Let this be an exploration of the line that separates the common man — the guy who “has a book in him” but never manages to puke it up — from the hard-working, trench-crawling penmonkey. We are separated by a line of shattered excuses and incomplete narrative. On this side, action. On that side, passivity.
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I find it instructive to shine a light in dark spaces. It’s probably annoying. But, too bad. Here I am, once more kicking over logs inside the writer’s mind and seeing what squirmy little wormlets lurk underneath. Let’s tackle some more writing myths, shall we?
Angry Robot Books is going to publish my novel, BLACKBIRDS. I’ll let that sink in. They’re also going to publish its followup, tentatively titled, MOCKINGBIRD. I’ll let that sink in, too. That sound? The one you hear? Not just in your ear, but in the deep squishy pockets of your mind? Yeah. That’s me. Screaming with mirth.
You might be saying, “Chuck’s just trying to thin the herd.” Well, duh. I’m not just trying to get the dilettantes out of my way — I’m hoping maybe I get lucky and convince a few of you actually-talented-sumbitches to give up the ghost, too. C’mon. We can’t all be writers. Am I right?
“No seriously, he’s not fucking around, you really don’t want to be a writer. But if you’re mad enough to decide that you do, Wendig will be your gonzo-esque guide, from the technical advice about structure, query letters and submissions, to dealing with agents and editors and how to make your characters do as they’re […]
“Wendig will be your gonzo-esque guide, from the technical advice about structure, query letters and submissions, to dealing with agents and editors and how to make your characters do as they’re damn well told. Like a cursing, booze-soaked Virgil to your Dante, let him show you around. Buy this book, your editor will thank you.”
