Elevator pitch: If you want words strung into coherent sentences, come to me. I’m putting myself out there again as a freelancer. Refer your friends or enemies. If you want to see samples of my work, check out my blog: exileonninthstreet.wordpress.com.
A friend asked me what books I would recommend to get started writing fiction. Two recent reads immediately came to mind, Hallie Ephron’s Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel and Patricia Highsmith’s Plotting and Writing Suspense Fiction.
While I tend to be a “pantser” when it comes to writing fiction, I’m not opposed to at least working up background for characters, and Ephron provides this and more. Her tips and advice prove useful for any genre, not just mystery.
Her section on plotting and the three-act structure is one of the clearest I’ve read to understand that particular approach to structure. And while it might sound like I’m advocating a formulaic approach, all great fiction, all great writing needs some foundation to build on.
Ephron has written several best-selling novels, including the Dr. Peter Zak series. She comes from a family of great storytellers that includes the late director and screenwriter Nora Ephron.
Highsmith was born in Fort Worth, Texas, but spent most of her life in Europe. She is the creator of conman and killer Tom Ripley.
In Plotting and Writing Suspense Fiction, Highsmith, who died in 1995, discusses basics like plotting and generating ideas common in most writing books. But it’s her last section that stands out, as she leads you through the processes she talks about by describing how she applied them to writing her novel The Glass Cell.
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So, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted here, and today marks something new—trying out the WordPress app.
But, let’s move along. This week, I started reading Stephen King’s The Gunslinger. The decision to read it followed watching the movie with Idris Elba and Matthew McConaughey, an OK movie, despite faltering at the box office. It one of those movies that probably would work better as a TV series, and I understand that’s in the works.
If you’ve followed this blog for some time you might be surprised I haven’t read the novel beforehand. But, I haven’t read much Stephen King at all. Something I hope to remedy.
I like it, it’s bleak desert setting with a blend of fantasy, Western and science fiction. The gunslinger himself is the quintessential Western movie hero, like Clint Eastwood’s nameless rider. Then of course you have the fantasy quest trope with the gunslinger in pursuit of an evil wizard and seeking the secrets of the Dark Tower. King hints at Arthurian legend.
What strikes me, however, is the sort of understated prose and the story arc’s similarity to Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. There are moments when I think of that bleak novel, and I wonder if McCarthy read King. It certainly feels like it.
Just some random thoughts for now.
Until next time…
So, along with the big to-be-read pile of novels I have, I’m also reading on my Kindle app a self-help relationship book (pauses for guffaws to subside) Make Up, Don’t Break Up: Finding and Keeping Love for Singles and Couples (because reasons) and liked the way the writer, Bonnie Eaker Weil, describes the stages of relationships, in particular, the Euphoria stage, that first stage in which love really is bliss.
You feel blissful and everything seems to spontaneously flow and take care of itself. The first stage of a relationship, which I call the Euphoria Stage, isn’t supposed to last. It’s at the beginning for a good reason. You feel this way because your brain is stimulating the release of powerful “feel-good” hormones called vasopressin and oxytocin, which overpower your fears.
It’s the “falling in love stage,” the “love is blind” stage and we all know it so well. The honeymoon phase, where even negative traits are bypassed for the most part. It’s that stage we see in movies and on TV.
It’s also the stage — it lasts about three to six month, according to Weil — that when it ends, it’s usually the point in which couples break up or seek new rides. It’s also the stage we seem to crave the most. The high our brains shove on us. And it makes me think we seek that high in other ways just to get that feeling back over and over, whether it’s drugs or booze or religious fervor.
I catch it, if I’m lucky, as a writer, especially writing fiction, when the story takes over. It’s a temporary state of being. All are, aren’t they? Nothing is permanent, as Buddhists know. And yet, we seek connection. Something that lasts a lifetime. That true love.
It’s what I’ve longed for. Sort of the paradoxically permanent-impermanence. I’m pretty good managing the Euphoria stage, but like most of us, not so good at going beyond that. (Ironic, I suppose, a professional communicator, a writer, has a hard time with communication.) Of consciously choosing to love someone. Still, I believe. And I believe someone is worth the effort.
*Editor’s note: Feel free to show your euphoric love by buying this book or any other I’ve mentioned on this blog as you read all my fabulous blog posts. I am linked to Amazon Associates and can make some money. So buy from me. Now!
Doing some self-directed training at work made me think about our current controversy over alternative facts. And that, in turn, made me think about an insight from fictional detective Harry Bosch in the novel The Black Ice by Michael Connelly. As Bosch pieces together the clues to a cop’s murder, he recalls something he was told early in his career: you can have all the facts you want, but facts mean nothing without figuring out the glue holding them together.
That’s a great insight on Bosch/Connelly’s part (Connelly was an L.A. Times crime reporter before turning to fiction). What is the glue that holds the facts together? If you investigate deeper, you piece together the meaning, the truth.
Of course, we all have deep convictions we often hold onto no matter the contrary evidence. We are all also guilty of reacting to contrary evidence by clinging even stronger to our convictions. Or we cherry-pick stuff that supports our convictions.
But, what if we dig deeper? Will we find the facts and their truths are as flimsily held together by edible Elmer’s paste as a kindergartener’s art project? Or will we discover a solid bond held together with Krazy Glue?
I love questions like this. It’s one of the reasons I love fiction and believe fiction is truthier than nonfiction. Of course, it’s usually also much more entertaining. And that’s a fact!
Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s The Pursuit of Perfection: And How It Harms Writers (WMG Writer’s Guide) (Volume 3) is one of the best — though brief at 46 pages — writing advice books I’ve read in some time (click either on the link or cover image to purchase at Amazon.). It’s especially valuable to those of us who are perfectionists, either by nature or training or a mix of the two. (I think most of us get a little of both along the way. Or perhaps the training reinforces the nature?) It’s also a nice introduction to thinking about writing in terms of a business pursuit as much as an art or craft.
The business side of writing is an area I’ve only recently begun to explore, so I won’t at this point talk too much about trying to tackle the business side of freelance writing. That area is regrettably one I’ve cast aside for far too long and have much to learn.
On the nature side of things, I think some of my perfectionistic tendencies might be rooted in psychological fears about money learned at an early age and reinforced in later life by negative experience and accepting some myths about writing, myths Rusch explores in the book. I wonder how many of you have had similar backgrounds when dealing with money and business education?
What I want to concentrate on in this review are some of the myths Rusch brings up. In particular, myths from the world of the MFA in creative writing. Now, I sheepishly admit there’s a bit of me — the ego protecting me — still touchy about not getting into an MFA program when I entered graduate school eons ago, so I tend to get a bit giddy about critiques of MFA programs in general. But, for me, I saw the MFA as a route to becoming a fiction writer — as a way other than publishing that validated my fiction as valuable. Isn’t either Stephen King or George Orwell who says writers write to get published because a publication is a validation of existence?
While I didn’t get into my school’s MFA program, I did get into its graduate program in English — barely. At least I would be around the MFAs, right? Maybe I could absorb some of those writers’ wisdom? (Of course, there are other reasons I went to grad school: I was deeply afraid of engaging with the real world. Fear is always a constant bugaboo, isn’t it?).
So, here is one paragraph from Rusch’s book that dug into my brain like a hungry worm:
Creative writing, so far as I can tell, is the only degree a student can get that doesn’t offer any study of how to make a career as a professional who makes her living at the craft described in the title of the degree. In fact, in most universities, creative writers are told from day one that they cannot make a living at their chosen profession.
And that’s just bullshit.
What hit me so much about this passage was that it seemed outside of being a scholar and teaching (whether in secondary schools or at colleges or universities) there was nothing offered of how my English degree could help me make a living. It wasn’t until I consulted a school counseling service for other issues that I even thought I could be an editor. Still, I had no idea how to go about becoming an editor. And for that matter, an editor of what?
Scholarship seemed to be for scholarship’s sake as getting a creative writing degree seemed to be for the sake of producing more MFAs. On the other hand, the journalism department at the other end of campus taught their students to be journalists. You learned how to get internships at a paper or radio or TV station. You learned marketable job skills.
There was also a sense in grad school that a career of some sort, that pursuing a profession was something of a betrayal of art or politics or even self. Now, this was the ’90s and I know now there are classes in editing, and degrees offered in technical and professional writing. So, things are changing. Maybe? But how many people are getting their MFAs just to get them?
Anyhow, this isn’t to disparage my graduate school experience: I learned great research skills, I read a lot of literary works that I had missed or avoided in my reading life and my critical thinking skills are stronger than say the average bear.
But, I’ve had to struggle with the cannot make a living at writing thing for a long time — about two decades. I would write stories and take two or three months and polish them to perfection then submit them to one or two usually non-paying literary journals or magazines, get them rejected and pretty much give up on them. I still go through this. I’ve brought my perfectionism to my journalism and to my fiction writing still.
It’s something I work through and hope to overcome. Some of it’s rooted in fear, which I think is part of the perfectionist’s nature. But, Reading Rusch’s book has helped even with that part of me, giving me a different way of thinking.