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Holly Lisle in her writing tips newsletter today wrote about plagiarism and being a “real writer.”

I put “real writer” in quotes not for sarcastic effect. I put those words in quotes because those are the words Holly herself used, and I agree with them completely. She talks about some would-be aspiring authors, as it were, looking for an easy way to rip off 100,000 words of others’ work, run it through an automated computer program, and come out with a supposedly original story. These are not “real writers.”

Then Holly said, “People who live their lives always looking for ways to get their hands on things they have not earned never do anything worthwhile. Never create anything worthwhile.”

Coincidentally, this morning, I rewrote the blog post “Writing as a Spiritual Walk,” for the intro of Character Fiction 101.

Image © 2008 Thiago Silvestre CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
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I’m convinced that one of the core reasons writers write is for spiritual fulfillment. But there are two aspects of spirituality.

Some writers focus on the external: more words, more books, more publishing contracts, more fans, more fame, more money. At the extreme, this pursuit can result in plagiarism and other ethical lapses. Remember James Frey’s “semi-fictional memoir” A Million Little Pieces? When the “semi-fictional” revelation came out, how many people felt betrayed beyond the ability of a full refund to make amends? But Frey wasn’t the first to fictionalize his memoir, nor will he be the last.

Now, I’m not claiming to have a direct line into James Frey’s psyche. I don’t actually know why he fabricated parts of his life and then failed to include this little tidbit of information in the original publicity information packets. I do know that if we only focus on the external rewards of writing, we may find ourselves selling our values to the devil for a little temporary fame or fortune.

Other writers focus on the internal, on observations and thoughts and feelings, on a Zen-like understanding of nature, on refining and enhancing our perceptions. On finding the perfect word to describe what we feel. Some of us spend years planning our “next book,” and years more writing and editing and revising and rewriting and reediting and rerevising and rerewriting and rereeding and… And sometimes, I admit, I’m guilty of going down this path, because I agree with King Solomon: “Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding… Her ways are pleasant ways, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who embrace her; those who lay hold of her will be blessed.”

Now, of these two aspects of spirituality, I spend an inordinate amount of energy lambasting the former and pushing the latter, because the industry tends to glorify the external, sometimes so much that it appears there’s no other yardstick of “success.” We look up to those writers who sell lots of books, to raves from a broad array of cheering fans, no matter how profane the work may be. At some level, we seek spiritual fulfillment in this brand of “success,” because we instinctively believe that if that many people knew of us and looked up to us—the way that we swoon over other top-selling authors—then we’d be part of something bigger than ourselves. And we dream that if only we could have a best-seller, “breakout” novel like that, then we’d be happy and fulfilled. But ask the writers who have “made it.” That kind of fulfillment is only skin-deep. True spirituality comes from within, not from without.

Nonetheless, only when we engage both the internal and external, each in balance with the other, will we find true spiritual fulfillment in our writing. Only when we find the truth boiling away inside our souls and bring it to the world in concrete form, only then will we have completed the cycle.

The first step, I believe, is to admit that you are not going to be as “successful” as Stephanie Meyer or J.K. Rowling or Stephen King or Neil Gaiman— or Holly Lisle. That’s a liberating admission, because then you are free to follow the path that fate has laid out for you yourself…

But that’s another blog post.

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2009 Ahmad Hammoud CC BY 2.0

In How To Write Page-Turning Scenes, Holly Lisle tells the story of a writer who lived SF. He decided to write a fantasy-comedy, just because he thought he could sell it. And sell it he did. And then he sold another one, and then again and again and again… ten titles. Except it made him miserable.

As Holly tells the story, “he hated the book, hated the readers for being so stupid that they liked that crap (his words, not mine), hated the fact that fantasy comedy was the thing that had done well for him, because he hated fantasy, he hated comedy, and he’d just done it because Robert Asprin and Piers Anthony were at the time raking in the dough with fantasy comedies… When I talked to him at a con one year, he was one miserable dude. He’s doing work-for-hire now.”

I’ve never forgotten that story.

Holly has filled Page-Turning Scenes with excellent advice about how to, uh, write page-turning scenes. Ironic, that in the midst of it all, this sidebar story has glued itself to my memory.

Then today, R.A. Evans told his story, with a flip-side theme:

There was a time when I ran from the label of being a “horror writer”. It’s tough enough as a self-published author to be taken seriously, but adding the extra burden of a horror tag to my bio made the chances of people rolling the dice on my projects even scarier – and not in a good way!

Like Holly’s mystery-author, R.A. thought about switching genres. In his case, it didn’t even require writing another book.

My plan was to adjust my author platform, but instead of labeling my books as horror I would check the box next to Urban Fantasy. I just couldn’t pull the trigger on it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not nearly the genre snob I appear to be – to each their own is my philosophy. But then a funny thing started happening – my books started selling…

The problem hadn’t been that I had written a horror novel. The problem was that I hadn’t embraced being a horror author.

(Go read his entire story over at Joanna Penn’s blog: “The Stigma Of Writing Horror: How The Genre You Write Matters As Much As The Story”.)

At some point, at some level, we all identify with the stories we write. How to do that safely and successfully is a different post. But to do it, period…

How can we help but be what we write? What do you think?

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2007 Adam Foster CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

I’ve been writing fiction—or at least trying to—for about a decade now (plus or minus a couple years, depending on how you count it). After that span of time, most of what I now read, it touches me so profoundly that I have to put a fist through a wall just so I don’t lose my mind out of sheer boredom.

In other words, I don’t fall in love with much of anything anymore.

For example, I just started Ship of Magic by acclaimed fantasy author Robin Hobb. I picked up the book, because Robin Hobb once gushed over Holly Lisle’s Talyn, which I adored. I figured, if Robin knows good stuff when she reads it, maybe she’s written some good stuff, too. Besides, the story sounded like it might engage me. So I cracked open Ship of Magic. And somewhere on page one, I actually put myself into “line-editing” mode, reading for grammar and punctuation instead of for content— because for the fun of it, that’s why!

No, but seriously, folks, I knew from the first line: “Kennit walked the tideline, heedless of the salt waves that washed around his boots as they licked the sandy beach clean of his tracks.” If the main character was “heedless” of those 18 words, they probably didn’t need to be included at all, and surely not in the first sentence of the story. Shortly thereafter, I put myself into line-editing mode just so I could occupy my mind during the introductory “Who the hell cares!?” and make it to the actual story part of the novel, which started to pick up round about page 8, at which point I took a break.

We’ll see whether I make it the rest of the way through this book. It’s not starting on the right foot. Unfortunately, this is my standard experience with books nowadays, books of all stripes, genres, and backgrounds.

So you can imagine, when I happen to run across a story that captivates me, that enchants me, that moves me, and makes me feel like I know its characters and that these characters matter to me…

You can imagine, I get a little emotional. And “Too Shiny for a Ladybird” is one such story. I mentioned this story over the weekend, as one of my #FridayFlash Favorites. From the first paragraphs, I was delving deeply into the main character’s psyche, feeling the pieces of her life fall into place and out of place, reveling in her eventual transformation.

Unfortunately, the very next day, author Rachel Carter revised this story, in the process ripping out the character development that had so entranced me. And that’s what I told her. Even though all her homeys seem to think that her revised version is better than the original, silly me, I actually told her about her story through my eyes.

You won’t be able to read my comments, however, because she deleted them from her blog, simultaneously posting about how some “comments have to go,” because they come “at the expense of someone else’s enjoyment of life” and “stamp on people’s dreams.”

Yeah, that was me, prodigal of enjoyment, stamper of dreams.

I’m not sure what I wrote that upset her so, because she’s not talking to me about it, and I’m not asking. Even so, I couldn’t stop wondering, the possibilities flipping through my mind.

Maybe because I said her original story was wonderful?

Yes, it’s possible, if she identifies with the later revision, which would never have made it onto my Favorites list. She herself thought the original felt “clumsy and unpolished.”

I for one feel distaste when someone compliments me on an old story that I now think sucks. Because I feel I’ve come so far since then. All the effort I’ve put into the past 10 years, did it mean anything? If what I churned out back then was “good” enough, then why did I bother?

Remember the episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye keeps reading about “incredibly average Vernon Parsons” in his hometown newspaper, and it twists his back into the shape of a question mark? As it turns out, “incredibly average Vernon Parsons” is receiving accolades and grants for playing with research mice back home, while Hawkeye labors in obscurity sewing together soldiers near the Korean front.

At the end of the episode, Colonel Potter tells Hawkeye, “I think maybe you haven’t made up your mind how you feel about being over here feeding the fleas… even though you’re not ‘incredibly average’… It’s too big a world for me to be in competition with everybody else. The only guy I have to be better than is who I am right now, and in your case, that’s tough enough.”

Truthfully, 10 years ago, I thought I was improving my writing skills so that I could write well, so I could be accepted by an audience. Now, I realize that I’ve only been refining my writing skills, not improving them, and only so that I could accept myself. Anything more will only tie my back up in knots. The world’s too big for me to be in competition with Stephanie Meyer, whom I may never respect as a writer. And that’s okay. The only person I have to be better than is who I am right now, and in your case, that’s tough enough.

Maybe because I talked down to her?

At one point, I did act like a character expert—Yeah, I know, why would I do that?—and said that she must have “accidentally stumbled onto” that wonderful characterization.

While I wouldn’t necessarily take that as an insult, I could see how someone might. Certainly, I might feel slighted if someone said to me that I “accidentally stumbled onto” brilliance that reads like a scene from Twilight. I would hope I’d laugh it off, knowing that there are some who genuinely enjoyed Twilight (and then there are others who enjoy well-written stories).

But the real potential joy happens when you stumble into a new way of writing a story. I occasionally do, and I probably will continue to for as long as I continue to write. It’s a wondrous experience to discover some new way to touch someone else’s life, no matter how the discovery comes about. Because we’re all different, and part of the magic of self-discovery as a writer is finding new ways to connect with others.

Maybe someday, I’ll even figure out how to connect with people who like Twilight.

Maybe because I implied that my style of fiction is better than hers?

Because to me, it is better. Just as her style of fiction is better to her than mine is to me. Just as yours is better to you, and every other writer’s is better to him. Each of us is on his own journey, and the best we can hope is that we happen to share the same road once in a while and relate to each other our experiences.

Probably, she’s upset because I said that she didn’t seem to value the same qualities as I do in a story. “And from my perspective,” I said, “that’s sad.”

If that ain’t the worst putdown, I don’t know what is. I’m almost sorry for saying it. Almost.

It’s her blog. She can post any stories she wants and censor any comments she wants. (I do the same.) But this is my blog, and I’m going to try to explain to you why this is so important.

I’m not sorry about using the word sad. Because “sad” is what I meant, sad in the purest, most innocent sense of the word. It truly is sad when you think you’ve found a kindred spirit on that journey, only to discover the wonderful prospect was just a misunderstanding.

Here’s the moral of this tale: Most of us spend all our effort shouting across crowded highways at those who are racing past on the other side, all but ignoring those few who are walking the very same path as we. If you happen to find that kindred spirit, who is walking the same path as you, value her, swoon over her, do everything you can reasonably do to support her. Because kindred spirits are few and far between, even among authors.

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2006 Mark Adams CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

I ran across this post about how important feedback is to a writer, by the pseudonymous “Frootbat31″ on her blog A Writer’s Journey. She makes four stimulating points regarding criticism, and how to manage it as a writer.

As someone who’s gone through a career cycle of first seeking feedback (as a beginner), then trying to distinguish criticism from critique, growing to loathe feedback of any sort, and finally appreciating thought-provoking feedback… Here are some of my comments on the topic, for whatever they’re worth.

(BTW, I did manage to find Frootbat31′s real name. But I’m resisting the urge to refer to her by name, even though names come across as much more personable, because she doesn’t appear to use her real name as a regular practice on her sites. So, Frootbat31, just because I call you “her” in this post, please don’t feel that I’m trying to whisper behind your back or to avoid addressing you directly, even though it may come across that way. I’m merely trying to add to what you wrote and respect your pseudonymity at the same time.)

1. Get a fresh perspective on your writing.

When I finally show a story to readers, inevitably someone is going to come up with some part of the story that confused him, or that he couldn’t get into, or that he thought was stupid. Sometimes, he’s simply not the reader I’m going after with my stories, and I just have to admit that. It still upsets me when something like this comes from a friend or acquaintance who I thought was on the same page with me, especially when he is clearly reading his own idiocy into the brilliance of my story. (Ba-dum bum.)

But seriously, sometimes it actually does happen that way. Like when he says my main character is boring, and then goes on for 10 minutes complaining about how stupid she is. (True story, by the way.) At some point, as an author, you have to realize that sometimes when someone complains about your story, it’s their problem, not yours.

Even so, I’ve grown to appreciate honest feedback about how a reader reacts to my stories. A beta-reader of “The Widow’s Granddaughter” (back when I believed in beta readers) pointed out how he didn’t understand what my character was thinking. (The character purchased a package of prophylactics and left it lying on the kitchen counter. Then the character’s date misinterpreted his intentions. How could anyone possibly misinterpret that?!) When I revised the story, I added a sentence here and there to clarify what was going on in my character’s mind. I probably wouldn’t have thought of that revision without honest feedback.

More recently, the flash-fiction story “Perhaps to Dream” I posted a couple weeks ago, it generated some useful feedback. Readers seemed to have enjoyed it, but one commenter thought the whole story was a dream. (Only part of the story involved a dream.) Another commenter thought the main character was suffering from a hangover. (She was overworked, running on caffeine, and under extreme stress—When did she have time to get hungover?) If I revise this story, I’ll be sure to clarify these points, which probably only involves tweaking a few words here and there.

2. Feedback must be offered as a means to help the writer improve their writing.

Be careful of the mythology surrounding this nice thought. Many commenters do see their role as helping the writer “improve,” and by that they mean to correct the writer’s mistakes. And the more experienced the commenter, the more likely this is true, because experienced readers (and fellow writers, too) think they know more about the market and the material than you do. Or at least, they want to feel useful, so they feel they have to offer some suggestion or other.

But Sturgeon’s Law still holds true, even after 53 years:

I repeat Sturgeon’s Revelation, which was wrung out of me after twenty years of wearying defense of science fiction against attacks of people who used the worst examples of the field for ammunition, and whose conclusion was that ninety percent of SF is crud.

Using the same standards that categorize 90% of science fiction as trash, crud, or crap, it can be argued that 90% of film, literature, consumer goods, etc. are crap. In other words, the claim (or fact) that 90% of science fiction is crap is ultimately uninformative, because science fiction conforms to the same trends of quality as all other artforms.

Yes, 90% of everything is crap, and my own experience has borne that out. 90% of online fiction is crap. 90% of unpublished manuscripts are crap. 90% of self-published books are crap. 90% of traditionally published novels are crap. And 90% of the New York Times Bestseller list is crap.

The only question that remains is: “… ‘crap’ for whom?”

My definition of “crap” is bound to be a little different than your definition of “crap,” because each of us has different tastes and values. Or the corollary: there is no “best”; there’s only “best for you,” and “best for me,” and “best for whom?”

Practitioners in every field seem to realize this, at least on some level. A musician may thrive on classic rock, and he may even look down on listeners who enjoy modern pop, but he still recognizes the legitimacy of jazz and R&B and classical and, yes, even Lady Gaga. Yeah, so maybe 90% of everything on the radio sucks, but that’s what Last.fm was invented for.

Practitioners in every field seem to realize this, except novelists. Maybe it’s just me—and I hope it is—but it seems that there’s still a culture of “right way” among writers, even with the explosion of self-published and indie fiction. Writers and editors still talk of “good” fiction as though that meant anything. Even after Twilight, they still perpetuate the myth that “good” stories succeed and “bad” ones fail.

What does this have to do with feedback? Be careful of the mythology that if you accept criticism, that it’ll make you a “better” writer. Accepting criticism doesn’t make you “better”; it only makes you more like the critic. Because there is no “better.” There’s only “better for me.” That’s why improvement as a writer always comes from within. Criticism can help you find new ways to express what’s inside you, and if you use it to help you find new pathways on that voyage of self-discovery, you will become a better writer.

3. Sandwich your feedback with the bad and the good.

I actually disagree with this advice, because a crap sandwich still tastes like crap. Destructive criticism in the middle of a criticism sandwich: still as destructive and still as unpalatable. Moreover, arranging useless criticisms in this way seems only to enable some critics to act like assholes. That doesn’t help anyone.

If you have something useful to say, you shouldn’t need to sandwich it in the middle of writer-aggrandizing fluff. And if what you have to say is not useful, it’s still going to be useless, no matter how you package it.

My alternative advice is to reframe your feedback. (Or as an author, if your critic doesn’t know how to reframe his feedback, feel free to reframe it for him.) Criticism is not “bad” or “good”; it’s useful or useless.

To keep it useful, realize that each reader’s mileage may vary. Keep your criticisms I-centered. For example, “This character didn’t work for me. For instance, I didn’t understand why he melted down on page 72.” You can only speak for your own impressions and reactions, because you only know what’s going on inside your own head.

If you’re more experienced, you may be able to speculate as to what other readers may think. But again, keep it reader-centered. “I think I understood what you were doing here on page 17, but some readers may think that your character is psychological unstable, because blah blah blah. You may want to think about whether you want to clarify, or whether you want to leave the ambiguity.” As a critic or critique partner, you cannot write the author’s story. The best you can accomplish is to help the author see possibilities that he might have missed.

That said, there is definitely a place for so-called positive feedback. The things we do well are even more important than the things we do poorly, because fans read an author for his storytelling strengths, not for his weaknesses. So you should definitely point out when an element of a story particularly works for you or excites you. Not only will that make the author feel good about himself and his work, but it will also support him in his strengths, keep him going down the path that seems to be working for him. (And I should add that this kind of feedback is an absolute joy to receive.) But again, keep it reader-focused, because it’s not about the story, but rather your reaction to the story.

4. Be mindful of who you allow access to your work.

While you’re writing a story, you don’t want to accept feedback from the world. In fact, you probably want no feedback at all. So even if you release your zero-draft or first-draft story, on your blog for example, you’re doing so just to let your fans feel connected to your latest project. You most likely want to ignore any comments these posts spawn.

After revising the story, before it’s published, you probably want to limit who you accept feedback from, and what feedback you accept. If you get useless feedback, you can still be nice and say “Thank you.” But that doesn’t mean you have to take the feedback to heart.

But no matter how hard you try, you will always have readers who simply don’t “get” you or your work. Don’t take it personally. And eventually, you’ll need to release your work into the wild, where every self-righteous jerk-wad in the world can pick over it and tear it apart. (Or tear you apart personally, sometimes without even having read the work.) When that happens, feel privileged, because you’ve arrived! That’s proof that you’re a real author.

-TimK

Photo © 2008 pedro veneroso CC BY-NC 2.0

Lazette Gifford, author of Return to Redlin and other ebooks and novels, wrote a couple days ago about the most important writing rule:

“You must be willing to learn.”

She’s not talking about learning how to write. She’s talking about learning about life, about the world. Or what I call the spiritual side of writing. Writing is a growing experience. If you want your writing experience to fulfill, you must be willing to expand your horizons through it. Regardless of which horizons you expand or which passions you pursue, writing fulfills because it allows you to express yourself in the world around you.

“Why do you write?” Classic question. That’s the reason, the last clause in the paragraph above. “Because it allows you to express yourself in the world around you.” This is what writers mean, I think, when they say “I write because I have to,” or “I write because I have a story to tell.” As reasons to write, these are cop-outs.

• You “have to”: That begs the question. Like saying “I eat because I’m hungry,” it doesn’t really tell me why you feel the need to eat. The real reason you eat is because you need nourishment to survive, or because you find comfort in food, or because it calms your upset stomach.

• You “have a story to tell”: This one is just as tautological. Of course you have a story to tell. Everyone has a story to tell. But some of us tell our stories, and others don’t. Why have you decided to tell your story?

I believe that most writers write in order to find spiritual fulfillment, to reflect part of themselves in concrete form in the world around them, to make a difference in the world.

But that implies spiritual growth, always discovering new truths about the world inside you that you can put into words. And that requires learning.

The old adage goes, “If you want to be a writer, then do three things: write, write, and write.” But I disagree. My three steps to being a writer are to (1) read, (2) watch TV, and finally (3) write.

I don’t just read novels in my favorite genre or in the genre in which I write. As a musician, when I was first learning to play, I would listen to my favorite musical genre. You start by listening to other musicians who are playing music similar to what you want to play. But once you’ve learned your own genre, you start listening to other genres. If you’re a rock guitarist, you listen to a lot of jazz and blues. If you play the blues, you listen to pop and classical. Or whatever. And the same thing applies with writing. I enjoy stories from hard SF to fantasy romance to mystery to suspense. I hope you never hear me dissing a story just because it has time travel in it, or just because it has a happily-ever-after ending, or just because the characters were all female, or just because it was written in first-person.

I also read lots of non-fiction, and much of that online. Yes, browsing the web is a fine way to expand your horizons. And not everything on Facebook is a waste of time. (Some of my most informative and intellectually stimulating leads come through Facebook and other bloggers.)

As for TV (and film), I have my favorite movies and TV shows (though none of them is currently on the air), which I dissect, analyze to death, always seeking to understand why they work on me the way they do. Lately, I’ve also been watching a lot of documentaries, both mainstream and indie, through NetFlix. Frankly, NetFlix is a godsend for my writing career (and a business deduction, too), because it provides a constant stream of intellectual stimulation. The only thing I have to watch out for with TV is that it distracts and overstimulates. Watching too much TV can wear you out emotionally, leaving you unable to write. So, everything in moderation.

To bring this post back to its title, we usually use the term “aspiring author” to refer to someone who has not been published, a writer who has not arrived as an author. But I’d like to overload it with another meaning. The unpublished writer is always seeking to find himself in his craft. And that’s an aspiration we should never lose, no matter how far we come. If you’re smart, whether you write for business or for pleasure, you’ll always be an “aspiring author,” always digging deeper into who you are, discovering yourself, and reflecting that in the words around you.

Keep writing!
-TimK

In this paper, researchers Jonah Berger, Alan T. Sorensen, and Scott J. Rasmussen scientifically demonstrate a truth that I’ve been asserting intuitively for years: if you’re an unknown author, negative reviews of your book only let more people know about you. And since most of us are relatively unknown, for most of us there’s no such thing as a bad review.

Some snippets from the paper:

While a negative review in the New York Times hurt sales of books by well-known authors, for example, it increased sales of books that had lower prior awareness…

A wine described “as redolent of stinky socks,” for example, saw its sales increase by 5% after it was reviewed by a prominent wine website (O’Connell 2006). Similarly, while the movie Borat made relentless fun of the country of Kazakhstan, Hotels.com reported a “300 percent increase in requests for information about the country” after the film was released (Yabroff 2006, p. 8)…

[In a study of book reviews:] Regardless of whether the book was written by a new or established author, being positively reviewed significantly increased sales; a positive review generated between a 32% and 52% percent increase in demand… For books by established authors, a negative review led to a 15% decrease in sales (this estimate is slightly imprecise due to the relatively small sample size). For books by relatively unknown (new) authors, however, negative
publicity has the opposite effect, increasing sales by 45%. [emphasis in original]

So as an indie or mid-list author, remember that the next time some reviewer trashes your book. He may not like it, but his criticisms say more about him than they do about you or your work. And by trashing it in public, he may be increasing your sales by about the same amount as a positive review would.

So, new policy! Always thank reviewers for reviews, digs, scathing comments, anything they say about your book, no matter how good or bad or fair or unfair. Because as a relatively unknown author, people talking about your book is only good for you.

-TimK

Photo © 2007 Linus Bohman CC BY 2.0

“So what do you want me to do?” I can hear you quip. “Get published? Just like that? Sorry, buddy, I’m trying, but it just don’t work that way. Some things are out of my control.”

Now, getting published may be a fine route to authorship. But this post is not about getting published.

Trish Perry, author of Unforgettable, her newly released 1950′s romantic comedy, she guest blogged on Novel Journey today: you might be a novelist if…

If you’re like most fiction writers, whether published or not, you’ve struggled with that decision about when to actually call yourself a novelist. Yes, once you land your first contract, it’s a given. But most of us toil for years before that happens. Are we presumptuous to call ourselves novelists, or even writers, right from the start?

Trish goes on to list some of the quirks that make a novelist, even if you haven’t yet snagged the ear of a publisher. An entertaining post.

Trish is on to something here. See, this isn’t about getting published. This is about mindset, whether you write novels or something else. Do you still consider yourself an “aspiring author”? When do you get to graduate to the status of full “author”?

One biggie that is not the answer, at least not in today’s book market: getting published. A publishing contract makes you an insider. You’ve been accepted. So it can affect your mindset in the same way that dressing up in nice clothes makes you feel better about yourself. But many indie authors, some of them independent millionaires, have never signed a publishing contract. I for one would call them “authors,” bona fide authors.

“But they’ve made lots of money,” you may say. “They don’t need a publishing contract.” Indeed. But the amount of money a writer makes is also a poor yardstick, if you want to figure out whether she’s an “author.” Because making money is about business model, not about authorship. How many published authors make little or no money? (Answer: plenty.) Or a more entertaining example: How much money does the estate of William Shakespeare take in from the sale of his work? And does that mean William Shakespeare is no longer an author?

So what makes an “author”? Trish goes down a list of quirks you may display if you’re a bona fide “author” of novels. But what it boils down to, I think, is this: an author pursues writing as a profession. It may sound funny to describe storytelling as a “profession.” But think about it. A novelist relies on specialized skills. She must pursue competence in her skills, always improving them, always aspiring (hee hee) to be more than she is. And she identifies with her work, invests herself personally in it.

That’s why she loses herself in her stories, confuses real life with the fictional world and characters that she’s created. That’s why she’s always looking for new character and plot ideas in the people and world around her. That’s why she’s always thinking about the next story she’s going to tell.

Me, I do almost all of the things on Trish’s list. Plus, whenever I’m listening to a talk that involves any anecdote or object lesson, my imagination can’t help but vamp on story variations that would intensify the story experience or turn it into a modern parable.

Furthermore, the “author” doesn’t write only for personal fulfillment. She also writes for society. So her writing will be published, eventually, one way or another. Never content merely to set those stories on a shelf and let them collect dust, she’ll either seek out a publisher whose nose-ring she can grab, or else she’ll jump off the indie cliff. One way or another, she’ll share her work with the world, for better or worse.

Keep writing!
-TimK

I have been telling myself for years now that I’m good at rejection and that I’ve learned to take it like water off a ducks back, and I think relatively I probably do handle it okay, but my rejection/acceptance ratio is really starting to make me feel like a hack…

But the thing is, how do you really know you aren’t just lousy? I’m serious when I ask that question. Sure your family and roommates will say it’s good, but how do you know editors aren’t laughing at your short story and using it to line their garbage cans? Again, serious question. What’s the check? Is it the number of rejections?

Well, Sarah, my perspective may be a little skewed, because I definitely know how that feels. And instead of developing a thick skin, I think I’ve become a little unhinged. Nonetheless, for what it’s worth…

Rejection always sucks. They say you have to develop a thick skin, but I think that’s a myth. The best I’ve been able to manage is to behave as graciously as I can, before I slink home and dig into the Häagen-Dazs.

But you also should never let rejection cause you to question how good a writer you are. As long as a writer is measuring herself by those around her—including friends and editors—she will never be able to find herself or her true voice. It’s an amazingly short journey to writing competence, but beyond that, “good” is just what you want it to be. So excellence in writing ultimately comes from within, measuring your own writing against what you love to read. Excellence can’t come from without, measuring yourself against what you think some editor—who probably doesn’t even know you exist—might think of your stories.

That can be easier said than done. I find it helps if I have at least one rabid fan, whom I can think about when I start feeling down about myself. And that is what we call “irony.”

Keep writing!
-TimK

“Sir, it really isn't necessary for you to photograph my daughter when she's throwing a tantrum...”
(Original Photo © 2010 Ed Yourdon CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

The stories we write are part of us. Like children, we nurture them and raise them. We identify with them. Then we push them out into the world and hope that they make a good name for us.

This, I’m sure, is why some reviewers refuse to rate books that they can’t give at least 4 stars to (out of 5). They don’t want to break hearts. When one reviewer gave one of my books a half-hearted 3-star review, with comments on how my characters made no sense, I became convinced that she simply didn’t “get” it. Now, years later, I think she actually got it more than I had thought—rather I needed to dig deeper into my characters. Even so, I never got over that review.

One fellow indie author refused to read one of my books and blocked me from following her on Twitter, after I had been having trouble getting into the characters of one her books and mentioned it publicly. Seriously, though, those events could have been coincidences. Maybe she truly just decided while reading my book that she couldn’t get into my characters, as I often had trouble getting into hers. And maybe she blocked me on Twitter by accident. (I never asked her about it, instead merely subscribing to her Twitter feed via RSS, which is what I preferred anyhow.) Whether or not she intended anything, the point is that she could have, and we would never question her motives. Because after all, I sullied her characters, her work, her baby, which she had probably poured her soul into.

Yeah, I did do that. I know, because I’ve been there. I know how it feels.

Then last week, I was watching Jef Gazley’s “Parenting” lecture—a good video to borrow from Netflix, though not worth $70 for your own copy. In this talk, he mentioned mothers and fathers who worry about whether they’re “good” parents, seeing their children as reflections on themselves. If you notice their kid act up, even if it’s normal, age-appropriate, as kids are wont to do, the parents take it personally. To them, their kid’s bad behavior is not an issue for the child to deal with, but rather an indication of their ineffectiveness as parents.

Jef then compares these parents to the grandparents, who have already proven themselves and so take their role much less seriously. They might have been awful parents themselves, in their day. But they’re calm about it now; they don’t freak out when the grandkids go whack.

When it comes to reviews, I think we have to learn to be grandparents of our work, not parents. We have nothing to prove. If the story fails to capture a reader, that’s a problem between the story and the reader, something they’ll have to work on themselves, and no reflection on us.

Is that level of distance possible? I have no idea. I keep flip-flopping between, “Yes, it should be,” and “No way, it isn’t.”

Regardless of which side of that coin you end up on…

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2009 Lawrence Lew, O.P., CC 2.0 BY NC ND

So, I’m putting together a newsletter. That is, a paper newsletter, to send to friends, family, fans, and readers–Sorry, I couldn’t think of a synonym for readers that began with F–since I now have a solid list of people who would (probably) like to hear from me occasionally. The idea is to include a short-short story, a book blurb or review, a writing tip, maybe a guest article or interview, kicking off each quarterly issue with a seasonally relevant “letter from the editor” (that’s me). My first, aborted attempt turned into this blog post. Aborted, because too heavy, too serious. But look at the bright side: at least I know what I want.

I had a notion to start a newsletter back in October 2008. I rambled on for four full pages about news media, advertising, politics, terrorism, and how we’d all live longer if we’d just relax. At the time, it seemed appropriate to the Halloween season. In retrospect, I still agree with everything I wrote, but why did I have to be so boring about it?

Since then, I’ve authored two more books, started a third, and published uncounted posts and stories online. The newsletter idea remained, but why bother? Whenever I thought about it, I concluded that I really had no idea who I even wanted to be as a writer, and I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why anyone on God’s Earth would possibly care.

Then it hit me.

You have to understand, my mind thinks in abstractions. I’ve been working toward a personal destiny, but I’ve never been able to put it into words. (Some great writer, eh?)

What coalesced the vision was an experience at church. Not a religious experience, per se, but a traumatic one. We’ve all experienced similar social tragedy, whether at church, at work, with our significant others, or within a support group. A precipitating event changes some of the group’s opinions or attitudes, rumors fly, fears mount, favors and loyalties are traded in dark places, and eventually one camp or the other cries uncle and disappears forever.

I’ve wondered, as humanity unfolded from Africa, spreading to Europe and India, Asia and the Americas, whether this was the force that caused us to settle the continents. In each tribe, did personal differences cause social divorce? Did each group push out the others, forcing them to migrate to new territories? Over the ages, is this the process that has generated such a wonderful variety of humans around the world? If so, we’re still at it today.

But this time, for me, it was different. It felt different. I saw it differently. Because I was different. I felt the same hurt and dismay as every other time before. But I also saw the drama unfold as an historian might, as one who is looking on it from the outside rather than living it from the inside. And that was because I was now a character author.

I like to say, “Every novelist is a psychologist,” because we have to learn to live inside the heads of our characters, even those characters who are completely different from us, even the villains of our stories. I try very hard not to cross the line and psychoanalyze my friends, because that’s not cool. But I found it very easy to empathize with those who did the hurting, even though I disagreed with them.

I realized that fiction is more than just entertainment, because stories are part of our spiritual journeys. Reading and writing fiction can stretch our minds, hone our perceptions of the world around us, help us to understand our fellows, and make us better people.

Maybe that’s why I believe everyone should be a writer.

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2007 TheRogue CC 2.0 BY NC SA

One of the core human needs we seem to have is to make a difference in the world around us. This is what some have called “spiritual need.” We envision something that doesn’t exist, something we haven’t done, and we instinctively long to turn the dream into reality. We seek to fine-tune our perceptions, to reach new epiphanies, and then to reflect those epiphanies in the world around us.

I have posted on my desktop a saying I picked up from one of my pastor’s sermons. I don’t remember what his talk was about, but I do remember this quotation: “Give me a place to stand and change the world.” In a way, that’s the essence of spiritual fulfillment.

And yet, there are two ways to pursue this fulfillment.

Some writers are artists, in the heart-led sense of the word. They study the craft. They write from passion. And they always seek to “improve,” always trying to climb ever higher, to reach ever closer to some personal ideal. Each successive project seems to excite them more than the last, because they’re always discovering new ways to draw on their values and passions. And if they happen to find others who share those values and passions–and are even willing to part with hard, cold cash for the privilege–so much the better.

These writers can be a joy to follow, because they are following a spiritual path. They’re in it for the life-long fulfillment, and they tend to collect intensely passionate fans, but slowly. They don’t generally write blockbuster hits, and most of them are celebrities only in the eyes of their hard-won fans.

Unfortunately, we tend to glorify the other kind of spiritual writing journey. We look up to those writers who sell lots of books, to raves from a broad array of cheering fans, no matter how profane the work may be. At some level, we seek spiritual fulfillment in this brand of “success,” because we instinctively believe that if that many people knew of us and looked up to us–the way that we swoon over other top-selling authors–then we’d be part of something bigger than ourselves. And we dream that if only we could have a best-seller, “breakout” novel like that, then we’d be happy and fulfilled. Because we would have made a difference.

But you know, that kind of difference is only skin-deep. True spirituality comes from within, not from without. And as you seek it, you’ll hopefully meet other seekers who just happen to be going in the same direction. And you can connect and share along the way. And then you will have made a true difference in their lives, and they in yours.

When I wrote my first story, I hated to hear that anyone was any less thrilled with it than I was. I so wanted to be accepted and liked and appreciated. And that’s only natural. We all do. I still want to be accepted and liked and appreciated, because it hurts when someone doesn’t love my stories and characters as much as I do. But at some point, I started to internalize the truth that I had always said I believed, that I was not writing to be liked. I was writing to exemplify who I am.

We are the stories we write.

I was taking some part of me and putting it into words, turning it into a substantive entity of the real world, no longer just in my imagination. And I finally got it, that it didn’t matter as much whether the work was up to the level of Twilight. It was much more important that my work was ever more me.

That, I think, is the essence of writing as a spiritual journey.

Keep writing!
-TimK

Photo © 2008 Ed Yourdon CC BY-SA 2.0

Alan Baxter posted this list last week, and it’s still making the rounds.

“And before anyone accuses me,” Alan writes, “of being all jaded and defeatist, I prefer to look at it as arming myself with the truth in order to beat that f***er down and prove every point on this list wrong.”

He’s talking about superstar authors, who “prove every single one of these points wrong.” They’re the exceptions that prove the rule.

Or are they?

Top 10 Reasons Maybe to Be a Writer

10. For the chicks. I can’t speak to this, because I married my Beloved before I started calling myself “a writer.” What I do know is that I notice a lot more friendly women now than when I was just a software developer. And I’ve even caught women talking about how good I look over Twitter or Facebook. And I gotta tell ya, that feels kinda kewl.

Of course, most writers are heterosexual women who indeed aren’t in it for the chicks.

9. For a sense of self-worth. The almost constant rejection of trying to get published is, I agree, not good for one’s perception of one’s worth. There’s a simple solution to that: stop trying to “get published.” The desire to “get published” is root to all kinds of writing evil. (Compare “money” below.)

The reason we writers want to “get published” is for the social recognition that goes along with it. We strive to be accepted in the “in” group, so that we can look down on unpublished and self-published authors the same way we feel ourselves being looked down upon. But there are other, more psychologically healthy ways to find a sense of social recognition. Neil Shurley does a lot to bolster mine, as does every compliment I get, and most of the comments I get are compliments, and this is the pattern for everyone. As in any endeavor, writing or otherwise, we all need to turn our self-worth into a self-fulfilling prophesy: know that you are worth every word you write, and then find and associate with those who agree with you.

8. For the cool. “Most people,” says Alan, “when you say you’re a writer, will look at you with that when-are-you-going-to-get-a-real-job look.” Actually, most people, when I say I’m a writer, look at me with that “Wow! How kewl is that?!” look, and make me feel like an shmuck, because I don’t think of it as anywhere near as kewl as all that. As soon as you say that you’re a writer, they want to know what you write, and they seem to be expecting you to say something witty and profound. The Mark Twain image follows us, even today. Whether or not that’s “cool,” I’ll leave that up to you to decide for yourself.

7. For the influence. “Give me a place to stand and change the world.” I have that posted on my desktop to remind me why I write, to make a difference. But what we write, claims Alan, is unlikely to break down the delusions of the populace and change the world. Granted. But as Pam Slim recently pointed out, “You don’t have to change the whole world, just one tiny corner of it.” And you need to first be a writer in order to accomplish this. Because you need to learn to persuade with words. And then once you write something, it’s there for people to read again and again. It has staying power and spreading power. This is true regardless of whether it spreads in written form, or whether you record it as an audio or video presentation. First, your ideas must be written.

6. For self-fulfillment. Okay, at this point, I am going to call Alan jaded and defeatist. Self-fulfillment is the only real reason to write. That’s what this site is about. We are the stories we write, and we have to get them out into the world, to express them, or else that part of us will die. That’s why we constantly push to be “better” writers, not to “get published” or to become rich and famous—otherwise, Stephanie Meyer would also be a “better” writer. Rather, we push to become “better” in order to stretch ourselves, to climb a mountain we previously couldn’t fathom. That’s self-fulfillment.

5. For the fame. Again, there’s a hell of a lot more fame in writing than, for example, in software development. I almost immediately increased my fame as soon as I started marketing myself as a writer, rather than as a software developer. Even among other software developers, it’s always those who have written a book—even if it’s an obscure technical book—who are made the center of attention, lauded, and asked for their opinions. (See “self-worth” and “influence” above.) And among consultants in every field, it’s common wisdom that you should write a book in order to justify higher consulting fees. (See “money” below.) Most authors who have become rich have done so not by selling books, but by using their books to increase their fame, and then charging through the nose for consulting services or speaking engagements.

4. For health. Okay, now Alan has completely lost me. “Sitting in a gloomy room hunched over a computer, spewing forth imagination from the deepest recesses of your mind. Not exactly a jog along the beach, is it?” Well, it is if you do it on the beach. And writing is one of the few activities you can literally take with you almost anywhere. If you like to write on the beach, write on the beach! Or write about the beach! Or like me, walk down to the local coffee shop mid-morning and spend some time sipping and writing there. It’s a hell of a lot better than working in an office. Or sit out in the park on a sunny day with your laptop. Nothing gloomy or unhealthy about that.

3. For a social life. Again, my experience… Maybe it’s because I come from the world of software developers, who are known for their swingin’ parties. (NOT!) Software development is known for long hours and mind-numbing hacks, one after the other after the other. That’s why I got out… Uh, I didn’t really get out, I guess. Because I still take software jobs for the money, and my current client loves me, much to my dismay, and has asked to extend my contract. But I find fulfillment in writing now, not in software. (See “self-fulfillment” above and “money” below.)

Here’s the kicker, though: Writing fiction has taught me more about people than anything else I’ve ever done. Because as a fiction author, I have to get inside the heads of my characters and understand them. That little feat of psychoanalysis has done more to help me understand others and relate to them than any other activity, and thereby has improved my social life more than any other activity.

2. For the satisfaction. Alan says you’ll never be happy with what you achieve as a writer. Well, that’s true of any career. It’s part of our need always to expand our horizons, climb ever high mountains, perform ever bigger feats. But as we achieve each one… Haven’t you ever experienced the rush of having completed a story that left you in awe of yourself? Or after you unwrap the first copy of your new book? Or—best of all—when someone reads one of your stories and gets it.

1. For the money. Most writers never make money off their writing. This is especially true of fiction authors. And most writers who become rich off their writing make very little money from sales of their books. But one of the best reasons to write and publish a book in your area of expertise is that it can increase your earning power. On the other hand, the love of money is root to all kinds of evil. And if you’re writing because of the money…

Well, you could do almost anything for the money. As one tee-shirt says, “I’m only writing novels until I make it as a checkout clerk.” Money is a poor motivator, whether as a reason to do something or as a reason not to do it. This is true in any occupation. For now, I may be developing software for the money, but I no longer call myself a software developer, because I’m no longer invested in the software. After all, I’m only doing it for the money. So, true, you don’t write for the money. But you also don’t avoid writing because of the money.

The Bottom Line

I think everyone should be a writer, as least part-time. And I think there’s plenty of room in the world for everyone to love to write and love what they write. Because writing—as any occupation—is what you make of it.

Alan says his list “seems blatantly obvious,” but it’s only obvious if you define writing success as being Neil Gaiman. There can only be one Neil Gaiman, and we’ve already got him. Fortunately, life is broader than that, and there is much more that you can do with self-expression than just to copy someone else.

Success is whatever you make of it.

A writing career is whatever you make of it.

Life is whatever you make of it.

Keep writing!
-TimK

P.S. In a follow-up comment on his blog, Alan dismissively accuses me of not knowing the difference between serious and funny. “Hey Tim,” he says. “Here’s a dollar. Go buy yourself a sense of humour.” Except that there’s nothing wrong with my sense of humor. And if he bought his for a dollar, he got gypped.

Believe it or not, before I even wrote this post, I did consider whether he was trying to be funny. As a writer, I can’t help but analyze the post’s humor potential. Either it’s “funny ’cause it’s true”—except it’s not true; therefore, not funny. Or else it’s funny because he was playing the fool, saying something so obviously absurd that he was pulling our legs—except that he didn’t do that, either. He’s not the first writer to make the points he made, in all seriousness. These are old writing myths that we ought to shed. (Did Alan intend to mock the myths?)

P.P.S. So as not to ignore his most important point, that there’s only one reason we write: No I’m not deliberately ignoring it. I just disagree with it. There isn’t one reason we write. “Because you have to” is a cop-out. Why do you have to? And “because we have stories to tell” begs the question. Of course we have stories to tell. Everyone, writer or not, has stories to tell. That’s part of being a human being. Except we writers have decided to tell them. But why have we decided to tell them?

Like anyone else—like any of our characters—we do what we do in order to meet our needs. We write for all of the reasons he mocks. And some of us even write for the money, and there’s nothing wrong with that (if you can stomach it).

Photo © 2007 Mika Meskanen CC 2.0 BY NC

Okay, not all writer’s novelty T-shirts are that bad. Browsing the ones on CafePress, some of them are downright witty, such as “I write, therefore I am,” “I’m plotting against you,” and the always-applicable “Careful or you’ll end up in my novel.”

But some of the best writer’s T-shirts actually come from the filmmaking category:

• “Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.” -Jules Renard [which isn't true, but it sometimes feels true]

• “Adverbs are for wussies.”

• “Character arcs? We don’t need no stinkin’ character arcs.”

• “Reality is for people with no imagination.”

Not to mention a framed print that should be hanging next to every writer’s desk (not just screenwriters):

This creative license frees you to be different, to think outside the box, to turn things upside down, to challenge the status quo, to go out on a limb, to see the forest and the trees, to blaze a new trail, to see with new eyes, to hear with your heart and speak with your actions, to do the unexpected, try the impossible, and ask, “Why not?”

But so much of the gestalt of the writer’s life is missing from writers’ novelty items.

I almost gagged when I saw a refrigerator magnet with the “Writer’s Mantra: I will be a published author. I will be a published author. I will be a published author.” Ad nauseam. Let me say for the record that—even if you want to be published—if what you’re writing for is primarily to be published, you’ve lost your focus. Most of us write first for the passion, and that should be our mantra. In fact, that would be a great place to start with a new series of punchier, more relevant writers’ novelty tees (some based on other non-writerly designs):

• “I write for the passion. (Though I’d still like to get paid.)”

• “Stories are my life. I would die without them. (Or at least be very, very grumpy.)”

• “Choose Your Weapon” with pictures of pencil, pen, computer keyboard, crayon, etc.

• “I talk to people who aren’t really there. (I’m a fiction author.)”

• “Stories express that which cannot be logically explained and on which it is impossible to be silent.” (based on a quote from Victor Hugo)

• “Writer’s Schedule: drink coffee, write, get kids to school & think about writing, write some more, eat lunch & think about writing, watch TV & think about writing, get kids from school & think about writing, do laundry & think about writing, write again, ask kids nicely to quiet down, keep writing, eat dinner & think about writing, take ibuprofen, take kids to softball (bring writing journal), sleep & dream about writing”

• “Don’t piss me off: I’m a suspense author.” (or “horror,” or “mystery,” or whatever

• “Careful! I’ve got a pen, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

• Novelty laptop case: “Nope, not a writer. I just lug it around for the exercise.” (Might also work as the cover of a novelty journal.)

• “Designated writer. (Please don’t ask me to drive.)” with a picture of a martini. (Yeah, I know, the alcoholic writer is a myth. But tell me the truth; how many of you have never considered becoming alcoholics?)

• “Yes, I’m a writer. Don’t worry: I’m not psychotic… yet.”

• “Places I like to write… at home, in the car, at my favorite cafe, on the beach, at church, …”

• “Why yes, I do know a little about everything. (I’m a writer.)”

• “I know why ancient man drew on caves. They were writing stories!”

• “Without stories, life would be a mistake.”

• “My stories may not sell. (But at least they change lives.)”

• “Do Not Disturb: Inspiration in progress!”

• “Spelling is for editors. I’m a writer.”

• “If I wanted you to edit out my thoughts, I wouldn’t have written them in to start with!”

• “Indie author. (Will work for food.)”

• “I’m only writing novels until I make it as a checkout clerk.”

• Picture of a high-wire walker, balancing precariously on one foot, holding “writing” in one hand, “life” in the other.

• … or maybe just a simple “I write stories.”

Keep writing!
-TimK

P.S. Maybe that would make a good T-shirt, too. “Keep writing!” Or a mousepad. Or a refrigerator magnet. Or…

Photo © 2009 Nathan Rupert CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Some years ago, when I was a fledgling storyteller still puzzling through the basics of what makes a story work (or not), I frequented a certain writer’s forum, now defunct. One of the writers there made it very clear that when we critiqued his work, we should be positively nasty about it. He didn’t want to hear anything soft and fluffy about how well he wrote, because otherwise how could he grow as a writer? Rather, he wanted to hear about all the stuff he did wrong. That’s what we call “having a thick skin.”

This is a common enough view in critique groups, although I don’t share it. I think that positive criticism can be even more useful than negative, as long as it’s constructive. That is, if you tell the writer what she did that particularly worked (rather than what didn’t work), you’ll be supporting her in her strengths. That’s even more important than helping her overcome her weaknesses, because we all have areas in which we’re weak. But a writer makes her name on her strengths, not her weaknesses, because her fans read her work in order to experience those strengths.

That’s a writer’s critique group. But you really don’t know how criticism feels until you get your first unfair review— that reviewer who doesn’t just dislike your story, but dislikes you personally. He doesn’t just disagree with what you’ve written, but rather thinks you yourself are a charlatan. And he may not have even read your book. Every author has gotten such a review at least once, and as soon as you do, you can say you’ve arrived. That’s when a thick skin really comes in handy.

Despite the thick skin, it gets easier to be criticized as much as it gets easier to be turned down for a date. In other words, it doesn’t get easier. You just get used to it— maybe.

Or more likely, you don’t.

Reviews and Critiques

There’s a fundamental difference between reviews and critiques. Reviews are not written to be constructive. They aren’t designed to point out how you can improve or to help you become a better writer. Remember, a reviewer is a writer himself, and he writes to please his own audience, to pander to their tastes and prejudices. If he can do so without even having read your book, he will. A review says more about the reviewer than it does about your work.

Maybe that’s why many authors refuse to read reviews of their own books.

So much for thick skin.

When you’re first learning how to tell a story, critiques can be invaluable, because they allow you to see your own work from another’s perspective. This allows you to grow as a writer, because it gets past the blindness we all encounter when reading our own work, especially as beginning writers.

As you begin to develop your writing skills and style, you discover that critiques are just as subjective as reviews are, because the analysts who provide them can only speak from their own personal reactions to your work. And analysts—whether they are professional editors or agents or just plain old critique partners—also have their own audiences, just as reviewers do, and they operate within the prejudices of their audiences.

So you learn to filter everything the analysts say through your own judgement, to ask whether their advice will actually help you write the story you want to write, rather than the story they would have you write, because you know that they might be wrong about your story. This strategy works for a while, because in critique you’re still picking up tips that help you develop your craft.

But eventually, you discover that half the criticisms you’re receiving tell you nothing you didn’t already know—that is, the positive criticisms that point out what you did “right.” And the other half of the criticisms you disagree with. And you don’t just disagree with them; you know exactly why you disagree with them and what’s wrong with the analysis. Shortly thereafter, you give up on critiques altogether.

So much for thick skin.

Rejection

Rejection stings less if you say “I want to be a better writer” a little louder than “I want to be published.” -Stephen Parolini

Maybe that’s why so many of us say it.

In reality, it’s an amazingly short journey to competence. You acquaint yourself with basic story elements, basic story structures, basic concepts, basic stupid clichés (so you can avoid them). And you read, read, read. And beyond that, “better” is simply what you make it to be, what you yourself want it to be. Accepting criticism doesn’t actually make you a better writer; it only makes you more like the critic. True growth as a writer comes from within, not without.

There are a number of reasons an editor or agent may reject your manuscript. But rejection (like a review) says more about the person doing it than the person it’s done to. At best, it says the editor doesn’t think your work may be right for his audience. But it doesn’t indicate that there’s anything “wrong” with the work itself.

At the May 2 #writechat, on Twitter (earlier this month), we discussed rejection, and how to maintain a good attitude when you’ve been rejected. Here are some of the comments writers made:

Despite the variety of approaches, what interests me most for this article is that writers feel a distinct need to deal with the depression that rejection otherwise produces. To focus on the good comments you get, to redefine your purpose as a writer so that rejection isn’t relevant to it, to look to the future, to throw energy into your next project, to allow yourself only a certain amount of time to feel depressed, all of these are techniques psychologists recommend for dealing with depression, because they help combat painful or worrying feelings and keep them from taking over your life. Even the idea that rejection will somehow make you a “better” writer, that’s designed to make you feel good about being rejected.

So much for thick skin.

-TimK

I usually start a novel with at least a working title. Not this time. However, I am starting with a working cover design.

This is in preparation for my next novel-writing month, which is February—FebNoWriMo?—part of my New Year’s resolution to publish 4 original books during the next year. (UPDATE: Obviously, that didn’t happen. Instead, I picked up a software-development contract over the summer and most of the autumn. I’m still working on this project, however.)

You can see a cover template over at the right, for the novel, the next in the Ardor Point series (Ardor Point #2). This is based on the only stock image that I could find that I thought represented the feeling I wanted to communicate. (And you’ll never believe, if you search for “romance sea,” how many beach sunset photos you’ll get.) I found this particular image by looking for young couples on a pier. I may search at more, different sites in hopes of finding another candidate image. Then I can do some market-testing using different cover designs.

Most publishers (and even indie and self-publishing authors) put off the cover design until after the manuscript is finished, but by that time there’s not enough time to do any significant market testing of it. I’ve been trying to choose the title and design the cover earlier in the process, as you can see here. These should be done first (not last), because from a marketing perspective, these make the most difference in getting prospective readers’ attention.

Next, I need to come up with a few prospective titles. In order to generate prospective titles, however, I need to know at least what the story will be about. And for this, I need The Sentence (a technique I stole from Holly Lisle’s Think Sideways course).

The Sentence sums up important elements of a story idea in a compact form. For Ardor Point #2, I’ve constructed the following Sentence:

A newlywed bride, at a romantic, seaside cottage on her first wedding anniversary, as the onset of economic depression threatens to tear her marriage apart, finds joy.

I still need to reduce this even further into title form. I’ll hit my thesaurus and other word tools, and look for words related to the primary concepts in the novel: newlywed, anniversary, summer, depression, poverty, marriage, joy, etc. Then I’ll play with those words, alone and in combination, using title templates like:

• [The] [noun's] [adjective] noun
• [The] noun of/in/from/for/and [the] [adjective] noun
• verbing [the] [noun's] [adjective] noun

I haven’t actually gone through the exercise yet, but doing so should easily produce a number of possible book titles, which I will whittle down to my top 3, which I will then market-test. (At least that’s the plan.)

For the time being, I’ve begun writing up character sketches for the main character, Devon Richardson, and her new hubby, David.

Yeah, I know. I should have picked names of different lengths that began with different letters—Devon and David and David and Devon… That’s not confusing! But they were minor characters that appeared in From the Ashes of Courage, and now I’m locked into those names. Doh! Lesson learned: When choosing names, even for walk-on characters, consider what would happen if you later want to make them stars of their own novel. Would the names still work?

Oh well. Maybe I can give him a nickname, like “Dave” or “Digger” or “Numchucks.”

Even so, I’m learning a lot about them, such as that she collects and restores antiques, in order to connect with the past, as replacement for inadequacies in her relationships. Taken to the extreme, which the coming year will do, this bad habit could become a fateful addiction. And unfortunately, there’s no Betty Ford Clinic for Compulsive Antiquers.

-TimK

Photo © 2006 Sheldon Wood CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

I’ve experienced the same thing, as a musician, whenever I give a big musical performance. As you prepare for the big event, you practice, you plan, you’re running on adrenaline. The big night comes. You perform beautifully. The burn of the spotlights, the adulation of the crowd, the feeling of accomplishment. You’re floating on air.

The next day, you crash, hard.

I always plan to take the next day off after a big performance. My father, too, when he was pastoring a church, Monday was his day off, because he had prepared all week for Sunday, and after it was over, he needed to decompress. And I experience the same thing after finishing a big writing project.

Once the manuscript is revised and put to bed, I start coming down off that adrenaline high. Up until that point, I’d been barreling through, planning, creating, writing, then revising, amazed at how good it feels, to read my own story, to have it excite me, the fulfillment, the psychological reward. And then, sadness.

After the revision is complete, I crash, hard. I need to put the manuscript up on the shelf for a little, because I’m too close to it. More than that, though, I start to see all the mistakes in it. I notice all the things I did wrong, or that I could have done better. Yes, it’s the best thing I’ve ever written—not just the one I’ve fallen in love with the most, but the one that encompasses all of the skill and acumen I’ve collected, more so than anything I’d ever written before. I have no reason to feel ashamed and every reason to feel proud. But even though it’s good writing, and fun to read, and even though there are plenty of less enjoyable works in the world that have been published to rave reviews, I wonder if it’s good enough. And then I wonder whether I’m good enough. I wonder whether people will hate it, or me, for whatever piddling reason. I begin to doubt that they’ll even take the effort to read it, because it’s not worth reading. I doubt my abilities as a writer. Am I any good? What kind of a stupid hack am I, anyhow? It doesn’t matter how much success I’ve gotten in the past, how many complements I’ve gotten, how many readers I have, how many fans or friends. And allowed to proceed unchecked, the feeling can debilitate.

This is the post-revision blues.

Fortunately, there are ways to deal with them in a healthy manner. (Many of these are adapted from the book How to Lift Depression …fast.)

• Relax. What you’re experiencing is a form of grief, caused by changing circumstances. It’s natural to feel down at this point in the cycle, but it’s still just a feeling. Don’t let it cloud your judgment. Calm your emotions—breathe out slowly, read a book, listen to calming music, exercise, take a nap—and you’ll be able to think more clearly. Then you’ll be able to make more effective choices as to how to proceed. (However, be careful about watching TV. Because of the nature of television, it can overstimulate your mind and wear you out, making it more difficult for you to calm yourself.)

• Work on the next phase of the project, or on the next project. If you need to mail the manuscript out to publishers or to your agent, do so. If you need to have readers reading it, send them a copy. If you need to start planning your next novel, start working on it.

• Realize that the feeling is separate from you as a person. It’s just something you’re going through, but it’s not part of who you are. When you feel sad, register the feeling, because it’s normal, but don’t allow that feeling to define you or project onto your future.

• Combat self-loathing by reminding yourself of all the people in the past who have read your work and came to you, overjoyed, and gushed at how much they enjoyed it and how good a writer they thought you were. Remind yourself of all the work you’ve put into learning how to write, all the creativity you’ve displayed, and all of the skills you’ve developed as a writer.

• Stop worrying about it. You finished it; it’s done; there’s nothing you can do about it now. No sense dwelling on what you can’t change. Move on.

• Whatever you think you’ve done wrong on this project, modify your writing process to keep it from happening again. Change negative thoughts into a positive, constructive future.

• Don’t dwell on how much “better” you think such-and-such another writer is. Yeah, maybe she sells more books than you, for now. But that doesn’t define who you are. You’re doing your best and developing your skills and talents, and that’s sufficient for now. Never let thoughts of inferiority drag you down, and if you find yourself thinking them, just say, “Stop!” (To yourself, in your head, at least if there are others around.)

• … which reminds me… Laugh! Read Dave Barry. Or Kevin Cummings. Or whoever your favorite humorist is. Or read Janet Evanovich. Or your favorite funny blog. Or tell yourself a funny joke. It’s not just an old wives tale: laughter really is the best medicine.

• Put boundaries around your feelings of worry and self-loathing. Allow yourself a half-hour to be a failure, but know that after that half-hour expires, you’re going to move on. Even with your feelings of natural sadness, you can allow yourself a day each week to grieve. But when those feelings occur to you other times during the week, put them off until the appointed time.

• Uncouple destructive patterns. Sometimes, you feel worried or sad, because something reminds you subconsciously of a situation that distressed you in your past. Maybe someone criticized your last book, maybe unfairly. Maybe you haven’t been able to sell your manuscripts. You’re assuming unconsciously that the outcome will be the same now as it was then. But it’s silly to assume that everything will stay just as it was before, because the only constant in this world is change, and what you’re experiencing now is a new situation with new possibilities. Try to list all the ways in which this situation is different than what’s happened in the past. (Really, literally, give it a shot.) You won’t be able to, and even your subconscious will have to admit that things really are different now.

• Imagine a better future. A great way to combat worry is simply to invoke anti-worry. That is, instead of worrying about how bad things could be, imagine how good they could become. Do your best then to bring about those good results. I’m not saying that you should have a pie-in-the-sky outlook; but when you’re being dragged down by unrealistic negativism and worry, you have to go out of your way to remind yourself of the positive prospects in your life. For example, if you’re worried about what bloggers will say about your book, you may end up behaving antagonistically to them. But if you imagine the bloggers who will fawn over your latest book, then it makes it possible to engage with them as friends.

The most important thing to realize that it’s very natural to feel down for a time after a big project. You’ve been driving on the same project, probably continuously for a month or more, and now suddenly, it’s over. And it’s one of the ironies of human nature that such good news can drag you down. But it will pass.

Pick up; move on. Because you have a destiny.

-TimK

Photo © 2006 Churl Han CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Yesterday, I posted a status on Facebook about my new novel I’m working on: “This is a tear-jerker. Possibly the best story I’ll have written so far.”

That got me to thinking whether I’m conceited or deluded, to say that I’m now writing the best thing I’ve ever written. After all, who am I to say that anything I’ve written is worth anything?

Well, years and years of experience might have something to do with it, including all those stories I wrote that turned out to be utter crap. Enough people tell you that they really enjoyed such-and-such a story or such-and-such a book or such-and-such a blog post, and you begin to see the patterns that work and those that don’t.

But what if you don’t have those years of experience?

I believe that even if you’ve just started writing, you should be able to say that you’re writing “the best thing you’ve ever written.” Because everything you write should be better than what came before:

• Always be looking for ways to improve your craft.
• Write better and better and better, with each new piece you write.
• Read, read, and read some more; the best of those writers will rub off on you.
• Experiment with new things, new styles, new processes; keep doing what works.
• Write your passion, and find passion in what you write.
• Strive to make every new work the best thing you’ve ever written.

Not everything you write will, in fact, be better than what you’ve written before, because you’ll try new things that sometimes won’t work out, and you’ll occasionally write something that feels awkward to you, and sometimes you’ll be in a funk. But if you’re working on a new story or article or novel or blog post or anything else, and you suddenly feel like this is the best thing you’ve possibly ever written…

Give yourself a pat on the back, because it probably is.

-TimK

© 2008 Ed Yourdon CC BY-SA 2.0

As you may know, I’ve never been able to get through a Nora Roberts novel. I’ve always gotten bored or otherwise lost interest. So then why would I say that I want to write like her?

It’s not a joke. I seriously admire Nora Roberts as an author, even though her fiction is not for me. Here’s why.

Look at Nora Roberts’s history as a writer, even from the very beginning. She got started in 1979, when she first put pencil to paper, literally, to write a novel:

She pulled out a pencil and notebook and began to write down [a story she had made up]… Several manuscripts and rejections later, her first book, Irish Thoroughbred, was published by Silhouette in 1981. [emphasis added]

Every new writer has his first manuscript rejected, by a publisher or by the market (and usually both). But not every new writer produces “several” manuscripts within a 2-year timeframe. Most new writers, unsure of themselves and with unhoned skills and process, use up years completing their first novel. And they may never complete a second. But not Nora. No, right from leaving the starting gate, she churned out manuscript after manuscript.

Since Irish Thoroughbred, she has published 211 books. That’s more than 7 per year, or about one every 7 weeks. Nora Roberts wins NaNoWriMo every single month of the year, from January through December.

Talk about being a prolific writer.

Truthfully, I don’t know how to get there from here. How to increase my story output to 100,000 words every 7 weeks. At this point, I don’t even know how to develop a novel-length story in 7 weeks, much less how to complete it. Something always occurs halfway through writing the story that requires me to go back to the drawing board, and that’s to be expected. Nora must encounter those things all the time as well, but she’s a professional, with a writing process that’s been honed through decades.

What’s the first step? Things I know work:

1. Set sustainable daily goals and weekly deadlines, and hold to them.
2. Know your writing process, continually refine it, and set aside time to work it every day.
3. Recognize impending procrastination, and thwart it.
4. Focus on one project at a time.
5. Get a rough story out, as quickly as possible, then develop it afterward.
6. Get the first draft out fast, warts and all, and then fix it afterward.
7. Use a one-pass revision process. (From first draft to final in a single edit.)

What other tips can you recommend for writing more prolifically?

-TimK

The interview went up a month ago at Beth Revis’s blog Writing It Out. In it, Casey talks about her blog and the features she provides through it, including a weekly “Agent Spotlight,” which features profiles of a children’s-fiction agents, including “the genres they represent… known sales and whether or not they’re editorial.”

But what really struck me was what Casey said about what it’s like to be a blogger, especially about how much work it is. This is something I need to occasionally hear, to let me know that I’m not out of my mind. Keeping a blog going really does take a significant, sustained effort.

Click here to read the interview.

-TimK

I have the pleasure of welcoming humorist Kevin Cummings to BeTheStory.com today.

Hello.

As you can see, what I’ve written is in italics, and what he’s written is in normal type.

Today, we’re going to talk about humor, about writing on a schedule, and about his new book Happily Domesticated, just released and hot off the presses.

So, Kevin, I understand that, even though you’ve been blogging only since 2006, you’ve been a humorist for quite some years.

If you define “humorist” as “smart aleck,” I’ve been a humorist most of my life. I’ve also been a writer for pretty much the same time. In elementary school I loved to write stories. Since I was a science fiction fan, I wrote a lot of really awful, derivative science fiction stories.

At the same time, I’ve always been big fan of written humor. I grew up reading Erma Bombeck, Dave Barry, and Pat McManus. When I was in college I dabbled in some humor writing, mostly leaning toward broad parody. As far as I knew there was no market for that kind of material, so that was just something I wrote to amuse my friends.

After I graduated, I started teaching Computer Fundamentals at a trade school. A colleague hooked me up with the local paper as a stringer and I was assigned things like profile pieces on beauty contestants and local politicians. One week I was headed out of town on a trip and didn’t have time to interview anyone. My editor asked if I could write about the trip for the Op Ed page. That became my first humor column. I guess you could say I lucked into writing humor.

After my editor left and the new editor cut the column, I spent several years trying to establish myself as a children’s writer. I wrote seven or eight unpublished novels, hung around with some really great people, and learned a lot about writing and publishing. I still have some really good friends in the children’s writing community. They’re great people and they’ve always been really encouraging.

Of course, I have yet to make any real money from my writing, so along the way I’ve been working as an educator. The trade school I started with has turned into a technical college and I’ve been lucky enough to work there for two decades. At present, I work in Student Services where it helps to have a sense of humor. My colleagues and I joke that we should have our own sitcom. We’re thinking of calling it “Student Affairs.”

(Chuckle.)

Writing discipline

Now, you’ve been blogging regularly, a post per week, since you started, like clockwork. What disciplines do you follow in order to get articles produced regularly?

Deadlines, and a slight tendency toward compulsive writing.

So your experience writing for a commercial newspaper must have helped you develop those habits.

Yes. In the early 90s, when I wrote that allegedly humorous column I mentioned, that meant I had a weekly deadline. So I had to find a topic and figure out how to string together enough words to fill the empty space. Even though the column was cut after a year, I learned a lot from the experience of having to write on a deadline.

In 2006 (for entirely the wrong reasons) I wanted to try my hand at podcasting. I knew I wanted to do something short and focused, so my wife suggested I resurrect the old newspaper column. At that time there were a lot of podcasts that flamed out after an episode or two. I didn’t want to be like that, so I eased into a production schedule. For the first month, I wrote essays. During the second month, I wrote and recorded. It wasn’t until June that I actually started releasing the recordings. Having that buffer took off the pressure to write this week’s episode this week, but I held myself to a standard of writing an essay a week.

When I look at my schedule for the week, I always set aside time for the writing. If I know there’s a week where I’ll not be able to write (travel, for example) then I write two essays the week before. It’s gotten to be a habit and I’m uncomfortable if I feel like I’ve skipped my writing.

I also contribute reviews to TechTalkforFamilies.com and the occasional piece to Grammar Girl. Those external deadlines help keep me honest with my internal deadlines.

Ideas

How do you get ideas for what to write on a given week?

Ah… That’s the real question isn’t it?

Although my writing is very personal, I try to find an angle that makes it universal… something that people can identify with. Some of the best ideas come from my listeners. One of my favorite bits came from a Twitter follower named Ogre_Kev. He suggested the term “computtering” for spending time on the computer doing nothing in particular. I liked that so much I turned it into an entire essay (with his permission, of course).

I also make it a habit to capture ideas. They’re kind of like buses. There’s never one around when you really need it and when they do show up, they come in groups. So, when the ideas present themselves, I write them down. I actually use Google Docs and have a text document I can access from anywhere on the web. As ideas occur to me, I put a few notes in the document. When I’m stuck for something to write about, I go back to that file.

Sometimes a really compelling idea will present itself, and I’ll run with it that week. For example, my wife just went through sinus surgery, and there were parts of the experience that struck me as being really funny. The anesthesiologist was talking about anti-nausea medications named Decadron and Zofran, and I was thinking, “Gee, those sound like the bad guys in a Saturday morning kid’s show.” The more I thought about the experience, the more I could see the humor in it. So while my wife was recovering, I used her experience as a topic. (With her permission of course.)

If there’s nothing that cries out to me to be written, I go back to the idea file and read it over to see what speaks to me. If that fails, I just pick something and run with it. Not writing isn’t an option, and if I wrestle with it hard enough, I can usually produce something I’m not too ashamed to share.

So are there any posts that you cringe at or wish you could erase?

Not really. Which isn’t because I’m a brilliant writer, but more because I write them a couple of months before I post them. I’m also very careful when I do the actual writing. I often discard large chunks of text that don’t work for me and write something to replace them.

Which isn’t to say that I love everything I’ve written. Writing on deadline means that you have to get used to giving it your best shot and moving on. Some of the essays are better than others. There are some that I really love and some that I’m just okay with. What matters most, though, is that I keep writing new material every week.

Writing process

After you have an idea, then what comes next? What method or process do you use?

Once I’ve settled on the idea for the week, I tuck it in the back of my mind to see what bubbles up. I also try to take some time for brainstorming. Rick Walton (one of the great children’s authors I mentioned) really taught me how to approach no-limits brainstorming. It’s all about letting your mind wander freely and then going back to look for the unusual connections between the things you’ve written.

My brainstorming usually results in a written list of ideas I want to explore. I take those to my desk and try to hammer them into some sort of cohesive essay. On the good days it just flows and the time flies by. On the bad days, every word has to be pounded into the page and none of them look like they belong there.

For a while, I got stressed and depressed when the writing was tough. It tended to go in cycles. I’d have a run of five or six essays that came easily and then I’d have trouble with the next five or six. In the middle of the tough cycle, I started to wonder if I’d exhausted my talent.

Then I saw a wonderful TED talk from Elizabeth Gilbert on the nature of “genius.” I’m not claiming genius status, but the essence of the talk—that feeling of “why aren’t I doing better today”—really spoke to me. I’ll leave it to your readers to watch the video. It’s not that long, and a summary really can’t do it justice. Suffice it to say that I’m much more philosophical about the tough part of the cycle now.

Yeah, I’ve seen the video, based on your recommendation. I highly recommend it, and it’s only about 20 minutes long. She asked why writers and other artists always seem to be psychologically miserable, and why people expect it, and the answers she posed made me look a little differently at my own writing experience, too.

So once you have the column written, do you edit it any further before pushing it out to the world?

Once the essay is done, I share it with my wife, note any comments she makes, and then put it away until it’s time to record it. The distance between writing and recording gives it time to cool, and I can come at it with a more objective point of view. I often tweak the essays when I record them, and those changes also go into the final version of my blog.

What is funny?

One thing I know have problems with when it comes to writing humor—and one reason I think I’m only hit-and-miss good at it— How do you know that something you’ve written is funny?

Honestly, I don’t ever really know that something I’ve written is funny. I think it is. I hope it is. Sometimes the things I find funny don’t connect with the audience the way I expect. Other times, little throwaway gags that I wrote just to fill space really seem to work.

That’s not to say there isn’t technique involved. A lot of humor involves surprising people in a way that delights them. This can be as simple as using a bit of broad parody to name something, like in the opening bit in an essay called “The Cluttering”:

Stephen King has made himself a wealthy man by writing books that play on people’s deepest fears; scary dogs (Cujo), scary prom dates (Carrie), and the scary consequences of meddling with dark forces to resurrect the dead (Harry Potter and the Semetary of Pets).

(Laugh.) It sounds like that also uses the Rule of Three.

Or it can be something more subtle like mixing up unrelated concepts in a surprising way. I wrote an essay about a protracted battle I had with a neighborhood cat. It kept killing birds in my yard, and I kept trying to chase it away. At one point I said:

For the next eighteen months I tried various combinations of weapons systems: squirt guns with ammonia, mothballs, mustard powder, mustard gas, and the occasional really mean glare.

Sometimes I just go for a funny visual image:

Some of the kids at the [mall] kiosks have so many tattoos and piercings that they appear to be refugees from the lost tribe of careless nail-gun owners.

There are lots of books that dissect humor and reveal the techniques behind being funny. There’s also a great humor writing conference in Dayton, Ohio every other year (at HumorWriters.org). I’ve never been able to attend, but I bought the audio recordings of the sessions and learned a lot from those.

But even with all the humor techniques you’ve learned, you still rely on feedback.

For feedback, my wife is my most honest and helpful critic. She’ll tell me when something works and when it needs to be reconsidered. A lot of the best jokes are a result of her efforts.

Of course, I always look for feedback from my readers and listeners. They’ve been very kind in helping me see which essays work best. I don’t get a lot of feedback on the individual gags, though. So I stick with the things my wife and I find funny.

Happily Domesticated

Let’s talk about your new book Happily Domesticated. How did it come about?

From the beginning, my long-term goal has been to build an audience. I would very much like to attract the attention of the traditional media. Some podcasters—Mignon Fogarty, Scott Sigler, J.C. Hutchins, Mur Lafferty—have been very successful at this and have parlayed their audiences into publishing contracts. So far, I’ve had limited success, but the book is an extension of that strategy. Through a pretty extensive marketing effort, I hope to attract and connect with a new audience.

It’s actually the third book I’ve released.

The first was called The Short Cummings Private Chapbook, and it was meant for family and friends and was used as a promotional item on Grammar Girl. The second was My Favorite Shortcomings, which was meant to mark the 100′th episode of my podcast. The e-book version was available for free, and last time I checked, it had nearly 5,000 downloads. The paperback is available via Amazon.com and Lulu.com, but it sold less than ten copies.

You gave me a copy here, My Favorite Shortcomings, which you’ve allowed me to link to for download. But now, Happily Domesticated…

Happily Domesticated is my first attempt at a more commercial book. It has forty-two essays from my podcast and blog, plus twelve from my newspaper days. I’m following the TechDirt.com motto of “Connect with fans and give them a reason to buy.” The new content in the book is something my fans haven’t been able to read before.

How did you decide on a title?

The title just sort of presented itself. I wanted to re-brand the podcast to see if that might make it more appealing to people. The original title “Short Cummings Audio” was a pun on my name and the fact that the podcast was short. It didn’t do a great job of expressing what the podcast was actually about.

For months I played with different names including “Kevin’s Quips” and “Kevin’s Shorts.” I went so far as to buy some additional domain names and I paid an artist to come up with some art for “Kevin’s Shorts.”

At the same time, I was working on the book and I wanted a title that would be easy to remember and might attract some attention when it went up on Amazon. The phrase Happily Domesticated occurred to me. For me, it summed up the mood of my writing. I’m a husband and father, and even though my life isn’t perfect, I’m content with what I’ve got. So I checked Amazon and was stunned to find that nobody had titled a book Happily Domesticated. The domain was available as well, so I snatched it up and used it for my re-branding and for the book.

Well, I want to thank Kevin for sharing his experience and expertise with us. And I urge you to check out his blogcast, which you can find at HappilyDomesticated.com, and his new book of the same name at Amazon.com.

-TimK