When I was in my early twenties and just getting started out trying to write a “real” novel – as opposed to the rather short porn novels I’d been writing – I found I had no idea what it felt like to write a full-length novel.

Forget the awful challenge of a blank page. This was [...]]]> Seriously.

When I was in my early twenties and just getting started out trying to write a “real” novel – as opposed to the rather short porn novels I’d been writing – I found I had no idea what it felt like to write a full-length novel.

Forget the awful challenge of a blank page. This was the awful challenge of a whole blank book.

That may strike you as strange or funny. Unless you’ve actually seriously sat down and tried to write a whole freakin’ book.

Am I right? You quickly find yourself asking, “Holy cow! How will I know where I am, writing this damned thing? How will I know when I’m done/finished? What am I doing here?”

Anybody? Just me? All right. Moving on…

The novel I was bent on writing was a Western, set in New Mexico Territory in the 1880s. Its hero was a Virginia-born veteran of the French Foreign Legion who went by the name of Random.

Now, I’d come to love the Western novels of a writer who went by the name Will Henry. They were exquisitely researched and beautifully written. They feature well-drawn characters in crisply-written action against well-described backdrops.

Which is what I’d devoted my professional life to writing. They also quite well captured the feel of the American Southwest. Something I know a certain amount about, having lived in it since I was seven. And yeah, I used to be an actual cowboy.

So I found a solution to get a feel of what it was like to write a full novel. And what it felt like to write a good novel – a Western, to boot (so to speak.)

I simply picked my favorite Will Henry novel, Chiricahua, and sat down to retype it. Every one of about 85,000 words, if I remember aright.

On my handy little portable manual typewriter.

And I did.

Now, this is not a “walked twelve miles to school every day, uphill both ways in blinding snow” yarn. I chose to do this. It was my own idea. I didn’t consult with anybody. Just decided, and did it.

I wasn’t trying to copy Henry’s style – although I figured anything I absorbed via osmosis would only help me become a better writer. I just reckoned the best way to know what a full-length novel felt like to write was to copy one out.

And … it worked.

In fact I did come out of it knowing what 85,000 words felt like. I believe I also did pick up a better feel for how to write a good novel. Only you can decide how well the latter succeeded.

Would I recommend it? No.

I mean, it’s not like my rapid weight-loss program where the answer to the question, Would I recommend it? is, Not just no: Hell no. I don’t think it’ll harm you or anything. It just, in retrospect, seems a trifle … drastic.

Do I regret doing it? Not at all.

The Western – my Western – was written, sold, and published originally by Doubleday as The Night Riders, under the pseudonym Keith Jarrod. It was subsequently reprinted in paperback by Dell. It got me an agent. It broke me into “legitimate” publishing.

Flash forward decades. Enter the Internet. (No, not that way. Eww.)

As I believe I’ve mentioned, I recently joined Facebook. Early on a freind mentioned she’d just rewatched a movie called MacKenna’s Gold. Which I’ve never seen, but knew was adapted from Will Henry’s novel of the same name, which I’d read. It wasn’t one of his best, but that’s still better than most.

Naturally, I headed promptly over the scope out the movie’s imdb page. (I have no power over imdb.) And right away I saw something puzzling: it’s first credit for Writers was “Heck Allen (novel).”

Wait, what? I knew Will Henry wrote MacKenna’s freaking Gold. The aftereffects of anesthetics and whatnot may still be playing tricks with my memories, but some things a man does not forget.

So I hit the link. First thing I see was how “Heck Allen was ‘Story Man’ (or ‘Gag Man’) for most of Tex Avery‘s best MGM cartoons from 1944 through 1955…” That’s, yes, Tex Avery the cartoon god. Heck Allen, it seems, also worked for Walter Lantz, the Woody Woodpecker guy.

When I was a kid I loved Woody Woodpecker, goony laugh and all. There were no flies on ol’ Tex, either. Can we possibly be talking about the same guy?

Yes. Yes we can.

Wikipedia reveals all: Heck Allen is Will Henry is a dude whose real name was Henry Wilson Allen.

(I need to reread Will Henry’s books one of these days, not to mention catch up on all the ones I’ve missed. Among other things I’ve been contemplating writing some more Westerns – possibly under the rubric of Steampunk, possibly as straight Westerns.)

And that, boys and girls, is the true story of how Tex Avery’s gag man taught me how to write a novel!

That’s perhaps the single most important truth I know about my writing. Because of my perfectionist tendencies it’s been the hardest one for me to learn to live by.

Learning to do so is probably the most important way I need to overcome my perfectionism.

I was reminded of this today. I’m well [...]]]> … once I’ve walked it.

That’s perhaps the single most important truth I know about my writing. Because of my perfectionist tendencies it’s been the hardest one for me to learn to live by.

Learning to do so is probably the most important way I need to overcome my perfectionism.

I was reminded of this today. I’m well into the rewrite of my epic fantasy novel, The Dinosaur Lords. I’m getting very near the point of – at last! – sending it forth to conquer the world.

And today I thought of a way to improve a significant secondary character.

Currently I call him Conde de la Montaña Azul, the Count of Blue Mountain. While he’s nominally on the side of the good guys, he’s an asshole. A fairly capable asshole. But definitely a legend in his own mind type.

So today it struck me: why not change his county to Montañadora, the Mountain of Gold? Have him be even vainer than he is, and obsessed with gilding everything?

It would only be more awesome. So guess what I’m gonna do?

His chief flunky is a count of lesser precedence, Estrella del Hierro: Count Ironstar. Yeah, we got a lot of metals-related fiefs going on here. Deal.

Besides, it strikes me there’s a cool metals-symbolism play here.

(Just by the by: don’t write me if the names, or anything else I quote from the novel, aren’t correct Spanish. It isn’t Spanish. It’s Spañol. Which is a dialect of Spanish, certainly. One whose correct spelling, grammar and usage is what I freaking say it is. And yes, there’s “Anglish,” too. Guess how it plays?)

And all of the above is only a roundabout route back to the Path I spoke of in the title.

What I mean when I say “I only know the path once I’ve walked it,” is that I don’t really know my characters, my background, and even my story until I’ve already written it. At least once.

One of my most lethal tendencies in writing is to get caught up in loops trying to get something right – a detail, a sequence of events, hell, even a sentence or a single word. And I get frustrated because I can’t see all possible ramifications of what I’m about to write.

Which in the past I’ve allowed to make me quit, out of sheer fear I couldn’t possibly get it right.

That old devil, perfectionism. Ably aided and abetted by my consuming vice, a lack of sense of self-worth. Except I suspect it’s the other way around, isn’t it?

In turn process has caused me an even greater problem: blowing deadlines. I stop myself up so much I get hopelessly behind. Then I have to rush ahead and finish. Now, ironically, my writing tends to get better when I do that. Because, of course, I’m no longer getting in my own way.

I’m too desperate to.

But the cost, along with the attendant woes such unprofessional behavior brings, is that, while it usually is good, it’s not as good as it could be. As I ram through the drafts I keep seeing ways the book could be vastly improved. But guess what? Can’t do ‘em. Got no time.

The flip of all this is, when I just put down any old thing and cruise ahead – and, yes, let go, let Leo – the right way, the beautiful and cool, way to do it, always comes to me.

Always.

So: Leo came through for me again today. Yay! And thanks, Personified Subconscious! Your rock!

And also: once again this vindicates my decision to write all of The Dinosaur Lords into presentable form before shopping it around. First, it avoided any unhappy deadline issues. And second – it was intended to enable me to get it right.

And I am. To the best of my knowledge and belief.

Get excited, people. I am.

And I am grateful for the lesson about the path, and following it to its end – and staying true to it.

===

In other tidings, today I got back in the swing of things.

Kettlebells, I mean.

I’m, slowly but I hope surely, getting into shape – walking as much as I can, doing various joint-mobilization and stretching exercises. Also trying to increase strength, especially core and upper-body strength. Which has its tricky aspects, because exerting force with my right arm still tends to cause nasty surgery-residue chest pains.

When I was in the hospital, I daydreamed about using my 36-pound kettlebell to get back into shape – get into shape, I should say. I have used it some, for deadlifts – and yes, 36 pounds is a mighty light deadlift, even for somebody as not-terribly-muscular as I. But it was … what I could do. Therefore what I needed.

I’ve been putting off doing the exercise called the swing. It’s risky to the old lower back if you don’t keep proper form. It’s also one of the most effective core exercises you can do.

Today I just said fuck it, went out in back, grabbed the kettlebell, and swung that sumbitch. Did about three reps. Then I noticed my form was slipping, and I was starting to lose control.

So I – let go. (That phrase again!) And once again – that’s the right thing to do. It’s why you do kettlebell exercises in the backyard, people, or elsewhere the floor isn’t easily breakable. And also, as with shooting, you need to be careful of your backstop. Because if you start to lose it, you just head that bad boy away from you and let it go.

Result: got a start. Very important. Hard to get anywhere without starting. And I was able to tell when things went pear-shaped, and react accordingly. So I got (hopefully) a little bit fitter. And I didn’t injure myself.

Things progress. I progress. This is good.

Life is good, actually. Especially considering the alternative. And, Brother, I have.

You can clearly see which end of the dilemma I’ve been coming out on lately.

The problem is, [...]]]> You might as well know it, if you don’t already: there’s tension between the writer’s need to connect with his or her fans – through, say, oh, I don’t know, blogs? – and the writer’s need to make money.

You can clearly see which end of the dilemma I’ve been coming out on lately.

The problem is, blogging uses up pretty much the same sorts of resources as fiction writing does, including time. And I’ve been strapped for those lately, what with deadline pressures. Which I’m not yet out from under, although I can sort of see clear sky now. Sort of.

I really appreciate that you read this blog. Thank you. It’s rather flattering that people are interested enough to keep tabs on me. The last thing I want to dso is discourage that.

The last thing I can afford to do is divert energy and focus from the paid writing.

And I have to be honest: letting everything else go in my life does not automatically equate to getting more real writing done. I wish it did. Writing gratifies me more than pretty much anything else I do in life; yet often I find it hardest to do the things which reward me the most.

If I whine here, feel free to ignore it. The solutions I have to work out for myself – and, harder, actually implement. Since I’m whining (you’re ignoring this now anyway,  right?) I’ll go ahead and vent my frustration that after banging my head against the problem of avoiding pleasure for years, I still don’t seem to be breaking through.

Damn it anyway.

Still, I’ll persevere. One thing I’ll say for myself: that’s what I do.

If you had the perseverance to keep checking back until you find this … thank you. I will make it worth your while, both here and with my fiction.

As I think I’ve mentioned (although I can’t find [...]]]> I’ve started to read my writing aloud as I rewrite it. It’s one of those things I don’t know why I’ve not been doing all along. Both perceptive audience members at my readings and the amazing Critical Mass writers group advised me to try it. It helps.

As I think I’ve mentioned (although I can’t find it now) I had a problem the last couple of years with overly-long and complex sentences. It bothered me. Yet I had no idea how to stop doing it. My writers group pals offered advice that helped me to do so quite expeditiously once I flat-out asked for help. And one of their suggestions was to read through everything aloud. If the tongue tended to stumble, that was a good place to trim or reapportion.

I mention this briefly now because in rewriting a chapter of The Dinosaur Lords (it’s happening!) I thought of phrase to describe sunset light splashing on:

…the steep slate slopes of roofs.

Now, that seemed a fresh and evocative way of putting it. Then I tried reading it aloud. Whoa! After five tries it was still like going down an uneven staircase in the dark.

Of course there’s nothing complex or convoluted about the phrase. But it is, it turns out, a Hell of a tongue-twister.

So there’s another tool for your chest.

Another way to avoid the heartbreak of unending and confusing sentences is to dictate. This is something I’ve experimented with off and on for a quarter-century. What I intend to do, later on today when I get back to writing o n the action/adventure novel, is fire up my Dragon NaturallySpeaking software and try to get back to that. I’ll let you know how that comes out.

Update, 11/23/2009 5:15:42 PM: Over on Twitter, Bosque Bill sagely asked what I’d replaced the above phrase with. It was:

“the slate of steep-pitched roofs”

You deserve to know, I belatedly realize. Thanks, BB!

No doubt for some [...]]]> As I’ve said before, my biggest barrier to achieving my dream – which is to write as many of the stories inside me as vividly and well as I can before I die, and entertain and delight you and the world – is the compulsion to get it right the first time.

No doubt for some people that serves fine.  For me it’s poison.

So I’m happy today to report progress in not getting it right the first time.

Along with my story for the new Wild Cards anthology, and hammering together a plot for my next Deathlands action/adventure novel, I’m getting bakc into fuill swing on what I expect, and hope, will be the last major rewrite of The Dinosaur Lords.

After way too long I finally realized that, whatever I was revising, I needed to read through the chapter or story once before changing anything.  Otherwise I start adding stuff I think it needs, only to find out I already put it in farther down. Then I flutter in circles, going Ohgodohgodohhgod, whaddoIdowhaddoIdowhaddoIdo? Which, keen of eye and brain as you are, you’ve noticed is a swell way not to get anything productive done.

So I started doing preliminary read-throughs, so I’d have a firmer grasp of what was going on, and what I’d said where. All good.

You also may recall that for a while I was afflicted with a terrible disease that caused me to pack way too much content into my sentences, which rendered them hard to follow or even read.  Last fall the counsel of that invaluable resource, the Critical Mass writers group, I was able to start kicking that awful habit.

More recently, following the group’s advice as well as that of other writers I talk to, I decided I needed to read my stuff aloud when I went over it prior to rewriting, to ensure that it flowed and was, you know, comprehensible.

So yesterday I got back to revising DinoLords and tried that.  I got a late start, in part because I’d gotten a horrible sleep the night before, in part because Joe turned up around noon with coffee and donuts, which we sat on the porch to consume as we conversed, and had a fine old time on the last of his four-day weekend. Which was fine, especially since I’d (finally) finished the rewrite of my previous Deathlands novel and sent it off.

However I almost immediately encountered a problem: when I stumbled rereading a passage aloud, that indicated a strong need to rewrite, or at least put it on the watch list. When I went back again to do the revising, I might not remember those trouble spots. But if I went ahead and fixed it, or even noted it – well, we were back to the very problem I was trying to fix.

So I bagged it. I had started. I had made a good faith effort. That was enough. I was too tired to wrestle with it any more, and (just) smart enough to know it was foolish to try.

Last night I got a very good sleep. So I came back to the rewrite fresh today.

Here’s what I would have done, in the old days:  gotten frustrated because my new technique failed. Thrown it all out in disgust and gone back to my old, flawed way of doing things. Because, you know, it sort of worked, and I couldn’t change.

Here’s what I did:  stepped back, took a look at my process.  Realized what I could try was to do the review read-through silently, making no corrections or even notes per plan.  Then, when I embarked upon the rewrite, that was when I’d read over it aloud.  That way I could find interruptions in the flow as well as other needed changes.

I tried it.  When I made changes, I read the affected passage out loud again, to make sure it read well.  Then I drove on.

And you know what?  So far it works like a son of a Mitch.

I am, as you no doubt observed, inordinately pleased.  That’s because this was both a minor victory and a major one.  Minor, in that I improved my process notably by making a small change in the order I did things.  Major, because I allowed myself to try the first technique, to be flexible, to see what worked and then fix what didn’t.

Just doing that is a big step for me.  It brings me that much closer to writing – creating, carrying out the whole process of producing entertaining stories – the way I’ve known for years would be most successful for me. It removed yet another self-imposed barrier.  Which are the things which have always held me back the worst.

So I’ve learned another lesson in how not to get it right the first time. And thereby get it really right in the end.

At first when I’m writing a tale, I’m hunting: for voice, theme, character, even the real story. No matter how firmly I feel I have it in my mind, I [...]]]> The farther I get along in a draft of the book, I see, the smoother it all becomes. Fewer false starts, smoother flow, even fewer typos.

At first when I’m writing a tale, I’m hunting: for voice, theme, character, even the real story. No matter how firmly I feel I have it in my mind, I don’t really know my story or my characters until I’ve written a lot about them.

This reinforces on an intuitive level what I’ve long since established to my intellectual satisfaction: I only know the terrain once I’ve walked over it. Once again (and a thousand times!), any effort trying to get it right the first time is wasted. So what I need to do is practice writing first drafts without the least concern as to how good I imagine it is.

As always, your mileage may vary – remember The Second Iron Law of Writing. As much as anything, my purpose in writing this post is to reinforce my own learning of how I need to write. If it helps you, too, so much the better.

Yes, I’ve been a professional writer, almost exclusively full-time, for thirty-five years now. And I’m still learning important new skills. I have not served my craft well all the time, nor [...]]]> One of the key writing skills I’ve learned in the last year or so is how to incorporate scenes I’ve already written as I write.

Yes, I’ve been a professional writer, almost exclusively full-time, for thirty-five years now. And I’m still learning important new skills. I have not served my craft well all the time, nor in all ways. One thing I have done, and am proud of, is that on almost all of those nearly thirteen thousand days I have tried deliberately to improve my writing.

Inspiration doesn’t always strike neatly and consequentially. For years perhaps my number one rule for how I write is:  Always honor inspiration. Whenever possible, that is; for example driving down the freeway at 75 miles an hour is not a propitious time to start scribbling down a scene, no matter how awesome it is. Writing only counts if you get it permanently recorded before winding up a flaming mass of wreckage. Important tip there, youngsters!

The result of the apparently random nature of inspiration is that I wind up writing down a lot of scenes and sequences that aren’t what happens next. I also sometimes generate character sketches or scenes for projects entirely different than the one I’m currently writing; essentially the same rules apply.

The problem for many years was once I caught up with those already-written scenes, I had trouble making use of them. I’d forget where they were; or forget that I’d written them. So I’d wind up doing the same scene twice or sometimes more.

Then I’d agonize over which one to use. Now, if you’ve followed my posts here about my own writing, you know that when I agonize about getting it right, I am in deep, deep mud. It just never ends well.

And then, during the general shake-up and frankly remarkable (to me; YMMV) improvement of my writing skills and habits that began about this time last year, I figured it out. And now when I write a scene out of order, I’m almost always ready to just cut and paste it into place.  Sometimes with a little trimming and fitting – which, candidly, I probably shouldn’t do, given the habit I’m  trying to ingrain of just writing. But one thing I’ve also learned in the last few years has been that incremental improvement is improvement.

Trying to get everything perfect now – and, of course, flagelalting myself when I don’t – is one of my most effective tools to fail.

So now you’re likely asking yourself, “What’s in this for me?” What can you take away from this that might help you improve your writing?

Well, first, no matter what craft you pursue, if you’re serious about it, that entails constantly and eternally striving to improve. Why the long face? That’s good news. You will never, should our life spans be extended to 10,000 years, completely master any craft worth pursuing. So: you need never get bored!

Second, the Second Iron Law of Writing is that One Size Never Fits All. What works for me may not work for you at all. It may not even work for me all the time, as I’ve learned to my frustration. If it seems useful, try it. If it doesn’t serve you, toss it aside. There is no right way to write, other than to write.

And at last the pay-off … why, yes,I have been stalling. That’s because I’m not altogether sure why, after years of trying, I suddenly got it all worked out in the last few months. But here’s what I can tell you.

I keep better track of my out-of-sequence scenes. Sometimes I keep a separate file for them, although sometimes, for some reason, that fact still drops out of my mind. What I seem to do most often nowadays is hit Enter a few times and just write ‘em at the end of the chapter, or story, I’m working on. Then when I catch up to them they’re right handy.

Also, I keep better track of the fact I’ve done them, and what they roughly consist of, as well as where the scenes are. Part of this I suppose is simply mindfulness. Another factor is that I have started – again, in about the last year – reviewing what I’ve already written more frequently. If I’m just starting a chapter at the beginning of a given day – which usually means I’ve only got a sentence or two of it written, since I always try to finish a day’s writing by beginning the next scene – I’ll review the last scene of the previous chapter. If I’m in the midst of a chapter, I read over what went before.

The reason I didn’t do this before was also simple: I used to hate to reread my stuff. I was always convinced it was inadequate. As to how I’ve fixed that: well, I haven’t. Not all the way, sadly. But I’ve mitigated it.

I also, when I’m reviewing what I’ve written prior to picking up again, often check out the pre-written scenes so I’m fresh on what I’ve got and, roughly, where it’ll fit.

I hope that helps you. Or at the least, interested you.

And as always, the First Iron Law of Writing is that Writers Write. (The Third Iron Law of Writing, if you’re interested, is that There Are Only Two Iron Laws of Writing.)

To the best of my knowledge and belief, that applies with equal force to any craft.

So if you’re drawn to any form of making – which is what I deem any creative activity, whether machining or ballet dancing, to be – then go forth and make. It’s the only way.

And success to you!