Jeremy Pack's Blog, page 3

Philosophy of Craft, Part 1 – WWYK

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Linda Cronin / Foter

Time is a rare commodity, and your choice to share yours with me, a brand new author, is the highest honor I can imagine. Hopefully, by explaining how I approach my craft, you’ll understand that I truly do value the gift of your hard-won time.

WARNING FOR THE SQUEAMISH: I have chronic potty mouth. If strong language offends your delicate sensibilities, proceed with caution.

Part One: WWYK - “Write What You Know”

You’ve probably heard this cliché. It’s regularly volleyed at the writing inclined as profound wisdom. Believe it or not, it is sound advice—when you don’t take it literally. If people stuck to writing about life experiences, we’d have a shit ton of literature about paying bills, scrubbing floors, and brushing teeth.

I choose a nonliteral interpretation, and it goes something like this:

Every time I sit down to spin a yarn, I recognize that I’m really writing two stories at once. The first story I’m telling is the “What” story—it’s made up of all the people, places, and events that occur in sequence. I don’t necessarily need to kill someone to imagine how that goes down. I can either make it up, or learn about it in some other way that won’t result in a prison term. Here’s where write what you know really means, “bullshit good enough that your dog will roll in it.” It’s all cow-pucky, but a writer’s job is to make it convincing enough to be called fiction.

The second story—much, much harder to fake—is the “Why” story—it’s made up of the reactions, internal conflicts, and character shifts that take place throughout the course of the tale. Where does the character start, where does he end up, and why? This is where a writer really has to dig into his own psyche for the answers. Good writers can tap into this well and become someone they’re not, proceeding on the premise that everyone experiences humanity on a fundamental level. Base emotions, love, hate, anger, fear, these are common threads that tie us all together. The better a writer’s skill, the further they can stray into uncharted waters.

How does this in any way illuminate my writing? Two ways:

I’m new. I’m mostly coloring within the lines and writing “Why” stories based on what I know. Expect these stories to be lensed through the oculus of my own personal worldview. But brace yourself, because I may not be at all what you’re expecting.
You’re getting two stories in one. How’s that for a deal? To be fair, almost every story ever written is a twofer. (Did I mention I’m a really shitty salesman? I couldn’t sell manure to a fertilizer farm, because I’d be warning them in advance about the smell.)

So there you go. WWYK. I just gave away my deepest, darkest secrets. All those psychoses my characters have? Yup. That’s me.

Up next: Catastrophes Happen in Threes

Philosophy of Craft – WWYK

[image error]
Linda Cronin / Foter

Time is a rare commodity, and your choice to share yours with me, a brand new author, is the highest honor I can imagine. Hopefully, by explaining how I approach my craft, you'll understand that I truly do value the gift of your hard-won time.

WARNING FOR THE SQUEAMISH: I have chronic potty mouth. If strong language offends your delicate sensibilities, proceed with caution.

Part One: WWYK - "Write What You Know"

You've probably heard this cliché. It's regularly volleyed at the writing inclined as profound wisdom. Believe it or not, it is sound advice—when you don't take it literally. If people stuck to writing about life experiences, we'd have a shit ton of literature about paying bills, scrubbing floors, and brushing teeth.

I choose a nonliteral interpretation, and it goes something like this:

Every time I sit down to spin a yarn, I recognize that I'm really writing two stories at once. The first story I'm telling is the "What" story—it's made up of all the people, places, and events that occur in sequence. I don't necessarily need to kill someone to imagine how that goes down. I can either make it up, or learn about it in some other way that won't result in a prison term. Here's where write what you know really means, "bullshit good enough that your dog will roll in it." It's all cow-pucky, but a writer's job is to make it convincing enough to be called fiction.

The second story—much, much harder to fake—is the "Why" story—it's made up of the reactions, internal conflicts, and character shifts that take place throughout the course of the tale. Where does the character start, where does he end up, and why? This is where a writer really has to dig into his own psyche for the answers. Good writers can tap into this well and become someone they're not, proceeding on the premise that everyone experiences humanity on a fundamental level. Base emotions, love, hate, anger, fear, these are common threads that tie us all together. The better a writer's skill, the further they can stray into uncharted waters.

How does this in any way illuminate my writing? Two ways:

I'm new. I'm mostly coloring within the lines and writing "Why" stories based on what I know. Expect these stories to be lensed through the oculus of my own personal worldview. But brace yourself, because I may not be at all what you're expecting.
You're getting two stories in one. How's that for a deal? To be fair, almost every story ever written is a twofer. (Did I mention I'm a really shitty salesman? I couldn't sell manure to a fertilizer farm, because I'd be warning them in advance about the smell.)

So there you go. WWYK. I just gave away my deepest, darkest secrets. All those psychoses my characters have? Yup. That's me.

Up next: Catastrophes Happen in Threes

Website Live

This whole website building thing is confounding. When I decided to write a book, I expected it to go something like this:

Write book
Submit to publisher
Edit
Write next book

Little did I know that I would also need to learn how to market myself as well as my work. From writing an author's biography to forcing myself to pose for pictures… From offering guidance on a cover to planning a book trailer… From setting up social media pages to building a website… And now that all of this ancillary work is in various stages of underway, I'm discovering that it's only just the beginning. Now that I have all this "web-presence" suddenly I have ten million things I need to keep updated with new content.

Funny, writing always took a backseat to my other full-time jobs. With all this new updating that's in store, I am finding myself wondering…

So, uh, when exactly do I get to #4?

 

It’s the Experiences that Count

[image error]Research…ugh. There is probably no other word in the English language that I dread more and it isn’t because I don’t like learning new things. Quite the contrary! I love me some intellectual exploration and do it often. In the context of writing a story, however, research often feels like a morass I have to slog through before I can get to the part I love; bringing characters to life.

In considering my next project, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to write something large-scale and meaningful but this presented a problem: There’s a ton of research involved in writing a big story that spans three decades of well-documented history. I knew the story I wanted to tell. I wrote a thorough, nicely structured outline. My characters were vivid in my head and screaming at me to be born. I was straining at the bit to start putting it on paper, but there was so much I didn’t know! How could I possibly scratch the inspiration itch AND conduct the necessary research?

And then it hit me. Research doesn’t have to be a slog. It can actually be fun! So instead of gritting my teeth and forcing myself to read a mountain of books, I decided to mix things up. Oh, I did (and am still doing) a metric ton of reading, but I’m also conducting experiential research—you know, things like crashing a few airplanes, watching films, acting out random conversations with my characters as I’m driving to work, and having online chats with real people who lived through real events. Research, I’m quickly learning, doesn’t have to be drudgery. I just needed to think outside the box.

While the book-facts are certainly important, the experiences are what stick. They’ve helped me to more believably render the setting and events because, in some sense, I’ve lived them. While I missed out on being a test-pilot flying experimental aircraft in the mid-1960s, (in fact, back then, only half of me existed as a gamete in one or the other of my mother’s ovaries,) with the help of flight simulation software, I’m able to man the controls of an X-15-3 test-plane and rocket myself 67 miles into the stratosphere while my daughter cheers me on and begs for a turn at the stick. Bonus: No motion-sickness, sheer terror, or certain death at the end of the ride!

Now that I know the experiences are as valuable as the reading, I daresay I’ll look forward to research in the future. The one downside now is how to tear myself away from this damn flying game and get back to the writing that was the reason for it in the first place…

It's the Experiences that Count

[image error]Research…ugh. There is probably no other word in the English language that I dread more and it isn't because I don't like learning new things. Quite the contrary! I love me some intellectual exploration and do it often. In the context of writing a story, however, research often feels like a morass I have to slog through before I can get to the part I love; bringing characters to life.

In considering my next project, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to write something large-scale and meaningful but this presented a problem: There's a ton of research involved in writing a big story that spans three decades of well-documented history. I knew the story I wanted to tell. I wrote a thorough, nicely structured outline. My characters were vivid in my head and screaming at me to be born. I was straining at the bit to start putting it on paper, but there was so much I didn't know! How could I possibly scratch the inspiration itch AND conduct the necessary research?

And then it hit me. Research doesn't have to be a slog. It can actually be fun! So instead of gritting my teeth and forcing myself to read a mountain of books, I decided to mix things up. Oh, I did (and am still doing) a metric ton of reading, but I'm also conducting experiential research—you know, things like crashing a few airplanes, watching films, acting out random conversations with my characters as I'm driving to work, and having online chats with real people who lived through real events. Research, I'm quickly learning, doesn't have to be drudgery. I just needed to think outside the box.

While the book-facts are certainly important, the experiences are what stick. They've helped me to more believably render the setting and events because, in some sense, I've lived them. While I missed out on being a test-pilot flying experimental aircraft in the mid-1960s, (in fact, back then, only half of me existed as a gamete in one or the other of my mother's ovaries,) with the help of flight simulation software, I'm able to man the controls of an X-15-3 test-plane and rocket myself 67 miles into the stratosphere while my daughter cheers me on and begs for a turn at the stick. Bonus: No motion-sickness, sheer terror, or certain death at the end of the ride!

Now that I know the experiences are as valuable as the reading, I daresay I'll look forward to research in the future. The one downside now is how to tear myself away from this damn flying game and get back to the writing that was the reason for it in the first place…

Introducing Angelica

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Once in a very great while, you chance upon a thing that you find to be, at first blush, a novelty, but then something happens and it ends up becoming utterly indispensable. For me, such was the Baby Bjorn, my smartphone, and that IKEA cheese grater with the interchangeable lids. (Don't have one of those or know what it is? Trust me, you cannot live without it. I have 5. We grate a lot of cheese in my house.)

Is this a post a

bout the dairy habits of the Pack household? Sorry, minor detour…

When I first met Amy, (whom I have lovingly renamed Anjelica,) I got a kick out of listening to her rattle off my mundane text messages, emails, web-pages, and driving directions in a beautifully inflected British accent.  If she was occasionally seized by a fit of Tourette's, so much the bet

ter.  I loved her all the more.  She was, however, just a cute little diversion until…something happened that changedeverything.  The whole tenor of our relationship shifted. It began with me asking "what if?" and ended up a staggeringly useful new tool in my writing toolkit.

Just for kicks, one day I loaded up the text of the novel I was polishing for submission into my phone's ebook reader and suddenly, thanks to the magic of technology, a whole new world opened up right before my ears.

Amy–er–Anjelica, with her lovely, if deadpan recitation of my story, pointed out every single typographical error, every repetition, every missed opportunity to make my characters' speech distinct. I was able to sit back and listen objectively. It was like a little miracle! It gave me a whole new perspective on the text I'd written.


Perhaps because I've been listening to language longer than I've been composing it, a hundred little flaws leaped out at me:  There should be a comma there. Good lord, that's a long sentence. Do I really use thatmany elipses? Honestly, how many times can one's "breath catch in his throat," and why does it happen to every single character over and over again? There has to be another word that means "fear" other than "horror." Some Mormon somewhere is seeking therapy for the number of times I use the word "God" as an expletive–that or I'm an inch away from being struck by lightning. On and on and on.
I'm uploading a file: a brief demonstration of how this works, so you can hear for yourself.  The link is here: Brianna.mp3 – Prelude to The Heart of the Jungle On my first pass at this short vignette (which acts as a prelude to the novel that's currently sitting in some editor's slush-pile) I thought the text looked pretty good. Anjelica thought otherwise. I won't subject you to the "before" but will beg you to trust me when I say that my first listen was something akin to torture. I should also warn you that there are a few instances of strong language–nothing obscene, but the MPAA would give it a PG-13 rating.
As an author, I have a very, very long way to go. I am a harsh self-critic, but I am handicapped in that I don't know what I don't know. I have a lot yet to learn. In absence of ever having had the opportunity to work with a real editor, I've only had myself to rely upon–and I'm not always that shrewd at spotting my own mistakes.Thanks to Anjelica's fine support, I think I'm improving–words come easier and I'm much more aware of my writing foibles so I can look out for them. I don't think I could live without her ever again…at least not as long as I cling stubbornly to the dream of someday seeing my words in print.If you have an Android device, check out IVONA Amy as an alternative voice for the one supplied–she's completely free and well worth the kilobytes. If you do download her, be sure to tell her I said hello!

Times They Are a Changin’

[image error]God, I haven’t looked at this thing in so long… Guilty, guilty, guilty. Or not…I think I’m the only one who ever even looked at it. (Feeling proud of my popularity, right now.)

In any case, I didn’t have much to say to the outside world until just recently. Lots of transition in the Pack household these days and, with the change, comes reflection.

As I approach midlife, (does 38 count as ‘approaching midlife’?) I have begun to ponder some of my own hangups and inhibitions. For example, it’s a little known fact–dirty little secret–outside of my closest family and friends, that I love to write. I have boxes of moldering, half-completed manuscripts yellowing away in the attic. Recently, I pulled one of them out of the stack and, to my great surprise, found much about it that speaks directly to where my journey has led me. It seemed prophetic! My hero’s name and eye-color were a perfect match for my partner, whom I didn’t even know at the time. “Fooky, super fooky!” as 2 year-old Ellie would say.

Inspired, I went to work and finished it, finally ending the journey I started all those years ago. At long last, those poor characters I’d left hanging on the line have found some closure. Emboldened and empowered by this act of creation, I took the next logical step–something I NEVER would have dreamed of doing once upon a time: I submitted it to a publisher. Now, I realize it’s a pipe-dream, and very likely, there’s a lovely rejection letter with my name on it making its way to my inbox at this very moment, but it was an enormous step for me.

Another leap forward is just getting underway. We’re now 8 days and counting from sending Elise off to kindergarten. It’s a monumental milestone and the parallel to my recent writing adventure has really made me ponder…

You see, as a writer, you imbue your manuscript with as much love, attention, and care as you possibly can. Inevitably, you miss a word, misplace a comma, overuse the em-dash…whatever. Take my word for it: somewhere in that sea of 400,000-odd characters, you’ve f-ed something up. The point is, when you’re talking about writing on that scale, f-ups happen–ones that you’re only going to find during the tenth re-read after you’ve already sent it on its way.

You do the best you can, though; check and recheck and recheck again until it becomes inevitable that you’re just monkeying up the works with all your futzing and redoing. At some point, you’ve got to say “enough is enough” and give it wings to fly or fall on its own merits.

The same is true of parenthood. The monumental effort of nurturing a child, the countless hours of love and support and tender care…they all lead up to this moment: The day you bid her a tearful farewell as she bravely walks up the sidewalk toward her future. This is HER time to shine and YOUR time to get the hell out of the way. It is the culmination of all that you’ve done to prepare her to face the world without you holding her hand. It’s time to throw wide the doors to the gilded cage and set her free.



Did I do enough? Did all those little misplaced periods and overused em-dashes add up to catastrophe? Will she suffer for my failures?

It’s an utterly horrific prospect to contemplate that, as a parent, as an author, you may not have measured up.

These two things, I realize, are not of equal import in the scheme of things. Yeah, tell that to my churning innards every time my phone chimes an email in my in-box!

And–just because I want to temper the histrionics a bit: Elise is TOTALLY going to be fine in school. She’s a trooper and such a voracious little learner! I have every confidence that, even without me worrying myself into an ulcer and expensive therapy, she’d sail through with flying colors. Likely, if she knew I was such a blathering wreck, she’d roll her eyes and say, “No more whining and worrying, daddy. Shake it off, sister. Please, you’re SUCH a drama queen…”

(It’s nothing she hasn’t told me before…)

Haha. That’s my girl!

Times They Are a Changin'

[image error]God, I haven't looked at this thing in so long… Guilty, guilty, guilty. Or not…I think I'm the only one who ever even looked at it. (Feeling proud of my popularity, right now.)

In any case, I didn't have much to say to the outside world until just recently. Lots of transition in the Pack household these days and, with the change, comes reflection.

As I approach midlife, (does 38 count as 'approaching midlife'?) I have begun to ponder some of my own hangups and inhibitions. For example, it's a little known fact–dirty little secret–outside of my closest family and friends, that I love to write. I have boxes of moldering, half-completed manuscripts yellowing away in the attic. Recently, I pulled one of them out of the stack and, to my great surprise, found much about it that speaks directly to where my journey has led me. It seemed prophetic! My hero's name and eye-color were a perfect match for my partner, whom I didn't even know at the time. "Fooky, super fooky!" as 2 year-old Ellie would say.

Inspired, I went to work and finished it, finally ending the journey I started all those years ago. At long last, those poor characters I'd left hanging on the line have found some closure. Emboldened and empowered by this act of creation, I took the next logical step–something I NEVER would have dreamed of doing once upon a time: I submitted it to a publisher. Now, I realize it's a pipe-dream, and very likely, there's a lovely rejection letter with my name on it making its way to my inbox at this very moment, but it was an enormous step for me.

Another leap forward is just getting underway. We're now 8 days and counting from sending Elise off to kindergarten. It's a monumental milestone and the parallel to my recent writing adventure has really made me ponder…

You see, as a writer, you imbue your manuscript with as much love, attention, and care as you possibly can. Inevitably, you miss a word, misplace a comma, overuse the em-dash…whatever. Take my word for it: somewhere in that sea of 400,000-odd characters, you've f-ed something up. The point is, when you're talking about writing on that scale, f-ups happen–ones that you're only going to find during the tenth re-read after you've already sent it on its way.

You do the best you can, though; check and recheck and recheck again until it becomes inevitable that you're just monkeying up the works with all your futzing and redoing. At some point, you've got to say "enough is enough" and give it wings to fly or fall on its own merits.

The same is true of parenthood. The monumental effort of nurturing a child, the countless hours of love and support and tender care…they all lead up to this moment: The day you bid her a tearful farewell as she bravely walks up the sidewalk toward her future. This is HER time to shine and YOUR time to get the hell out of the way. It is the culmination of all that you've done to prepare her to face the world without you holding her hand. It's time to throw wide the doors to the gilded cage and set her free.



Did I do enough? Did all those little misplaced periods and overused em-dashes add up to catastrophe? Will she suffer for my failures?

It's an utterly horrific prospect to contemplate that, as a parent, as an author, you may not have measured up.

These two things, I realize, are not of equal import in the scheme of things. Yeah, tell that to my churning innards every time my phone chimes an email in my in-box!

And–just because I want to temper the histrionics a bit: Elise is TOTALLY going to be fine in school. She's a trooper and such a voracious little learner! I have every confidence that, even without me worrying myself into an ulcer and expensive therapy, she'd sail through with flying colors. Likely, if she knew I was such a blathering wreck, she'd roll her eyes and say, "No more whining and worrying, daddy. Shake it off, sister. Please, you're SUCH a drama queen…"

(It's nothing she hasn't told me before…)

Haha. That's my girl!