Aleksandr Voinov's Blog: Letters from the Front, page 22
June 7, 2012
Quality versus Quantity
Read a fascinating post by Vacuous Minx yesterday and had some time to mull it over. Just gathering my thoughts here, possibly not completely coherently or convincingly, but I'm mostly thinking out loud, with audience.
Lack of quantity does not equal skill
There's a curious argument that all quickly-written things are necessarily crap. I've seen a great many authors who can't write worth a damn and who labour over their fantasy trilogy for fifteen years. It's still crap, even with the hand-drawn cover, and even though mum said she loved it. Honest.
So, skill level. A hack can slave away for ten years to write their debut, and it's still crap.
An accomplished, skilled author can write a quick book and it's a solid-to-good book. I've seen amazingly talented people crank out a novella in a week. (Personally, if I write a novella in a week, I'm dead for the three weeks after and the Muse sits in the corner and is only good for playing Gears of War, but there are authors who can do this and you won't notice the difference).
Self-editing is even more important for fast authors
Even if some people manage to write a novella in a week (hey, I've done it), self-editing is as vital a skill as editing. In the rush of excitement, things get mixed up - it's almost impossible to stay completely internally consistent if you're doing 10k a day. Worse if you have a co-writer. Then you have two minds that can get muddled in the rush. Pacing is one of those things that are hard to keep track of - at that speed, everything is kind of a blur. There are people that just pile up words and scenes with no regards to whether the story needs it. That "flab" or "fatty tissue", as I call it, needs cutting before the book hits an unsuspecting reader in the brain. But self-editing is a skill. It's hard-won, and many authors never get there at all. Even if you're a decent self-editor, getting a good outside editor on this is extremely important (a good editor can tell you when a chapter stinks, and will).
Publishing fifty shitty stories a year is not a career plan
I could amend this into "publishing twenty mediocre stories a year is not a career plan". Editing takes time. Even brainstorming takes time. I have more ideas than I can ever hope long enough to turn into books. How do I know a story is worth writing at all? I sit on it for a week. (Yes, the time it would take some authors to WRITE the damn thing). If it's still compelling after a week, wakes me up at night, and my life would be poorer without it, I'm likely to have hit gold. Something that speaks to me beyond the flash of "oh, awesome, wouldn't it be cool if..." But usually, I examine the idea for a few days at least. Ideally, I'm examining the idea while I'm wrapping up the current project, so that gives me a few weeks, even months.
So far, my best ideas (just talking of solo published stuff here) were those with staying power. Counterpunch robbed me of my sleep for two months before I did it. Scorpion had a good start (I was on holidays and bored and should have written the other book, the one I've been mulliong for more than two years now), after twenty thousand words, it stalled, I was about to give up. Several months later, the idea hit me again, HARDER this time, and I finished. The WWII novel I'm writing? Six months. The OTHER WWII novel? Two years and counting. Dark Soul? Twenty years. These are ideas that electrify me and keep me going. And they take as long as they take. And I think they were worth the wait and didn't actually weaken while my mind wrestled with them. If you fight with an angel, they harder you fight, the stronger they become.
Yes, there is pressure to publish more
I have readers clamouring for sequels/prequels/spin-offs to, in no particular order: The Gorgon Series, Special Forces, Dark Edge of Honor, Lion of Kent, unnamed WIP of 2008 I shared in a forum, Risky Maneuvers, Dark Soul, Scorpion, Counterpunch, Country Mouse. I can write sequels and prequels to all of them, and I might, but I can only write so much, so working through the list may take ten years. Or five.
I used to feel the pressure (I like to keep my readers happy, I do, you guys allow me to overpay my mortgage, too!) - it's moral pressure, and it's fun to be wanted and to have people jump up and down on the internet and swoon all over the writing - but I can't allow it to dictate how many words I write a day.
I can use this to be more disciplined ("people are waiting, so get off your arse and sit down and write!"), but I can't use it to write more per session or not write when I really can't and have no clue. Writing when I'm "written out" or when I really don't feel like it is torture, and writing's supposed to be fun (at least when it's not torture by itself). There's a difference between "motivated to write more often" and "churning out shit so you hit 10k/day". I'm trying very hard to stay on the former side of this. Because I want to give my readers what they want, but I want to give them good quality rather than badly-composed shit I wrote because I felt I had to. The expectation creates a huge obligation - I know they want a good book when they want what they want. They don't just want any book. And my readers? Are a discerning lot. They can tell the difference when (if) I try to pull a quickie. Nothing will do but me at the top of my game, because they will call me out on it. They are keeping me honest. And I'm grateful for it - many authors don't have that kind of back-up and quality control.
(I love you, guys/gals!)
Good writing, like good wine and cheese, takes time
A good parmesan takes time to mature. There are lots of people who are happy with just the fresh milk. And all power to them. There are many readers who can't tell the difference between a first draft that's been comma-checked (and with many publishers in our tiny cottage industry, not even that!) and a well-edited book that's been thought through by the author and then edited to a high standard.
BUT - producing anything "vintage" or "artisan" takes time. Personally, I'd rather read one Erastes book a year that's been painstakingly put together than fifty books by Effluvia Writesalot that are all crap. Yes, there are people who can't tell the difference between the goey plastic on their pizza and an artisan cheese. There are people who think the goey plastic stuff IS cheese and they eat so much of it that they wouldn't recognize a good Manchego or Parmesan or Cheddar as cheese if it jumped on their bagel screaming "eat me! I'm cheese, too!" But I don't think they are the majority. And if they are, the people who know their stuff are still enough to make it worthwhile, financially and critically.
Personally, bad prose and a badly edited book feel to me like a cheese-grater on my exposed brain. I can't read it. I can't finish it. And I'll never, ever, buy it (I read samples, a lot of samples, thanks to my Kindle). To me, a badly-made book is like a do-it-yourself lobotomy. Thanks, but no thanks. So to everybody who makes artisan prose - please do not stop, because my sanity needs you. I need you so bad and I will buy everything you do and tell all my friends about you. Please do not throw away your Manchegos and Parmesans to make plastic cheese. Please.
Authors have the right to slow the fuck down
I'm productive. I also like to think that, even if I write fast, I'm a decent writer on the technical level. One of my friends describes me as a critically acclaimed mid-list author (and she's right, which means my reviews are strong, but my sales do not reflect that), but I can't live off writing. I likely never will. I could likely produce (note the word choice) twice as much as I currently do. I've written 500k in 2.5 years, that's 200k a year, or three full-sized novels. Right now, I'd say I'm at about half that, or maybe 60% (I did write Dark Soul in about six months, and change). In the last months, I've slowed down. I'm writing a historical novel, which for me is slow work. I'm weighing options. Scenes. Individual sentences. I'm checking my facts. I'm aiming for 500 words a day - that's about two pages. The WWII novel is 1/3 done, and I'm expecting to finish this in the next 2-3 months. We're talking another 50k here. And editing. Lots of editing and fact-checking and testing, and then query-writing, which is an art that will likely meana few weeks of work (just writing a half-page letter).
From being incredibly prolific for a few years, I've realized the toll it takes on my life (I did nothing else for years), on my partnership, my health, my sanity. I've written books that I literally cannot remember writing, as I was so desperate to "make my mark". It's led to lazy writing habits, low standards for self-editing, and frankly, I wish I hadn't done it, and I've spent the last 8-10 months just repairing the damage I've done to my craft with that. I've stopped being lazy. I'm working really damned hard on everything I do now. There are books I'm not proud to have written, because I could have done a much better job if I'd thought them through, if I'd actually thought about them while I wrote them. I wish I had. I feel guilty for them. Mortified, even.
Writing more slowly (disciplined and hopefully every day, but slowly), I'm finding the prose I write is more intense, like I'm focusing that "energy" or that "voice" much better. What I write is better. I like to savour a book while I write it. I want to remember to have written it, too. I want to ruminate on it. Let it resonate in my soul. Believe in it. Make it totally real for me - and that just takes time, and growth, and internal and emotional work that cannot be rushed.
I'm at my best when I'm laser-focused, but that focus is tough like hell to maintain, and some days I write a thousand words and am mentally and emotionally exhausted afterwards. Maybe I'm a delicate little flower who's simply not tough enough to write 10k a day. I know authors who can write 5-10k a day and write beautifully and cleanly, or authors who produce the same amount in first draft and then self-edit themselves within an inch of their sanity - nothing I write here is meant to diss you guys, and you know who you are.
I, for one (and I'm just speaking for myself), am better when I'm slow-ish. And "slow-ish" means - two novels a year, which is 0.5 novels more than Stephen King says you should write, if I remember him correctly. I'm more sane, more healthy, more intense, more focused, I have time for my partner and my house and my full-time job and my publisher and for exercise and good food and movies. Small price to pay for being "slow". I am trying to do a short story or novella "in between" to show people I'm alive and working, but I'm never going to rush a piece of writing again. Writing them - really feeling them - is too much fun, and I'm simply a better writer that way.
Lack of quantity does not equal skill
There's a curious argument that all quickly-written things are necessarily crap. I've seen a great many authors who can't write worth a damn and who labour over their fantasy trilogy for fifteen years. It's still crap, even with the hand-drawn cover, and even though mum said she loved it. Honest.
So, skill level. A hack can slave away for ten years to write their debut, and it's still crap.
An accomplished, skilled author can write a quick book and it's a solid-to-good book. I've seen amazingly talented people crank out a novella in a week. (Personally, if I write a novella in a week, I'm dead for the three weeks after and the Muse sits in the corner and is only good for playing Gears of War, but there are authors who can do this and you won't notice the difference).
Self-editing is even more important for fast authors
Even if some people manage to write a novella in a week (hey, I've done it), self-editing is as vital a skill as editing. In the rush of excitement, things get mixed up - it's almost impossible to stay completely internally consistent if you're doing 10k a day. Worse if you have a co-writer. Then you have two minds that can get muddled in the rush. Pacing is one of those things that are hard to keep track of - at that speed, everything is kind of a blur. There are people that just pile up words and scenes with no regards to whether the story needs it. That "flab" or "fatty tissue", as I call it, needs cutting before the book hits an unsuspecting reader in the brain. But self-editing is a skill. It's hard-won, and many authors never get there at all. Even if you're a decent self-editor, getting a good outside editor on this is extremely important (a good editor can tell you when a chapter stinks, and will).
Publishing fifty shitty stories a year is not a career plan
I could amend this into "publishing twenty mediocre stories a year is not a career plan". Editing takes time. Even brainstorming takes time. I have more ideas than I can ever hope long enough to turn into books. How do I know a story is worth writing at all? I sit on it for a week. (Yes, the time it would take some authors to WRITE the damn thing). If it's still compelling after a week, wakes me up at night, and my life would be poorer without it, I'm likely to have hit gold. Something that speaks to me beyond the flash of "oh, awesome, wouldn't it be cool if..." But usually, I examine the idea for a few days at least. Ideally, I'm examining the idea while I'm wrapping up the current project, so that gives me a few weeks, even months.
So far, my best ideas (just talking of solo published stuff here) were those with staying power. Counterpunch robbed me of my sleep for two months before I did it. Scorpion had a good start (I was on holidays and bored and should have written the other book, the one I've been mulliong for more than two years now), after twenty thousand words, it stalled, I was about to give up. Several months later, the idea hit me again, HARDER this time, and I finished. The WWII novel I'm writing? Six months. The OTHER WWII novel? Two years and counting. Dark Soul? Twenty years. These are ideas that electrify me and keep me going. And they take as long as they take. And I think they were worth the wait and didn't actually weaken while my mind wrestled with them. If you fight with an angel, they harder you fight, the stronger they become.
Yes, there is pressure to publish more
I have readers clamouring for sequels/prequels/spin-offs to, in no particular order: The Gorgon Series, Special Forces, Dark Edge of Honor, Lion of Kent, unnamed WIP of 2008 I shared in a forum, Risky Maneuvers, Dark Soul, Scorpion, Counterpunch, Country Mouse. I can write sequels and prequels to all of them, and I might, but I can only write so much, so working through the list may take ten years. Or five.
I used to feel the pressure (I like to keep my readers happy, I do, you guys allow me to overpay my mortgage, too!) - it's moral pressure, and it's fun to be wanted and to have people jump up and down on the internet and swoon all over the writing - but I can't allow it to dictate how many words I write a day.
I can use this to be more disciplined ("people are waiting, so get off your arse and sit down and write!"), but I can't use it to write more per session or not write when I really can't and have no clue. Writing when I'm "written out" or when I really don't feel like it is torture, and writing's supposed to be fun (at least when it's not torture by itself). There's a difference between "motivated to write more often" and "churning out shit so you hit 10k/day". I'm trying very hard to stay on the former side of this. Because I want to give my readers what they want, but I want to give them good quality rather than badly-composed shit I wrote because I felt I had to. The expectation creates a huge obligation - I know they want a good book when they want what they want. They don't just want any book. And my readers? Are a discerning lot. They can tell the difference when (if) I try to pull a quickie. Nothing will do but me at the top of my game, because they will call me out on it. They are keeping me honest. And I'm grateful for it - many authors don't have that kind of back-up and quality control.
(I love you, guys/gals!)
Good writing, like good wine and cheese, takes time
A good parmesan takes time to mature. There are lots of people who are happy with just the fresh milk. And all power to them. There are many readers who can't tell the difference between a first draft that's been comma-checked (and with many publishers in our tiny cottage industry, not even that!) and a well-edited book that's been thought through by the author and then edited to a high standard.
BUT - producing anything "vintage" or "artisan" takes time. Personally, I'd rather read one Erastes book a year that's been painstakingly put together than fifty books by Effluvia Writesalot that are all crap. Yes, there are people who can't tell the difference between the goey plastic on their pizza and an artisan cheese. There are people who think the goey plastic stuff IS cheese and they eat so much of it that they wouldn't recognize a good Manchego or Parmesan or Cheddar as cheese if it jumped on their bagel screaming "eat me! I'm cheese, too!" But I don't think they are the majority. And if they are, the people who know their stuff are still enough to make it worthwhile, financially and critically.
Personally, bad prose and a badly edited book feel to me like a cheese-grater on my exposed brain. I can't read it. I can't finish it. And I'll never, ever, buy it (I read samples, a lot of samples, thanks to my Kindle). To me, a badly-made book is like a do-it-yourself lobotomy. Thanks, but no thanks. So to everybody who makes artisan prose - please do not stop, because my sanity needs you. I need you so bad and I will buy everything you do and tell all my friends about you. Please do not throw away your Manchegos and Parmesans to make plastic cheese. Please.
Authors have the right to slow the fuck down
I'm productive. I also like to think that, even if I write fast, I'm a decent writer on the technical level. One of my friends describes me as a critically acclaimed mid-list author (and she's right, which means my reviews are strong, but my sales do not reflect that), but I can't live off writing. I likely never will. I could likely produce (note the word choice) twice as much as I currently do. I've written 500k in 2.5 years, that's 200k a year, or three full-sized novels. Right now, I'd say I'm at about half that, or maybe 60% (I did write Dark Soul in about six months, and change). In the last months, I've slowed down. I'm writing a historical novel, which for me is slow work. I'm weighing options. Scenes. Individual sentences. I'm checking my facts. I'm aiming for 500 words a day - that's about two pages. The WWII novel is 1/3 done, and I'm expecting to finish this in the next 2-3 months. We're talking another 50k here. And editing. Lots of editing and fact-checking and testing, and then query-writing, which is an art that will likely meana few weeks of work (just writing a half-page letter).
From being incredibly prolific for a few years, I've realized the toll it takes on my life (I did nothing else for years), on my partnership, my health, my sanity. I've written books that I literally cannot remember writing, as I was so desperate to "make my mark". It's led to lazy writing habits, low standards for self-editing, and frankly, I wish I hadn't done it, and I've spent the last 8-10 months just repairing the damage I've done to my craft with that. I've stopped being lazy. I'm working really damned hard on everything I do now. There are books I'm not proud to have written, because I could have done a much better job if I'd thought them through, if I'd actually thought about them while I wrote them. I wish I had. I feel guilty for them. Mortified, even.
Writing more slowly (disciplined and hopefully every day, but slowly), I'm finding the prose I write is more intense, like I'm focusing that "energy" or that "voice" much better. What I write is better. I like to savour a book while I write it. I want to remember to have written it, too. I want to ruminate on it. Let it resonate in my soul. Believe in it. Make it totally real for me - and that just takes time, and growth, and internal and emotional work that cannot be rushed.
I'm at my best when I'm laser-focused, but that focus is tough like hell to maintain, and some days I write a thousand words and am mentally and emotionally exhausted afterwards. Maybe I'm a delicate little flower who's simply not tough enough to write 10k a day. I know authors who can write 5-10k a day and write beautifully and cleanly, or authors who produce the same amount in first draft and then self-edit themselves within an inch of their sanity - nothing I write here is meant to diss you guys, and you know who you are.
I, for one (and I'm just speaking for myself), am better when I'm slow-ish. And "slow-ish" means - two novels a year, which is 0.5 novels more than Stephen King says you should write, if I remember him correctly. I'm more sane, more healthy, more intense, more focused, I have time for my partner and my house and my full-time job and my publisher and for exercise and good food and movies. Small price to pay for being "slow". I am trying to do a short story or novella "in between" to show people I'm alive and working, but I'm never going to rush a piece of writing again. Writing them - really feeling them - is too much fun, and I'm simply a better writer that way.
June 4, 2012
The social media saturation point
Several weeks ago, I've clearly reached the saturation point when it comes to social media. I like the idea of "circles" - there's the circle of intimate family (hah, small group, that) and friends, the circle of close friends, then casual friends, close contacts, contacts, remote contacts, and, the last circle is "I'm aware they exist". The widest of them all is, of course "total strangers".
Recently, I've lost the will to follow the drama of contacts, remote contacts and total strangers. If we're continuing with the circle idea, I can really expand my awareness only so far. To be blunt: Somebody somewhere on the internet is an asshat. If I go out looking for asshats, that's what I'll find (and usually I only have to look for five minutes, especially on places like Facebook or Goodreads).
The usually pattern for me was to get pointed (or stumble across) an asshat's asshattery (on a blog, review place, forum) and then work myself in a lather over their asshattery. Needless to say, that really didn't do much for my writing. It either took time away from my current book, or it killed the spark to write. Or it throttled my faith in the genre.
The thing is, if you keep horses, they produce horse shit, not gold - it's not rocket science, but it took me years to understand that. I'm an INFJ - this shit really distresses me. I pick up moods well before most others do (yep, that would make me a good financial investor, if I could be bothered to crunch the numbers more often). I'm the canary in the coal mine. I feel this shit like a dog feels an earthquake before the glasses start shaking in the cabinet.
Well, this particular canary has now found a way to move the cage OUT of the coal mine. Because those places are fucking dangerous, with all the gas leaking out and killing *me* first. This includes, BTW, not following Google alerts. Boy, the stuff I've read when following those search terms (my name, usually) and all the pirated copies. All the nastiness. Gone. Done.
There were times when Goodreads was my second home on the net. I do respond to comments and every now and then sweep in to check reviews of my current releases, but I used to start threads and posted there a lot. A LOT. I had a lot of friendly contact there. I also had a lot of less-friendly contact there. I thought leaving behind the trans*-baiting and trans*-phobic Goodreads M/M Romance group was a good start (for the record, I don't say every member is a transphobe, but the moderators' attitudes are pretty clear on that count).
Maybe it's the perception that Goodreads is "for readers only and authors SHUT UP!" that's quite annoying and aggressively pushed by pretty militant readers who resent authors in general and on principle. I've been bitchslapped on there several times too often, and frankly now can't be bothered to make a large contribution. Firstly, I don't have the time, secondly, it detracts from my writing. In terms of Goodreads, I'm saturated. I'll still check in, but only because I have friends on there and for professional reasons. Answer emails and questions, and leave discussions well alone before a reader tells me again to "get the fuck lost".
Then review blogs. I frankly only read those of a few friends (Jenre, Tom Webb, Alex Whitehall, the Novel Approach, Jody's, Vacuous Minx - I may be forgetting one or two), and I read reviews of Riptide books the marketing lady forwards me - unless published by one of the places I wouldn't visit if it was the last blog on earth. I do read Dear Author like a finance guy reads the Financial Times - to stay current and because the content is very high quality and doesn't rely on author-sponsored giveaways to attract attention. That's it.
And that's plenty for me. I'm still just one tweet away, and I respond to personal emails, and do everything else according to ability and free time. But the times when I let any of this nonsense take away from my writing (or editing, or exercise, or overall joy in life) are over. It's not my drama. The people driving the drama are doing a splendid job on their own, nobody really needs my help.
I'll be over here, writing.
Recently, I've lost the will to follow the drama of contacts, remote contacts and total strangers. If we're continuing with the circle idea, I can really expand my awareness only so far. To be blunt: Somebody somewhere on the internet is an asshat. If I go out looking for asshats, that's what I'll find (and usually I only have to look for five minutes, especially on places like Facebook or Goodreads).
The usually pattern for me was to get pointed (or stumble across) an asshat's asshattery (on a blog, review place, forum) and then work myself in a lather over their asshattery. Needless to say, that really didn't do much for my writing. It either took time away from my current book, or it killed the spark to write. Or it throttled my faith in the genre.
The thing is, if you keep horses, they produce horse shit, not gold - it's not rocket science, but it took me years to understand that. I'm an INFJ - this shit really distresses me. I pick up moods well before most others do (yep, that would make me a good financial investor, if I could be bothered to crunch the numbers more often). I'm the canary in the coal mine. I feel this shit like a dog feels an earthquake before the glasses start shaking in the cabinet.
Well, this particular canary has now found a way to move the cage OUT of the coal mine. Because those places are fucking dangerous, with all the gas leaking out and killing *me* first. This includes, BTW, not following Google alerts. Boy, the stuff I've read when following those search terms (my name, usually) and all the pirated copies. All the nastiness. Gone. Done.
There were times when Goodreads was my second home on the net. I do respond to comments and every now and then sweep in to check reviews of my current releases, but I used to start threads and posted there a lot. A LOT. I had a lot of friendly contact there. I also had a lot of less-friendly contact there. I thought leaving behind the trans*-baiting and trans*-phobic Goodreads M/M Romance group was a good start (for the record, I don't say every member is a transphobe, but the moderators' attitudes are pretty clear on that count).
Maybe it's the perception that Goodreads is "for readers only and authors SHUT UP!" that's quite annoying and aggressively pushed by pretty militant readers who resent authors in general and on principle. I've been bitchslapped on there several times too often, and frankly now can't be bothered to make a large contribution. Firstly, I don't have the time, secondly, it detracts from my writing. In terms of Goodreads, I'm saturated. I'll still check in, but only because I have friends on there and for professional reasons. Answer emails and questions, and leave discussions well alone before a reader tells me again to "get the fuck lost".
Then review blogs. I frankly only read those of a few friends (Jenre, Tom Webb, Alex Whitehall, the Novel Approach, Jody's, Vacuous Minx - I may be forgetting one or two), and I read reviews of Riptide books the marketing lady forwards me - unless published by one of the places I wouldn't visit if it was the last blog on earth. I do read Dear Author like a finance guy reads the Financial Times - to stay current and because the content is very high quality and doesn't rely on author-sponsored giveaways to attract attention. That's it.
And that's plenty for me. I'm still just one tweet away, and I respond to personal emails, and do everything else according to ability and free time. But the times when I let any of this nonsense take away from my writing (or editing, or exercise, or overall joy in life) are over. It's not my drama. The people driving the drama are doing a splendid job on their own, nobody really needs my help.
I'll be over here, writing.
June 2, 2012
One third done, two more to go
I have a vague idea that I'm one-third done with the WWII novel. The last weeks, I've added a couple words here and there, never really hitting a glorious stretch of say, 1,700 or 2,500 words or even more. It's very much a book that gets written paragraph by paragraph rather than scene by scene or even chapter by chapter.
In total, it's past the 23k mark now, and I'm doing my best to hit 500 words per day on it. (For me, that's a laughable rate of productivity - I'd normally shoot for twice that at least in mid-project.) I'm getting the sense it's 60-70k, so we're looking at a novel (if it weren't, it would be a hydrocephalus of a novella). At 500 words/day, I'm aiming to get this done in the next 3-4 months, hopefully 3 months, because I'll be wanting to write the OTHER WWII novel when I'm going on my writing retreat.
In other news, I've finished editing and rewriting the sci-fi novella. My editor at Riptide, Kristen, made me rewrite around 20% of it, which for me is a pretty high percentage. (It's something I need to keep an eye on. Either my self-edit sucked or I have become a lazy bastard - or both.) But it's turned back in now. I'm now expecting back the WWII short story.
And I keep thinking how much more saner and balanced I feel since detangling myself a bit from the internet. I love my readers and other authors, and I still hang out with them a lot, but I've stopped getting myself involved in whatever the drama of the day is. I've learned some lessons in that regard for sure, and at the end of the day, I need to focus on both my writing and on Riptide, and drama simply takes up too much of my headspace. (And it's getting crowded in that head, with all those stories jostling around.)
There are still assholes out there, and people who crave stirring up shit and act out their frustrations or their cynicism, but I'm not letting these people kill my writing or my productivity. The proof of any author in the writing. And every reader is entitled to their response to that writing, but the author is also entitled to his or her own personal space and to ignore reviews, for example, or whatever is the drama of the day. We all have the right to live in our own bubble and ignore what is getting us down or pisses us off. Since I've stopped reading a number of blogs, I feel more balanced. Since I'm no longer spending two hours a day on Goodreads, I actually feel a whole lot saner.
Above all, I have a book to write that's taking most of my remaining headspace, so yes, I'm currently quieter, but I'm actually liking it - I can only see my reflection in the pool when the water is quiet. I'm still around to goof off on Twitter, and email, and working a lot behind the scenes at Riptide. But yeah, the WWII novel has just passed the one-third mark. I think it's getting somewhere now. Certainly, now with all my pieces in place, I can kick off the secondary plot.
And maybe after that, I'll write something short and quick on French résistants. The time is just rife with possibility.
In total, it's past the 23k mark now, and I'm doing my best to hit 500 words per day on it. (For me, that's a laughable rate of productivity - I'd normally shoot for twice that at least in mid-project.) I'm getting the sense it's 60-70k, so we're looking at a novel (if it weren't, it would be a hydrocephalus of a novella). At 500 words/day, I'm aiming to get this done in the next 3-4 months, hopefully 3 months, because I'll be wanting to write the OTHER WWII novel when I'm going on my writing retreat.
In other news, I've finished editing and rewriting the sci-fi novella. My editor at Riptide, Kristen, made me rewrite around 20% of it, which for me is a pretty high percentage. (It's something I need to keep an eye on. Either my self-edit sucked or I have become a lazy bastard - or both.) But it's turned back in now. I'm now expecting back the WWII short story.
And I keep thinking how much more saner and balanced I feel since detangling myself a bit from the internet. I love my readers and other authors, and I still hang out with them a lot, but I've stopped getting myself involved in whatever the drama of the day is. I've learned some lessons in that regard for sure, and at the end of the day, I need to focus on both my writing and on Riptide, and drama simply takes up too much of my headspace. (And it's getting crowded in that head, with all those stories jostling around.)
There are still assholes out there, and people who crave stirring up shit and act out their frustrations or their cynicism, but I'm not letting these people kill my writing or my productivity. The proof of any author in the writing. And every reader is entitled to their response to that writing, but the author is also entitled to his or her own personal space and to ignore reviews, for example, or whatever is the drama of the day. We all have the right to live in our own bubble and ignore what is getting us down or pisses us off. Since I've stopped reading a number of blogs, I feel more balanced. Since I'm no longer spending two hours a day on Goodreads, I actually feel a whole lot saner.
Above all, I have a book to write that's taking most of my remaining headspace, so yes, I'm currently quieter, but I'm actually liking it - I can only see my reflection in the pool when the water is quiet. I'm still around to goof off on Twitter, and email, and working a lot behind the scenes at Riptide. But yeah, the WWII novel has just passed the one-third mark. I think it's getting somewhere now. Certainly, now with all my pieces in place, I can kick off the secondary plot.
And maybe after that, I'll write something short and quick on French résistants. The time is just rife with possibility.
May 28, 2012
Traveling the inward spiral
I'm most definitely back on the inward spiral part of my usual cycle. Right now, my life's mostly about processing, thinking and exploring issues. Part of the process is verbalised, most is under the surface. Usually, I'm coming back from that land with stories and ideas.
I have been productive on the historical novel - a few hundred words at a time, nothing on some days, but I've overcome the anxiety of "OMG, I'm not writing 5k a day!" Essentially, it is what it is. Writing at all is a miracle, and I'm grateful for every word. Every sentence gets me closer to the end. This is a slow book - foot rather than fighter jet.
Lately, my thoughts and stuff I was working on deal with my roots - and I'm getting somewhere with matters such as ancestry and the cut-off history beyond my own generation, with everything else beyond my own generation in my family sinking into myth. It's my own attitude to those myths, and how much of that I want in my own life, space and thoughts, that I've been tackling.
The other big theme is fear. I'm going to confess one of my biggest fears: that I might actually make it. That what I sometimes laughingly call my megalomania isn't. (Just typing this makes my inner introvert coil uneasily, I mean, who cares, right?)
At the bottom of it all is the fear that, should I hit success, somebody will take my writing away. I won't be master of my creativity anymore. I'll have signed a contract that forces me to deliver, even if I don't want to, on pain of having to pay back everything, disappointing people, and publishers getting nasty. My natural response when signing any (non-Riptide) contract is that I want to run away. I don't want the obligation. In fact, I resent it from the foundations of my soul.
Another worry is that I will have to deliver - write books I don't feel, because I'm obliged to. Again, a matter of freedom and free choice. It all boils down to something I have so deep in my DNA it's one of the guiding principles of my life. Never to depend on anybody. To be strong, independent, my own master. It's a lesson I've learnt from my mother, who spent half her breaths on it: "Never rely on anybody. Never make yourself dependent on anybody. You will regret it." (She'd won that wisdom the hardest way imaginable - with four husbands who ranged from kind and supportive to complete assholes, the worst of them my father.)
The history of my relationship with my dude is about that. Whenever it looks like I might become the weaker partner, something inside me simply screeches in terror. Fear. Horror. Resentment. Poor bastard certainly doesn't deserve it. Never does. I just don't deal well with it. And I think that ties into power. I have issues with power and authority. To me, it seems to imply dependence. Weakness.
So, ironically, being successful as a writer wouldn't feel like a powerful position to me, but one of weakness, obligation, and loss of control. Defensive. I'm rather a niche author in control than a big author who's not, because at the bottom if it all, something inside me is terrified of losing my freedom. To me, being the thrall of a king or pope and making art for them sounds like a complete nightmare. Depending on somebody's whim for my creative livelihood. It's certainly the seed of a story, that conflict. I bet it's going to show up at some point.
The good thing of this kind of explorative work is, I can examine these issues without risk. I don't have to become anybody's thrall to explore that situation. (And here I was, wondering why all my characters are tied so deeply by obligation and their own sense of honor - it's my shadow expressing itself. A possibility, in part unlived, in part kept at arm's length, and permitted only after careful consideration when I feel "safe".)
Another good thing is, I can overcome that fear, tiny step by tiny step. Tackling that fear is the big work I'm doing at the moment. I've examined other fears - all the childish, profound ones that hold authors back: fear of not being loved, fear of rejection, material/financial angst, being a failure, standing out/making yourself a target - and I don't mind any of those.
When examining "fear of not being loved", something twitched in my soul, so there's some substance to it, but that's something I've made good progress on, not in the least by repeating "somebody is being an asshole on the internet" in a mocking sing-song to myself, reminding myself of that cartoon ("Come to bed!" - "I can't! Somebody is WRONG ON THE INTERNET!" - that one) and how silly that is. Somebody somewhere will always hate me and my writing/books. They are not my readers. I can just let them go on their way to something that will please them more. No hard feelings. Not everybody likes strawberries. Blaming or hating the strawberries is not exactly a productive use of time, space or emotional energy. (And, yep, getting there took me a while, but I made a big step over the last few weeks, helped along, in part, by former friends of mine and what their words/actions taught me.)
So, I'm looking at my fears and try to walk towards them. Path of greatest resistance. I see the guardians of the threshold, and I'm taking small steps towards myself.
I have been productive on the historical novel - a few hundred words at a time, nothing on some days, but I've overcome the anxiety of "OMG, I'm not writing 5k a day!" Essentially, it is what it is. Writing at all is a miracle, and I'm grateful for every word. Every sentence gets me closer to the end. This is a slow book - foot rather than fighter jet.
Lately, my thoughts and stuff I was working on deal with my roots - and I'm getting somewhere with matters such as ancestry and the cut-off history beyond my own generation, with everything else beyond my own generation in my family sinking into myth. It's my own attitude to those myths, and how much of that I want in my own life, space and thoughts, that I've been tackling.
The other big theme is fear. I'm going to confess one of my biggest fears: that I might actually make it. That what I sometimes laughingly call my megalomania isn't. (Just typing this makes my inner introvert coil uneasily, I mean, who cares, right?)
At the bottom of it all is the fear that, should I hit success, somebody will take my writing away. I won't be master of my creativity anymore. I'll have signed a contract that forces me to deliver, even if I don't want to, on pain of having to pay back everything, disappointing people, and publishers getting nasty. My natural response when signing any (non-Riptide) contract is that I want to run away. I don't want the obligation. In fact, I resent it from the foundations of my soul.
Another worry is that I will have to deliver - write books I don't feel, because I'm obliged to. Again, a matter of freedom and free choice. It all boils down to something I have so deep in my DNA it's one of the guiding principles of my life. Never to depend on anybody. To be strong, independent, my own master. It's a lesson I've learnt from my mother, who spent half her breaths on it: "Never rely on anybody. Never make yourself dependent on anybody. You will regret it." (She'd won that wisdom the hardest way imaginable - with four husbands who ranged from kind and supportive to complete assholes, the worst of them my father.)
The history of my relationship with my dude is about that. Whenever it looks like I might become the weaker partner, something inside me simply screeches in terror. Fear. Horror. Resentment. Poor bastard certainly doesn't deserve it. Never does. I just don't deal well with it. And I think that ties into power. I have issues with power and authority. To me, it seems to imply dependence. Weakness.
So, ironically, being successful as a writer wouldn't feel like a powerful position to me, but one of weakness, obligation, and loss of control. Defensive. I'm rather a niche author in control than a big author who's not, because at the bottom if it all, something inside me is terrified of losing my freedom. To me, being the thrall of a king or pope and making art for them sounds like a complete nightmare. Depending on somebody's whim for my creative livelihood. It's certainly the seed of a story, that conflict. I bet it's going to show up at some point.
The good thing of this kind of explorative work is, I can examine these issues without risk. I don't have to become anybody's thrall to explore that situation. (And here I was, wondering why all my characters are tied so deeply by obligation and their own sense of honor - it's my shadow expressing itself. A possibility, in part unlived, in part kept at arm's length, and permitted only after careful consideration when I feel "safe".)
Another good thing is, I can overcome that fear, tiny step by tiny step. Tackling that fear is the big work I'm doing at the moment. I've examined other fears - all the childish, profound ones that hold authors back: fear of not being loved, fear of rejection, material/financial angst, being a failure, standing out/making yourself a target - and I don't mind any of those.
When examining "fear of not being loved", something twitched in my soul, so there's some substance to it, but that's something I've made good progress on, not in the least by repeating "somebody is being an asshole on the internet" in a mocking sing-song to myself, reminding myself of that cartoon ("Come to bed!" - "I can't! Somebody is WRONG ON THE INTERNET!" - that one) and how silly that is. Somebody somewhere will always hate me and my writing/books. They are not my readers. I can just let them go on their way to something that will please them more. No hard feelings. Not everybody likes strawberries. Blaming or hating the strawberries is not exactly a productive use of time, space or emotional energy. (And, yep, getting there took me a while, but I made a big step over the last few weeks, helped along, in part, by former friends of mine and what their words/actions taught me.)
So, I'm looking at my fears and try to walk towards them. Path of greatest resistance. I see the guardians of the threshold, and I'm taking small steps towards myself.
May 22, 2012
Some thoughts on uniforms, soldiers and Nazis
It's one of the topics I find endlessly fascinating. War, and those who do war. The culture of war. What war does to people both on a collective and individual level. The last months, I've almost completely focused on WWII in my reading, writing and thinking. I think my co-writers are beginning to think I'm nuts. Every conversation ends up derailed with anecdotes like, "Did you know that Goering did..."
I call it total immersion. I'd quite like to do nothing but travel to the relevant museums and archives and locations, but in the absence of a few million in the bank to grant me that gentleman of leisure lifestyle, I'm doing the best I can with primary sources (letters and diaries, but also music and films/footage of the time), secondary sources (books and documentaries) and anything else I can get my hands on. I'm hoping to go up to Duxford and visit the Messerschmitt fighter plane they are keeping there for a nebulous idea I've had.
For the current novel, I'm pretty tempted to go to Paris and take my new camera to shoot the locations. Above all, that would be Montmartre, but also the general area where the Germans had their HQs. The photos I have bookmarked on the internet already help, but I only viscerally understand a place when I've walked it. (On that note, every long walk in London, especially those I do with guests who are often interested in things I wouldn't have sought out by myself, helps me come to grips with this city.) So, Paris. Eventually. Again. And this time, no "Louvre as extreme sport." It'll need some planning - I'll actually have to make a list of the places I want to see and photograph as visual references.
In any case, it's Men in Uniform Month over at Chicks & Dicks, and they invited me and kept hassling, so I rewrote my original 2k post on soldiers yesterday night - I'm amazed it made any sense at all. You can find it here.
And now I'll try to find even a few words for my historical novel and then wrap up an editing project tomorrow. I'm so close towards the end, but editing/thinking when I'm so tired doesn't do anybody any favours.
I call it total immersion. I'd quite like to do nothing but travel to the relevant museums and archives and locations, but in the absence of a few million in the bank to grant me that gentleman of leisure lifestyle, I'm doing the best I can with primary sources (letters and diaries, but also music and films/footage of the time), secondary sources (books and documentaries) and anything else I can get my hands on. I'm hoping to go up to Duxford and visit the Messerschmitt fighter plane they are keeping there for a nebulous idea I've had.
For the current novel, I'm pretty tempted to go to Paris and take my new camera to shoot the locations. Above all, that would be Montmartre, but also the general area where the Germans had their HQs. The photos I have bookmarked on the internet already help, but I only viscerally understand a place when I've walked it. (On that note, every long walk in London, especially those I do with guests who are often interested in things I wouldn't have sought out by myself, helps me come to grips with this city.) So, Paris. Eventually. Again. And this time, no "Louvre as extreme sport." It'll need some planning - I'll actually have to make a list of the places I want to see and photograph as visual references.
In any case, it's Men in Uniform Month over at Chicks & Dicks, and they invited me and kept hassling, so I rewrote my original 2k post on soldiers yesterday night - I'm amazed it made any sense at all. You can find it here.
And now I'll try to find even a few words for my historical novel and then wrap up an editing project tomorrow. I'm so close towards the end, but editing/thinking when I'm so tired doesn't do anybody any favours.
The bitchslapped author (or: Goodbye Goodreads)
As much as it heartens me that my books are doing well on a Goodreads reader-voted list, my solo books being on the "Kick-Ass Women-Written M/M Books" feels like a punch in the face.
I'm totally OK with my co-written things to be there - fact is that I most of my co-written things are co-written with women and female-identified writers, it's the nature of the beast - but my solo stuff? Way to make a compliment feel like a bitchslap. It's this need to decide MY gender for me (like I can't work it out on my own) and to "out" me (just like my charming ex-co-writer has done for years), when there's really no big newsflash. I've "outed" myself back in November, and apart from the death of my mother, it was one of the most painful events of my life. It's even worse - it attempts to make my identity invalid. It says "HE IS NOT TRANS, SHE'S A WOMAN!"
Honestly, words fail me. Just seeing this today was a punch to my gut. I sit in front of the computer, feeling ill and angry and irrational. I want to punch somebody, and I can't. Welcome to the internet, where people go out of their way to be assholes, because they are unaccountable for their actions.
I will try to stay away from Goodreads now. It's not an environment that is any good at all for me. I have enough things on my plate - productive things, writing things, editing and publishing things - to allow that place to mess with my head like that.
I'm totally OK with my co-written things to be there - fact is that I most of my co-written things are co-written with women and female-identified writers, it's the nature of the beast - but my solo stuff? Way to make a compliment feel like a bitchslap. It's this need to decide MY gender for me (like I can't work it out on my own) and to "out" me (just like my charming ex-co-writer has done for years), when there's really no big newsflash. I've "outed" myself back in November, and apart from the death of my mother, it was one of the most painful events of my life. It's even worse - it attempts to make my identity invalid. It says "HE IS NOT TRANS, SHE'S A WOMAN!"
Honestly, words fail me. Just seeing this today was a punch to my gut. I sit in front of the computer, feeling ill and angry and irrational. I want to punch somebody, and I can't. Welcome to the internet, where people go out of their way to be assholes, because they are unaccountable for their actions.
I will try to stay away from Goodreads now. It's not an environment that is any good at all for me. I have enough things on my plate - productive things, writing things, editing and publishing things - to allow that place to mess with my head like that.
May 19, 2012
The eagle's wings are broken
Today I went back to the Imperial War Museum. It's one of those places I visit every few months - for the bookshop, and to stare up at the planes suspended from the roof. And then I do one of the galleries, or maybe two. If my stomach is especially strong that day, I go to the Holocaust Exhibition - something I'm not always strong enough for.
Today, I had a stroll through the WWI and WWII galleries, and while it was busy, I got some quality time (=unimpeded time to photograph) with this exhibit. This helps me with my WWII novel - and learn my camera. But mostly, I could stare at it and allow it to go deep, deep enough into my soul where my characters live. And, yep, that's a Third Reich bronze eagle - the holes are from bullets. Some people bring the weirdest souvenirs from war. I think they get bigger when you click on them.
Today, I had a stroll through the WWI and WWII galleries, and while it was busy, I got some quality time (=unimpeded time to photograph) with this exhibit. This helps me with my WWII novel - and learn my camera. But mostly, I could stare at it and allow it to go deep, deep enough into my soul where my characters live. And, yep, that's a Third Reich bronze eagle - the holes are from bullets. Some people bring the weirdest souvenirs from war. I think they get bigger when you click on them.
May 17, 2012
In-flight entertainment
I went to Canada last week, and that's often a good moment to catch up with my reading. In this case and thanks to a pretty crowded and loud flight, I ended up watching movies. I guess you could say I was catching up with movies that I either missed or simply didn't want to spend money on.
For the flight in, I chose three, which were totally meant to be brainless entertainment. So the first I saw was Captain America, which was one of the "only over my dead body" and "no popcorn is so good that I want to go see it" movies. My partner's eyes were large as saucers when I selected that, and I said "well, it does have Nazis" - which it did. I did like the look of that, and they actually managed to wring a decent movie out of the most boring of all the superheroes (actually, scratch that, Superman *is* more boring than Cap). It was certainly entertaining - only thing missing was the popcorn.
Then I saw War Horse, an overrated piece of sentimental tosh if I've ever seen one. Spielberg presses the emotional buttons with a gleeful "haha! It has animals! Soulful shots of men doomed to die! Landscape! Olde English pretties! I CAN TOTALLY GET YOU, suckers! Oscars, here I COME!" I'm not sure why this fell so flat to me - for the record, I've seen the stage play and loved it, so I was curious how they approached it. I think the structural weakness inherent in the book really opens into chasms on the big screen, whereas, maybe in the theatre, you're more willing to suspend disbelief. Also, the cast at the National Theatre did an autstanding job. There was a funny scene when both sides tried to attract the horse (one by tsking, the other by whistling), which summed up the whole bizarre war, but otherwise, a definite "meh" experience.
With an hour to spare at that point, I re-visited Kingdom of Heaven, which I'd seen before. I was getting so bedraggled that I ran for comfort, so pushed into Middle Ages and Crusades and Stuff Seen Before (I feel rarely that mentally vulnerable, but I did there). Many things I loved - the shots, the colours, the set-up (although many of the premises and ideas behind the movies break my historical heart, or what's left of it after Orlando "Elf Boy" Bloom's "acting" - I mean, really?), but when the flight's end cut that one short, it didn't really hurt. I was at that cringe-worthy moment where Orlando is being so honorable and knightly that he condemns everybody to die and suffer, from the people he's sworn to protect to the woman he loves. I might pick the movie up again just to revel in the images, but I might need vodka to stand the rest.
On the way back, I had much better luck with my choices. First, I saw Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, which wasn't a bad movie at all, and well-chosen for an overnight flight that will make your brain bleed with an additional 5 hours' time difference. It's pretty, it's fast-paced, and a decent enough action movie (also, wow, vertigo!). Loved Simon Pegg in it and can totally see all possible combinations of characters pairing off for a hot two-, three- and foursome. Also, the female team member was competent and less of a nuisance, though not particularly deep (though the reversal of the male-character-death-as-motivation in her background was a neat reversal).
Best movie, though? I only watched The Matador on the strength of the casting of Pierce Brosnan. Brosnan is interesting here because he's totally playing up his charisma, and they are not relying on a suave, smoothe or beefcake persona like in the Bond movies. The character he plays is at times gross, repugnant, charming, competent, ridiculous, sentimental and then plain vulnerable human (which actually takes acting chops to do, which Brosnan really really has). Him getting older (and wrinkled) has allowed him to play actual *characters*. Also, the relationship between the hitman and the businessman is basically a romantic comedy. I would totally not have blinked if the "secret" of that night in the past had been a hot love scene. There's also a long moment in the film where I found a threesome with the wife the natural outcome - and I'm pretty sure that's the very much intended subtext. Definitely worth watching for some fantastic character moments, good acting, and really tense moments. Not the most expensive or shiny production, but it held up well against the really big blockbusters thanks to its intelligence and the acting chops on display. Definitely one to re-watch.
For the flight in, I chose three, which were totally meant to be brainless entertainment. So the first I saw was Captain America, which was one of the "only over my dead body" and "no popcorn is so good that I want to go see it" movies. My partner's eyes were large as saucers when I selected that, and I said "well, it does have Nazis" - which it did. I did like the look of that, and they actually managed to wring a decent movie out of the most boring of all the superheroes (actually, scratch that, Superman *is* more boring than Cap). It was certainly entertaining - only thing missing was the popcorn.
Then I saw War Horse, an overrated piece of sentimental tosh if I've ever seen one. Spielberg presses the emotional buttons with a gleeful "haha! It has animals! Soulful shots of men doomed to die! Landscape! Olde English pretties! I CAN TOTALLY GET YOU, suckers! Oscars, here I COME!" I'm not sure why this fell so flat to me - for the record, I've seen the stage play and loved it, so I was curious how they approached it. I think the structural weakness inherent in the book really opens into chasms on the big screen, whereas, maybe in the theatre, you're more willing to suspend disbelief. Also, the cast at the National Theatre did an autstanding job. There was a funny scene when both sides tried to attract the horse (one by tsking, the other by whistling), which summed up the whole bizarre war, but otherwise, a definite "meh" experience.
With an hour to spare at that point, I re-visited Kingdom of Heaven, which I'd seen before. I was getting so bedraggled that I ran for comfort, so pushed into Middle Ages and Crusades and Stuff Seen Before (I feel rarely that mentally vulnerable, but I did there). Many things I loved - the shots, the colours, the set-up (although many of the premises and ideas behind the movies break my historical heart, or what's left of it after Orlando "Elf Boy" Bloom's "acting" - I mean, really?), but when the flight's end cut that one short, it didn't really hurt. I was at that cringe-worthy moment where Orlando is being so honorable and knightly that he condemns everybody to die and suffer, from the people he's sworn to protect to the woman he loves. I might pick the movie up again just to revel in the images, but I might need vodka to stand the rest.
On the way back, I had much better luck with my choices. First, I saw Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, which wasn't a bad movie at all, and well-chosen for an overnight flight that will make your brain bleed with an additional 5 hours' time difference. It's pretty, it's fast-paced, and a decent enough action movie (also, wow, vertigo!). Loved Simon Pegg in it and can totally see all possible combinations of characters pairing off for a hot two-, three- and foursome. Also, the female team member was competent and less of a nuisance, though not particularly deep (though the reversal of the male-character-death-as-motivation in her background was a neat reversal).
Best movie, though? I only watched The Matador on the strength of the casting of Pierce Brosnan. Brosnan is interesting here because he's totally playing up his charisma, and they are not relying on a suave, smoothe or beefcake persona like in the Bond movies. The character he plays is at times gross, repugnant, charming, competent, ridiculous, sentimental and then plain vulnerable human (which actually takes acting chops to do, which Brosnan really really has). Him getting older (and wrinkled) has allowed him to play actual *characters*. Also, the relationship between the hitman and the businessman is basically a romantic comedy. I would totally not have blinked if the "secret" of that night in the past had been a hot love scene. There's also a long moment in the film where I found a threesome with the wife the natural outcome - and I'm pretty sure that's the very much intended subtext. Definitely worth watching for some fantastic character moments, good acting, and really tense moments. Not the most expensive or shiny production, but it held up well against the really big blockbusters thanks to its intelligence and the acting chops on display. Definitely one to re-watch.
May 2, 2012
Gaining a year
I noticed something really weird yesterday, when a friend asked me how old I'll get in two days (4 May). I said "37." She said "That's not possible." Assuming that it was a form of flattery on her part, I said "yes it is."
And then she calculated that if I'm born in 1975 (which I am), and have my birthday on 4 May, I'm actually not yet 37, but 36. So, uhm. I'll just be 37 for two years, or maybe I'm gaining a year - I haven't quite made up my mind, but you'd assume that somebody somewhat conversant with numbers can actually calculate his own age.
I'm not sure if that kind happens to other people, but it also means I'm moving in a "post-age" space. It used to be a big deal, this age thing (especially when you want to see gory action movies or want to stay out late), but in the last few years I've pretty much decided that I'm about 27-30, or an "advanced teenager with a paycheck" - the only reason why I'm not 15-17 is that I've finished what they call "higher education" and don't feel like repeating it (or the anxiety about not being able to pay rent).
I fully expect the age thing to become important again when I'm counting down the years to retirement (and to accessing my pension fund), but for the moment, I'm floating in a space where I do need both hands with all fingers (okay, the calculator on my iPhone) to calculate my actual physical age.
At times, I feel like I'm inhabiting my own side-pocket in the space-time continuum; it's like the reality of other people, just a little bit warped and possibly inhabited by a larger amount of fairy-tale creatures and archetypes than normal. It's the Voinov version of Gaiman's Neverwhere. (That said, London IS it's own dimension, I have no doubt about it. Many other places I've been to are just less real. Or it's the history.)
In any case, normally I'd try to celebrate my birthday with free fiction of some kind, but the truth is, I'm currently not actually writing (I'm nostly reading, researching and doing Other Things, like plotting world domination). Maybe I'll come up with something though. Will think on it. I might be a touch late - I'm off to Canada (Ottawa) tomorrow and I assume I won't be spending that much time on front of a computer. Back on 11 May, then to tackle the mail inbox.
Have a great start into May, folks!
And then she calculated that if I'm born in 1975 (which I am), and have my birthday on 4 May, I'm actually not yet 37, but 36. So, uhm. I'll just be 37 for two years, or maybe I'm gaining a year - I haven't quite made up my mind, but you'd assume that somebody somewhat conversant with numbers can actually calculate his own age.
I'm not sure if that kind happens to other people, but it also means I'm moving in a "post-age" space. It used to be a big deal, this age thing (especially when you want to see gory action movies or want to stay out late), but in the last few years I've pretty much decided that I'm about 27-30, or an "advanced teenager with a paycheck" - the only reason why I'm not 15-17 is that I've finished what they call "higher education" and don't feel like repeating it (or the anxiety about not being able to pay rent).
I fully expect the age thing to become important again when I'm counting down the years to retirement (and to accessing my pension fund), but for the moment, I'm floating in a space where I do need both hands with all fingers (okay, the calculator on my iPhone) to calculate my actual physical age.
At times, I feel like I'm inhabiting my own side-pocket in the space-time continuum; it's like the reality of other people, just a little bit warped and possibly inhabited by a larger amount of fairy-tale creatures and archetypes than normal. It's the Voinov version of Gaiman's Neverwhere. (That said, London IS it's own dimension, I have no doubt about it. Many other places I've been to are just less real. Or it's the history.)
In any case, normally I'd try to celebrate my birthday with free fiction of some kind, but the truth is, I'm currently not actually writing (I'm nostly reading, researching and doing Other Things, like plotting world domination). Maybe I'll come up with something though. Will think on it. I might be a touch late - I'm off to Canada (Ottawa) tomorrow and I assume I won't be spending that much time on front of a computer. Back on 11 May, then to tackle the mail inbox.
Have a great start into May, folks!
April 28, 2012
Rewriting history
I think it was Angela James of Carina Press who said one of the big things for an author to succeed is to consistently put out quality product and make no shortcuts. (I may be paraphrasing.) Carina is good like that - they run seminars for their authors to make sure they're on the right track.
The emphasis is very much on "quality product". It was heavily implied (or that is how I remembered it), that it's better to not publish something that's mediocre or simply not the best one can make it than to publish it and put off readers who'd otherwise happily devour the whole backlist.
In a way, every book/story by an author might be the "first point of contact", and the job of every first contact is to create a long-lasting relationship. I assume a tweet out of line is more easily forgiven than a weak book. The tweet was free, and Twitter is a casual environment anyway (which is why I've locked down my personal Twitter and created an "official one"), but a book costs money and people want their money's worth. Simple as that.
The longer I've been in the "game", the more I believe that's correct. When I started, I was just playing. You might say I was not taking things quite as seriously as I should have. Funnily enough, I think I've kinda grown up over the last roughly three or four years. I went from an easy-going real life job to the heart of European capitalism. From "oh, I want to be a literary agent when I grow up" to the "fixer" type at Riptide, and, last but not least, a publisher in my own right, crunching numbers and strategies. Before long, I might expand that business into the country of my birth. Writing might be what I was born to do, but in terms of my real life, financially, it's a side show. There's freedom in that. I *can* play without constantly looking at the bottomline.
However, increasingly, some of my books don't represent the standards I've set for myself. They weren't edited to the same standard, or should never have been published for other reasons. They might be deeply, madly, flawed. I don't want them to be the doors that people take into my work, because they are no longer part of the same house in a number of ways. I don't want my name attached, and I don't want people to pay money for them; it just feels wrong, deep in my guts.
I'm the first to say that top-rate work is worth its money, even if it's more than the $.99 people kick their novels out for to trigger the "hunter and gatherer" instinct in their readership. But I'm also the first to say that a book isn't worth its price because the contents are not top-rate. Sometimes it takes me a few years to see a story in that light. An author's attachment to a piece of work can be irrational and also take a while to weaken and crystallize. It's part of the process overall and the self-examination and self-judgment/evaluation that authors do. Well, at least I do. Pretty much constantly.
What does this mean in practice? I've already made moves to pull two backlist books/stories from circulation. I reserve the right to treat them as scrap metal and reuse the good bits (ideas, possibly a good turn of phrase here or there), but with my schedule, I don't expect that to happen any time soon. Over the next year or two, more stories will be pulled and rewritten and reedited in agreement with the other author involved. A series we killed might still happen under a different flag. We'll see. It's a wide-open space once the quality issue is resolved.
That's the miracle of e-publishing. An author has a totally different level of control over the backlist. We *can* take books from circulation and we *can* re-write and re-issue (or simply pull and lock in the attic).
I understand that some of you will want those stories, and I apologize for taking them away. You can always drop me a line and I can email them to you, or, since I'm being very widely pirated, you have my blessing to dig the "pulled" stories up from whatever source you feel comfortable using. Overall, though, I'm going to disassociate myself from that part of my work. What's worthwhile will be kept or rewritten, what's not worthwhile I hope will eventually forgotten and possibly forgiven.
I think the most important lesson out of this was that, indeed, putting out the best quality work you can is one of the biggest goals, and anything short of that simply shouldn't see the light of day.
I apologize for putting them out in the first place, and chalk this up to experience. Lesson learnt. It won't happen again. Let's move forward.
The emphasis is very much on "quality product". It was heavily implied (or that is how I remembered it), that it's better to not publish something that's mediocre or simply not the best one can make it than to publish it and put off readers who'd otherwise happily devour the whole backlist.
In a way, every book/story by an author might be the "first point of contact", and the job of every first contact is to create a long-lasting relationship. I assume a tweet out of line is more easily forgiven than a weak book. The tweet was free, and Twitter is a casual environment anyway (which is why I've locked down my personal Twitter and created an "official one"), but a book costs money and people want their money's worth. Simple as that.
The longer I've been in the "game", the more I believe that's correct. When I started, I was just playing. You might say I was not taking things quite as seriously as I should have. Funnily enough, I think I've kinda grown up over the last roughly three or four years. I went from an easy-going real life job to the heart of European capitalism. From "oh, I want to be a literary agent when I grow up" to the "fixer" type at Riptide, and, last but not least, a publisher in my own right, crunching numbers and strategies. Before long, I might expand that business into the country of my birth. Writing might be what I was born to do, but in terms of my real life, financially, it's a side show. There's freedom in that. I *can* play without constantly looking at the bottomline.
However, increasingly, some of my books don't represent the standards I've set for myself. They weren't edited to the same standard, or should never have been published for other reasons. They might be deeply, madly, flawed. I don't want them to be the doors that people take into my work, because they are no longer part of the same house in a number of ways. I don't want my name attached, and I don't want people to pay money for them; it just feels wrong, deep in my guts.
I'm the first to say that top-rate work is worth its money, even if it's more than the $.99 people kick their novels out for to trigger the "hunter and gatherer" instinct in their readership. But I'm also the first to say that a book isn't worth its price because the contents are not top-rate. Sometimes it takes me a few years to see a story in that light. An author's attachment to a piece of work can be irrational and also take a while to weaken and crystallize. It's part of the process overall and the self-examination and self-judgment/evaluation that authors do. Well, at least I do. Pretty much constantly.
What does this mean in practice? I've already made moves to pull two backlist books/stories from circulation. I reserve the right to treat them as scrap metal and reuse the good bits (ideas, possibly a good turn of phrase here or there), but with my schedule, I don't expect that to happen any time soon. Over the next year or two, more stories will be pulled and rewritten and reedited in agreement with the other author involved. A series we killed might still happen under a different flag. We'll see. It's a wide-open space once the quality issue is resolved.
That's the miracle of e-publishing. An author has a totally different level of control over the backlist. We *can* take books from circulation and we *can* re-write and re-issue (or simply pull and lock in the attic).
I understand that some of you will want those stories, and I apologize for taking them away. You can always drop me a line and I can email them to you, or, since I'm being very widely pirated, you have my blessing to dig the "pulled" stories up from whatever source you feel comfortable using. Overall, though, I'm going to disassociate myself from that part of my work. What's worthwhile will be kept or rewritten, what's not worthwhile I hope will eventually forgotten and possibly forgiven.
I think the most important lesson out of this was that, indeed, putting out the best quality work you can is one of the biggest goals, and anything short of that simply shouldn't see the light of day.
I apologize for putting them out in the first place, and chalk this up to experience. Lesson learnt. It won't happen again. Let's move forward.
Letters from the Front
Aleksandr Voinov's blog on reading and writing.
...more
- Aleksandr Voinov's profile
- 2497 followers
