Conventionality: Dining Room Table Edition

I’ve taken a break from scribbling at the dining room table to mention that I’m making a couple of brief virtual appearances as this year’s World Fantasy Convention. (Held in that region of cyberspace floating above Salt Lake City).

Anne Groell (my wife, working down the hallway over there), just happens to be the editor guest of honor. (It occurs to me that I may not have congratulated her. I must have, surely. In any case, it’s easy to forget the niftiness of the people that you see every day. She’s pretty nifty. Well deserved). In any case, she will be busy, of course, with panels, a kaffeeklatsch, interviews, and things — almost all of which will be held, at least partially, at this very dining room table (in addition to Salt Lake City cyberspace).

I, of course, have managed to horn in as well. They’ve got me interviewing poor Anne, and, for the last few nights, I’ve been testing her out with questions of the most ingenious cruelty. It’s possible, however, that, on the day, I might go with a gentler line of attack. (Favorite color, current velocity, longest word currently known, tell us about your niceness, etc.).

I appear in one other spot on the calendar. There’s a panel on power dynamics in fantastical worlds. It’s not a lightweight topic, and I’m intrigued to see how the conversation will evolve. It’s been very much on my mind over the last number of years.

In any case, I’ll be here in my dining room with better lighting and tidier bookcases on and off this weekend. (Maybe I’ll see some of you there!)

Writing with the Burger Clown

Your friend and mine...

For some, it can be tough to sustain the necessary focus to get real writing done. (For me, it can be tough to sustain the necessary focus to get real writing done).
Sure, life gets in the way. (Life gets in the way like an angry glyptodon in a Hyundai). But, when I find a rare moment of peace and contemplation, I find that distractions come crowding in.
Captured time, I find, is invaluable. These are the chunks of time (stuck on a bus, crammed in a basement corner) that sensible people arrange their whole lives to escape. But, for me, there is nothing quite like the concentration I can achieve when I’m stuck wedged between strangers with a note pad. (There’s no where to go — but in).
A couple of mornings a week, our school starts a little later than usual. In those small chunks of time, I buy a cup of coffee and write with the burger clown.
It’s been very useful.
(Currently writing a new transition at page 534 of Dave’s 3rd Book).

Taking a Punch

Your author may be wrong, but it seems to him that any attempt to defend oneself against criticism in a writer's group is both ill advised and doomed to fail.

Your author may be wrong, but it seems to him that any attempt to defend oneself against criticism in a writer’s group is both ill advised and doomed to fail.

Your Mum is an Idiot

When you hand your shining new story over to a workshop, editor, beta reader, spouse or mum, you may feel a natural tendency to defend what you’ve written.

“Your honest reaction is wrong!” you will think. “You are clearly a fool!” you will think (possibly of your mother).

I have come to suspect that these entirely natural responses are to be rigorously suppressed — because they are quite possibly wrong.

The State of Being: “To Be” or Not “To Have” a Case in Point

I remember a time when beloved fantasy author and one-time writer’s group-mate who shall remain nameless (Steven Erikson) expressed the feeling that I had overdone the passive voice.

Well! I looked closely at the text. I ran the style software over the thing, and I discovered that he was wrong. Wrong! I had not used the passive voice. Never! The fool! (The passive voice is not frequently used by yours truly). I felt vindicated — but I was fundamentally wrong. You see, while the writing wasn’t technically in the passive voice, I had chosen to avoid active verbs every time I could. He was there. She was that. They were boring, boring, boring.

Steve’s reaction? It was worth listening to.

The Information

Every reader’s reaction is information — and information can sometimes be quite useful. (Not always, mind you).

It was my mum who asked, “Don’t these fantasy novels sometimes have women in them?” (The fool). And, while I had a perfectly reasonable explanation for the sausage fest I’d written, I also had to admit that she might have had a point. (Many rewrites later, I’d put in a girl — the third book has three!).

Grin & Bear It

If you want a story to get better, you need to must learn to take a punch. (And respond after careful consideration alone at your keyboard).

Everything anyone says to you in a writer’s workshop (or anything said by a beta reader or mother or spouse) is information. You cannot argue someone out of their reaction. (That horse has already sailed). Ignore the information or not, it’s information.

I have given myself permission to nod understandingly and to ask few unloaded just-clarifying questions (such pain!).

But, once I have gathered the information, then, (after the fits of Faulty Towers clenched-fist rage at the unfairness of such things) I decide what to I must do next…

(You must, of course, make up your own mind).

The Tiny Jugglers of My Mind

Keck Gets Forgetful

From moment to moment, everything is forgotten. I think. (What was I saying?)

It’s not uncommon for writer-types to advocate the carrying of notebooks. Ideas, though they may seem as ineffable as the pyramids of Giza, are effing evanescent. (There’s a line for you!)

Case in point…

I’m clever enough to know that I am often interrupted in my attempts to pen the perfect novel. (I’ll be right in the flow of things when two parent-teacher conferences and a bit of emergency dentistry will pop up and knock the flow off track — what was it doing on the track in the first place?). You would think people would give me a nice smooth two-year patch so that I could finish the job, but do they? (They do not).

So, I write notes. (Sometimes quite dutifully).

In this case, I wrote the following sentence: “The Lady of the Bower gets to the point where she realizes who Durand is — but I’m thinking she……………………”

The dots (above) represent the moment when someone walked in. It was only a moment. But, when I looked back at my page — pen still poised — I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember what, exactly, it was that she…………. And I still haven’t. 

Amatuer students of psychology (with the same possibly-crucially outdated understanding of the field as myself) will recognize the oft-cited George A. Miller’s Seven Plus or Minus Two. I will include a reference to the relevant, ancient study (and not the Wikipedia article where I found it — a guy must have some pride).

For our purposes, it must suffice to say that the little jugglers of our minds can only keep so many big, jagged thoughts in the air at the same time before they lose a finger. And clearly, my little jugglers dropped one. (And I bet it was going to be good, too!)

At this point, I feel that there ought to be some sort of conclusion to this piece — something uplifted about how there are always more, better ideas. What care I for the transitory motivations of fictional persons?

But I had my pen right there! It was poised!

Writing, Guilt, Progress and Dubious Holidays

Keck Works Columbus Day... continuing the forward motion

Keck Works Columbus Day… continuing the forward motion

Keeping the writing warm (on those ever-important back burners of the mind) is a toughy during the school year. Teaching is a busy job that, if done reasonably well, involves a considerable part of a person’s creativity. Still, if that person wants to finish a book, writing must get done.

This year, I am wrestling with the problem in a more bloody-minded way than I have for several years. (The logistics of having a school-age child are getting complicated. Apparently, being somebody’s dad seems to require a little time and attention. Who knew?) I have written on family trips, in a McDonalds on the way to work, and today….

About today. Today, my daughter is in “camp”. The day cost $55. The daughter has a bit of a cough. There will be swimming. It’s probably nothing; she looked a little peaked as I sent her off. (Her friends called her name when she arrived. That’s good, right?)

I am revising page 525 and posting this nonsense on a blog.

(There may be guilt).

Invisible People

Keck is puzzled...

Keck is puzzled…

Characters are appearing in scenes like Cheshire cats! (Dave’s Third book is possessed).

Let me set the scene. You will often have heard writers talk about characters having a life of their own. Sometimes, as a writer gets to know a character, the original outline just doesn’t work anymore. Sometimes, writers have a little method actor in them. Sometimes, these things happen. A good character runs off on you.

That sort of thing.

Well, in my book, I’ve got characters riding right beside the viewpoint character that no one ever sees! (It’s like Dan Brown — when people refuse to look at or think about various things in order to create a nice cliff hanger: We see what you do, Mr. Brown!)

Three guys are alone in a vast and haunted forest. After an hour of picking at things I’ve got the scene polished with new, snappier dialogue and everything… when, just as the scene ends, A WHOLE EXTRA CHARACTER CHIMES IN.

I was tempted to have the original characters fall off their horses. “OMG, have you been there the whole time? Have we been talking about you, or anything? Etc..)

Clearly, I need to focus.

(More Coffee needed).