Edward Lorn's Blog, page 18

My Semi-Fictional Life #124 (I seem to recall…)

Hello peeps. I just wrote about memory a few days ago, namely my earliest one, but it seems my memory has failed me today. I seem to recall writing up a post concerning bad writing advice, finishing it, and publishing it to this blog. Not only do I not have an upload from yesterday, but I don’t have a saved draft either. Weird.

Anyway, I owe you a blog post for yesterday and today. So today (yesterday) we’ll talk about what I wanted to talk about yesterday (today). I just confused myself… Pardon me while I regroup. While you’re waiting, here’s the worst writing advice new and old writers alike can ever receive:

“You shouldn’t write about [fill in the blank]. You might offend someone.”

Listen, folks, this is by far the most limiting bullshit I’ve heard. If you have an inkling to write about something and someone tells you that is not a good idea based on their opinion of the topic, that is more a reason that you should write about it than it is a reason not to. If no one’s got the ovaries to put that shit to paper, you should grow a pair and own the subject. Never let anyone tell you what to or what not to write.

“Nobody reads [insert antiquated or rarely-used style] anymore.”

This is in the same category as the first piece of bad advice I mentioned, but this time we’re not talking about offending anyone. We’re talking what’s profitable. I had an editor who used to tell me all the time what I should and should not be writing so that I could sell more books. Every week, this editor gave me some new directive: don’t write short stories, they’re a waste of time; don’t write in third person, first person sells more books; never write omniscient, nobody reads that style anymore; same with epistolary; never use “was” in your writing; adverbs literally invoke Satan; and so on. While all of those things are true, to an extent, any one of those things is not wrong. Meaning, they’re not mistakes. People have their preferences, sure. That’s why damn-near every romance, thriller, and horror novel you come across has the same three-act structure. Everybody’s playing out of the same playbook. That shit gets old, though. Mix it up. Throw a wrench in the gear work. Write a 1,000-page tome in second-person from the point of view of a glass of Ovaltine. I’m not saying anyone will read it, but you should try it anyway.

“You should join a writing community.”

Other than meeting my good friends Nettles and Jess, I’ve not had a positive experience with writing communities. Even NaNoWriMo groups can be destructive to your writing process. I hate to burst your bubble, but writing is a loner’s task. Even when working on collaborations with other authors, you still do the writing part alone. You might toss ideas around, but the physical writing is always done one at a time.  No one can reside in your head, and you cannot reside in anyone else’s. You’re alone. Deal with it. Writing groups promote the spread of bad advice and breed egos, especially if you’re personal friends with members of the group. After all, no one wants to be responsible for telling their friend that their writing is as enjoyable as taking a blowtorch to the genitals. There will always be someone worse and someone better than you, but the biggest reason not to join one of these fucking things is the hot-and-cold running bad advice. Great writers are usually shitty editors, and great editors are shitty writers. Dems da facks, Jak. (I hear some mediocre editors and writers out there grumbling about how they can do both… You’ll be all right. I’m sure you’re the one exception to the rule. The sarcasm drips…) The truth is, if the people in your group had all the answers, they wouldn’t be in a group. They’d be off doing their own thing, making ends meet and fucking celebrities and posting writing advice to WordPress blogs. So, no, writing groups will not help you be a better writer. Reading, writing, and working with professional editors are the only three things that will better your craft. Everything else is masturbation. And while playing with yourself might feel good and improve your stamina, it doesn’t make you a better lover.

I’m sure there’s loads more bad writing advice in the world than what I’ve mentioned here, so feel free to add to the conversation in the comments, wherever this post might find you.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

Today’s (yesterday’s) book haul…

[image error]

 

 

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #123 (How I Write, or All Left Turns)

Hello peeps. Today is not a piece of writing advice, but it is about writing. Or at least how I do things. I have two mottos I’ve used over the course of my career: the most popular one is “Shut the fuck up and write.” Love that. It’s probably the only advice I still give to this day. The second motto is a secret weapon, of a fashion. I never talk about it. But today is the day I break that silence. Here you go, the big reveal…

“All left turns.”

Years ago, UPS, as in the brown package-truck company, released a statement discussing their plan to have their fleet take only right turns. The thought process behind this was simple: less time in traffic. I have no idea if they still practice “All Right Turns”, but they’re who I stole my motto from. I’d been working this way before I put a name to it, but it seemed to get even easier to do after I had a name for what I was doing.

“All left turns” is another way of saying I will always choose to fight traffic. In writing terms it means I will kill the main character halfway through the novel in the attempt to destroy how you perceive the main character archetype, or sweep a comfortable rug out from under your feet and send you reeling. There you are, humming along, following someone you’re sure will live at least until the end, and I’ve killed them on page 300 of a 600 page novel. It means placing the twist somewhere in the middle of the book instead of at the end. It’s sleight of hand. Look over here and become comfortable while I rotate the house and place it down on its roof. Simply put, I never want you to be comfortable while reading my work.

So what do I consider “right turns” in fiction? There are too many to list, but suffice it to say that a “right turn” in fiction is anything that makes the reader think “I’ve been here before” or that they know what is going to happen. Anything that makes you comfortable I try to cut out of my stories. I want you asking, “Wait… what? Now where the fuck is he going to take me?”

An example of a “left turn” would be the inclusion of Jude Lance in the Bay’s End story line; or in Fog Warning, when Brent takes his fateful bike ride at the halfway mark of the novella; or the landmine in Cruelty.

But, over time, even right turns can be left turns. Most fans of mine know not to expect anyone to live in my books. Because of this, I can now pull a right turn every so often and it will feel like a left turn because they’re expecting the twist. Sometimes having no twist is a big enough twist for a reader. You have them on edge, waiting for their favorite character to bite the big one, when… the final page reveals then riding off into the sunset.

I love that shit, dude. This is a fun gig, especially for an attention whore like myself. I love seeing your reactions in Goodreads updates and book reviews. The last thing I want to do is bore you. Even if you hate me or my work, that’s still a reaction, and I’m happy to take it. But a feeling of indifference… I mean, what do you do with something that is wholly unremarkable? Is there a bigger bummer than a feeling of utter meh? In my opinion, I have yet to fall into the dark abyss of indifference, but if I do, I’ll be sure to report back.

Do left turns piss you off? Do you enjoy left turns? Do you prefer the comfort of authors who follow the unwritten rules of plot progression and main-character safety? Lemme know in the comments, wherever this post might find you.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #122 (A Review of Han Kang’s HUMAN ACTS)

Hello peeps. Sorry I missed yesterday. Didn’t have a good back day. Here’s a review in place of yesterday’s post.

 

A Review of Human Acts

First and foremost, everyone who loves beautiful writing should read this book. That being said, results may vary. My idea of beautiful may not be your idea of beautiful. This book contains disturbing imagery described passionately. Kang finds beauty in even the ugliest places.

Human Acts is a breath of fresh air after Kang’s disappointing The Vegetarian. I give every author a second chance, no matter how much I despise the first story I read from them. Sometimes, it works out in my favor. This was one of those times.

This is the first mosaic novel I’ve enjoyed. Mainly because I never know, going in, that these novels are mosaics. Many of these books are marketed as novels, when, in fact, they are collections of connected short stories. If I go into a novel wanting a novel, I want a novel, not a short story collection. Nothing wrong with collections. I’ve published three myself, so far be it from me to knock the format. But I want to know if that’s what I’m reading. Sometimes I feel like a nut, sometimes I don’t.

The Vegetarian was also written in this mosaic style, with alternating POVs, with a different character in every chapter, so I’m assuming that is just this author’s style. Here we find everything from the rarely-well-done second-person POV to the little-used epistolary format to the commonly-used first-person perspective. I dug how Kang juggled the styles here. The switches didn’t feel near as jarring as they did in The Vegetarian, and I actually cared about the people in this book, whereas her last novel was plagued by an entire cast of unlikable assholes who were not given near enough time to develop. I’m all for stories about irredeemable folks, but give me a dog to care about, or something.

The book has one chapter in particular that resonated with me and it might have affected my rating by a star. Meaning, I’m giving this novel five stars based on one 30-page chapter. If the second part didn’t exist, this would be a solid four-star read. But “The Boy’s Friend” pushed this into perfect-territory for me. Although they might exist outside of this novel, I’ve never before read a sequence of events in such a way. I was awestruck by the delivery. Probably in my top ten best written chapters of all time.

In summation: Everybody has a bad day. Judging them solely based on one awful outing is short-sighted. I’m glad I gave Kang another chance. Human Acts was just what I was looking for at this moment in my life. All five stars are, without a doubt in my mind, deserved. Thanks to Crown Publishing for thus far providing me with two of this author’s works, free of charge, in return for unbiased reviews.

Final Judgment: Timely and poignant, especially in today’s political climate.

See you later tonight,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #121 (My Earliest Memory)

Hello peeps. Today I have a personal story for you. I hope you dig it.

Researchers say that a child doesn’t start retaining memories until around three years old. This goes against some people’s claims that they have memories as far back as their own birth. Mine doesn’t go that far back, but it’s close.

My earliest memory is of my father’s mother, Beulah Blackwood. I recall vividly having crawled under her coffee table and rolling over onto my back. I gazed up through the beveled glass, on which rested a plain white coffee mug and a navy-blue bible. Grandma Blackwood stepped up to the end of the coffee table and stared down at me smiling, her weathered face speaking clearly of her Native American heritage and rough life. Her silver and black hair was in curlers, and her thick glasses gave her eyes an owlish appearance. I laughed and placed my hand on the glass above me. She smiled back, leaned over, and placed her hand atop mine, only the glass between us.

My mother remembers this, as well. Only difference is, she says my hand didn’t reach the glass. My arm was too short. Mom also says my description of Grandma Blackwood, whom I’ve never seen in photos, is spot on.

The thing is, Grandma Blackwood died in February of 1981. I was born in August of 1980. Should I remember this? People smarter than myself say not. But I do. I can close my eyes right now and see it as if it happened moments ago. 36 years in the past just like it was this morning. Dig it.

What’s your earliest memory? Let me know by commenting on this post, wherever you might come across it.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #120 (A Review… Kinda…)

Hello peeps. Today I have a rant followed by a review.

If you get your book recommendations from me, I would like for you to read the next four paragraphs. If you’re here for the review, scroll down until you see REVIEW STARTS HERE. Thanks.

Friends who joke about me steering them wrong are not the topic of conversation today.

We all have our breaking points. Mine came yesterday in the form of 12 negative comments and three reviews written by friends, or at least those I am well enough acquainted with on Goodreads to call friends. Only one person called me out by name, but the other two alluded enough with their “prominent author reviewer” and “author more known for his reviews than his own work” comments. All three of these reviews were of a book I’d recently read, and because the one who mentioned me by name buddy-read with the other two, well, I just put one and two together. Point taken, assholes. I hope the block button works this time.

I received a total of 23 comments yesterday, and over half were mean-spirited or downright fucking ugly. I deleted the ugly ones, as I usually do. I’m not naming names here either. If you’re that interested I’m sure you can find out who and what I’m talking about. Usually, I let this shit go. Just like negative reviews of my work, I just chalk it up to people’s opinions, which I cannot, nor would I want to, change.

But yesterday was too much for even me to handle. So the assholes won and I wrote a ragey little review on Goodreads. If you read it, I meant what I said. I’m not taking that back. Stop blaming me for books you don’t like. You’re a fucking adult and you’re responsible for your own goddamn money. I don’t write reviews to sell books. I write them because I find them entertaining, and other people seem to like them, so I make them public. If you buy a book because I liked it, that’s your choice. But if you continue to buy books I like and continue to dislike them and then bitch about how I recommended it, I’m going to be frank and call you a fucking moron. You’re Bart Simpson grabbing for that electrified piece of cheese again and again and again. Obviously you don’t have the processing speed to compute that you and I don’t like the same shit. It’s certainly not a problem with me.

REVIEW STARTS HERE

I don’t have much to say about the book other than I enjoyed it and that I understand why people didn’t like it. Consumed is definitely a polarizing experience. Hell, even I hated it until the last hundred pages. I kept saying to myself, “If he manages to pull all these threads together I’m giving him five stars.” Well, Cronenberg came through by the end, but something still niggled me. I’ll highlight that in the spoiler section.

In summation: Sorry that I don’t have much to say about this mindtrip, but I feel that mentioning even what’s in the synopsis would be a spoiler. Enjoy or hate it for yourself. I dug it by the end.

Final Judgment: As good, if not better, than his movies.

Spoiler discussion: I cannot stress this enough. I ruin the entire book. 

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Nathan catches STD from Dunja, who was Molnar’s patient, and ends up giving Naomi the disease. Because of this, he goes looking for Roiphe, finds him and his daughter Chase, who has the 3D printing press. While this is going on, Naomi meets Question-Mark Cock (Herve Blomquist? Molnar? Romme Vernegaal? Already can’t remember lol), who directs her to Astroglide. She flies to Japan and interviews Astroglide about killing and eating Celestine. Cue flashbacks in first person of Astroglide’s life and his super duper hearing aids. One boobectomy later, Celestine disappears. Question-Mark Cock and Astroglide conspire with Chase to build a fake Celestine with her 3D printer for a faux-cannibal photo shoot. French police might or might not know Celestine isn’t dead, but they want to extradite Astroglide anyway, so he dips out to North Korea because Japan is considering letting them. Naomi goes mad for some fucking reason while Nathan digs up all the clues and puts everything together.

Here’s my biggest beef with the whole production. Cut out Nathan’s convoluted journey and you’re left with a pretty succinct story. Nathan’s sections served as a root to reality. While Naomi is over here losing her mind, Nathan is centered and collecting data. That’s great, but the catalyst to this whole section is the reliance on Nathan going after Roiphe, which hinges on him catching the disease from Dunya, which relied on her talking him out of using a condom, which relied on him wanting to fuck her in the first place. If I remember correctly, her body was like the female version of the elephant man, all covered in tumors. That seemed like a pretty thin, extremely convoluted way to get Nathan into the story. Not unbelievable, just overdone in my opinion.

 

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #119 (Recipe: Colon Collapser Meatloaf)

Hello peeps. Today I have a recipe for my newest invention, Colon Collapser Meatloaf. Try at your own risk.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

2 pounds of hamburger

Tablespoon of each: kosher salt and black pepper.

1/4 cup of each: finely-diced carrots, finely-diced onion, finely-diced celery, ranch dressing, worcestershire sauce, and ketchup

2 eggs

1 1/2 cups of plain breadcrumbs

1 habanero, diced

2 tablespoon of some stupidly-hot hot sauce, preferably something with ghost peppers, trinidad scorpion peppers, or carolina reapers in it. I used Fat Cat’s “Cat in Heat” sauce. If you’re the only one who likes hot stuff in your family, leave out the pepper and the sauce, mix everything to your liking, separate a bit for yourself and add two teaspoons of hot sauce and about a quarter of the pepper. Or, if you really want your colon to collapse, throw in the full amount I mentioned above. Bake in separately in smaller pan or in muffin tins. DO NOT COOK IN SAME PAN AS EVERYONE ELSE’S MEATLOAF.

Mix thoroughly. You want it the consistency of loose Playdough, so if you need to add more breadcrumbs don’t be scared. Pour some more of that shit in. If you stick a finger in it and the hole doesn’t fill in, you nailed it.

Pour that motherfucker in a meatloaf pan and cook uncovered for 45-50 minutes, or until done to your standards.

Garnish with ketchup, because it’s sexy. Also because it’s fucking hot and the ketchup is refreshing after dumping lava on your palate.

Serve with mashed potatoes and corn, or whatever floats your boat.

Eat.

Colon should collapse on the following morning, but results may vary.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Video of the Day

My Semi-Fictional Life #118 (Ads)

Hello peeps. Today I want to talk about ads. I am such a hater of advertisements that I have only ever once purchased one for my books, and that was to help a friend out. She wanted to start selling ads on her site for five bucks a day through Fiver.com. I paid her five bucks and got an ad in the sidebar of her website for 24 hours. Didn’t do shit for sales, but what’s five bucks between friends?

I understand that ads create revenue for content creators, but it’s gotten out of hand. It’s gotten so bad that sites and publications are now selling space to any-fucking-body. You have movie ads on Goodreads for films that were not books first; nor do these films have novelizations. I’m being shown ads for car parts and women’s underwear on Facebook, two things I’ve never purchased online. (Online he says…) They aren’t even targeting anymore. Marketing teams are just throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks. It’s annoying.

Ads work when they’re aimed at the right people. Which made me wonder exactly how many people buy Facebook ads only for those ads to reach people who couldn’t give a fuck about what they’re seeing. Indie authors are notorious for using Facebook ads. You can’t scroll more than three pages in Facebook without THE BEST NEW THRILLER SINCE BECAUSE OF WINN DIXIE! popping up.

I started this post because of a magazine I recently snagged from the library’s free bin. The rag is called Fast Company, and this particular issue has Lin-Manuel Miranda on the cover. The title of the issue is “100 Most Creative People in Business”. I started flipping through it today and there is an ad on every odd-numbered page. There are double-page ads in here, too, which means there are literally more advertisements than content. The issue is 124 pages long. That’s over 62 ads in a single issue. Do they allow that because it’s the only way to stay in business? I’m guessing that’s the reason. Thing is, I’d never buy an issue because there’s so little content. For fuck’s sake, the magazine is $7.99 an issue. You’re basically paying them to sell you shit.

I can count on two hands how many times in my life I have purchased something because of an ad. But I don’t know. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive to this shit. I even hate seeing junk mail in the mailbox. I feel ads only serve to annoy and distract, but I’d love to know what you guys think. Let me know how you feel about ads in the comment section.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

clue

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #117 (Writing Longhand)

Hello peeps. Today I want to talk about why I’ve gone hipster, or retro, or whatever you want to call it. I’ve not gone full luddite. After all, publishers haven’t accepted hand-written documents since before the invention of the typewriter, so I’m kinda stuck typing everything up eventually. But, yes, I’ve started writing longhand, and because I’ve been asked multiple times why I would torture myself so, I thought I’d write up a post explaining my reasoning.

#1. Writing longhand is texturally different. Simply put, it feels different. It’s nice to switch things up every so often to keep things interesting.

#2. I’ve grown lazy. I get up every morning, write my words, edit my words, rinse, repeat. The difference between editing on the computer and editing handwritten material is that I am forced to write everything at least twice. On the computer, I can easily write a line, edit a line, and move along without having changed more than a word. But with longhand I am forced to write it out manually then transfer it over, giving me a better chance of catching mistakes or leaving out unneeded words or reworking broken structure. It might sound like double work, and it is, but I think it produces a far-cleaner end product.

#3. I can write anywhere. Working in my new office is great, but I need a way to write when I’m inside the house without dragging my computer back and forth all the time. I can’t write on my tablet. I’ve tried. My fingers are too fat and predictive text makes me feel even lazier than I truly am, which is pretty fucking lazy.

#4. Spelling. I suck at spelling these days. Back in my youth, I used to win all the spelling bees. I was at the top of my game. Then computers came along and now I can’t spell “relieve” without Spellcheck. Fuck that noise. I refuse to let technology make me dumber. It should be a tool to educate, not to restrict learning or dull core knowledge and skills.

#5. I enjoy the process. Writing longhand is fun for me. And at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

There you have it. In case you want to know when you can expect your first handwritten Lorn novel or novella or story, you should know that I don’t even know. I might revert back to computer tomorrow. It all depends on how the mood strikes me.

If you’re wondering what I’m working with, I’m using a ballpoint pen or Zebra fine-point pen on unlined printer paper. I find ruled notebooks too restrictive for some odd reason. I need something more… unruly. Ba dum ts!

Hope this wasn’t too boring. I know not many writers follow me, but some of you enjoy these peeks into my world, and if I’ve entertained at least one of you, it’s been a good day.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

The office, she’s done!

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #116 (A Review of RESIDENT EVIL 7)

Hello peeps. Here’s a quick review of Resident Evil 7.

Resident Evil 7 is a return to form for the series. While the POV has shifted from a close over-the-shoulder perspective to a first-person camera, the game is still obviously a Resident Evil game. You have your broken shotgun puzzles, animal-themed keys, varying puzzles, herbs for health, strict inventory management, and nasty beasties that might be familiar to fans of the series. Giant eyeballs and all.

After the disaster that was RE6 and the cancellation of Silent Hills, RE7 has filled the void and given me a gaming experience I didn’t realize I was missing. It’s been a long time since a video game scared me. The wait is now over, because RE7 is frightening in all the best ways: atmosphere, dread, and gore.

The ending has a much needed twist that’s been so far missing from the RE series. The game is definitely worth a rental, if nothing else. I have not played it all the way through a second time, but I did unlock some things I would like to try, and there’s free DLC coming this Spring. I’ll likely wait until then to play this again. I probably won’t chime in on whether the game is worth the $60 price tag until then because I managed to beat it in 8 hours and 45 minutes, which is a very short experience for a next-gen game, especially for a first playthrough, in which I thoroughly explored all areas. But, like I said, more stuff is coming, and some of it will be free.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]

My Semi-Fictional Life #115 (Resident Evil 7, Part Two)

Hello peeps. Today I’m about halfway through Resident Evil 7. I’ve defeated half of the bosses, I think. But all my time is being sunk into this game. It’s terrific. Basically this is me saying, you’re not getting a blog today. I wouldn’t blog at all, but as I’ve said before, I’m doing this project in part to be able to look back at this year and see what all occurred. Well, so far, RE7 is one of those highlights I want to remember.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

[image error]