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Archive for February, 2010

Adverbs are for Children

Monday, February 22nd, 2010

It’s a curious coincidence that somebody sent me this link today, as I’ve been planning a post on writing tips for a while now. The problem is, I’m not a big fan of writing tips, as writing is such a personal endeavour, I think it’s incredibly pompous to think that what works for you has value for others. Also, people love to give advice whether there’s any worth to their ideas or not; the joy, for them, is in the giving.

So, this post isn’t writing advice; it’s just some changes I made to my writing and life styles that got me through Make a Move, and that are on my mind as I plan book two. Maybe there’s something in here that will inspire you to make your own changes.

The List

  • Don’t plan in too much detail. If you already know every last plot detail of a book, there’s nothing left for you, as the author, to discover. If the writing of a book isn’t filled with delights and surprises, it’s just work, and most day jobs pay better.
  • Make it as easy as possible to write. For me, this meant buying a new battery for my laptop and taking it with me everywhere. A lot of people create a sanctuary of creativity in which to work – a haven of peace and inspiration. If you need that to write, what are you doing when you’re not in it?
  • Stop watching tv. Okay – this was one bit of advice I did take on board from Stephen King (in his book, On Writing), but I added my own twist. I like tv – I think Make a Move would make a great tv show, so I’m not going to dismiss it, either as an art form or a source of inspiration. What I did instead was to break my watching habits so I watch a show in my own time, rather than when it’s on. I have Sky+ for that, but there are many ways to “time-shift” your viewing (legally…): HD/DVD recorders, catch-up tv services, hell – even a VCR. The trick is to get out of that mentality that tells you “it’s 9pm, time for show X”; that hard stop is like an incoming truck ready to crush your productivity. And try to limit yourself to having one or two shows on the go at a time unless you’re working to a 30-hour day.
  • Create demand. The first book you write has nobody waiting on it, so the only pressure to complete it comes from within. If you can, deliver it to your first readers in stages, so that their expectation for subsequent parts is driving you. Make a Move is written in six episodes, so it’s perfect for this, but any book can be broken up during the writing. Those smaller project goals make it easier to keep going too.
  • Write something new. Okay – this is a contentious one, but it applies to me, and that’s what this list is about. If you’re writing your own take on a story that’s already in print, all you’re doing is walking in someone else’s footprints, and chances are, their story was pretty good (or why else did you read it) so you’re setting the bar even higher than it needs to be. My biggest issue with this approach is that I feel like I’m copying/rehashing/riding coat-tails (choose a term based on which is least offensive to you), and I can’t think of anything more likely to sap energy and creativity. If you think you’re in familiar territory, make it REALLY different. Play with textures of writing, with readers’ expectations. Break the rules. And if you’re convinced that you can’t get away from that previous work, ask yourself if there’s even a need for your book. Maybe you should move onto the next idea instead.

Like I said, this isn’t advice; it’s just a summary of the thought processes that got me where I needed to be, but like I said above, people love to give advice, so I’m going to give in to temptation and share one cast-iron writing tip:

Adverbs are for children.

The Divide Could Be Great

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010

I was reading this blog post earlier about how only professionals can give a manuscript the full attention it needs to see it into a complete, quality book, and I was getting pretty pissed until I realised it was sarcasm. In hindsight, it’s a great post. It got me thinking though…

The commercial viability of books, and how some books are too niche to sell enough copies to justify the setup costs, is one of the main arguments of the “gatekeepers” – those who decide who does and doesn’t warrant a book deal, namely agents and editors. It’s a fair point; if a book is going to lose money, you’d hope they wouldn’t print it, especially if you have shares in their employer. It’s a shame, then, that so many vocal supporters of the gatekeeper model are so negative about the alternative – namely indie publication (whether small-press or self-published). Books published through these channels are so often dismissed as “not good enough”, but the fact that they could just be “too niche” is never considered.

I don’t think Make a Move is niche (in fact, my current readership is more diverse than I dared to hope for) so this isn’t about me. It’s about a segregated market – and the colour and variety that can provide – being hindered by a curious, self-defeating world view of the mainstream.

I’m not sure what the cause of this view is, but whenever I see some unfair disparity in a situation involving massive numbers of unconnected people, I just assume it’s fear, and it usually is. I know that makes me sound old and bitter (I’m 35, and reasonably equanimous) but I’m pretty sure it’s the case here. Maybe it’s the fear that with the advent of eBooks, there’ll never be another Harry Potter (there won’t – piracy guarantees it) but maybe the real fear is that we might see a literary Blair Witch Project. Now that would upset the apple cart.

It’s not a polished theory, but it’s an interesting notion, and one I’m going to explore more.

Thoughts?

Going Non-linear

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

There’s an established process to take you from writing a book to it reaching a reader’s hands, and it goes like this: submit to an agent > agent pitches book to publisher > publisher buys, prints and distributes the book. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but that’s the bare bones (and I’m ignoring the option of bypassing the agent step as although there’s a chance of getting a deal by going direct to a publisher, 0.0001% is zero in my book). From the moment you step outside of your story-in-progress to research your potential markets and study the process, you’re conditioned to believe that this is the only route to success (not your definition of success, mind you, but everyone else’s) and that failing to make it through this process is failure.

Fair enough. Money and celebrity – or lack of – seem to be the benchmarks for success in modern culture, so let’s assume the masses know something I don’t.

So what if you can’t make it through that process, and you’re stuck without an agent? Would you keep trying for a year? Of course. How about 10 years? Maybe. How about your whole life? What if the inability to get a deal on your first book is mentally holding you back from writing your second? Would you blow your entire career waiting for someone to give you a chance?

Or would you try something else?

The Past

I submitted Make a Move to 5 agents and publishers. These were people/companies who’d expressed a taste for the kind of work my book vaguely falls into, so I thought they’d be worth a try. As I’ve said before, Make a Move is a hard sell, and I targeted people I thought would give it more than the cursory look it needs to understand why it exists. I got stock rejections from all but one of them. I was ok with that, as I’d prepared myself for that rejection, but I admit I was disappointed. A bit.

About that time, people were arriving in my life who helped me break out of that linear mindset, and stimulated me to look at other options. Readjust my perspective. Break out of the box. I recalibrated my definition of success and what my goals were in getting Make a Move out. I looked at the money in my bank account, decided that having more of it wasn’t going to make me any happier, and thought hard about what I needed from my writing. I needed connections. Ideas. Human interaction. Life.

And all of those things were there for the taking, without needing a single nod of approval from anyone in “the process”.

It’s been two months since I released Make a Move, and in that time I’ve met more cool people than I have in the previous two years. I’ve created relationships. I’ve given people ideas. I’ve changed.

The Present

I received some comments today that implied that I’m nothing more than a vanity publisher, and that my book, by definition, must bite. It’s not the first time. What was scary to witness though, was that the negativity was aimed at myself, and another writer, who have both put out work online for free download, and who are both “out there”, and that it originated from a number of unpublished, unrepresented, unfinished writers. It’s the internet, and we all know the joke about arguing on the internet, so I left it, withdrew with my honour intact, and thought about what I’d learned. And what I learned is this:

People need the validation the system gives them, as they’re too scared to say “my work is good enough to sell”. They cling to that system, even when it steals their productive years from them. Sure, the system keeps mediocre or even terrible books off the shelves, but there are more good writers than there are publishing slots, so good writers – good people – are going to be left behind.

The Future

I’m not turning my back on the system – I’d love to land a deal with a reputable publisher who could get me into the big retailers – but I’m not waiting around either. I’ll send some more submissions once I have time, but I know that establishing a readership is probably the only way I’ll find someone willing to give Make a Move a read with a view to taking it on. A lot of people dedicated to the process would call that arrogant; I call it self-aware. A lot of people would say I’ve given up; I say I’ve opened myself up to possibilities.

I’ve been thinking for some time that I’m too tuned-in to the internet and the ideas and opinions of its denizens, and today confirmed that. I’ve found a few good people online whose opinions I know I can trust, but aside from them, I’m going to tune out the noise . Take a step back and focus. Enjoy this new clarity.

I’m going to go non-linear for a while.

Paris Stories – Street Dancing

Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010

Just south of the Pompidou Centre (just around the corner from the happy people), I found these guys showing off some moves for an appreciative crowd:

The cool part was that, although one of the guys ran around the square to collect donations from the appreciative crowd, that wasn’t why they were here. They’d set up to hang out, practice and maybe make a few euros, and everyone – from the crowd, to the diners at the adjacent cafes, to the owners/staff at those cafes – was cool with them being there. I was happy taking photos from a way back, staying out the way, but then this guy took a turn:

That’s his fricking elbow!

OK, so I figured these guys had some real ability, and I wanted some good shots, but they were in the middle of the square and I didn’t have my longest lens with me. So, I jettisoned my English reserve and got in close, which got me this shot:

Note that his hands aren’t touching the floor… This shot took some catching…

I’d chucked the guys some euros, so they were happy to be photographed, and even framed a few shots for me:

The light at that time was amazing, so I’ve left these pretty much as-shot, but that last one was screaming for a black-and-white conversion. Notice the guy on his bike in the background, just hanging out, trying some tricks – young Parisians having fun.

I was really happy with how these photos came out, not least because I gained a lot of confidence in getting in close and putting myself in the scene, if not in the picture. I guess that’s the more personal story I took away from this encounter: how I found the confidence to tune out my surroundings when I’ve got my camera and a picture to take, and how photography can be an enabler – placing you into the moment, rather than shielding you from that slice of life with a hermetically-sealed lens.