Category: Writing

I discovered that rejections are not altogether a bad thing. They teach a writer to rely on his own judgment and to say in his heart of hearts, “To hell with you.” – Saul Bellow

Tell me again why I wanted to become a writer?

Today, I finished the first draft of a book that I think might have a huge audience. A book whose conceit, when I explain it to people, elicits broad smiles and moans that can be translated as “Damn, I wish I’d thought of that!” Of course, it’s only a first draft, and I’m not sure I can really make it work as well as my instincts tell me it should, but still, it’s done. I have a first draft now, and I can hammer and pull and prod and snip it to my heart’s content.

Feelings of accomplishment today? Nada. Bupkis. Zilch. Whatever funny word you can come up with meaning “zero.”

I tell myself, first drafts always suck. They’re just first drafts. They’re supposed to suck.

I tell myself, hey, you created something out of nothing. You persevered instead of quitting.

I tell myself, all writers hate their first efforts, and all the good ones are unsatisfied with their work even after the work is published.

Now, I can already hear the voice of Livia Soprano rasping, “Oh poor you!” Not looking for any sympathy here. I just wanted to spit a bad taste out of my mouth. With hard work and a lot of luck and inspiration, I’ll have some kind of book to show people in the near future. And that’s a rare accomplishment, especially for me. Someday I’ll get used to this vaporous feeling of non-accomplishment, the vaguely uneasy feeling that hangs around projects at this stage of completion. Or maybe not. All I can say for sure is, it comes with my territory.

What could give more voyeuristic pleasure than reading something like A Million Little Pieces, shaking your head at the guy’s idiocy and (maybe, if you’re that type) finding inspiration in his redemptive journey?

Finding out it’s mainly a whopper and watching the little dink try and defend his integrity on Larry King et al.? Yeah, that’s pretty enjoyable schadenfreude.

Something even funnier? Check out the tale of Mr. Jinx’s descent into the hell of his own compulsions, at Jim Treacher’s site.

This past year was an odd one for Christmas presents. Not that I measure my years by that standard, but some years are remarkable, some not. And I’m very, very grateful to have received three cocktail shakers. One was so small, I thought it was one you kept by the bedside for a morning eye-opener. Read into that what you will.

Another very welcome present was Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style, illustrated by Maira Kalman, famed New Yorker illustrator and the author of, among other gems, Sayonara Mrs. Kackleman. This was just the coolest. It just exuded cool. (That’s the only verb that works with “cool”, right? Ooze, radiate, disperse, fling? Nah, true cool is only exuded.)

Everyone who looked at it just wanted to hold it, weigh it, be with it, love it and be loved by it. It was the right size, the paper was sumptuous, the layout crisp, and Kalman’s paintings understated and strange. While I live to be surrounded by books, I don’t turn it into a tactile fetish like some people. But this book might seduce anyone.

A perfect little book to help writers write perfect little books? That’s not meta. That’s just betta.

Of course, every writer should have some copy of Strunk & White on his or her shelf and refer to it as often as necessary, say, every few weeks or so. Of particular importance is Chapter V, which is a general discussion of style. One sentence in the Introduction touched my heart:

This chapter is addressed particularly to those who feel that English prose composition is not only a necessary skill but a sensible pursuit as well—a way to spend one’s days.

On days when my writing is sluggish and formerly fertile ideas begin to beg for a sheet and a toe tag, this sentence gives me comfort. More comfort, even, than three cocktail shakers.

(Sorry for the size of the pic. Over the holiday break, I’ve somehow forgotten my quick and easy way of shrinking jpegs down to sleek blog size. At least now you know what to look for: A red book with “The Elements of Style” printed on the cover.)

Here’s the latest in genre fiction that aspiring hacks might want to sharpen their hacksickels for: NASCAR romance fiction.

I know many of you are slapping your foreheads, and some of you are doing it because you’re thinking, “Why didn’t I think of that?” Don’t be too hard on yourself. Sometimes the most obvious ideas are staring us right in the face, with a slack jaw, a bad haircut, and a number 8 hat on their greasy heads. Nothing says romance like the smell of burning rubber and oil, jumpsuits covered in ad patches, and the shivery frisson of possible fatalities on the track. If you and your missus ever spent your honeymoon in the snake pit at Indy, you know what I’m talkin’ about.

I had a whole list of strained metaphors and double entendres to pepper this post with, but I bet any of you could come up with something at least as good as,

“Shellee breathlessly announced to her pit crew that she was in major need of some lubricating.”

“Lula May wasn’t going to settle for Mr. Goodwrench when she knew, somewhere in the South Carolina night, Mr. Greatwrench was waiting for her.”

“Doris felt her passion circling her in great waves, round and round in deafening roars, until it was way past time to wave the yellow flag of caution.”

(Thanks to Neddie Jingo)

A week ago at the comics store, a slip of the tongue gave birth to a whole potential literary genre. One clerk was asking another if he had read “Queen and Country,” saying it was an exciting example of espionage writing.

The other clerk said, “Pardon? Did you just say ‘Lesbianage’?”

New ground for thriller writers to….I just can’t think of a verb that doesn’t have a smutty connotation. Sorry.