how can I map out the characters’ arcs if they refuse to let me know ahead of time what happened to them? (It would also go faster if they didn’t take so many coffee breaks.)

It’s tough to blame all of your creative problems on other people when you’re the only one who can see and hear them, like Mrs. Kravitz trying to convince her husband that Samantha is a witch. Nobody believed her, either.

At least in my case, I’ve found a way to profit from my paranoia…

#SFWApro

 

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This Ain’t No Vacation

You know, just because Newton invented calculus while he waited out the plague doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have done it even if he still had to commute to his day job. (Which, in his case, was probably inventing calculus. But I digress.)

It’s common wisdom that if you want to be a successful writer, you should write every day. And I’m not here to argue against that. I’m here to argue against the idea that because you may be enduring forced isolation, you should be writing until your fingers bleed, because this is your time! Sure, we’re all stuck inside (or stuck inside at different times, depending on our State), but some of us are fortunate enough to be working from home. That means we don’t have a whole lot more time to write than we ever did, and we’re sitting at the same desk all day. This is not conducive to creativity.

Plus, you still have all of your home chores–more, now, if everyone is home 24/7. There’s more laundry, more dishes, more fights to break up among the kids–who want more attention…

Did Newton have to deal with all those things? Of course not, he had people for that. Ask how far calculus would have gotten in the face of a mountain of sheets and three stacks of dishes every day?

And I’m not even talking about the emotional toll… So if you’re not getting 3000 words a day (I’m not), ease up on yourself. Being home without a job is not the same as being on vacation.

Note: This does not apply to those who write full-time for a living. You may not even have noticed anything is different these past couple of months. In that case, grab a newspaper. But don’t go outside to get it. You’re not supposed to go outside. I think there are zombies.

#SFWApro

 

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Thick Skin or Thick Skull?

If you’re a writer, or artist, or sculptor, or any kind of creative professional, you know going in (or learn quickly) that you need to develop a “thick skin” to deflect criticism. Read any book’s Amazon reviews and you’ll know what I mean; there are always going to be people who don’t like what you’ve done, no matter how many 5-star reviews you have. Somebody always has to be the outlier, and sometimes it’s someone whose critique has nothing to do with the book itself. Those really hurt, because you’re being blamed for something that’s not your fault. Fortunately, Amazon will take down pointedly irrelevant reviews, but that doesn’t cover nearly every one. Some will hold you responsible because your book didn’t match up with what they like to read. “It was well-written, but I don’t really go for sci-fi. Two stars.” Oof. If only there were a way to know what a book was about before you bought it…

On the other hand, criticism isn’t always bad, or incorrect. After all, nobody’s perfect, and that translates to your writing as well. That’s what editors are for. Even with their help, problems will crop up, but often it’s simply a matter of taste, or perception. Some folks simply won’t like your story, and they will be vocal about it. So how to separate the wheat from the chaff? How do you even tell “hmm, that’s a good point,” from “oh, he’s just a troll”?

Ironically, the cure can lead to the disease. A thick skin can become a thick skull. The only way for most writers to develop a thick skin is practice. If you follow the general trend, you will spend years honing your craft, using as your audience other writers with whom you share critiques. If you choose your colleagues well, they will offer practical and helpful advice, not simply “Ooh, you write romances… I don’t read romances.” Over time, you will come to accept their critiques in the spirit they are intended (and to offer your own, which is invaluable). Then, by the time you are published, you will have grown a thick enough skin to accept genuine criticism and deflect the ill-intended or simply unhelpful.

But while this path can lead to success, too much success can take you from thick-skinned to thick-headed. We all know of best-selling authors who have evidently progressed past the point where they can or will accept editing. (Of course, we don’t know how their manuscripts looked before their editors took their turn.)

As with victory/defeat, heroism/foolhardiness, or genius/madness, there is a fine line between a thick skin and a thick skull. It needs to be a permeable line, allowing the valuable to pass and the useless to bounce off. To mix metaphors, it’s a juggling act, and juggling is never easy, mostly because while criticisms are often emotional (especially the useless criticisms), our reaction to them is also often emotional (especially the useless reactions). Many writers say they deal with this simply by not reading their reviews. And maybe they don’t, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

Writing isn’t for cowards. You spend months or years creating an entire world and filling it with people and history and you think it means something, that it says something that’s been bubbling up inside you for a long time, and you want the world to see it. Then you start showing it around and not only do your readers not get it, they don’t even like how you said it. And that’s just your writing group. But if you’ve got a thick skin and an open mind, you take what’s usable and you examine your work in that light. Some critiques are incorporated into your story, others are not. In the end, it’s your choice. Your name is up there as the author.

Eventually, you decide it’s as good as it’s going to be. (Actually, you don’t; you know it can always be better, but like a child you have to let it go.) You put it out there for submission–and it sells! You know it will suffer through yet another editor, but you’re ready for that, and then it’s showtime!

Unless you’ve sold a screenplay. Then it will suffer through endless editors, agents, executives, re-writes, reimaginings, reboots, and corporate restructurings until you finally scream, “I should have just written a novel! Then nobody would be telling me what to do!”

#SFWApro

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