How to Be a Good Writer, Part 5

Investment: Scary. I’m not only talking about money. I’m talking about you. Your time. Effort. Sacrifice. That kind of investment—which, yes, can involve money but mostly involves guts.

A couple of questions: How much investment is enough? And in what does one invest? Allow me to argue in favor of you: Invest in yourself.

I have a dear friend who tells me that most entrepreneurs tend to underinvest not in their idea, their passion for it, or in doing the numbers, the research—but in themselves. That’s why most of us fail, at least once: we’re afraid to lay down the money on, let’s face it, the venture about which we know the most. Instead we invest in shaky Wall Street hedge funds, which really amount to Las Vegas East, if you get my meaning. Why would we do that? Why would we favor some idiot account manager in New York City over ourselves? Why do we depend on huge multinational slush funds to properly manage our retirement? Why not invest in the one business idea that actually has merit?

Full disclosure: I don’t have a 401(k) and never have (now we see the bias inherent). But I’m highly motivated to be a retirement hawk, if you will, and manage what I do have aggressively.

All this to say that if your project needs a little jump start to get going, and you have a little something tucked away somewhere, by God, wager it on your own enterprise. You’d do better than sending it off to be confiscated by Lenny-the-Wall-Street-con and his Mob boss in dark places, Uncle Sam. But I digress.

I’ve blown through my word count pretty much already this week. So I’ll leave you with this: Don’t be afraid to invest in yourself. This is what separates the careerists from the hobbyists.

Also, I’ll just go ahead and debut my Tips for Writers motif by popping one off right here: Never use the phrase, “but I digress.” If you do, your piece is already running off the rails and can only be salvaged by self-deprecating humor. Such things are only pulled off adequately by the consummately skilled.

Now, I know I promised a little bit here on mechanics and other boring stuff last week. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I’ve run out of space. Aren’t you glad.

Review of Airel by Life in Review

Okay, this review takes the cake. Check it out here. And don't miss your chance to pick up Airel on Kindle this month for $4.99. It goes to print this fall. Book II in the Airel saga, Michael, is currently being dreamed up.

Smartphones: Do They Make the World a Dumber Place?

Let me lead off with an example. Recently I paid an exorbitant amount of money to go to OMSI, the Oregon Museum of Stuff and Madness. Therein I discovered many children. They were all running amok, as children are wont to do. Temper this post with the realization that I was in another one of my mooditudes; in other words not feeling gregarious in any way. But I noticed, while standing amongst the chidingly patronizing exhibits on evolution and how it’s a fact (actually—not so; it’s never ever been proven but you wouldn’t know that to talk to some of these sheeple), that the children were running amok because the parents were…how do I say this…the parents were mobbing around the space with their faces glued to their smartphones. Like, OMG, you guys look really dumb. And your children—do you even care? Cuz I can’t tell. At all. It reminded me of those teenagers who think strapping a used coffee can to the exhaust of their front wheel drive hatchback makes it faster, or somehow better or cooler. Nope. It makes you look like an idiot, my friend.

Now, before this turns into a rant, let me explain myself. I have an iPhone. I do. But I exercise a great many opportunities to walk away from it. I don’t like to be mastered by things. I like my liberties. I fight for them. And I have to ask the question, “before you got your smartphone, how, oh how did you ever manage?” Well? Do you really need to be glued to Facebook all day? Really. How about that stock ticker: you need that? Oh, okay. Can I interest you in this brochure published by Gamblers Anonymous? And how in God’s name did any of us ever make it through the day without playing Fruit Ninja for five hours? Man. Those were tough times a couple of years ago. I can remember way back when cellphone displays were monochromatic. That was like dining on cat exhaust.

Look, people. I love technology. I use it. I just don’t like it when it uses me. And I really don’t like it when it uses people around me, because that affects my environment. Honestly, I can equate the fervor over the constant stream of media that floods us daily, hourly, to a giant cow. Except this one is constantly growing teats. There’s more than enough for anyone who wants to shove their way in there and suckle. The only fights that ever break out are when 2G teats are replaced by 3G teats and 3GS teats, and the occasional teat-contract-early-termination dispute. You can imagine some of the conversations had around the milk bag:

“I don’t like my teat anymore; it’s too slow.”

“Yeah dude, I just upgraded to a 4G teat that makes yours look like a friggin cottage cheese factory.”

“Are you saying my teat is so slow that it curdles?”

“Curdles, bro. Before you can even enjoy it.”

“Damn.”

“I know, right?!”

That’s messed up. But it’s to illustrate a point. We look like, well, cattle as we drone around our world, held in a headlock by our 3.5 inch diagonal screens. Pull your head out, America. Get off the teat. And wipe that smartphone crust off your face; it’s really gross.

The Marsburg Diary = Done.

I just finished the final edit of The Marsburg Diary, based on a vignette in Airel.

Marsburg is set partially in late Victorian Europe, partially in the modern day American Midwest, and follows Harvey Marsburg, son of the late William Marsburg, as he reads through his deceased father's long-lost diary.

At first, Harv is annoyed at the peculiarities of his father, irritated that he has to uncover old wounds by reading this old book. But he finds, to his amazement, that his father might not actually have been mad. In fact it appears that William may have been nearly 150 years old when he died in 1977. Now his body lies decomposing in a Yorkshire mausoleum, but his legacy lives on. Harvey reads cryptic notes from the executor: May your father rest in peace. He deserves it. Something watches him from the darknesses of his house as he reads the diary with growing interest. Plus, there are two other books in that old trunk that the foundation sent. One of them, he could swear it, is calling to him...

Look for The Marsburg Diary on Kindle next month.

Webster's Unabridged 1890

This is odd. I’m going to do something not often done: review a dictionary.

Bear with me here. It is my fervent belief that a writer is only as good as the books on his reference shelf; much the same as a carpenter, however talented, needs proper tools in order to do anything besides theorize about building something.

Now, a reference shelf: it should have more than just reference books, don’t you think? Shouldn’t it be more than what it’s been, as classically defined? It should contain those books that have affected us the most as people, let alone as writers. Mine contains books like Where the Red Fern Grows, and The Pacific and Other Stories by Mark Helprin, and The Burnished Blade by George Schoonover. A reference shelf doesn’t just contain collated facts, then, as I’m defining it. But, and this is a big but, it should contain, in order to be all it can be, several dictionaries, thesauri, style guides, and other reference books. I’ll detail some of those on coming Fridays.

For now, though it sounds absurd, I’m going to write about a monument to the English language: the work of Noah Webster in the nineteenth century. My particular volume dates to 1890 and is unabridged. I swear, and I’m not joking, one could sit down to read this thing for sheer entertainment. It’s that good.

Here’s a list of some words you’ll probably not find very often. Besmear. Canoness. Dialist. Inflexure. Prepositure. Smeeth. Yend. And before you dismiss them as entirely unusable in today’s greasy world, remember that they are part of the foundation upon which our communications rest today, whether written or spoken. That, and it certainly helps to know, if one is a writer, a little more etymology; it tends to give scale and depth to your work. It’s not just for historical novelists, in other words. It’s not just for writers either, I’d argue. It’s for all of us who use the language.

In regard to etymology, take a word like infidel, for instance. In the 1890 edition of Webster’s unabridged, it’s actually defined, partially, as “One who is without faith…unbelieving…a Mahommedan.” I find this to be highly instructive. And I learned something else: the root in Latin is infidelis, which can be readily translated as unfaithful, or literally, “not faithful.” Isn’t it amazing how history moves in currents, in and out, changing definitions, sometimes 180 degrees opposite. Then again, I suppose context is everything—but I love how pre-PC this thing is. There’s something insidious about politically correct thought isn't there (there’s actually nothing correct about it; again highly instructive), how it infects our language, the meanings of our words, twisting fact into fiction and fiction into fact. Where are the writers who have anything to say about this? Well…I’m one.

Looking through an old dictionary goes to show how important history really is. Forgive me for this last little bit, but I’d like to point something out. I love writing. I love that lots of other people love it too—heck, it’s such a dream job that sometimes writers write characters, even protagonists, who just happen to be writers. These are bestsellers. Weird. Anyway, I love it. But I never want to take it for granted. In other words, I think we writers have a large responsibility to posterity, since our work is in print. We have to master our trade or craft to the best of our abilities. We can’t just go off half-cocked and start writing books with no working knowledge of grammar, punctuation, or for God’s sake spelling. We can’t do that and still call ourselves writers. I don’t think so. Yes, there’s room to develop, and take your time at it, but start today; now. And yes, find and hire a great editor, but learn and retain what you learn along the way. I think we owe it to ourselves and our readers, however distant in future history they may yet be, to know what the hell we’re doing. We have a responsibility to know what words mean. We use so many of them. Again, it’s all about the right tools.

Review of Airel by Ramblings of a Teenage Bookworm

Check out the latest review of Airel here. Positive feedback is just piling up! I need a shovel...can't breathe...stuck under feedback...

How to Be a Good Writer, Part 4

Let’s talk about attitude. As in, “I’m a professional creator and I couldn’t care less about the business aspects of my career.” Or, “You publisher-type people ought to know how lucky you are to be talking to me.” And there’s, “Editing is for amateurs. Don’t you dare critique me.” As acquisitions editor for an indie publisher, I can tell you for a fact that whenever I run across even a hint of this kind of sentiment my finger hovers precariously over the delete key.

It’s not professional. It’s not even realistic. And I daresay, if you suffer from this kind of thinking and yet persist in calling yourself a writer, perhaps you should consider getting in touch with reality. And a vocational change. To something in government. Tyrants and thieves are peas in a pod.

Right. On with it then. We know what’s not productive. The question is, how do we purge this blackness from our minds and professional careers? I don’t think successful people set out daily with the intent to cause as much pain and suffering as possible everywhere they go. Quite the opposite, in fact. But after writing your one-hundredth query letter, after you reach your one year anniversary for your blog and still have only two followers, after you have attempted to sit down and write that sticky part of your current project once more—only to be interrupted yet again—it’s difficult to remain optimistic about much of anything, let alone remain professional.

Once thing you can do is exercise your second amendment right to keep and bear arms and take up a new hobby—obliterating old milk jugs at close range. If you’ve got a twelve gauge I recommend rifled slugs and rotten produce. Downrange effects with that combination are like an all-Taco Bell diet: explosive. The point of it is to blow off a little steam whenever necessary.

Once you’ve done that and you’re feeling better both about yourself and your (indispensible) work, what then? I strongly recommend a group setting that is both supportive and honest. Join up with fellow writers who are actively writing, who are unafraid to read their work for critique and are eager to return that courtesy to you. Professionals are not defined by their salaries in any given field. Professionals are, at least in part, defined by their bearing and comportment, their civilized kindnesses. What you’re looking for then is fellowship.

My old 1890 Webster’s unabridged dictionary defines fellowship as “partnership in act or suffering, profit, success, or loss.” Well, that’s one of the definitions. My point is to assert that in order to be a successful writer you’ve got to have a good attitude—and the best way to have that is to surround yourself with quality, like-minded people.

Next week we’ll talk about investments, plus a little dry mechanical nuts and bolts action. Until then, writers, write boldly.