Craig Lancaster's Blog, page 7

A birthday gift

On the occasion of my 42nd birthday, this one's from me, for delivery at a time to be announced later.

Read it. Absorb it. Live it.

I've been a professional novelist for nearly three years now. (Note that I said professional, in the sense that I get paid for my work. I'm still working on self-sustaining.) And if there's anything I've learned in that time, other than the writing life seems to dole out pleasure and pain in equal measures, it's this: I may have plans for what I write, but in the end, the story is in control, not me.

Terrible Minds

I'll offer a good example of this, as I have one sitting handy: In mid-December, I was certain that I'd be taking the first half of the year off, if not longer. I'd written a novel, and then another novel, and then a collection of short stories in quick succession, and I was tired and even a little discouraged.

On December 28th, compelled to my writing desk by an idea I couldn't and didn't want to shake, I started a new manuscript. As I type these words, I'm more than 42,000 words into it, and I long ago passed the point of danger. Some manuscripts never make it; they're either put aside or repurposed into something else. This one is going the distance. More than that, it's good. That's harder for me to say than you might imagine.

Concurrent to this abrupt change to my plans, I read this article: 25 Things Writers Should Start Doing (ASFP).

It's aggressive and raw and in-your-face profane. And I fucking love every word of it.

Two of the 25 things, in particular, stand out for me:

7. Start Discovering What You Know

Ah, that old chestnut. "Write what you know." Note the lack of the word only in there. We don't write only what we know because if we did that we'd all be writing about writers, like Stephen King does. (Or, we'd be writing about sitting at our computers, checking Twitter in our underwear and smelling of cheap gin and despair.) The point is that we have experience. We've seen things, done things, learned things. Extract those from your life. Bleed them into your work. Don't run from who you are. Bolt madly toward yourself. Then grab all that comprises who you are and body-slam it down on the page.

Abso-goddamn-lutely. The past two books I've written were dark slogs into the human heart. I don't disavow them. That horrible muck we go through when we love somebody but can't say it, or hate someone with nuclear intensity, or want to kill somebody and would if not for the grace of well-timed civility — all of that is in me, all of that informs who I am, and when I wrote those stories, I needed to purge it. I make no apologies.

But that's not the whole of me. There's a wickedly absurd sense of humor in there, too, and a subversiveness that undercuts with laughter rather than rage. I've been neglecting that too long. I'm gonna write some funny books and stories. (I already have, in fact. What I'm saying is, I'm gonna write some more.) There are plenty of people channeling Cormac McCarthy and casting our lives against bleak landscapes. Good on them. I'm gonna do something else.

11. Start Cultivating Your Sanity

You're crazy. No, no, it's okay. I'm crazy, too. We're all a little bit unhinged. Hell, I'm one broken screen door away from drinking a fifth of antifreeze and driving off a highway overpass on a child's tricycle. Writing is not a particularly stressful job — I mean, you're not an air traffic controller or an astronaut or some shit. Just the same, it's a weird job. We hunker down over our fiction like a bird with an egg and we sit there alone, day in and day out, just… making up awful stuff. People die and hearts are broken and children are stolen by van-driving goblins and all that comes pouring out of our diseased gourds. So: cultivate your sanity. Take some time to de-stress your skull-space. Take a walk. Take a vacation. Drink some chamomile tea and watch the sunset. Chillax. That's the new thing the kids are saying, right? "Chillax?" Yeah. I'm up on my lingo. Chillaxin' is the hella tits, Daddy-o!

I've written before about the crazy. All the bullshit that goes into publishing — the wretched egos and the inscrutable decisions and the rampant pettiness — can get your ass down in a hurry, and if you're harboring some bit of bad brain chemistry when it does, you're screwed in ways you never imagined.

It's time to put that nonsense to rest. It's a beautiful world, and I get to breathe air in it. You don't like me? Too bad. You don't like my book? Fine. Get another. I'm writing to please me, and all I can do is hope that it pleases others. As for the rest, I don't even care. I got a momma and a daddy and a wife and two dogs who love me. That's all I need.

Strike that: I also need the Dallas Cowboys to stop sucking. Amid all the pragmatic doing-for-my-own-self shit, a guy's gotta dream.

Texas

I've been looking forward to this week for a long time.

Thursday, I get on a plane here in Billings. Some hours later, I should walk off one at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. I should see my mom and stepfather there waiting for me, or else I'm thumbing it to North Richland Hills.

I'm going home.

If you're friends with me on Facebook or real life — funny how the order of those has been transposed — you've no doubt heard me jab at Texas repeatedly. And I stand by those knocks: It's too big, too crowded, too hot for full-time living. Plus, a lot of Texans live there. (Come on now, that's funny.) Being from Texas is like having a crazy mother, not that I'd know. Yeah, she's loud and she embarrasses you in front of your friends and you need a continent of distance so you don't go crazy, too, but dammit, she's the woman who brung you up. You love her. You need her sometimes, maybe more than you'd care to acknowledge. And you'll throw haymakers at anybody who talks bad about her.

Me, sister Karen and brother Cody. I'm guessing this is Christmas 1978. Maybe 1979. A long damn time ago, in any case.

Lots of fun stuff happening. I have nieces and nephews to hug and tease, Wii games to play, long talks to have, sibs to reconnect with. We're doing a big open house to launch the new book, celebrates my grandma's 90th birthday and reunite with old friends from dear old Richland High and new friends I've gathered on the way.

Can't wait.

Wrapping up 2011

"Dorky Smile" (self-portrait by author, 12/31/11)

And so 2011 ends, the third full year that I've been able, with varying degrees of credibility, to call myself an author.

In the past 365 days …

I've seen two books into the world. My novel The Summer Son released on January 25th, and my collection of short stories, Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure , came out December 6th. I'm really proud of both.
I've watched The Summer Son become a Utah Book Award finalist.
I've been proud to have two short stories, "Cruelty to Animals" and "Comfort and Joy," appear in Montana Quarterly. Both stories are in Quantum Physics.
I've had the pleasure of working with my friend and colleague Ed Kemmick to bring his book, The Big Sky, By and By , out to an appreciative audience.
I've made some new friends in the book business and even repaired a couple of damaged friendships. I'm particularly thankful for the latter.
I've also struggled with occasional bouts of self-doubt and despair about the book business. Rejection and disappointment are frequent realities, and at least for me, they've become no easier to take than they were in the beginning. At least twice in the past year, I've intimated to a friend that I think I'm done. Both times, I've been wrong. The first because I'm not really a quitter (I just like to talk about being one, apparently) and the second because …
When I least expected it and, in fact, had resigned myself to taking 2012 off because the pump was dry, I was hit with an idea that is so mind-consuming that it propels me to the writing desk each day in a pique of wonder and joy.

I needed that.

So, in 2012, I resolve …

To see my new project to completion and find a publishing home for it.
To not take things quite so hard when they don't go my way. By any reasonable measure, I've been extremely fortunate. It's time for me to remember that.
To keep writing. No matter what.

Happy New Year.

Q&A: Jason Skipper

"Writers talk about the crazy loneliness of touring alone, but no one can prepare you for the ways it manifests throughout many of the days: waking up in a different place, often under threadbare blankets in an old motel room that reeks of decades of carpet cleaner, so you know it's hiding some awful history …"

Jason Skipper

When I first heard about Hustle, the debut novel from Jason Skipper, I was intrigued, to say the absolute least. Here's a guy who's from the same part of the world as I am (Texas), writing about fathers and sons (a common milieu for me) and the way those relationships, when they're difficult, repel and attract, constantly drawing men who love and hate each other together, then driving them apart.

It's my own weird combination of manic energy and peripatetic attention that has kept me from reading Hustle, but thanks to the connection of Facebook, I've been watching closely as Jason has embarked on a backbreaking schedule of travel to put this book in front of readers, and I knew he was someone I wanted to feature here. I shot him questions while he was on the road, he promised to get to them, and he turned out to be a man of his word. The interview exceeded my considerable expectations, and I can't wait to read this book.

I bet you won't be able to wait, either.

Give us the skinny on Hustle. Where did the idea come from, and how long did you work on it before you started looking for a publisher?

Hustle developed from short stories I wrote that stemmed from my life. Like the central character Chris, I grew up in Texas selling shrimp from a van on the side of the road for my con artist grandfather and my father. Those earlier pieces were closer to my personal experiences, like being taught how to hustle people, dealing with my grandfather's alcoholism, and my family's financial struggles. My childhood crush on Olivia Newton John and the movie Xanadu. But the characters began to speak and act on their own, and through revision I started writing toward the patterns and underlying ideas I saw emerging, like Chris's development as an artist, concepts related to masculinity, and struggles with disease and illness, until eventually the events of these characters' lives were pretty much their own. The first draft of Hustle, written as stories from multiple characters' points of view, took four years. I revised for five more years, cutting some parts and expanding others, eventually weaving it into a first-person novel, which is the book as it now stands. I submitted it to agents off and on throughout that time, but eventually landed it with a publisher on my own. I had writer friends help me out – Kyle Minor, who directed me to Press 53, and Ann Pancake, who gave my editor, Robin Miura, and publisher, Kevin Watson, a slight nudge to read it. Then, after nine long years, came the magical call at 6 a.m. on a Monday morning.

The story centers on three generations of men and, according to your publisher's website, is a "coming-of-age story (that) explores the ways people struggle to fulfill their wants and desires–and what they are willing to sacrifice to feel free." What drew you to the family dynamics, and particularly the interplay among men, in this story?

I believe most stories are about the struggle for connection, and I am particularly drawn to dynamics between parents and children. People tend to believe that these relationships are inherent and the connection is, or should be, unconditional. So, particularly for the children, when that relationship is strained or nonexistent, it affects their sense of self worth, which manifests throughout their lives in many ways. Funny, heartbreaking, and destructive ways. With Hustle, I became interested in the blind devotion that many sons maintain for their difficult fathers. For example, when Wrendon is driving Chris to Florida to kidnap Buddy to rescue him from a drinking binge, Chris asks why they are going, since Wrendon hasn't talked to his father in ten years. Wrendon responds by saying, "Because, what kind of son lets his father die like that?" and then he answers his own question: "No kind of son." Wrendon feels this devotion, and he expects it from Chris. When Wrendon doesn't get it later on in the book, he knows how to work Chris, to get it out of him – poking at his soft voice, his desire to be an artist, ways he doesn't fit the portrait of a typical male kid. But I honestly don't think this sort of manipulation is so unusual. We see it in families all the time, and it gets passed down from one generation to the next. These people just happen to also make a career of it.

On the other hand, in this book, you have Chris's mother, who doesn't hustle at all, and she tries – to an almost destructive degree – to be honest and to keep things together, which also affects and shapes the type of person Chris becomes. She is a counterpoint to Wrendon, a direct contradiction. I think we find ourselves within contradictions, so this is part of Chris's development in discovering the type of person he will become, raised within all of this tension. As I've met more people who have read the book, this relationship between Emily and Chris comes up frequently, as well as his relationships with the many other people – "unreliable mentors," as Charles Baxter called them – who come and go throughout Chris's life.

Your biography notes that you've been a bartender, a snowboard instructor and a freelance journalist. How do those varied work experiences come to bear on your work as a fiction writer?

My favorite part about writing is getting to know the characters, and I tend to be a magnet for freaky people and weird situations. I think all of these jobs call for a desire to be out in the world and a sense of curiosity about the lives of others. They also often present challenging situations, requiring persistence to see them through. As a bartender, I dealt with people whose personalities would flip from introverted to outrageous without warning; as a snowboard instructor, I sometimes had these super-skinny kids or really big kids who thought it would be easy to learn to snowboard, like in a video game, who got frustrated and would not listen to directions and instead just tore down the hill, careening into everyone. It would start out kind of funny, then get not so funny, and I'd have to figure out that particular person in order to deal with the situation, because you can't just walk away from them. As a journalist I have to really think about what people have interesting stories – teaching stories – and be willing to ask them questions, which can be intimidating. All of these traits – the curiosity, the willingness to ask questions, the empathy, and the persistence – have helped me out as a fiction writer. Plus, these jobs gave me all kinds of characters and situations to write about. Have I written about the actual jobs? Not quite yet. The people? Yes. Some are in Hustle.

You teach creative writing and literature at Pacific Lutheran University. How does teaching enhance your approach to your own writing?

I think that breaking apart a story or a poem to consider how it functions is the best way to learn to write. To teach the material, I have to know it inside and out, and I learn a good deal about craft when I prep. Then students – at least those who have read closely and with intent – come to workshop and they lay out their take, which is hopefully quite different from mine. Together we compare notes and figure out the ways that these writers have manipulated the fundamentals of craft in order to break our hearts or make us laugh or make us hungry, in every sense of the word. From teaching, I have learned that most stories have a similar blueprint made up of similar fundamentals, which is what makes them recognizable as a story; our goal then is to figure out the ways certain writers have manipulated those fundamentals toward a desired effect, then practice these approaches until we have them at our fingertips, or at least can say we've tried them. That's just one way, but this is how teaching in general enhances my writing.

There's a whole lot of your home terrain of Texas in Hustle. What was it like to tap your memories of that place now that you've escaped to the Pacific Northwest?

Texas was never so alive to me as after I moved away and while I was writing Hustle. You are correct to say I escaped; I left because of the heat and because I wanted to know more of the world. I got away as quickly as possible. I didn't actually want to write a Texas book; in fact, I wanted to avoid writing a Texas book. But eventually I got steamrolled by the characters. In my day-to-day writing process, I draw heavily from setting, both to anchor myself in the narrative and to give the story tone. Writing Hustle, I found myself thinking a good deal about the weather in Texas, like those ground-shaking thunderstorms and their greenish-pink afterglow. That was essential in the chapter titled "Tangled in the Ropes," where Buddy teaches Chris how to hustle people. There's the summer heat and the rattle of the window a/c unit when the babysitter, Theresa, teaches Chris about sex. The cold weather and the snow toward the end of the novel, when Chris starts to harden. Writing the book, I also came to better understand the people of Texas. Something I noticed was a systemic underlying tension in the dual nature of many people I've known, both men and women – that strong sense of loyalty combined with wildness, and how this manifests as people grow older and get responsibilities. What happens when that wildness prevails and cannot be overcome? That was a question that kept coming up with the characters as I wrote.

You've done a lot of traveling in support of Hustle. What's been your worst road experience? Your best?

This year I was away from home almost constantly between September 2nd and December 1st, visiting bookstores and universities, and doing house readings. Self-funded and self-organized, with advice I got from friends and my publicists. Writers talk about the crazy loneliness of touring alone, but no one can prepare you for the ways it manifests throughout many of the days: waking up in a different place, often under threadbare blankets in an old motel room that reeks of decades of carpet cleaner, so you know it's hiding some awful history (one room was so bad I slept fully clothed, wearing a hoodie); putting another $35.00 in the gas tank each morning (then getting lost several times while en route); passing all the dead raccoons on the roadside (gross but completely true!); eating salt-soaked fast food and growing rounder while learning the temperament of drivers in each new state (if you don't go ninety in parts of Michigan, you get run over); the severity of introspection that comes with being alone in a car for hours (salvation comes from singing loudly to anthemic punk rock); that mild relief/panic before opening the door on another motel room (you know if the a/c is on full blast, it's thinning out some smell); and hoping the reading would go smoothly (which it almost always does). At the same time all of this is quite beautiful, and it was great to stay with friends and family when I could. I knew it would be challenging, but, like most things I end up doing, I wanted the experience.

The events themselves are the best part. So no two readings are ever the same, I do something different each time: I've sung Dwight Yoakam as I read, and I've sung Wilco songs during Q&A's as part of an answer. I've had audience members read with me. I've truly – above all else – enjoyed meeting the many people that I have met along the way. Bookstores owners and booksellers who are excited about Hustle. Other writers and teachers. Book clubs are great. People who have read the book and are nervous to talk about it. People who say they finished the book in a single plane ride or they couldn't go to sleep because they couldn't put it down, which really surprised me. People who want to tell me which actors should play which parts in the movie version, if there is a movie version. Someone said Gary Busey for the grandfather, and I thought that was a riot. Also I've been able to hand off books to Rhett Miller, the singer for the Old 97's who appears in the novel at a crucial time in Chris's life, and to Dorothy Allison, who is a hero of mine. Many times, over the nine years it took to write and publish the book, I thought it would never come out, and I still freak out when I see it on a shelf at a store. Now people are reading it, and I'm reading it to people, and to me that is amazing.

What's your preferred way to work? A certain time of day or place?

I tend to write best in my office at night, usually starting around 11, especially when I'm writing initial drafts. I talk to my characters, and this seems to be the time when they're most vocal. When I'm revising, I can work all day, every day. I am learning more to write away from my desk, to go for walks and drives and think through the scenes before trying to write them down.

What's next from you?

As I've been traveling to support Hustle, I've also been doing research for my new book. I'm working on a nonfiction project about my father and stories he told me while I was growing up – his involvement with the suicide of his first wife at sixteen, his twin brother who was crushed beneath a car while they were working on it – and other tragic events wherein he situated himself as a sympathetic protagonist. Stories that I have since learned he reconstructed almost entirely. The events occurred, but his involvement was not as a he claimed; in fact, often he was in some ways to blame. The book is going to focus on the whole of his life and our relationship. I've been traveling to different places where he lived – the Midwest, the Pacific Northwest, Texas, Florida, Massachusetts – to interview people and see where all he lived. The experience of coming to know him as a ten year old and as a twenty year old has been startling and amazing. It's been a lot to take on, but I'm excited to see how all of these stories are starting to come together.

Here comes ‘Quantum Physics’

Today–Tuesday, December 6th–is the official release date for my new book, a collection of short stories called Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure.

Truth be told, the book has been available in print and e-book form for a couple of weeks now, but a book needs a release date, and this is mine. It’s my third book, following the novels 600 Hours of Edward and The Summer Son, and I’m incredibly proud of it. Part of that lies in where the stories came from and the time in my life that spawned them (there will be more on this down the line). Part of it lies in the fact that this is a full production for my little publishing house, Missouri Breaks Press, and a fully realized manifestation of my artistic and professional interests, not to mention my tendency toward being an autodidact. And part of it rests in the same sense of pride and apprehension that accompanies the release of any book. Author Scott Nicholson does a nice job of explaining that here. It takes something–gall, perhaps, or bravado or delusion–to write something and decide that people not only want to read it but also will be willing pay for the privilege.

As for the money part, I’ve tried to make that as pocketbook-friendly as possible. The trade paperback version of the book retails for a competitive $14. The e-book version, available in Kindle and Nook and everything else, is set at $1.99, an eminently fair price for ten good stories.

Back in August, I wrote a series of posts highlighting the ten stories and offering some insight into how they came to be. You can see those here if you missed them the first time.

As for the book, I hope you’ll check it out. I think it’s some of the best work I’ve done.

Here comes 'Quantum Physics'

Today–Tuesday, December 6th–is the official release date for my new book, a collection of short stories called Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure.

Truth be told, the book has been available in print and e-book form for a couple of weeks now, but a book needs a release date, and this is mine. It's my third book, following the novels 600 Hours of Edward and The Summer Son, and I'm incredibly proud of it. Part of that lies in where the stories came from and the time in my life that spawned them (there will be more on this down the line). Part of it lies in the fact that this is a full production for my little publishing house, Missouri Breaks Press, and a fully realized manifestation of my artistic and professional interests, not to mention my tendency toward being an autodidact. And part of it rests in the same sense of pride and apprehension that accompanies the release of any book. Author Scott Nicholson does a nice job of explaining that here. It takes something–gall, perhaps, or bravado or delusion–to write something and decide that people not only want to read it but also will be willing pay for the privilege.

As for the money part, I've tried to make that as pocketbook-friendly as possible. The trade paperback version of the book retails for a competitive $14. The e-book version, available in Kindle and Nook and everything else, is set at $1.99, an eminently fair price for ten good stories.

Back in August, I wrote a series of posts highlighting the ten stories and offering some insight into how they came to be. You can see those here if you missed them the first time.

As for the book, I hope you'll check it out. I think it's some of the best work I've done.

How are you? It’s been a while …

Here’s what’s been going on:

Even my slimmed-down version of NaNoWriMo crashed and burned. I still love the story idea, still think about it a lot, still like what little progress I’ve made on it, but I won’t be finishing any time soon. It just needs some more cooking time in my head. The longer I do this — and I’m three books into it now — the more I realize that the words and stories come in their own time. I can’t be a crank-o-matic. Wouldn’t even want to be one.

I’ve kept busy with some freelance gigs, mostly of the editing variety. This brings up a good opportunity to do something I don’t do very often, and that’s to pitch my editorial services.  I have good, competitive rates, I turn the work around quickly, and I’m handing off good work to appreciative customers. Whether you’re prepping a manuscript for submission to agents and publishers or preparing to go it alone as a self-publisher, I can help you create a professional product.

Reading the story "Comfort and Joy" from "Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure" at Wild Purls. (Photo courtesy of Wild Purls)

Three years after 600 Hours of Edward was written, we continue to find appreciative audiences. One of my more interesting gigs was two hours with about twenty-five knitters at a local shop, Wild Purls. Check out this account of the evening on the store’s blog. I had so much fun. (And here’s a blatant tease for you: I expect to have some exciting news about 600 Hours in the near future.)

Finally …

E-readers and e-books should be all the rage this holiday season. If you’re lucky enough to get a fancy new toy, you might consider loading it up with my latest, Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure. The e-book price has been dropped to $1.99 through the New Year, which is a heck of a deal. Go here for the Kindle version. Go here if you have a Nook.

Happy holidays!

How are you? It's been a while …

Here's what's been going on:

Even my slimmed-down version of NaNoWriMo crashed and burned. I still love the story idea, still think about it a lot, still like what little progress I've made on it, but I won't be finishing any time soon. It just needs some more cooking time in my head. The longer I do this — and I'm three books into it now — the more I realize that the words and stories come in their own time. I can't be a crank-o-matic. Wouldn't even want to be one.

I've kept busy with some freelance gigs, mostly of the editing variety. This brings up a good opportunity to do something I don't do very often, and that's to pitch my editorial services.  I have good, competitive rates, I turn the work around quickly, and I'm handing off good work to appreciative customers. Whether you're prepping a manuscript for submission to agents and publishers or preparing to go it alone as a self-publisher, I can help you create a professional product.

Reading the story "Comfort and Joy" from "Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure" at Wild Purls. (Photo courtesy of Wild Purls)

Three years after 600 Hours of Edward was written, we continue to find appreciative audiences. One of my more interesting gigs was two hours with about twenty-five knitters at a local shop, Wild Purls. Check out this account of the evening on the store's blog. I had so much fun. (And here's a blatant tease for you: I expect to have some exciting news about 600 Hours in the near future.)

Finally …

E-readers and e-books should be all the rage this holiday season. If you're lucky enough to get a fancy new toy, you might consider loading it up with my latest, Quantum Physics and the Art of Departure. The e-book price has been dropped to $1.99 through the New Year, which is a heck of a deal. Go here for the Kindle version. Go here if you have a Nook.

Happy holidays!

Quasi-NaNoWriMo 2011: Day 3

Here are the grim numbers:

Date: November 3
Number of words at the start of writing today: 4,828
Number of words at the conclusion of writing today: 5,291
Words written today: 463
Words written in November: 2,623

Blame modern convenience for the paltry total. I came home from work at midnight, wrote most of a short scene, then checked the DVR for new shows. Turned out I'd recorded Seven Days in May, a terrific political thriller from 1964. Burt Lancaster (no relation). Kirk Douglas. Ava Gardner. Fredric March. Martin Balsam. Choice!

So I lay down on the couch to watch it, and promptly fell asleep.

My new rule: Sleep trumps all.

I'll try to play catch-up tomorrow.