Now hold on. Just go with me on this for a second. I'm not trying to insult writers. I'm a writer. Or trying to be, at least.
Writers are like cows, and writers' agents are like farmers. Now, as cows, we produce junk that is (hopefully) desirable and able to turn a profit. The farmers are the ones, however, who handle that junk and strike a deal with a company that specializes in junk, a company who takes junk in, processes it, turns out a finished product, and sees it out to the market where the consumers can get at it.
But if us cows don't trust our farmers, we might try to leave the farm and to do the farmers' jobs ourselves. Of course, we won't really know what we're doing. I mean, we're cows. Cows trying to do the work of a farmer while still producing junk that the junk-companies want. Maybe, over time, we might be able to figure it out and mutate into some kind of half-cow, half-farmer of ultimate doom, but certainly in the mean time, we'll discover that doing the work of a person AND a cow is a lot of freaking work. And to presume ahead of time that we can pull off such a feat is just downright arrogant. And we shouldn't be arrogant. We're cows. Cows should be humble. Arrogance makes the junk taste all sour and gross.
But yes, there is a bit of a dilemma for us cows. We need farmers whom we feel are competent and trustworthy. And if you get one bad farmer, you might start to hate all farmers, even though you really could use a good farmer on your side. So it's tough, trying to get yourself a good farmer, especially when you're just a cow who doesn't know any better. I mean, what's a poor cow to do? All we wanna do is produce junk in peace and be able to live on for a little while longer; but certainly, there aren't many things worse than realizing too late that your farmer has been mishandling your junk.
AHAHAHA. K, I'm done.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Freaking Substance
What the hell does it mean for a story to have "substance"? This freaking word is so freaking common.
For my part, I think substance refers to the extent that a story resonates with the reader. That is, how deeply it affects us.
So, I think, to say that a particular story has substance is to say that the story resonated with you. Which is a rather personal thing to admit to someone, I suppose. But that's merely my opinion.
I can also understand if someone says a story has substance because he or she believes that the story might resonate with other people, even though it didn't really do so with him or her, specifically. I can understand this, but at the same time, I find it rather misleading. It's like saying you love something when you only like it.
But if that's so, then perhaps my opinion here is a bit off. Well. Not too much, of course. I'm too spectacular for that. But a bit, yes.
It is "off," perhaps, in the sense that substance regards someone's like for a story. Instead, perhaps substance regards someone's respect for a story. It's a bit more general in that sense, I think. A bit safer to admit, as well; having a healthy respect for something certainly doesn't mean that you find it personally appealing. You can be less invested in it, I guess is the point, less attached.
Hmm. I still like my first definition better, though. The latter is slightly more encompassing, true, but screw all that. I'd prefer to think of "substance" as a word of tremendous adulation for an author. And not because someone has ever said that about a story I've written. I should be so lucky. Almost as lucky as getting to use the word adulation in a sentence. Mmm. Add-yoooo-lay-shunnnn...
K. Sorry. That was silly.
'n of course, now that I've posted my feelings about the word substance, some jerk'll probably come use it on me out of pity 'r some crap...
...
Well. I'm okay with that, actually. I've totally diluted the meaning that the word has for me, but... OH WELL. ANOTHER DREAM KILLED. BRING ON THE REST.
THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING IS RIDDLED WITH DEAD DREAMS. PROBABLY. 'swhat I'm guessing.
For my part, I think substance refers to the extent that a story resonates with the reader. That is, how deeply it affects us.
So, I think, to say that a particular story has substance is to say that the story resonated with you. Which is a rather personal thing to admit to someone, I suppose. But that's merely my opinion.
I can also understand if someone says a story has substance because he or she believes that the story might resonate with other people, even though it didn't really do so with him or her, specifically. I can understand this, but at the same time, I find it rather misleading. It's like saying you love something when you only like it.
But if that's so, then perhaps my opinion here is a bit off. Well. Not too much, of course. I'm too spectacular for that. But a bit, yes.
It is "off," perhaps, in the sense that substance regards someone's like for a story. Instead, perhaps substance regards someone's respect for a story. It's a bit more general in that sense, I think. A bit safer to admit, as well; having a healthy respect for something certainly doesn't mean that you find it personally appealing. You can be less invested in it, I guess is the point, less attached.
Hmm. I still like my first definition better, though. The latter is slightly more encompassing, true, but screw all that. I'd prefer to think of "substance" as a word of tremendous adulation for an author. And not because someone has ever said that about a story I've written. I should be so lucky. Almost as lucky as getting to use the word adulation in a sentence. Mmm. Add-yoooo-lay-shunnnn...
K. Sorry. That was silly.
'n of course, now that I've posted my feelings about the word substance, some jerk'll probably come use it on me out of pity 'r some crap...
...
Well. I'm okay with that, actually. I've totally diluted the meaning that the word has for me, but... OH WELL. ANOTHER DREAM KILLED. BRING ON THE REST.
THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING IS RIDDLED WITH DEAD DREAMS. PROBABLY. 'swhat I'm guessing.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Freaking Dreams
Usually, I try to be positive, try to look at the things I enjoy about writing. But on the other hand, one of the things I enjoy about writing is being able to rant about the things I hate about it.
More specifically, I despise including dreams in storywriting when they are used merely to impart symbolism. Dreams involving sleep, that is. Not dreams as in life-long goals 'r anything.
I have a couple of reasons for this, but the primary is thus: symbolism is supposed to be subtle, but dreams are not subtle. Dreams are vague and usually unhelpful, but not subtle, which only makes them even more annoying, in my opinion. They don't advance the story. They don't provide insight or background information. At best, they provide foreshadowing, but they're so obviously TRYING to provide foreshadowing/symbolism that the entire point of doing is rendered moot. It's a writing technique that's meant to make the story appear to have more depth or complexity, without actually adding said depth or said complexity.
And that is hack writing.
Though, that's not to say a story which employs this technique cannot have depth. A story can, of course, succeed in other ways; but it seems like a lotta folks mistake this freaking mechanism as one of those ways.
And I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the fact that I, too, have used dreams like this in my writing. There's at least one instance I can remember, though there are probably others. So, yes, that's one of the reasons I dislike it so much. 's an old shame of mine, 'n I hate to see the same mistake made elsewhere.
Do not, however, confuse this idea with the notion that "dreams = bad writing." Dreams can be utilized in other, more effective ways. For instance, you can use dreams as a means of addressing conflicts within characters. Perhaps your protagonist is very worried about something, and that worry manifests itself in nightmares. Personally, I don't care for this technique much, either, 'cuz it's a tad cliche, but it's also at least understandable for a character to experience such things. Or, as another example, dreams could be a focal point of the story. Perhaps the concept of "dreaming" is a theme, in which case, all my hatred here doesn't really apply.
It's only when "dreaming for the sake of symbolism" comes into play that I find myself becoming irritated. "Dreaming for the sake of prophecy" also bothers me, but that's more attributed to my hatred of prophecy than of dreams. Though, combining the two certainly doesn't make anything better, I think.
And hmm. Maybe I'll do another post about the use of prophecy in fiction. But I'm not promising anything. I don't make promises. It's against my nature. And by nature, I mean laziness. And by laziness, I mean shut up.
More specifically, I despise including dreams in storywriting when they are used merely to impart symbolism. Dreams involving sleep, that is. Not dreams as in life-long goals 'r anything.
I have a couple of reasons for this, but the primary is thus: symbolism is supposed to be subtle, but dreams are not subtle. Dreams are vague and usually unhelpful, but not subtle, which only makes them even more annoying, in my opinion. They don't advance the story. They don't provide insight or background information. At best, they provide foreshadowing, but they're so obviously TRYING to provide foreshadowing/symbolism that the entire point of doing is rendered moot. It's a writing technique that's meant to make the story appear to have more depth or complexity, without actually adding said depth or said complexity.
And that is hack writing.
Though, that's not to say a story which employs this technique cannot have depth. A story can, of course, succeed in other ways; but it seems like a lotta folks mistake this freaking mechanism as one of those ways.
And I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the fact that I, too, have used dreams like this in my writing. There's at least one instance I can remember, though there are probably others. So, yes, that's one of the reasons I dislike it so much. 's an old shame of mine, 'n I hate to see the same mistake made elsewhere.
Do not, however, confuse this idea with the notion that "dreams = bad writing." Dreams can be utilized in other, more effective ways. For instance, you can use dreams as a means of addressing conflicts within characters. Perhaps your protagonist is very worried about something, and that worry manifests itself in nightmares. Personally, I don't care for this technique much, either, 'cuz it's a tad cliche, but it's also at least understandable for a character to experience such things. Or, as another example, dreams could be a focal point of the story. Perhaps the concept of "dreaming" is a theme, in which case, all my hatred here doesn't really apply.
It's only when "dreaming for the sake of symbolism" comes into play that I find myself becoming irritated. "Dreaming for the sake of prophecy" also bothers me, but that's more attributed to my hatred of prophecy than of dreams. Though, combining the two certainly doesn't make anything better, I think.
And hmm. Maybe I'll do another post about the use of prophecy in fiction. But I'm not promising anything. I don't make promises. It's against my nature. And by nature, I mean laziness. And by laziness, I mean shut up.
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Zombie Knight, Again
So I finished the first chapter of The Zombie Knight. I like to call it "TZK." Not sure why. It's published in its own blog, which can be found by clicking on the title of this post or the link on the right side of this blog.
I'll refrain from telling you of my own feelings regarding the story so far. Seems like there's no winning scenario, if I do. 'n besides, I'd rather just let folks arrive at their own conclusions without input from me. As the writer, I thoroughly believe that I should be able to say everything I want within the story itself. If I'm unable to accomplish that, then well, that's my shortcoming as an author, and it's something I'll have to continue working on. But c'mon. Telling people what my work supposedly means is just plain cheating. Unless I'm lying. Then it's hilarious. And annoying. And thus, more hilarious.
But I digress. But you should expect me to do that. Seriously, I'd like to do that, one day. Like, if my work ever becomes popular enough to warrant some sort of big press conference, filled with eager readers who want to know what will happen in my next book, I'll just start spouting total crap, and then at the end of the conference, tell everyone I was lying and wasted everyone's time. Then laugh my way out of the building, perhaps running, if my fans are particularly surly folks.
And yes, I've thought about this before. Probably more than a few times, actually. Daydreaming is a rather troublesome habit of mine, occasionally productive, though usually counter so.
But okay, I'm digressing too much. Fair enough. Back to TZK, then.
I plan on publishing a new chapter each month, and over time, the chapters will probably grow longer and more... well, longer, anyway. Shouldn't make any crazy promises, I guess. Crazy promises are annoying.
Ideally, I'd like to reach a point where I can publish, perhaps, two chapters a month, but we'll see how things go, first. I'll only start doing that if I manage to get REALLY far ahead with the writing. It'd be cool, though.
And damn. Lately, I've felt so sluggish and unproductive, so it sure feels good to get something tangible written and out there for anyone to read. I mean, I have my doubts that I'll even have any readers, but still. Who cares about little things like building a fanbase, getting constructive criticism, or making money? I'll be my own fan, and I'll give criticism and money to myself. It's all about personal happiness, dammit.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to end this post here, but it's definitely not because I need to go sit in the corner and cry.
I'll refrain from telling you of my own feelings regarding the story so far. Seems like there's no winning scenario, if I do. 'n besides, I'd rather just let folks arrive at their own conclusions without input from me. As the writer, I thoroughly believe that I should be able to say everything I want within the story itself. If I'm unable to accomplish that, then well, that's my shortcoming as an author, and it's something I'll have to continue working on. But c'mon. Telling people what my work supposedly means is just plain cheating. Unless I'm lying. Then it's hilarious. And annoying. And thus, more hilarious.
But I digress. But you should expect me to do that. Seriously, I'd like to do that, one day. Like, if my work ever becomes popular enough to warrant some sort of big press conference, filled with eager readers who want to know what will happen in my next book, I'll just start spouting total crap, and then at the end of the conference, tell everyone I was lying and wasted everyone's time. Then laugh my way out of the building, perhaps running, if my fans are particularly surly folks.
And yes, I've thought about this before. Probably more than a few times, actually. Daydreaming is a rather troublesome habit of mine, occasionally productive, though usually counter so.
But okay, I'm digressing too much. Fair enough. Back to TZK, then.
I plan on publishing a new chapter each month, and over time, the chapters will probably grow longer and more... well, longer, anyway. Shouldn't make any crazy promises, I guess. Crazy promises are annoying.
Ideally, I'd like to reach a point where I can publish, perhaps, two chapters a month, but we'll see how things go, first. I'll only start doing that if I manage to get REALLY far ahead with the writing. It'd be cool, though.
And damn. Lately, I've felt so sluggish and unproductive, so it sure feels good to get something tangible written and out there for anyone to read. I mean, I have my doubts that I'll even have any readers, but still. Who cares about little things like building a fanbase, getting constructive criticism, or making money? I'll be my own fan, and I'll give criticism and money to myself. It's all about personal happiness, dammit.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to end this post here, but it's definitely not because I need to go sit in the corner and cry.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Hmm.
Feeling jaded. Not sure why. This post might not make much sense, but then again, I don't really care. No one reads this blog, anyway.
See? I told you. Jaded.
Hmm... Oh. In case you're wondering, this is just sorta my process. My creative - oftentimes unproductive - process. I ramble into a page until something relevant pops up. Sometimes, though, I drift into strange tangents that may or may not have anything to do with what I was originally aiming for.
But that's how rambles work, I guess. Scatter shot. Spray 'n pray, as they say. Hmm. How quaint. And yet unsettling. Oh well.
Why did I even start writing this post? 'Cuz I felt jaded. That's right. Cynical. Worried. About what, exactly? My work? I'm worried about my work? Why? 'Cuz it sucks? Nuh-uh. It doesn't suck. I'm a fantastic writer. You shut up. You're just a passing feeling of self-loathing. Go away, already.
And that sounded vaguely arrogant. More than vaguely, actually. Do I really have that much confidence in my abilities? Judging by all the questions I'm asking myself, apparently not. Unless this is all some kind of freaky coping mechanism. Bah. I don't even wanna think about that. It'll just get messy. Probably end with me going in logical circles for three days.
And dammit. It's three in the morning, already. The hell's wrong with me...?
But I should end on a positive note, I guess. But I can't. But why? Because I'm jaded, that's why. And because there are too many buts in this paragraph. But oh well.
If you're still reading this, then I'd like to apologize for wasting your time. That is, unless you managed to garner some kind of amusement out of my brain fumbles. If that's so, then I retract my apology, and in its place, offer a very appropriate, "You're welcome."
'n hey. I don't feel so jaded, now. Maybe I can do something productive now. And maybe there was something truly meaningful in this post. Why else would I bother to post it in this blog? Because I'm an idiot? Bah. That wouldn't be very good for my reputation as a writer. Well, maybe I'm a crappy writer. And the jadedness is back. Hello, old friend.
Wow, that sucked. Hmm.
So where is all this going? I dunno. Where is anything going? Bah. Don't get existential all of a sudden. That crap's annoying. Be positive, dammit. Optimistic.
If you're STILL reading this, then I actually have to congratulate you. I'd actually like to shake your hand, if I could. Talk about patience. You rock.
Hey. I'm being positive. I rock, too.
This post is getting too long, dammit. Aw, and there goes the positive. Well, anyway. My negativity is right. Post is getting long. You should stop reading. No, seriously. Stop reading. Hey. I told you to stop. C'mon. Listen to me. Stop, dammit. You're starting to piss me off. More negativity. Rrgh. If you don't stop reading, I'm just gonna stop writing. I'm not kidding. I'll cut it off. Right in the middle of sentence. I don't care. This is a ramble. There are no rules. I can do whatever I want. I could end it right here. I'm not going to. But I could. And hmm. Sentences are getting shorter. More concise. Fragmentary. Kinda weird. It's like. Stylish. Kinda.
Well, anyway. You deserve a trophy, my faithful reader. But I'm not gonna give you one. In fact, I think I'll just-
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Zombie Knight
I had an idea, a little while ago, and at first, it seemed kinda dumb, but then, after a bit of thought, it started to seem less dumb. God help me, it probably is a stupid idea, for various reasons, but I still wanna do it, dammit.
See, I decided to start writing a new story, a story which I like to think of as "a re-imagining of the zombie." However, I know myself well enough to realize with miserable certainty that, under normal circumstances, I would never get around to actually finishing a new story. That is, unless I tried something different, something new. So I decided to serialize the story, rather than try to turn it into some kind of independent book, because after all, I'm already doing that with The World Barrier series, which tends to eat all of my story ideas or otherwise squash them in my mind.
The Zombie Knight, however, is something different to me. I consider it "a serial fantasy novel" in its own right, as I intend to treat it with the same care and complexity as anything I would try to get published, but I've placed it into its own blog, which makes it completely free for anyone to read.
And since this is my own original work, which I of course love, you might be wondering why I'm not worried about some assnugget coming in and stealing it. But well, I am kind of worried about plagiarism, actually, but I don't want that to stop me from doing this, because really, this serialization strategy is something to keep me motivated, something to keep me writing for a very long time, hopefully. And besides, the way I see it, if some turdburger tries to steal my work, then, well, I guess that's fine, because you see, my work is a continuing series. A new chapter will be published on the first of each month, so... the person would be stealing something that is perpetually incomplete.
I'm also placing some ads on that blog, as well, so maybe if enough folks like the story, it'll earn me a few pennies 'r something. I'm under no illusion that it'll bag me tons of money, but rather, I see The Zombie Knight as something that I can work on for a really long time, something to help hone my craft, because as a writer, I never want to stop improving. The day I stop getting better at what I do is the day I stop doing it. And who knows? Maybe this'll help me build a reputation as a fantasy writer. Again, under no delusions, here, but hey, I'm allowed to dream a little, right? Credibility is always a nice thing to have.
You can find a link to The Zombie Knight on the top right side of this blog, but there's nothing to see there, yet. I'll post the first chapter on October 1st, so please look forward to it. I'll probably post in this blog again when I do, though, just 'cuz I'm excitable and lame about these sortsa things, I guess. I apologize in advance.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
From Reader, With Love
There once was a hopeful novelist. He was very passionate about writing. He wanted to create a masterpiece, something that people would one day look upon and consider a truly magnificent work. And so, each day, he poured the sum of all his combined knowledge, skill, and heart into a manuscript, believing that it could one day be published and thus realize his dream. Some days, his progress was minimal, even counterproductive, and some days, he wished his dream didn't take so damn long, but eventually, after years of struggling with his work, finally, it was done.
For longer than he cared to remember, he had been living for this day, hoping his little hopeful heart out. And now, he could relax a little. The hardest part was over. And then he went to get it published.
Now, he had never been one to believe that this would be easy. He was certain he would encounter plenty of difficulty along the way, and he was prepared to accept the fact that his story was, as of yet, imperfect. He had steeled his heart and was now prepared to make any gut-wrenching edits that he might need to.
So he did that, too. He found a publisher and met the demands made of him. He fought against changes he didn't want to make, conceded to ones he could agree with, and maintained the integrity of his work. All for the sake of seeing it in printed form, in completed form.
And then, that too was done. His book was truly finished. It was out in the world for all to see, just as he had hoped. Now, he could relax completely.
As time passed, his book began to gain popularity. It wasn't the famed masterpiece of his dream quite yet, but there was still time for that. His dream was coming true. It was happening. Just as he had hoped.
Then, one day, he encountered a friend of his, a friend who was in the very midst reading his book.
At first, he wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't told this friend about the book. His friend couldn't have known that he was the author. It was pure coincidence.
This could be a great opportunity, he realized. Truly honest criticism was so hard to come by. Maybe this was a chance to gain insight into what his readers were thinking, and hopefully, make his next book even better. So he carefully began the conversation.
"Hi..."
"Hey."
"What're you reading...?"
"Oh, just some shitty kids’ novel."
"..."
"What's wrong?"
"...I hope you die."
And then he walked away.
For longer than he cared to remember, he had been living for this day, hoping his little hopeful heart out. And now, he could relax a little. The hardest part was over. And then he went to get it published.
Now, he had never been one to believe that this would be easy. He was certain he would encounter plenty of difficulty along the way, and he was prepared to accept the fact that his story was, as of yet, imperfect. He had steeled his heart and was now prepared to make any gut-wrenching edits that he might need to.
So he did that, too. He found a publisher and met the demands made of him. He fought against changes he didn't want to make, conceded to ones he could agree with, and maintained the integrity of his work. All for the sake of seeing it in printed form, in completed form.
And then, that too was done. His book was truly finished. It was out in the world for all to see, just as he had hoped. Now, he could relax completely.
As time passed, his book began to gain popularity. It wasn't the famed masterpiece of his dream quite yet, but there was still time for that. His dream was coming true. It was happening. Just as he had hoped.
Then, one day, he encountered a friend of his, a friend who was in the very midst reading his book.
At first, he wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't told this friend about the book. His friend couldn't have known that he was the author. It was pure coincidence.
This could be a great opportunity, he realized. Truly honest criticism was so hard to come by. Maybe this was a chance to gain insight into what his readers were thinking, and hopefully, make his next book even better. So he carefully began the conversation.
"Hi..."
"Hey."
"What're you reading...?"
"Oh, just some shitty kids’ novel."
"..."
"What's wrong?"
"...I hope you die."
And then he walked away.
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