A Success

Here's some happy news.

I generally keep my work to myself. After all, I'm not a charity. But recently I shared a couple of my better short stories with about ten select friends and associates. The results have been positive, to say the least, and profitable for me.

Best of all, several unrelated readers offered the same, enthusiastic praise about a certain aspect of my writing. They said that my characters and settings are so vivid that they fairly leap from the page. As one reader put it, "I felt like I was transported into a place that I had been before, yet I noticed that you accomplished this with just a few touches. How did you do that?"

It's a trade secret, my dear. I've been sworn into secrecy by the International Guild of Vivid Writing. :-)

Thank you all very much for your kind words! This is an aspect of my prose that I already considered to be one of my strengths, so it's good to get, not just validation, but actually some rather enthusiastic validation.

(Toiler takes a bow — his one and only moment of glory in the last five years, and perhaps his only glory for the next five.)

Now, if I can just figure out how to develop a fascinating, twisting-turning plot, then I'll be cooking with some serious hydrogen fuel.

Writer's Funk

I'm in a writer's funk right now. I like it, but I'm not sure everybody else does. My apologies to my partner. He's very independent, but even so, having me in a useless mental state probably doesn't do much for our social climate. He didn't get dinner until 8:30 last night (I'm usually the cook; he's the dishwasher), and we haven't been skiing or kayaking much at all on his free time. Same goes for my friends: my apologies if I seem a bit flaky right now. It's because I'm, well, being flaky. It's just hard to wrap my brain around anything besides work, and my motivation to do anything else has all but evaporated.

What do I mean by a funk? In my case, it's the state of mind that comes after working at the nuts and bolts of something for a very long time, when all of those disparate ideas finally begin to fuse and make sense. I can't say it's excitement. This work is too hard for that. Mostly it's a growing sense of focus and a stronger will to keep going.

Maybe it's a little like parenting: My kid has been equal parts wonderful and challenging of late — maybe less wonderful than challenging — but when he goes to sleep and I have a chance to see him in his most benign state, I feel reassured that I'm in this for the long term, and that I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'm Not Gone

Just so you know, Toiler is still alive. Nothing tragic has happened to him. In fact, things are going more-or-less well -- or maybe I should say that they're going more-and-less well.

I am still in the midst of learning how to write a plot novel, as I mentioned in several previous posts. Don't be surprised if I remain at this stage for another year or two. My current story isn't moving forward as quickly as I might like. (That's the less part.) But it is moving forward, and I'm still quite happy with it.

I've been able to hobble along without destroying this one the way I destroyed the last one. In other words, I think that I've been able to morph the story in the right ways to achieve the right ends without letting it outgrow me or go off in some weird direction. I also seem to be learning quite a lot about, not just writing, but also better methods of thinking. (That's the more part.)

To give you an example of what I mean, one of my biggest discoveries recently has been the danger of ordered lists. They can really get in the way of certain kinds of thinking. Odd, huh?

Anyway, I think I'm starting to get the hang of this art business. I'm in a good space. My plot is coming together, I like the characters, I like the setting, and I can't see anything about the story that might prove too difficult for a beginning novelist. All in all, I couldn't be much happier.

Toiler, Student of a Certain Philosophy

I'm so glad that I chose to use a pseudonym for this blog for several reasons, but mostly because I do not want my writing to be associated with Objectivism.

You heard me right.

I'm a huge, huge proponent of Objectivism, for it is the best -- and only -- philosophy available to a modern man who wants to live on this earth and live well. This philosophy contains the greatest set of ideas to grace this earth since the days when Aristotle, leading in the footsteps of some of his fellow Greek philosophers, tore his way through eons of mysticism and so gave men a chance to walk through life, perhaps not on solid stone, but at least on earthen clay, which at that time was an enormous step up from the mists through which earlier men had to swim. Now, thanks to the awesome accomplishments of Ayn Rand, a man living today finally has the opportunity to stand where he belongs: on marble, on a foundation that will never fail him as he walks the entire length of his life, a philosophy that will help him to discover immense spiritual contentment in the act of being real, meaning rational, independent, productive, honest, true, and good -- in short, being proud, which means, being worthy of the word "I".

(Those of you who have read Anthem will understand the vast meaning projected by that last statement.)

But I am no philosopher. I am only a student of this particular philosophy, and perhaps not even a very good student. In addition to having read all of Ayn Rand's published fiction, including her early fiction, I have also read Objectivism: The Philosophy of Ayn Rand (OPAR) by Leonard Peikoff several times, The Romantic Manifesto at least several times, plus just about every other major philosophic work at least once, including quite a few essays and tapes by Ayn Rand from the 1960s through late 70s. However, other than Ayn Rand's The Romantic Manifesto and her course on fiction writing and maybe to a lesser extent OPAR, it cannot be said that I have truly "studied" any of these works, only that I have read them. I am not even a layman. At best maybe I am only an accomplished student of her aesthetic theory. Beyond that I am merely a fan.

To be more than this, I would have to virtually end my writing career and devote far more of my time to intensive philosophical study, beyond just Objectivism. Can't do it. Won't do it. Don't want to do it.

When I am finally published -- I still intend to be and actually believe that my chances are looking up -- then you will probably never hear me speak my pen name in the same breath as the word Objectivism. The truth is, many of you will not even know who I am, and I plan to take steps to keep it that way.

I say this, not because I'm embarrassed by my philosophy. Quite the opposite! On a personal level, it's because I don't want the pressure. Writing has to come from exactly who I am right now, including every premise that I hold, possible warts and all. As many writers including Ayn Rand have stated in one manner or another, there's simply no other way. Fiction is simply too personal; the author can only project that which he has already integrated into who he is. Trying to go beyond that during the act of creation is suicide.

On another personal level, it's because the philosophy that I love so much deserves a more competent spokesman. I have seen in vivid detail recently what happens when a student of Objectivism misrepresents his philosophy in a public forum. The ensuing bloodshed (speaking metaphorically) is not pretty. I don't mind the bloodshed. Objectivists should be passionate about reality; as such, they don't take kindly to facts, especially about their philosophy, being skewed by the uninformed.

So there you have it. Toiler will probably publish under a pen name -- for more than one reason, incidentally -- and he will avoid discussing Objectivism when he represents himself as a writer. He will be, well... him.

I'm quite content with that, because I happen to be a big fan of me.

Update: Happy In Fantasy Land

I try not to use this blog as a personal diary. After all, who wants to read my griping about tedious challenges or snoozing about how bored I may be today. Zzzzz. I hate diaries.

But right now seems like a good time to give everyone an update, because I'm happy! Yahoo! (Or Yeehaw! with apologies to Yahoo!'s trademark office.)

Seriously, things seem to be going much, much better for me after my having wandered aimlessly for so long through a vast, dry, and colorless desert in my mind; that is to say, through a failed novel. Now it seems as if I have finally crossed over that desert and I am back in what appears to be a lush, temperate rain forest — not just any forest, either, but one that's full of animals, fascinating people, mysterious events, and great courage. I like it here!

Thanks and many thanks to my wonderful and amazing partner for his continued advice about thinking skills, but also to my friends and blog readers for the great stack of reading materials that they suggested. By the end of this year, I will have read more than I have read in the previous ten. Each story has been a plot-training device, and my efforts appear to be paying dividends.

Always before, I would outline my novels with only about three hierarchical levels: one that was very general (too high in my hierarchy to be useful) and one or two that were right down in the details (too low for my crow). My one and only successful novel worked only because it was so simple that my crow could handle it. This time around, though, I seem to have learned some things.

The main lesson, as I said, is that a critical mid-point was missing from my outline, one where I could see my story as four or five major "events" instead of just one or many. Not only that, but I have learned that these key "events" can't be too generally defined so as to be useless. They have to express real action, such as "Adam wins the race and becomes the celebrated hero of Smalltown." Additionally, any one of these broad "events" may comprise many chapters in the novel, or just one; I neither know nor care early on.

I have also learned not to flush out these four or five major events too carefully at first. I have to let my mind play with them until the overall trajectory of the action seems to work. Even when I do go down into the details just a bit to test my ideas, I have to come right back up to rework the high-level plan, then I can go back down again into the details, expanding as I go — but not very quickly! I can't spend too much time in the details until I know for sure that I can't improve the four or five major events to any good effect.

I thought that I knew about this kind of thinking already. In fact, I was sure of it, but I guess I was wrong, or at least I wasn't doing a very good job of it.

I make no promises about when this current novel will be finished or whether it will be publishable (by my standards). I have progressed far beyond that folly! Still, there's reason to hope.

Oh, and there's one other lesson that I've been sorely reminded of: Write what you love! So far I am loving this story the way I love my favorite chair, blanket, cup of coffee, fire in the fireplace, and book in my hand. In other words, I enjoy going to work once again. That's a nice place to be — however long it lasts.

[Update: Edited for clarity. This is the hardest part of blogging for me. If I write on my blog as well as I write for work, then I won't blog very much. Then again, I can't stand to have crappy entries on my blog. Grrr.]

Two Novels and a Short Story

So I'm working on two novels and a short story. By "working on", I don't necessarily mean writing. I mean planning, dreaming, sketching, and that sort of thing.

The first novel is SF/Adventure. The idea for it came to me about five years ago, but it was just a kernel then, what I call a situation. Maybe there was a bit of the character, too, in that hazy dream of an idea, but not much of one.

I'm still not sure if this story is ever going to find its way from seed to tree. The body of it is there, but its limbs and several vital organs seem to be missing. I'll just have to let it lie in state for a while longer until something new and compelling comes to light. This is exactly the situation that got me started on my quest to understand how page-turners work. It's supposed to be my job to know how to take an idea like this one and turn it into the real deal. Well, I'm working on it.

The other idea for a novel came to me just the other day. This one's pretty much pure fantasy. Not surprisingly, it's been done before — a thousand times, in fact — but I don't care.

People fall in love; we write about it. People die for a just cause in war while others die tragically for causes they don't believe in; either way, we write about it. Corrupt people use power to manipulate others; we write about it. A heroic man guards his honor because it's the only way to get his true love; we write about it. I could go on for pages.

In fact, I believe I'll do just that...

Status Update: Giant Creatures and Naming Characters

First the good news: If I'm not posting a lot on the blog, it's probably because most of my spare time is spent eating and sleeping. (In other words, I don't have much spare time.) Which means I'm either working on my current novel or reading and studying the plots of other novels (see my last post for more on this).

That leads me to the other good news: My current novel seems to be coming along quite nicely. I'm having a lot of fun with it. It has some fascinating heroes (yeah, more than one), some businessmen who make Bill Gates seem like small potatoes, big creatures, and lots of action (maybe too much; I'm not sure). Oh, and there's some space candy, too.

I have a broad vision for this story, but I'm trying very hard to keep it small. After exploring where I could go with it, I'm coming back to the one spot where the heat really gets turned up. I want this first novel to be about a narrow series of events in the main character's life. Some great backstory in the character's life gets skipped, which is hard to do, but I know that the story has to begin where the present conflict really takes off. Besides, I can't let it scale beyond my skills the way I did last time.

Oh, and I'm trying very hard to avoid flashbacks. That would be cheating.

One interesting challenge has been the naming of characters, especially the protagonist. It's a lot tougher than it sounds. How does Rowling do it, anyway? She makes it seem easy.

Over the Road Bump

To sum up my last post, here's what I think the school of hard knocks has been trying to tell me: Before a novelist should attempt to create slowly rising conflict by means of subtle emotional dynamics — slowly rising conflict being the core of what makes a novel a novel — he had better first learn to do it by means of murderous plots, crooks, kidnappings, and so on. In short, he should start his career by writing melodrama.

After all, what skill is not acquired this way? Witness: every young apprentice first takes the basic jobs and does them over and over again until he feels as if he can't bear to do them even one more time. For example, the son of a blacksmith must pump the billows and shovel coal. He may see his father creating fine works of craftsmanship, and he may wish that he could do the same, but he will face many years of drudgery before his father will finally hand him his own set of tongs and a raw strip of iron for the first time.

As a practical matter, then, a burgeoning writer should first practice what he learns from reading simple novels, like those of L'Amour and Le Quin. Only when he can write a novel at least that well is he ready to move on. Next, he should practice what he learns from Agatha Christie and Tom Clancy. After that, maybe Dumas and Kipling. Perhaps some day he will even be able to employ the tricks of the masters, say, a Rand or a Tolstoy, but he will never live to see that day if he doesn't first persevere through more basic stages of learning.

So here's my strategy: First, I need to learn how to distinguish more clearly between melodramas and higher forms of literature. Then, I must study simple melodramas until I can see a novel's basic structure forward and backward. Meanwhile, I must sort my collection of story ideas based on how difficult they would be to write, then choose a simple one to write next. Then after I write it, I will repeat the process, taking great pains to avoid letting my literary senses outpace my skills.

I know how to write literary short stories. That I have learned how to do fairly well. Also, my one and only completed novel is fairly literary although it is also fairly simple and short. Even so, it is time for me to go back to my roots. No more high or even semi-high literature for me, at least not until I have become an expert at pumping the billows and shoveling coal.

Road Bump

So you want to know what that “road bump” I mentioned here is all about?

Several months into my current novel, I have come to realize that I can't write it. It's too complicated for me given my nascent novel-writing skills.

Now, doesn't that explanation sound up-front and professional? Maybe I should be a little more direct about it. How about this: I overshot my skills, and it sucks like nobody's business. In fact, I've been off-and-on miserable for months.

Since this blog is partly about “the synaptic anatomy of a struggling writer”, I'll let you in on some of the inner workings of a writer who wonders sometimes what the hell he got himself into.

(By the way, if I hadn't already developed a plan to solve my problem on my own, I wouldn't be posting this information, so take it as an interesting set of experiences.)

Here's a selection from my personal journal, which, like this blog, is solely devoted to discussing my work:

“I think it's time to move on. I can't get this story started the right way. I can't figure out what's wrong with it. I'm buried in questions, and I'm buried in even more answers. Which ones do I choose? What's the matter? God, I wish I new!

It's too conceptual for me, too touchy-feely, too emotionally complex, not concrete enough. It needs a simpler plot, like one of those guns and bombs novels. It needs fewer emotional denouements, more crashing cars. It needs a “thing plot” not a “thought plot”.

But you thought you had plot. It was beautiful. Glorious. Original. Moving.

Oh, yes! Plot, plot, plot! More like plodding.

“The seagull appears in the fog...blah, blah, blah.” Jesus Christ!—no, a story about Jesus Christ would be much more interesting. This story feels more like: "Nice Joe Smith and his pet mutt go to the beach for a pleasant vacation. Joe gets a sunburn, his mutt swallows a crab and nearly chokes to death, but overall they have a good time."

Will somebody please wake me up from this nightmare?

No, Toiler, that's your job. Wake your own damn self up. Get your own act together. What the hell good can come from your plan if you aren't getting a damn thing done that's worth doing. Snap out of it! Repeat after me: Get something done! Get something done! Get something done!"

This entry continues along the same depressing vein for a bit, but I think you get the general idea. It was dated August 22, 2006. Yes, I've been developing ulcers for going on two months now. Of course, what writer hasn't ever felt that way? This is nothing new. Just ask any serious writer, artist, or intellectual anywhere. Even so, it's gut-wrenching when it's happening to you.

So I was sweating bullets one day in my office when I looked up at my shelf and — God have mercy! — I see a book entitled How to Write a Damn Good Novel by James Frey. This little book is currently one of the hot sellers among "how to" guides. I don't know why I hadn't read it yet. Maybe I thought I didn't need it. If so, I was wrong.

As you may gather from the book's title, it is aimed at teaching the practical nuts and bolts of writing basic genre fiction, not high literature. Frey breaks a novel down into a set of rules, and he does so in simple terms using straightforward examples. It's a remarkable little book in that regard. His advice reminds me of the still lifes and musical scales that were discussed in this thread. He makes writing novels sound easy.

Well, in fact, it ought to be much easier than I'm making it out to be. And that, I believe, is the root of my problem. I'm once again trying to run — nay, leap into outer space! — before I really know how to walk, by which I mean, before I really know, know, know how to walk — and that kind of knowing can only come from learning, learning, learning, then doing, doing, doing, and then repeating, repeating, repeating!

The last thing I should attempt right now is an emotionally complex novel. If I'm going to write a novel, it ought to be another simple melodrama — a James Frey novel — then another simple melodrama after that, and then another. Like playing musical scales, I won't come to know how to write a novel merely by slogging through one once (which I have). I must become an expert at each level of writing before I move on to the next.

Isn't that what a real skill is after all? It's not just a point-in-time discovery; it's a continual state of acting by means of both automated and conscious effort — mostly automated. It's a state that can only be achieved through practice.

I see now why Frey and several other editors and writers, including the authors of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (Browne and King), counsel young authors to avoid serious literature altogether. Unless a new writer is a budding genius, then there is no other logical place for him to start than by writing the very simplest tales (and perhaps even if he is a budding genius).

In my defense, I do in fact know how to write literary short stories. That I seem to have figured out well enough. But I don't want to write short stories. I want to write novels.

"No problem," someone may say, "just write a very long short story." Not so! Short stories are to novels what cookies are to wedding cakes — totally different ingredients, totally different recipe, totally different methods all around. No one would ever claim that a wedding cake is just a great, big cookie. Likewise, those who only ever write short stories generally know precious little about how to write novels.

I do still believe that my current project is profound and wonderful. I have no doubt that a better writer could make magic with it. It has all the potential to be the next Chocolat (the movie, not the book). In fact, several days ago I extemporaneously narrated the opening scene to my partner. He put down whatever he was doing at the time, walked over, and sat down in front of me, never taking his eyes off of mine, and his eyes were wide with fascination. He was hooked — hooked well! I know there's magic in this story — but I'm not Gandalf yet.

This is also part of my problem. When I peruse my stack of ideas for stories, I see that most of the best ones are literary. In other words, I have a mind that is able to imagine stories that I can't yet write. Coach Toiler says, "Pace yourself!" But it's not that easy. Knowing what makes a story difficult to write is not obvious to a beginner, at least not to this one.

So there you have it: a big, ugly road bump. But it's not the end of the road. It's not even a crash in the road, though it feels like one right now. It's just a big bump, and maybe I hit my head on the ceiling and got a bruise. It'll heal. Pick up that pen and keep moving forward.

Who knows? Maybe one day I will have earned the skills that I need to tell this wonderful, lyrical story of mine. Until then, it's back to writing about guns and bombs.

My Story Child Has Arrived

Well, it's happened. My baby's here. I penned the last word of my new short story last week, and it is everything I dreamed it would be. It's also a really devastating premise. By the end of writing it, I was so leveled that I went to bed and slept for almost twelve hours straight.

Some of you may not imagine how physically and emotionally trying it can be to write a story. When bad things happen to the character, and when I have truly become the character, then it's as if bad things happen to me. It can be awful. But it's also wonderful, because I know that I've captured something important.

I've given it a first-pass edit already, but that's probably all it will get for several months. The story is politically incorrect and at odds with "either side" in today's political turf war, so don't hold your breath for a publication date. Sorry. That's just one of those tough things about my job.

No matter. I love my baby anyway.

I Interrupt This Programming

I interrupt the regularly scheduled programming on this blog to make the following unexpected announcement: I'm pregnant with twins! No, I'm not literally pregnant. I'm a guy. I mean I'm pregnant with twin stories.

How exciting! That means two sets of everything: strollers, blankets, bottles, and beds. No more sleep for weeks or months. I get to eat strange food. I'll get gifts. And what's really great is that one's a boy and one's a girl, blue and pink — and I mean that almost literally.

I've never had twins before. I've had plenty of story ideas that came to me when I was writing something else. When that happens, I just write down the idea as far as I can go with it in about an hour or two, maybe a day at most, then I go back to my working story. But I've never attempted to write two stories at the same time—until now.

And yeah, I'm having sleepless nights. A few nights ago, I went to bed only to find myself getting back up to work an hour later. Then I got up at 2:00 AM last night and worked for an hour or two. It's like my brain is on caffeine but without the caffeine.

Fortunately, unlike a real mother, I get to give birth separately. My second idea should be done soon. It's just a short story, while my other is a short novel. And I really like my short story. It's one of the best ideas I've ever had, and writing it has been great fun, not difficult at all. That's partly why I decided to just go ahead and do it now. I'll be interested to learn how this interruption will impact my other project. It might be good for it.

It's About Time

The very first words of my next story are about to land on paper any minute now, and I'm totally stoked about it, even a little nervous. Seriously. I feel butterflies. I was beginning to wonder if this day would ever happen.

Assuming that I don't run into a mental brick wall right after starting, which sometimes does happen, then my neurotransmitters should stay occupied with this thing for quite a few months, so expect to see fewer posts here.