Ring in the New Year

The long blog hiatus was this time for a very good reason, and I stand by it.

I recently had the biggest punch in the stomach of my career. I finished Forget Me Not, was told it was very good, but that it wasn't marketable in the slightest. Tragedies don't sell, according to many so-called "experts". I say those "experts" are incredibly out of touch with young people today. I say Emo and Goth music wouldn't exist if young people weren't capable of appreciating deep feelings, or indeed enjoying art designed to explore melancholy. Those particular styles in that particular art are just two of a myriad examples. In fact, as a person who wants to write for young people, I find the idea that they're incapable of appreciating tragedy quite offensive.

But I'm not delusional. It's true that tragedies are, on the whole, one of the least lucrative (if not the very least) kinds of stories. I believe Forget Me Not will be one for the future, for the critics. These days, publishers aren't interested in anything by a new author unless they think it's a guaranteed hit. That's why there's so much shallow trash out there in the YA market. There's some great stuff too, but something's wrong when the really great writers have a tougher time getting started than the ones who want to crank out some generic "Heroic young person takes on evil grown-ups and wins" story. I don't want to write that crap.  I always hated reading that crap, too.

After getting my feedback about Forget Me Not, I felt lost. I'd spent so much time believing that good books will out, that craft is the most important thing, that ideas are cheap and it's all about execution, and that gripping and beautiful stories would, if they're well told enough, get published. It turns out I'm working in an industry that never would have published Catcher in the Rye, for instance. How would you pitch that one to an agent? What's the synopsis? "Jaded teenager wanders around New York for a weekend." Doesn't sound like a rain-maker to me, and yet every agent who would scoff at that synopsis (i.e. all of them) would be dead wrong. Even if Catcher in the Rye isn't your thing, I can think of dozens of mega-best-sellers with an equally boring synopsis.

I was lost, and down, and had to pick myself up again, and I didn't know how. I was very close to giving up on the whole thing. If it's not about good fiction, what's it about? What's the point?

That's how I felt, and I didn't want my bitterness to spill over into my blog. I couldn't write anything without seeming bitter, because I was bitter, but I think, actually, this has been my greatest lesson, and I hope it's my final hurdle.

Every NEW writer I've ever known has pinned all their hopes and dreams on every work they've produced. This is difficult, because most of their early work isn't very good, any more than a pianist's first attempts at playing a tune. It's practise. It was difficult anew when I wrote something that I KNEW was good. Industry experts TOLD me it was good. I was RIGHT, and yet I still hadn't achieved a thing.

Now, I just don't care anymore. I'm broken. It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything, as Tyler Durden said. And it's when we're broken that we can most easily forge ourselves anew.

Now I just feel like I'm writing books. I'm pretty prolific. I'm making plenty of money in my day job (or, enough to survive, anyway) and I'll write one my agent thinks could be a rainmaker eventually. I'm focusing on "cool factor" as much as depth or meaning. I think it's entirely possible to achieve both, and I'll admit Forget Me Not was light on "coolness" as one of the emotional effects. It was a tragedy through and through. I have a handy writer's group that I started in Leamington Spa where I live. Every time I show them my work I ask whether they felt what was happening was cool. I'm going to write something with cool factor eventually, and I refuse to give up on my ambition of creating work of social, moral and emotional significance. I strongly believe one can achieve both, and I'd be far from the first to do so. I'm still at it, about 8,000 words into another book, fully plotted, and now that I've taken my hard-earned Christmas break, I'm still writing every day.

Every knock-back I receive, I learn a little more the importance of what Karen Blixen said: "Write a little every day, without hope, without despair."

I won't forget Forget Me Not, but I'll learn, and I'll grow. There's no such thing as failure. There's just trying and giving up.

Talent Is a Poor Word for Passion, reprise... sort of.

A conversation with a student of mine made me think of an old post, from back when my blog was almost exclusively about creative writing advice.

As a teacher, I've met many brilliant kids, some of whom have been interested in writing, and some of whom haven't. One thing they make glaringly apparent is that it's enthusiasm that makes success. My job is to inspire people to use their minds. Excitement is what makes them want to absorb the information and practise.

The next step, after enthusiasm, is raw determination. Sometimes they don't feel like working, but if I can inspire the desire to push through, by offering a sense of how great it might feel in the end, the student will continue to practise even on those inevitable days when it's hard and/or boring.

I began teaching with an awareness of this because of my own experience. When I was a teenager, I was Holden Caulfield, almost exactly. Even some of the events in Catcher in the Rye happened to me in pretty much the same way. I learned the very, very hard way that life doesn't happen for you, and that no amount of ability will get you anywhere in life.

Just one of many similarities to Holden Caulfield: I wasn't stupid, but I got terrible grades. The better teachers would notice this disparity and tell me I had talent. Not to disparage their efforts--indeed without knowing that some adults believed in me I don't know if I'd have made it through highschool--but it never solved the problem. It's like telling a kid they could be a basketball star because they're tall. If they never pick up a basketball, indeed if they don't even like basketball, being tall won't mean they join the NBA.

My old "Talent Is a Poor Word for Passion" post was long, and I feel compelled to reiterate the points, but instead of posting it again, thus making this post so long no one would ever read it, I'll just link to it.

My purpose at the time was to convince, rather than inspire. Talent is a cultural conception. Any social scientist worth the air in their lungs believes that. Romanticism didn't believe it, but we're a good couple of centuries away from that notion. Being a cultural conception does not make a thing have no truth or validity. But it does make it impossible for the thing to be a defining force over someone's life, because we have the power to break free from, or at least help shape, our constructions. And I hope I go some way to prove the fallacy of relying on talent, and I hope people who need to hear it find the idea inspiring.

http://everestbyfog.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/talent-is-poor-word-for-passion-what.html



My picture for Pinterest this time only sort of relates, but I just couldn't resist.

Life Coaching for Writers

You guessed it from the title. I saw a life coach. Sort of. You see, my martial arts teacher got a qualification in life coaching and wanted to help me out, so I got a few sessions for free.

One interesting thing we discussed: Imagine I'm a drone working in a company, and my boss wants to make money out of me. What would I, the boss, say to the guy sitting in the cubicle?

First, I'd obviously give him his own office, a booze cabinet and a snack bar. All those perks. Obviously.

But second, I'd send him on a training course. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I need to work on my plotting. I'm not the first author who had trouble learning how to plot. The list includes Roald Dahl, William Shakespeare, and various other names you might remember. Basically, it doesn't mean I'll always suck at it. And please, if you're thinking of commenting on that, remember that the earliest published story of a person's is not the first thing they wrote.

I'm sending myself on a six week training course. I've asked my old mentor, Scott Bradfield, for a list of some books he thinks are particularly awesomely plotted. I'm also looking at some great books that have some things in common with my own, e.g. Carrie and Matilda.

Six weeks, six books, and six book reviews. I'll post any major revelations here. It forces me to be accountable to myself--again being a boss. I might wind up posting more than once per week, but that'll remain the minimum.

Thanks for reading! Wish me luck!

Pointless Pinterest Pick of the Pics:

A Talk by Ray Bradbury

This is the best smegging talk about Creative Writing I've ever seen. Ray Bradbury wrote with such a passion and joy that he's an exemplar to us all if only for his lifestyle. He also firmly believed that his passion for the art is what made his quality.

This video is not only an inspiration, but a plethora of homework from one of the greatest, in my opinion, writers in history. I will do exactly what he says:

Read one short story every day.

Read one poem every day.

Read one essay every day.

Sounds like fun to me. If it didn't sound like fun, I probably wouldn't want to write all three of them.

A quick post, this one, but who am I to yap when you've got Ray Bradbury to listen to? I hope you enjoy.

Thank you Ray Bradbury for being far and away my greatest influence.  If others ever say my work is reminiscent of yours, I will probably weep tears of joy.

In the Thick of It

One of my less creative titles. Why? All of my creative energy is expended elsewhere!

That's right. Some of my regular readers will have noticed I've not been posting much lately. Sorry guys and gals. I hope my guest posters have held your interest. I know I liked what they did, and I'll take this opportunity to say another big "Thank you."

I've been punching my way through the final draft of Paint the Raven Black, and I've learned so much, my brain has been set to explode. Not literally. That would be gross. But figuratively, it would make the average Tarantino movie look like Winne the Pooh.

I've decided I'd better come back to internet life. I'll even start marketing on Pinterest and Google + and all that stuff again. Far more importantly, I'll start giving updates on my progress. As I've said, I'm learning a tonne along the way. This novel is the one I'm learning to write novels with, if you see what I mean. I've written a novel before. Everybody starts with some horrible, messy novel before really attacking the craft. Seriously, every writer I've ever met, everybody I met on the MA or MFA, everybody. Mine was called The Nameless One, and it was a good idea, but a terrible book. It will become a good book one day, but only thanks to my having learned how to accomplish that by writing Paint the Raven Black.

As this is a blog about writing, I'll let you know what I learn as I go! If it turns out I'm correct about any of it, we'll all have benefited! If not, I'll try again!

Here are a couple of practical things I've learned:

1) Eagerness is your enemy.

Impatience has been the bane of my career. And this close to the polished draft of a book, it's a 200 pound gremlin ready to jump on my shoulder. I've written before about being willing to plunge back into the draft when it's beneficial, rather than simply necessary. But there's another thing I've learned. I'm constantly tempted to sit and finish--to just blitz my way through page after page. It's important in those moments to take stock, and that's easier said than done. Go for a walk, pet your cat, do some push ups. Whatever. Just leave the smegging keyboard. I promise, you'll do better for it.

2) Eagerness is your smegging enemy, so manage your time.

Most professional artists only do around 4 hours per day, and I've discovered the reason. Energy wanes, even when motivation doesn't, and with less energy, I get sloppy. It's not a matter of careless prose or anything like that. It's a matter of impatient plotting, getting exhilarated with how much I can get done. Robert Silverberg, when he was my age, did 9-12, broke for lunch, then did 1-3.  I do 8-12, then 2-3. If I just turn off my internet explorer, don't check my emails or make any important phone calls for that short period, I get more done than 10 hours of everything at once. I also have more free time.

This is a very common time management method for artists and thinkers. Professional chess players do it, musicians do it, chefs do it, academics do it. The human brain can generally handle 4 hours on creative maximum per day. It's become something of a truism.

And here's the other side of that same coin: I have to make myself take time off. Take, for instance, right now. I'm at a point in the plot where it's very tempting to just re-use old material. What I've written previously is perfectly serviceable. It's actually pretty damn good, in my opinion, but I don't know exactly what I want to happen in the end. I know roughly. But at this point, in what Aristotle called the "denouement" (attainment into denouement--a way of looking at things I find helpful) I really need to know every detail, and I need to take stock of everything that's happened in the attainment. This is the part of the story in which nothing completely new should be introduced. New spins on old stuff is fine, but the reader is now seeking resolution, and the art of writing is all about reader psychology.

I might well use some of the old material. Smeg. I might well use all of it, word for word. But the point is I need a very clear image of why.

So, I kicked my impatience in the face. I felt like shooting from the hip, so I made myself sit down, calm down, and remember that only Texans do that. Once I find the target, I can aim properly.

The funny thing is, my fiance's mother is visiting. I want to show her how hard I work, but it's actually more productive for me to sit around playing Fallout 3 right now--a fact a 62 year old lady from Cumbria can't possibly understand. Yes, I'm feeling self-conscious. She can hear me typing this post right now, and she probably thinks I'm working on the novel. Thanks guys! Now where did they hide that "Luck Bobblehead"? (Fallout fans will understand.)

Grounded, by Jayne-Marie Barker

Another great guest-post by Jayne-Marie Barker. This one's on how to talk and act like a professional. I've found this kind of thing very important lately, and this is a good lesson. The farther you go, the more you'll need your ABCs (Always Be Cool).

'I didn't know you were a bestselling author in the making,' someone said to me today, sheer surprise wrinkling their face. 

Initially it would be easy to be mildly irrated by the shock, as if it were beyond your abilities to string together two words. As the suprise of those in your 'ordinary world' begins to break, you become accustomed to the reactions of others and perhaps acknowledge that it was a tad unfair to be so emotional when they voiced their surprise. People are consistently amazed to realise that someone they know has done something 'as difficult' (their words, not mine) as to have their book published. If you're a new author you'll probably be pleased to learn that the reaction of others, and your own, does mellow over time. The more we get used to something, anything in life, the easier we tend to manage and the smoother our self control at this point becomes. When you think about it, people are normally trying to be nice so it's only fair to give them the benefit of the doubt. However, then the really tricky bit kicks in...

It would be very easy to allow your head to swim up to the clouds and announce boldly that you are the best selling author of all time, even if this isn't quite true - yet! Perhaps the initial shyness has dilluted now that you're more used to the conversation with the newly discovered reader, but modesty should remain for all good British folk! It's part of our culture and whilst we tend to build in confidence we are a modest nation by default.

The tricky part of 'realization cycle' is to know when to advertise and talk freely and when to deploy the natural look of 'well of course, but hey, it's nothing. Thanks for noticing,' with a confident smile. There's a time and a place for advertisement and PR and for boasting one's own career with friendly chit chat. Book events and conventions are the places for these. You can go a little way along the path of 'here's the address of my website' conversation but if it's a casual enquiry born out of surprise , it pays not to overdo it. I did warn you, it's tricky, but the only golden rule I can work by myself is; 'just be yourself, always smile and be pleasant. Never be pushy.' We hate pushy people in the UK. Think about the car salesman who 'was lovely, never tried to push me into it,' and how often that person won the sale. The one who 'was all over me the minute I walked in the door,' will earn far less commission in life.

So - give it your best sweet smile and pray the enquiry is converted into a sale at some point down the line - but never push your luck! In short, keep your feet firmed on the ground, your head out of the clouds, and your eyes open to the world around you. We have two ears and one mouth... not a bad rule to remember. Good luck!

Jayne is a regular contributor to Everest by Fog. If you like mystery novels, give her website a gander. You won't regret it. Check out her books here and on Amazon. They've gotten great reviews. Or if you like using companies that pay tax and all that left-wing hippy crap, you can use The Book Depository instead of Amazon.

http://www.jaynemariebarker.com/

Let's have some will. Shall we?

"I shall be a writer," said the lazy posh git.

Will and shall are often confused, but it breaks down like this:

Things that shall happen are going to happen. It is outside anyone's control. It simply shall occur.

Things that will happen are things that one will affect (in the sense of the word, "to act upon").

So saying you"will" become a writer means you're striving for it. Saying you "shall" means it's happening without any work. Posh gits used it in olden times to sound composed and indifferent ("nonchalant", if you like French) not because it was just a fancier word. They used it, in essence, because they were gits.

But what separates the people whose wills become reality?

See the difference? No, not just the handsomeness, but the difference in the metaphors.

The Ancient Greek word "Arete" is commonly poorly translated into English as "excellence", but Arete wasn't seen as something to become, or to have others gift you with the perception of. It isn't something to do or to wait for. Arete has much more of a Fight Club ideal behind it: to achieve Arete is to let go of all things holding you back, because Arete is something to BE.

I could get into the sociology of the Ancient Greeks here and use fancy words like "eschatological", but let's suffice to say that the Greeks didn't see time as linear, with beginning and end. Their conceptions were much more focused on the present and on individualism. Life had no purpose except in and of itself. They had mythology, but their gods were largely metaphorical (to break another common misconception). To say Achilles was blessed by Ares was to say he had superhuman skill with the blade, not to say that some sword-slinging sky-man flicked him on the ear when he was a baby and told him he was going to kick ass. Their conception of what destiny meant was very different from ours. They did not see it with finality. They saw not inevitability, but potential. They did not think in eschatological terms.

I think most modern people agree that we don't have destinies. But in the Ancient Greek sense, we do. Everyone does. I bloody well do. There's a goal I make every possible effort to achieve. If I fail, it's going to be because I'm not good enough. Simple. It won't be because I'm lazy.

So what's your destiny, in the Greek sense? If you're on this blog, I'd imagine your destiny is not to play solitaire, watch television or surf the internet. Not that I'm saying you should leave. I don't want you to leave. But if you want to be writing instead of reading this, then I say good for you.

Every second you waste letting yourself think you'd be better off after a good rest, watching television, talking to yourself in the mirror or shooting kittens with water pistols is another moment that you are closer to death. Do you really just want to be another "normal" person?  Then you don't want to be an artist.  Artists are weirdos. If you really do want to be an artist you need to not have, but give yourself Arete.

Arete doesn't mean "self-creation" anymore than it means "self destruction". It's something to be. It means waking up every day and being the best father, mother, son, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, daughter, friend, mentor, cat owner and writer and whatever else that you care to be, every day.

Spank Me

With all this talk of inspiration and toughening up, there's a point that needs to be made.

This is something we all learn from bitter experience.

Let me preface this by saying I got my critique form my agent recently. She said exactly what I'd expected. Lots of constructive comments, a little helpful dialogue over email, and she didn't think the book was perfect. Neither did I. That's why I wanted the comments. I put myself, and all my best efforts, naked before her so she could...

And... SMACK!

"Ow! Damn, lady! If I were into that stuff maybe but--"

"You'll take it. It's good for you. I know you want it."

And... SMACK!

"Give me back my clothes!"

In a (not erotic) sense, the experience reminded me of my martial arts training.

Fear is something very few martial arts teachers acknowledge. If you're well trained, they say, you won't feel it. You'll just fight.

Bull.

Military teachers know that even hard-core special forces guys are quaking in their boots when the action hits. They've just become comfortable with it. That's why good fighters scream like banshees when they're in combat, instead of staying quiet like a Shaolin monk stereotype. You don't enter combat expecting to win. You enter expecting to fight. The most dangerous fighters enter expecting to die.

MARTIAL ARTS RANT

It's vaguely related, but skip it if you aren't interested in martial arts.

This isn't something a person can teach you. It's something I discovered from experience. Once I'd been in 700 or so fights (controlled so we didn't kill each other, but with no rules aside from "let the guy tap out", "stop kicking him once he goes limp" and "don't leave him blind or impotent") I stopped thinking about victory or defeat. I just fought, feeling the combat around me. Only then could I fight well, and martial arts stopped being theory and became practise. In terms of technique, Tukkong Musool is quite simple. That simplicity allows it to be experienced effectively by the student, and the experience, the method of learning via doing, is what separates it from other martial arts. There is no theorisation, only practise. That's why it's used by Special Forces squads all over the world.  Even Brazilian Jiu Jitsu teachers feel the need to inundate their students with the idea that all fights go to the floor. Most do (which is why we do BJJ in Tukkong, because it really is the best ground-fighting art) but when fighting multiple opponents, taking someone to the floor is a death sentence. BJJ teachers neglect to explain this incredibly obvious fact. It has to be deliberate, because no one is that stupid. In truth, I've never seen another school that gets you training in practise against multiple opponents, and I've looked extensively. I'll reiterate the reason I say all this: Special Forces units and all of the elite warriors of this world were trained by getting their asses kicked, and there is no substitute.

End of Rant

I can tell you not to fear rejection, to revel in advice and look forward to your agent/editor tearing your manuscript to shreds to help forge it anew, but I'd be like a martial arts teacher telling you not to feel fear. That's smeg. You will be afraid of rejection, and even acceptance that includes extensive criticism will hurt.

When Leslie gave me my feedback on my novel, it tore me up. I was out with friends, having a great time. I checked my email on my phone and had to be alone. I couldn't even tell anyone why because I was so ashamed.

The next morning (in which I write this post) I looked at her email and realised she didn't say she hated the book, she just said the plot digresses a bit and it needs some work. I ALREADY KNEW THAT!!!! I sent it to her expecting her to say those exact smegging things! She even offered the advice I'd hoped for!

If we follow the spanking metaphor, I'd just gone into her office and done this:

I got what I'd asked for. Why did it upset me? Because it hurt. Because emotions are idiots. Much as we love them, they don't submit to logic. (I'm a huge advocate of the importance of emotional intelligence, just to be clear. I mean this stuff tongue in cheek.)

I even new it would hurt. I was emotionally prepared. Still, there was a part of me that wanted her to say the last story she'd fallen so in love with was A Clockwork Orange, and she thought it grand that another talent like Anthony Burgess had joined her agency and she wanted to be my biggest fan for all eternity and she'd send me flowers and love letters and panties and, while I would have been a bit weirded out, I certainly would have taken it as a compliment.

Now I'm hard at work fixing the glitches that I knew were there, inspired by Leslie's words and thankful for her guidance. I repeat: emotions are idiots.

I'm not sure what to offer here by way of advice. I don't think I've truly learned anything, which is to say, I'm not sure this experience will change me much. Maybe I'll become more confident as my career progresses, but I have no way of knowing yet. All I can offer is this: getting spanked hurts, even when you see it coming, and even when it's for your own good. Don't send your manuscripts off expecting them to be loved. Send them off expecting them to be read.

How to Keep Writing, by Lorrie Porter

I was lucky enough to stumble upon Lorrie about a month ago. She's an awesome writer with an awesome blog in a similar vein to this one, and I know you'll all enjoy her post as much as I did. Check out her blog for more great advice. Here's a post about how you should never give up. 

Even when...

Lorrie stood up and did this:

Being a fiction writer isn’t easy. It isn’t like other jobs. When you clock in to work at a factory, or a desk job, as an airline pilot or a bar tender, you know what you’re expected to do, you have a pretty good idea how to do it, and a confidence that you can.

Writing is different. I am yet to meet a writer who hasn’t doubted about their ability to write. We are plagued with questions: Am I any good? Can I do this? Am I wasting my time?

You may think the way to defeat these doubts is to improve your writing style, to immerse yourself in writing craft, to learn what makes a good story, and you’d be right. All of these things are important. But there is one essential quality every writer needs if they’re going to succeed and that is … their stubborn refusal to give up.  Ever.

Starting out as a writer, your refusal to fail keeps you going through each and every painful rejection. But surely, once you achieve the dream, once you get that signed publishing deal, you can let yourself breathe. Your book is going to be on the shelf at Waterstones. It’s all easy sailing from here, isn’t it?

In December 2011 I signed a contract with a small but reputable publishing house for two YA novels. The first book was due out in February 2013 and I had twelve months to work on the second manuscript. I did what any sane person would do. I quit my job and started writing full-time.

You’d think writing the second book would be easy, knowing the first had proved worthy and would soon be available in bookshops, but all the publisher had seen of the second book was a sketchy synopsis. What if they hated it? What if I couldn't repeat the magic? But when you have a signed contract, dwindling funds in the bank and a deadline looming, you have to knuckle down and get on with it. That stubborn refusal to give in can come in very handy.

So I faced the blank screen every day, and filled it with words. I didn’t know if they made sense, but it was only a first draft, and with first drafts you have to give yourself a break. I read books on writing craft, analysed texts by published authors, gleaned every grain I could to make my second book as good as my first. I had to have faith. I had done this once. I had to believe I could do it again. After all, I was an author now.

And then I got an email from my publisher. They’d been taken over by an American company who no longer wanted to develop their Young Adult list. My contract was cancelled, all rights returned.

I wasn’t an author any more. I had no job, no soon to be published book, no nothing. All I had was a completed novel no one seemed to want, and a ropey first draft of my second book. And I have to admit, for a split second, the thought went through my mind: Why am I doing this? Why don’t I go back to a job I know I can do, with a salary and financial security? But it was only a split second.

Because I have that essential quality found in every writer; I am stubborn. And I will not give up. I don’t know if I will succeed in my dream to become a published writer. But I do know this. You haven’t failed until you’re dead and even then you haven’t failed because you kept true. You wrote.

Whatever you believe in, it’s by act of faith you believe in it. And it’s that faith which keeps you strong, gives you purpose and helps you through the dark times.

Fight the fear. Keep the faith.

About Lorrie

In a fit of youthful enthusiasm Lorrie Porter graduated from University College London with a degree in Ancient World Studies then went on to qualify as a teacher in Classics. She loitered for many years in a solicitor’s office where she spent a lot of time staring out of the window. However, her fascination for dead languages and civilizations continues to thrive. She has recently graduated from Manchester Metropolitan University with an MA in Creative Writing.

Lorrie writes fiction which embraces a dark and emotional aesthetic and is currently working on Cradlesnatch, a story about a monster who steals children. Her first novel, Fury, has wolves, bandits and other miscreants among its pages.

Her love of writing craft inspires her blog at This Craft Called Writing, and she can be found most Saturdays delivering writing workshops in and around Manchester and Cheshire.

Lorrie lives on a narrow boat with her talented husband and impervious cat.

13 Lessons Learned from Stephen King, and a rant by... erm... me.

For the full-sized picture, please click HERE. This is the largest I can make a picture in a blogspot post, for some ungodly reason.

I wanted to include it on the blog to offer some thoughts. I won't rant much. We're talking about Stephen King here, and his book, On Writing, is among the best of its kind.

All of these statements are golden, but there's one thing I'll say: DO NOT THINK OF THESE AS RULES.

Stephen King wouldn't want that. No good writer would. Nor would a good teacher. This is art, not math.  You will find your own interpretation and approach to every problem you face or lesson you learn.

So here's my nit-pick. He says "1st draft - 10% = 2nd draft."

No. Do not expect your first drafts to only need a snip. Unless you're already a very experienced novelist, your second draft will probably involve a great deal more work--quite possibly nearly a total rewrite in order to tighten the emotional thrust. Take it seriously.

Each writer will discover their own approach. For some, the first draft is only an attempt to pin down the story. Paul McAuley, who has been nominated for an award for almost everything he wrote last year (seriously, almost every short story, and the novel) said to me that his first drafts would get rejected from magazines, if he were ever fool enough to submit them. I suspect he was exaggerating, but his point stands. Work on your story until it is the best you can do, not until you think you can get away with it.

But here's the part where I get to sing Stephen King's praises again, and directly related to my caveat, too.

"Teach yourself," he says. Smeg right. Find your own interpretation of what anyone tells you. Learn by practise. Remember what Thomas H. Uzzell said about the average writer needing to hammer out around a million words before developing his or her own style. Write a lot. Read a lot. (Stephen King also says, "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time, and the tools, to write.") Keep doing those and you'll get there. The only expectation you should have is that if Stephen King or whoever floats your boat can succeed, so can you. Every book on your shelf is a monument to the fact that this is an achievable goal.

Can You Do Better than Others? by M.R. Jordan

                               

Writer and editor M.R. Jordan on the arts of everything from nannies to camel jockeys, and finding and exploiting your own unique talents.

The plot to Supper Nanny is pretty simple. Supernanny comes in and implements the same techniques each week and then nails the parents to the wall for inconsistency and lazy parenting. Families are transformed. Part of the draw of this show of course is seeing the infinite ways in which kids can be horrible and a secret hope that Supernanny will finally meet her match. She never does. Perhaps this is due to tricks of the camera, but my time teaching ESL showed me the extent to which children are hardwired to please. This last part is an observation, but not important to this topic.

What is important is that despite using the same techniques for child discipline and nailing parents to the wall for years, Supernanny has no shortage of families who need their help.

Q. Why don't people just implement the techniques on their own? Think about this a minute before you read my answer.

A. Think about the question some more. No, that's not my answer, silly, but I know you're reading this a half a second after reading the question.

Do you want the answer now? Of course you do. Perhaps you're the kind of person who likes to know what other people think before forming an opinion of your own.

Keep thinking…

Okay, now for my opinion on this subject. It's not laziness or ignorance. The average person cannot watch a how-to video, read a how-to book, or watch Supernanny and implement those skills successfully. Give any child or adult who has never backed in their lies an instant cake mix and watch them struggle to follow the directions. Most people are hardwired to learn from other people. This is why universities don't just hand college students a book to read and expect them to know the contents of said book.

One of the things I can do that most other people can't is learn from a book, only a book, and nothing else but a book. I used a lot of words to tell you this, but I have, what I think, is a grand a point.

This is my strength. I'm using it to educate myself about marketing and business and Excel. Whether you are a writer, song writer, camel jockey or candle stick maker, you have internal assets at your disposal right now. Life lends itself to focusing on external obstacle and it's easy to forget our assets. Don't be the silly reality TV star who says "I think I deserve to win more than anyone else in the house," or "tribe"… whatever. Not a single person thinks they don't deserve to win more than anyone else. Think, instead, what asset you can bring to the table that others can't. Let's say you’re a camel jockey. It's a well established fact that camel jockeys have to be sequestered the night before a race. Otherwise they'll get so drunk, they will fall of their camels during the race. See * for more information about Sequestering camel jockeys to prevent consumption of copious amounts of alcohol syndrome. (SCJPCCAAS) Perhaps you can drink like a fish and stay on your camel. This unique trait gives you a unique advantage over all the other jockeys.

Do you have traits that others don’t? What are they? How can you use them in your pursuit of dreams?


* SCJPCCAAS: This is probably not a real thing, which makes me sad. The world would be more awesome if it was.

M.R. Jordan
Check out her blog and publications here!

Yay! I'm just like Damon Knight!

We both did something stupid.

In his book, Creating Short Fiction, Damon Knight says, "I remember how hungry I was to write anything that would get published."  Knight goes on to say that he forgot, for a time, to write things he truly cared about.

Now, when I could write a structured story, I knew it.  In the past, I'd told myself many times.  I'd convinced myself and whined when things got rejected.  Every artist goes through this phase.  But honestly, when you understand dramatic structure, and you can see what the stories on the bookshelf are doing scene by scene, you truly will know when your stories look the same.

Then I went through my most annoying, frustrating malaise of all time.  This was right after I got my agent.  I was so eagre to produce anything that could get published, I lost sight of how to produce something good.

I got a bunch of frustrating rejections.  I knew my stories were well written.  The top markets rejected them and I wanted to know why.  When I say top market, I literally mean the places that publish award-winning stuff on a regular basis, so I wasn't upset, but I was curious.

The almost top markets, the ones that pay the same rates but don't get submissions from my mentors, gave me personal feedback.  They usually don't bother.  They get thousands of submissions per month and only about twenty of those get serous consideration.  "This is very well written," they always said.  "But the drama lags in the middle."  Or, "I'm just not sure it's got enough punch."  Or, "The idea just wasn't interesting enough for me."

That really pissed me off.  I always used to be complimented on my ideas.  Even when my stories were trash, I have never met a professional author or editor who didn't like the ideas.  And if I didn't like them, even better than the other published authors', I'd write different ideas.

Did I just plain suck?

Yes.  I did, at that point in my life, actually suck.  Leslie (my agent) told me I was rushing.  "You don't understand," I wanted to say.  "I'm fast!"

I was doing two things wrong.  I was trying to impress Leslie by showing her that I can write three short stories a week and still have time for chess club, my rock band, martial arts and Skyrim addiction.  Also, I was desperate.  I knew I was right on the cusp of something I'd longed for my whole life.  I'd finally found the pistol and I shot before I aimed.

Knight once said to a Clarion student, "You need to learn to sit at the keyboard and open a vein."

When I look at my three a week, desperately churned out stories (there are like 20 of them) they are well written.  They are also mostly piffle.  I can only find among them three ideas that I really like, and none that I truly love.  The story that caught Leslie's interest, I should add, wasn't all that well written by my present standard, but I did truly love the idea.  It was something I'd been trying to write about since I was a teenager.

That said, another interesting thing happened.  I sent the well written piffle to lesser markets.  Pro markets were telling me I was a good writer.  Semi-pro told me I wasn't.  Token payment markets went "Ack!  This doesn't begin with dialogue!"  Some of the most famous stories in history begin with artful exposition.

(Note:  By "artful", I mean it's exposition in motion, which is to say action is happening around it--MOST of the time.  In the works of John Steinbeck, Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allen Poe and many others, the exposition is often pure, right in your face with no action what so ever, setting the stage for the action to follow.  It's a legitimate technique.)

So the more I went down the ladder, the less people liked my work.  It seems paradoxical, but it's telling.

Now, let's not talk about the token markets.  If you're interested in writing, your journey will not end there, and anywhere that has such stringent rules about openings is not a healthy place from which to learn.  That attitude means they do not understand what a story needs.  As for semi-pro and pro, take notes.  There is something you're not doing, and even if a rejection is cruel (the guy from Pseudopod is vicious) you can use the information.  I had thought my stories were just not quite tweaked enough for a pro market.  The semi-pro rejections were confusing and they hurt, but in the end they taught me the most.  They don't normally publish really well written stuff.  Otherwise they'd be pro.  They also don't publish piffle.  Otherwise they wouldn't exist.  I implore you, write the ideas you love.  It isn't writer's block if you have to sit and ponder for a few days.  Pondering is different from playing Skyrim.  It's still an honest day's work.

Life Versus Lemons: Yum!

"I can't accept not trying," wrote Michael Jordan in the greatest book on inspiration of all time.  It's also the book's title.  You should look it up.  It's only 32 pages long.

"Success occurs when your dreams become bigger than your excuses," said Ebenezer Ghansa, Chief Instructor of the Gurkha Infantry and Senior Instructor of the world's most active and elite special forces squad, the 27th Anti-terrorist Division of South Korea.

Ebe taught me martial arts, and instilled in me the attitudes that have, I believe, helped me learn to write as much as anything. How could martial arts possibly be applicable to writing? Ever seen/read Fight Club?

This message is, hopefully, charmingly simple instead of just making me look like a smeg-head. :-)

I hope that smiley face helps.  Here's another.

o<:->   (That's an attempt at Santa with a goatie.) 

Anyway, what Ebe taught me was how to get beaten up and not care.  That's vital in martial arts.  It's not like the movies.  The fact is, no matter how good you are you'll get smacked around, and you need to get used to taking a hit.  And to get better, you need to get used to losing.  Thanks to Ebe, I've been beaten up more times than I can count.  Probably something in the four or five hundreds.  The best part was, the people who kept beating me up never got much better at it.  I wasn't testing their ability, but they tested mine, and as such I got better.  Eventually I started to win.  Amateurs learn faster than anybody.

Imagine it.  One of the most qualified martial arts teachers in the world, and all his top students have had their butts kicked more than a kid with a nazi tattoo on his face at a high school in Israel.

The point? Life is a lazy smeg. He'll knock you down, beat you up, hand you lemons et cetera, but he never gets stronger. You will. (Remember 'Arete' from the post, "To Will and to Be".) Bruises heal. Scars look cool. If you like lemons, there are countless recipes available, and you can even invent your own.

If you don't like lemons, punch life in the face. You'll probably lose the first fight, but every time you stand up you'll be a little stronger, and life will stay the same lazy smeg he always was, just standing there like a brick wall ready to be smashed down. This applies to any dream. No one is going to hand you success.

"Once you can snatch the pebble from my hand, you will be ready to leave," said the Sensei in Karate Kid.   Ebe's attitude was more, "How about I hand some pebbles to all my top students, including these Special Forces guys.  They'll beat you up with the pebbles for awhile, but once you can rip one from the odd hand you probably won't want the smegging thing anymore, because you'll have something better:  strength."

Now, I wish to make it clear that I in no way condone hurting people.

o<:->   

There.

Always remember, if you're feeling lost in the vast mire of aspirants, so long as you're one of the rare few who will keep trying until you succeed or die poor and happy knowing you at least gave it everything, you'll be in very small company, and the market isn't closed to you. (See my "Marketability Means Marketing" posts.)

Never accept not trying. Not trying is for wusses. Artists may look like geeks much of the time, but every self-made person has to know how to kick some spiritual ***.

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.

Demotivational Encouragement

"Twenty-four," said Scott Bradfield, and he laughed.  He and Steve Erickson, author of Zeroville among many others, were giving a seminar on short fiction.  Someone had asked how many stories one would normally have to write before creating a publishable one.  "Twenty-four stories."  Steve laughed, too.  "Sorry," said Scott.  "That is actually a saying among some authors, but it's complete bull.  You'll write however much you need to write."

In some ways, just like Karen Blixen's quote ("Write every day, without hope and without despair.") this sums up everything you need to know as an aspirant.  This is how you will learn to write:  through practise.  That's the biggest reason why how-to journals and suchlike are smeg.  I'll add some further words to Scott's, though, "...or you'll give up."

The point is, you're going to need to write a great deal, and this post is about reminding you of the path up the mountain.

For those of you who gaze into that invisible distance and say, "Cool," then good for you.  In fact, I've never met an author who didn't say that, back when they were aspirants.  It's the less obvious reason that professional artists are dreamers.  It doesn't mean letting everything else in your life go.  It just means fighting for this, now (see "To Will and to Be").  Sometimes that does mean letting things go, as we've discussed in previous posts, but it ultimately means deciding how badly you want a thing.

I'll ask a little trust, here.  Take this post to heart.  Feel the hardship ahead and savour it.  Know it will be a long road, that your first novel almost certainly won't get published, that editors will reject your work and you won't know why.  Know that every author in history has faced these exact same difficulties, and they aren't better than you.  They've just been doing this longer.  Know that you'll succeed eventually if you keep hiking. 

I'll end with a long quote from Thomas H. Uzzell's classic, Narrative Technique:  A Practical Course in Literary Psychology, published in 1923 and revised in 1934.

"The average beginner may well expect to write a million words before he will have noticeable facility in style ...

"The more detailed information I get as to the things successful writers actually do (as distinguished from the things that are often written and believed about them) and compare it with the actual deeds of young writers, the more I am convinced that the thing to be envied in the successful writer is not so much his 'genius' or even his 'personality', as it is his willingness to write for the sake of writing in his years of apprenticeship.  The painter spends years at his drawing, the pianist a like amount of time at his scales, but he writer too often thinks he has adopted an art without these laborious preliminaries.  Not so.  You can no more write good stories without playing literary scales than you can execute a Brahms concerto on the piano without your years at the keyboard."

"Write Every Day" Part Two, "Without Hope and Without Despair"

"Write a little every day, without hope and without despair," wrote Karen Blixen.

I still think the amendment mentioned two posts ago is important, so let's quickly qualify:  ("...a little...," wrote Karen Blixen)--smeg that.  Write all you want.  Ms Blixen was just using those words to make the process sound gentle and easy, and it's a great quote.  I and a vast community of authors owe her respect and a debt of gratitude. 

The thing is, it isn't gentle or easy.  You might have a job, a family, an abusive partner, a heroin addiction, whatever.  You might want the dream so much that it hurts to think about what you could have, should have been.  Maybe you're just afraid of trying and failing.

For the people who let other obligations (or drug addictions) get in the way, the answer is simple:  don't.  If you're serious, why are you letting other things get in your way?  I'm not saying it's easy.  Starting is the hardest part, but fortunately your answer remains simple:  start.

For the rest of you, it's complex.  Wanting something badly enough to get off your duff and start is Step One.  If you truly put your all into the fight, then you just might even make it, but it won't be an easy road.  There will be times you fail, times you succeed, and both of them can lead to hurt, and hurt slows you down.

When Scott Bradfield first quoted Karen Blixen to me, I didn't agree.  It's important, I still believe, to let yourself be emotional when trying to be creative.   Emotion fuels creativity, deepens your connection with others (the perceiver as well as those who inspire you) which is vital for any art, and it's part of writing with your whole self.  

I took years to understand what Karen Blixen meant by those final words:  the wrong kind of hope only leads to despair.   It is destructive emotionally and counterproductive professionally to place all your self-worth on every story you finish or submit to a magazine.  It's far better to channel that  energy.  Wanting something badly enough to cry tears of joy every time you make a step towards your goal is great, but hope must be channelled into those steps, and what was despair becomes only a sense of responsibility, a reminder to truly strive your hardest.  

This is a tough spiritual exercise, but like most good writing advice, it boils down into a simple principle:  work with heart and mind.  Beginning is the hardest part.  Have you already begun?  Good.  Keep working and don't let anything, including yourself, get in your way.

"Write Every Day"

Last week's post was on motivation, and this might seem like more of the same, but it isn't.  It's too important to find a place in our little cycle, so I must simply stick it here at the beginning:  this message pertains vitally to all three elements of writing.

On my first seminar on the MA, I sat with fellow students around three of the four large desks that made a square.  The walls were blank, everything smelled of carpet freshener, and the whiteboard was blank.  I eagerly awaited Scott Bradfield.  I'd already read his most famous novel, The History of Luminous Motion, and it blew me away, and this was the first time I'd see the man up close.

He burst into the room, seeming quite annoyed at having to take this hour away from his keyboard and his next novel. He turned his back on the class, grabbed the black pen under the whiteboard and scrawled: "Write a little every day, without hope and without despair." He turned back to us, sat and placed his wrists on the table. "I'm quoting Karen Blixen, here," he said. "If there's one piece of writing advice you need to take with you, this is it. If there's one sentence into which all writing advice boils down, this is it."

He stared at each of us in turn--that honest, emphatic stare he always gives. I was both glad and confused, because I'd been writing every day for years. So I'd been doing the right thing, but it hadn't gotten me anywhere yet.

I said, genuinely wondering regardless of how it might sound, "What if I want to write a lot every day?"

Scott turned to the whiteboard, one hand on his chin, stood up and began erasing the first half, "I've used this quote for years, but I think I'll change it. Okay." He turned back. "Write every day, without hope and without despair."

I mainly left that seminar full of beans because I'd changed the favoured paraphrase of a master of the craft. Me! I was special! Perhaps I'd make it after all! And I got back to writing every day. The reason I include this annecdote is to make clear:  write as much as you want.  It's actually a good skill to be able to write when you're fed up.  You'll probably have to from time to time if you become a professional.

To this day whenever I speak with Scott the conversation ends with him saying, "Keep on writing and reading and you'll get it."

The point? Writing is something you have to figure out for yourself. There's much good advice to help along the way (and far more terrible advice) but ultimately, you've got to figure this out. This is art, not math. There are no formulas here, only broad, human concepts.  I'll help point you in the right direction, and we'll return to this theme many times. This really is the most important writing advice you will ever hear or read.