Category: The Ramble (page 175 of 478)

If you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, you’ll know I’m a bit of a runner. Have been for a long time. I’ve been running the odd 5Ks here and there, but I wanted to really reach for a goal. A full marathon, I’ve accepted, is just not in the cards for me. I will never have that kind of time to train. Not on a writer’s schedule. But a half-marathon? Yeah, that felt right. Something I could train for.

Here’s the thing about half-marathons, something I learned around Mile Marker 4. You are going to run. A lot. For the same length of time as an average summer blockbuster movie. So with a lot of time and a lot of running ahead of myself, I focused on trying to find a zone where I wouldn’t worry about the mileage…

…and wouldn’t you know it, over the thirteen-point-one miles of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge Half-Marathon, I came across a few connections between this half and my own writing career.

Don’t Mind Others. This is Your Career. Not theirs.

For the first handful of miles, all of us were running to the left. I wasn’t sure why until I saw just shy of Mile Marker 4 a police car coming in the opposite direction. I heard a runner behind me say, “Here comes the lead.” The pace car passed us, and right behind it was a guy easily keeping an 8-minute mile and he was showing no signs of stopping. Same for the runner only a few hundred yards behind him, and the pair of runners behind him by a quarter-mile or so. I was one of the runners cheering them all on before getting back to my own run, watching some continue to pound the pavement ahead of me while others needed to walk it out. Now those people in the lead? Those are your Neil Gaimans, your Chuck Wendigs, your Elizabeth Bears, and your Delilah S. Dawsons. They are setting the pace for the rest of us, but that doesn’t mean you compare yourself to them. You don’t say “I must suck at writing because I’m not there.” The pace setters never start at the head of the pack. They train for that shit with each book. They hit personal bests on sunny days. They slog through to the end on the worst. They focus on the story in front of them, not the stories and storytellers around them. As Chuck would say, you do you.

Set a pace. Stick with it.

This race would be the first time I would ever be running any distance taking on double digits. Race rules stipulated “You’re committing to finishing the race at a time less than 15-minutes a mile.” I found that maintaining a ten-minute mile was hard. I could easily pick up the pace, sure, but I was only at Mile Marker 5. Eight to go. No, I wanted to end this race strong, not stumbling across the finish line. Any of this sound familiar? Because it should. You want to finish that book in you, but if you try and shit out a metric fuckton of words you might find yourself struggling just to type out “It was a dark and stormy night…” the following day. Same goes for that pledge of “I’m going to hammer out 2000 words tonight…” only to hit those writing blocks where you may score only 500 words at the end of the day, 750 the next. You might start feeling a little disheartened. This is why setting a pace is so important. Maybe “2000 words a day” is good goal to shoot for, but start off with a 500-word count. Keep with that for a month. Get into a constant, consistent zone of productivity. Remember, this is a long game we’re playing. Not a sprint.

Step up that pace when you’re ready.

At Mile Marker 9 I checked my average pace and had slipped a few seconds. I was still feeling good though, considering this is the farthest I had ever run. I knew if I could keep this pace, I would have enough in the tank for finishing at a confident stride. From the writer’s perspective, this is what you work towards—a pace that, once you got it down, can pick up. Roughly a month later of consistently hitting, if not shattering, that 500-word goal, push your count to 1000 words. Then stick with that regimen for a spell. Then, if the consistency is there, raise your regimen by another 250 or 500 words. Pace makes a difference in your progress; but when you have it down, raise the bar and step it up. You will want to finish strong.

Never stop pushing yourself.

When I hit Mile Marker 10, I had hit a serious milestone. If I was lucky, I would finish the race in two hours-fifteen minutes. If I was lucky. At this point, all that was left was three miles. Roughly five kilometers. My feet and legs were wanting a bit of a break, but I only had three miles to go. Fuck it. I’m all in. No different than when you challenge yourself in your writing. Once upon a time, I didn’t do short stories. I couldn’t keep it tight like short stories demand you do. Now, I’m cranking them out every season with Tales from the Archives and editing anthologies. Once upon a time, I was working a novel a year. In 2016 alone, I’ve got two novels, a novella, and a new season of short stories to launch. While you have to set a pace, you should strive to push yourself to be better, to work harder, to write better.

Fucking Finish the Damn Race.

It was an incline. A long, slow incline. At Mile Marker 11. Well, fuck me running. Literally. I made it 11.25 miles and my body finally said, “Walk. Now.” So I walked for roughly a quarter of a mile. Yes, I was frustrated. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was seriously thinking about just sucking up my pride and walking it out to the end. I watched the distance tick off, did the math in my head, and said to myself “Finish this. Finish this before two hours and thirty minutes. Finish the fucking race.” At 11.5 I started running again. I didn’t feel graceful, I didn’t feel powerful, but goddammit I was running again. Regardless of the 30-degree incline ahead, regardless of the pain, regardless of the lost time, I pushed on. Rounding the corner, I was off the Woodrow Wilson Bridge and saw the finish line ahead. My time on crossing—2:22:53. My wife, Pip, had never been so proud of me, not even after we hit Number #1 on three of Amazon’s Steampunk lists only two days prior. That—right there—is so important to your writing career. Your novel, novella, or short story, remains nothing more than an idea and words on paper until you finish it. Finish that story. Finish strong. Finish confident. Fucking finish the story.

The Wilson Half was an amazing experience, but I remember getting home, fired up to write. Honestly, I can’t remember if I did or not. There was a lot of napping and re-hydration after I got home. Still, would I do it again? Yes. Oh hell, yes! Running a half-marathon offered me a lot of perspective on this crazy career as a writer.

Plus, I’ve got to step it up my regimen. Considering what Jim Hines, Chuck, and I have agreed to do for charity, we need to look our best for whatever ridiculous pose people vote for us to recreate.

Lace up, gents. We got some miles to shred.

Hanna is a 1st gen American of German immigrant parents. When WWII breaks out, she seeks to prove her allegiance to the U.S. After rigorous training at Camp X (Google it!), she becomes a spy. Our graphic novel opens in early 1945. Hanna’s assignment? Take a German officer from Munich to Genoa — avoiding the Nazis, the Russians, the Americans. Why? Well, maybe this assignment isn’t exactly ‘authorized’…

Ever see a movie with a know-it-all?

If you haven’t, you probably are that know-it-all. If so, you relish pointing out every inconsistency possible. “There were no such things as chastity belts.” “Eva Peron was a terrible person who didn’t sing with a suitcase.” “No way Braveheart banged the Princess of Wales. He would have smelled like a farting Shetland pony.”

So… I’m one of those know-it-alls. And it can be delightful to point out discrepancies, misinterpretations and general fuck-ups in historical adaptations.

But what if you’re on the other side of it? Do writers really not know their history? Did they not spend months and years researching? Are they inept morons?

OK, probably some of them are. But as someone who’s written five projects based on real events – each with its own historic inaccuracies – I can tell you, most of us make deliberate decisions to benefit the overall story.

Why do we do this? Well, there’s a lot of boring shit that’s happened in 3,000 years. A helluva lot of waiting in doctor’s offices. Blow-drying hair. Scooping kitty litter. Watching CSPAN…

So here are five criteria I use to determine whether to break with documented history. Use and abuse at your own peril.

1. Pace

From moment-to-moment are you keeping the reader engaged?

A reader must want to know what happens next. If you lose this, pages stop turning. The overwhelming majority of stories already truncate time to some degree, so ask yourself if a minute, inessential historical detail pushes the reader forward or stops him in his tracks.

2. Space

Can your overall narrative survive going off on Dostoyevskian tangents?

You may be keeping readers reasonably engaged from moment-to-moment, but most of them have overarching expectations for a narrative and how it should move. It’s possible, if you’re Steinbeck, you can get away with an entire chapter on a turtle early in your narrative. However my guess is that, you, Sir, are no John Steinbeck.

Mostly, tangents work more like the begets and begots of Genesis. You see how crazy long the Bible is… and how you’re only on Chapter 5 of the first book… and, yeah, I think I’ll watch Orphan Black.

3. Interest

Does adding accuracy add interest?

In my screenplay for about the 1924 teenage thrill killers Leopold and Loeb, I tried to scrupulously follow the recorded history. But at times, in order to do so, I’d be adding scenes unnecessary to the plot – which would have slowed the tempo, added money to the budget and been, well, tedious.

For example, in real life, when the ransom call for their victim came in, only the mother was at home. This seems odd as if my child were kidnapped, certainly my partner and I would BOTH be there waiting for the call. Therefore, to be accurate to history, I would either need to 1.) leave the audience wondering where Dad is or 2.) show where Dad is – which was at his hoity-toity gentleman’s club seeking more information (which he didn’t find).

Did that last graph put you to sleep? Exactly.

So in the script, Dad and Mom are together to get the call – there’s no unnecessary scene and no weird questions in viewers heads. But it’s not accurate.

4. Room for interpretation

Do we even know the established history is accurate?

This question came up when I was working on a project about the Borgias. So anything before recorded times – and I mean film, vinyl, photograph, sex tape – is potentially suspect. Especially when it comes to European history during the Renaissance.

Basically, the people writing shit down were either paid by the subjects themselves or by people who loathed the subjects with the passion of a thousand suns.

So which is accurate? Probably neither.

5. Intent

Have you stayed true to the event / character it/herself?

In my latest project, a graphic novel called RATLINE, an OSS agent is tasked with transporting a Nazi out of the shit-show that was central Europe in the waning days of World War II. She’s instructed to avoid all of the armies, including our own, in order to sneak this dude out.

IRL, the U.S. DID have an official, top secret operation called BLOODSTONE in which we enlisted known Nazi war criminals to help us in our post-war struggle with the Russians.

There were also things called “ratlines” that operated like an Underground Railroad for escaping war criminals.

Now there is no evidence that they were as operational as I made them in April/May of 1945. And there is no evidence a U.S. agent ever escorted a Nazi through them. But possible? Hell yes. And true to historical intent.

* * *

Bottom line: With every choice, ask yourself does the “reality” of this contribute to the overall understanding of the narrative / story / philosophy? Does the absence of it invalidate the history?

Bottom bottom line: Writers usually know the history they’re messing with.

Bottom bottom bottom line: Did you make it this far?

Katie Fetting is a screenwriter and aspiring graphic novelist whose first graphic novel RATLINE with illustrator Mark Rehill is currently in the midst of an IndieGogo crowdfunding campaign. Those who donate will get into heaven.*

*No money back guarantee.

GET IT

CURRANT AFFAIRS

BECAUSE IT’S A CUP

OF CURRANTS

GET IT

okay, shut up.

ICYMI: new book deal announcement!

Happy Monday, y’all.

Psst.

Yeah, you.

*pulls off werewolf mask*

Click here.

See in the comments? People have written scary stories — or, rather, the first part of a scary story. Your job now is to continue the tale. Grab one you like and write PART TWO of it —

But once again: do not end it. You are not to conclude the story! But rather, leave it open.

Write part two at your online space, but please make sure in your tale to link to the first part.

Your second chapter is due by Friday, October 21st, noon EST.

Length should be ~1000 words.

GO FORTH AND BE SCARY.

HEY, LOOK, A BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT.

From Publishers Marketplace:

NYT-bestselling author Chuck Wendig’s EXEUNT, a post-apocalyptic novel pitched as in the vein of THE STAND about a mysterious event in which a thousand people begin walking together to the same unknown destination — and the loved ones who follow along to protect them, and a second untitled novel, to Tricia Narwani at Del Rey, by Stacia Decker at Dunow, Carlson & Lerner.

I am very excited about this.

I am so geeked to be continuing my relationship with Del Rey, and especially with Tricia, who is aces. (Tricia helped edit Three Slices, which contains the Miriam Black novella, Interlude: Swallow, and also contains stories by Kevin Hearne and Delilah S. Dawson.) Exeunt is a book that’s been juggling around my brain for several years now, and only recently did it kind of coalesce into a proper novel. It’ll be epic and scary and ahhh. I hope you like it. See you in 2018.

His mind can save the world, if she can save him from the human race… 

The Shield is Earth’s only defence. Rendering the planet invisible from space, it keeps humanity safe from alien invasion. The Actives maintain the shield – no one is sure how – but without them, the Shield cannot function.

When an Active called Tobe finds himself caught in a probability loop, the Shield is compromised. Soon, Tobe’s malady spreads among the Active. Earth becomes vulnerable.

Tobe’s assistant, Metoo, is only interested in his wellbeing. Earth security’s paramount concern is the preservation of the Shield. As Metoo strives to prevent Tobe’s masters from undermining his fragile equilibrium, the global danger escalates.

The Shield must be maintained at all costs…

* * *

Just how obsessive I can become.

I’ve never been a writer who writes every day. I know that’s what writers are supposed to do… I’ve seen the rules. I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re going to write, you might want to make your own rules.

I’ve always written in fits and starts, but when I get started I can’t stop. That might have been one of the things that prevented me from finishing longer pieces of fiction before I wrote ‘Savant’. I used to force myself to stop.

The writing starts slow, but, boy, when I hit my stride there’s no stopping me. Literally, nothing stops me writing. If I wake up clear-headed, I might even write all day without once thinking about getting out of my PJs. And when I say ‘all day’, I do mean sixteen or eighteen hours a day, sometimes for weeks. Towards the end of a book, I can write fifteen thousand words in a session. The hoovering doesn’t get done, and I forget to eat, but it turns out, that’s OK, because the faster I write, the faster it’s all over. I also discovered that I live with people who can fend for themselves, perfectly well.

What comes before informs what comes afterwards.

Not only do I not need a plot before I begin a novel, I don’t want one. When I began ‘Savant’, all I had in mind was a theme. I wanted to write about unconditional love. If I’d plotted that book, it would’ve been very different from the one I ended up with. Of course, having so little at the outset meant I had to be patient with the process. I spent a lot of time going back, changing things around, and rewriting the first third of the novel. But, during that period, the characters grew, the world emerged, and the theme took a new turn. The book evolved during the writing process, and that, for me, at least, feels like a good thing.

Not everybody will understand what you’re doing, but that’s OK.

I learned this over a long period of time, longer, probably, than it needed to be. The first few people who saw ‘Savant’, including a writer, a reader, a publisher and my first agent didn’t get it. I assumed that meant it wasn’t good. When the book fell, almost by accident, into Jonathan Oliver’s hands, he was the first person in six years to get excited about it.

That I had a novel in a folder on my desktop for six years was my own fault. I should have shown it to more people sooner. Have a little confidence. Trust what you’re doing. Knock on doors, and keep knocking.

Keyboard skills are important.

I learned to touch type when I was eight or nine (don’t ask). I can type a hundred words a minute, accurately, when I’m in full flow. I hadn’t realised what an asset that could be until I was churning out scads of words every day of the last week or two of writing this novel. It’s pretty tough to write fifteen thousand words a day. I couldn’t have done it if I wasn’t able to type. I guess It’s like driving a car; if you want to go faster or master tricky manoeuvres, it’s a good idea to be well practiced in handling those pedals and that gearstick.

There’s irony in the fact that we all use keyboards, all the time, but few of us take typing classes.

You can’t write for an audience.

Or, at least, you can, and I do, regularly. I’ve written tie-in fiction, but there’s a certain discipline in that: knowing the IP, plotting, re-plotting… It’s about giving the client what he wants.

Writing independent fiction isn’t like that at all. If I’d had an audience in mind while writing this book, I think I would’ve been missing the point. I wrote the book I wanted to write. I told the story that I wanted to tell. I did what mattered to me. I gave no thought to the audience… Any audience. I didn’t think about impressing an agent or a publisher, and I didn’t think about the reader.

In the movie, ‘Field of Dreams’, Kevin Costner’s character, Ray, hears a mysterious voice. It tells him, “If you build it he will come.” This is regularly misquoted as “If you build it they will come.” And, it’s misquoted for a reason.

No writer should be compromised, and neither should any artist. Feedback comes in so thick and fast in the internet age that it’s tough for a writer, for any artist, to ignore that stuff. A first time novelist doesn’t need to have that on his or her radar. No one is breathing down anyone’s neck. I know established writers and artists who are forever being told by their audiences what should come next.

The point of the writer must always be the reader. I get that. I say it all the time. Here’s the thing, though: No writer has more freedom than the first-time novelist. Nobody is trying to mould that story; nobody has a vested interest in it, yet. That isn’t true of second and subsequent novels.

I was lucky to learn this while writing ‘Savant’, because I was already in the industry. I tried to take advantage, to write what I wanted to write, and not what others might want me to write, or what they might expect from an SF novel. I urge all first time writers to enjoy that freedom.

Nik Abnett: Website | Twitter

Savant: Amazon | B&N | Kobo