Skip to main content

Keeping It Real

Since those of you reading this don't know me, you'll have to take my word for it.  I'm not an arrogant person. In fact, I tend to be very hard on myself and undervalue what I accomplish.  Still, I do think a lot.

I often wonder about writers who think a lot and how they make believable characters who don't.  This may be why I have trouble finding publishers—although my characters aren’t Mary Sues, they tend to be smart and tend to think things through.

In my head I know that many people react on impulse and don't think of consequences.  Would crime be an issue, for example, if people thought through the likely outcome?  I have trouble turning it off though.  When my characters do something illogical it tends to be extreme.

Bipolar isn't likely an accurate description, but I do tend to be depressed a lot and very happy at other times.  I find that I write better when I'm depressed, probably because it's a form of therapy.  When I'm down, however, I can't think of why anybody would do something illogical.

It's when I'm in a good head-space that I can think of the subtle things that would be interesting in the context of a story.  I have trouble writing, however, when things are not bothering me.



Don't get me wrong, I write every day.  In some form or other I put time into my craft.  I have to soldier through, no matter how I feel.  But I'm not sure how other people do it.

This seems to me the dilemma of the writer.  I don't talk to other people on a regular basis.  I don't get to ask them how they would think through a situation.  Worse yet, the people I do talk to don't know that I write.


Writing alone is difficult.  I'm stuck in my own head.  Still, I can't write in a crowd.  Perhaps this is the writer's ultimate dilemma.  We have to live in at least two different worlds.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dusty

  My, this thing is dusty.   My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic.   No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third.   With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give.   Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out.   I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again.   I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut?   My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago.   Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction.   Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up.   I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best.   When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Too Much Writing?

  Has this ever happened to you?   Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot?   Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable?   I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania.   I write constantly.   I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it.   It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection).   Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process.   There are far too many (mostly in process).   When I finish a story I often submit it.   If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting.   I often rewrite at this stage.   Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded.   There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.”   I don’t remember this story.   I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

Novel Idea

I’ve been thinking that this blog could use a little attention.   My problem is—well, one of my problems—I lead a double life.   I write fiction under a pseudonym because my real nym is tied to a respectable job.   So it goes. One of the solutions to my double life is that I could start putting some fiction on this blog.   Good idea or no?   I have a novel on which I’m working and it won’t likely find a publisher, so I could start pasting it here, in serial form. On the other hand of my double life I have a nonfiction book under my nonfiction name that is currently due at the publisher’s.   I need to spend time on that too, and I have a job.   And the lawn isn’t going to mow itself. So I’m thinking that instead of neglecting this poor, but truly loved, child of a blog, maybe I could feed it fiction.   That would at least keep it alive.   Right now it’s like a cactus, getting water only a few times a year.   Is that a mixed metaphor?   Can water be food? When dail