Flash Fiction

” With gas prices rising they had to change their plans.”  This was the sentence given for this particular piece of flash fiction.  One had to use it somewhere in the 750 word piece.  Mine is below. Links to the other writer’s pieces can be found here. 

———————————————————————

     With gas prices rising their plans had to change.  They had little money to begin with and getting away by car seemed impossible now.

     Betty Rae wanted to push Kenny’s head through the windshield because he was ready to give up on the whole thing. 

     “What are we supposed to do, B.R., go by donkey cart?”

     “You’re not funny.  This is serious.”

     “But how’re we gonna get away after?  We need money for food and stuff.  Can’t go paying no six twenty-five a gallon.  The way this fuckin crate eats up gas we’ll be outta money before we pass the county line.”

     “We gotta think a something else.” She knew she was the one who had to think of a plan because Kenny never thought of anything.  What was she doing with this moron, anyway? She should never’ve broken up with Bing.  Her mother always snarled when she talked about him.

     “Betty Rae, can’t you do better than a boy named Bing Cherry?”

     It wasn’t his fault that was his name.  Wasn’t like he named himself.     Wait a minute. Bing had a Vespa.  And she knew where he kept a spare key.

     “You ever driven a Vespa, Kenny?”

     “A what?”

     “Vespa.  It’s like a motorcycle only smaller.”

     “You mean like a mobed.”

     “Moped.”

     “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

     She wasn’t going to argue with him because there wasn’t time for that now. 

     “So you never drove a Vespa, right?”

     “Right.”

     “Thing is, you get a lotta miles to the gallon with them.”

     “So what? 

     “I know where we can get one.”  She told him about it.

     “And you can drive it?” he said.

     “Easy.”

     “Cool. Let’s get her then.”

     Kenny started the old Ford and drove over to Bing’s. He was in Iraq and Betty Rae knew his parents both worked.  Kenny parked around the corner and they walked to Bing’s house, up the driveway and peeked through the garage window. 

     There it was with a grey cover over it.

     “What if it don’t have gas in it?”

     “Shut up.”  She went over to the flower bed near the side of the house, dug around in the dirt and came up with the key.  She held it up to Kenny like a trophy.

     When they went to open the garage doors they discovered they were locked.

     “Now what?”

     She looked at him with contempt, took off her shirt, walked to the side of the garage, wrapped the shirt around her hand and punched a hole in the window.

     “Jesus, B.R.”

     “Nobody’ll hear us.”  She put her shirt back on, pulled out the pieces of glass stuck in the frame, climbed through, came around and raised the door for Kenny.

     They didn’t say anything and went over to the Vespa. 

     Betty Rae pulled the cover off the machine. It was a wild purple, like she remembered.  She kicked the stand, threw a leg over the seat, put in the key, and tried to get it started.

     “Bet it has no gas in it,” Kenny said.

     “Anyone ever tell you you’re a goddamn pessimist?”

     “Not so I remember.”

     “Well, you are and it’s a big drag.”

     “Sorry.”

     One more try and the engine gurgled to life.

     “Get on.” She could see he didn’t want to so she gave him her I’ll kill you if you don’t look.

     He slowly took his seat behind her and she drove out of the garage, down the driveway and onto the street.

     “Hey, my car’s the other way.”

     “Fuck the car.  We don’t need it. Listen. We’ll go to my house and get the gun.  And you’ll do like we planned.  Then we’ll get outta town on this.”

     Her fucking parents were on disability so they’d both be home.  Shithead would be watching Oprah in the living room and Pigface would be glugging wine and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen.   

     Kenny would kill her father first while she was in the kitchen with her mother.  The stupid bitch would hear the shot but before she could do anything Betty Rae would stab her and then Kenny’d come in and shoot her.  After, Betty Rae would pull the jar out from behind the pipes under the sink and take the money.

     But what if Kenny got cold feet?  He wouldn’t because he knew she’d kill him if he didn’t do like she said.

     “Waaatch ooou…,” Kenny screamed.

     They hit the car in front, bounced off and smashed into the telephone pole.

     Neither one was wearing a helmet.

 

Will Wonders Never Cease?

Those of you who read this blog know I balked at writing a short story last year. Then I did it and it was published in the anthology HELL OF A WOMAN.  From there it was picked to be included in  A Prisoner of Memory: And 24 of the Year's Finest Crime and Mystery Stories.  This came as a great surprise to me.

However, in cleaning out a trunk I found a rolled up scroll which turned out to be a certificate of merit in recognition of winning Honorable Mention in the Regional Scholastic Writing Awards for New Jersey. Yes, for a short story.  I have no memory of this or the story I wrote when I was fourteen.

I guess I wrote short stories back then.

Coming up at the end of the week is my first try at Flash Fiction.  It’s okay, I didn’t know what FF was either when I heard about it.  It isn’t much, but I actually wrote something.

Another New Chapter

I’ve been walking around with a low-grade depression for weeks. Now something has lifted it for me.  I think I miss writing. Everything I’ve said before this is true.  I didn’t miss it and I was feeling fine about it, enjoying myself. 

I still hate the idea of a routine. But I realized that three days a week I get up to an alarm anyway because I go to an excercise class.  This means that three nights a week I go to bed at the same time I did when writing.  That is part of the routine I was sick of.  The other part is writing itself.  Or was.

This doesn’t mean I’m going to plunge into some big project or even a small one.  The fact is, I don’t know what it means.

There are adjustments I have to make.  I have to accept that I’m not in the thick of things anymore.  It’s not twenty some years ago when I was in on starting Sisters In Crime.  I don’t have loads of writer friends.  Many of them have stopped writing (or stopped getting published) and I don’t live in NYC.  There’s a whole new crop of wonderful writers out there and it’s their turn now…as it should be. Going on book tours is a thing of the past for me.  I’m not grieving for that.  I could still go to conventions but I don’t want to.  Again, that’s really for the new kids on the block.

This is a fresh chapter for me.  I’m not sure what will be in  it, but I guess I’ll find out.  I have no illusions about this.  And I hope no delusions. 

As always, I don’t know how I got from there to here.

Sleepless in Southold

Last night I had a helluva time falling asleep.  I think it was because I ate a chocolate cookie…very chocolate…too late.  But it was also because I was reading a short story by Alice Munro.

I started to think about stories again.  When I put out the light to try to force myself to sleep, I could only think of ss ideas.

I don’t know what it means.  I’m not saying I’m going to write any, but something is happening.  I’ve noticed my ears are perking up when other people are having conversations.

Writing a ss is not a huge commitment the way a novel is.  On the other hand I’ve always felt writing one was wasting time.  I have to do something about this idea.  This way of thinking.

That’s all.

Word Count

Jess has asked this question:

“In all your years of writing books, did you ever come up short in word count?”

Word count never came up until I signed with Ballantine about five years ago.  No one said anything about it.  I wrote until it was finished. Some books were longer than others.  I guess I went by feel.  Or to put it another way, the characters told me when it was time to get out of there.

Then when I got the Ballantine contract it said I had to turn in a book with 95,000 words.  I’d never seen anything like that in a contract before.  I’d spent my career paring down my writing.  My aim was to not have a wasted word. The joke was on me.

Years ago 65,000 words was the length of the average novel. Thomas Wolfe was an exception. I had no idea what word count I had in any novel I’d published.  But I felt that 95,000 words might be too many for a P.I. novel.  I got them to agree to 85,000, which I still thought might be too long, but I had to sign the contract with that word count. And my book came in around that length.

Still, I think dictating the amount of words a writer must punch out is destructive.  Sometimes a very long novel is self-indulgent.  I can think of quite a few.  On the other hand, very short novels might leave a reader feeling cheated. 

If you’re worried about getting a book up to a certain word count you’re bound to load it with filler. We’ve all read books like this and it’s a big bore.  Even if it lands on the bestseller list.  Boring.

A writer must do what he/she feels comfortable with.  Thinking about word counts might take the life out of the novel especially if you’re new at writing.  But times have changed and publishing houses have new rules. 

I think it’s sad that these rules and regulations have come into play.  Asking for a specific word count is as bad as asking a writer to write a book like Dan Brown or Mary Higgins Clark.  Or Virginia Wolfe.  But no one would ask you to write like her.

If getting published is more important to you than writing what you want to write then, by all means, do your word count.

I believe you have to write like you and you have to write until you come to the end.

Quote

"Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade, just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself."

Truman Capote

FRIDAYS: The Book You Have to Read.

From Patti Abbott

This is the first of what I perhaps overly optimistically hope will become Friday recommendations of books we might have forgotten over the years. Not just from me, but from everyone. I have asked several people to join with me today and recommend favorite books of theirs. Their blog sites are listed below. I also asked each of them to tag someone to recommend a book for next Friday.

I’m worried that we are letting some great books of the recent past slide out of print and out of our consciousness. Not the first-tier classics we can all name perhaps, but that group of books that comes next. If you read a book that someone recommends, please call our attention to that too. It would be nice to think a recommendation had an impact on someone somewhere.

Death of the Heart by Elizabeth Bowen

If you’re looking for a fast read, this isn’t for you. Bowen's people are keenly aware and the reader must stay right there with her, because hidden among lengthy descriptions of sea air and drawing-room politics are terse asides.

This is a story of innocence betrayed set in the thirties. Portia, an orphan, comes to live in London with her half-brother, Thomas, and his wife, Anna.

It’s Portia’s innocence that causes so much trouble. She isn’t trained to deal with London society or with boys or with the isolation she endures. Anna and Thomas live dull, sterile lives.

Unfortunately for Portia, she falls in with Anna's friend Eddie, who seems to be made entirely of bad motives. Though the plot follows Portia's relationship with Eddie, the novel's real tension lies between Portia and Anna.

There is a stunning romantic betrayal and it sets in motion one of the most moving and desperate flights of the heart in modern literature.

For me this is the best of Bowen’s novels.

For the others go to Patti's Blog

Tomorrow

Even though this is a writing blog tomorrow will be different, especially since I’m not writing. Although I did change part of the page and a half I have from first person to third. Does that count?

Patti Abbott has come up with an idea that is quite interesting and I’m participating. So check back tomorrow.

 

Quote

"There is no way of writing well and also of writing easily."

Anthony Trollope

A Little Bit Pregnant?

I’ve written about a page and a half since I last posted here.  Yes, I have an idea.  And I find myself thinking about it especially as I read other people’s books.

Am I working my way toward a disciplined life again?  Am I going to find a new way to work?  Am I going to work at all?  Will I stick to this idea in some way?

I don’t know any of those answers.  I guess I’ll wait and see.  Or write and see. 

I do like the idea. That’s something.  Still, I don’t like the thought of a schedule.  Perhaps that will pass.  Now that I have an idea I like and think I can execute, everything might fall into place.  Yeah, right!

Teasing Me

On Monday, while I was reading, an idea came to me.  I made notes. I put them into my computer.  I felt excited.

On Tuesday I couldn’t care less.

On Wednsday I thought about it again.  It interested me. Maybe, I thought, maybe….

Today I couldn’t care less.

Quote

"The mere habit of writing, of constantly keeping at it, of never giving up, ultimately teaches you how to write."

Gabriel Fielding

Double Take

This morning I was flipping through Crimspree Magazine and came to an ad by Echelon Press.  I was stopped still when I saw the jacket of a novel by Robert Goldsborough.  Except for the cigarette in the woman’s mouth, it is the same jacket on the the large print edition of This Dame for Hire.  Clean Feet Design is credited for my book.  I wonder if Clean Feet knows they’ve been used at least twice.  I guess so. I hope they get paid for this.

I think somebody did an article, either on the Internet or in a magazine, about this practice.  I don’t know why but I keep thinking Sarah Weinman did it on Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind.  Has anybody else come across this with a book they’ve written?

I got an email from someone I’d told that I was no longer writing. This is what he wrote to me in reply: “If you are genuinely happy without the writing, more power to you.  I don't seem to be able to shake the bug and am hard at work on a book about my father.”

The annoying thing about this is that this man self-publishes and seems to only write about himself and his family.  No fiction.   He’s retired.  He doesn’t take in that my writing was my career, my job.  And clearly doesn’t get that my life’s work had nothing to do with a bug.  Yes, I’m grouchy.  I would write him a scathing letter except that he’s married to my favorite cousin.

Which leads me to something I was thinking about yesterday.  I used to have this saying on my bulletin board:  “I think there’s truth in what you say.”  The late Edward (Ned) Stewart told me to say that, or a version of it, when talking to my agent or an editor.  This was because of my prickly personality.  I know this comes as a shock to some of you, but, yes, I did have an abrupt style once upon a time.  But all that isn’t my point.

Remembering that sign led me to the other sign I had on my bulletin board.  “Advance the Story” in big black letters. They are important words.  And I wrote by them.  Most of the time.

No matter what kind of novel you’re writing the main thing is to advance the story.  That should be your goal.  If it is, it will keep you from going off on tangents, doing set pieces, throwing in a dream that bores the hell out of readers, ruminating on the weather, the scenery, the silverware or any other thing that has no business being there.  Unless it’s a sentence or two, but even then if it doesn’t move the story along, drop it.

I want to read a well-written book, but I’m not interested in pyrotechnic writing.

I just finished Richard Price’s Lush Life.  He doesn’t waste a word.  There’s one dream the book could do without.  It didn’t tell me anything and didn’t advance the story.  It was slightly irritating because it was a page and a half long. But if you’re Richard Price you can get away with it.  Almost.

I suggest that you take a piece of white letter-sized paper, turn it so it’s horizontal and in black magic marker write ADVANCE THE STORY and pin it up where you can see it as you write.

Or don’t.

Disappearing Act

My Medialist disappeared around March 6th or 7th. This is where I listed my recommended books. The website has no new entries after March 8th. I think it’s over. I wish I could find another site that would allow me to do what I did with Medialist. If anyone knows of one I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.

I’ve made my own recommendation list and I’m starting over because I don’t remember what was on there. It isn’t as pretty as the old one but I guess this list isn’t about pretty.

Obviously the Medialist came back since I wrote that.

And speaking of disappearing, I haven’t. I’m still around and still not feeling guilty about not writing. I’ve been following Laura Lippman's book tour and feeling happy for her and happy it’s not me. I could never do a tour like hers. The most I ever did was two weeks and I found it exhausting. I couldn’t even do two weeks now. Fortunately, no one is asking me to.

I had a short period in which I was unable to read. I found that awful. But now I can. I have a bunch of books lined up and you can see the one I finished on my jerry-rigged list.

When I read a wonderful novel like Lush Life I do feel a bit nostalgic for the act of writing. Not that I could write a book like Price’s. That’s not the point. But there’s a part of me that wants to be in that state…the state of creation. There’s no better state to be in, I think. Even when it’s not going well. Still, I’m not interested or ready to go back to my schedule.

Jess has suggested that I write about “plotting, characterization, making setting come alive--whatever.” I’m not a teacher but I might be able to do this if asked a specific question. I promise nothing.

Quote

"Mere literary talent is common; what is rare is endurance, the continuing desire to work hard at writing."

Donald Hall

Over and Over

I’ve decided it’s the routine that’s gotten to me.  It’s not unlike any job where you do the same thing over and over.

What I mean is this: going to bed by 10 P.M.; getting up to an alarm; having breakfast; getting to my desk by 9 A.M. and staying there until 12 or 1.

On the face of it it doesn’t look so terrible.  But I’ve been doing it for about 50 years with short breaks here and there.

Since I stopped writing ideas have come to me…not big ones, but little ones here and there.  I think to myself I should write that (a habit that doesn’t go away ever, I suspect) and then my mind goes immediately to the SCHEDULE.  And I know I can’t do it.

So change the schedule, you say.  Write in the afternoon.  Write at night. Use something other than a computer.  I can’t.  I’ve never used anything but a typewriter or a computer.  And I’ve always written in the morning. 

I’m a morning person.  I’d have no energy to write in the afternoon and night is for other things.  Like life.  Not to mention total lack of energy. Writing with pen and pad leaves me cold.  And I can’t write in cafes or libraries or anywhere but here.  I have to have total silence.  That’s one of the main reasons I left NYC.

I have no idea what to do about this.  Perhaps I’ll have to stay silent until the idea of a schedule doesn’t make me feel sick.

Mind Your Own Business

The quote below made me think once again about trying to write for a specific audience or an editor, maybe an agent.  I’ve written about this before, but I think it’s worth writing about again.

You can’t write what you can’t read.  I could never write a science fiction novel because I don’t care to read them.  The same goes for spy novels.  I’m sure you have your own genres you can’t read.  If so, don’t try to write one.  It won’t work.

Don’t try to second guess who will like what.  It’s impossible.  I’ve been reading some writer’s blogs where the author wonders if he/she should put a romance at the beginning or start with the weather.  Should the protagonist be sympathetic?  If she/he is angry will that put an editor off?

Does a woman have to have sex appeal?  Does a man have to be macho?

Will the agent like it better if I start with place or person?

How will readers feel about a woman killer?  Should I throw in a dog or cat?

Does it have to be resolved by the end?

Thinking this way would drive me crazy…and I’m sure it drives the people asking these questions, crazy.  It has to.  How creative can this be if you’re trying to tailor your work for X, Y or Z?

Years ago I tried writing a Judith Krantz-type novel.  Some of you probably don’t know who she is.  In the 70s and 80s she wrote sagas about glamorous women looking for love or losing love in various countries with gorgeous men.  I think almost all her books were made into TV specials.

Now, really, does that sound like a novel I could or would write?  But I wanted to make some money and it seemed so easy.  I did have to read one of the novels and it was agony.  My writing partner and I mapped out the characters lives, the men, the conflicts, etc. all on a big white board.  We alternated chapters and rewrote each other’s work.  We stayed friends but what we came up with in the end died on the page.  Still, we didn’t know that until our agent told us.

Then there was the spy novel and the romance novel and who remembers?  What I didn’t realize is that the people who write these novels are good at what they do.  They believe in their work.  One has to, to make it live. 

We were trying to write for a particular audience and there was no way we could do that and have it be any good.

But even if you’re writing in a genre you like (crime) you can’t decide to start the novel with action because you think an agent will like it better. And on and on.

You have to start it where you want to start it.  Where you think it should begin because that’s how you hear it in your head.  Characters have to sing to your tune and not to the tune of some imaginary editor.

Believe in your story, your setting, your protagonist.  If you do you might have a chance of writing a good book.

Quote

Write something to suit yourself and many people will like it;
write something to suit everybody and scarcely anyone will care for
it.

Jesse Stuart

For the Record

I appreciate everyone who’s left me comments and suggested ways and means to get going again.

First, I’m not depressed. Am I a depressive? Yes. But I take medication for that and I’ve been fine for quite a long time now.

Second, it’s not about me having to be happy when I write. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.

This is what it’s about. I don’t want to write anything. Not stories, letters, lists. I can post to this blog and I can write email but that’s it. I don’t want to write fiction or nonfiction. Not articles or poems. Nothing. And guess what? I find myself perfectly content not writing.

That may change. Who knows? But for now I’m delighted to read, do things on my computer, watch movies, meet someone for coffee or sit quietly and think.

I’ve been writing for over 50 years…yes, I’m a geezer…and I’m tired. I’ve been lucky to be published and sometimes paid handsomely. And during my career I’ve gotten respect, good and bad reviews and all the things that are a bonus to a writer.

Yes, that was in the early part of my career. As I’ve said before, publishing has changed. I’m glad I had the experiences I did before the change, like flowers from an editor on publication day.

I admit this change in the way things are done may have contributed to my present state. But that part I better get over.

So, I don’t want to write anything and I’m not depressed. But thanks for caring.

Could This Be It?

Someone sent me this:

“Writer's block is a phenomenon involving temporary loss of ability to begin or continue writing, usually due to lack of inspiration or creativity.”

It never occurred to me that I might be experiencing writer’s block. I’ve had it before but it came in an entirely different form, so I didn’t recognize it this time. Of course, it may not be that at all. It may be what I wrote in the last post.

However, I perked up at the word “temporary” so that tells me something.

Although I won’t be posting my daily writing trials, I will be posting my writing thoughts, just as the name of this blog says.

I Can't Do This

I know sometimes I hate what I’m writing but then it passes. Or perhaps I hate a certain writing day. This isn’t that. Once again I’ve started something that won’t fly.

I have the awful feeling that I can’t write anymore. Some part of me is fed up with the whole process. It’s not that I have to feel pleasure all the time I’m writing. That would be unrealistic. But I feel no pleasure at all. It feels like I’m simply hitting keys. Writing for the sake of writing because I’m supposed to be a writer.

No, I don’t want to change careers. I think I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to write. I know that I’ve always been a happier person when I’m writing, but not lately. And by lately I mean the last several years.

Is it because I know what’s going on in the publishing world? Because the chance of selling whatever I write is slim? I suppose these things could contribute to my not wanting to write, but I suspect there’s something else. I’m sick of it.

But I’m a writer. And real writers have to write. Yes, I’m a real writer. I’ve published many novels. I guess that makes me a real writer. Do other real writers stop cold? Get sick of it?

Many names of writers come to mind who haven’t published a book in years. Is this because they can’t get published? Or have they quit? And does it matter what other writers have done?

I can’t do it anymore.

A Different Kind of Hell

This is the hell of starting over and not getting far at all.  Hating the new start.

This is the hell of breaking all your own rules.  Peeking at the Internet.  Playing with programs.

This is the hell of not being any better on the second day.  Fixing the start but only for a short time until breaking the rules again.

This is the hell of knowing you have to go back to it tomorrow.

 

A Blip

It would be too boring to explain why, so I’ll say that something has come up that pushes my restart day to Tuesday.  Does anyone care but me?  Don’t answer that.

Almost There

I still hate Vista.  But the printer's working and I start working on Monday.

Hell

For me this is it. Setting up a new computer with a new (to me) operating system, and hating it. Also searching for programs on my external drive. Hell, I tell you, hell.

I've been doing this for a day and a half. I have a long long way to go.

My Monday writing start may not happen. I only have a day and a half left.

Update

The computer is arriving today. Now I can be sure to be ready for Monday.

Change of Plan

The new computer is arriving Friday. I just got an email telling me this. So I have to ask myself...what's the point of writing tomorrow? One day and then I'm into computer installing hell. And all the other stuff you have to do with a new computer.

But the good news is that if all goes well I'll be able to start again on Monday. I don't think it will take me more than Friday and the weekend to get it together enough to write. And be comfortable.

Yes, that's what I'm going to do. Not writing tomorrow .... making way for the Vista operating system. And paying bills. And figuring out how to write a note to Itunes and ask what to do about making my new computer work with it. Yeah, I know...this is a writing blog. Still, if anyone knows......

Best Laid Plans

Yesterday I sat down at my computer for my second day of writing. I turn on the hateful thing and what happens? Dread blue screen saying something about registry. I tried everything I know how to do and then rushed off to Best Buy. There I found out it was the motherboard and because my computer is a Shuttle they couldn’t fix it there. What it would cost to ship and fix was a lot. A lot. So I came home and bought a new computer on Amazon which won’t arrive until Monday.

As you can see I’m writing this. I’m on my laptop. And although I don’t like writing on it I’ll try tomorrow. But next week will be lost. At least a few days of it while I set up the new one. I won’t even go into the programs I’ve lost. The new one comes with Vista. Yuck. I’ll have to learn that, also. And how do I get Itunes to recognize me on the new computer? Nevermind, this is a writing blog.

But I do want to say that anyone who’s written me an email and I haven’t responded, please send it again. Lost all my mail, too.

The whole thing is very frustrating. Oh, I backed up my four pages on a flash drive so that’s okay. And I have an external drive that holds a lot of stuff. I haven’t lost any writing.

This sucks.

Did It

Four pages.  Don’t care if they’re good or bad.

And Once More

Tomorrow I’m going to start a new novel.  I’m very anxious about this because I’m approaching it differently from how I usually do.

I know the beginning and the end.  But I don’t know the middle. Normally I never know the end.  Only the beginning.  So I guess I never know the middle.  What makes me feel nervous about not knowing the middle is because I know the end.  I see that now.

If I don’t know the end then I don’t think about the middle.  There is no middle. I wish I didn’t know the end.

I have to approach this as though I don’t know the end and then see what happens. 

Usually I write a novel with a particular discipline.  Private Eye, Police Procedural, etc.  So I know how to get to the end.  That’s not true. I’ve written a number of novels that didn’t fall into any sub genre.  I’m making too much of this.

Here’s the thing:  I simply have to sit down here tomorrow and start.  What could be so hard about that?

Happy New Year 2008

It has to be better than last year. It does. I hope it is. A lot of bad personal things happened to me in 2007. But I’m still here.

As for writing, it was definitely a bad year. There wasn’t much. I had to put 200 pages, that I’d mostly written in 2006, into a drawer. I didn’t know how to work the con therefore the novel had to be put away. I have a feeling I’ll take it out one day.

I made at least one other false start. Maybe two. I complained a lot. I might have even whined, sin of sins.

On a positive note I had a short story published in the anthology A Hell of a Woman, and the story was picked up for another anthology of the best crime stories of the year.

But that year is over. And this year I’m going to start a new novel. Next Monday. I still don’t have a title. Not quite true. I have a working title but I’m not mad for it. Still, I’ll be able to make a title page and that’ll give me the feeling that I’m going somewhere.

I like the idea for this book. As usual I don’t know if I can pull it off. I wonder how many writers know for sure they can pull it off when they start? I always have a touch of fear that it won’t work. But because I’ve had such trouble in the past year I’m more nervous than at other starts.

So, next Monday I’ll sit down here and hopefully write a few pages. If I write three that day I’ll be happy.

I know it’s not going to be easy. And I know it has to be one day at a time. That’s all I know.

Disappointment

My sickness lingered then morphed into another strain which made it impossible for me to go to the signing of A Hell Of A Woman on Thursday night.

I was disappointed on several levels. The obvious one and the thought/feeling that this might be the last signing I’ll ever be a part of.

No, not because I think I’m going to die. But because of the publishing world as it is today.

I plan to start a novel on the 7th of January. If you know me at all, you know I could never start on Jan. 2nd because that’s the middle of the week! Anyway, should my idea blossom and should I actually write my 20th book, will anyone publish it?

Just for the hell of it let’s say some house does. Will there be a signing anywhere? It would be 2010 or 2011. I doubt that publishers will be sending out writers who aren’t stars, anymore than they are now.

Maybe there’ll be a special way to do a signing on the Kindle! But that won’t be the same anymore than reading a book on a Kindle is the same as having that book in your hands.

So, I was disappointed because it might have been my last chance to be at that sort of event, and to meet a bunch of writers I didn’t know and wanted to meet.

I hope some of you got there because I hear it was a lot of fun.

Quote

"I get a lot of letters from people. They say "I want to be a writer. What should I do?" I tell them to stop writing to me and to get on with it."

Ruth Rendell

Back Without Bells

Just so you know: I haven’t been too busy to blog because I’ve been writing or sulking.  I’ve been sick.  Nothing life threatening, but lousy enough to keep me from here.  I’m still not 100% (have I ever been?) but better.

I don’t have a lot to say.  Except, once again, I think I have an idea.  Right before I got sick I sent for some books I need for research.  Haven’t been able to read them yet. I’ve been reading bubble gum books.

So this idea.  I’ve had it for quite awhile but I’ve never been sure how to do it.  Now I think I do. Before I got sick my plan was to start writing today.  I’m going to put that off until after the 1st of the year.  I feel eager to start.

I’m hoping between now and then I’ll come up with a title as I prefer to start a book with one.  I’m also hoping this isn’t another false start.  If it is I will sulk.

I hope to have some things to say here before I start writing.  Mainly I want to be well enough to get to that book launch in NYC on Dec. 6th.  So cross your fingers for me.

Quote

"Write with nouns and verbs, not with adjectives and adverbs. The adjective hasn't been built that can pull a weak or inaccurate noun out of a tight place."

The Elements of Style

Well, I'll Be Damned!

The story I wrote for A Hell of A Woman has been chosen for the Anthology The Year’s Best Crime and Mystery edited by Ed Gorman and Martin H. Greenberg.  The book will be published next year by Pegasus.

I couldn’t be more surprised or delighted.  I must get the word NO out of my vocabulary or, at least, keep it off my tongue and at the back of my throat.

BTW there’s going to be a book launch for AHOAW on December 6th at Partners In Crime bookstore on Greenwich Avenue in New York City.  It’ll start at 7:00.  A lot of the writers will be there including me.

Please introduce yourself if you attend.

Quote

"Find a subject you care about and which in your heart you feel others should care about. It is the genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style."

 Kurt Vonnegut

A Hell Of A Woman

Remember how resistant I was? Why is it that NO is the first word that comes to mind when I’m asked to write something I’m not used to doing?

A Hell of A Woman is the title of the anthology. My story is Everybody Loves Somebody. Megan Abbott is the editor with an introduction by Val McDermid. The other writers are:

Lynne Barrett, Ken Bruen, Charlotte Carter, Christa Faust, Stona Fitch, Lisa Respers France, Alison Gaylin, Sara Gran, Allan Guthrie, Libby Fischer Hellman, Vicki Hendricks, Naomi Hirahara, Charlie Huston, Annette Meyers, Donna Moore, Eddie Muller, Vin Packer, Rebecca Pawel, Cornelia Read, S.J. Rozan, Zoe Sharp, Sarah Weinman and Daniel Woodrell.

It’s a hell of a group of stories and I’m proud to be included.

Fizzled

The sparks fizzled.

Paralyzed.

Sparking

I’m back from my mini-trip, which was great fun, and it did, among other things, spark ideas.  I hoped this would happen. 

A few weeks ago  Patti Abbott suggested I take a ride on a bus and listen to people’s conversations to pick up ideas for stories.  I told her there were no buses where I live.  I knew what she was getting at because I used to do that all the time when I lived in NYC.  But, alas, it was hard to do that here.

My mini-trip involved both bus and boat and I was able to hear some delicious conversations.  And, of course, they gave me ideas.

I guess I should go away more.

On her blog today Patti raises the question of should you or shouldn’t you describe a setting in your novel?  It’s a good question.  In the Nineties I wrote a series that took place in NYC and almost every critic said that the city was as much a character as my people.

I did this in little ways.  And never more than using a sentence or three.  I see nothing wrong with getting your setting into the reader’s mind as long as you don’t go into great long descriptions.

I’ve noticed in some crime novels writers do things like this: ‘We turned at 4th Street, made a left on Kenneth and another left onto Clinton Avenue.  A few streets down we made a right at Van Ness.’

I find that strange.  What does it tell us? Nothing. If it’s a big city like NYC or San Francisco and the streets are real it might inform people who know that city where the action takes place.  But I don’t know what it does for those who don’t know those places.  And if it’s an invented city or town, it’s really meaningless.

But to describe your setting is important.  And it doesn’t have to happen through dialogue. A cleverly placed description of one or two sentences will do it and won’t slow down the story.

 

Mixing It Up

I’m no longer depressed.  In fact, I feel quite hopeful.  I have a few ideas floating around in my head.  Nothing concrete yet. 

I’m going away to a place this Thursday and Friday where I’m bound to get some ideas.  At least I’m getting out of here.

The fat lady hasn’t sung … yet.

What A Difference A Few Days Make

Have no ideas.

Depressed.

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I'm So Short!

Actually, I am.  But that’s not what I mean.  I spent some of last week rewriting a short story that I’d written a few years ago.  And then I entered it in a contest.  I think I might be losing my mind.

Wasn’t it about a year ago that I said I didn’t like them and didn’t want to read or write them?  I think I have Patti Abbott to thank or kill for this.  Also Megan Abbott who asked me to write a story for A Hell of A Woman.

What I’m getting at here is that suddenly all I want to write are short stories.  I see the beauty of it now.  Not only in the form but in the time one has to devote to it.  And the almost instant gratification which I’m a great believer in.

Maybe this is what I’m meant to do right now.  Don’t care.  I’m doing it.

Quote

"If you're going to write, don't pretend to write down. It's going to be the best you can do, and it's the fact that it's the best you can do that kills you."

Dorothy Parker

Here I Don't Go Again

Yes, I'm giving up writing the book I started last week. I'm grateful that I didn't write more than 8 pages.

All along I've been questioning whether I could sustain reader interest in this one. I realized that I couldn't. If it's anything it's a short story. Maybe.

I can't make this work as a novel and I don't think I want to. Yes, I'm a little depressed because I don't have another idea. It's hard to adjust to not having as fertile an imagination as I once had.

I think I so wanted to start the "school year" with a new book that I pushed myself into writing something that really wasn't for me.

I'm going back to reading and thinking and hoping something will hit me that I can't wait to write. The truth is that even though I may complain while writing a book, I'm the happiest when I'm doing so.

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Three Day Week

I only worked three days this week and didn't get a lot done. Tomorrow I'm going to the movies. Those of you who've been reading my blog for awhile know that this is what I do during the first draft. I go to movies on Fridays. Well, maybe not through the whole first draft but a lot of it.

I look forward to having three days off. I need to think more about this novel before I go on and I'll do that over the weekend. So that's not having time off, is it?

At least I've made a start even though I'm not totally comfortable with the idea I've chosen.

Haven't I been here before?

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Quote

"If you're going to write, don't pretend to write down. It's going to be the best you can do, and it's the fact that it's the best you can do that kills you."

Dorothy Parker

What A Difference A Day Makes

I thought about my protagonist a lot yesterday and last night.  Couldn’t fall asleep. Sounds good, but it wasn’t because I’m very tired today.

But aside from that I can’t stop myself from wondering why anyone would stay with this…keep reading about this character.  Wondering if I can sustain this voice.  Sustain interest.

So it didn’t go as well today.

Over A Thousand Words

Yes.  Four pages and a half.  It was hard to start and by the 2nd page I thought, I can’t do this.  By the end of the 2nd page, and some caffeine, I let myself go with it and it felt good.  Not that what I wrote is necessarily good.  I don’t know about that yet.

Don’t like writing without a title. 

For Real

I’m extremely anxious about this coming Monday.  I feel it’s actually going to happen this time.  Or at least I’m going to try to make it happen.  By that I mean I’m going to sit down here and bring up Word and hit the keys.

Ohmigod!

Up and Almost Running

No, I didn’t start writing on the 10th.  I couldn’t.  I was still knocked out from the procedure I had on Friday. Actually, the anathesia.  It was dumb of me not to realize that this would be so.  Sometimes I amaze myself that I live in such denial.

Today is the first day I feel well enough to be doing this.  Or much of anything other than reading and sleeping.

So my new target is Monday September 17th.  I honestly felt sad about not being well enough to start on the 10th. 

Now that’s what I call progress.

Very Good Essay

Jim Huang has written a wonderful essay about book publishing.  I think it’s essential reading.

http://mysterycompany.typepad.com/

Thanks to Jess for this heads up.

 

The Last Excuse (I hope)

About a month ago I told myself that after Labor Day I’d try to start a new novel.  But that’s not going to happen.

A week from today I have to have minor surgery.  I know that leaves me Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, but I can’t concentrate because I’m nervous about the surgery.  Maybe others wouldn’t be, but I am and that’s that.

So I’ll start on September 10th.  How do I feel about that?  Anxious.

I also hate to give up all the reading time I’ve had these last months and months.  Despise having to get on a schedule.  I know I posted awhile back that I wouldn’t have to be on one, but I know me.  I need that structure.

I’m not going to be able to take my laptop down to the new Starbucks and sip coffee and write.  That’s a fantasy.  I’m going to be right here, staring at a blank page in Word on my nice flat Xerox screen.  During my writing hours I’m not going to peek at email or log on to Sarah Weinman's Blog to see what I should read next.  And I can’t check Ed Gorman's Blog for interesting reflections or pop over to A Writer's Life to see if Lee Goldberg is writing about me again.  I kid my Lee. 

Nope can’t do any of that stuff.  I have to sit here from nine to noon, or a little later, and tap out what I can.  Yes, I have an idea.  I still don’t know if it’s viable, but I have give it a try.

If it ends up like my last attempt, 200 pages or so and not being able to finish, I don’t know what I’ll do.  I won’t swear that I’ll hang up my computer, but I might.

The lure of writing that 20th novel is still with me.  I’m going to give it my best shot.

Eye of the Beholder

Lee Goldberg has posted his response to my blog of the last few months.  He’s upset that my posts have been down.  He writes: “I find her posts disturbing and sad”.

I tried to tell him that my blog is about the ups and downs of this writer’s life.  I’m not going to write positive posts when there’s nothing positive to say at the moment.

Lee also writes, “It's unpleasant to see her in such a self-defeating, bitter retreat.”  Unpleasant?  Where does it say that I have to be pleasant? Self-defeating?  I don’t see it that way.  Should I get some positive mantra?  Should I lie on this blog and write only good thoughts?  Bitter?  Well, perhaps some are bitter.  The ones about publishing probably are.  On the other hand I don’t see them that way.  I see them as telling it like it is.

I state at the top of my blog that the blog is about writing and not writing, good and bad days.  It’s true that my bad days have lasted for quite a long time now, but I think that’s important for other writers to read.  To see that they’re not alone.  Because if Lee thinks I’m the only writer who feels this way he’s living in a dream world.

He goes on to write, “And I'm not so sure it's healthy for her career to be posting about it on her blog...then again, that's probably exactly why she's doing it.”

Healthy for my career? At this stage of my life I don’t think this way.  Lee is a completely different kind of writer than I am and probably it wouldn’t be good for his career to post some of the feelings I have, if he had them. Lee is in the middle of his career, and it doesn’t have a lot to do with the publishing world that I deal with.  This is not to put Lee down but merely to explain that our careers live in two different worlds.

“then again that’s probably why she’s doing it”?  What does that mean?  I’m writing these posts to make my career healthy?  I don’t get that.

I think Lee entirely misses the humor in these posts.  Many people don’t.  That’s not to say that the humor mitigates what I feel.  I recognize the humor in my thoughts as well as the plain ordinary truth of what I’m feeling.

In his response to my comment he writes, “Read your posts. They are bleak and depressing.”  So what?  I don’t see them that way, but even if that’s true, so what?  Does Lee want me to put on a happy face?

He writes that even when the posts aren’t about myself I express, “dark views about the state of publishing.”  Don’t we published writers know that the state of publishing is dreadful?  Why shouldn’t I write about that?  That might be helpful to a new writer who is getting rejection after rejection.

Lee writes, “Surely there are some "ups" in your writing life (or in your thoughts)

Well, no, Lee.  If there were, I’d post about these ups as I have in the past. And if any come along (as I hope they will) I’ll post them immediately.

To be fair to Lee he says some very nice things about me as a writer.  And I thank him for that.

Lee, you’ll be the first to know when I start a new novel.  And I hope that’s soon.

Baker's Blog

What phases are involved in the creation of a text?  This is the question John Baker asked a number of writers to answer.

He’s been posting them since July. There are a lot of interesting answers, descriptions of the way a writer works.   Many have things in common, some are different, all are worth reading.

Well, sure … I’m there, too.

Why?

Why am thinking about writing this book that I’ve had in the back of my mind for a few months?  What do I know about the things I’d have to include?  Who would be interested in this? 

I’ve said to myself and maybe here that I would probably start after Labor Day.  That’s 21 days away.  On Labor Day I’d be facing writing the next day. When I think of that it makes me sick.

If I start in September and don’t have interuptions (this has never happened) it’ll take me four to six months to complete a first draft.  And another one or two to rewrite.

And then what?  Give it to my agent?  She’ll hate it.  So maybe I’ll have to find another agent.  Not easy.  Or maybe my agent will decide to try and sell it.

Nobody will buy it.  Or even if somebody does it will fall through the cracks and three people will read it.

Why bother?

I’m going back to bed.

Another Surprise

I now hate the title.

Surprise For Me

The title for the book I might write just came to me.

Quote

"The novel remains for me one of the few forms where we can record man's complexity and the strength and decency of his longings."

John Cheever

Vin Packer

Remember the non-fiction piece I was writing and whining about in May? It’s out now in Crimespree Magazine. The piece is about Vin Packer (Marijane Meaker).

She loved it.  The article was a surprise to her because I hadn’t let her know I was writing it.  I’m so glad she was pleased.

Marijane said I should write more non-fiction. I said, no.  She said, it was so much fun doing the research.  I said, I liked to make up stories.

I wish I did like writing non-fiction but it doesn’t speak to me.  You have to stick to facts and you know where you’re going and none of the people can be invented.  That is, if you’re doing it honestly.

No, it’s fiction or nothing for me.  And speaking of that, I had about two minutes yesterday of being bored by NOT writing.  Only a few minutes.  Still….

No Thoughts

A writer friend of mine emailed me yesterday wondering why I wasn’t posting my thoughts here.  My first reaction was, how nice that she cares, and my second was, what thoughts?

I’ve been reading a lot and I have thoughts about the books I read, but this blog was meant to be about writing thoughts, as it says above.  The problem is I have no writing thoughts.

About once or twice a week I get an email from a fan who is waiting for the next book in the Faye Quick series.  That makes me think about writing for as long as it takes me to answer the writer and tell him/her that there won’t be anymore Faye novels because my contract wasn’t picked up.  And then I don’t think about writing after that.

Actually, I just realized that I’m lying.  Occasionally I think of what I might write if I start writing.  These are fleeting thoughts and certainly not worth posting.

I have thoughts about politics (who doesn’t?) but that’s not what this blog is about.  I also think abouth movies I’ve seen.  Not about that either.

But thoughts about me writing?  Nope. We’re halfway through the summer and I guess I had a secret thought that I might start a new book after Labor Day.  And I might.

Here’s the thing: I don’t miss writing at all.  I have no idea how long that will last.  Maybe forever.  Maybe until Labor Day.

Sometimes I think about other writers.  I read about their deals and hope that huge sums of money won’t ruin their careers.  Or I notice that a very good writer has disappeared from the scene.  In fact I could probably do a whole post about Whatever happened to…?

Still, that’s not about my writing thoughts.  Maybe I should branch out and write about some of the things I mentioned above.  But a lot of people write about those things and better than I would.

I know I’ve posted about publishing before.  So what more is there to say?  We all know it’s only going to get worse.

This doesn’t mean I won’t post again until I know what I’m going to write.  Something will rile me up or spin me around and I’ll put my two cents in.

So, stay tuned.

No Place At The Table

A friend of mine, who has published at least 10 novels in the crime genre, has written a new one.

She was unable to get an agent, (some didn’t even bother to call her back or return her email) despite having been published, so she decided to send it to editors herself.  Not cold.  Editors she’d met at various conventions, etc.

Here, from an editor at a major house, is the last paragraph of a rejection letter that praised her novel.

“This is a fine piece of work, as you no doubt are painfully aware, but I’m not sure that we could convince the big stores to buy thousands and thousands of copies.  And that is my mandate these days.”

It just makes me feel all warm and cozy.  And it definitely makes me want to sit down in front of my computer and hit those keys.  Not that I intend to write a book that will make those big fat stores buy thousands and thousands of copies.  And that’s just the point.

Who is going to publish the books I write…the books that you write?  I know the mid-list category for fiction is nonexistent but I didn’t think it was happening in the crime genre.

The editor’s mandate.  Discouraging and depressing.  I’ve never sold thousands and thousands of copies to the chains.  Most of us don’t.  We all know who does.  Ten, twenty at most.  And they’re the people who get major reviews and big time ads.  Over and over again.

I know there are quite a few independent publishers and I certainly wouldn’t mind being published by one of them.  I’d like it.  Still, the idea that unless you can be sure you’ve written a BIG book that will have the BIG stores buying thousands and thousands of copies is, in a word, disgusting.

The stores run publishing now.  Not news, I know.  And the sales people at the publishing houses help decide who will be published. 

Where does a new writer go?  How does he/she get an agent?  Agents also think about those thousands and thousands of copies. And on and on.

I’ve always believed that a good book would eventually be published.  I’ve changed my mind.  That won’t happen unless you fulfill an editor’s mandate.  And trust me, this isn’t an isolated approach to publishing.

So, what to do? I think there are three choices.  Write what you want, anyway, get a job if you don’t have one or retire from the whole thing.

It’s up to you.

Another Country Heard From

Maybe I’ve been wrong during this fallow period.  I’m always saying that writers don’t retire.  Annie Dillard doesn’t agree.

What I Know

Before I begin writing what I want to say today, I’d like to ask you not to comment that I’m lucky with the career I have (I know) or it can still happen (it can’t) or I should be grateful, or accepting or any of those things.  I am.  I do.

Many people have written me to say they like my honesty.  So that’s what I’m doing here.  I’m being honest.

On Amazon they let you have a wish list.  This is my writing life wish list.

I wish I had Ed’s productivity.  Janet’s energy.  Sue’s popularity.  Mary’s name recognition.  Dan’s money. And most of all I wish I had Laura’s career. 

There was a time when it looked like I was going to have some of those things but it never happened.  I believe it was because of the choices I made.  And a little bad advice.

I believe I’m a good writer.  Not great. But Good.  And that should be enough to have some of the things I’ve enumerated. In fact we all know of bad writers who have some or all of those things. Timing and luck are a big part in this hellish game we play.

I hear about the new upcoming writers and I read them.  Some are damn good.  I wish I could be part of them, in their grade, their class, so to speak.  But it’s no longer my time.

Twenty years ago I was in the class with a bunch of new writers.  Some became household names others are like me and still others can’t get published anymore.  They’ve disappeared.  Some should’ve disappeared, others not.

I know the breakthrough book isn’t going to happen for me.  That’s okay.  I had my chance.  Now, despite my wishes, which, by the way, are for the forty year old me, I don’t have any idea if I’ll publish again.  Or write again.  I’m inclined to think I’ll write, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be published. That’s not okay.  But there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I hope the next book I write is good.  Still, it won’t be the kind of book that’ll make me a household name or bring in loads of money.  That’s okay, too.  I want whatever I write to see the light of day and make back the money I was paid. At this point in my writing life that’s all that’s important. 

Am I committing publishing suicide by writing this?  Maybe.  But I’m still naive enough to believe that if I write a good book whatever I say here won’t matter.

And one more time:  I’m grateful for the career I have.

Still Crazy After How Long?

How long has it been? I don’t know. It seems like months. It is months? Huh. Actually it seems more like a day. That’s how much I’m enjoying it. It being not writing.

We all know that if I write again it won’t be this summer. That girl is still around and occasionally whispering in my ear. And sometimes I hear other things on TV or radio or even from the women I go to Curves with. And sometimes I write them down. But spending my time reading and watching movies seems to satisfy me right now.

Of course when I read reviews of books on blogs or in print it gives me a pinch. Notice, pinch not punch. I think, oh, sit down and write. And then I forget about it.

I’m beginning to suspect that the lack of discipline idea I wrote about a few posts ago isn’t going to fly. My schedule is too ingrained. I’m not going to be able to start at 11 or 1. That’s not me. If I start writing I’m sure I’ll go back to the schedule I’ve been on for 50 years.

And should I write this book that’s now and then in my mind it shouldn’t take me very long. It’s that kind of book, unlike my last fiasco. The 200 pages I abandoned. This one should be fairly easy. Of course none of them is easy. It’s all comparative. The one I’m vaguely entertaining should be easy in comparison to some others I’ve written. Maybe I’ll find out, maybe I won’t.

Anyway, I thought you should know I’m here and not writing. And crazy.

Quote

"To write it, it took three months; to conceive it - three minutes; to collect the data in it - all my life."

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Acceptance

Yesterday I heard from the people at the magazine I wrote the non-fiction piece for and they liked it a lot. I guess it will be in their next issue. It’s Crimespree. It made me feel good that they liked it. Of course it did. Why wouldn’t it?

Yesterday I had coffee with a writer who’s waiting to see if she is going to be accepted into a writing group. This is an important group. Many people in it get published.

I feel for her. If she gets rejected she’ll lose confidence about her work. She’s written a novel that needs a rewrite. She has an agent, but I think it means a lot to her to be accepted into this group. Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it?

So is that the other part of being a writer? We want acceptance. Your first reader is the start. If he or she doesn’t like what you’ve done depression can set in for days.

Then comes your agent, if you’re lucky enough to have one. If he/she doesn’t like it where the hell does that leave you? You’re not accepted. You have to go back and make the book right so the agent will accept it.

It’s not only the non-acceptance of the work, it’s you. They say you’re not what you do, but I don’t buy that. Of course we’re many things, but a writer or an artist is different. I’m so closely connected to my work that if someone doesn’t like it I know I translate it into that person doesn’t like me. I’m better about this than I was when I started years ago, but I know that’s still in there.

Then comes the editor should you get one. Acceptance but with changes. The book is published and you’re out there. No control. Reviewers. More acceptance or not.

Readers. They write you. Friends. They lie to you and you know it. Some genuinely like it. But this is all about acceptance again. It’s a bitch.

Why do we do it?

Quote

"A story is a way to say something that can't be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is."

Flannery O'Connor

Have Got a Clue

I realized yesterday as the holiday was coming to an end, that if I knew I had to get up the next morning and write I’d be depressed.

I’m a disciplined person and have been writing in a disciplined fashion for 50 years.  By disciplined I mean being at my desk by 9, writing for 3 or 4 hours 5 days a week unless I was sick.  Year after year.  That schedule has served me well.  But I think I’m tired of it.

I know that there are other writers out there who’ve been doing it longer and for more hours a day and more days a week.  I salute them.  But I’m not in a contest.

It’s not the writing I’m tired of it’s the method.  The trouble is I don’t know how else to do it.  This schedule works for me.  Can this old dog learn new tricks? 

I can’t imagine sitting down to write whenever I feel like it.  Maybe for an hour.  Ten minutes.  No.  These aren’t the rules.  The rules I made for myself.  If I made them I can break them.  Easily said.  But can a willy-nilly writing method work for me?

I’m not a night person so that wouldn’t be viable for me.  I’m best in the morning.  So what if I sat down at my computer at 10 or 11?  What would happen?  Or what if I gave some time in the afternoon a tumble?  I know there’s only one way to find out. 

This is still in the thinking stage and I’m not ready to test it yet.  Maybe next week.  Maybe not.

Thought Drops Falling In My Brain

As you can see below I’ve been relaxing and reading among other easy pursuits.  And I’ve been enjoying it.  Until yesterday.

Thoughts have been interfering. Book idea thoughts.  Opening lines.  This when I’m trying to read.  I don’t care for that.  But I can’t stop it.

There’s this girl.  There’s this girl who keeps talking to me. I’m not sure I know what she looks like.  I know how old she is.  I know where she lives.

I have to admit I did write down a few things she said.  But now she’s saying something else.  Something that makes what she said before irrelevant.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to listen or change what she said before.  I don’t have time for this.  I have the new Elmore Leonard to read.

I want her to shut up.

So far she won’t. 

Dick Cavett's Article

Below are portions of the article no one could get to.

_______________________________________

“You should sue your publisher.”

Those attention-getting words were uttered by a man who was invariably referred to as “the grand old man of Chicago book dealers.” That, rather than “hello,” was his greeting when my co-author and I once entered his shop.

“I ordered 50 copies of ‘Cavett,’ H.B.J. sent me nine copies, and I sold them all that morning,” he said. He was referring to Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, our publisher. “It’s three weeks now that I can’t get any more copies out of your publisher. People come in for it every day. Do you have a good lawyer?”

How could this be? How could they not send the books?

How could the book not be in a popular bookstore? Any comfort from thinking maybe this was an isolated case quickly dissolved. “And the Kroch-Brentano chain of stores,” he said, emphasizing the word “chain,” “can’t get it either.”

__________________________________________

It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn’t it?

Link

Sorry about the link below.  I didn’t realize people couldn’t get to it.  I’ll try to copy some the article and put it here tomorrow.

Publishing Hell

You’re not alone.  This is well worth reading An Author's Nightmare . See for youself what you’re probably in for.

Finished

I finally finished the non-fiction piece and sent it off today. No response but I wouldn’t expect one yet.

First I sent it with the pages unnumbered. Then I said I was sorry I’d done that and here’s the right one. Accept I forgot the attachment. I made it on the third try.

So now what? I have no interest in writing. Although I noticed my mind noting some news articles. Not sure what that means.

When I think I’ll never write again I don’t feel panicky as I have in the past. It feels okay. I’m enjoying hanging around. I read a lot. I answer email, visit sites on the Internet. I talk to friends. And a Starbucks has opened in my town.

That may seem like nothing to many people, but out here it’s something. It’s set back from the street and is tastefully done inside. This is one with easy chairs. The big difference is that you can’t sit and people watch. What I mean is, there aren’t a lot of people walking by. So it’s a good place to bring a book and have a coffee. Or meet a friend.

The summer people will be here in another few weeks and things will change. I won’t leave my house on the weekends. But that’s okay with me. I have a lovely house and comfortable places to read. A hammock outside.

I don’t want to write and I’m not going to unless I want to. Yes, money matters, but my track record won’t bring me lots of money. Or even okay money. So I’ll have to really want to write something to do it again. And that could happen any time. Meanwhile I’ll wait for the brass ring in my hammock.

Nonfiction

I don’t know how anyone writes nonfiction. Or why they’d want to. I finished the first draft of a piece for a magazine yesterday. It’s true that I don’t feel like writing anything now, but this had to be done as I had agreed.

I don’t think writing nonfiction is fun. I also don’t think writing fiction is fun, although it has its moments. It doesn’t feel like there is anything creative about nonfiction. Things are pulled from here and there and, in this case, from my memory.

It’s much more like filling in a puzzle to me. I suppose I should like puzzles considering what I usually write. But I knew the end of this puzzle and I didn’t have to invent characters. I didn’t have to invent anything and I think that’s why writing nonfiction leaves me cold.

This is a first for me. I hope the editors will be happy with my effort. I can’t help worrying that they’re going to reject it.

I have to believe that if they do reject it it’s because the piece is lousy. And then I should be grateful that it won’t be read by anyone else. Shouldn’t I? Will my ego allow me to view it this way?

I doubt it.

Another Nonevent

“On the first of May, it is moving day.” It’s also the publication day of my paperback of TOO DARN HOT. Does anyone care? Certainly not my publisher. To be fair no publisher of a paperback (unless by a high profile author) ever cares about the release of a paperback.

But as I sit here at my desk, in my new chair, I wonder if this is the last time I’ll experience this nonevent. This isn’t a whiny thought. It’s perfectly possible that this might be the last time.

Of course, I don’t have a chance if I don’t write another book. And as the days go by I don’t seem to be doing that. Yes, I have that idea I mentioned awhile ago, but you can’t just have an idea. You have to apply seat of pants to chair (new or not) and hit those keys. In other words, write.

Someone asked me yesterday if I was writing. When I said no, she said well I guess you have to take a break. A break? I don’t think this is what I’m doing. I think what I’m doing is not writing. There’s a difference.

Taking a break is planned. And vacations are involved. Sleeping late. Going to bed late.

Not writing is not writing. There are parts of this state that I like. No deadlines loom. No jumping out of bed to be sure that I get to my desk by nine. No thinking. On the down side there’s brain boredom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m never bored. I’ve always said that anyone who reads can’t ever be bored and I still think that’s true. Brain boredom to me is when I’m not creating. Not writing.

I have no impulse to start. Even the research part doesn’t get a rise out of me.

I know that this book will be quite dark and the reader won’t love the protagonist. And there’ll be no redemption. At least I think that now. And if that’s true it’ll be hard to get it published. So it all seems futile.

No, that’s not it. I’m a writer and a writer writes. So what’s going on? I’ll be damned if I know.

Edgars

The results are in. Some of us are thrilled, others aren’t. And I don’t mean the winners and losers. I’m talking about the readers and some of those are writers. At least I hope the writers read.

It’s great to win prizes. Or to be nominated. I know, I’ve had both things happen to me, although the book that won was under the name Jack Early. A Shamus award.

And I hope I get nominated and/or win something again. I’m not sure what it does for sales, but it does a lot for ego. Nothing wrong with that.

But the real deal is writing. Finishing a book is the first reward, the first prize. The second one is getting it published. Let’s face it, none of us wants to put that 400 page manuscript into a drawer.

Still, I have to focus on the work. Because that’s the important part.

Up and Running

My computer is working but I’m not. Writing, that is. How can I write when I have to get all my programs working? What a pain this is. I think I’d rather be writing. Well…..

A few thoughts. Why do people write novels with nameless characters? Or nameless narrators. Or nameless places. I don’t get this. Am I not understanding something? And I don’t want to hear the Everyman answer.

I dislike nameless anything. Names are very important to me. I find a nameless protagonist irritating. Half their personality is missing. And why a nameless city or state? What’s gained from this?

Another thought. Why do people think you want to hear something like this: “I liked your book so much I loaned it to a friend.” I’m glad you liked it so much, but I wish you’d told your friend so and encouraged him/her to go out and buy it.

Once my computer is exactly like I want it I’ll be able to continue my research. Still not ready to take the plunge. I wonder how much this has to do with how little is being done for my paperback which gets published on May 1st? Did I say how little? How about nothing.

I didn’t expect anything. After giving me a purple cover because five others that were being published that month had red covers, I knew where I stood.

And I don’t care who reads the above. Sue me.

Crashing

I have no idea if this will work because my Windows program crashed and I've been dealing with reinstalling and frustrating attempts to get on the Internet. Seems I can't get onto my home page which also means I can't get mail. So if anyone has sent me mail and I haven't answered it's because I can't. Same goes for Crimespace. I feel like I'm in Internet hell...or is it simply computer hell? Not writing, of course. Even if I wanted to write I couldn't because of this mess. Lost all my mail, but saved my addresses and bookmarks. But what good is that if I can't get on.

Well, let's see.

Still Here

I’m continuing research for the new idea.  Worried that this novel will be too dark.  I know, I know…no novel in this field can be too dark.  Crime field, that is.  But I think it’ll be too dark for my agent.  What am I talking about?  I haven’t written one word.

And speaking of writing one word, here I am on Sunday so happy that I don’t have to actually write tomorrow.

I’ve been thinking that even though my disciplined schedule has worked for me through 19 books maybe that’s enough discipline.  Maybe I can do something different this time.  The thing is I’ll have to write to find out.  But I’m not ready yet. 

Will I ever be ready?

A Little Different

I know the video below doesn’t fit the purpose of my blog but I thought it might be fun.  And interesting.  Bruen has become very successful in the last four or five years.  He’s not a household name, but writers love him.  See what you think.

Ken Bruen Reading Cross

Quote

"I have written a great many stories and I still don't know how to go about it except to write it and take my chances."

John Steinbeck

Light Bulb

If I had a picture of a light bulb I’d put it here.  Yes, I have an idea.  Or the beginning of an idea.  Actually, that’s not true.  I have the whole idea, but not the middle.  Strange for me but I have the end.  Or what I now think is the end.  I have ideas about my protagonist.  And the title came to me this minute while writing this.  It’s a title I’ve used before.  A long time ago and in another medium.  I always wanted to use it again.

This idea requires research.  Research that might be great fun if it doesn’t eventually drive me insane.  I think it’ll be both hard and easy to write.  I know that’s confusing but I can’t explain or I’d be telling too much.  I never talk about a book I’m thinking of or writing.  I believe if you talk about it you don’t write it.  Talking it away, is what I call it. I may be telling too much now.

  I know that this could all crash and burn.  I’ll be disappointed if that happens, but after putting 200 pages in a drawer this year I think I’ll survive.

How did this come about?  After reading Laura Lippman’s new book it made me want to write.  That’s happened to me before after reading a good novel. This isn’t about competition. It’s the kick in the pants I needed.  That, coupled with all the reading I’ve been doing, relaxing, and not uselessly grasping for an idea.  Suddenly there  it was.  But it wasn’t anymore sudden than noticing your hair’s turned gray. 

Here’s the rub.  I don’t feel like writing.  Or giving myself a start date.  For now it’s enough to think about it….not talk about it.  I know I’ll hit the keys one of these days.

Congratulations are not in order. 

Laura Lippman

I’ve never written this kind of post and perhaps will never write one again, but I decided it fit here because it’s really about the growth of a writer.

This is not a book review, but I must say something about  Lippman's new book, WHAT THE DEAD KNOW.

I have not always been a fan of Lippman's writing. I read her first book and I think the second and dismissed her. She will tell you herself that her first five books aren't her best.

I kept reading the raves about her. The winning of all the prizes. I'd see special sections devoted to her in bookstores. I couldn't understand it and I began to hate her. I didn't know her, we'd never met. I hated her because I was jealous.

Then last summer we were on a panel together. I found her charming and bright and funny. I immediately got a copy of NO GOOD DEEDS, which I liked a great deal. It's a good book.

I was looking forward to WHAT THE DEAD KNOW and now I've read it. The novel is wonderful. Thinking back to that first book I'm astonished at how much this writer has grown. We all want to get better as we go on, but not everyone does. Some get worse.

WHAT THE DEAD KNOW is a great accomplishment. I almost felt that I was reading a different writer, but that's because she's written a novel that's taken her eleven books to get to this place. Practice, practice, practice. And I'd guess she's learned a lot from reading.

So, run, don't walk, to your nearest bookstore and get a copy of WHAT THE DEAD KNOW.

If Laura Lippman doesn't get a bunch of prizes for this I'll be astonished. And mad. I'm not jealous anymore. I'm delighted for her.

Quote

“The writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master- something that at time strangely wills and works for itself."

Charlotte Bronte

Building Blocks

I haven’t posted in awhile because I don’t have much to say.  Still, since this is a blog about writing I guess it’s important to say I’m still not writing.

A friend suggested the other night that I have a block.  That would be a writer’s block.  I don’t think that’s what it is.  I’ve had them in my life and they were very different.  They were “I want so much to write but I can’t.”  One time, when I’d sit at my desk I’d feel faint.  This time I simply don’t WANT to write.  Not now.  I hope it’s only for now.  But how long is now?

That’s the only thing that worries me.  How long?  That’s scary. What if it goes on for years?  What if I die before I write my 20th book?  Well, so what?  If I do, I do. In the grander scheme of things it won’t make a bit of difference.

Now and then a half-formed idea squiggles through my brain only to die young.  Maybe I kill it because I don’t WANT to write.

I’m enjoying reading and not being on a schedule.  Still, every time a writer I like publishes I feel a little ping.

But it’s not a block.  I don’t have the desire or the will right now.  And for the moment I feel all right with that.  But how long will a moment last?

 

Quote

"The human brain is the laziest apparatus in the world. If you start to revise before you’ve reached the end, you’re likely to begin dawdling with the revisions and putting off the difficult task of writing. Unless I find I’ve made some drastic mistake in characterization or basic structure, I never go back until I’ve written the last page."

Pearl S. Buck

Yes, We've Got No Ideas Today

I found this comment on my blog today:

“You haven't posted in awhile. I trust you've wrapped your mind around an idea and you're flying with it. :) “

She put a smiley there so I guess she must know that had I an idea I would’ve posted.  I do have a few snippets..little pests.  But no full grown animal.

Since Friday I’ve been helping two friends who have been very sick.  One in the hospital, the other at home.  So I keep saying to myself it’s a good thing I’m not writing.  That’s true, in a way.  I’d be a bit resentful if I was in the middle of a book. But I’m not.

Tomorrow will be the 1st of March.  I blew January and February, my favorite months to write.  Maybe it’s all over for me.  Maybe there won’t be a 20th book.  We know I’m not a Gorman or a Randisi so this might be the end.  Nineteen books isn’t a bad record.  Still, I’m not ancient and have all my marbles.  So why would it be over for me?

Think of Harper Lee.  One book and out.  I’m not comparing myself as a writer with her, but who says one has to write book after book?  I made this 20 book goal for myself so I can break it if I want to.

But I’m a writer and writers write.  I know you’re not supposed to define yourself by what you do.  Actually, who said that?  I do define myself that way.  So I’ll keep reading and thinking and hoping.  That’s all I can do right now.

Quote

"Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows, that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention."

George Orwell

I'm Not Alone

Yesterday I got a call from a writer friend who told me she was very depressed.  Why?  She’s about my age, has published 13 books and cannot find an agent.  She has a book she finished and is ready to go.  But none of the agents she wrote to wrote her back.  This is someone in the crime field who has had two series and a stand alone.  This isn’t an unknown. No agent even had the decency to say they weren’t interested.

So now she’s going to try writing to editors she’s met, but doesn’t know.  Her hopes are not up.  And she said to me, “I feel like I’m starting all over again.”  Didn’t I just write that very sentence in a post?

It’s not as though we’re baseball players and can’t cut it anymore.  And she has an actual finished novel.  Unlike me.  So you’d think someone would take a look at her novel, wouldn’t you?  We’ll see.

Meanwhile I’m in the pits.  A blank brain.  Nothing to write after I bought an new expensive chair for my office.  It’s not here yet, so maybe by the time it comes….nah.  Unlikely.

I feel terrible I have nothing to write and I also don’t want to write.  So what if I don’t publish twenty novels.  Who’s counting except for me?  The thing is, I feel I must write, I should write, I have to write.  WTF.

False Start

Thank you to everyone who wished me good luck and who were happy for me that I’d made a decision and started something new.

After that first chapter I realized that the form I’d set was leading me to write about myself (fictionally) and my family.  I can’t write about myself.  Just can’t do it.  Not unless I’m totally disguised.  I wasn’t disguised at all.  I might find another way to do this, but for now it’s going in the recycle bin.  At least Chapter 2 is.

Am I depressed?  Not exactly.  I’m worried.  Time is passing and I’m not sure how much time I have left.  Yes, I know, nobody is.  But I’ve reached a certain age where time is very important.  I’m so much closer to the end than the beginning.  Or even the middle. I feel pressured.  I’m pressuring myself, of course.  No one else is knocking down my door, or phoning me. It’s as if I’ve just begun on this journey and have no connections. 

And for me the ideas don’t come fast and furious as they once did.

Back to reading and thinking.

My advice? Carpe diem!

Chapter One

I started a new novel today.  Two and a half pages.  Here I go again.

Decision

I’ve finally decided to give up the novel that I’ve been working on for over a year.  I’ve never spent so much time on something and then quit.  But I know in my gut that it’s the right thing to do.

I’m going to start something new.  I have a glimmer of an idea and I hope to get a first chapter done this week.  That may be all I do for awhile as I’m unsure of this and have to think more.  Or, writing the first chapter may give me the spark I need to go on right away.

You never know, do you?  Ain’t we got fun!

The Days Dwindle Down

I approach the start of another work week knowing I won’t be working.  I’m getting a bit tired of this now.  This week holds some medical stuff for me so I’d be interrupted anyway.  Still, I have to get a handle on what it is I’m going to do.  Nothing isn’t an option.  I’m still not sure which path to take: continue or start something new.  By next week at this time I hope to have that answer.

January and February are such good months to write, especially if you’re in the East.  It’s cold here, finally.  And I like writing during these months.  I’ve pretty much lost January and February is slipping away.  Okay, March is good, too.  But I don’t want to start up in April. I can pretty much tell that this summer will be a working one, unlike last summer.  Hate that.

As it is if I finish and sell a novel it won’t be published until 2008 or ‘09 and that’s not good.  Too long out of people’s thoughts.

But I’m reading and thinking.  It’s not a total loss.  Or is it?