So, as you may know, I’ve been running.

For about a year now.

I like it.

(Cue the peanut gallery asking that question, WHAT ARE YOU RUNNING FROM, to which I respond, THE INEVITABLE EMBRACE OF THE REAPER, thanks.)

I think it’s time to incorporate some strength training alongside of it.

Here’s the thing, though. Whenever I try to BECOME STRONG LIKE BULL, I seem to cause myself some pain. Not significant pain, but the day or two after doing upper body, f’rex, I seem to suffer neckaches and headaches. Anything below that? Backaches.

Which tells me I probably need to strengthen my neck, back, and maybe my core?

(“Core” always makes me think I have some hot molten sphere in my middle.)

(Or maybe just nougat.)

(…okay, probably nougat.)

So: ADVISE ME.

On all of this. Anything. Everything.

DO SO NOW OR I RELEASE THE IMPS

*rattles imp-cage door as if to threaten*

Last week’s challenge: Superheroes Plus!

This week’s challenge is an old favorite — one that’s easy to describe, yet difficult in execution.

I want you to write a single story in three sentences.

Not a snapshot. Not a vignette. A complete story. Beginning, middle, and end.

Three sentences.

Easy to half-ass — but challenging to execute with elegance and power.

But, life’s too short not to give it a go, so: you are challenged.

*throws down glove*

*fires starting pistol*

*Tasers you or whatever*

Ahem.

The way to do this is easy:

Go to the comments below and write your three sentence story directly into a comment. Shorter is better than longer — if your story hits 100 words, you might wanna rethink the length.

Think about plot, rhythm, character.

Contained in the small package of three sentences.

I’ll pick an unnumbered handful of ones I like, and to those I dig, I’ll toss digital codes for all my writing-related e-books (with the exception of The Kick-Ass Writer, which is not mine to automatically distribute for free).

You get one entry only. Multiple entries disqualifies you.

Some loose suggestions:

Check your spelling.

Don’t be cliche.

Read other people’s entries so you don’t replicate them.

Write it in a word processor first. Give it edits before posting.

Do not settle for mediocrity.

The story is due by next Friday, August 1st, at noon EST.

WINNERS

Okay, the winners are (correct me if I have this wrong):

Momdude!

Ellsimp!

Andrew F. Butters!

Martin Wells!

Ryan Nolte!

You folks:

Email me at terribleminds at gmail dot com. Congrats!

Apparently, the HWA (Horror Writers’ Association) now allows self-published authors.

Qualifications are:

Self-publishers who have generated $2000 in earnings within two years of initial publication date can qualify for Active (voting) status.  Those who have earned $200 within two years of initial publication date can qualify for Associate status.  More details can be found at http://horror.org/joining-the-hwa/  (please note the criteria have not yet been updated).

That seems inline with what they ask of other authors, mostly.

I’ve already seen a few twitches and paroxysms of people who are I guess afraid the barbarians have crashed the gates — but, y’know, if you’re selling two grand with some self-published work, you’re a professional writer. Y’all is bona fide. One also shouldn’t be too high on the quality of work found inside the HWA — it consists of some amazing authors and books, but I’ve also seen some HWA-author books are are somewhat… below par in terms of quality. This won’t bring down the quality level. Given some of the work I’ve seen done by indie horror authors, I like to think we’ll see better work being done, not worse.

It’s perhaps worth the confession: I used to be a member of the HWA. I wanted to be a member since I decided I wanted to be a (horror) writer, since so many of my writing idols had been associated with it (McCammon, Lansdale, Koontz) and was like, eeeee, that means I’m official, and so I joined having written a lot of RPG horror work. It was nice enough, I guess, but didn’t seem to… do much except kind of inundate me with people trying to get me to read their horror books or vote for them come Stoker time. This was many moons ago, mind you, so I have no idea what the organization is like these days, other than I know some fine people who are in it and think it’s valuable, and some people who have jettisoned themselves from its ranks because reasons X, Y, Z.

Anyway, whatever. Hopefully more writerly organizations will allow author-publishers. Sure, yes, I’m critical of the quality problem sometimes found inside the vaunted halls of self-publishing (I have been known to refer to it as a “shit volcano“), but I think author-publishers moving more into an officially professional capacity is wise. I think it ups the game and offers a new axis of community. And it also drops some of the (ahem cough cough increasingly imaginary) walls that separate author-publishers from traditional-publishers and hopefully helps everyone tell better stories and make better business decisions when doing so.

Blah blah blah, a rising tide lifts all boats. And stuff.

Though again, that assumes the HWA is a healthy writers’ organization, a fact to which I cannot attest. (Are they still cranky there about not allowing in horror-adjacent works like urban fantasy and such? Because that’s a shame, if so.)

SFWA: your turn, next?

Here’s a guest post by Ben LeRoy, who I offered the chance to correct some language that goes around in the often very silly self-pub versus trad-pub slap-fight (I say silly because, wait, why aren’t we all high-fiving each other again for being bad-ass authors with stories to tell?). Ben is the publisher behind Tyrus Books, and blogs about publishing and his many other adventures (I think last week he was in Alaska living inside the chest of a mother grizzly bear as she tended to her cubs). He, with others, blogs at: “Hey, There’s A Dead Guy In The Living Room.”

Can we at least get some things straight if we’re going to have a talk?

There seems to be a misunderstanding floating around (if Chuck’s Facebook wall is any indication). Let’s rap a little about this and see if we can’t establish some facts, clarity, and common language in an effort to kill misinformation and speculation. All of the shouting and flailing about in the public square is, to be frank, a waste of time, and does nothing more than pour gasoline on what would have been an otherwise fine bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

Some folks are jazzed about Amazon’s KDP Select. Awesome. I’m sure there are plenty of advantages you might find there — increased royalty rate, the ability to make your own cover, the freedom to leave your words the way you want them, etc. etc. etc. You’ve all heard the commercial, you’ve all got your stance. I am not here to dissuade you, even in the slightest from your inclinations. Why not? Because (1) that’s your business and you have to do what works best for you, and (2) I’ve got a whole lot of other shit I’m thinking about in my life and this issue isn’t really registering on my radar machine.

That said, there seems to be some confusion and misinformation regarding an issue that isn’t really a matter of opinion as much as it is fact, and I think it behooves us all to have a clear understanding.

One of the advantages somebody threw out for KDP Select as opposed to a Historically Entrenched Publishing Company (if people are going to start making up names for things, I want in on the action, so welcome to HEP C, motherfuckers) is that with KDP Select, the author had much more flexibility with his/her rights. Example in paraphrase.

KDP Select Fan: “If after three months I don’t want to be going steady with this gal, I can take my promise ring and go elsewhere,  but trad (oh, I loathe that shorthand) publishing owns my literary allures for my whole life + 70 years.”

When I see a phrase like, “life + 70 years” in the context of a publishing discussion, I assume were talking about copyright. Publishers (except in cases of work for hire and/or unscrupulous scam artists) don’t own copyright. That’s an honor and legal responsibility given to the creator of a work. Once that paperwork has been put into the filing cabinet at the Copyright Office, the author has copyright protection in his/her work for the rest of his/her days and then, even in the ghostly domain, his/her heirs retain that promise ring on this Earthly coil for another 70 years.

So what does that mean exactly? This business of owning the copyright? Does somebody participating in KDP Select have copyright? What about his HEP C neighbor? Does he too have copyright protection?

Having a work copyrighted in your name means that you, as the ring holder, have the legal standing to license and sell the rights to the work (be it print, film, music, key chains and frisbees, etc.) to people who are in a position to exploit those rights—publishers, movie studios, etc.. Most typically, rights are licensed for a contractually established amount of time in exchange for a contractually established amount of money and with some attention paid to what conditions would result in reversion of rights back to the copyright holder. These are deals that an author is willingly and legally entering into with the exploiter, either directly or with somebody acting as his/her legal representative (lawyer, agent, etc.). You shouldn’t be getting hoodwinked at this point. A contract is spelled out, questions can and should be asked.

Historically, those contracts might have given a set time period. Something like, “Five years from the time Harley Killemall Meets the Mafia hits the shelf, the rights revert back to the author.” Then the time got a little more vague by saying things like, “Harley Killemall Meets the Mafia can be exploited by the publisher until the book is declared out of print.”

Out of was generally understood to mean the book was not available to ship from the publisher to retailers. But then short run printing became a thing and ebooks became a thing and what “out of print” meant became a little murkier. Thankfully, there are now provisions like, “If the publisher doesn’t pay the author $XXX.XX amount of royalties in a six month period, a minimum sales threshold hasn’t been met, and the rights revert to the author.”

How long does that take? I can’t say for sure (nobody can), but I can pretty much promise you it will be considerably less than your life + 70 years. What can you do when your rights revert? License them again. New publisher. Or self-publish. Or sit on them and refuse the world your genius. Like I said before, not my gig, not all that worried about it, I’ve got a plane to catch to Points Elsewhere.

Before I go, are we clear on this one thing? Do we understand why one of the differences between an author opting to do the KDP Select thing is not that he/she can get his/her rights back (not even really the same thing as a traditionally licensing deal) after 90 days while a HEP C published author has to wait until he/she is Ghost Drinking with Hemingway and Shakespeare?

Information and facts are your friends, no matter how spirited your opinion gets.

And as always—write on.

You have one more week to pre-order Blightborn because, Lord and Lady, it’s out in a week.

Which means you have one more week to:

a) get my short story, “The Wind Has Teeth Tonight,” for free with your pre-order

and

b) maybe win a Kindle Paperwhite or some free books.

Details on the pre-order contest here.

You can pre-order right here.

(It’ll be out in Kindle, paperback, and hardcover from the first day of release.)

You might be saying, “Hey, but I haven’t read Under the Empyrean Sky yet.”

To which I say –> HEY LOOK HERE IT IS.

I will also note that you have a way to read it for free in digital, were you so inclined — Kindle Unlimited has its free trial going, and Under the Empyrean Sky (along with Kick-Ass Writer, incidentally) are part of that deal. So, you could totally just read the first book for free. Like a savvy book-shark. I don’t know what that means, “book-shark,” but frankly, I like it.

*chomp*

First drafts suck.

Does that sound too fierce for you? Too general?

Let me try again: my first drafts suck. And in all probability so do yours.

That piece where as you wrote “The End” you heard angels sing to you from on high, and saw Gabriel hisowndamnself descend from shining clouds to thank you for your contribution to world literature? Odds are it sucks. Trust me. I’ve been there.

I don’t mean that there’s nothing in what you’ve written that works. I don’t even mean that the piece you finished and feel great about doesn’t hum with inimitable bassy deliciousness or read like a chocolate milkshake drinks. I just mean that if you’re anything like me, the piece, as a whole, is probably busted.

Maybe your characters cough too much. That’s happened to me—ruined the effect of a perfectly good final chapter. Maybe you use the word “fire” forty times in one six-page segment. Done that, too. Maybe your central character’s a total cypher, and her big turn doesn’t make any sense even though it sang in your head. That’s, like, every other draft of everything I’ve ever done.

You may be sensing a pattern here: this is written as much for my benefit as for yours. But current run rate indicates I am not alone.

First drafts are, well, first. Even when you’re proud of them, they’re not done yet. And this is good.

This is good, because first drafts can be made better.

You can spot word overuse. A shower-revelation will fix your story structure. A sudden lightning bolt will inform you there’s a missing scene between your tenth and eleventh chapters, or that the eleventh chapter should be the sixth (it’s happened.). The fourth read through the story you’ll realize there are too many scenes where characters contemplate the stars—or that you’re using cigarettes or coffee cups like commas, that your rhetoric’s gone stale or your sentences are all the same length. On your eighth read you’ll spot the glaring hole at the center of your plot.

And you’ll fix it. Each and every time.

Some days you’ll despair, because dammit, how can I be doing all this work to produce a first draft that will require the prose equivalent of full facial reconstruction and a heart transplant before it’s worth reading? You’ll come back to old manuscripts from which you thought wafted sweet ambrosial perfumes, only to catch a whiff of something else entirely.

But it’s better than the alternative.

Because for every draft you think is great when you put it to bed that first time, you’ll write one that just doesn’t work. Where you know, when the last line comes, that you’ve committed a crime against God and literature and the only thing for it is slink into a tiny shadowy cubby hole to stew in your own sweat and hope nobody notices.

The funny thing about those drafts is, I mean, yes, sometimes they need more work than the ones that flow like honey. Sometimes. But they both need work, and when you start off thinking, no matter what this is, no matter how I feel about it now, I’ll need to work to make it better? Then the despair isn’t nearly so sharp. If the book is broken, and you know it, that’s just one more reason to throw yourself at edits. In a way it even helps. Because you have less attachment to the first draft, you pay more attention to structure, timing, language—to the architecture of acts and the necessities of character and plot. You tweak everything you can in a bad draft, because the book needs all the help you can give it. You’re Rocky up against Apollo Creed on pub date (or submission date, or “date you ask your crit group to read your MS,” or whatever). Training isn’t just a chore; you need it to survive. There’s potential in the story, somewhere, or you wouldn’t have pushed through to take it this far. You just need to bring it out.

I went through this whole rodeo with my most recent novel, Full Fathom Five. On writing “The End” after the first draft, I almost wept. The book was too long by half. The ending landed funny. The first act’s pacing was, charitably, off. There was a whole middle section that went nowhere. The theme was muddy.

But I could rebuild it. Make it better. Faster. Stronger. I’d seen how much I could improve first drafts I thought were, if not perfect, at least in the neighborhood; now I turned my hands to flaws I knew were there, and others friends and first readers and editors illuminated.

The work was hard. I wrote 20,000 new words, then deleted 80,000. Prose tightened. Images sharpened. Characters found their light and voice. The plot slipped into the right key, and the tempo tripped into time. And one day, reading the book through again, I felt it hook me. And when a book you’ve read twenty, thirty times does that, you know you’ve found something special.

I’m as proud of this book as I am of anything I’ve ever done. It’s golden. It’s right. And as for that first draft…

I’m glad I knew it sucked.

* * *

Max Gladstone has sung in Carnegie Hall, been thrown from a horse in Mongolia and nominated for the John W Campbell Best New Writer Award. Tor Books published the first two books in the Craft sequence are THREE PARTS DEAD and TWO SERPENTS RISE.

And now, just released, is the third in the series, FULL FATHOM FIVE:

On the island of Kavekana, Kai builds gods to order, then hands them to others to maintain. Her creations aren’t conscious and lack their own wills and voices, but they accept sacrifices, and protect their worshippers from other gods—perfect vehicles for Craftsmen and Craftswomen operating in the divinely controlled Old World.

When Kai sees one of her creations dying and tries to save her, she’s grievously injured—then sidelined from the business entirely, her near-suicidal rescue attempt offered up as proof of her instability. But when Kai gets tired of hearing her boss, her coworkers, and her ex-boyfriend call her crazy, and starts digging into the reasons her creations die, she uncovers a conspiracy of silence and fear—which will crush her, if Kai can’t stop it first.

[editorial note from cw: the first book is amazing — when I once again grab hold of that mythical beast known as ‘free time’ I will ride it straight into the rest of the series]

Max Gladstone: Website | Twitter

Full Fathom Five: Amazon / Powell’s / B&N / Signed Preorders | First 5 Chapters