THE BEST WAY TO GO OUT: CONTINUING A RUNNING GAG.
Harriet was a BAMF
Keep your character consistent, and it’ll always pay dividends.
THE BEST WAY TO GO OUT: CONTINUING A RUNNING GAG.
Harriet was a BAMF
Keep your character consistent, and it’ll always pay dividends.
Here it is — my first ever wordcount update. And I can report that only one work went up this week. When I first posted my wordcount block, The Blood-Red Girl was at 5575 words. Now, at the end of the week, the wordcount is up to 6,039 for a total difference of 464 new words.
Not the greatest start, but it’s positive growth. Tune in next week when there will be more new words!
I love writing. But there’s not that much out there with my name on it. It turns out you have to finish the writing you start in order to publish it. Or you could be J.R.R. Tolkien and just finish about 25% of what you start and everybody else will fill in endings for the remaining 75% after you die. I wouldn’t describe what happens in my case as “writer’s block” so much as “writer’s slowdown.”
I also love running. This is a recent discovery, although I have always suspected that running was maybe something I would actually enjoy. I just never put much time or effort into it before because most of my life is spent staring at computer screens (among other things I enjoy: Netflix, cheesy browser games, Twitter, and designing book covers for other people, all of which are typically done from a seated position).
I discovered I love running through a mixture of two things. The first was Color Me Rad, where you run a 5k (or walk most of it gasping for breath as I have done for the past couple of years) while people pelt you with brightly-colored corn starch. It’s tons of fun. The combination of the two previous sentences, I have been told, makes me weird.
The second was an app called c25kfree, which helps you through the “Couch to 5k” plan. Couch to 5k is a set of running exercises that help you move from being a sedentary desk/couch jockey to being a lean, mean, 5k-surviving machine. It’s also a set of running exercises that I have ignored for the two previous years, instead making the ill-advised leap from the couch directly to the 5k with nothing in between.
c25kfree stresses the importance of sharing your progress as you go through the exercise plan. It’s important, they say, to give your friends and family a chance to cheer you on so that you keep your motivation up.
And they’re actually right.
My attitude toward the exercises shifted at the end of my first week when I shared my results for the first time. I didn’t get a massive outpouring of support, but I got enough — enough that I started to feel like I owed it to more people than just myself to keep going. It wasn’t so much about seeking the praise of others as it was not wanting to let them down by not continuing after they had spared a few moments to tell me I was doing a good job.
So here I am, having just started Week 3 of my Couch to 5k plan.
What does this have to do with my writer’s slowdown?
Earlier today I was visiting Hugh Howey’s website when I noticed something very cool. Howey posts the wordcounts of his current projects in the sidebar to his site.
"Gee," I said, "that looks awesome. And I bet that would serve as a constant reminder to me that I’m actually working on things that I want people to see, and that they can’t see them until I’ve finished them. I wonder if I could set something like that up—oh, look. Somebody’s totally set up a website to do that."
So, if you look over in the sidebar for my website, you’ll see a new block under my bio. “In Progress” contains the writing projects I’m currently working on with their working titles. Novels first (italic titles), then short stories (titles in quotes).
My goal is to update these word counts once a week on Fridays, and hopefully to watch the bars climb as I add to my stories.
Then, when one hits 100% completion, I have a beer to celebrate and ice down my legs.
Over at “A Newbie’s Guide to Publishing,” J.A. Konrath and Barry Eisler are dissecting a recent publication by literary agent Donald Maass. Konrath and Eisler do an excellent job disassembling Maass’ arguments point-by-point, and if you have the time you should stop by and read it.
For my part, there were two things that stuck out and that I couldn’t let go by uncommented.
Here’s the first point:
First, e-books have not hurt the print publishers but rather have helped them. Especially in the recent recession, low-cost/high-margin e-books have been a bright spot. They’ve kept publishers profitable even as brick-and-mortar book retailing has shrunk and consumers have grown cautious. With the mass-market paperback pricing itself nearly out of existence, low-priced e-books have arrived (with help from the Department of Justice) to keep value-conscious readers reading. Of course, the difficult and expensive business of selling print books must still be faced but at least there’s some gravy to make the task tasty.
This is the beginning of a trend that continues through all Maass’ argument, and it’s troubling. Maass is a literary agent. His client is supposed to be the author, the one actually creating the words. Instead, he seems to spend an inordinate amount of time focusing on how well the publishing companies are doing and never really addresses how any of this innovation is helping the authors. By the end of his argument, it seems pretty clear that Maass sees his authors not as his customers, but rather as his product that is to be fed to his real customers, the publishers.
Which leads directly into the second thing that got me kind of riled up.
Second, the self-publishing movement has been a boon to the print industry. Far from being threatened, print publishers instead are now gratefully relieved of the money-losing burden of the mid-list. Like giant banks that have discovered that banking is boring and the real money is in gambling, big publishers are now free to focus on the high-risk/high-reward game of finding the next Twilight, Hunger Games, Game of Thrones or Fifty Shades of Grey.
This is amazing. This is truly gob-smacking.
It’s difficult to know where to begin.
The mid-list consists of the authors who routinely turn out work that the publishers like and will put out, but who never rise to the sales levels of a James Patterson or a Stephen King. If you’ve ever read a book from an author you didn’t recognize, only to realize they have five or ten other books out and you still haven’t seen them on the bestseller lists or seen any of their work turned into movies or television shows, chances are you’ve encountered a mid-lister.
The vast majority of Maass’ clients? Most likely mid-listers.
Most of the authors who make their livings off of their writings?
It’s safe to say that if you have a full-time author who isn’t able to afford a solid gold swimming pool, they’re probably a mid-lister.
And they are not, by definition, a “money-losing burden.” The accepted definition of a mid-list book is one that is not a bestseller, but sells enough to economically justify its publication. The fiction that the mid-list loses money on a regular basis is a necessary fiction, given that most mid-list authors will never see enough royalties to pay back their advance.
And not only does Maass not give them any of the respect they deserve as the workhorses upon which these major publishers are built, but he actually has the nerve to suggest that the publishing industry is better off without a mid-list.
The mind boggles.
"The Day of the Doctor" was a fun, freaky episode of "Doctor Who," wasn’t it?
First things first — this episode of Doctor Who originally aired on November 23, 2013 and holds the Guinness world record for the largest international simulcast.
It is now January 14, 2014. That should be enough elapsed time for me to discuss episode spoilers without destroying the viewing experience for anybody out there. By now, you’ve either seen it, had it spoilt already, or you don’t really give a damn about spoilers.
There are spoilers beyond the break.
This is your final warning.
The list of what would have fallen into the public domain this year (if the law still looked the way it did before 1978) is pretty impressive and more than a little bit heartbreaking. Thanks to the copyright extensions that began in 1978, here are some ideas for your year that are completely useless.
As someone with many varied interests, every now and then I come across a story that causes strong conflicts in my own emotions — like this KSL story about PureMedia, a startup founded by members of the LDS church, whose new product is an app that will edit objectionable content from ebooks.
It’s not the first time that entrepreneurs (who happen to be LDS) have developed a technology-based business based around making popular media more LDS-friendly. You might remember Cleanflix, which offered rentals of edited Hollywood films. There’s a fantastic documentary on the business and its competitors where you can see clips from the Cleanflix-approved edit of The Big Lebowski.
So here’s the conflict.
But I think what ultimately wins out in me is the evangelist for democratized media. And that’s the part of me that just does not understand.
First of all, it does not understand the fascination that the customers of these services have with consuming media that they know features content they don’t wish to consume. It seems to me that — all questions of the quality of the writing aside — someone who is disgusted by graphic depictions of sex and/or bondage should probably not be reading the Fifty Shades trilogy, even if they’re reading an expurgated version.
And, second, that part of me does not understand why someone wouldn’t just create their own alternative. In fact, there’s an entire cottage industry dedicated to it with its own professional organizations and everything. And even if there weren’t, we live in a world where services like CreateSpace, Kindle Direct Publishing, and so forth make getting to the worldwide market insanely easy, whether you’re a Christian who wants to write mysteries, a Wiccan writing young adult fiction, or someone who routinely mixes up Smithsonian Magazine with Hustler. Given all of that, why do you need a system to alter work that already exists? Why not let the work stand as it is, aware that it may not be something you want to consume?
Well, that was unexpected.
I popped by Kindle Worlds to check out the rules for writing a story about The Dead Man (a series I was already interested in trying to write for) when I noticed a very familiar charicature mixed in with the logos for Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries.
They have a Kurt Vonnegut World.
A quick glance at their “canon” carousel shows that they’re accepting submissions based on, among others, Slaughterhouse Five, Breakfast of Champions, and - among my personal favorites - Bluebeard: The Autobiography of Rabo Karabekian (1916-1988).
This is where the Kindle Worlds model just got, well, worlds more interesting.
It’s one thing to license out franchises like The Vampire Diaries. It’s yet another thing to help artists kickstart their long-form works into new franchises (like Silo or the Foreworld Saga).
But licensing works that frequently wind up on required reading lists? That’s… unexpected. Potentially disastrous. But, at the very least, it’s going to be interesting.
When I was a theatre student at Virginia Tech (longer ago than I care to admit), I started every directing task by making sketches inspired by the text.
Often, the sketches had nothing to do with the physical reality of the final work. These were not costume or set renderings — they were just my ideas given shape, usually in the pages of a fancy sketch journal. And at some point the cast would see the journal, and hopefully get an idea of how I was seeing the show in my mind’s eye.
It’s years later, and I find myself preparing to direct The Winter’s Tale for Open Air Shakespeare NRV. This time, however, the sketch journal is digital, living on my iPad in Paper by Fifty-Three. Which means my sketches get to be a little more elaborate — a little more color, a little more playing with the texture of different tools.
But still, the core concept remains. The images are there in my head. It’s not about getting them onto the stage (or screen, as the case may be) verbatim, so much as it’s about getting them drawn so that I can see my thought processes.
And then I can start to build on those thoughts — creating something that’s completely different, but still heading in the same direction.
“He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.”
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
I’ve been editing The Winter’s Tale for a production I’m going to be directing. Editing Shakespeare is always an interesting task. When you start out slashing lines and cutting scenes, you get a real sense for the poetry and rhythm, and how much your edits are hurting it. You see lines that are eloquently written — and that you truly love — disappearing under your pen, and it doesn’t take long to start to feel like the hackiest hack in all of hackdom.
Then, somewhere around the final moments of your first pass through the text, you start to realize something. Shakespeare was, first and foremost, a writer. An amazing writer — a writer that is unsurpassed in the English language — but still a writer. And as a writer, he dealt with the issues that all writers dealt with.
Shakespeare had deadlines to meet. He had actor egos to consider. He had wealthy and demanding patrons to satisfy. None of these things make him any less of a writer, but they all become more and more obvious the more time you spend parsing his work.