Imaginary Friends

Hey, y'all. I'm glad I found you. See, for the longest time, I wrote all on my own. Yeah, I had a couple of college classes on creative writing. They were okay, but that was a long time ago and no one was really writing novels. Only short stories. And that's what they taught us about, as if short stories are the first step along the road to novels, which is debatable. And yeah, there's a local writing group. They meet every other week to read and critique, and that's really good because there are vastly different people. Some write stories, some poetry, many are working on a novel or two. That group helped immensely. But the meetings were long, and at one chapter every two weeks, it's not a great way to get a novel reviewed. They helped me clean up my writing, mostly, as there were a few, ah, fearless critics in the group. And then I started blogging. And it's fun. I enjoy it. I don't blog on a schedule, just whenever I feel like it and about whateve

Up is down, black is white, and short is long. Stole that from Weird Al. That's my song of the day. Why? Because it's probably true. About me, I mean. Not you. Necessarily.  It turns out that it was true last week, before I realized the following things: No, I can't please everyone.  I shouldn't even try. I mean, we've all heard that. But good writing is good writing, isn't it? (Of course this is about writing. Do I blog about anything else?) Part of me still holds to that notion, that nagging feeling that the first sentence of this paragraph is just something that crappy writers tell themselves when people don't like their books. Just look at Harry Potter! Everyone loves Harry Potter. But more and more, it's sinking in that no matter how well I write, how amazing a story teller I am, some characters and stories won't get along with some readers. Some characters and stories won't get along with most readers. Because... Voice really is imp

In Drivers , said drivers are recruited via the internet. I didn't go into specifics, and I didn't ever do the "research" to find out exactly how this could be done—until this morning. A few people wanted to know more about how the company found suicidal people. I didn't think it was important, and frankly, I was a little uncomfortable with searching for actual people. As it turns out, it's easier than I thought. A Google search, a result on the first page, and there they are. Some of them  want  to be contacted, and for various reasons—advice of both kinds, help of both kinds. I added a few sentences to my book to clarify this, and that's enough. Rest assured that whatever you're looking for online, it's there.

There are now five people who've read Drivers —besides me. I've gotten some good feedback, and version 3 is coming along well, I think. Sometimes it's hard to implement a suggestion, like adding emotional impact to the beginning of a scene. No ideas yet. If none come, I'll just leave it. With this manuscript, I'm much more wary about making major changes. Everything seems to be working so well in a broad sense. Drivers is dark. When people started telling me this it kind of took me by surprise. It's dark? It's sad? It's really depressing? And I smile, because that's what I was going for. It doesn't seem that dark to me, though. Maybe because my eyes have adjusted to the dim light after five months. But it ends well. I love it, anyway, and no one's complained yet—except about what does or doesn't happen to the bad guy. To be honest, I'm leaving him available for a sequel. Drivers stands alone, but it doesn't have to. There are

Have you ever wondered why time is so one-way and restrictive? Like, why am I here right now instead of yesterday before that big mistake I made or tomorrow after that horrible thing I dread? A Brief Story: When I was but a lad—and also a Mormon missionary—I once borrowed a television from the local church meetinghouse. Some other missionaries were coming to visit for the night, and one of them wanted to show us some videos he'd shot. As I lifted it out of the car, the cord fell down far enough to drag on the ground. "I should pick that up so I don't trip on it," I thought. Then I thought, "Nyah, I'll just be careful." I would have had to set the TV down, and it was an old boxy one, partly made of wood, and quite heavy. You can see what's coming can't you? I carried the TV with the screen against my chest and my arms around the sides far enough to grab the bottom. It was pretty well balanced. When I stepped on the cord—like you knew I w

Okay, this a huge freaking deal to me, and my biggest complaint about the publishing industry:  They split my favorite kind of books between the young adult and adult sections of bookstores, and it makes them rather hard to find. Of course, the real reason it bothers me is that I write books like the ones I love—and I have no idea where to categorize them! You know what I wish? That there was no Young Adult section of bookstores. They should just lump them all together from Junie B. Jones through Tolstoy and let us pick the ones we like from actual genres:  science fiction, fantasy, mystery, horror, pointless, etc. Or, if they really feel like there needs to be an arbitrary division, they should group them by length:  short, medium, long, extra long, extra extra long, and Robert Jordan. Oh, I know there are plenty of books that fit squarely into teenager land. They're not usually my favorites. There are some books that are sold as YA that I really, really love! And some book

Just nothing. That's what I've had to say on my blog this week. I tried to write a post about metaphors, similes, analogies, symbolism, and other similar things. But finding the right analogy is like. . .it's like. . .uh. . . On the bright side, I do know what to write in my book. That's what's important, isn't it? I spend all day writing things that I have to write. I just can't make myself do it in my free time. So I write what I want  to write. And that's all I want to write. How do people blog on a schedule? p.s. You can tell when I'm not actively working on a draft because I blog more frequently.