How Do You Measure Your Own Success?

Last week, in response to my post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, many commenters spoke of how a writer’s focus often changes once he or she is agented, signs a book deal, and/or gets published.  It only makes sense that this would happen.  Just as our dreams and careers are not static, neither should our blogs remain fixed. 

The purpose to my blog was to chronicle my journey toward publication.  In the beginning, though I had a book, I had no idea if it was saleable or if I could even consider myself an actual writer.  I met others along the way who were exactly where I was on the journey and many others who were farther along—agented and hoping beyond all hope for a publishing contract.  And still others who had their contract or were even already published. 

I enjoy reading each writer’s contribution, studying their progress, and partaking of their generous advice and experience.  I’ve never felt any jealousy but rather a sense of encouragement that it is all, in fact, possible somehow, if I just work hard enough.  But even having said that, there has to be some measurement of success along the way, some way that we, in our own right, encourage ourselves to continue, to not give up. 

For each of us, I imagine, it’s quite different.  I know when I started blogging, I was excited if one person read and commented on my posts.  Then it became all about the number of followers I had and how many I was adding each month.  After my numbers increased, I measured my success by the number of comments I had for each post.  I still do both of these to some extent, but I’ve become less obsessed with the overall numbers.

In the past few months, it’s been more about my book and who’s added it to their Goodreads TBR pile, but that seems rather shortsighted of me.  Now, all I can think about—the one true way in which I can gauge my own success—is by my writing.  That means I have to write another book. 

Over the last two-plus years, I’ve often wondered if this whole experience is not just some kind of fluke.  I’ve asked myself if I could ever duplicate it, if I could ever do it again.  So that’s how I’ll be calculating my success now.  Can I do it again?  Can I plot and write another novel worth publishing? 

I have my doubts.  Serious ones, too.  I’m working on another story, a sequel to The Mistaken.  In fact, I was flying along in the outline phase until my edits came in from my publisher for the first book.  Then I came to a screeching halt.  Afterwards, one of my dogs died and the other got very sick.  I know once my son goes off to college out-of-state in a little less than two weeks, I’ll have all the time in the world to focus on my new WIP and move it along again.  Still, there’s that part of me that thinks I’ll never be able to do it again.  But I’ve always been of the mind that if I did it once, I can do it again.  God, I sure hope so.

So what about you—how do you measure your own success?    

            

We Are Family - I Got All My Sisters With Me

Writing has often been described as a solitary occupation.  It’s something we do on our own, sitting by ourselves at our desk or wherever it is we like to write.  But the Internet changed everything.  Now we have a way to connect with other writers and not feel so alone.

I did this via Blogger, and I’ve met countless talented writers who are at various stages in their career, but who universally reach out and touch others like me who crave not just understanding, but friendship.  I might be tenacious and determined, but I seriously do not think I would have made it this far without my blogging buddies and the critique partners I’ve met online.

There are two in particular I’d like to feature here today.  They are both beloved critique partners, and now, they are both what I like to call my publishing sisters.  As most of you know, I managed to swing an unagented deal with Sapphire Star Publishing last March. 

Well, in April, my best friend and writing soul-mate, Lisa Regan, also joined the growing team at SSP.  Although I did mention her book deal, it came right in the middle of the A to Z Challenge, when all my posts were prewritten and scheduled well ahead of time, so I only briefly touched on her achievement.  But though it might have been lost in the chaos that was April, nothing in this world could have made me happier. 

You see, although Lisa and I have not actually met in person...yet—we will finally meet in October at BoucherCon—we’ve become about as close as two friends can be.  We email looooong letters to each other twice a week and constantly text each other when news is too urgent to wait for the email.  And we talk on the phone when one of us needs the extra support.  We started as critique partners, but have become as close as twin sisters.  And, with the exception of my mother, I love her more than any other woman I’ve ever known.  She is my rock, plain and simple.  And now, we get to share every stage of the publication process, side-by-side. 

Since I’m a couple of months ahead of her in that process, I share every detail, every problem, every accomplishment, knowing she will soon experience the very same thing.  I cannot even express how wonderful it is to have my best friend experiencing the same journey at practically the same time, and with the same publisher.  It doesn’t get much better than that. 

But then it did!  That’s right.  Another one of my blogging buddies and beloved critique partners signed her own book deal with SSP. 

Many of you already know Carrie Butler.  In addition to her wonderful blog, Carrie’s a skilled writer who’s penned a thrilling New Adult paranormal romance novel, plus, she’s an amazing graphic artist who’s designed numerous blog headers, buttons, and badges for her friends and followers, including me.  But more than anything, she’s been an unconditionally supportive friend to me.  She was there when I needed her, when I had to make one of the most difficult decisions in my writing career.  And now, she is also my publishing sister. 

So it’s the three of us together at SSP now, me the big older sister with her two younger siblings in tow.  I can’t begin to explain what this means to me.  I don’t have any real, from-the-womb sisters, only brothers, and I’ve always envied my friends who do.  There’s just something special about that bond.  But I think I have the next best thing with my publishing sisters.  We stand united in our goals, in our dreams, but more than anything, in our friendship.  It’s like a second and third dream come true, all within a matter of months.  How cool is that?!

If you could bring anyone along on your journey, who would it be and why?

Fiction vs. Reality

            I’ve been ruminating a lot lately about the market for adult thrillers.  This is something my friend, Lisa Regan, and I have talked about many times, as she also writes in the genre along with me.  Her book, Finding Claire Fletcher, has been on submission for thirteen months just waiting for a home.  And while it is still in the running with three major publishers, in the time she has been on submission, she’s seen few titles close to our genre sell besides cozy murder mysteries, which I just don’t understand.  Murder is anything but cozy.  It’s difficult to figure out why good thrillers aren’t selling when forensic TV shows are so popular and thrillers are a favorite in the movie theater.  So why aren’t adults buying and reading thrillers much any more? 

            Yeah, we have the same old, same old from the tried and true like Patterson and Cornwell, but publishers aren’t biting from newbies much these days.  A couple of editors who turned down Lisa’s book said they couldn’t believe that a young kidnapped girl wouldn’t try to escape her captor.  Uh, hello?  Ever heard of Elizabeth Smart?  Does Jaycee Dugard ring a bell?  Their true-life stories were more horrific than anyone could have ever imagined or written, and they didn’t try to escape.  That’s real life and it harkens back to that saying that life is stranger than fiction.  I’m beginning to think that it’s the selling of reality as entertainment that is desensitizing us to what might otherwise thrill us.

About a decade or so ago, the Writer’s Guild of America went on strike for better residual compensation.  That strike lasted a long time and the big TV networks had to come up with an idea to replace the scripted programs affected by the striking writers.  This is when we first started seeing a glut of reality TV programming.  And I’m not talking about shows like America’s Most Wanted or Cops.  I mean shows like Survivor, which were good ideas based on the question, “What if…?”  They were interesting and marked the first time Americans became fixated with other relatively unknown Americans, people whose lives were transformed overnight.  This was the beginning of our obsession with being famous. 

Since then, a plethora of reality programs have come onto the market, but these aren’t “What if…?” kind of shows.  They are simply tapings of average folks doing their thing, whatever that is.  It might be buying unseen junk left abandoned in a public storage unit, or maybe a mother’s consumption with getting her three-year-old daughter every pageant tiara in existence, or watching a Nazi-like dance instructor bully her students into performing better, or perhaps even following the lives of the relatively unknown, but totally spoiled step-children of former star athletes.  Whatever it is, these shows are all supposedly unscripted.  No writers had any part in the performances of the participants.  Yeah seriously, you couldn’t make that stuff up.  And frankly, would you really want to?  Quality it is not.

This fascination with reality TV has skewed the way we seek entertainment.  Gone are the days when we were fascinated by a story where dinosaurs are reanimated from DNA strands extracted from insects entombed in crystallized amber, or where an average married man is drawn into the intrigue of a long lost lover come back to haunt him.  It’s all about fame these days, about how a former Playboy bunny married a famous football star and had a baby, or the daughter of a prolific TV producer reflecting on her life as a “poor little rich girl,” or *gasp* an actual novel—yes that means fiction, baby—written by an overly indulged young woman whose drunken and promiscuous antics have proven fodder for public disdain. 

Man, do I ever crave a good, action and emotion-packed adult thriller where the protagonist has to overcome unbelievable odds to save his life and win the girl, where the woman FBI agent has to battle the misogynistic status quo just to get her boss to believe she knows what the hell she’s doing and can solve the serial murder case, where a newly-engaged, sex-addicted college professor goes head to head with her former student-lover who’s kidnapped her, or where a grief-stricken man seeks revenge on the woman who killed his pregnant wife only to discover he’s victimized the wrong woman, imperiling not only her life, but his own and his brother’s, as well.

Yes, I want reality, too.  I want real life, down and dirty and gritty.  But I also want real people.  Not homespun wannabe stars.  Real, authentic heroes who might be anything but, yet they still soldier on and at least try to save the day.           

IWSG: Dreams vs. Expectations

Today is another entry in

Alex J. Cavanaugh’s Insecure Writer’s Support Group

            I’ve been following a common thread lately in some of my favorite blogs.  It expands on an ideal most writers postulate:  Getting published will make me happy.  What’s not to believe about this statement?  This is our ultimate goal, is it not?  We write.  We edit.  We query.  We submit.  We get published…maybe.  We know the road is laced with potholes of disappointment, but we believe in ourselves and our stories, so we carry on. 

Keep the dream alive!  Yeah!!

            But what if the dream is not what we expect it to be?  I first pondered this a few weeks ago after having lunch with my friend, Jennifer Hillier, author of Creep.  Not only do I hold Jenny in high esteem for her talent and skill, she is someone I relate to on a personal level.  We’re both women writers who write similar stories in the same genre, and we live near each other, so we chat about writing and blogging and books and all that sort of thing. 

            At the time of our most recent lunch date, Jenny was in the final throes of her last edit before sending her latest manuscript, Freak, off to her agent and editor.  She expressed what a brutally difficult experience it was, nothing like the first time when she wrote Creep.  She lamented that it would never be as enjoyable as it was that first time around.  She was under contract now and had deadlines and expectations to meet.  As I listened to her, I couldn’t help but think of that old adage, “Be careful what you wish for.  You just might get it!”

            Then on October 17^th, Natalie Whipple wrote a blog post she called Smelling the Roses. Or Whatever wherein she bemoaned how obsessed she had been over the last five years with getting published.  More than merely driven, but rather “maybe more like desperate,” she wrote.  She said she had put all her “feelings of self-worth into publishing” and she “would never, ever be happy if I didn't sell a book.”  Then, almost immediately, Natalie said that selling her book, Transparent, didn’t make her happy after all.  It seems that publishing wasn’t all she had expected it to be, that in the end, it’s really all about the writing—the book itself—not the publishing of it. 

            On Tuesday (November 1^st), Rachelle Gardner wrote a post called Writing Ain’t Easy.  In it, she wrote about one of her less-experienced writer friends who wondered if her “lack of confidence would dissipate as she gets more experienced in writing,” to which another, more experienced writer friend replied, “The complete lack of confidence will likely persist and even become worse as you progress.”

So, in other words, unlike most jobs where people become better and more comfortable the longer they perform their tasks, writing will always be difficult.  It will always be rife with insecurities and self-doubt.  Even my blogger friend Joylene Nowell Butler commented on my Bad News Isn’t Always a Bad Thing post last week, saying, “One day there is that sale, and while you believe wholeheartedly that your life is about to change forever, it's not in the way you think.” 

I’m getting the message that having my book published might not live up to my lofty expectations.  It might not make me feel any better as a writer.  It might not make me feel successful.  And, in and of itself, it might not be what makes me happy.  Writers who have had the same dreams that I have, and who have achieved them, now tell me it only gets harder, and I might not ever feel what it is I want to feel when I’m done.

But I suppose writing is like anything else.  When we reach our goal, we bask in our success for a short time then move on to something else, a new thing that will challenge us, that we can enjoy for the sheer effort.  Being totally satisfied means not having the need to accomplish something else.  Well, that’s not me.  I am many things, but static is not one of them.  So maybe I’m a bit jaded now, but at least I know what to expect.  Or what not to expect anyway.          

Bad News Isn't Always a Bad Thing

Being a writer is a tough gig.  There’s very little payback and we generally work alone.  Yes, it’s true, this new age of blogging has allowed us to reach out and connect with others, more so than we would have been able to at any other time.  But still, we are pretty much alone, stuck in our own heads, making up strange tales set in strange lands with strange people. 

            We experience minor victories from time to time.  We string together coherent sentences, then paragraphs and chapters, plots and subplots, until, finally, we have a book.  We are so proud.  Not many people even attempt to write a book let alone finish one.  Afterwards, we read and revise, edit and add content.  We scrub and buff until it shines like an uncut diamond.  Then, if we’re lucky, we find amazing critique partners who help us polish our gem until its sparkles like Edward Cullen on a sunny day. 

            When we’re ready, we go through the whole process again with our query letter.  Scribble, scratch, buff and shine.  We are not daunted by the research necessary to find the appropriate agents to send our query.  We compile our list and format our submissions, cringing with raw nerves when we hit the send button.

            Then we wait.  And wait some more—more and more and more and more.  Every time we get a new email, we wonder if it could be the one.  And when it’s not, when it’s nothing more than another rejection, we shrink a little lower in our seats, lose a little more confidence.  We may even cry. 

            But then we get one, maybe even two or three, or—good God almighty—four:  a request for pages, a partial or the whole damn thing.  A happy dance ensues, perhaps a bit of screaming and raising of one’s arms towards God in heaven. 

But not for long.  Gotta get those pages out.   

            Then we wait.  And wait some more—more and more and more and more.  We thought we were tense before, but now with our baby out in the big, bad world, we’re ready to spin like a top we’re so wound up.  Again, every time a new email arrives, we wonder.  But it’s been so long, we almost forget.  Until we see that agent’s name above the subject line with our book title right below.  Our hands shake, our breathing gets shorter and more labored as we open it.

Then the world comes crashing down around our ears.  Utter devastation.  That first rejection of our full manuscript is unbearably painful, but eventually, after days of tears and heartbreak, we brush ourselves off and move forward.

            The next rejection hurts, as well, but there’s nothing really to glean from it because, once again, it’s just a simple no thanks, but good luck to you.  Nothing to tell us we’re on the right track or not.  So, though our pride is stinging and our confidence is waning, we trudge onward, perhaps making a revision or two, just a tweak here and there to make us feel like we’re improving it somehow.  And out go more queries in sporadic bursts. 

            Then we wait.  Again.  But this time, we’re a bit numb.  Our skin is definitely getting thicker.  We’ve learned to put those queries out of mind and get on with life.  And so, when another request comes in, we’re excited, but wary, especially since we know this is likely just a favor from our friend’s agent.  But it’s a request nonetheless.  So out go those pages, one more time.  We sigh, thinking of the long wait before us, cringing at that stupid typo in the very first paragraph on the very first page that we didn’t notice until after we’d already sent it.    

            But then another request comes in.  Hope!  Pages go out.  Another long sigh.  Another long wait.  And then another request.  Even more hope!  Sigh.  Wait.  And wait some more.  And more and more and more.

            Then something remarkable happens.  It’s not a good thing, mind you, but neither is it entirely bad.  Yeah, it’s a rejection and so it hurts a little, but the skin is pretty tough now and the pain is just a tingle of disappointment rather than a ripping out of the heart.  It was improbable anyway.  This was, after all, that favor request.  But this time the email is not a one line denial of interest.  And while the agent is “just short of enthusiastic enough to take it on and fight for it,” she says “there’s a lot of wonderful stuff in there” and “goodness knows, it was very close.”  So even though she suggests a change in the protagonist’s name, it’s cool.  It’s an easy fix.  And if that’s the worst thing she can think of, there’s reason to feel good.  That’s the best rejection letter ever!

            My point here is that we get a lot more bad news than good, but bad news is not always a bad thing.  Sometimes it lifts our sagging confidence, offers a push back onto the road, granted with a little coarse correction.  We know we’re getting closer to our destination.  We can feel it.  The trick is to not give up, even when the bad news is really bad.  You never know when a little ray of sunshine will come along and brighten your otherwise dreary day.  And hey, there are still a few requested pages out there.  And after that, there are always more agents to query.  It’s not the end game yet.           

                                             

Blogging vs. Writing vs. Life

            I’ve been noticing a trend of late.  Quite a few of my Blogger friends, and others I follow, have cut back in their blogging.  Some were prolific bloggers who just couldn’t (or didn’t want to) keep up with posting every day.  Others were being forced into the meat grinder of nasty email replies and mean-spirited comments thus diminishing their spirit and prior enthusiasm for blogging.  A couple had book deals and deadlines that loomed overhead and so blogging was the furthest thing from their mind.  And still others were so absorbed into posting, and more importantly, commenting on their follower’s blogs that it left them little time to write themselves.  I fall into this last category.

            I’ve said quite a few times that I often find blogging tiresome.  It’s hard for me to find a unique topic that hasn’t been covered a thousand times in other writer blogs, and I’m pretty inexperienced so I don’t imagine that I would have enough to say of an educated nature when it came to writing or publishing.

It’s been nearly a year since I started my blog and in that time I’ve usually written about my own experiences and opinions about writing, querying, and trying to get published.  I’ve chosen not to write about my personal life or family unless it somehow related directly to my writing or blogging.  This makes the material I want to write about limited.  I’ve cut down my posting to once a week, but even that seems difficult at times.  And all during the week, I worry about what I should post about next.  It’s sucking the life and enjoyment I experience when writing.    

            Right now, I’m in the process of starting my next project, my new novel.  When I wrote my first novel, The Mistaken, I had no distractions whatsoever.  I wasn’t writing to get published.  I didn’t know I even wanted to write an entire novel, let alone try to get published.  I just knew I had this story that wanted to get out.  So I wrote.  Everyday.  For three months.  First on my outline then the story itself.  It was intensely pleasurable.  And when I was done, I was excited to take the next step.  That’s when I read that writers need to have a platform.

I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I started my blog as a means of creating a presence, but it immediately started to feel like a popularity contest.  I felt like I was back in my all-girls Catholic high school filled with rich kids who drove BMWs and Mercedes while I tooled around in my mother’s thirteen-year-old faux-wood-paneled station wagon. 

I kept at it though and I made some great friends and even garnered a few followers of my own.  That felt good.  But part of having a presence, building a platform, is assembling an army of followers who are both interested in what you have to say and might even buy your book someday if you ever manage to get an agent who can sell it to a publisher. 

This army building takes time.  A lot of time.  And a lot effort.  You have to troll through all the blogs and make friends and leave comments.  I do this sporadically and when I do, I tend to gain a few followers here and there.  I love that, seeing my follower count blip upward.  I love reading all the interesting things my friends have to say, and they say it all so much more eloquently than I.  But all this worrying and reading and commenting has taken away time from what I really want to do:  write another novel. 

I want to go back to the days when I couldn’t wait to get up in the morning and sit at my computer and type.  I want to allow myself time to focus on my idea, to transform my premise into a plot with struggle and conflict.  Most all of my Blogger friends have regular day jobs and families to care for.  I don’t how they do it, work all day, come home and take care of the family then find time to develop an idea and write about it. 

Now, I have my own design company, but because of the economy, work has been limited.  Lately, however, I have had a near-constant stream of work to see to, deadlines to meet, clients to make happy.  I also have a sixteen-year-old son who is preparing for his last SAT this Saturday, which is also the day when all the college applications open up for Fall admission.  Yes, I know this is something that he should be doing on his own, but I will help him in every way possible. 

Trying to fit in time to write on my new project has fallen victim to all of this:  to querying agents, to keeping up with my friend’s blogs, to helping my son with his college preparation, to work.  It’s a difficult distraction and I’m frustrated that I can’t find the time to do it all, especially write my novel. 

Though I do understand how important it is to build a platform, I think it’s even more important to focus on the work, the writing.  If, by some miracle, I do land an agent, I want to show that I have more than one book in me, that I’m serious about this new career.  If that agent happens to get a publisher’s interest, I want to show that I’m worthy of a two-book deal or better.  And I don’t want to worry about that second book.  I want to know that it’s well developed and coming along before I have to focus back on revising the first book. 

Most importantly, though I love my first book and think (and hope) it’s good enough to publish, it seems that most writers don’t publish their first novel.  They chalk it up to time well spent learning the craft and gaining experience.  So I have to have another in the pipeline.  I can’t imagine ever being so in love with any other characters as I am with those in my first novel, but I am hoping to have a similar experience with this second one, so who knows, maybe it will be better and I will fall even more in love with them. 

I think most of the writers I’ve come to love have only gotten better as they’ve written more.  I certainly know all the rules now, whereas I didn’t the first time around.  But I know my limitations, and in order for me to write the best story possible, I need to focus.  This might mean I don’t come around as often to comment.  It certainly means I might not be posting as often.  And I know I won’t likely be recruiting any new followers. 

Something’s gotta give.  It can’t be my son, and I need the money so it won’t be the occasional work.  But what am I gonna do?  I gotta write.

So I ask you, how do you mange to write your WIP, work your day job, take care of the family, and still have the time, energy, and commitment to blog?                             

Why I support My Local Library

            I’m finding it kind of ironic these days that I am trying to so hard to get published when I can no longer afford the small luxury of buying books.  I should say that’s primarily because I read probably forty books a year or so.  At twenty-four bucks a pop for a hard cover, that’s $1000 and since the decimation of my industry and business, that’s a lot of money that should be going to better uses, especially since there are alternatives.

One might say that buying a Kindle would allow me to purchase a wide volume of novels at a much lower cost, but then again if you knew me and how I feel about e-books versus the real thing, you’d know that I’m just not ready to go there yet.  Plus, if I won’t splurge twenty-four bucks on a book, I certainly won’t pay $115 on an ad-supported Kindle.  So what’s a reader to do then?  That’s easy.  I patronize my local King County Library.

            Actually, that’s a lie.  Sort of.  I do use the library, but from the convenience of my own desk chair.  I can access the entire library system’s stacks via the Internet.  I can search a favorite author’s name and see what titles pop up, then peruse the book flap copy and decide if it interests me or not.  Or if I’ve heard or read a book review and it interests me, I can search that title.  The library even offers me suggestions based on what I’m currently viewing or what I’ve already read.  I love that feature, by the way.

Once I’ve selected the titles I want, they are put on hold and when they become available, they are sent to my local branch just a couple of miles away from my home.  I receive an email notification as soon as the book has been placed on the hold shelf, complete with my name on a reservation slip which makes it easy to locate alphabetically.  And since everything is automated these days, I just scan my own library card then the bar code on the book and viola!  I have that book for at least four weeks though I can renew online, as well.

Now, like with most things, there are drawbacks.  For one, if a title is popular, as many of my selections are, I will likely have to wait a few weeks before that title becomes available.  But I know this up front as the info is supplied to me when placing the hold.  It will say something like my hold is the 25^th hold on 50 copies, which means it might take me a month to receive that title.  I currently have one hold that says 297^th of 195 copies and that’s after already waiting three months, so yeah, that one could take me awhile to get, but I’m patient.  I usually have about six titles on hold at any given time and a stack of at least that many books sitting on my desk, waiting to be read, so I can wait.  I’ve got lots to keep me busy. 

Of course, the biggest drawback to borrowing from the library is that the book is not actually mine.  I can’t keep it and display it on my bookshelf.  But then again, I have so many books and not nearly enough shelf space that I am already stacking two rows per shelf.  That means I can’t even see half the titles I do have as they are hidden behind the forward row.

Conceding that, I do find the fact that the book I’m reading is not mine to bother me a bit.  So if I really, really, REALLY love that book, I will go out and splurge on it.  In the case of Greg Iles’s titles, I loved so many of them—thirteen total—that I had my husband buy them for me off Ebay which meant they were second-hand and I was not supporting my favorite author.

I do feel kind of bad about that, but what can I do?  I don’t typically like paperbacks though they are much cheaper.  And as in the case of Iles’s titles, most of them are not kept on the brick and mortar’s shelves so I would have to back order them only to receive a paperback.  So, for now, my method works for me.  When I’m back to earning some good money, I will start buying books again.

One thing I do love about borrowing books from the library is that I will often read books that I would not ordinarily buy, something that is outside my typical genre of choice, thrillers.  The last book I read outside my genre was Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford.  It is a book of historical fiction set in Seattle (near where I currently reside) during World War II.  It is the story of a Chinese-American boy who falls for a Japanese-American girl just after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and right before she and her family are sent away to an internment camp.  It flashes back and forth between the war years and 1986, when that boy is in his fifties and hears of the discovery of many personal belongings of local interned Japanese-Americans at the Panama Hotel in Seattle.

Definitely not my normal reading choice, but the fact that one of my favorite literary agent bloggers, Jessica Faust of BookEnds, reps the author and the story is set in Seattle, I was very intrigued.  And as I was reading, I found myself constantly using the Google Maps app on my iPhone to locate the streets in the International District that the author described.  I enjoyed his setting so much that I want to spend time exploring the neighborhood, including the Panama Hotel which still exists to this day.

This love of setting harkens back to my last blog post.  I would never have otherwise read this book had I not had the library.  I never would have considered actually buying this book because I don’t think I would have liked it just by reading the flap cover.  But now that I have read it and know how much I love it, I will buy that book and most likely any other Jamie Ford writes.  The library allowed me to open my eyes a bit more and fall in love with another author and said author will now benefit from that, whereas before, he would not have. 

I actually read a lot more books now that I have rediscovered the library.  The ease of use permits me to at least try to explore titles I never would have otherwise.  Now, I will admit, sometimes I don’t always like the titles I’ve checked out.  The Book of Air and Shadows by Michael Gruber, while in my genre and beautifully written, was way too slow for me, The Dead Don’t Dance by Charles Martin was too sickly sweet and The Girl Who Fell From the Sky by Heidi Durrow, well, I found it so uninteresting I couldn’t even make it to page forty though it is an award-winning debut novel.  And though Karin Slaughter’s books are my friend, Lisa’s, favorites, I found, for the most part, that I just don’t care for crime fiction.  Then again, I did love Lisa Gardner’s Say Goodbye.  And I won’t even get into how I feel about Jonathan Franzen.  But the library did allow me to discover Michael Connelly and James Scott Bell, both of whom I love.  And I never would have found out that sometimes the very authors I love most don’t always write spectacular fiction.  Hey, they’re human, too.  Who knew?  

           So all in all, even when I do start raking in the cash again, I think I will most likely keep using my library card to discover new writers and new titles.  In the long run, I believe it will allow me to support those authors I truly love, whose books I really want on my over burdened bookshelf. 

Setting: Better Real or Imagined?

            Many aspiring writers today lament the fact that the publishing industry is so much more difficult to break into than it was say fifteen or twenty years ago, that the rules are far different.  We even see this in how books are written.  For one, prologues are way out of vogue, or so I hear.  When I find a new book I like written by an author who has been around for quite some time, I go out of my way to hunt down every novel they’ve ever written in that genre.  It doesn’t matter if it’s fifteen years old or more.  If it’s good, it will survive the test of time and the changes the world has undergone since first written, even if it has a prologue.  What difference does it make what the first section of text is called, whether it’s a prologue or chapter one, as long at it helps build the story?  I certainly don’t care. 

Sometimes it can be a little distracting when the author writes heavily about technology.  Take, for instance, Greg Iles’s Mortal Fear.  This was the author’s third published novel and his first away from the stage of World War II.  Iles’s characters utilized cutting edge computer technology for the time, that being 1997, but when you read it today, you’re likely to snicker knowing how outdated all that technology sounds.  So in that way, the written words are not timeless, though the story itself remains so.

            Earlier this month, author John Gilstrap wrote a post on The Kill Zone website called Terrors of Timelessness.  This came just days after the unexpected death of public enemy number one, Osama bin Laden.  Gilstrap speculated that there might be a few writers out there who were not as elated by the news as most of us were.  Why, you ask?  Well, because they were in the middle of writing a novel with you-know-who as the arch enemy.  So if OBL is dead, all their efforts are for nothing, or at the very least, they will have to do a major rewrite.  Gilstrap’s point was that writing fiction grounded in reality “ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

            He used setting as an example.  Gilstrap wrote that his stories needed to be timely and current and because he had to produce one novel every year, to remain timely and current required that he never place his characters in a real setting.  He theorized that while some readers would likely recognize the particular location of a certain scene, most would not and so the reality of the location was irrelevant.  While I understand his point, I disagree to a certain extent.

Sure, when you include details grounded in reality, you run the risk of being inaccurate and therefore drawing a few readers out of the story because they know something to be wrong.  But when you’re placing your characters in a real place, a place you know well, perhaps even intimately, you are able to convey the subtle details that make that place so unique and often so well-loved.  Two of my favorite writer’s, Michael Connelly and James Scott Bell, often place their stories in LA. 

Now, I spent most of my life in Northern California, the Bay Area actually, but I’ve been to LA quite a few times and while I don’t know the downtown city streets at all or the neighborhoods of Topanga Canyon or Mulholland Drive, I have an idea of what they look and feel like and this imagery works well for me as I read.  It presents details that the author never included.

Same goes for Greg Iles.  He writes almost exclusively about his home state of Mississippi, most notably Natchez, where he has lived most of his life.  I’ve never been to Natchez though I’ve heard of its history and seen pictures of the antebellum mansions.  A city ripe with actual historical accounts offers lush layers that can be woven into an author’s characters and stories and Iles does this to perfection.  In fact, I was so infatuated with his description of Natchez after reading so many of his novels that I took a virtual tour through the city using Google Maps.  When Iles wrote about a particular street, I found that street and “drove” up it, scanning the homes and business along the way.

It’s just not the same with an imaginary setting.  There is no history to extract from.  There are no monuments to give the reader direction or a true sense of place.  It’s just an ordinary place much like any other and even if it is richly drawn, the fact that it’s not grounded in reality makes it kind of murky in my mind.  Yeah, I will keep reading and enjoy the story for what it is, but the setting is not as strong of a character as it would have been if it had been an actual place with an actual past. 

This does not relate to other kinds of fiction such as sci-fi or fantasy where half the written word is about world building.  Those kinds of novels start from scratch, as they should.  But in my genre—thrillers—the setting is often nearly as important as the major characters and while you can make up any setting just like you make up your characters, so often our characters are assemblies of who we are and those who occupy the orbits around our lives, so why wouldn’t you want to ground them in a world you know well, a place others can relate to on a personal level? 

No, not all readers will recognize the nuances of your setting, but then again, if it is a made up place, nobody would.  Not really.  I mean, how could they, if it’s not a real place?  If the setting is real, many will pick up on those subtle distinctions so why not allow them the pleasure of something familiar?  And it’s not always important for the writer to have an intimate knowledge of their story’s setting either.  My friend, Lisa Regan, set her first novel, Finding Claire Fletcher, in Sacramento, California, a place she had never been.  But Lisa didn’t need to draw on concrete places to flesh out the setting and as abstract as she was in pointing out particular locations, having intimate knowledge of the place myself made the story so much richer for me, not to mention easier for me to visualize.  It didn't matter that she had never been there.  I had and I knew what it looked like.

The conceptual can be cool, don’t get me wrong, but the familiar is more comfortable and relatable and in the end, I want my readers to be able to relate to all my characters, including the setting, which is every bit as much of a character as the protagonist or antagonist.  So I would be very interested in hearing from some of my readers.  Do you prefer the stories you read to be set in a real location or a fictionalized one?  

Point of View & Writing Style

            I’ve had a few discussions with other (aspiring) writers in recent weeks regarding point of view (POV) and style and it seemed to me that the two were related and interwoven in a significant way.  First off, I should mention that my novel is written in the first person.  When I started writing, I began in the (close) third person which, in my experience, is how a great majority of stories are told, so it seemed natural to write that way.  I’m sure I’ve read quite a few first person narratives, but I must say I was never really aware of it, that is until I read the young adult novel, Twilight by Stephanie Meyer.  YA is not my usual fare, but I wanted to see what the fuss was all about.  Now, I realize Twilight is not exactly literary fiction.  Not even close.  It’s simple and told in a straight forward voice—an uncomplicated juvenile voice at that—but it struck me as very honest and relatable to its audience—mostly teenagers and young adult women.  While reading, I was actually aware of the voice which I had never really paid all that much attention to before in most of the books I read.  I found I enjoyed the first person POV and being in the protagonist’s head.  I felt close to the action and embroiled in her emotions, however corny and anemic the story might be.      

There is a major drawback to the first person POV, however:  the reader only knows, sees, hears or feels what the protagonist knows, sees hears or feels.  That can be rather limiting and make it difficult to tell a complete story.  Two of my favorite authors, Greg Iles (The Devil’s Punchbowl) and Michael Connelly (The Reversal), solved this dilemma by writing in both the first person and close third person, alternating the voices between chapters.  This worked well for them, as well as for my dear friend and critique partner, writer Lisa Regan, in both her novels, Finding Claire Fletcher and Aberration. 

I considered this technique and decided against it because I really needed my reader to be fully engaged in exactly what the characters—both the main character and his victim—were feeling.  It was, after all, the victim’s reaction to the main character’s crime that made the main character reconsider his path.  And the victim’s journey is just as important as the main character’s.  They could only truly find what they needed through each other.  Third person felt too remote and detached to accomplish that.  Not exactly what I was going for since my story is so wrought with emotional turmoil.  At one point, I actually considered changing half my story to close third person POV but my critique partner strenuously advised against it.  And I did not have a character to rely on who could conveniently supply large amounts of information such as a reporter, a shrink, a private investigator or someone else in the know.  I had only four characters to do this.  One of them dies early on and another is physically absent for a large part of the story.   

So I rethought how I would tell the story and decided that the only way to truly deliver on the pain and agony of the main characters was to tell it from their perspectives.  But I’d only read a handful of multiple POV novels before and most of the time, those perspectives were differentiated with a change in font type on the printed page (Iles & Picoult).  Visually, it provided a good kick to the reader, letting them know a different person was narrating, but I think the writing itself should do that and the difference in voice should be obvious.  And having too many voices can be confusing, so while I knew I could not tell the whole story through just one character’s perspective, I did not want to have more than two at any given time. 

I decided the best way for me to show who the narrator was, was to simply put the character’s name as the chapter heading and allow the reader to associate a name to the voice.  I tried to make the two voices sound and feel different so even if the reader happened not to glance at the chapter heading, they could automatically feel and hear the difference.  This was important because I did not always alternate characters between every chapter, yet I did not want to make the chapters overly long, so I relied on my writing style to naturally differentiate the voices.  This, in turn, brings me to my other topic:  Style.

I have an online friend who offered me advice on style after reading a few chapters of my manuscript.  In his humble opinion, though I had A style, I had not yet found MY style.  Well, I disagreed wholeheartedly and while I am open to constructive criticism and felt he was not purposely unkind, he was a touch condescending and that was what put me off so much.  He used my opening line on chapter one and rewrote it, but to me, it was all about the words and how pretty they sounded when strung together.  And while they were pretty, they made absolutely no sense whatsoever, especially when you consider the voice of my character. 

He is an “everyman,” your average Joe, trying to make the right choices in a complicated world.  And what struck me right off the bat about my friend’s advised revision was what so many agents warn writers against:  do not let your writing get in the way of your story.  In other words, if the average reader has to work too hard to discern a meaning from a single sentence, they will grow frustrated, bored or weary and simply put the book down forever. 

I’m not trying to write literary fiction.  I don’t want to challenge the reader, as my friend suggested.  I write for the average reader who just wants to be taken away for a few hours here and there.  And I don’t write to impress anyone, least of all myself.  In MY humble opinion, overworked writing is like people who speak just to hear themselves talk.  My motto is “Just tell the freakin’ story already!” 

So while I do think style is very important, you have to write like you’re the person experiencing the events in your story, especially if told in the first person.  Trying to be eloquent for eloquence sake makes the novel all about your writing, not the story.  And in most cases, nobody even wants to be aware of your writing and style.  They want the writer to disappear and the character to emerge.  Now, that’s not say that a character cannot be overburdened by excessive introspective narrative.  In some cases, that’s who the character is, but in my case, it was not.  Nor do I think it the case in most adult thrillers. 

I recently followed an online recommendation and read—or tried to read anyway—The Book of Air and Shadows by Michael Gruber.  I must admit it was beautifully written.  The voice practically sang the words.  But the author took too long in getting his point across and moving the story along because, frankly, he just used too many words, and while they were lovely, it was just way too much. 

It reminded me of that moment in the film Amadeus, when Mozart asked the King what he felt the problem was with his latest opera, The Marriage of Figaro.  The King said quite simply, “Too many notes!”  (I disagree with the King on that point, by the way.)  It was the same with The Book of Air and Shadows.  While I enjoyed the written word, I got bored waiting for the story to progress.  I get that the protagonist—and the writer—was very bright, and I’m no slouch myself, but I have only so much time to read and if the author is not going to get a move on, then forget it.  I’m just going to put that blasted book down and never pick it up again. 

So while I appreciated the effort my friend took in advising me—though not his method—in the end, it made me see how important style relates to the POV.  First of all, I had to keep my novel around 85,000 words or so, as no agent or publisher wants to take on anything from a new writer much longer than that, so I had to convey a semi-complicated plot in easy to understand language and voice while doing so in as few words as possible.  I wrote like I was the protagonist, like I was just sitting there, perhaps by a camp fire, telling my story, trying to keep my listener interested. 

Agents constantly advise writers to read in the genre in which they write.  And I do.  In fact, that’s practically all I read, though I do break it up from time to time so as not to get burned out.  What I’ve noticed is that none of the writers I read—Connelly, Bell, Iles, Crighton, Brown, Clancy, Grisham, Follet, Gardner, Cross, Flynn, just to name a few—ever overwrite, either their narratives or their dialogue.  They tell a straight forward story in plain English.  And my favorites on that list write primarily in the first person, so while some people think that writing in first person POV is taking the easy way, I think they write for the reader, not themselves.  I don’t believe they write the way they write because it’s easy or hard—to challenge the reader or not.  They write that way to be interesting, to entertain, to keep the reader involved, and to express a voice.  I’d like to think, like them, I write for the reader.  Not for me.  

My Thoughts on Writing vs. Publishing

            Last Friday in her blog, literary agent Rachelle Gardner pondered the link between the desire to write and that of being published commercially.  It was followed by an interesting question:  Are the two inseparably connected in the writer’s mind and if they are not, how do you know you should keep writing if you do not intend on seeking publication?  Like many of her awesome posts, it was followed by many comments, but in this case, nearly one hundred readers chimed in on exactly why they write. 

            Some of my readers may already have read my post from a month ago where I explained exactly why I write, but Ms. Gardner brought up a very interesting correlation and I wondered if other writers were as pulled toward publication as I was.  First of all, when I started writing my novel, The Mistaken, I never even considered the publishing end of it.  I just woke up with a story rattling around in my head.  It came to me after hearing a song.  The lyrics made me wonder what would drive a good man to do something really terrible, something completely out of character, and could he ever find his way back to the man he used to be. When I linked the possibilities to certain experiences in my own life, I tried to answer that question with a scenario and bam!—a novel was born. 

            Unlike many—or even most—writers, I suspect, I have not spent my life with the desire to write.  I don’t have drawers full of stories and characters and made-up worlds.  That is to say, while I do love to write, I was never compelled to write before I started all this.  And while I was writing my novel, my only goal was to get the story down and enjoy the creative process. 

You see, I’m a creative person.  My job—the one that helps pay the bills—is to create beautiful spaces for people to live or work in.  But when the economy took a big old dump on the building industry, my pipeline to creativity all but dried up.  It’s slowly coming back to life, but the last three plus years have been a drought with little opportunity for me to create though the need to do so remained firmly in place.  For the first two years, I used cooking and baking as an outlet, but that only took me so far.  With nowhere else to go, my creativity unleashed itself in my desire to tell a story.  And so I did exactly that. 

But normally, when I help create a beautiful, functional space for people to live or work in—or to help builders sell an idea of a lifestyle—the end product is used and enjoyed.  It serves a purpose.  And I know that someone is enjoying what I slaved over for days, weeks or months.  There is a great deal of satisfaction in the end use of my product.  But what about writing?  What is the end use of what I created, of what I’ve written?  Well, of course, the end use is reading it.  And while I do get some satisfaction reading my own words, I would garner much more if others were to read it, as well, hence my desire to be published.

            Now, that’s not to say that writing doesn’t serve a purpose if it is not read by someone else other than the author.  There were a plethora of valid reasons given by Ms. Gardner’s many commenters.  Some said writing made them a better person or that they just liked to do it, while others—many, in fact—refer to writing as a calling they cannot ignore, that it gives them a sense of fulfillment they cannot find in any other way.  For some it is simply a creation of art, an expressive outlet for their sole benefit.  Still others referred to it as a means of self-exploration and a few of those even used writing as a way to deal with their inner demons and release their frustrations while avoiding professional counseling.  I can relate to this last group.  My own demons figured substantially into my story. 

            But a great many writers expressed the sentiment that “words are worthless if not read.”  One even equated writing without ever being read to cooking a feast only to be thrown away before it was eaten.  Another said it was like creating a piece of art that no one will ever look at and what’s the point then if nobody else will ever see it?  He said he “could not separate the writing from the need to have it examined.”  I’m definitely with that guy.  I’m not saying I need people to gush over my work, though I do hope people enjoy it.  And while it would be great to actually make some money, I don’t even consider that element in my reasons for seeking publication.  Neither do I need to see my name in lights, so to speak, to have my nom de plume splashed across fancy cover art.  I just want an outlet for others to read my words.  I want others to get some enjoyment out of the story, to be thrilled for a few hours over a few days time.  I even think the theme of my book—forgiveness—might benefit some in a way. 

            I know there will be many people who do not like my story, who think it is too violent, or improbable, that a good man would never be compelled toward vengeance, to be so driven by personal demons as to commit a violent act, especially rape, if it was not in his character.  But I can tell you personally that is not true.  I even think it’s possible to find redemption afterwards.  My need to express these issues coerced me to write my story.  My desire to tell the story somehow makes sense of certain life experiences.  And while I have battled my own demons and won in the best way possible, the need to have others recognize the fight as worthy is undeniable. 

In my comment on Ms. Gardner’s post, I equated the experience of writing a book and wanting to see it published to pregnancy and childbirth. You spend months—maybe even years—growing this germ of an idea into something that has shape, something that has life, something that has a name, an identity.  Then you labor over bringing it into the world, crying over the pain it causes you.  The urge to bring it to publication is very much like that urge to push.  Undeniable.  Useless to fight against.  Because you want everyone to see just how beautiful your baby is, how much time and work and effort you’ve put into it.  You want to hold it in your hands and smile as you present it to the whole wide world.  This is my creation.  My baby.  It was hard.  But it was so worth every tear.  Every extra pound.  Every frustration.  So, please, come take a look!

To me, publication is more than just validation that a writer can actually write words that someone else wants to read.  It’s having a voice.  It’s a platform—widely accepted and utilized—where an author can say, “This is what’s important to me and this is what I have to say about it.”  It’s a documentation of our personal history, whether fiction or not, a way to process our life, our experiences, our world, and hopefully give others enjoyment or enlightenment at the same time.  It’s a way to share and bond and live again.  But you have to put it out there first, as scary as that may be. And it is really, really scary, especially when there is so much rejection along the way. 

           I may never be traditionally published.  In fact, chances are, I never will be with the way the publishing industry is changing.  But I also find value in the pursuit.  It’s a dream that pushes me out of bed every day.  It gives me purpose.  And I may be discouraged on my road to publication, but I will never, ever give up.

Mid-life: Crisis or Celebration?

            While watching the Today Show this morning, I saw a story about mid-life crisis.  My attention was instantly glued to the tube because I have unexpectedly been suffering from such a malady.  Before a few months ago, I never really understood what that was all about.  I had this vague idea that it was something men went through in their late 40’s or so.  They would often dump their high-school sweetheart wife for a newer, younger version.  Or they would trade in their practical sedan for a brand new Corvette or Porsche.  I believed it was about their fear of stagnation.  Had they accomplished what they thought they would by that age?  If not, well then they would shake up their lives in an effort to feel better about themselves.    

            I never really worried about aging too much myself.  I never saw anything wrong or unattractive about a man going bald or a few wrinkles around a woman’s eyes or mouth.  I thought it created more character in a person.  I know a lot of folks are obsessed with their looks and how age is progressing across their face and bodies.  I guess I don’t worry about it too much because I have pretty good genes and have aged rather well, at least on my face.  No wrinkles yet though I am forty-seven years old.  Most people cannot believe how old I really am.  I can mostly thank my parents for that.  And while I think I have more than my fair share of age spots on my face, it doesn’t bother me too much.  I’d love to be thin again, of course, but I enjoy life too much on a day to day basis to put too much effort into losing weight when it is a battle waged against a chronic metabolic disorder.  It’s futile war I will likely never win.  So why try too hard.  I’m healthy regardless.

            So it came as a great surprise a few months ago when I started to have these feelings of inadequacy.  Now, like a lot of people these days, my job has been greatly affected by the terrible economy.  I work in the new home building industry, and in California no less.  I consider my industry to be the canary in the coal mine.  The first indicator of a downturn is often felt in new home construction.  So it’s been a great setback for me since not many new homes have been built in California over the last 3+ years.  I suppose my lack of work has considerably chipped away at my sense of usefulness and self-esteem.  But a year ago, I decided to try something new, something I’ve never done before.  I decided to write a novel. 

            I love writing in general and I loved writing that novel in particular.  It was so exciting to live vicariously through my characters, experience their heartaches and loss, their joys and triumphs.  And when it was complete, I felt a great sense of accomplishment.  Not a lot of people can say they’ve written a book.  But then came the hard part, trying to find an agent for my novel.  When I started researching for this stage, I found I was competing with mostly young people, people in their mid to late twenties.  The older folks had already had years of experience and several published books beneath their belts.  I was a newcomer at forty-seven, with no experience, and no other product but the one I had just finished.  I felt like a mother who had spent the last twenty years at home with the kids and was now trying to re-enter the work force.  Who is going to consider me when there are so many bright, young, fresh faces out there, faces with creative writing degrees behind them, not a twenty-some year old design degree?  That’s been a rather cold, wet slap in the face, a sour dose of reality I had not foreseen.  How do I compete?

            Apparently, only ten to twenty percent of the population experiences a mid-life crisis.  They often try to spice up their lives by doing something they’ve never done before, like climbing a mountain or, as one woman in the Today Show piece said, write a book.  Funny that she would turn her crisis around by writing a book while it’s been writing my book that has turned my life into a crisis.  So even while residing in the minority, that ten to twenty percent, I’m still in an even greater minority, someone whose mid-life crisis is caused by spicing up my life.  Great.  Perfect.  How typical of me. 

            I must admit, I have been asking myself those questions so many other mid-life crisis sufferers ask:  Who am I?  What am I besides a wife?  A mother?  It was that “ah-ha moment” of profound discovery that led me into crisis instead of out of it.  So what to do, what to do?  Most of the time, that “ah-ha moment” is one in which we wonder how much time we have left and what we are going to do with that time.  How do I adjust my life to make my remaining years more fulfilling?  I can only come up with one answer since, apparently, I have been going about this all backwards:  keep trying.  Keep moving forward.  Keep reaching for that dream no matter how far out of reach it may seem.  I think the longer I have to wait and the harder I work to attain that dream, the sweeter the payoff will be.  The more rewarding it will feel. 

            As we get older, our dreams and aspirations change.  They evolve.  When we are young, we want to get into the best college so we can get the best job.  When we get that job, we aspire to meet the love of our life and have the perfect family.  We hope our children will reach their full potential, providing proof that we were successful at the most difficult job on earth:  parenting.  Then we send them off on their own path of dreams.  But who are we at that point?  With all the big dreams behind us, what new dreams will we reach for?  I suppose it doesn’t really matter exactly what those dreams are, as long as we know what direction we want to go in.  Having a dream pushes us forward, keeps us motivated to get out of bed each day.  The road to our dream is often difficult and full of potholes and roadblocks, but if it was smooth and clear all the time, perhaps we would not find as much fulfillment in the accomplishment. 

            So I know when I finally reach my goal of being published, whether it’s with my current book or the next one I will write or the one thereafter, I can look back and say it was all worth it.  I will get over that hump of mid-life crisis and the downhill ride will be fun rather than anticlimactic because the battle to make it over the crest was hard won.  And the pot of gold at the end very shiny.