Rating My Own "Write Anyways"

Yeah, so I caused a hub-bub. Been there, done that... probably going to do it again. Oh, but what hub-bub? Maybe you didn't ask that, but I'm going to assume that you did, despite my disdain for assumptions. Nyah.

Writing, that's what. In case you missed it, I wrote a piece concerning some philosophies I have toward the act of writing. Quick summary: 1) If you want to write, then write. 2) Writer's block doesn't exist. 3) Most of what you write will be crap. 4) Type even when you think of nothing. You can read the original rant here: On Writing: A Philosophy.

To punch those points home, I followed that one up with a list of 11 recent things I've written under the auspices of "type even when you think of nothing." That list is here: Write Anyways.

Naturally (well, in retrospect... I honestly felt that the topic would go away... wrong again!), several people emailed and/or called and asked which of those 11 pieces I felt were crap and which I felt were decent. When I said which were which, I got some strange reactions followed by more questions. So... I'm going to offer a cursory glance at my opinions of my own writing (which, believe it or not, I find rather odd to be doing):

First, the ones I like:

• Uriah and Uriel: A Dialogue - this one wrote itself, and since it marks the first time that's ever happened to me, I'm rather partial to it.
• Murder Mystery: An Exercise in Plot Creation - this one also wrote itself and reveals a sentiment that (I believe) all writers have.
• Judicial Contempt - I'm actually on the fence with this one, but it's a companion to "Uriah and Uriel: A Dialogue," so I put it in this list.
• Candy Girl - the twist came out of nowhere and was a lot better than where I thought the story was going.

Now, the ones I don't like:

• Shadow and Sign - chaotic and unclear... definitely not into this one.
• Overthought and Underdead - there's something to this one, but it's not quite right... something went unsaid, if that makes sense.
• Go Tell It On the Molehill - to be honest, I find this one a bit charming, even though it's a bit false in sentiment.
• Gaia's Lust - I'm guessing I was on a Greek Mythology kick. Oh, wait... I'm always on a Greek Mythology kick.
• F-ing Up - basically transcribed (and fictionalized) a real conversation... more an exercise and less an actual attempt at writing.
• His Wings Were Not Armor - had high hopes for this one, but my aim was low.

And one I didn't like, but after thinking about where the story will go, I now like:

• The Window Blinks When the Mirror Sees - of course, this doesn't mean the rest of the story will be any good... still, it proves a point I try to make: what's written can be worked on; what's not written has no chance.

There's also been a new "Write Anyway" since I posted the list (The Scheherazadi, Part I), and I kinda like it.

What does this all mean? Not a damn thing, really. I'm just one opinion among, what? 7 billion? But I was asked, so there's my answer.

Yeah, Well, Why Not?

On Drinking

So, apparently I need to lighten up (not to mention sober up). Why I've developed an addiction to cheap Merlot recently is beyond me... probably has something to do with not getting hangovers from it. I mean, shit, I quit smoking (not a single cigarette since July 18) so I should be allowed one vice before I have to give them all up, no?

And I've decided that beer sucks. Yeah, there are some microbrews that are good, but mass-marketed beer sucks. Tom Collins and Merlot only from now on. Oh, and some Spumante (funny story behind that one... tell it later).

On Writing and Editing

People out there are starting to realize I'm a dick when it comes to writing and editing. Well, sue me. I work as a professional reader and publish the occasional critical analysis. Hate to sound arrogant, but when I suggest something (or point something out), it's with good reason. If you're not in the game to be published, just ignore this. But if you are... get used to dickheads like me. We're always looking for reasons to throw your work away, you can believe that. Yet we so very much want to love what we're being paid to read.

And, no, I don't think I'm God's gift to writing... far from. My talent is well below those of many writers I've worked with or continue to work with (Michael, you reading this??? Get off your ass and submit some shit!). I'm just here to be a curmudgeon. I like being a curmudgeon.

On Hair

Most of you know by now that I cut my hair yesterday. Pictures of what went down are on the Internet, and despite the fact that that I despise photos of myself, I'm going to "lighten up" and send you to the blogger who decided to expose me. She's a hag, but here it is: Not For Jellyfish: He Who Refuses To Be Named's Shear Insanity.

I miss my hair. And even though there have been many, many reassurances to the contrary, I think my new hair looks like crap. Another reason why I prefer blunt to polite... can't ever tell when someone's being honest.

Ah, well...

On the Army

Seriously, I was bored. And, yes, I really do want to rejoin; necessity has little to do with it. Can't quite put my finger on it, but there's definitely a need for change combined with a sense of things left unfinished combined with proving to myself that I can still do it.

There are, that I can think of, only two reasons that I considered not going back... the first reason is my pets. The separation should be temporary, but I'll miss them dearly just the same. The second reason is more... obscure... and my close friends know what that's about. Hell, clever readers here can probably piece it together... I have been a bit obvious about it, I suppose. How unlike me.

Yeah, I'm weird. And I've never said I wasn't crazy.

More On Writing

To answer a surprisingly common question: Yes, I can continue to post stuff while I'm in the Army. If a few months pass without a post, I'm probably dead. Or in prison. But probably dead.

How's that for ending on a high note?

Hooah!

Writing, Rewriting, Rewriting, and Rewriting

Writing is a funny, angry, serious, and ridiculous process all wrapped up into one little package. Those of you that write know this; those of you that don't probably do, too. Then again, I'm sure a few of you out there think writers just sort of put pen to paper, so to speak, get paid a stupid sum of money, and then write something else and get paid another stupid sum of money.

Well, this is simply not the case. I haven't been paid for writing anything in quite some time now. Such a long time, in fact, that I'm not so sure I can claim "writer" on my tax return.

Anyhoo... (that's a writer's word that lets us avoid an overuse of "anyway" or "anyhow).

Anyhoo...

I'm currently fixing up my aforementioned Clandestine's Daughter so that a friend of mine can use it as an example for her literature class. Cool, huh? No? Well, it is for me, jerks.

Anyhoo...

As I'm proofing, editing, rewriting, and polishing this monster of a story, I'm noticing all of the other junk that I need to write, proof, edit, rewrite, and polish. It's a lot, I tell you. There are currently five (count 'em, five) scripts that need work, two more that need to be written, and a ton of treatments, poems, lyrics, music, articles, blogs, and short stories lying around, needing attention.

Believe me, I'm trying like Hell to formulate some kind of process to get through the flotsam and jetsam polluting my desk and the floor of my room. Unfortunately, there isn't one. This stuff is just there, in my head, partially on paper, or yet to be thought of and/or written down.

For instance, Clandestine's Daughter is now on its fourth iteration (I can't say draft, because a first draft is what's sent out); Theorem is on its fifth, and that's not counting the original concept that went through two or three; The Best Year is on its second; The Hits is on its first as a new story, though it went through NINE with the original story, which has since been entirely junked; Double Down is also on its first as a relatively new story, but went through five before (thankfully, I can reuse much of it); The Gate and Evolution are both finally being written after being thoroughly brainstormed to death (the concept of Evolution is at least a couple of years old). And I'm not even going to get into the rest of the crap I mentioned.

Anyhoo...

There's a saying in writing that most of writing is actually rewriting. As I'm sure you've inferred from the above paragraph, not counting that last "anyhoo," this saying is undeniably true.

So, here's how it works... first, the story pops into your head, then you hammer out some sort of treatment (either formal or informal), then comes your first "iteration." Unless you're a just a fucking genius writer, your first iteration is going to suck. It is, trust me. Sucks. But, the good thing is that the plot is on paper, the characters are on paper, and the dialogue is on paper. We'll call this phenomenon "Year One."

Next, you let the story sit for a bit, if you're smart, and come back to it. About here is when you notice that the characters suck. So you fill them out, make them better. Which, obviously, changes a lot of their dialogue. So you fix that as well as you can, too. This, we'll call "Year One-Point-Five."

And then you let it sit again. Sometime later, in a moment of boredom or inspiration (they take turns), you pick up the script, read it from front to back, and realize that your characters don't fit the plot as well as they did. Here you have two options: 1) change the characters again to fit the plot, or 2) change the plot to fit the characters. I honestly can't say which one is easier, because both ways are, forgive my French, motherfuckers. Anyhoo... you get it done, take a deep breath, imbibe in some alcohol, and go to sleep. "Year One-Point-Seven-Five."

And it sits. Then you read it again. It's going to need another rewrite, but this one is closer to what's known as a "polish." Clean this, clean that, blah, blah, blah. "Year Two."

Your first draft is finished. It goes out, and comes back. Rejected. Lather, rinse, repeat.

That, in a nutshell, is the writing process. Keep in mind, those of you who make fun of writers, that no income has been earned AT ALL during this process. A writer is fucked until he or she sells. Which is why we have so many clothes in our car... it often times doubles as our home.

But we don't get discouraged, because we like to write. We like to tell stories. Sure, we don't like living in poverty, but our love for writing is far stronger than our disdain for opening the car door in the middle of the night to take a piss. No, really.

Anyhoo...

I Thought I Had It

I wrote something the other day. It was rather profound, in terms of me, anyway. Brutally honest, a tad poetic, and maybe a little more internal than I had intended, but I wrote it. It just sort of came out that way.

After I finished it, I quite literally sat back, let out a deep breath, and smiled. I was happy that I wrote it, if not more than a little confused. Not confused because I didn't understand it, but because I didn't really know where it came from. It was just kind of there.

Fear set in, as I looked at the printed pages resting on my desk. I didn't want to read it. I didn't want to risk the realization of the words I had written being false. At that point, I believed wholeheartedly what I produced, but I was still afraid that I had lied. I'm not sure why I would lie to myself. I guess in this case, the subject matter was a topic that I enjoyed daydreaming about, and we all know that more than the occasional lie peppers our daydreams. People are sort of built that way.

Me being the editor-oriented idiot that I am decided, almost out of reflex, to flip through it quickly. I assure you, my intent was quickly. But, I saw one of those damn typos and it hit me, I absolutely had to read it, because I can't stand errors. Especially those that might disrupt the comprehension of the piece. This was too important to me. What can I say? I'm just kind of nutty like that.

So, I edited it, briefly. Didn't find any more typos, but found a couple of things that needed to be changed. Nothing was wrong, or inaccurate, but I have nit-picky aesthetic, and I don't like my writing to look like crap, much like this blog currently looks. But, hey, I sort of can't sleep, and I've got nothing else to do.

Now the piece is, for the most part, finished and ready for its intended audience. Only, I'm not entirely sure who that intended audience is anymore. I knew when I wrote it. Hell, I could've sent it off for publication, so to speak, as soon as I had finished printing it. But now, I just don't know. Of course, given this tumultuous year, I shouldn't have expected anything else. I haven't known a damn thing about a damn thing since I left North Carolina. I thought being older and more experienced was supposed to help people figure things out, but I guess I was kind of wrong about that, too.

So here I am, up at 2:30 in the morning, typing randomly about something you probably have absolutely no idea about. And there it is, sitting on my desk, with no one to read it. It's often said that the pen is mightier than the sword, that words have power. But I think mine are waning, listless in a world where physical contact is becoming more rare, and more valuable. A year ago I could talk my way out of anything, write my way out of even more, but now? Now I'm just another yutz with a self-important blog that nobody reads, sitting up at night, alone, freezing my ass off, with little to look forward to. And my work? It's turning into an embarrassment. Things just sort of happen that way, I guess.

I was so happy when I wrote it, and now I'm nearly the opposite of happy. Perhaps I'm just tired, but I can't help but thinking that I almost had it. This piece could, theoretically and in actuality, change my life. When I wrote it, I thought that it could only change for the better, but now I'm thinking it will only make things worse. It probably wouldn't, but now I'm almost too scared to take the chance. Kind of the way things go, isn't it? Especially as of late.

I thought I had it. I almost had it. Almost.

Random Givings of Thanks

Personally, I think that Thanksgiving is a painfully and obviously arbitrary holiday, but whatever...

Some things to give thanks and not-so-much-thanks for this year:

Thanks to my friends who helped me get through a shit time in my life.

Not-so-much-thanks for the person who single-handedly put me there (not that I hold a grudge... anymore).

Thanks to the idiots who are making the "Global War on Terrorism" a de facto screw up.

Thanks to the NFL for putting a third game on Thanksgiving Day.

Thanks to Kay and Sagremor, my two cats who have actually stuck around.

Not-so-much-thanks to the asshole "retiree" CEOs who give themselves $400 million pensions while the rest of America struggles to make ends meet.

Thanks to John Kerry for informing me that I was in the Army because I got bad grades in school. I was under the impression that I held a sense of duty that many no longer hold.

Thanks to my muse for putting me back in a writer's mindset.

Thanks to my dogs for putting up with my lack of attention giving... that'll change soon, I promise.

Thanks to my sister for editing my writings for spelling and grammar at no charge.

Thanks to PH for lending me a shitload of money (five figures, seriously) to keep my head above water.

Not-so-much-thanks to Chevrolet for making the third-door latch on S-10s an easily broken piece of shit.

Thanks to the screenwriters of Casino Royale for making James Bond cool again.

Thanks to Martin Scorsese for making back-to-back films that truly inspired me.

Not-so-much-thanks to George Lucas for refusing to remaster the prints of the original Star Wars trilogy for DVD.

Thanks to the paratroopers who have entered my life, but will never be able to enter it again thanks to a really fucked up war. You guys were the best.

Thanks to the filmmakers who brought work my way at the exact moment my career seemed to dead-end.

Not-so-much-thanks to the man who had me arrested because he lost a fight that HE started.

Thanks to the networks for fielding the best television programming on the air since, well, the day I was born.

And last, but certainly not least, thanks to the people who are trying to make sure that 2007 will be that "Best Year" that 2006 should have been.