When my college experience made the wonderful switch away from general classes, there were only two majors for me to choose from: business writing and creative writing. At the time, I knew that business writing was more practical; potential employers like their unfortunate need for a copywriter to be softened by that person having the word “business” attached to their degree. I also knew that I’d rather be a starving artist than a working-class copywriter. I chose the creative writing path, knowing the degree would mean almost nothing, but that the experience would benefit the color of my writing more aptly than a dowsing of “business.”
Not along ago, I had an opportunity (within the confines of my necessary day-job… you know, the one that feeds me) to interview for an internal web-copy position. I jumped at it, figuring that my decade (or so) of strategically honing my subject-verb-infinitive-preposition (etc) combinations would merit some consideration for the position.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so belittled. Despite the interviewer’s gracious demeanor, the disregard for what I had to offer was… disheartening.
Clearly, I didn’t have the word “business” attached to my degree. Whatever this “creative” nonsense is that’s obscuring my portfolio, it meant nothing to this bureaucracy. In business, the succinct writing of Elements of Style pays homage to search-engine-optimized diction.
It’s made me wonder about that choice I made after high school. Part of me thinks there shouldn’t even be a choice: I’m pretty confident that if my 9-5 bureaucracy were patient enough to try me out, this creative writer can write whatever they throw at me. I might even be better than Joe business writer, considering I’ve had training in multiple genres.
But then again, business doesn’t wait for the muse. Better to plug in someone who’s already walked that learning curve, even if it means the opposite of saving money. God bless all of those editors and agents who can make a living by walking such a tightrope.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Amren Update
I'm happy to announce that Life After has reached a place in its life where it can enter the realm of submissions. It's just a matter of time before I start receiving rejection letters.
In the meantime, Life After 2 is now earnestly under construction. The main storyarc has been determined, and while many of the conflicting subplots are outlined, much yet remains to be discovered. I began writing [what I believe will be] the opening scene today but I'm getting bogged down by the creation of a vocabulary to describe a fantastical religious sect. I have to be careful to select words from multiple religions so as to not give the impression of satirizing any real-world religion, plus some phrases have evolved into terrible cliches. I'm not much of a word-inventor as taking the time to explain what the new word means detracts from story evolution.
It's looking like the beginning of book two will be especially difficult for Amren, but I'm sure there are some blues skies out there somewhere.
In the meantime, Life After 2 is now earnestly under construction. The main storyarc has been determined, and while many of the conflicting subplots are outlined, much yet remains to be discovered. I began writing [what I believe will be] the opening scene today but I'm getting bogged down by the creation of a vocabulary to describe a fantastical religious sect. I have to be careful to select words from multiple religions so as to not give the impression of satirizing any real-world religion, plus some phrases have evolved into terrible cliches. I'm not much of a word-inventor as taking the time to explain what the new word means detracts from story evolution.
It's looking like the beginning of book two will be especially difficult for Amren, but I'm sure there are some blues skies out there somewhere.
"the internet is for being rude"
I found this nugget of joy in the Pandora radio comment threads.
It has caused my wits to fly from my head.
It has caused my wits to fly from my head.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Dark Tower, Book I
Everyone should read the greats, right?
Perhaps my first experience with Stephen King should not have been the plodding, meandering, anti-chronology that is The Gunslinger. Not that flashbacks don't have a purpose; in fact, had the book been written without its hoop-jumping through time, I would have liked it less. For me, what the story lacked was the big, fat WHY. I understand what the Gunslinger's immediate goals are, but never why.
It's exactly as King intended, of course. The Gunslinger himself hardly knows WHY he slaughters an entire village with his six-shooters or travels across a phantasmal Sahara desert with a boy who's been sucked into his universe by the book's anti-hero. He only knows that he must, and he capitulates to the will of the author as every character, good and bad, must always do.
Ok, now I have to ask myself... did Mr. King know what his character's motivation was? I doubt it. The fact that he revised the book in 2003 says much of the book's seat-of-the-pants origin. So much of the story was yet unimagined at the initial 1982 (drafting began in 1970) publishing that later books ended up contradicting it, and the revision altered some details so that the first book fell in line with the others. In a way, I admire King for making this revision... it shows he was willing to admit that he'd made some mistakes.
Yet no matter how much I may decry those things that I perceive as shortcomings within The Gunslinger, Mr. King cannot be mocked. His work stands alone, his legacy already established.
I still think The Gunslinger is a terrible read. King's Colorful language does not fulfill the woeful gap left by my incapacity to feel any empathy at all for the 'slinger, and while I've heard and read that the first book is a joy to read once it can be placed within the context of the multi-book story-arc, I have this lively suspicion that King's brilliance is probably little more than building the rest of the story off the things he arbitrarily imagined in 1970-1982.
Perhaps my first experience with Stephen King should not have been the plodding, meandering, anti-chronology that is The Gunslinger. Not that flashbacks don't have a purpose; in fact, had the book been written without its hoop-jumping through time, I would have liked it less. For me, what the story lacked was the big, fat WHY. I understand what the Gunslinger's immediate goals are, but never why.
It's exactly as King intended, of course. The Gunslinger himself hardly knows WHY he slaughters an entire village with his six-shooters or travels across a phantasmal Sahara desert with a boy who's been sucked into his universe by the book's anti-hero. He only knows that he must, and he capitulates to the will of the author as every character, good and bad, must always do.
Ok, now I have to ask myself... did Mr. King know what his character's motivation was? I doubt it. The fact that he revised the book in 2003 says much of the book's seat-of-the-pants origin. So much of the story was yet unimagined at the initial 1982 (drafting began in 1970) publishing that later books ended up contradicting it, and the revision altered some details so that the first book fell in line with the others. In a way, I admire King for making this revision... it shows he was willing to admit that he'd made some mistakes.
Yet no matter how much I may decry those things that I perceive as shortcomings within The Gunslinger, Mr. King cannot be mocked. His work stands alone, his legacy already established.
I still think The Gunslinger is a terrible read. King's Colorful language does not fulfill the woeful gap left by my incapacity to feel any empathy at all for the 'slinger, and while I've heard and read that the first book is a joy to read once it can be placed within the context of the multi-book story-arc, I have this lively suspicion that King's brilliance is probably little more than building the rest of the story off the things he arbitrarily imagined in 1970-1982.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Loft Literary Center
I've stumbled upon a writer's paradox.
I'm a firm believer that writers, as a general rule, are fairly empathetic people. Writing is an art that requires feeling, and those types of people who make a practice of really observing the world and find themselves vicariously experiencing another person's life just from a mere conversation are those that embody marvelous literary talent. It could come from anyone. Writers realize this, and it sparks a kind of open-mindedness, an empathy for fellow writers.
The business side of writing is populated by editors, agents, and boogie men. The gauntlet of deleted queries and rejection letters is scary.
Fortunately, we writers have more resources available to us than we could possibly ever use. Countless support groups, advisory panels, how-to websites, and sympathetic organizations provide useful information, if they can be found.
Here's my paradox: The Loft Literary Center is one such helpful institution. It hosts classes, readings, and other activities. However, it has developed a reputation amongst "outsiders" as being the paragon collective of writer's ego. If ever there was a high-brow writer's guild, this is it. Every time I've attended a reading, I have felt like I was snooping in upon an elitist cultural event. It didn't matter HOW good a writer I was, I would never be trendy enough to be a "Loft" writer. It was a paradox, a writer's organization for writers that managed only to make me feel as though my abilities and accomplishments were insignificant. How dare I call myself a writer?
I recently attended a two hour class at The Loft. What a difference. Maybe it was the time of day, morning, rather than evening. Maybe it was that I was in the midst of writers who were actually working to improve their craft by attending this class, rather than in the midst of those intent upon advertising their craft. Regardless, the class was quite good, and I plan to keep attend others.
My angsty paradox has begun to redeem itself.
As a post script, I'd like to add that my experiences with the business side of writing have been far LESS scary than I imagined they might be. Writers aren't the only people that realize talent can come from anywhere. Yes, I may be channeling Ratatouille.
I'm a firm believer that writers, as a general rule, are fairly empathetic people. Writing is an art that requires feeling, and those types of people who make a practice of really observing the world and find themselves vicariously experiencing another person's life just from a mere conversation are those that embody marvelous literary talent. It could come from anyone. Writers realize this, and it sparks a kind of open-mindedness, an empathy for fellow writers.
The business side of writing is populated by editors, agents, and boogie men. The gauntlet of deleted queries and rejection letters is scary.
Fortunately, we writers have more resources available to us than we could possibly ever use. Countless support groups, advisory panels, how-to websites, and sympathetic organizations provide useful information, if they can be found.
Here's my paradox: The Loft Literary Center is one such helpful institution. It hosts classes, readings, and other activities. However, it has developed a reputation amongst "outsiders" as being the paragon collective of writer's ego. If ever there was a high-brow writer's guild, this is it. Every time I've attended a reading, I have felt like I was snooping in upon an elitist cultural event. It didn't matter HOW good a writer I was, I would never be trendy enough to be a "Loft" writer. It was a paradox, a writer's organization for writers that managed only to make me feel as though my abilities and accomplishments were insignificant. How dare I call myself a writer?
I recently attended a two hour class at The Loft. What a difference. Maybe it was the time of day, morning, rather than evening. Maybe it was that I was in the midst of writers who were actually working to improve their craft by attending this class, rather than in the midst of those intent upon advertising their craft. Regardless, the class was quite good, and I plan to keep attend others.
My angsty paradox has begun to redeem itself.
As a post script, I'd like to add that my experiences with the business side of writing have been far LESS scary than I imagined they might be. Writers aren't the only people that realize talent can come from anywhere. Yes, I may be channeling Ratatouille.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Minicon
From what I've heard of the speculative fiction conferences in Minnesota, Minicon is the most literary. I attended Minicon this Easter weekend.
Among the panels for discussion (many of which were very worthwhile, covering topics such as editing and the publication process) was a "pitching and catching" session. It was American Idol for writers. An editor from a [very] large publishing house was at the judge, and anyone who wanted to pitch their book or story idea was welcome to do so, provided they didn't exceed the 3 minute time limit.
They ran out of time. I didn't get to go.
I was crushed. What an opportunity for aspiring writers! ...and I just couldn't raise my hand fast enough.
A friend of mine, a member of my writer's group, looked me in the eye and said, "we're going to corner him [the editor] tomorrow and you're going to pitch your story, even if I have to taser him to keep him from running away!" Thank you, Sam.
We cornered him in a mostly empty conference room the next day, and he went along with the pitch idea without the need for hostilities. His reaction was favorable. He asked several questions to clarify story/world construction, inquired whether I had an agent, and then asked me to send him the entire manuscript.
I think my response was in sentence format. I might have just been babbling.
Hermitage, thou art not devoid of reward. I will embrace thee once more and endeavor to fix various errors within my story before I make my submission. May the editor's inbox be empty when my document arrives.
Among the panels for discussion (many of which were very worthwhile, covering topics such as editing and the publication process) was a "pitching and catching" session. It was American Idol for writers. An editor from a [very] large publishing house was at the judge, and anyone who wanted to pitch their book or story idea was welcome to do so, provided they didn't exceed the 3 minute time limit.
They ran out of time. I didn't get to go.
I was crushed. What an opportunity for aspiring writers! ...and I just couldn't raise my hand fast enough.
A friend of mine, a member of my writer's group, looked me in the eye and said, "we're going to corner him [the editor] tomorrow and you're going to pitch your story, even if I have to taser him to keep him from running away!" Thank you, Sam.
We cornered him in a mostly empty conference room the next day, and he went along with the pitch idea without the need for hostilities. His reaction was favorable. He asked several questions to clarify story/world construction, inquired whether I had an agent, and then asked me to send him the entire manuscript.
I think my response was in sentence format. I might have just been babbling.
Hermitage, thou art not devoid of reward. I will embrace thee once more and endeavor to fix various errors within my story before I make my submission. May the editor's inbox be empty when my document arrives.
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