It's November... and Nanowrimo!

Nanowrimo.org

Day 3: I'm on schedule. I've selected a story outside my normal genres, but I'm not sure if I should call it historical fiction or something entirely different. What might you call a modern-day Jane Austen story with a man as the protagonist?

The Name of the Wind

Have you ever noticed how most every debut novel is jam-packed with admiring quotations from substantial someones? Wouldn't be nice to know which novel was actually as good as the fly-leaf quotations say it is?

Patrick Rothfuss's The Name of the Wind is every bit as good as the flyleaf says. Very probably, it's the best book I've ever read. Go buy it.

Scones

On frequent occasion, my lovely wife undertakes a random task of domestic experimentation. This usually involves something crafty, and always something new. This week, it's been, "how do we put this mountain of raspberries to use?"

Easy, right? Open mouth, insert raspberry. Mush between tongue and roof of mouth. Savor flavor. Swallow. Repeat until mountain is gone.

That's how I would have done it, but my domestic creativity ends with mixing various types of salsa to obtain new flavors for my tortilla chips. Is that even creative? It reminds me of mixing all the fountain pops together when I was six. Mountain Dew, Slice, Root Beer, Coke, Diet Coke, Tahitian Treat, all in one glass... ah, that was good stuff.

No, my wife made scones. I mean, really good scones. Like, the type of scones that make Starbucks scones seem ordinary. White chocolate, raspberry scones. And she made lots. I quickly determined that selecting a menu for the next few days would be incredibly easy. I was in a state of euphoria that might possibly emulate a heavenly afterlife.

Yes... I WAS euphoric. I'm not any more. Tragedy has struck. See, there's only one left. One little scone, hiding in old tupperware on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Calling my name. Please eat me.

She froze them all. Froze! As if the juicy, tender succulence of white chocolate chips and perfectly ripe raspberries can ever be the same! Each scone is now caged within a devilish layer of aluminum foil and ziplock plastic. The experience can never be the same, and not wholly in part because I must now DEFROST a scone before I can experience its delicacy. Woe is me.

I must plot the timing of the consumption of the last unfrozen scone. Tomorrow morning, perhaps, before the wife wakes, I will make it mine. Hmm. Or maybe right now.

Amren, Redraft 4

It's been almost 10 weeks since I mailed Amren to an editor. Haven't heard a peep. That's to be expected.

And so it's on to redraft #4! The process of writing book two and planning both two and three have done tremendous things to point out the issues in book one (I suppose, technically, I should still be calling these lengthy documents "manuscripts"), and since the current incarnation hasn't gotten a response, it's time to make it better. My list of areas up for axing isn't long, but it seems that every bullet point represents weeks of work, so I'll be prioritizing and handling one at a time lest I get lost in the deluge of sub-par text.

In the event I get a much anticipated but unexpected e-mail from an editor, I guess I'll have to ask him which variation of the story he wants...

Noveling

I’ve always had a certain sense of [very possibly misplaced] pride in being a hobby artist. The kind of pride that says, much like my previous post, I’d rather be hungry and creative than wealthy and employed at Doldrums.

I’ve become kind of a fan of Brandon Sanderson ever since meeting him at MiniCon. I’m about the worst fan in the world being as I haven’t read any of his books yet, but his first, Elantris, is slated for my literary consumption later this year. Sanderson is well known for writing 13 novels before finally publishing his first, but even he admits this was probably because, rather than editing current projects, he would quickly move on to the next, determined to fix the issues in the next book.

While speaking of this and of writing as an art at MiniCon, he pointed out how new writers frequently differ from other types of artists in their approach to the sale of their first work – no painter finishes their first painting and rushes off to the gallery, hoping to sell it for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Writers… sometimes do. And while the comparison isn’t entirely even (it doesn’t normally take a painter several years to finish their first painting), Sanderson’s comment about the need to refine your art form doesn’t vanish once a writer sets out to pen large manuscripts.

Noveling is an art form entirely separate from writing, and while many writers possess the talent necessary to write the quality of text needed for a novel, fewer have the gumption and perseverance [should that be reckless stupidity?] to complete a novel... and even fewer have the blind belief in themselves necessary to write more than one.

Business Writing

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.

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.