When Did You Know You Were a Writer?

Image borrowed with permission from The Positive Writer.

 

I’m participating in the “You Are a Writer—When Did You Know?” contest on The Positive Writer.   

Here goes . . .

I'm a non-conformist by nature. I hate playing games that are rigged for the other side to win, no matter how much the other side tells me it’s my duty to play, no matter how much they tell me I’d better fall in line or something bad will happen. I particularly don’t like rigged games where the winners take advantage of other players.

So when I was 12, I saw a news story about Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, then middle-aged men, who were teenagers when they created Superman. They sold their creation to what became DC Comics, which went on to reap millions from Superman comics, movies, and merchandise. Meanwhile, Siegel and Shuster spent decades fighting to get credit and a pension.

In the decades since then, I've learned their story is more complicated than that, and that it's easy to paint the Evil Corporation as a predator gobbling up the works of poor, unsuspecting writers and artists (which, often, corporations do).

At the time, however, their story filled me with two contradictory but irresistible notions: one, the realization that people actually created comic book characters and got paid to do so, and, two, a sympathetic bond with Siegel and Shuster, who were not much older than I was when they conceived the character who would revolutionize the comics industry and inspire generations of young readers. Being 12, I thought I could do the same thing only better. I would not get ripped off. I would create a new character who would make me fabulously wealthy.

I returned to that dream time and time again as I encountered other games that appeared rigged: high school, employment, even my first forays into college. Every path in life, it seemed, required hard work but few rewards for those who did the actual work. There had to be another way.

Comics, though produced by a rigged system (the comics industry), yielded hope. They were a fringe obsession—not as popular or widely accepted as sports, films, and even literature. To enter those occupations, you had to be accepted into a rigged system. The comics industry was small enough that it resembled rock ‘n’ roll in the early days: any kid could pick up a pencil or typewriter and start creating comics. Any kid could afford to dream big.

Then reality set in. I wrote scripts, sent them to publishers, got rejected, and was “encouraged” to continue my education. So I wound up back in college, where grants and student assistance programs showed me that even a "rigged" system sometimes wanted new entrants to succeed, and where encouraging professors taught me I didn’t have to abandon my weird interests. I just had to reach deeper and see the connections between super-heroes and other things: mythology, fables, legends and stories of all kinds.  

Yes, Virginia, there is a reason why you should hang on to childhood notions.

Writing bridges the gap between individuality and conformity. Writing enables me to express myself and to connect with others. Writing requires a great deal of conformity—grammar, usage, audience, purpose—but provides clear reasons and benefits for doing so (e.g., getting your message across in the most effective way possible). 

Writing also bridges the gap between rigged systems and individual paths to success. Nowhere is this more evident than in modern publishing. Many writers, burned or rejected by traditional publishers, have found ways to get their work before an audience through self-publishing. Writers have mastered the tools of the rigged game and turned those tools to their advantage.

Writing is simultaneously subversive and conformist: It gives practitioners the tools to accomplish whatever they wish. Write a cover letter, a resume, a short story, a novel, a poem, a comic book, an argument, a thesis, an explanation, a synthesis . . . it's all there: a masterpiece of words waiting to be crafted.

And though writing may not lead to fabulous wealth and independence (though it might), it often leads to something deeper and more fulfilling: a path to self discovery.

Are you a writer?  Go to The Positive Writer's blog and enter the contest.  Then post a link to your blog in the comments below so I can read your story.

The Power of Words, and How Not to Abuse Them on Facebook

Facebook logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As writers in the modern world, we are often encouraged to make ourselves known on social media outlets such as Facebook, so we can build a following, inform potential readers or our work, and “be relatable” (a necessary ingredient for building a following, it seems).  

All well and good, but there are some things writers and non-writers alike should avoid posting, even on Facebook.

Facebook, valuable sociological experiment as it is, can be virtual ground for vitriol.  Posters can say anything they like—and if it disparages politicians, those with different views, or religious organizations, so much, it seems, the better. 

After all, certain individuals and organizations lend themselves easily to mockery.

But before you go blasting away at your favorite target, ask yourself two simple questions: Would you say the same thing at a party filled with strangers or acquaintances, and how would you feel if someone you admired were subjected to similar attacks?

“But it’s just my opinion.”

A frequent defense for posting attacks is that the user is simply stating his or her opinion. The underlying assumption is that an opinion is basically harmless. But is this really so?  

Next time you post an attack on someone, delete that person's name and type in your own before you hit "post." How do you feel now about the post being made public?

Opinions carry weight. If you repeat something often enough, you run the risk of others thinking you know what you're talking about.

Besides, what often passes for opinion on Facebook is not well-thought out points of view but memes —those clever pictures with captions started by someone and so easily "shared" by the rest of us. 

I admit I’ve shared memes, too. Memes can be clever or funny ways of making a point. 

And there’s nothing wrong with creating memes or sharing them, unless the sole purpose for doing so is to ridicule someone or present something in a simplistic or distorted light.

Awhile back, one of the memes making its rounds on Facebook showed an image of Abraham Lincoln and featured a quote from him: “That I am not a member of any Christian church is true.” On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with this. Lincoln did say those words. But the meme presented them out of context and left it up to the reader to guess what Lincoln (and the person sharing the meme) meant. 

What are we supposed to take from Lincoln’s statement? That because he did not belong to a Christian church, we shouldn’t either? That Christianity is bad? The meme carries an air or authority behind it, but, by being purposely vague, it invites us to read into it anything we want.  

(For the record, Lincoln’s beliefs were mysterious and open to scholarly debate.)

Do you even know what that word means?

Another frequent form of attack is aimed at President Obama. Actually, FB is not alone in this. Media pundits who oppose Obama are fond of calling him a socialist or claiming that the United States is becoming more socialist under his administration. While Obama, like any politician, merits criticism on any number of fronts, socialism isn’t one of them.

People who hurl the “S” word often don’t know what it, in fact, means.  Rather, they use it as a scare tactic, as “Communist” once was used.

Furthermore, they seem oblivious to the fact that the U.S. already has policies which emphasize that “individuals do not live and work in isolation but live in cooperation with one another." You may have heard of Medicare, income tax, or even the U.S. military.

Yet some portray socialism as inherently bad and Obama as an evil man for foisting it upon us. If that is what you truly believe, fine. But please keep it to yourself.

(And, just to be fair, similar attacks on Republicans are no less execrable.)

Lighting a match

Opinions are wonderful. Everybody has them. And there’s nothing wrong with expressing yours on Facebook, but please do so responsibly.

My former uncle used to have a saying, which I will present in cleaned-up form: Opinions are like that part of your body which leaves behind solid waste—everyone has such an anatomical feature. 

To this, I add: No one likes it when you pass gas in public, and, if you do, don’t be surprised when someone else lights a match.

Writers: Why a Bad Review Can be Good for You

At 21, I wrote my first article for publication. It appeared in an issue of Comics Buyer’s Guide, a newspaper for comic book collectors and professionals. I was so proud of my achievement—my opinion piece, with the self-assured title, “How to Improve the Alternate Comics’ Success,” would convey my 21-year-old wisdom to up-and-coming publishers vying to compete with the Big Two, Marvel and DC.

There, for all the world to see, was my grand debut into the world of writing for and about comics.

But after the reviews came in, I wanted to hide under a slab of cement.

CBG, like many publications, printed “reviews” in the form of letters of comment (LOCs) written by readers of the publication. Only a few LOCers commented on my article, but those who did included two well-known comics writers. Both wrote the types of “alternate” comics whose success I wanted to improve.

They didn’t like my article.

They wrote at length to point out the fallacies in my logic and assumptions.

A subsequent LOCer (an up-and-coming artist) was even less charitable. He called my article “ignorant and pointless.”

But the worst of it was when CBG editors Don and Maggie Thompson explained in a reply to one of the LOCs why they chose to publish my article. It wasn’t because they found merit in my ideas but because the article represented an attitude they found all too common among comics fans: an unwillingness to try new titles that didn’t fit into our preconceived notions of what comics should be.

Ouch!

And yet the experience of being published and then criticized in print was one of the most helpful steps in my journey to becoming a writer.  

If your writing lands a negative review, consider yourself lucky. Here’s why:

Writing that Bleeds

Ernest Hemingway famously said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” What he meant, I think, is that writers open up their creative veins and expose every aspect of their inner selves to readers. This can mean exposing weaknesses that you, the writer, don't realize you have.

Writing involves coming face to face with your own limitations, as both a writer and as a human being.

Odd as it may sound, this Dorian Gray-like reflection can be a blessing for writers. It forces you to confront the two primary reasons why you got a bad review: either the audience didn’t “get” what you were trying to say or you have room to grow.

Are We on the Same Page?

The first reason why you got a bad review is probably because your audience didn’t understand your work or some aspect of it. This disconnection could be their fault, your fault, or both.

Some people, like certain comics fans described above, view your work through their own cloudy lens and judge it accordingly. Let’s face it: there’s nothing you can do about them.

But there is a lot you can do to make sure your work conveys what you want.

I am constantly learning there is a difference between how I intend for something to be read and how it is actually read. In my short story-in-progress, I had my protagonist—an 11-year-old girl—laugh after an embarrassing exchange with her school’s principal. But members of my writers group didn’t buy the laughter. They thought it was inconsistent with the character and inappropriate for her situation. 

I agreed; in my revision, she doesn’t laugh.

Why did I have her laugh in the first place? I was thinking she would be so glad to be told something (and, yes, I’m being vague) she didn’t want to happen would, in fact, not happen that she would laugh out of relief. But I had failed to convey that motive, and, upon discussing it with the other group members, I agreed that she wouldn’t respond that way at all.

Likewise, a bad review can point out inconsistencies and false assumptions in your writing. Of course, it’s always best if these things are pointed out to you before your work is published, but sometimes that doesn’t happen. You can only keep the lesson on file for next time.

Growing Pains

The second reason you got a bad review is probably because you need to grow as a writer. We all do—even writers who have published for decades are still learning the craft.

Growth, unfortunately, rarely comes from praise. While compliments are invaluable ego boosts for writers as well as indications of what we do well, compliments seldom call attention to our weaknesses.

Living in my own comic book bubble, I was blissfully unaware of how the comics industry actually worked and that creators of “alternate” comics held very different views than I did (since my views were shaped largely by Marvel and DC). Learning to appreciate such comics on their own merits instead of comparing them to something else was one of the most eye-opening experiences I’ve ever had.       

Your bad review may be an opportunity for you to learn from someone who is not invested in your work or who sees the subject matter very differently than you do.

Don’t Let a Bad Review Discourage You

But can’t bad reviews discourage you from writing altogether?

Of course they can. If you let them.

My first publishing experience taught me several positive lessons. First, it was gratifying that well-known comics professionals had read my work and taken it seriously enough to compose thoughtful responses. 

Second, it helped me see that my work and the attitudes it unknowingly represented were part of a larger continuum—a discussion between professionals and fans who all wanted the same thing: a healthy, vibrant comics industry.  (Whether or not we ever achieved that goal is the subject for another column.)

And third, it helped me realize that my ideas, which I thought were brilliant when I wrote the article, were in fact self-serving and ill-informed.

Rather than discouraging me, these lessons whetted my appetite for more . . . more publications, more dialogue, more growth . . . more writing.

So, if you are fortunate enough to receive an honest bad review (as opposed to a trollish one), thank the writer for taking the time to compose a thoughtful response and consider what you can learn from the experience. It’s okay to (privately) vent your feelings, too.

Share your thoughts in the comments below:  Have you ever had a bad review?

10 Things that Kill Writing—and How to Overcome Them

Call it writer’s block.  Call it fear.  Call it distraction.

Sometimes writers have trouble getting started or finishing what they’ve started.  It’s easy to understand why: Sooner or later, we subject our precious words to an audience which will pass some sort of judgment on them: they will like our words, loathe them, be indifferent to them, analyze and scrutinize them, or ignore them. Believing we must “get it right” can intimidate even the bravest of souls when it comes writing.

Here are 10 things that kill writing and some quick solutions for overcoming them:

 1. Worry.  Being a writer means you think about a lot of stuff, and thinking can lead to worry.  (This is better than the alternative, though: Not thinking is never a good thing.) While some concern is healthy, too much of it can immobilize you.

 

Solution: Identify precisely what is worrying you and make a list of possible scenarios, both good and bad. As Dale Carnegie said, prepare yourself for the worst that can happen and then imagine ways you can improve on the worst. If you write all this out, guess what—you're writing!

2. Procrastination.  This wordkiller whispers sweet nothings in your ear: “I’ll do it tomorrow.”  “I’m tired right now.”  “I have to be in the right frame of mind to write.” Procrastination is a way of fooling yourself into believing you’ll do the work later when you know you won’t.

Solution: Write. Right now.

3. “I have nothing to say.”  This wordkiller is a close relative of Worry.  It comes from the erroneous belief that you have nothing to contribute to your audience’s needs.

Solution: Recognize that everything you’ve experienced or imagined is unknown to someone, and, therefore, has value to that person. Do you know how to change a tire? Do you know what it feels like to be a child of divorced parents? Think your fictional story won't "help" anyone?  Think again. Look how Harry Potter inspired kids everywhere.

4. Ego.  The opposite of No. 3, this wordkiller takes the form of “My writing is perfect” or “There’s nothing wrong with my story.” Ego as a self-defense mechanism shields us from criticism. Often, though, it means writers think too highly of themselves.

Solution: Admit you’re not perfect. Distance yourself from your writing so you can look at it through another’s eyes.  Never take criticism personally.

5. Inattention to detail.  This wordkiller can take the form of anything from not knowing the difference between comma splices and semi-colons to not doing enough research.  It can involve failing to think through your character’s motivations or brushing off story structure, mechanics, and conventions.

Solution: Learn the tools of the trade. You wouldn’t trust a carpenter who didn’t know how to use a hammer to build your house, would you?

6. Over-attention to detail.  The opposite of No. 5, this wordkiller results in writers spending too much time searching for the perfect word or character name, or researching the weather patterns of some obscure time and place. Details are important, but focusing too much on them takes away from the time you spend writing.

Solution: When you come across a stumbling block in your story, leave a blank and move on.  Come back to the blank after you’ve had fresh insight or time to research.

7. Keeping it to yourself.  Writing is a form of communication, and communication can only happen between one person (you) and one or more others. Writing for yourself has value, but sooner or later you’ve got to share your writing with others. That’s what it’s for.

Solution: Join writing groups. Post online. Start a blog. Submit your work for publication. Get it out there.

8. Judging your book before it’s finished.  You write a line and think it’s crap. You’re halfway through the book and don’t like your character. The setting isn’t working.

Solution: Turn off your internal critic. Give yourself permission, as Anne Lamott says, to write a “shitty” first draft.

9. Judging your book after it’s finished.  Okay, you’ve made it through one or more drafts.   Now it’s crap.  While it’s important for writers to be honest with themselves, judging your efforts too harshly can give you the feeling you’ve done all this work for nothing.

Solution:  Avoid exaggerating your story’s flaws. Admit your work probably still needs some polishing, maybe even a rewrite, but buy yourself a bottle of wine for coming this far!  Embrace your story’s positive qualities.  If you’ve made an honest effort, there are some!

10. Not writing.  This is a no-brainer. If you don’t write, you can’t improve. Worse, you can’t unleash your wonderful ideas upon a starving world waiting for your words to enrich it.

Solution: See No. 2, above.

Wordkillers are sneaky, treacherous enemies. But recognizing them for what they are and taking a few simple steps to overcome them will help make your dreams a reality.

Can you identify other wordkillers?  How do you overcome them?

The Dirty D-Word of Writing

Imagine this: You’re hard at work on your story when a new idea jumps into your head, an idea which takes your new project in a whole new direction. Or an idea for a new project altogether. 

You can’t wait to see where this exciting new idea takes you.  It may even be The One which makes all your dreams come true.

So you stop what you’re working on and dive right in—only to find your new idea's tank has no water.  Or, worse, yet another new idea comes along and steals you away—again.

Ideas are wonderful, but writers who chase ideas risk derailing their projects or never finishing them.

That’s why writers need the dirty D-word—discipline.

If you’re like me, the word discipline conjures negative images of teachers standing over you with rulers, refusing to let you go to recess until you’ve learned your ABC’s.

And that’s unfortunate. Discipline is an indispensable tool for writers. 

Discipline means

•                 you stay focused
•                 you finish the project at hand
•                 you refuse to get sidelined by other projects or concerns
•                 you believe in yourself and your work.

And that’s it. That’s really all discipline entails.

Sure, discipline may include setting a particular time and place to write or observing other rituals. But rituals vary from writer to writer and don’t have to be boring. (My blogging ritual, for example, involves walking to a certain restaurant and writing while eating a good breakfast. But I’m flexible—I do this on either Friday or Saturday.)

Discipline means you say no to your inner child (or inner dreamer or inner critic or whatever metaphor works for you). It’s okay. Your inner child can take it. She may scream and holler and pitch a fit, but she’ll get over it. And she’ll be better equipped to come up with ideas you can use once she realizes you’re serious.

Discipline means you trust the good ideas—the really good ones—won’t get away.  Ideas are like falling in love. The really good ones stick in the back of your mind after the initial excitement wears off.

Discipline means you do the hard work. Let’s face it: Writing is hard. I know, I know . . .writing is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be the thing we do so we don’t have to go out and get real jobs.

But if you hold fast to that attitude, you’ll never do any hard work—at least not without a fast food manager looking over your shoulder.

In writing, discipline means you get to be both manager and employee—but you have to be tough in each role.

Discipline means you finish what you started. Your project doesn’t seem feasible now? It entails tasks you never thought of (such as research, marketing, cover design)? You’ve got so many things going on—children to feed, bills to pay, laundry?

So what? So does every writer who’s ever “made it”. (Read Stephen King’s On Writing or Rick Bragg’s All Over but the Shoutin’ for first-hand accounts of their struggles to write for a living.)

And your struggle to finish what you started can be a good thing. Overcoming distractions and meeting challenges which lead to growth are what most stories are about. Your personal struggles give you something to write about or add authenticity to what you’ve already written.

Discipline, in other words, helps you do two things: 1) know when an idea is worth pursuing, and 2) realize it.

So, go ahead. Use the dirty D-word. Pass it on.

 How do you discipline yourself as a writer?

Does Your Story Write Itself?

Writing (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Writing stories, someone once said, is like raising a child. You, the author-parent, set out with dreams of where you want to story to go, what you want it to accomplish, who it's going to meet, and how it’s going to “turn out.”

But stories, like children, have minds of their own.

They take detours. They explore dangerous places. They bring home uninvited guests.

What’s a good author-parent to do?

I’m currently trying to figure this one out. Three-quarters of the way through the second revision of my novel-in-progess, The Power Club™, a new character has entered the story.This character was in earlier drafts, but he just didn’t fit into this one, so he was omitted.

But, suddenly, there he is again.

By bringing back this uninvited guest, my story is starting to assert its independence.

Sometimes, this can be a good thing; other times, not. Writers should always be in control of their stories. A grad school professor once told me that when a story “writes itself,” it's a sign the author hasn't thought it through carefully. 

And yet sometimes those unexpected detours and uninvited guests can be the best thing about the story.

Back when I was working on my comic book, Gold Dust, I introduced a minor character who appears for one panel. A short time later, when I had the opportunity to write a story for an anthology that was never published, I decided to use my minor character. At this point, I still had no idea who she was or her motivation.

But as I was writing the story, she told me who she was—and her background and setting worked well with the end-of-the-world story I was telling.

(And, yes, I am being purposefully vague.  There’s always the hope of publishing that story some day.)

Characters, of course, don’t actually talk to writers—though it doesn’t hurt to believe they can. Writing usually involves your subconscious working itself out through your characters.

The lesson I took from this was to let my stories live and breathe.  Let them explore their world, but hang back and make sure they don’t stray too far. 

Naturally, this entails judgment and guesswork. How do you know when a story is straying too far from its original purpose? You don’t—though repeated practice can develop your sense of what might work and what definitely will not.

I’m not sure if I’m going to keep the “uninvited guest," but I’ll let him stick around for awhile and see what develops.

What about you?  What do you do when your story writes itself?

If you like this article, you may also like:

• "How to Stop Procrastinating: Trust the Writing Process"
• "Arguing with Sharks: Overcoming Your Writing Fears"
• "Letting the Fiction Take Over: How to Turn Your Reality into Fiction"