Why I Write

Often, in my travels (or is it travails?) as a writer I have had the opportunity to speak with other writers, unpublished like myself, and the subject of being published almost always comes up. Occasionally, the other writer will make a statement along the lines of: "Well, I don't care if I ever get published because I write for myself."

"Pardon me?" I want to say, "but what's the point in that?"

For me writing is many things: a must because I simply can't stop doing it; fun, especially in the first few drafts; painful as I tend to base most of my writing on my own personal emotional landscape; and hard, damned hard, with each word being a wrestling match of thesaurus versus my vision to make sure I have the most perfect choice. Writing for me is tough and difficult and sometimes not enjoyable and, above all, work. And if I'm going to go through all that, well, to quote the lyrics of "Dance Ten, Looks Three" from A Chorus Line: "...dancing for my own enjoyment? That ain't it, kid! That ain't it kid!"

I want to be published. I want to be read. I want to have my voice heard. I have things that I want to say, commentaries I want to make upon life and the world around me. But if there is no one to hear/read them, then I might as well just sit in my apartment talking the wall, rambling like a madman because that's what "writing for myself" is comparable to, no?

Writing for me is collaborative: like dancing or having sex, it's best done with two people (or more, depending). When I'm writing, I'm writing for an audience, for readers who, in their need to understand the story I am telling and believe the actions of the characters within the story, drive me to be clear and concise in my writing. Because I write for others, I am a better writer.

In my younger days, when I first started writing, I wrote just to write, which was a form of writing for myself, I suppose. The results were less than coherent, mostly ramblings with multiple digressions that were painful to read. Very much like diary entries with no discernible plot or character development...or, ultimately, purpose. I remember reading for a writing group during this period. The piece, "The Daddyslayer," was stunning in its heavy-handedness, its cacophony of ideas and images that were nothing short of verbal vomit, a purging of my "soul" that included an unseen villain (The Daddy), a trapped victim (nameless, of course) who lived in a village of unknown origin, setting and time period, who sets out on a journey to find a mythological being called "The Daddyslayer": "he'll rid you of that Daddy, once and for all, he will," says a stranger in a tavern where our young hero has found himself along his quest. He eventually meets the Daddyslayer, after a dramatic encounter with a pack of wolves (still not sure why they were in the story) where he begins a rigorous training because, of course, HE is the Daddyslayer! All this in only 5 pages! All I remember from the crowd of faces in the writing group was the stunned silence, then the hemming and hawing before someone, mercifully jumped into the fray. "Well, that was intense." And not in a good way, I was to find out. Other words tossed about: obvious, heavy-handed, over-wrought and lacking focus. "Who is your audience?" someone asked. Well, I had never thought of that, which was painfully obvious. At that moment in my writing dream, I had never thought beyond the end of my pen (yes, my pen as this was pre-PC days).

I realized that I didn't have an audience in mind. I simply purged myself onto the paper, a sort of bloodletting that proved uncomfortable and painful to the reader, if they could make themselves even read the huge blocks of type set before them. It was then that I began to study the craft of writing, the art of writing for someone else.

Some may say that writing for "someone else" will harness the raw, organic flow of our thoughts and emotions, but it doesn't have to. My raw emotions, my thoughts and ideas about the world and the people who inhabit it, are the clay from which I sculpt. The first draft of any project is where I dump my raw materials out on the table to see what I have to work with. Usually by the end a shape will form, dull and lifeless, maybe monstrous and unable to communicate properly to anyone other than myself, sort of a Frankenstein creature at best. But it is a shape none-the-less. It is during the revising process that the shape truly takes on life and breath (hopefully) and becomes a full-fledged entity that can interact with others. I like to think of myself as 'enry 'iggins molding 'is Eliza Doolittle.

The point is: I have to write for an audience in order to write well and coherently. And I have to write with the hope of being published, and with the idea that I am going to pursue that hope by sending my work out there into the cold, mean world of agents and editors, otherwise I will need to drive myself to the nearest sanitarium for a lifetime membership and start babbling to the first white, padded wall I can find.

But that's just me.

Adaptation

The adaptability of the mind endlessly fascinates me. Here's the situation:

About a month ago, I am staying up way past my bedtime. I'm having a bit of scotch as I am wont to do on occasion--Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks, if you don't mind. I'm tired. Maybe I'm a bit tipsy. I doze. My glass, lovely Baccarat rocks glass that makes even the most harsh of scotches taste divine, tilts and spills onto and into my laptop. I wake, mutter "oh shit," clean up as best I can and go to bed. Next morning I do a thorough cleaning of the keyboard and assess the damage: the "s" key has perished in the flood. Not too horrible, considering.

I don't have the money to replace my laptop and it's silly to do so for a dead "s": so for the past month or so, I've been typing (emails, Facebook and Twitter status updates, WIPs, this posting) without having an active "s" key.

At first I set about to live an entirely "s"-less life. For the following few days after the death of "s", I did just that and I must say the exercise was a fascinating writing experiment. One has to truly manipulate one's vocabulary to write "s"-free. If you don't believe me, try it. Live "s"-less for one day (or "t"-less, "p"-less, "h"-less) and see how much ingenuity you will have to have to simply post a Twitter update (that's only 140 characters, relatively easy one would think but don't be fooled!). Pick any letter and try to live without it!

Definitely exercises the brain, which is great for a writerly exercise but difficult for an everyday existence.

So now I do a lot of copying and pasting for each and every "s" occurrence. I use the keyboard shortcut of Ctrl+V for the pasting and let me tell you, my mind has adapted to this necessity so deftly that I am amazed at the agility of the brain. Even when I'm at another computer, every time I come to an "s" in a word my left pinkie automatically stretches out for the Ctrl key. I don't even have to think about it anymore, it's that natural, and after such a short period. I'm truly amazed. Granted, occasionally I need a capital "s" and that takes extra steps (usually I simply search one out in a past writing sample or off a website page) and then I forget that I've copied that particular form of "s" and I'll paSte a capital "s" in the middle of a word. A little frustrating but nothing too diabolical. It's all just about adjusting.

For me it's a perfect allegory for life: one must always be adaptable in order to continue moving forward.

That and mind your Ps, Qs, Ss, and above all, your scotch!

Tendered Is the Life

A couple of weeks ago, I tendered my position at my last job. No, I don't have anything else lined up. While that might seem rash, especially given the state of unemployment in the nation, I am of the belief that one has to do what is best for oneself. I'm not going to go into any reasonings for my departure here as they don't truly have any bearing on this post. What this post is about is the door of possiblity has once again opened, prompting the question: "am I going to walk through it this time or high-tail it back to safety?"

What is possible is for me to devise a way to fulfill my goal of being a paid writer. Yes, the novel is still out there seeking representation (Jennifer sent out the third round batch a couple of weeks ago) and it would be marvelous if some fabulously savvy editor would snatch it up for a nice chunk o' change (if only enough to lessen those ever looming student loans!), but that is not a well-constructed basket in which to house my eggs. The true possibilities lie in my ability to stretch myself as a writer and seek alternative ways and venues in which to succeed.

One alternative that fascinates me is the area of Social Media. At the job to which I've just tendered, I've been working on the developement of their Social Media campaign: creating and maintaining their new blog, Twittering, Facebooking, working on the SEO for all these outlets and linking each one to the two websites held by the company. And it's been fascinating, exciting, fun, and knowledgeable, to the point that I am investigating ways to enter this field.

Other alternatives are to freelance. I've often thought about this in the past but...there is that confidence that is required of a freelancer, to put yourself out there and say: "I am the best writer for this project!" No room for doubt and I possess that in spades, especially these days with so many rejections looming about. I search Craigslist daily thinking: "I can do that" but have yet to actually toss my hat in any of the offered rings.

How does one move past oneself? That is the question these days. One just does. That is the answer. You have to step over your fears like passed out drunks on the streets of New York. Over your "tsk, tsk" and don't look back. Easier said than done but entirely doable. You have to pledge to yourself to try. What's a few dozen more rejections? Nothing I can't handle!

Update: 6 Month Mark

So, we have reached the 6 month mark in the process of seeking publication for the novel. While there has been no offer for publication as of yet, I and my agent, Jennifer DeChiara, have not given up. She is bound and determined to sell the novel, which is more than admirable. It's great to have someone like Jennifer on your side, especially when this process takes so long and can be so draining. She has no doubts whatsoever. She KNOWS it will sell.

I, though, have to admit that I've been wavering in my own faith in myself and my book. There are just so many knocks a man can take, right? Luckily, I haven't been KO'ed yet, but I've come close. But the white towel is firmly in my back pocket and I don't plan on tossing it to the floor anytime soon (and that's enough of the boxing analogies for me).

Recently, I reread the book, the first time since I finished the final edits back in late December of last year. Not to toot my own horn, but I actually enjoyed the book. And yes, I was surprised. There was so much in it that I'd forgotten about so I could truly read the book as a book and not something I had written (helps that I sent it to my Nook, so it had that e-book feel to it that I'm fairly used to now). I could be amazed at connections that were being made (I love my subconscious!). I could get involved with these characters that I haven't lived with in so long. I actually got choked up at the end, even though I knew what was coming. And I thought that was a good sign. But I suppose I'm a tad biased, no?

Oh well, we keep plugging away. Jennifer is working up list number 3 of unsuspecting publishers to which to submit and I continue to work on my second novel (50k words as of this morning). Moving forward is the key. So much of the business of writing and publication is perseverance and, for some reason, I have that in spades these days.

So, I can still easily say: See you on the shelves!

What Are You Reading Right Now?

Just a little question to get some interaction going here. What are you reading at this moment? Book, author, thoughts. Just curious and always on the lookout for new and exciting reading material!

To get the ball rolling: I am reading The Story of Night: A Novel by Colm Toibin. Previously, I had read his wonderful novel, The Master, his fictionalized biography of Henry James. The Story of Night is two stories entertwined: Argentina's struggle for democracy in the 1980s and a man's struggle to come out as a homosexual in the climate in which he lives. Toibin is a masterful writer, especially when he is writing about the relationship between the main character and his mother (a subject that always hits home for me).

"Maybe that is what lingers in her bedroom, her disappointment and all the time she had alone to savor it and go over it in detail. Some of that dull energy is left there, and I can feel it when I go into the room and I still call it Mother."

The best writing for me is the kind that I wish I had written first and this book is full of moments like that.

So, now it's your turn.

Where Are We Now?

Been way too long so here's an update on where we stand in the process of finding a publisher for On the Edge of Some Place Else.

Unfortunately, we are at the tail-end of round two in the submission process. First my agent directed the manuscript toward the Young Adult (YA) fiction market and the appropriate editors that she knows. The main reason, which I totally understand, is that the main character is 13-years-old: classic tell-tale sign of a YA novel. Personally, I was dubious about the approach. An editor friend told me, while I was still looking for an agent, to possibly pitch the novel as YA for the same reason, in hopes of broadening my search. But, while the main character is 13, the subject matter is well beyond that age group, in my opinion. Sure YA can deal with all sorts of subjects nowadays (sex, drugs, rape, murder even, vampires for sure) but my novel definitely wasn't written with that age group in mind, so it has an overtly mature sensibility to it. Even the main character's voice comes off much more mature for his age (something the editors marked, as well). And that was the consensus of all the editors to whom we pitched the novel: great writing but the book just isn't YA. (Well, some didn't add the "great writing" part, but that's too painful to write about). One editor, Brian Farrey at FLUX Publishing, absolutely loved the book. After the first read he thought: No, not YA at all. But he read it again just to make sure! Then handed it off to his most mature reader, who also loved it but agreed that it was too mature for YA. He wrote the best rejection I've ever received (and according to him "the hardest he's ever had to write") and I thank him for it.

So, round two has been directed at the adult fiction editors out there. So far, out of 6 editors, 5 have rejected (bringing the grand total to 13!). While most have actually liked the writing (no, seriously, that actually said that!), the book just hasn't grabbed them enough to want to take the risk on a first-time novelist writing Literary Fiction dealing with rape and a sexual relationship between a 13-year-old boy and his male former sixth grade teacher. Imagine that! While we are waiting for the last of the 6 to respond (come on Chuck Adams at Algonquin Books, come on, come through for me, Baby!), my agent is compiling list number three. She is amazing in her unwavering support (I've asked her if it's wavering and she said no). She encourages me with each rejection to not give up, that IT will happen, that she will not give up until the books sells! I love her for that.

And I am not giving up, either. As gut-wrenching each and every rejection has been, I can't give up on this. The book is good. I like the book. I want to read it when it comes out, I like it that much. I believe in my agent. I believe in myself. I believe in my talent. It WILL happen! We just have to find that one editor who recognizes that there is an audience for this book and not despite its subject matter but because of it and what it says about humanity. We've found one so far and there will be another.

So, that's where we are right now. In the meantime, I continue to work on novel number two and check my emails for that one that says: you will be a published author! It is coming.

A Time for Bravery

No matter where you are in your life: Now is the time for bravery! It is time to live your life for you!