Reb MacRath's Blog, page 22

Coming Sunday! Computer Skills Report Card: 2014

One of the more popular posts here was published 9/7/2011: on my almost non-existent computer skills.

Almost three years later, things have changed and I want to celebrate the difference with a post this Sunday, June 21, about the main lessons I've learned and those I'm still trying to master.

I have a new used laptop, new operating system, new Web browser...and flash drives, thank you, to back up my work. I also have far better attitudes about filing, security and follow through on TweetDeck, Facebook, Goodreads, etc.

See you Sunday!

Two Great Weights Off My Shoulders

The 'alternative funding' referred to me in my last post, The Thousand, came through. And it was joy to know that the upcoming move to Seattle needn't be by the seat of my pants--and that I could repair the laptop that crashed last December.

Today as I was walking, though, I had to stop cold in my tracks. I wasn't only tired, I was sick and tired of lugging around so much stuff: a courier bag with my laptop and Fire, pages of a WIP, mouse, AC adapter, headset...plus handled carry bag with gym clothes, extension cord, notebooks, energy drinks, spare glasses, flash drives, oversized paperback workout book, check book, umbrella, etc., etc., etc.

Not only that, any time that it rained heavily, I had to call a cab to protect my Fire and laptop.

Enough! Today! Here and now!

The entire move to Seattle, for me, has been about learning new footwork...mastering the Quickstep...traveling more lightly. And here I was, lugging stuff, bowed over and huffing for breath. I decided to invest a portion of the money toward putting more bounce in my step.

An hour later, I stepped out of Dick's sportswear with a colorful, XL, water-resistant backpack. Pockets within it for all that I need. All neatly squared away.

Checkbook? Here.

Gym key card? Here.

Flashdrives? Look no further.

This is cool in itself. Cooler still, though, is that bank shots are already bouncing off of this first insight. Where else, I wonder, am I still weighted down by stuff and simply habitual footwork?

The Thousand: My Secret Weapon

In November, 2013 I found a 'secret weapon' that has put some old foes in the ground: doubt, fear, insecurity. I promised to tell you about it someday--and now, seven months later, I'll tell you about the weapon that I call The Thousand.

I've already written many times of my fondness for Moleskine notebooks--for my writing and my personal logs.



But the one Moleskine containing The Thousand stands in a league of its own. It is compact and it has legs: this single 3.5" x 5.5" Moleskine will last me one full year because of the format I've chosen.

The Thousand, I'd decided, would help to keep me on course and reinforce my goals. Each day I would record one thing accomplished on each of three fronts: A for Accounting or career/business concerns...P for Priest or matters of discipline or spirit, diet or exercise, more purity in writing...E for Entertainer or actions taken to reinforce my online presence as a lively presence, also steps taken to accordingly alter my appearance.

As you see, I allowed for flexibility. But my goal was stern and solid: three significant things accomplished--not tasks such as doing the laundry. And if I missed on any one day, I would double up the next: two things on each front.

Believe me, doing this is harder than it sounds. The temptation is always present to put down on any old damned thing instead of breaking new ground. I've missed entries, in seven months, a total of three times--and I regard those as serious dings. But simply becoming aware of the dings and the temptation to nod off has strengthened my resolve.

At year's end, I'll write a full review of The Thousand--where I fell short and where I flew high. Today I can tell you that through the practice of The Thousand I:
--Rallied from the loss of a finished novel, rewriting it completely from an ancient second draft.
--Found a needed part-time job.
--Decided to move to Seattle this fall.
--Made a bold financial move that freed me from the need to work two jobs and paved the way for a cross-country move in greater comfort and style.
--Launched a second blog chronicling the move.
--Completed rewriting the lost novel, with plans to launch it July.
--Began circuit training at the gym to whip myself into West Coast shape.
--Began the months-long process of preparing for the move: trashing junk, clearing a jungle of personal papers, condensing a closet of clothes to a neatly packed steamer trunk.

I swear by The Thousand and urge you to give it a try.

What If Every Book Has Its Own Mojo?

Here are only a few of the tools that great writers swear by:
--Pencils
--Pens
--Legal pads
--Stenographer's notebooks
--Moleskine notebooks
      Reporter-style
      Standard
--Spiral schoolboy notebooks
--Index cards

Now let's proceed to the writing itself:
--Long hand
--Laptop
--Tablet
--Dictation software

And let's consider the eternal questions:
--Outline
--Spontaneous creative combustion
--Number of drafts

As writers we may spend years fine-tuning the method that we say as ours--without meeting anyone who works in the same way. Though I put a lot of mileage on my laptop in the long course of writing a novel, I can't imagine not drafting it out first by hand. With what? Why, a mechanical pencil filled with thick number 7 lead.

I used legal pads for many years, gravitating to index cards because I frequently wrote on the run and liked the notion of having much of my book in my pocket. I also liked the ease of shifting pages or chapters around. Still, Moleskine notebooks came to exert a potent appeal: pocket-sized but with a solidness that strengthens my sense of a real book in the works.

So, I'm a Moleskine man for now. But I find myself starting to wonder if certain new books may call for new methods, new tools. One day I may hear the call to draft a new book on a tablet...or even use dictation software. And I've committed to heeding the call if and when I hear it.

Oh, I'll still love my pencils and Moleskines. And there'll always be a soft spot in my heart for index cards. But new footwork may lead to new journeys. And isn't that, after all, what art is all about?

Wow! More News on the Seattle Adventure!

If any of you have wondered what happened to Action Manifesting: it's going stronger than ever and is now being chronicled in real time on my new Seattle blog: www.theseattlekid.blogspot.com

Today's new entry focuses on positive thinking/living/visualizing now while we work our distant plans:

http://tinyurl.com/lch7t39

You don't need to move to Seattle to put this post to work.

A Short Ride on the Bus to Hell

This is a short horror story with a happy ending.

The week was half over and I was in hell. Two meetings had been scheduled with my hopes of achieving more financial and scheduling freedom. The first meeting raised my hopes. But I needed ID for the second--and had found that somehow I'd lost or mislaid a black leather wallet containing my Social Security card and my birth certificate. I never take that wallet with me except when changing jobs or traveling. So I hadn't taken it out in some time. Either I'd been burgled--unlikely since nothing else had been taken--or I'd thrown it out carelessly in my house-cleaning bouts for the upcoming move.

I felt just like Jay Penny in my short novel The Vanishing Magic of Snow: piece by piece, all he owns vanishes from his apartment--while he is inside.

Luckily, I thought, I had 'only' lost one wallet and the ID could be replaced. I still had my state ID and could replace what I had lost. Also, I could attend the second meeting and find out where I stood financially, though I might have to wait two weeks to finalize the process.

The day before that meeting, I dozed off on the bus--and was awakened by a familiar sound. It might have been a water bottle that someone had stepped on. Or--oh, no. Wait. I knew that sound. I bolted upright, hand to my pocket. My aluminum accordion wallet was gone! I checked the floor--not a trace. Think twice! I'd had it with me, certainly, because I'd used the monthly bus pas. I checked all pockets once again, then my back pack--not a sign. I checked the seat, the floor--both sides this time. Passengers started to help me. I offered a juicy reward.

But, one by one, they all gave up. So did I until the calmer voice of reason urged me to look more closely where I'd only glanced before. I'd had the wallet. And it had fallen. And I was not Jay Penny--that wallet was here on the bus!

On the far right of the seat, I now spied a tiny crevice between the seat and the wall. Leaning in and over, I now saw the silver gleam.

I had what I needed for the second meeting. And as I sit, I wonder: we all spend a lot of time trying to look outside 'the box'...but could it be that sometimes we need to look within the box of our situation--but freshly and from a new angle?

As I wrap up my new novel, I'm doing  more than proofing--I'm seeking out the crevices where nestled gold waits to be found.

This Business of Being a Writer

Call this the week of my stepping out from my little ivory tower--and taking a couple of very bold steps I should have taken years ago.

I can't release the details yet but I've set up a pair of interviews geared toward my getting more money and time. More time to invest in my writing and more money to promote my books, getting the word out to readers. Now, the business side of writing is something I've always begrudged. Not now. I look forward to buckling my helmet and going out to war.

The stakes are high. I want money and time. And I'm prepared to fight for those. I will keep you posted.

This is my report.

Rejection and the Writer

As I packed for the move to Seattle this fall, I made decent progress on all but one front: a, mountain of personal papers. Imagine 3000-5000 pages--everything from old love letters to leases, poems, resumes, professional correspondence, contracts, published articles, ancient bills...Okay, now imagine all of that thrown into a barrel with 600 rejection letters dating back 20 years--picture all of this shaken wildly, then removed in handfuls and tossed pell-mell into boxes.

I faced something like that. And I suppose I could blame it on a half-dozen cross-country moves...or on a miserable divorce. But I think the truer answer may lie in the staggering number of rejections received over the course of two decades (after I'd published four novels preceded by twenty more years of rejection). I believe I numbed myself in ways I never knew. As I started to sift through the wreckage, I found unopened envelopes--which I'd rightly guessed to hold tiny form rejections. They'd have broken my back on the rack at that time. But I also found a crucial, unopened note from a dear friend that might have changed my life if only I'd known I'd received it. It had gotten trapped, apparently, between a few unopened No's. And I only learned she'd moved to Portland weeks before I left.

My eyes grew misty as I tore through No after No after No. Why didn't I throw the whole lot of them out? Who needed further reminding of so many years of neglect and abuse? Did I need to remember the poor broken fool who dreaded the sight of his mailbox?

But on the project's second night, my heart began to rally. I wanted these papers in order and, by God, I needed to keep them. The greater risk lay in forgetting the System I'd chosen to fight, writing the novels I felt born to write as well as I could write them. Whatever my problems, whatever the cost, I held fast to my love of my art.

I've gone on to publish six ebooks, with a seventh on the way. So let me give the many No's their burial inside a box--and get on with the Yes of Seattle.

Coming Tomorrow: Rejection and the Writer

As I prepare for my move to Seattle this fall, I plow through my personal papers: including the hundreds of form rejection letters received in the last twenty-five years. My thoughts on how I numbed myself by not even opening some in order to save my diminishing strength. Further thoughts on the great boost that comes from putting the past in good order.

Aggress me? I'll show you the egress, you--bird!

We don't often find dialogue half that bad. And, in my own opinion, that's a goddamned crying shame. More such inspired lunacy would help us forget the bland chatter spewed by cardboard cutouts in book after book.

Now, if you Google the words bad dialogue you'll find plenty of posts on the subject. And some of them offer some excellent tips: avoid over-use of adverbs in attribution (he said robustly/hurriedly/passionately, etc.)...don't make dialogue do the work of careful exposition (John, could get me the brandy you've always kept in your rolltop desk's second drawer except for eight months after the death of your third wife, Estelle, the church-loving nymphomaniac who loved Mike Hammer novels?)...try not to sound like a music store geek emulating Tarantino (You friggin' love toy-lovin' Wop, I'll have a Big Mac with double the sauce, then groove my bop around Jay-Z and pistol whip your useless Dick, you Gaga-porkin' loser!)...

A writer who slavishly follows these rules and paints by numbers carefully will avoid such howlers as the one that I used as a headline. But nine times out of ten we'd have been better with a howler instead of the drivel we're served. Instead of offering a hundred examples of things to do or avoid, I propose two general rules that can help spare us no end of boredom:

1) Follow David (Rambo) Morrell, who advised writers to 'Enter a scene late and leave early.'  In other words, cut to the chase and get right down to business. Likewise with your dialogue.
     Let no account of a phone call include the usual opening pleasantries: 'Hello?' 'Hi, John, this is Joe Bob.' 'Why, JB, you old scoundrel, I haven't seen you in a dog's age.' 'I know, how're Betty and the kids?' Etc. BORING! Either skip the pleasantries completely, cutting to the chase: "I need to see you," I said when he picked up the phone. Or: "After a short round of civilized chat, I said: 'Do you still want me to kill her?'
    Or let's say the characters do meet for lunch. Spare us their seating and banter while they order and wait for the food. Try: ' By the time the food came, we'd grown hungry to figure the best way to murder his wife.'

2) Our characters are more likely to sound like real people if we consider the emotional content of a scene. If every scene should move a story forward, so should every line of dialogue. Something's happening if it is doing its job. And real people are affected when things happen around them or to them. It must always advance the story--and never simply supply information.
    Best example: In a key episode of Breaking Bad, Season 1, Walter White has agreed to 'take care of'' the surviving drug thug chained up in his partner's basement. But Walter still hasn't broken bad completely yet and is desperately searching for a reason not to kill the guy--who'll pose a real threat to Walter's family if he lives. Throughout the episode, Walter flashes back to an apparently banal conversation with a fellow teacher about a weird chemical equation: how all a corpse's body parts don't add up to the live person's actual weight. Could the missing part  be the human soul? A moving question since Walter, as we knew him, is quickly disappearing from one show to the next. BUT WAIT: Walter dropped a plate while serving the drug thug a sandwich, then threw the pieces in the trash. Remembering the dialogue about the missing part leads him to remove all the plate's pieces and try to reassemble them. He is horrified to see that one piece is missing--held by the drug thug, who'll use it the next time White comes close.
    And so it goes, and should go: even the simplest dialogue, if packing emotional content can shatter us as well as Shakespeare.