Reading vs Writing

Back in the days of my innocence I read voraciously, sometimes consuming two or three books a week.   Even after life got complicated I ticked along at a book a week, plus magazines.  Graduate school and work cut me back to two books a month.  Then I decided to start writing and saw my reading decline almost to nonexistence.

It seems strange that the act of creating stories out of whole cloth would diminish the need for reading, but it's more an issue of time management than desire.  Oh, I still read books and magazines, but only when I get blocked in my writing or something particularly interesting comes along - like a dedicated copy from another writer, which is sort of an obligation.  It seems that the more I write the less I read.  In the last year I've barely finished a few novels, which is less than I start because I abandon many after the first fifty pages.  I also have to be careful about reading my favorite writers fearing I'd unconsciously adopt their style. That would not necessarily be bad, but it's not what I want.

Each year, around this time of year the Hugo and Nebula nominations are requested and I realize how far behind I have gotten.  This guilt kicks off an orgy of reading one novel or short after another. This requires trips to the local libraries, bookstores, and, if a con is nearby, the dealer's room.  Yes, and it is also time to attack the pile of books and magazines that accumulate on my bookshelves over months of neglect.  Inevitably, my writing suffers when I give so much time to reading, to considering so many novel ideas, to enjoy so many and varied voices.  But while I wail at the loss of writing time, I revel in the vistas revealed, the concepts presented by writers with greater imaginations and skill than my own, and submerge myself in wonder. At the same time, I despair at the Herculean effort it would take to clean out the Augean stables' of unread backlog.  There is never enough time to keep up with the literary output of this genre, let along the larger market.

Eventually I feel the irresistible, burning need to return to writing, despite the vast amount of untouched fiction.  I don't regret the time taken for reading, thinking it a worthwhile tradeoff and vow to stay current in the future.

As I have every year.

Keeping Track

I thought reposting this old article might be a good way to start the year.

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Why isn't the "Destination, Mars" manuscript back yet?

Who was it that I sent it to? Oh lord; I can't even remember when I mailed the damn thing! WHEN did I send it? Panic time!!

Wait a second; I know that I wrote something down on my file copy, maybe that was where I wrote the editor's name too. Now, where did I put the file copy? It has to be around here . . . somewhere . . . Don't panic! I'm pretty certain that it's about time I should be hearing about "Destination." It was my best work to date. Oh, where the hell is that manuscript copy? Maybe I'd better look through the desk drawers one more time . . . No, did that last night, or was it the night before? Hmmmm, maybe I didn't write the date on the file copy after all, maybe I wrote it on an envelope, . . . or one of those yellow sticky thingees, . . . or something else . . . maybe. I'm not going to go through this again! No sir, next time I'm going to be organized.

Sound familiar? Are confusion, forgetfulness, and general disorder too much a part of your writing life? Do you desperately wait at the mailbox with your stomach in knots, praying for the letter containing almost certain acceptance - and not know for sure if it is due or not? Do you chew the days off the calendar and greet the mailman with horrid anticipation every single day, not knowing what he will bring? Or when?

Given the review cycles of most editors, there will be a delay of sixty to ninety days (sometimes more) as your manuscript gradually works its way to the top of the slush pile, into some reviewer's hands, and, if you are extremely lucky or gifted, into the final selection pile. This is valuable time, time you should be using to produce more manuscripts, time that should be used in perfecting failed pieces, and time in which you should be putting any rejections back into the mail in search of another review.

Harlan Elison, one of the best-known and most successful science fiction writers, contended that serious writers should keep their work in circulation until it either sells or the ink wears off. If you follow his precept then the number of your manuscripts will soon grow beyond your limited capacity to remember them all. Given that deficiency, you could lose a manuscript and not even realize it! Worse, you might forget to send a gem that's been languishing in the file drawer, buried under a pile of drafts. You might even-- horror of horrors - suffer the embarrassment of sending something back to an editor who already read and rejected it.
Editors HATE it when a writer returns the scene of the crime!

What's a poor scribbler to do? 

The answer is to keep good and complete records on everything you write. Your writing must be handled as a business and that means tracking every effort to its ultimate disposition, which could be either acceptance or the dreaded bottom file drawer among the other dead soldiers.

Most writing professionals stay on top of their business activities by keeping track of their correspondence, manuscripts, and other materials that represent future income, by using some easily applied techniques and tools. These range from simple card files and file folders to using the same computer that cranks out their undying manuscripts. You only have to pick one that suits your temperament and income.

The original Science Fiction Handbook recommended a simple index card for each manuscript. This card contained the complete history of the manuscript from its inception to its final sale (should you be so lucky). Since that article there have been regrettably few lines of guidance devoted to this aspect of the writer's trade. Let's examine what information might be needed in these records.

The secret of decent records is to decide in advance everything you might want to know about your manuscript at some far future time. A well designed record will provide a wealth of data from which you can make marketing decisions. For those who have pretensions of immortality, these records could provide your biographer with a valuable source of information on your works.

The key idea is to document when each piece was originated, when it achieved its final, releasable form and, if necessary, when it was subsequently revised. These facts can easily become confused and forgotten when you have several drafts in progress. One quickly loses track of which came first, which finished first, et cetera and so forth. Robert Heinlein, a very prolific science fiction writer, once suggested assigning an Opus number to each piece that you start and using a one-up numbering system; that is, the first manuscript your produce would be Opus #1, the second Opus # 2, and so forth. It's your choice as to how carefully you want to track your output.

A second key idea is know the location of the manuscript at any moment in time. Editors sometimes lose manuscripts, mail does occasionally go astray, and even fragile memory fades over time. Write it down the instant something changes in the status! You will not regret the effort.

An added benefit of tracking locations and dates is that it prevents those accidental and embarrassing repeat submissions to an editor, which-- as the old Russian saying about teaching a pig to whistle goes --merely frustrates you and annoys the pig.

Next in importance is recording the submission date. Simple math will tell you how long it's been gone and, given that you have had the foresight to research the normal review period for each editor, when you can expect its return. You might choose to pencil the latter date in as well - that will tell you when to start bothering your mail person about being on time. It will also tell you when it is necessary to send the dreaded Inquiry Letter to the editor saying, politely, of course, "Where the hell is my manuscript?" (This letter will invariably cross your SASE in the mail.)

Finally you should write notes to yourself about each piece. Sometimes a thought will occur immediately after submission, something that you might want to revise before it goes to another market, or, if you are very fortunate, that you might want to revise before it gets into print.  In another file you may find it wise to keep a little bit of information handy on editorial preferences. A few rejections and some slight research into each editor's magazines will make their individual preferences, foibles, and biases quite evident. In this file you should note little facts e.g. Analog Science Fiction does not accept outright fantasy or horror stories and that it is therefore not a viable market for such. A good set of editorial records will allow you to sharpen your marketing focus and improve your odds of a sale.

As your writing ouevre grows and develops you will find that the files of your works will grow and grow. Finally, they will become substantial enough to warm you on some cold winter's night as you sit, going over your past failures one by one, savoring each rejection and the looong times the editors held it for review, regretting the time consumed in bringing that piece from painful creation to brilliant completion, adding up your total of unsold words - and the warmth will grow as you feed the old manuscripts, page by page, into the fireplace, cackling with glee the while.

The simplest, incredibly cheap file is a pack of index cards. This type of file is the most direct and easily implemented method of record keeping. I used a set of 3X5 cards for years until computer data bases made the job of record keeping immensely easier. The advantage of the card file was its portability and ease of use (and yes, I do know about notebooks and tables and clouds, thank you.)

Your manuscript card should have the name of the piece across the top (the Opus number is optional.) Just below the title you should put the dates of conception, completion, and/or revision (be sure to leave enough space.) Below that you should write in the word and/or line count. Then draw a thick line. Below this line you should enter the first market you are sending it to, the date sent, and the date expected back (in pencil). When each piece is returned ink in that date of return and whether it was accepted (happy days) or rejected (gloom, doom, and despair.) Below this you do the same for the next market. Repeat this until the piece is accepted or as many times as you can stand, whichever comes first. Some of your pieces may require more than one card, depending on the size of your handwriting and the thickness of your skin.

For the sake of security and peace of mind you might also consider doing a little double entry bookkeeping. For each editor you might have a record of your submissions. When something goes out write the entry on the manuscript's card AND the editor's card. This way you can track which pieces are at which editor. If you also put the dates in the editor's record then it will be easier to determine the average return time independently and decide if you want to continue to submit to that lazy, good-for nothing, time-waster, or not.

So don't wait, get your inventory of manuscripts together today and start record keeping as an integral part of your writing schedule. A good set of records will reward you, and perhaps that far future biographer, beyond measure.

Post Holiday Fatigue

It happens every year, the sudden disappearance of house guests and visitors bearing good will, the deconstruction of the decorative holiday themes, the storage of seasonal treasures, and, sadly, the results of too many rich foods and drinks.  The weather turns to grim gray days and long cold nights. brighteannual arrival of the seed catalogs and their promise of  bountiful spring and summer. The holiday season is truly over when the annual arrival of the seed catalogs and their promise of  bountiful spring and summer arrive in profusion to brighten the mail.

But the end of holidays now means that we have to get back to living our chosen lives, struggling to write despite difficulties, frustrations, and setbacks.  That work set aside for the holidays is now back, demanding attention, forcing the mind to grasp the thread of plot, the characters' foibles, and however the devil you intended for it to end.  Only gradually, does the mental fog dissipate and reveal the way forward. Slowly you bring back the thread and hunker down to progress and, hopefully, finish.

The arrival of the new year is a time to plan, to make promises to yourself. Each  year I pledge to have at least five pieces published and to write at least twice that many.  Usually I do the latter, but fail on the former, although that is usually made up in the long haul when a sale of only four is followed by a year, such as 2012, where I can place six pieces in publications.  I probably write a novel's worth of words in any year, spread over fifteen to twenty finished pieces of various lengths.  Some are parts of longer works I plan, those that are complete stories fail to find a willing editor, and most are in continual circulation ever seeking a receptive audience.

As ever I enter the year with high hopes, working against the tide of time, doing what I want, and at a pace I can maintain over the long haul.

Mementoes and Memories

Each year as the holidays are upon us and too-much-to-do  rums smack into not-enough-time  we begin to decorate the house for the arrival of holiday guests.   This effort involves turning our otherwise contemporary setting into something outrageously rococo.  Minimalistic sensibilities are abandoned in a overly enthusiastic  attempt to make our surroundings "gay and festive."  Bright ribbons, festive wreaths, and dozens of wildly colorful seasonal decorations are set upon every available horizontal surface.  

But the overwhelming cascade of seasonal adornments pales before what is to come.  The pinnacle of decoration is to build our holiday tree.  We first place the bare tree in its place of honor, then bring the storage boxes from the attic and begin to adorn the branches with large and small decorations both bright and gaudy.

Decorating the tree is a process without a distinct objective.  There is no specific plan to be followed, but rather a successive layering of artifacts. The ornaments are an eclectic collection of cheap jewelry, small treasures, expensive glassware, artfully crafted metal and wood creatures, and religious items from a half dozen cultures, all collected over our years from places we've either lived or travelled First the lights are tested, then strung in a rough pattern to ensure that the tree has no places lacking colored illumination.  Small and large balls are hung wherever there seems to be an empty branch. This is easy at first but becomes increasingly challenging as the festooning progresses.  When the entire store of balls is exhausted we then place larger items among, between, next to, and behind the ornaments and earlier objects.  That done, we affix strings of beads and ribbons, and drape colored cords in spirals around the tree.  As a finishing touch, an old bedraggled and beloved angel acquired years before is affixed to the tree's peak where it leans leftward, as always.

After hours of work the tree has been transformed into a thing of unbelievable layered, multifaceted complexity.  There are so many objects chock-a-block that it would be impossible to derive a unifying theme or even to see the tree beneath. Consequently, hardly anyone looks too closely, save to search for some favorite item. It is something to be admired as a whole.

So why, you may ask, do we take so much time each year to build this overwrought objet d'art?  Why do we expend so much time administering to its details?

The answer to that question is not simple since the effort, the process of decorating the tree is a labor of love and remembrance.  Every single item placed on the tree evokes a memory of the time and place it was acquired.  Some items are treasured gifts from people we've known.  The bright globes are from France, Germany, Italy, as well as the United States.  The small golden owls are from a temple in Burma, the multicolored tassels from a market in Seoul, the glass spheres from a trip to Austria. Other decorations were from Spain, the Netherlands, England, and Scotland.  We have small pottery animals from Japan, straw figures from Mexico, and garlands from all over.  Each item has its tale, each its own memory of its place, and each is a marker in the history that we are writing with out lives each holiday season.  The tree is a symbol of who we were and who we are, but that is not the reason for doing so much work in erecting it.  That process, the decoration of the tree, is an annual celebration of seasons past and, if there is still an empty place we can find, a place for more to come.

So, in the end, each year's construction of the tree means much more than building a bright seasonal decoration. It is renewing and reliving a warm, glowing symbol of our family's history.

Shout Out Redux

A while back I asked Jamie Todd Rubin why he read my blog to which he replied that he got some satisfaction knowing that he was not the only writer beset by the devils of self-doubt, remorse, elation, and disappointment.  It seems we all ride the same roller coaster of emotions and agonies as our WIP ever falters on the brink of failure.  I suspect the same is true of you out there who read this blog, who find yourself filled with doubt, wondering if you can get one more story published, one more draft successfully completed, one more scene working just right; that you can finally find precisely the right word on the tenth revision and know that something is finally working right. On the one hand I hope reading these posts lets you know you are not alone and, on the other, I despair that there should be so much misery about something at once creative and revelatory.

Mid year I wrote Shout Out to note where my blogspot map lit up each week.  Since then I've seen more places light up, indicating that there is at least one writer in each distant country reading about my agonies and ecstasies.  Do you distant readers endure these same, terrible writer's afflictions?  Are there really that many of you writers in Russia, Japan, Venezuela, India, Bahamas, Germany, Iceland, South Korea, Malaysia, Philippines, Latvia, Poland, Ukraine, Canada, and the United States who feel the same?

Let me know by a comment now and then, just to let me know I'm not being hit by spambots instead of actual living, breathing people.

By the way, I've made my numbers for this year - six stories placed so far.

The Golden Moment

After wallowing in self-absorbed misery over my lack of progress a bright moment finally happened like the summer's sun rising in the east, illuminating what earlier had been obscured, revealing so much that I gasped in wonder at this magical awakening to the single arc that united all these disparate parts of my draft into a unified whole. This new insight tells me what dross to cut and where new material must be added.  The hitherto dark way is now clear, the plot is certain, and the story finally has taken on its own form.

There always is a point in the development of a story where I want to give up, give in, go for long walks, or take up something that doesn't demand so much hard work.  Stories that started off with such promise from a brilliant (so I thought) idea rapidly built into pages upon pages of rambling prose.  The  ideas for scenes came so fast I can barely type fast enough. And then, it happens.  I realize that there are...gaps...plot holes, mischaracterizations, and just silly stuff, of which we will never speak again,  Not bad, think I, and proceed patching here and there, adding a bit of structure, painting over a misstep, pounding some overwrought passage into submission.  I struggle on, trying to wrench plot from the dreck, cutting here and there, letting some parts run on and on and on until fatigue overtakes me.

When I return to my writing anvil I realize that the story isn't very good. In fact, it is horrible, beyond recovery, an absolute travesty that would forever besmirch whatever is left of my good name.  I've wasted hours, days, weeks on something so unworthy that I am ashamed.  There is nothing I can do that can save this piece. Nothing.  I move on to something else, swearing never to return to this time-wasting crap.

That is when the magic happens and the story becomes infused with the light of understanding, of seeing the whole buried within and where it needs to go.  When it happens i go forward with renewed confidence,  seize the draft, and begin writing the story that wanted to be told and not necessarily what I set out to write.

It would be a blessing if this were this to happen only occasionally, but, truth to tell, it happens every damn time I get into a new project.  The longer they are, the worse the depths of my frustration and pain.  It is a sinusoidal wave form of enthusiastic peaks of creativity, the declining slope of struggling to wrest meaning from tedious prose, and finally reaching the depths of despair from which only the golden moments let me rise to the peak satisfaction of a decent, submission-ready manuscript.

The Agony of Slogging Along

Another day, another thousand words while dealing with feelings of incompetence as I struggle with the work in process.  Why am I putting myself through this?  Why do I slog daily through words, words, words, fighting the impulse to add ever more to what I've already done even as I scribble out words that only yesterday were golden but today seem utter dross? The story that began with such promise has devolved into a messy assortment of ideas that do not quite jell.  In fact, the scenes have become so disparate that it's hard to believe they are parts of the same plot and why the hell did that character's name change from Jean to Gene while his/her gender remained unchanged but the clothes did not?  Moving scenes around doesn't help; it just makes the damage look that much worse.

God in heaven, I feel I will never, ever get this story done, but I blunder on, believing that there might be a solution somewhere ahead if only I continue to work on this phrasing, this paragraph, this scene, this whole fucking story!  Maybe I should stop rereading and just move on until this twisted tale reaches some sort of conclusion, epiphany, or simply dies unresolved.  Yeah, that makes sense. Or does it?

Is this what my life has become - struggling to make sense, to smooth the words into a coherent story, fighting the urges to move on to something -anything!- else just so I don't have to deal with what I've already driven into incomprehensible ramblings?

What twisted aspect of personality drives me, an otherwise sane person, to sit before a computer for hours, days, weeks at a time scribbling words that might never be read by another human being?  Isn't it presumptuous to think that my words, my concepts, ideas or phrasing merits any more praise than another's?  But questions like this, the nagging doubts, the painful realization of insufficiency, of mortality, and human frailty fail to dissuade me as I slog through the working part of writing - battling the devils that harry me as I proceed along the exhausting long march that will hopefully, prayerfully develop into something somewhat readable.

Is this agony the common lot of a writer?