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Showing posts from February, 2016

Dreams

One of the oddities of nature is that dreams are difficult to remember.  More’s the pity since dreams would often make the basis of good stories.  The few I can remember, anyway. I have an odd schedule.  Being a commuter, I’m in bed by the time most people are waking up after the drudgery of work.  When I awake, it is what others call “the middle of the night.”  For whatever reason, I seldom remember dreams. There’s a notebook beside my bed.  There’s one in my pocket while waking.  I even used to have on on the wall of the shower.  Even so, capturing dreams has remained elusive. Scientists tell us that the parts of the brain that record memories—like the record button on a video camera or phone—are disengaged while dreaming.  It is as if our brain says, “you’re gonna enjoy this, but won’t remember a thing.” The dreams I do remember are beset by a crazy logic where the story just doesn’t add up.  We all dream, so I’m sure you know what I mean.  Deep in that unconscious

Mindset

I write both short stories and novels.  This is not unusual for a writer because different ideas play themselves out at different lengths.  Indeed, the division is artificial.  Edgar Allan Poe famously opined that a short story should be unified by mood and short enough to read in one sitting. A novel is a long-term commitment.  Or at least an affair that lasts more than a one-night stand.  Your characters have time to get to know one another “on screen” and the tale might get very complicated. It is difficult to come off of a novel into a short story, I find.  Going the other way around isn’t nearly so much of a let-down.  A story, after all, may develop into a novel.  Few novels can exist in the few words allotted to the short story. I’ve been working on my Medusa novel.  I’m about to start sending more letters of inquiry, and I’ve pretty much finished with the current round of polishing.  During my daily writing time, I turn back to stories I haven’t finished.  My

LOL

Having gone back to my Medusa novel for the umpteenth time, I find myself still proud of it.  Every great once in a while, a writer produces something that s/he knows is very good, and worthy of publication.  Of course, the publishers hold all of the cards. I went back to the drawing board to look for publishers who will consider literary humor.  It’s not a large coterie, but, at the same time, there is an embarrassment of riches.  Lots of publishers claim to be interested in humor.  Look at their offerings, however, and a different story emerges. People like to laugh.  I read humorous novels frequently.  Finding a publisher, however, may require an agent.  Agents are more standoffish than publishers are.  Most won’t even acknowledge a query.  Their websites are outdated, and they have no interest in an author without name recognition. A disturbing number of independent publishers, I see, now only accept agented submissions. No wonder the world is so grim.  People need

Old Movies

As a writer, I know that creativity begets creativity.  Since I only discuss my pseudonymous writing with a few friends, I have to experience creative intercourse elsewhere as well.  Reading, of course.  But old movies sometimes help. Movies are stories.  A friend was once surprised when I mentioned movies as an intellectual pursuit.  They can be that, but they can also be a fairly quick way to digest a story.  Reading a novel will take, generally, several days.  A movie a couple of hours. Why old movies?  I do like current movies.  Some of them can be thought-provoking, such as The Matrix, or any of the Planet of the Apes franchise.  Still, old movies often rely on good writing.  Special effects couldn’t substitute for lack of story in the old days. For example, I watched Casablanca at the suggestion of my friend Steve.  I was struck not only by how many classic lines it had, but by the fact that the dialogue was witty, intelligent, and entertaining.  Old movies often

Writer Beware

I don’t know about you, but the I’ve always been told that publishers don’t want novels that make readers do the work.  We, the writers, must accommodate them, explaining ourselves, “writing to the end user,” and dumbing down intellectual content.  My novels are intelligent, I hope, but accessible, I pray. Clearly this bit of publishing boilerplate doesn’t apply to everyone.  I recently finished reading Empty Space: A Haunting , by M. John Harrison.  I do enjoy ghost stories, and this may have been one, I think.  I’m not really sure what it was. I had to work for this novel. The book had been recommended to me on a list of scary books.  It’s hard to be scared when you can’t figure out what’s going on.  My confusion settled in almost immediately.  Lingo, jargon, and the use of words in ways I didn’t recognize made the action, if any, difficult to discern. The characters were interesting—memorable even.  It was depressing when one of them died.  Still, I kept won