(No super-spoilers, but this will talk in vague terms about the latest Game of Thrones episode.)

(You are warned.)

(No, really.)

(WARNING.)

(*flails*)

(THE BRIDGE IS OUT)

(FACEBEES)

(AAAAAAH)

Okay.

The latest Game of Thrones episode has a rather, erm, pivotal rape scene in it. Without getting too specific, a normally very powerful woman is very clearly raped during a moment of weakness. And it’s super-gross, in part because the sex in the books is — reportedly, as I have not read them — consensual. In part also because one of these characters has been undergoing some changes as of late and we have come to like this character quite a bit — and this character is also the rapist.

The super-grossness also extends to the commentary after the fact, which frequently flings past whether rape is appropriate in fiction and storytelling and settles on whether the scene was even rape — or, it discusses the granularity of consent, which is fine for legal battles but a little squicky in talking about what happens on-screen with a major pop culture property. The fact that the ensuing discussion was whether or not the victim’s pleas and no’s were loud enough, frequent enough, convincing enough. (Spoiler warning: they were.) Did she kiss back? Was she secretly giving into it? On a book page, this might actually be something you could get across, as we have access to internal dialogue. On-screen, we are left purely to text, only to visual, and what we’re left with is a character who says “no” up until the end, who struggles (albeit weakly), and whose rapist basically says “I don’t care.”

That’s rape. Despite what anyone will tell you, it’s rape. It’s the rape of a powerful (and somewhat unlikable) woman by a less-powerful (and more likable) dude.

It’s rape on-screen. It’s rape off-screen.

The granularity of “no” does not exist. Game of Thrones may be a world of many grays, but a “no” that never turns to “yes” before the sex begins isn’t beholden to any spectrum.

That part is black and white.

The discussion then must be: well, why is this a problem? Rape exists in fiction. And it has to be allowed to exist in fiction. It’s a rough, tough, terrible topic, but to ignore it is all the more sickening — to sweep it under the rug and not shine a line in that dark space is basically to deny it in reality, as well. One of fiction’s chiefmost strengths is that it allows us to bring up these things  and make us feel something about them — it’s addressing them, making us deal with it, and it’s being real about it.

That said, as storytellers, it’s vital to think about what we’re putting out there. There exists a mode of thought that says authors have zero social responsibility, and I’d argue that’s technically true in the same way that nobody anywhere has any social responsibility to anyone. We’re all basically just animals in a zoo, but what makes us human is thinking about the ramifications of our actions. And what makes us smart storytellers and capable authors is thinking about the ramifications of our stories. That doesn’t necessarily mean not putting scary stuff on the page (or on the screen). It just means being mindful of consequence.

And one of those consequences is that some of your audience will have been the victims of rape. This is the case because instances of rape and sexual assault against women in particular are very, very high. It leaves living victims. Victims who have to deal with the trauma off-screen. Putting it on the page or screen means forcing them to revisit that act. That’s not to say that, again, rape is verboten. But it does mean you should very seriously look at how you handle the topic. Are you handling it with maturity? With care? Is there a point other than the gratuitousness of it all? Are you using it as a cheap-and-easy plot point, or as a meaningful moment? Is it a lazy trope, or a crucial moment?

The problem, as I see it, with the rape scene in GoT, is many-fold.

First, it’s done in a world where rape is basically as common as horses. It’s referenced damn near every episode. Women are victims. Men are rapists. It’s practically becoming a thesis of the world. The worst thing done to women is rape. Rape, rape, rape. The show is getting rapey as shit. (More notable perhaps because the books aren’t quite so?) At this point, that’s drifting toward fetishistic and gratuitous — in part because it seems to revel in its statement.

Second, it’s more a trope than it is an actual thing. It’s lazy, cheap, short-shrifted. It’s code meant to again invoke that grayness of the characters — “Oh, look, even the most powerful can be laid low, and even those characters you like are basically pieces of shit.” The rapist-and-victim message, again. Really, we can’t do any better?

Third, it feels out of character and is a change from the book — a change that makes these characters worse and weaker than they have demonstrated in the past (at least, I’d argue).

Fourth, the rape was soft, weak, almost as ineluctable as gravity — the strong woman just sort of gives into it (and here you’ll want to discuss the was she really raped? question again but once more please be aware of the persistent lack of consent given) and makes rape look less like a violent act and more like a fact-of-life. (And it really is a fact-of-life in the GoT world, which is troubling in how it reinforces that “women = victims, men = rapists” vibe.)

The point I’m making is, if you’re going to deal with rape in your fiction, please give it weight and consequence. Do not let it drift toward being a lazy, cheap trope. Exercise every ounce of storytelling wisdom and skill and don’t just let it devolve into some half-ass plot point. It’s not a plot point in anybody’s lives. And last, remember that rape is real. It’s not the domain of fiction. It’s not granular, it’s not a spectrum, it’s not a shruggy hand-wavey sort of maybe-kinda-gee-I-dunno thing. Some of your audience will be victims of rape. Remember that, and think of them.

My newest e-book writing release is now available.

You have a handful of ways to buy this, were you so inclined.

First: Amazon, $2.99.

Second: direct from me using this button (or link):

Third: as part of a seven-book, $20 bundle using this button (or link):

Finally: B&N, $2.99.

Book Description

“Chuck Wendig’s Confessions of a Freelance Penmonkey is full of the kind of writing advice I wish I’d gotten in school. Practical, brutally honest, and done with the kind of humor that will make it stick in your brain. Whether you’re a veteran writer or new to the craft, you’ll find something useful in here. Plus he says ‘fuck’ a lot, so, you know, there’s that.”

— Stephen Blackmoore, author of Dead Things

500 Ways To Write Harder aims to deliver a volley of micro-burst idea bombs and advisory missiles straight to your frontal penmonkey cortex. Want to learn more about writing, storytelling, publishing, and living the creative life? This book contains a high-voltage dose of information about outlining, plot twists, writer’s block, antagonists, writing conferences, self-publishing, and more.

All this, straight from the sticky blog pages of terribleminds.com, one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers (as named by Writer’s Digest).

This book contains the following chapters:

• 25 Bad Writer Behaviors
• 25 Hard Truths About Writing & Publishing
• 25 Steps To Becoming A Self-Published Author
• 25 Steps To Edit The Unmerciful Suck Out Of Your Story
• 25 Things To Do Before You Start Your Novel
• 25 Things You Should Know About Antagonists
• 25 Things You Should Know About Conventions & Conferences
• 25 Things You Should Know About Metaphor
• 25 Things You Should Know About Narrative Point-of-View
• 25 Things You Should Know About Outlining
• 25 Things You Should Know About Worldbuilding
• 25 Things You Should Know About Young Adult Fiction
• 25 Things Writers Should Beware
• 25 Things Writers Should Know About Traveling
• 25 Turns, Pivots and Twists To Complicate Your Story
• 25 Ways To Be A Happy Writer
• 25 Ways To Get Your Authorial Groove Back
• 25 Ways To Survive As A Creative Person
• 25 Ways To Unstick A Stuck Story
• 25 Writer Resolutions
• Appendix: 50 Rantypants Snidbits Of Writing And Storytelling Advice

The opening line challenge is always a fun one — and this time, we had ~500 entries (!!?), which took quite a bit of reading just to get through. BUT I DID, and lo, was rewarded by a great deal of awesome. I’ve picked my favorites below, but even still, had to pick three as winners.

Those three are bolded and asterisked.

Winners: write me at terribleminds at gmail dot com.

Congrats! And well done, folks.

* * *

* The deck of the airship swarmed with wild-eyed girls gnashing their teeth and pumping filth-covered fists in the air like tiny, bloodthirsty monsters. — Jen Dornan-Fish

Choices are the hinges on the door of Destiny and Fate is the bitch who slammed that door in my face. — Silver James

The crack in the wall appeared three days after they moved in. — Ducky

At first we thought we could control the fire. — AE Lowan

Because the dead do not sleep, Doctor Marie Fluette was reading at her desk in the library when she felt the great building shudder like a flea-bit dog. — Aimee Kuzenski

* I had won a kingdom through iron and blood but I had no idea what to do with it. — Anthony

Nobody suspects the girl who smiles. — Allsnjill

These hands have done things that this mind should never have allowed. — Nick Nafpliotis

Once upon a time, a girl fell in love with a mountain. — Sean

I met a man made of smoke today. — JC Hemphill

The fat ginger was leaking lies like a punctured wineskin. — mtharpin

Up until last week I thought the worst night of my life was when the O’Connell brothers nailed my dad to a tree. — Lee Thompson

* I fed some ducks at your funeral. — Allison Forsythe

It is my birthday.

I dare not say how old I am, though I will say that I have only one more birthday after this one where I can say I am not yet 40. Holy crap, 40? Who let that happen? *shudder*

Anyway, it’s my birthday, and I would like to Reverse the Natal Polarity and give you something.

Here’s a free e-book.

This is 500 Ways To Tell A Better Story.

You’ll find that I’m tossing you PDF, ePub, and Kindle versions.

Link good for today only.

So, enjoy that.

Also, today, Zazzle has a 22% off deal going on their merch with code:

EARTHDAYDEAL

That works on all the Terribleminds Merch (mugs, shirts, flask).

Enjoy the stuff.

If you wanna do something nice for me (AND YOU DO *hypnobeard on*), then please check out some of my books, or leave a review, or tend the fires of my raging Narcissism in some other way.

KAY THANKS BYE

This is one of the questions most frequently asked of me.

How do you become a full-time writer?

I am, and have been, a full-time writer (on and off) for the last ten years. The most recent “off” period, many moons ago, was simply because I was trying to get a mortgage on a first home, and the bank was like, “OH YOU’RE A FREELANCE WRITER SURE, SURE, WE KNOW WHAT THAT IS, EXCEPT THERE’S NO BUTTON ON MY COMPUTER THAT SAYS ‘GIVE FREELANCER A MORTGAGE NO MATTER HOW MUCH HE EARNS,’ OH WELL, SO SORRY, GOOD LUCK.” *toilet flushing sound*

This past year, 2013, was my most financially successful year yet.

You want to know how you become me.

In the loosey-goosey full-time sense, of course. To actually become me means cutting clippings of my beard, dipping them in a saucer of my heartsblood, reciting a thousand words of vulgarity that haven’t been heard by human ears since Caligula was prancing about, then eating the bloody beard puffs. With milk. Whole milk, not two percent, c’mon.

And it’s gotta be velociraptor milk.

Whatever.

Point is, full-time writer status: you want it.

But, I want you to slow down, hoss. Ease off the stick, chief.

You want to jump off the ledge and land in the pool 20 floors below. But it doesn’t work like that. I mean, it can — you might get lucky, you might survive the jump. Or, you might crash into some portly lad bobbing about on an inflatable Spongebob raft and kill the both of you.

Do not quit your day job.

I know. Your butthole just clenched hard enough to snap a mop handle. You hate your day job. The fact you call it a “day job” is a sign that you basically despise it as a grim, necessary evil.

But I’ll repeat:

Do not quit your day job.

Not yet.

If you’re going to become a full-time writer Cylon, you need a plan.

Becoming a writer — or I assume any flavor of artist — in a full-time manner is rarely the same thing as hopping to a new job, unless this art-flavored job is working for a company in the same capacity that, say, an accountant or a sex gnome would. (Hey, whatever, writers tend to have a lot of weird jobs, and I was a sex gnome at Merck Sharp & Dohme from the years 2002 and 2005. Trust me, you want some of that high-octane ‘sex gnome money.’) More likely, the job you envision is you sitting around your Art Space, sans pants, possibly sans underpants, creating art in the morning and rolling around in art money in the afternoon.

However, I’ll paint for you a more realistic picture: you, in a destitute hovel, hallucinating because you ate another bowl of ramen noodles with a spoiled flavor packet, and now you’re conversing with the water stains on the wall — and no, you’re not wearing pants, but it’s because the rats ate your last pair and you literally cannot afford any more.

That may sound like I’m echoing the old cry that artists starve and they don’t make any money oh that way lies dragons and ramen but that’s not what I’m saying. Artists starve most often because they didn’t have a goddamn plan in mind when they decided to foolishly disentangle from their old life in order to enter this new one.

They weren’t ready.

Think of yourself like a pugilist. A heavyweight boxer.

You don’t, on day one, step into the ring with Ivan Drago. You train, motherfucker. You punch sides of beef. You run through snow and lava. You let school-children pummel you with cricket bats. You bulk up. You gain new sassy skills. This is five-finger-death-punch time.

You’re probably not yet ready to be a full-time writer.

Here’s what you need to get ready.

First, and this is the most obvious one and yes I will return to this at the end of the post to repeat it as a call to action — but by the sassy miracles of Sweet Saint Fuck, you have to be writing. You. Have. To. Be. Writing. I don’t mean you have to plan to be writing, I don’t mean you have a story envisioned that you fully intend to write. No, I mean: you have to be writing now. Presently. In the midst of a mire of words. And this can’t be fucking new for you, either. You have to have been writing for — well, shit, it’s not like there’s an exact equation, so let’s go with the ambiguously uncertain TEMPORAL SHITLOAD OF TIME. Malcolm Gladwell said something-something 10,000 hours to get practiced at something, and while that number remains wholly arbitrary the truth is seeded deep just the same:

To be a writer, you have to write. To be a good writer, you have to write a whole goddamn lot.

So, that’s your first empty checkbox. Are you writing? Have you been for a long time?

Next up: are you capable of sustaining this writing? Do you have writing discipline? Can you plunk down in front of a computer and eject 2,000 words from your tap-dancing fingertips in a day? Despite a dog scratching at your door? No matter the construction work outside? Regardless of the toddler who’s crawling through your heating vents this very second in order to ambush you in your workspace — oh, and he’s got sticky jam hands and a full diaper and for some reason he’s got a bunch of magnets and he’s totally going to try to erase all your hard drives? Are you prepared?

Do you have one book in you, or a hundred?

Can you write scripts? Comics? Games? Articles?

If you’re going to Art for Money, you need to be willing and able to barf up all manner of words for all manner of money. (Excuse me, I’m now going to change my business cards to read ‘Professional Word-Barfer.’ Hold on. There we go.) If you’re trying to live off novels (*cue laugh track*), you’ll still from time to time probably need to take on other work. That might mean writing dialogue for some clunky online game. It might mean writing an article about the history of artificial bison insemination. It might mean I give you twenty bucks for you to write down really nice things about me and maybe also your social security number and your credit card information.

And speaking of money — do you have some? Like, right now? No, I don’t want any (I totally want some) — my point is that writing money is not steady money. It does not flow to you weekly. You are not afforded the glory of a paycheck. It is erratic, random, sometimes appearing as if out of the mist. If you are not presently holding actual money in an actual bank account, you’ll probably be starving by your third month. And again, not in the romantic “starving artist” way but in the “holy shit starving isn’t romantic this sucks” way.

All the better if the money you have in your account is money you have already earned from writing. Because if you don’t have deals in place, if you don’t have evidence of future effort yielding future greenbacks, once again: you might be fucked. I worked my way to a full-time writing career with freelance wordsmithy — and when I eventually transitioned to writing novels, that transitional year was a tough one financially. Turbulence abounded.

Do you have health care? You’re gonna need that. This is less a problem nowadays, where a year ago I would’ve said: “You need to have a spouse with healthcare.” Thanks to the ACA (aka “OBAMACARE” aka “THE SWEET SOCIALIST KENYAN TERRORIST TEAT”), my family has healthcare that actually covers things and does not cost us in gallons of blood and pain. (Sidenote, if you think this is a good time to rail against the ACA, do not bother. Try that and I promise most sincerely to pepper spray you in the fucking mouth.)

Hell, let’s talk about your spouse. Do you have one? Does said spouse have a job? Hope so. That’s gonna be mighty useful in the coming moons. A steady paycheck, even a small one, can make the unpredictability and uncertainty of Full-Time Arting a far softer sting.

Are you planning on making money off novels? Mm-hmm. This is doable, despite what you’ll hear from the peanut gallery, but it’s not precisely easy, either. Consider: your average advance on a novel might be five, ten grand. Can you live off of that in a year? Nope. That is not full-time money. Okay, maybe you sell a film option, and are able to push some foreign rights deals. Let’s say that’s another… oh, let’s say thirty grand, to be optimistic. Can you live off of $40k a year? If you have a spouse bringing in cash, hey, that’s bad-ass. If you’ve got a family and you’re the only bread winner, then you’re below what most families make. And, let’s remember that those film and foreign rights are value-adds — not guarantees.

Hell, let’s say you just got a six-figure deal. Excitement! Except, that probably means three books. And it probably means ~$33k per book. Which, again, is kind of amazing. But, the reality check is, they might want one of those books a year, and is an annual $33k really the kind of money you can live off of? (If you live in a big city like New York or Los Angeles, that thirty-three thousand is what you’ll spend on groceries, I think. And therein lies another little secret pro-writer tip — if you’re writing full-time, go live in a place where your dollar flies very far.)

Maybe you’re self-publishing. What happens when your book — capably released, well-edited, nicely-reviewed — lands with a turd-splash? What happens when it generates a couple hundred bucks instead of a couple thousand?

Can you write more? Bigger? Faster?

Can you diversify your writing? Can you write in multiple genres? Across multiple formats?

Can you speak to varying age ranges?

Are you willing to say yes more than you say no?

Do you know what income you’ll have coming in for 2015? 2016? Two years down the line? Three?

These are all the checkboxes, penmonkey. These are the signs. You’re able to write a lot. You’ve got deals already cooking. You’re capable of flexibility and you’ve got opportunities made plain. You know what happens when one opportunity suddenly dries up. It’s still not safe. Being a full-time Artmachine is never the safe choice — but hell, you want safe, go work at a fucking bank. (Don’t worry, we’ll always take care of the banks. Poor people? Fuck them. Yay banks!) But if you want to love what you do, go be a full-time creator. I’m just saying, do so as wisely and as pragmatically as you can manage. Protect yourself, protect your loved ones. Don’t just quit your day job. Prepare a slow detachment. Build a parachute. Look for the signs.

And, I told you I’d come back to it:

Write. Write a lot. Write swiftly. Write with your own heart in mind but also the heart of an audience. Find that magic liminal space between what people want to read and what you want to write because that’s where you’ll generate the greatest income. Get better. Write more. Take more shots at the goal. Only the rarest of penmonkeys can build a full-time career off one book or one series. This is chess game time — you have to be writing now and thinking about what you’ll be writing three years down the road.

Good luck, word-birds. Fly free. But fly smart.

(And in the meantime, if you’re on the opposite end of the spectrum and you’re saying, “But I have barely any time to write as it is! Job! Family! Sleep! AHHHH.” Then may I once more point you to my Zero-Fuckery 350-Words-A-Day Writing Plan?)

* * *

The journey to become a successful writer is long, fraught with peril, and filled with difficult questions: How do I write dialogue? How do I build suspense? What should I know about query letters? How do I start? What the hell do I do?

The best way to answer these questions is to ditch your uncertainty and transform yourself into a Kick-Ass Writer. This new book from award-winning author Chuck Wendig combines the best of his eye-opening writing instruction — previously available in e-book form only — with all-new insights into writing and publishing. It’s an explosive broadside of gritty advice that will destroy your fears, clear the path, and help you find your voice, your story, and your audience.

Amazon

B&N

Indiebound

Writer’s Digest

Last week’s post about critiquing opening lines generated a fascinating — and holy crap, robust — fusillade of comments back and forth, which is exciting to see.

So, let’s do it again.

Or, something similar, at least.

What I want you to to do is to grab a paragraph — hopefully a shorter one, but that’s your call — and offer up that paragraph for critique. Drop it into the comments, and let folks talk about what would make it stronger — in terms of description, metaphor, clarity of language, characterization, what-have-you and blah blah blah.

You can grab something from your current WIP.

Or, if so inclined, write something new.

One paragraph only.

If you’re offering up a paragraph for critique, it’s only fair you offer commentary to someone else.

Be respectful of others. Say good things as well as bad.

Let’s do it.