April 21, 2007
He's obviously a smart, techno-saavy guy. He's written 17 books in 17 years, ever since he was 30 and left his 9-to-5 job to write full time. There were no guarantees, but after a year his first book sold for $3500. His latest book, Rollback and his last with the Tor publishing company for now, sounds like another hit.
It was great hearing from a writer who had made it, yet one who was so down-to-earth, friendly, and interesting. He talked a little too much about the money side of it and the awards he has won, but when I reminded him of the love of writing involved, he chirped right back saying he wouldn't be doing it if he didn't love it.
That's when I sighed. Good to hear that from an author's mouth. Also saw at Toadstool that my high-school classmate, Chuck Hogan, has written another bestseller. And to think there's two of us world-famous writers in one class! :-}
Until next time!...
September 10, 2006
1) They take away from time when I could be writing.
2) Some writers are not very good at writing/editing themselves, so it's hard to take their comments very seriously. I highly recommend you be in a writing group with the right mix of writers -- and if they're all at your level, with a few a little better than you, that's probably okay.
3) For me, the more talking I do about a story before it is done, the less I want to work on it. Maybe I'm suspicious, but some of the power just goes out of the writing and me. With people picking apart your work, it's hard to keep up that single-minded enthusiasm you need to plug away at a long book.
4) This writing journey is mine and I don't plan to be thrown off course. I've been writing stories and books since I was 9 years old -- that's 30 years ago. (Eek! How time flies.) I've been a professional editor for 17 years. I love editing, and I love editing my own work, especially because I only write what I love to write about. The joy I get when a scene is finally perfect after re-writing it 10 times is indescribable!
The best teacher I have is myself - by constantly writing and reading to improve myself. I admit my writing is not perfect, but it's totally me and totally mine. When you read it, you know that you're just getting me and me alone, on my journey to become a better writer.
Until next time...
March 26, 2006
There is nothing better than when good people join together for a common purpose of enlightenment. Lately, I've been to two "Women's Expos" or "Diva Days" and I thought they were wonderful examples of women joining together to help other women. I was at a booth with other female writers who were also selling their wares. Our books are female-driven and females have such power when united.
Female Writers Unite!
February 14, 2006
Happy Valentines Day and all that stuff!
This morning before work I was occupied with busily finishing up reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, author of the Virgin Suicides. Middlesex won the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction in 2004, so I thought I'd check it out from the library and see why.
First off, let me tell you -- What a tome! 500 pages, but it's good in a way, though. I really learned a lot and experienced a lot through his character's eyes. Through his characters, the author describes everything from being a hermaphrodite (which explains the title and describes the main character); to early immigration in this country from Greece; to how America has deteriorated since World War II got over -- as exemplified in Detroit and the race riots, where most of the story takes place; to the American dream from Henry Ford's first assembly line to the awful layoffs decades laters; what it means to be independent; how family shapes your life for good and bad; nature vs. nurture; fitting in; getting along; standing up for oneself; and society's sexual mores and class strictures.
It's funny, but mostly sad. I recommend it. I know it would be difficult for me to write something this well done, but it's obvious he spent a lot of time on it, and maybe he doesn't have another job holding him back. I think Torch comes closer to be a good book that my first one, and my third one will be even better -- I hope it has quality without losing the action/mystery/romance/suspense, although it's hard to please two potential audiences at once. Middlesex seems to do it quite well. It sucks you in and never lets go, AND you feel better, more alive, more aware, after reading it.
Until next time...
January 30, 2006
I just finished reading A Conspiracy of Dunces by J.K. Toole for my book club at work and one thing I admire about this Pulitzer Prize winning author is how he created great characters. Of course, Ignatius P. Reilly and the rest of the characters are odd and sometimes stereotypical, but the way in which the author portrays their personalities could definitely help me in my own writing. The way the characters speak and what they do each day and how they react to each other make up the vast amount of material in the book about the characters. But the author doesn't list everything they do each day -- just the selected times when their characteristics shine out the most, usually during times of stress.
I like putting my characters unders stress and see what happens. If everything is hunky-dory and there is no tension, who would want to read further? If I could implement in my writing some of the best strategies from Conspiracy, they would include: don't write too much about each character at once, but let out the description slowly. It's amazing how you can picture a character in your mind even after just a few words of description, and sometimes too much is just a hindrance. The problem is, I want to describe my characters all at once (and the scenery as well), and then get to the good parts, which for me is dialogue, stress, action, conversation, humor, romance -- all fun to write.
Actually, Ignatius is a little bit like one of my characters, Inspector Al Ramirez, who is a big man with a sometimes nasty, superior attitude. But Ramirez does have more redeeming qualities like loyalty, forgiveness, and the ability to adjust his thinking -- especially to the loud, confident, sometimes-naive firefighter named Bette Maguire, the lead character in both books. These two grow on each other - eventually - and he teaches her about arson, while she teaches him something about spontanaiety and joy in life.
I love great characters, and I will improve on their descriptions. Reading good books is a great way to improve your writing, and I talk more about this in the future.
Until next time...
December 31, 2005
This has been a great year for me! I try to think this way every year around this time. I keep a diary and I write in it every day. And on this day every year, I write down the best things (or people) that have happened to me that year. I constantly give thanks for family, friends, and my husband, Greg. This year has a nice distinction in that nobody in our respective families has passed away. There has been at least one to two deaths a year for the past couple of years before this one. So that's good news. Ironically, I've begun watching this TV series on Netflix DVDs called "Dead Like Me." Great writing and acting, this short-lived, two-season series on Showtime was about a bunch of grim reapers, who even though dead, have to cull the souls of the dead themselves and send them on to a better life in the next one. A very hopeful series and it would be nice if it were true.
Maybe it is true, but I'm a doubting Thomas. I like to see proof. Maybe that's why I've been a journalist and a writer all my life. I'm searching for proof of what's real and what's not, and what are the most meaningful things in this life for me. I do have faith as well and that's what keeps me hoping and writing, too. Tomorrow, on January 1st, I will start a new diary. On the first page, I will write down my goals for that year, but most importantly, I will write down my hopes and dreams. We're not human without those! This makes me think of a book I'm reading, Frankenstein, by Dean Koontz. The mad scientist is still alive and creating a "New Race" of non-feeling men and women. Almost like robots, they are filled with human knowledge, but still yearn to feel hopeful, but cannot. They are slaves, and have no free will. So take that free will and use it!
I wish all of my blog readers a happy new year! Keep up the writing! I know it's hard, but even a diary is a good start, and a great way to record what's happened and what you feel. Writing makes you feel like you're real, like you've existed on this earth for a purpose, and that's a great feeling.
Until next time...
December 18, 2005
Writing about Christmas in your novel can be a rewarding experience. There are so many potential emotional eruptions – jealousy, old wounds re-emerging, misunderstanding - for a family gathering on Christmas, that it’s fun, even for just a writing exercise, to put your characters into a Christmas Eve or Day with their families and see what happens. Here is a brief excerpt from my new novel Torch, where main character and firefighter Bette Maguire nervously brings her squad mate and special friend Joe Griffin to meet her family.
An excerpt from Torch:
On Christmas Eve, a light, barely-seeable snow was falling and a brisk wind whipped and whirled the white wisps along the pavement, obscuring ice and cracks and danger spots. Outside the Maguire family home, Bette and Joe Griffin jumped out of his truck and made their way up the walkway, carrying presents for her family and a still-warm dish of holiday risotto.
Joe isn’t nervous about meeting my parents or the rest of my relatives so why am I nervous about introducing him to them? Bette took in a deep breath as she reached for the doorknob. He’s a great guy. I have to just relax and go with the flow.
Bette stopped at the sight of the pinecone wreath on the door. It was still in excellent condition, and the fish scales that had been woven into the wreath still sparkled, this year from the light of the string of white Christmas bulbs her parents had put up on the porch. The wreath and Il Forno’s fish door sculpture, now missing, were both made by her grandmother.
Bette didn’t know why her grandmother had liked fish so much; when she’d asked her at the age of six, her nonna had just smiled and said, “You’ll find out when you need to.” And then it seemed almost immediately after that, she’d died in a boating accident on the lake outside the family’s house. Bette missed her grandmother with an ache inside her especially at this time of year: the special food they’d made together, the way they had decorated the house for Christmas and wrapped presents together.
While she studied the wreath, the wind rattled the scales against the pinecones, which seemed to whisper a warning of what lay inside the house. It spooked her. As soon as the wind had come, it had gone.
“You okay?” Joe asked her.
When he leaned into her, she noticed he smelled like a combination of mint and his favorite cologne. She could also smell the rice and mushroom dish in the bowl she held. Her stomach growled.
“Yeah, just had some memories of Christmas past,” Bette said, pushed open the door, and yelled out “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” a dozen voices replied.
Bette and Joe stamped off the snow while the relatives greeted them, hung up their coats, and the kids took their presents and stacked them under the tree.
As usual, the hors d’oeuvres tasted fantastic, the decorations and Christmas tree were flawless, the long dining table was set immaculately for the dinner to come, but the mood was strained. The hosts could be heard arguing in the kitchen and all the guests seemed to be talking about the explosion and its aftermath. The insurance agent was supposed to have a final meeting with Inspector Al Ramirez in two days on Dec. 26, but waiting for anything or anyone was not a Maguire family strong point.
(Bette introduces Joe around. Bette comforts her drunk sister, then rejoins Joe.)
“Everything okay?” Joe asked.
Bette nodded. “Yeah, for now. I’ll tell you about it later. Now, steel yourself. I’m going to bring you into the kitchen where my parents are.”
Bette’s parents were at opposite ends of the kitchen. Her mother was pulling out a pan of green beans from the bottom oven, and her father was slicing the turkey on the long island counter.
“Merry Christmas!” Bette greeted.
“Buon natale!” Mary wiped her hands on a towel and Bette threw her arms around her sweet-smelling mother, who hugged her back with great affection.
“Hey, Blondie, we almost didn’t think you were coming,” her father said, came over, and hugged Bette. “Good to see you!”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. I brought some risotto, though, as planned. Mom, Dad, you remember Joe, right?”
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Maguire, Merry Christmas. It smells great in here,” Joe said.
Mary shook his hand and studied him. A good-looking man, nice teeth, dark hair, a strong handshake, definitely Bette’s type physically, but Bette deserves someone with a better career.
Joe noticed Mary’s impeccable hair, the elegant dress covered by the old apron, the manicured nails, and didn’t see a lot of Bette in her. “Nice to meet you, finally. Thank you for inviting me.”
“So you’re Bette’s boyfriend, finally?” Mary asked. “Is that why we are finally allowed to meet?”
“Boyfriend?” Bette asked. Her eyebrows went up and she felt her face flush.
Joe gave her a hard look. What’s that hesitation for? Aren’t I her boyfriend?
Bette squirmed at Joe’s glare, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the term “boyfriend.” There was no term for what they were — and she didn’t want to define their relationship yet. She liked it free and easy and without commitment, and she was hoping Joe saw it the same way.
“Don’t you think you’d better get that boyfriend part straightened out before you invite them over for Christmas dinner, Bette?” William held out his hand and reluctantly shook Joe’s. “This is nothing personal, Joe. We’re just hoping she marries a doctor or a businessman, or someone in the restaurant business. As long as you know that.”
Joe flushed in anger and embarrassment and Bette just bit her lip. There was silence as Joe waited for Bette to defend him and her feelings for him. It didn’t happen. Bette felt like a deer caught in her father’s headlights.
“William.” Mary chastised, then turned to Joe. “Excuse my husband, please. Would you bring out these green beans, Joe? I need to talk to Bette.”
Joe agreed and left. William followed, carrying the turkey.
“Okay, everybody, time for dinner,” William announced.
In the kitchen, Mary sighed and pulled more food — potatoes and warming bread — from the top oven and placed them on a tray on the counter.
“God, why does Dad have to embarrass me like that?”
“That’s your father,” Mary said.
December 9, 2005
If you write for a living, deadlines are a normal part of life. The magazine, the newspaper, or the book has to come out on time to meet print schedules and reader demands. Since I’m a managing editor for two magazines, I live deadlines and make sure everyone else sticks to theirs. My favorite cartoon shows a harried editor standing over the gravesite of his reporter and asking, “Does this mean you won’t make deadline?” Obviously not. When we all meet that great deadline in the sky, maybe then there’ll be no more. We can only hope.
Seriously, deadlines are crucial to The Persistent Writer. I gave myself deadlines on my second book, Torch, and I was amazed by how much I accomplished by considering it to be a real and demanding deadline. I gave myself 9 months to sketch out the book and write the first draft, 3 months to rewrite into a second draft, 2 months to re-write it into a third draft, and 1 more month to give it a final read. So in 14 months I was done writing 130,000 words. Still, during the later part of the process with the publisher, I fixed typos and wrong words up until the very end. I thought I had caught everything in Torch, but then my father called the other day after reading the finished copy and asked, “Did you notice that typo on page 120?” (See line 23 of that page in Torch to see if you can find it.)
Typos were not a problem for the daily paper where I worked many years ago as a sports and news stringer. The editors wanted the stories fast and they wanted them compelling. I usually had to write up the game or town meeting the day of the event for publication the next day. That was pressure. It was also fun. Could I write a story in under an hour? Would it be a masterpiece or a piece of shit? There was no time to panic, only to write, and if you’re lucky, have one chance to re-write.
You have to make time for re-writes if you’re writing a novel. Do you remember in school how paper deadlines made you gear up to write your work of art just in time the night or weekend before? For me, though, I’d always try to finish it at least two days earlier so I could sleep on the text and read it again. I’d often find problems in logic and consistency, not to mention typos galore. As a result, I always try to “sleep on” what I’ve written and revise the next day.
But now school is out for most of us. Writing is now your project, your dream. Make it happen with a deadline.
Until next time…
December 2, 2005
Writing is all about persistence -- and passion. If you're not passionate about what you're writing, it's very hard to convince others it's worth reading and even to continue writing it yourself. If you have a passion for your writing work but are stuck in a particular spot, send some of it to me and I'll review it for free -- as a Christmas gift to writers everywhere. Simply e-mail me up to 50 pages of your manuscript in an Adobe Acrobat pdf format attachment -- fiction or nonfiction is welcome -- by December 24th, to juliemacshane@yahoo.com. Tell me why you're passionate about writing it and where the story is going. I'll give you any hints or advice I might have to help you out. You are free to ignore my advice and go elsewhere. Your text is always yours and I would never share it, copy it, or do anything nefarious with it.
I know how hard it is to write. If I can help you on your way, I'd be most honored.
Until next time...
November 23, 2005
I collect books. I like to read as much as I like to write. I’ve been thinking lately about why people collect certain items, like Coca-Cola glasses, classic cars, and beanie babies, object that are not obviously necessary to lead a fulfilling life, but a few of us wouldn’t live without them. What is the compulsion to fill one’s house and one’s life with stuff?
When I was younger, I visited a friend’s unique house. Her mother collected pigs. Not the flesh-and-blood kind, but decorative ones: ceramic pigs dancing and singing, pig clocks, pig toilet seat covers, and piggy banks, of course. I asked her why she started collecting pigs. She smiled and said about 10 years ago someone gave her a pig figurine. And she liked it so much that she started picking up pig-related items. Then, friends also started buying her that stuff. Before she knew it, she had a pig (sty?) house. It was crammed to the celing; you couldn’t sit down; you had to be careful where you walked; you couldn’t set your eyes anywhere and not see a pig. I expected to feel the Big Bad Wolf blowing her house down any minute.
So I thought collectors were nuts, that is, until I became one myself. Yup, me. My husband gave me a Tickle Me Elmo doll for Valentine’s Day in 1997, and the rest is history. We collected a few more Elmos in the next year. We gave them as gifts to each other. Then, we found Ebay in 2001. The heavens opened up and the angels relayed the news that there were hundreds of Elmos and Sesame Street plush we didn’t have. We wanted them! We wanted all of them! We started a web site, www.elmoandfriends.com, to keep track of them and to help other collectors find the ones they needed. We began selling ones we picked up at thrifts. Now, we visit Sesame Place in Langhorne, PA, twice a year to get the latest merchandise. Our house contains more than 1800 Sesame Street plush. We want to write a book about them. I imagine that people I know think I’m crazy.
However, even though some would not admit it, I think there is a little part in everyone of us that, if properly stirred, would turn us into a full-blown collector. Some women collect shoes and bags in order to be stylish, but they don’t need 50 of them. Thus, there must be something of intrinsic value in the stuff we collect. I believe it makes us feel good to be surrounded by things that we love, that were difficult to get, that are unique and maybe beautiful, and that we can show off. The smile of an Elmo (and they all smile) makes me smile.
I can’t help but feel it’s good to be passionate about something. To be passionate about writing is essential to the persistent writer. But if it’s pigs or shoes or tin cans that make you happy, go crazy.
November 17, 2005
Well, like Chris Rock, a persistent writer is one who continues to communicate despite the challenges involved. One big challenge for writers is writer's block. It's so strange how I could think of so many things to write when I was driving in my car home from work. Now, as I sit here at my computer, my mind is blank. Despite my empty head, I still enjoy writing and I'm still doing it. I feel compelled to do it. It's as if my computer is calling me and I must adhere my fingers to the keyboard and move them. Nobody can stop me.
A persistent writer hurdles obstacles all over the place. Obstacles can include the obvious -- rejection by major publishers, book stores, any kind of establishment that says pish-posh, your stuff is rott! Or people you know who look down at you and how you "waste your time" writing. Well, if you're the one who drinks beer and plays golf ad nauseum, who is really wasting time here? At least I'm productive. I yearn to be productive in my writing. I've written two books and definitely writing a third. Both Book #1 and Book #2 have been self-published. I strove to create them, to give birth to them. I cherish them like children. Not many people have read them. But I keep going. Can't stop. Until next time...
November 16, 2005
All writing Copyright Julie MacShane 2005 and 2006. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.