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