The Silent Beginning

Another great post from guest author Jayne-Marie Barker.  Check out her website here:  http://www.jaynemariebarker.com/.  She has two books out:  Beneath the Daisies and Distant Shadows, and a third one on the way.  She seems pretty cool to me so I hope you guys enjoy her posts as much as I do.  This one reminds me of something I always (not literally) tell people:  you wouldn't expect Beethoven to write a symphony without first learning to play the piano.

 

 

It is easy to write a book… or so they say.  Almost every writer has suffered in silence at one point or another when some kind-meaning reader or enthusiast stands there telling them how lovely it must be to write a novel, and how they are always meaning to start theirs, and how great it’ll be when it’s done.

Whilst writers love to talk to readers it can be a touch irritating hearing how straight forward it must be to write a book, when deep down they know that crafting a novel is pure hard work!  If only the poor unsuspecting public knew how difficult it is to sustain the smile whilst they are being told all this.  Naturally it would be impolite to correct the reader so many writers nod along with a pleasant smile.  It wouldn’t be fair to discourage people anyway, particularly from such a rewarding job.  Yes, it is not easy, but it is well worth the hard work so don’t be put off if you’re one of the millions all planning to pen your first novel next year.

Many writers often appear to come out of nowhere or arrive on the shelves or best sellers list overnight.  In reality this couldn’t be further from the truth.  Like all professions, writers must develop their skills over time and serve their apprenticeship years.  What this usually refers to is the long stretch of time before anything they have written is ever published, but they continue to chip away, perfecting their craft gradually, hopefully learning a few new tricks along the way.  One day an agent or publisher says yes, actually, I will take a chance on you, and the writer immediately leaps into the air in disbelief at having finally jumped the first hurdle.

The beginning of any writer’s career, before their work is published, is obviously unknown to the rest of the world.  It is the silent beginning, when hope is high and ambition strong, when chances seem minuscule and nigh impossible.  It’s the toughest time, so you think, until you take the next step and you find new challenges to contend with.  This is probably true of life in general but we must plough on, if only to find out what happens!

 

Jayne-Marie Barker

A Motivational Caveat

My "Unprofessional Professionalism" post seemed a little silly to me and I've realised why.  It isn't the goofy story or the models.  I like those just fine.  It's that I may have given the wrong impression. 

My point was to focus on the art, not the marketing.  I stand by that.  If you worry too much about what might sell and where, you forget to make good art.  The fact is, you don't need luck in writing.  The market is hungry for quality fiction.  If you also have original ideas, great.  That's all Leslie was saying when she told me to shut up and stop worrying about marketing.

This post is about both practicality and motivation.  Those two themes flow into each other, I believe, and it's why my other post may not have made much sense.  These are the motivations one must nurture in order to have a healthy practical attitude:  understand that if you write as well as Earnest Hemingway your work will sell, without question.  Some authors make millions while writing crap.  Good for them.  I don't want to bank on that anymore than I want to play Russian roulette.

But forget about banking.  My central motivation is to create great fiction, for the simple reason that I love great fiction.  If I can ever afford that Jaguar XR7 I long for (and indeed pay off my student loan) I'll be very pleased, but it's not the purpose of my life.

However, here's the caveat:

Take your work seriously.  Art is joyous.  To me, it's play most of the time, but one thing I've learned about doing what you love full time is that you have to take it seriously.  When I was purely focused on short stories, I found I got more done if I just wrote when I felt inspired.  I wrote faster, better, and I enjoyed life more.

Now, neck deep in a novel, I find regimenting my time more productive.  On weekdays, I make myself write for normal working hours, minimum. Usually, I want to write more. I usually start at 7 or 8 and keep going until my fiance drags me to the living room. Some days, though, I can't wait until 5:30. Some days my brain doesn't want to work at all. If it's a weekday, I remind myself how much I'd rather write my book than flip burgers or push papers.

A book is a monumental task, and daunting when mentally exhausted.  I now have to make myself rest on the weekends.   I've blitzed through fifteen, twenty day stretches before and found myself slowing down until, while it feels like I'm working hard, after writing a scene that would have normally taken me half an hour I look at the clock and two hours have drifted by.  Gusto becomes a waste of time and energy when not properly managed. 

So yes, it's a job.  It just has an artistic objective, one I've dreamed for my whole life: 

"Make good art."

Unprofessional Professionalism

You may have noticed that I recently changed "marketing" in my procession to "practicalities of success".  This is because I've already told you everything I know about marketing.  But since writers like stories, here's a story about being a writer!

"You are not a professional."

"What?  Shut up, Luke," you say.

"No, seriously.  You're not.  Before you punch me in the face, let's just clarify something:  you're an artist.  There's an arts industry, but that's everyone else's job.  Yours is the imagination."

Before lowering your fists, you ask me what the smeg I'm talking about.

"Um... see, the thing is--" I take a quick breath "--your job is just to produce good work.  If you produce fast, that's fine, but good is what you're going for.  'Make good art,' said Neil Gaiman."

"And you began this conversation with an insult?"

"I, uh... am amusingly snide."  You raise one eyebrow.  "I have fans!" I scream.  "But that's not the point.  Look, telling stories is what I'm best at, so let me try this, okay?"

Your eyebrow doesn't move.

"Right.  A story.  Let's see.... When my agent joined me!"

"You have an agent?"  You seem sceptical.

"Yes, and this one time she basically told me to shut up."

You seem less sceptical.

"See, I was yapping about all this marketing stuff.  I was telling her that I had five different ideas for a novel, and I'm equally excited about each one.  They were all different genres!  I want to write in all genres, so I asked her where I should start.  Wouldn't I have more lit-street-cred (that's how the gangsta authors refer to it... I mean, "talk like") if I start with something strait literary?  Sci-fi is taken pretty dang seriously by fans, though, so what if I lose my Science Fiction street-cred?  I was confused."

"And?"  Your eyebrow still hasn't moved.

"And she told me to shut up.  'You're thinking marketing,' she said.  'Think writing.'  Marketing is her job.  She disagreed with my woes and told me to, like Neil Gaiman says, just 'make good art'.  Gaiman even said there came a point where he was professionally answering emails and writing fiction as a hobby, so he stopped answering so many emails.  His speech (see my next post) helped me see the importance of letting myself get excited about things.  It seemed less professional--seemed I'd get less done.  But I got more done, because I wasn't wasting time feeling listless and scolding myself.  Get excited.  Enjoy it.  (Something Stephen King said to Neil Gaiman, there.)  Write whatever excites you at the time, because why you're excited is where your idea comes from.  You'll get inspired.  You'll probably find the stories you're the most excited about (or even worried about, because it's the ones you care about) will be your best ones.  Now, put down your dukes, good sir, or we'll do this the hard way.  Gangsta style."

You grin, turn into a vampyre Buffy style and take a swing.  I laugh as your fist passes through me, incorporeal.

"Your all about the imagination, see?  Like I'm using right now.  We're not really in a girl's dorm at the World University of Modelling.  And it's obvious.  Normally when people swear they don't say 'smeg', and the World University of Modelling doesn't even exist!  Don't hit me!?  Ha!  I made you up in my smegging head, and because I did it when I was excited about it, this post only took me ten minutes!"

I then kick you in the stomach (I stake you too, of course) and you fly through a bedroom wall, from which a dozen girls in the middle of a pillow fight turn gasping in awe of my manly fighting prowess.  The pillow fight continues, but with renewed vivacity and improved purpose.

The Egg Timer Method

Some writers recommend setting an egg timer to an hour (or half an hour) and making yourself write for this amount of time.  Chuck Palahniuk is a famous example:

http://chuckpalahniuk.net/workshop/essays/chuck-palahniuk

The idea is just to force your creative "juices" (brain juice, I guess... or heart, if you're the spiritual type--either way you're gross, and perhaps morbid) flowing.  As Chuck puts it, "If you still hate writing, you're free in an hour.  But usually, by the time that alarm rings, you'll be so involved in your work, enjoying it so much, you'll keep going."

(Quick note for reference purposes:  People have been doing it ever since egg timers existed so far as I know, but Chuck Palahniuk may have been the first to write an essay on the topic.)

It's truly great, and it works for most people.  However, I'd like to take the method one step deeper with some analysis:  why does it work?

Here we get to the meat of those creative juices.  Yum!  Here we delve inside cavities that reach--I'll stop there.  Let's keep it metaphysical without metaphor, shall we?  Why do you love writing after an hour?  Because starting is the hardest part.

Some people respond to a hard line.  Others respond to gentle persuasion.  For the benefit of both parties, I'll write a section aimed at each.

 

Gentle Persuasion Preferrers:

Writing is your passion.  If you've devoted this time, and more importantly this emotion into writing by now, carry forwards.  Sometimes writing seems hard, but let's reflect on why that is.  I'd bet if you're on this blog you care about the art.  (If you're just curious about me, I'm flattered :))  (Doesn't that always make the smiley face look like he has a double chin?)  Sometimes the things we care about the most are those we invest the most energy into.  Loving takes time, patience and commitment, and all of that is hard work.  When we think about sitting in the chair, especially if we aren't sure what to write, we're often expending more energy than when we are whilst working. Reflect on your love.  Writing is an expression of that emotion.  Starting is hard.

 

:)

 

Hard Line Likers:

What would Samuel L. Jackson say?  "**** ******* egg timers!  Get yo' **** *** off the ****ing couch and sit the **** down in front yo' god **** computer and get to mother ****ing work *****!!!!!!"  he'd say, trying to be as polite as he knows how.

The poor socially disabled man....  But he has a point.  What the smeg are you trying to do with your life?  If you want to be a writer, listen to Samuel L. Jackson.  Is you're butt telling you to stay in front of the television?  Kick your butt in the *** and get your *** to the keyboard.

 

:P

Back to Normal:

Let's stick to my old metaphor about islands and oceans (see "Follow the What!?").  Sometimes, no matter how much you love writing, you're going to think, "Smeg!  Wouldn't it be great just to set down the oars and coast for awhile?"  But you're spending emotional energy while you coast, for the simple reason that you're not getting anywhere.  That's frustrating.  That's exhausting.  Soon, I'll devote a whole post to Ray Bradbury's essay called "The Joy of Writing" in which he talks (writes) about "zen and gusto". 

It's very important for the professional artist to let himself (ladies can be artists, too, but I don't like slashes) enjoy his work.  Again, the reason the egg timer method works is far more important than the method itself.  Sometimes we invest so much hope, love, need (name an emotion) into a thing that the very thought seems exhausting, but the fact is, we make that investment out of love.  Let youself be in love with your work, turn those emotions into release, and get yo' *** in the chair.

Writers write.  My attitude as a teacher is to use any method that helps, but only the reasoning behind a method will help in the long term.  The egg timer is a great method.  Just don't lose sight of why it works.  What you're trying to do ultimately is shift lethargy into gusto.

Marketability Means Marketing Part Three: Network

"Don't waste your talent, boy," said Iain M. Banks.

As you may have by now guessed, Iain's words embody everything I know about marketing.  It's so dang easy to waste your talent for one very good reason:  your job as an artist is to focus on the art.  Simple and true.

Here's the tricky part:  it's a huge world out there.  How will anyone ever know about your work?  In the face of billions, how does your face matter worth a smeg?

Here's the wonderful part:  it's a huge world out there.  There's a publishing industry that exists to find good authors and make their work known to readers.  Plus, you are in the face of billions.

Yes, the rules are changing.  Industry standards may collapse and if they do, old publishers, with their great amounts of money to invest in such matters will either change, or they'll be replaced by new businesses.  Either way, the author's job will be to make good art.  Changing rules doesn't change the fact that there are readers and that people will want to make it their job to get writers' work into the public eye.  And why are the rules changing?  Because you are in the face of billions!

It seems daunting at first.  That's natural.  But the reason we feel lost in such a vast mire is precisely because we live in an age where everyone can communicate with vast numbers of people if they only try.  One thing I've learned to do is mention my blog whenever someone asks me what I do for a living.

I say I'm an author and, to my initial amazement, most people say, "Really?  I've got a friend who's into writing."

I say, "Cool.  I actually write a blog for--" blah blah et cetera.

They go away with my name and blog address on a sheet of paper and I go away thinking there's a chance I'll have another blog fan.  Networking can seem un-artistic, even disingenuous.  I feel like that almost every time I open my mouth about myself professionally.  I even feel weird admitting this stuff to you now.  But the facts are two-fold:

1) It's no different from making new friends.  I am a writer, I enjoy teaching, and I write a blog with the intent of teaching writers.  In saying this I've only answered a question honestly.  Yay me. 

2) It boils down to sharing yourself, and that's all any artist does with their work.  Again, readers want writers.  That's why we exist.  How is letting readers know you exist unprofessional?

These trepidations sound insane when displayed in text.  If you were to put these in an encyclopaedia of stupidity they wouldn't by under "W" for "Writers' Trepidations".  They'd be under "T" for "Top Ten Idiotic Professional Hang-Ups".  I still feel them, though, and I wouldn't be surprised if many new authors feel the same way.

It's a daunting world because it's so huge.  Neil Gaiman makes the analogy of sending bottles out into an ocean.  That's what it can feel like sometimes, but it's an illusion.  It's more like chucking stories folded into paper airplanes at a huge crowd of waiting readers.  If they like your work, they'll want another airplane.  Yes, you must usually get 'past' editors, but they exist because readers usually find good stories via trusted markets, such as book shops and quality fiction magazines.  Think about this fact for a second and you realise that, if you're a good writer, it's every editor's job to discover you. They want writers simply because they want readers.  Remember the rest of what Iain M. Banks said to me?  Let's re-iterate the whole quote:

"Don't waste your talent, boy.  If an editor asks to see your work, send them the best you've got, right away.  Let Mr Hedgecock decide if it's good enough, before he forgets meeting you."  I can't thank Iain enough for saying this to me.  In three sentences he taught me everything I need to know about marketing.

It can feel a strange world to enter.  What my previous two marketing posts, "Don't Agonise" and "Just Spew It", really come down to is the fact that people in the industry actually are interested in serious newcomers.  This is simply because there is an industry.  This post is about why there's an industry, and why therefore you can be a part of it.

In three sentences Iain summed it up.  Make good art.  Let others see it.  Let the world decide.

Don't agonise.  Just spew it.  Network.

In my blog description, I've changed "marketing" to "practicalities of success".  This is a far broader topic in which I think falls a great deal more advice.  For marketing, the answers are simple and I'd be willing to bet you already own the necessary printer, email access, deodorant and money for travel expenses.  Don't be afraid to visit conventions. That's how I met Iain M. Banks.  Just make sure you wear deodorant and pay for parking, or your train/bus ticket.

Marketability Means Marketing, Part Two: Just Spew It

"Don't waste your talent, boy," said Iain M. Banks.

I reiterate this quote due to its importance. I'll also reiterate, here, the fact that I remember Iain as roughly eight feet tall.

I'm 6'3", in my prime and a mixed martial artist. I'm not exactly tiny or scrawny by sci-fi geek standards, but I remember Iain standing over me like Jabba versus Bilbo. (That would make an awesome comic book.)

Here's another seemingly random fact: I love reading.

People in the industry seem like giants to me, and I find it amusing that it actually gets a physical representation in my memory. You might ask yourself how a hero-worshiping nerd like me could get into the industry, and this would be a very relevant question.

You see, I had written on my own for a long time, comparing my work to only the best, which is always very important, but that's all I did. I'd read Bob Shaw, Ray Bradbury, Guy de Maupassant, and strive to make my stories as good, and since they weren't as good (and still aren't) I didn't submit them anywhere.

Finally, in a fit of despair, I allowed a friend to send two unpublished short stories to one of the biggest agents in the world. "The worst that can happen," I thought, "is she'll not reply, which leaves my inbox looking exactly the same as before." I only had hope in the self-destructive sense, occasionally imagining her wanting me and weeping tears of joy, knowing that what would really happen is I'd be crushed, regardless how often I told myself that it wouldn't matter.

Leslie Gardner got back to me with some advice on how to make my stories better. She didn't mention anything about wanting me for a client. I despaired. I was out with my brother at the time, and we had a long conversation in which he basically told me that I should email her before she'd forget my name. I kept despairing. My gal told me that Leslie obviously did think something of me or else she wouldn't have bothered offering advice. "She didn't think enough to offer more than that," I insisted, "and that's the point."

In a final fit of despair, having nothing to lose, I sent Leslie a fairly long email in which I thanked her for the advice and said I'd kind of, "in the back of my bouncy, aspirant brain," I said, hoped that she'd be my agent.

She got back to me and said, "Sure, I'd love to work with you."

WHAT!?!!?!?!?!!?!??!?!?!?!?!?! I'm now represented by the same gal who represented one of my favourite authors of all time.

The theme of our little story is that we shouldn't let ourselves get so focussed on the mountain top that we forget the path. Good things don't come to those who wait. That's loser talk. Good things come to those who stop waiting and start trying. I was doing it completely wrong. Had I not decided to change my method in a fit of self-destruction, I'd still lack professional prospects. Your author heroes aren't bigger or better than you, and you shouldn't be afraid to attempt joining their ranks. If you're good, they want you there (see Marketability Means Marketing Part One: Don't Agonise). What I learned from all this is exactly what to do, because it's the exact opposite of what I had been doing.

So, what's the opposite of living in your own head? Getting out into the world.

What's the opposite of not showing your work to anyone? Showing it to everyone!

What's the opposite of being timid? Being brave. I was always being brave in the financial sense and in that I was willing to sacrifice anything. But what's the opposite of living in your own head? What's the opposite of living within what you tell yourself? Telling others, so send your work out there for others to read.

All you can do is the best you can, so write your stories and let the world decide.

Marketability Means Marketing, Part One: Don't Agonise

"Don't waste your talent," said Ian M. Banks.

As this is a blog for writers, let's begin with a story.  Starting from the beginning with our third topic, marketability, means making a simple point about being forthright, and I was fortunate to learn firsthand via a perfect illustration.

We'll begin with a setting:  Alt.Fiction, 2011. I'm sitting on a red chair only slightly nicer than those at the cinema, watching a well lit, dignified stage upon which some awesome writers and editors are making speeches and receiving awards.  After the ceremonies, I move to the bar, find myself next to a dude in glasses who asks if I've enjoyed the show.

"As an aspirant myself I've got to say, it's awesome to see so many great writers all in one place.  It's like seeing a future home from the outside," I said.

"Oh?" he replied.  "Like to write, do you?"

I told him about the MA, the MFA, Scott Bradfield and Paul McAuley and a few minor publications.  Next thing I knew this guy introduces himself as Ian Sales, editor, critic and writer.  He paid for my beer and brought me backstage.  I followed, dazed, wondering if this was a cruel joke or something.  I soon found myself surrounded by dozens of my favourite authors all in the same room!  And the really amazing part?  They all wanted to talk to me!

I was introduced to Ian M. Banks (for cryin' out loud!).  He shook my hand (I recall the man as a giant, though it may just be that I was feeling the size of a peanut) and asked how my work was going.  I told him I'd met Andrew Hedgecock at the Manchester Book Fair a month or so ago, and upon learning who I'd apprenticed under, he'd asked to see my work.

"Have you sent your story, yet?"

"I've been writing lots of stories," I said.  "I don't think they're ready, yet."

Ian stood up even higher, gave me a long critical stare.  "Don't waste your talent, boy.  If an editor asks to see your work, send them the best you've got, right away.  Let Mr Hedgecock decide if it's good enough, before he forgets meeting you."

I skipped away from this little conversation, bouncy-beans bursting in my brain like so:  "Ian Banks just implied that he thinks there's a chance I might be talented!!!!!!!"

So what's the point?  Don't agonise.  You should still re-draft your work.  Paul McAuley and Ian Banks would get their first drafts rejected, too.  (Paul actually said this to me in person.)  But don't agonise!  Once it's as good as you know how to make it, get it's a*s off the computer screen and into an email and/or letter box.  I actually received a prompt rejection from Andrew Hedgecock, but that's beside the point.  In truth, though I didn't realise this at the time, I'm almost certain he thought it very unlikely that he would publish my first submission.  In all likelihood, upon hearing that Scott and Paul thought I was worth investing some time and energy into, Mr Hedgecock just wanted to see my work for himself.

Try this exercise:  make a list markets.  This is time consuming and annoying, but it's worth the investment. First, pitch the ball to the highest mountain top.  Don't be discouraged if top markets reject your work.  Instead be proud to have competed for space with those authors you admire.  Even the best sometimes get their work rejected from those places.  Upon rejection take a brief, objective look.  (See next week's lesson:  "Write Every Day, Part Two:  Without Hope and Without Despair".)  Can you make it better?  Yes?  No?  Once your answer is "no", shove it in the letter box that same day to a slightly lesser market--so on, so forth.

Here's the best place in the world to look up markets: https://duotrope.com/.  It's clean, professional, free, you don't need to sign up to search, and every market worth their chops will advertise there.  It is the Google of the publishing industry. I've placed a link on my "Useful Sites" section (bottom right), too.

The point?  No one's going to send your work out for you until you have an agent, and no agent's going to want you until you send some work out.  So, if you're in the same position as I was, it's time to send some work out.