Digging Deep

I will never forget the first time I read a "meh." It had never occurred to me that writers would see what editors are buying and then go and write a book based on that. I always assumed it was the other way around. Writers wrote what was meaningful to them, and if that occurred at a good intersection of timing, luck, talent, and market conditions, a sale was made.

But the more writers I met, the more I realized that some would see a trend a chase it. And there was no passion for the story. Just . . . "I think this will sell." So it was that I read a manuscript. On the face of it, it had a decent chick lit premise. There weren't any typos. You know you are in trouble if the best thing someone can say is your manuscript is typo-free. I read a few chapters . . . and it dawned on me that when you stripped away the trendy setting and the designer clothes and the cocktails, that you didn't care about the characters at all. They read, to me, like a laundry list of traits--much of them external. When I questioned the writer, she was all about "I know this is what they're buying in NY." And no, she didn't get a sale. I actually, because one editor she tried was one of my own, was privy to the editor's feedback, who offhandedly said, "She can't write." But it wasn't that. She couldn't write with heart.

I'm often asked if I have advice for aspiring writers. I don't. What the hell do I know? I have my journey . . . all the writers out there have theirs. But I suppose I ascribe to one thing . . . not write what you know. No, I don't really believe that one. Write what you feel. But someone else said that far better.

Put your ear down next to your soul and listen hard.

~Anne Sexton

Thoughts?

Love/Hate

I was downloading some music for my nephew this weekend. And he wanted a certain band for his iPod, and it pained me. PAINED me. Give me Arcade Fire. Give me John Hiatt. Give me Coldplay. But don't give me . . . I can't even SPEAK their name. So I said, "I hate this band and you're killin' me,kid. Can you not be satisfied with all the cool music I have already given you (including old RUN-DMC????)?

My mom, sitting in the living room, said, "As a Buddhist, you shouldn't say HATE." (This from a lapsed Catholic, but . . . she and my dad ask a lot of questions.)

She's right of course.

I should strike the word from my vocabulary. Even when discussing politics. Or music. Or things removed from me. But like most people, I am a swirling mass of loves and hates.

And I started thinking about it. I tend to describe my characters as a set of "positives." You know, "He's a magician who has dedicated his life to the clan." Or "He is a professor who has studied medievel history his entire life. It's his passion." I give a list of attributes.

But in rethinking things, I am starting to feel like perhaps I would do well to think about what they LOATHE as well as what their passions are. Because, sometimes--SOMETIMES--I think it says more about us when we explore what we hate, really hate, versus what we love.

Case in point? I love my children. I would die for them. I love my parents, I love candles. I love the rain when my windows are open and I can smell it. I love baby giggles. But really? Don't MOST people?

What do I hate? My son's snake, Lydia. Laundry. Emptying the dishwasher. Hypocrites. Racists. Male chauvinists. People who pretend to like children but want them "seen and not heard." Teachers who have forgotten they can inspire. War. People who wear a smile but give backhanded compliments.

Think EVERYONE hates those things? Maybe. But a lot of people won't take a stand. Won't speak up. It's easier to "go along."

I work at not hating. I empty the dishwasher so we have clean dishes. I do the laundry. I pray for racists to become enlightened. But there's a part of me that really, really can't stand people who condescend to children.

So I work at it. And in thinking about my characters . . . I am starting to think . . . sure, they love some things. But what do they HATE?

Sometimes, I know. but in one case, I am NOT SURE. And I need to be. So it's more psychological exploration of my character tomorrow. Hope he's ready for it. He's hitting my Couch. (Where many of you have reclined.)

Thoughts?

Competent

Thanks to a little inspiration from Edie, who commented an entry or so ago that "Competent is not enough" . . . that is the theme of this post.

Competent, according to the dictionary, is adequate but not exceptional. Of course, exceptional is in the eye of the beholder. But I can tell you that sometimes exceptional amounts to passion, and competence to chasing publication but not through writing the book of your dreams. What do I mean?

By the time you have spotted a trend in publishing, the trend is nearly over. So, by the time three or four "Bridezilla" chick lit books have hit the market, deciding that you have an idea for a perfectly servicable novel about a runaway bride means you're a little late to the party. Worse, as has happened to me EVERY SINGLE TIME I have spoken to writers' groups (and I am not kidding here), if you think, "You know, I saw that Book X, which was about a woman who faked having a fiance so she wouldn't feel like a loser at her high school reunion, and I didn't really think the book was that original or that clever, so I figure I can EASILY write something like that, so I am writing Book Y about a high school reunion and a woman who has a fake fiance, but in mine, a murder happens at the reunion, and it's very comical--a chick lit mystery--so that's how my book is different."

Writers like that make me want to scream.

Seeing what's on the market and then plotting a book that you think you can sell, and--at that--not even being a big fan of the book you are trying to ride coattails on? Yes, chances are MANY fairly accomplished writers could whip up a novel about a private eye, about a runaway bride, about a vampire. They can write perfectly competent novels. But competent is not enough.

What makes your book exceptional--I hope--is that YOU are the only one who can tell it. Think about WHY you are the only one who can write it, what makes this YOUR book, why it is YOUR passion . . . write THAT book and my guess is you will be a lot closer to a sale.

I believe that I am the only person on the earth who could have written THE ROOFER. I mean, yes, the words are mine alone. But the passion for the story, combined with the people in my life who were bits and pieces of the characters, combined with my belief in its story arc, in the narrative structure of the funeral, in the pain on the pages . . . it is MY book and only I could tell it. Anyone else could read about Hell's Kitchen and maybe construct that world. But they would never have been in those bars in the years I was. They wouldn't have known those men. They wouldn't know The Amazing Coaster Trick or any of the bar tricks I was taught when I was seven. It's my book as sure as I breathe. I think anyone else would be faking it.

Find your passion . . . tell THAT story. That will take you beyond adequate into exceptional.

Thoughts?

Fatboy

I have a new obsession. And his name is Fatboy Slim. A bigbeat musician, I've got my iPod loaded to death with his stuff. I comb iTunes looking for new songs, hunting for EPs of cool remixes (like his Rolling Stones remix--Sympathy for the Devil). What is it about Fatboy Slim I love so much? Maybe that I get lost in his music. It's a body happening, taking me, even if I'm walking in pitch darkness in the icy cold (like last night--I walked two miles), with my iPod on, into a club. I just feel it through my whole body, and if you were ever a club kid, if you ever spent time haunting major dance clubs in NYC (like me), then you know what I mean. The music is in you and through you, and you can dance like nobody else is there.

Which brings me to reading. And writing.

First reading. I tend to find new obsessions the way I do music. I never download something on my iPod that I "sort of" like. My iPod, all thousand-plus songs of it, is a friggin' work of art. I have a "club music" playlist, a jazz one, a bigbeat one. To make the cut, the music has to rock--or it has to haunt (like Howard Shore's Eastern Promises soundtrack). But if it's club music, it has to be awesome. As my significant other said, "You should be a gay club DJ." (I once did a DJ stint in the roughest bar in town, where they put me on a platform, with a ladder, and then told me to pull up the ladder so no one could start a fight with me over the music--but that's another story.) I take that as the HIGHEST compliment because everyone knows gay dance clubs are the hottest in town. So when I find a new author I like, just like a new artist, I want their backlist, their frontlist. I want to know what inspired them. I want to read everything I can get my hands on that they ever wrote--I'll read their 7th-grade term papers if that's available.

Now, just like my iPod, it's tough to make the cut. I mean Fatboy is the king. Oakenfold--he's got ONE good song. But Fatboy has depth. I have an Oakenfold song, but not a LIBRARY of his greatest work. Same with books. Everything ever written by Margaret Atwood. I went on a Neil Gaiman kick. Have been toying with a graphic novel obsession thanks to my best friend, Pammie, who got me into it. Unfortunately, for me, I have never liked some of the people with the thickest backlists. I don't like being scared, so I don't tend to read Stephen King. Don't like James Patterson, though he can do what he does well. As far as reading, it mostly applies to nonfiction subjects. I have piles of astronomy texts, as well as physics. And I adore that my oldest daughter loves physics as well, since we go to B&N's science section and buy out almost everything they have there. And no matter how many books I read on physics, I don't get bored of it. At least not yet. Just as Fatboy continues to amaze me so much I'd like to have his baby.

And writing. I don't think I ever have a day where I write a page and go do something else. It's either "the zone" or nothing. I write in bursts--10 pages of it just flying . . . or nothing. It's an obsession that day--like, I have this flash of what passes for genius in my world, and I must get it down on paper. I can't let it go.

Or . . . as often happens. I have the flash of what I want to do. But then Demon Baby wreaks havoc in my office, and Older Boy needs to be picked up from martial arts, and Younger Daughter needs help with math. But . . . like all good obsessions, it's there, percolating. Until I can sit down and let it burst out of me. Just because Fatboy Slim isn't playing right now (because my parents are still sleeping, and I don't want to wake them . . . and let me tell you, my dad's new thing is needing DESSERT every night, so now I have to go out to the grocery store and stock up on pies and ice cream!) . . . but just because Fatboy isn't playing doesn't mean his beats aren't on my mind.

So I read, write, and listen to music all the same way. With passion, intensity, obsessive streaks . . .

And you?