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August 30, 2011 / 106 Comments

25 Things You Should Know About Self-Publishing

Time again for another list of 25, this time about the trials and triumphs of self-publishing. This article could be titled, Things I Think About Self-Publishing, or, One Penmonkey’s Ruminations Upon The Subject Of Self-Publishing, and is not meant to be an end-all, be-all list, but rather, little nougaty nuggets of contemplation. Feel free to drop down and add your own if time and inclination allow.

1. A Sane And Reasonable Part Of The Ecosystem

Self-publishing has become a real contender. Major authors are self-publishing now. And self-publishing has its own scions who have attained epic success in that space. Self-publishing is now a very real part of the ecosystem. Some truly excellent self-published storytelling is at work. Anybody who turns their nose down automatically at the practice should be kicked in the junk drawer.

2. Not Better, Not Worse, Just Different

Publishing your own work is no magic bullet; it guarantees nothing and is not a “better” or “smarter” way to go than the more traditional route. It’s also not a worse path. Each path has its own thorns and rocks, just as each path offers its own staggering vistas and exhilarating hikes. Self-publishing gets you out there faster and tends to give you a better return on every copy sold. But it’s also a more self-reliant path, putting a lot of work onto your shoulders. The self-published author dances for every dinner.

3. Self-Publishers Can’t Just Be Writers

This is true of all writers, really: these days, every author must contribute a deeper share of editing and promotion. But the self-published penmonkey does even more. You’re a carnival barker, web designer, customer service agent, CEO, porn fluffer — wait, maybe not that last one. Point is, you’re now a publisher, with all the responsibilities that come in the package. Don’t want those responsibilities? Don’t self-publish.

4. Some Doors Are Presently Shut

Media reviews? Major and not-so-major awards? Foreign and film rights? Libraries? Book signings? Sexy book signing groupies? Not so much. Self-published inkslingers will find that many of these things are not necessarily opportunities that exist for them. Not yet, at least.

5. This Is Not The Path Toward Credibility And Respect

You will not find a great deal of credibility and respect in self-publishing your work. Part of this is due to old prejudices. Part of this is due to the fact that self-publishing still represents a vibrant and virulent catalog of glurge and slush. Of course, if you were looking for credibility, you wouldn’t be a writer in the first place, would you? You want respect, go be a zookeeper or a sex worker.

6. Most Self-Published Books Suck A Bucket Of Dicks

This bears special mention: you’ll still find that a lot of self-published books are basically canker sores on the prolapsed anus of good writing, good storytelling, and good publishing. Contrary to what some will say, this crap can and does sometimes float: I will from time to time peruse the Kindle Charts and gape in amazement at how superheroically buoyant some garbage can be. And yes, I acknowledge that legacy publishing offers some real stinkers, too. But I thought the goal was to be better than that, yes? And for the record, I have every confidence that the fucking Snooki book at least meets minimal standards compared to some of the piles of midden that pass for books amongst some self-published authors.

7. Your Book Is A Boat Which Must Ride Upon Sewage

Those ass-tastic self-published books are your competition. But they’re the competition of any author. It just bears mentioning that, whether traditionally published or whether you DIY, come to the field with the best motherfucker of a book you can bring. Don’t half-ass it. You’re here to tell stories, not pleasure your ego. Let your book rise above all the effluence.

8. Pinocchio Wants To Be A Real Boy, Goddamnit

Treat your book like a real book. Not like it’s some part-human mutant hybrid, some stumbling thing with half-a-brain and a bison’s heart. Send out review copies. Get blurbs. Make it look nice. Sound nice. Read nice. Force the book to command the credibility and respect that others of its ilk are lacking.

9. Two-Fisted Team-Ups

A good self-published book does not need to be the product of some lone weirdo in a closet jizzing his foul-skinned word-babies onto the Smashwords marketplace. It comes to fruition with the help of a good cover designer, editor, beta readers, and others within the self-published community. It’s why I don’t like the phrase self-published — you should rely on others beyond yourself to bring your book to life.

10. Money Out Before Money In

For the record, that might mean spending some money. It’s worth it. The reward of having a professional-grade product and not the remnant of some amateur hour karaoke will earn out.

11. Please Don’t Let Your Cover Look Like A Three-Fingered Smear Of Dog-Shit

So many ugly covers. So many ugly covers. Once more for the cheap seats: SO MANY UGLY COVERS. Listen, I know — a cover does not make a book. But it’s the first line of offense at a place like Amazon, where I’m almost universally seeing the cover before I’m seeing the description. I will click a kick-ass cover because, I dunno, I’m an attention-deficit raccoon who likes shiny trinkets? A great cover shall be your standard-bearer. If you use Comic Sans or Papyrus on your cover, you should be drowned in a washtub.

12. E-Book Designers Are Non-Essential

The e-Book designers out there are probably mad — let me get ahead of that and say: you may find them useful. They do good work. But for many DIY authors, you may not need one (and may not be able to justify the cost). Formatting an e-book for the major services (Amazon, B&N) can at times be an exercise in soul-squishing agony, but over time you figure out the tricks and learn how to make it work. And once you do that, it’s not even all that hard. (For Amazon, can I recommend Mobipocket Creator? Free software, totally useful.) Hell, for the basics, Amazon and B&N will auto-format.

13. Editors Are Your Bestest Friends

Get a good editor. Can you self-edit? Sure. Is it a good idea? Not usually. Bare minimum: seek the advice of people you trust, and implement their advice in some way, shape, or form. Give them wine and chocolate and hookers and four-wheelers and kites made from the skin of their enemies and anything else they ask for. Pay their price. A good editor is your best friend.

14. Traditional Legacy Publishing Is Not Your Enemy

You will find little value in slagging those in traditional publishing, particularly authors, agents and editors. They’re not your enemy. We’re all part of the same ecosystem, swimming around in the pond where we a) tell stories and b) hope to not starve and die in the process. Most of us are here because we love what we do, so hold hands, kiss each other on the cheek, and stop casting aspersions.

15. Agents And Gatekeepers Are Still Your Friends

Iconoclasts love to hate on those that keep the gate, but those that keep the gate aren’t universally bad people. Further, they’re trained to a certain standard. Agents in particular don’t deserve scorn, and can, in fact, still help the self-published author. They may know when a book is right for a published market. They may be of aid in selling rights (print, foreign, film) that you otherwise might not have had access to. And, let’s not mince words: many self-published authors would jump like a cricket at the chance to have a book on bookshelves with a big publisher. For that, you will find an agent potentially quite helpful.

16. Amazon Is The 800-Pound Gorilla (And He’s Got A Gun)

If you sell anywhere, you’re going to sell at Amazon. Start there. Talking to other self-pubbed authors, the majority of their sales come through Amazon. And, since we’re talking, if Amazon is the big-ass gorilla in the room, I suppose that makes Smashwords the anemic marmoset who keeps scratching his balls and falling asleep in his own waste. Uhh… yeah. I might not be a fan of Smashwords.

17. The Term “Indie” Makes Some People Vomit Fire

Indie has been a term used in publishing for a while now, meaning a publisher who is not beholden to a Big Faceless Corporation. Thus there is some scorn at those who would use that term — “indie” — to describe self-pubbers. Of course, everybody just needs to pop some quaaludes and calm down. Language changes for better or for worse: the definition of “indie” is a moving target, and has been in film, music, and now publishing. We can all share the language. If we can’t agree to share, you’ll have to fight in the arena with poison-tipped fountain pens.

18. Beware The Insidious Whispers Of Froth-Lipped Zealots

Eschew false dichotomies. Avoid loaded promises. Spurn those self-proclaimed oracles who claim to know the future. Nobody knows what the truth is regarding self-publishing or traditional publishing, and anybody who thinks you need to jump one way and not the other may not have your best interests at hand. Make your own call as an Informed Human With A Super-Computer Inside Her Head Called A “Brain.”

19. This Is The Time For Bold-Faced Brave-Ass Experimentation

So much of self-publishing is doing what’s been done. (Another Twilight rip-off? Tell me more!) But the advantage of DIY publishing is that you are beholden to no one but an audience — so why not go big? Fuck the rules. Hell with the genres. Experiment. Play around with storytelling. Do something different instead of traipsing the same paths, la-la-la-lee-la. Got a picaresque cyberpunk novel loaded with ciphers and clues in your head that links up to some kind of bizarre geocaching transmedia experiment? Fuck it. Why not? You want to write penguin erotica? Transgender adventure tales? Bible II: Son Of Bible? Find those things that no major publisher will touch but you have passion for, and put it out there.

20. A Future Found In Format

The future of self-publishing isn’t merely in storytelling. It’s in the format. The format now is a clumsy foal stumbling around on wobbly legs. Find ways to break free from that. It’ll be up to the DIY authors to find new formats — transmedia initiatives, app-novels, stories told across social media. Do not be constrained by the formats that exist. Story does not begin and end with a physical book. It doesn’t stop at e-books, either.

21. You Are Not A Spam-Bot

Self-publishers have a lot of their own promotional work to do. That means it’s very easy to accidentally become naught but a megaphone hawking your wares. While you should never be afraid to ask for sales or market, you need to market as a human being. Connect. Be funny. A lot of this is going to succeed based on that most ephemeral of market drivers: word-of-mouth. The way you generate that? Nobody knows. But it starts with writing a kick-ass book. Well, that and human sacrifice. But you can’t make an omelet without killing lots of innocent people in the name of dark literary entities living beneath the earth.

22. Do Not Buy This Book

Let me just be frank: you don’t need this book. Anything it contains can be found elsewhere. For free.

23. Embrace A Vibrant And Active Community

The self-publishing community is a helpful place, for the most part. Can be quite helpful and vocal in support. Discover through this community the best practices. Return the favor. Communicate and converse.

24. But Don’t Be A Cheerleader For Crappiness

On the other hand, some elements of the community can be toxic, and further, can act as cheerleaders for self-publishing’s own worst instincts. Don’t champion a novel because it’s self-published. How it got there is irrelevant to the end result. If it’s a good book, then talk about it. If it’s shit, then forget it. You have the freedom to self-publish; there’s no need to vociferously defend that right. But if you want self-publishing to be real, to earn the respect and credibility you think it deserves, then it needs fewer cheerleaders and more police — people who will call a rat-turd a rat-turd and not pretend it’s a Rice Krispie treat. Self-publishing also needs more sexy groupies, since we’re talking. Call me.

25. Calm Down, Twitchy McGee

Got a novel? Don’t self-publish it. Not right away. Give it time. Sit on it. My advice to you is to run it up the flagpole with agents and editors, with friends and readers and other writers. You need to know if it’s worth a shit, if it’s worth putting out there — do you want to contribute another bucket of crap to the ocean of effluence? No, you do not. Further, you want to be aware of the pluses and minuses to self-publishing. Some books have a shot at going big with traditional: you might earn a good advance and have a chance with film or foreign rights. Do not be hasty to ignore these benefits. Other books will do very well on the Kindle marketplace despite not having a great shot at traditional. Self-publishing can be transformative — and lucrative — if you put the right work, your best work, out there on the block.

My advice is the same I will continue to give when it comes to the fake bullshit battle between self-publishing and legacy publishing: do both. Write books for each — plant a foot in each world so you may reap the harvest of each. What say you, authors? What are your thoughts on self-publishing these days?

* * *

Want another booze-soaked, profanity-laden shotgun blast of dubious writing advice?

Try: CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY

$4.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

And: 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING

$0.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

August 29, 2011 / 18 Comments

Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Everyday”

Everyday from Chuck Wendig on Vimeo.

I generally give my Sundays over to writing the Mon / Tues / Weds blogs posts for this here website you have found yourself visiting. That’s the normal thing. The plan. The schtick. This Sunday, however, I was forced to give my day toward sitting around in the dark.

Listening to trees groan, shatter, and collapse in the woods.

Listening to branches hurled at our house.

Watching the waters rise at the road, making it impassable.

Oh, Hurricane Irene. You silly bitch.

Anyway! Point being, this week might be a bit lighter on the ol’ blogposts than usual. Oh, you’ll still get your content. You shivering addicts, you. Don’t worry, baby birds. Daddy will regurgitate into your mouths.

Right! Speaking of baby birds, as you can see, I give you: my first home video.

I can smell the excitement wafting off you like cat pee soaked long into an old carpet. Home video. The name alone conjures confetti, cake, bacon, and a small armada of temple slaves here to do your bidding.

Here at terribleminds I talk a lot about our new son, He-Who-Is-Nicknamed “B-Dub,” and this time I thought maybe I’d show you him in motion. From Then until Now. I apologize in advance for the diabetes and cavities this will cause you. He’s very high on the Glycemic Index, this baby. Just too sweet. Whatever. You’re going to deal with it and you’re going to watch it and if you’re a dude you’re going to grow ovaries.

Also: this is my first experiment with iMovie. Took me a bit to get the hang of the program — which isn’t hard, but remember I’ve never used a Mac before — so, feel free to deposit iMovie tips in the comments.

Please to enjoy.

August 26, 2011 / 42 Comments

Flash Fiction Challenge: “Plucked From The Pages Of History”

The prior installment of the flash fiction challenge — “The Sub-Genre Tango II” — is large and in charge for your reading pleasure.

Over at his site, author Dan O’Shea is writing a novel day-by-day for all of you to see. It is the first draft and you can see it as it is written, tracking a new chapter every 24 hours.

The novel is titled ROTTEN AT HEART but the first thing you need to know about it is that it places Shakespeare into the role of shamus to solve a murder — which makes Shakespeare the protagonist.

A genius turn. And that’s what you’re going to do with your flash fiction.

Well, no, not necessarily take Shakespeare as your main character. What I want is for you to choose a famous person from history — be it Mark Twain, Babe Ruth, Nikola Tesla, Hannibal, whoever — and use that character as the protagonist in your short fiction. Bonus points for spinning it in a cool way: Shakespeare-as-detective, Nero-as-witch-hunter, Tesla-as-secret-alien, etc.

Once more, the plan remains the same. Up to 1000-word story. Any genre. Post at your blog, then link here and drop a note in the comments so we know where to find your story.

No prizes or incentive this week other than, “This is an awesome challenge, why not try?”

Choose your champion.

Let’s see some stories.

August 25, 2011 / 9 Comments

Simon Logan: The Terribleminds Interview

I don’t know Simon Logan very well, honestly — but I know I like what I see. You know he’s the real deal. Anybody repped by Allan Guthrie is the real deal. Anybody who writes an opening sentence like, “So she walks in, trying to look cool, trying to look like nothing has happened, like nothing has gone wrong, but it’s difficult because she still feels the ghost of the revolver’s handle pressed against her palm and the scent of gunpowder in her nostrils” is the real deal. I think Simon and I come from different angles regarding the process and nature of writing and storytelling, but that’s a feature, not a bug, and further proof that nobody does This Thing We Do precisely the same way. You can find Simon’s blog here, and you can also follow him on Twitter: @simonlogan.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling so before we do anything else, I’d like you to tell me – and, of course, the fine miscreants and deviants that read this site – a story. As short or long as you care to make it, as true or false as you see it.

So when the Punk Overlord takes power he orders the beheading of all of those who had opposed his ascendance in order to ensure peace. When others protest against this mass-slaughter he has them beheaded too. Their families try to stop the killing and so they are killed – again to ensure peace. When the executions are all over with it’s just the Punk Overlord and the Executioner who are left. The Punk Overlord looks out over the empty kingdom of corpses which he has been left with and blames the Executioner, then demands that the Executioner himself climb into the guillotine. The Punk Overlord beheads the Executioner then sits alone – finally his kingdom is at peace.

How would you describe your writing or storytelling style?

It varies slightly depending on what I am writing but I tend to prefer a mash-up between stripped-down and lyrical. Katja From The Punk Band would be the equivalent of The Ramones (fast, minimalistic and straight to point) whereas lovejunky is more along the lines of Deftones (moody, slightly druggy and with bursts of violence and energy).

I’m fairly loose with sentence structure and tend to rely mostly on what sounds good to me and what flows well rather than what follows any rules or conventions (though I don’t read my work aloud). As for storytelling I love intermingling story threads and having them trip over one another and I love leaving gaps which are only filled in further along the lines. I also only put in as much backstory for any character as I need to, I don’t come up with a full life history for any of them otherwise I may feel obliged to squeeze it in unnecessarily. Write only what needs to be written but write it with style.

Your work and writing philosophies seem to embody a punk aesthetic. How can writers embrace that, and why should they? (Or, perhaps, why shouldn’t they?)

For me the attraction of the punk aesthetic is to properly reflect yourself and your energies and interests in your work. Be inspired by what other people are creating but focus on creating that inspiration within yourself rather than just replicating what others have done. Most of the best punk bands were better musicians than people give them credit for – people assumed that because they didn’t play complex, multi-layered pieces that they couldn’t but I think it was more about the fact that they chose not to do that than anything else. I think important not to break the rules just for the sake of it but at any time I think we should feel able and free to do so if it benefits what you are trying to create. With all that said, if I’m going to be true to the punk ethic then nobody should listen to what I’m saying and just go do their own thing.

Music obviously plays a huge role in your work — not only do you compare your work to music but on your website you have playlists for the work. Do you listen to music as you write? Do you begin a project with musical inspiration already in mind or does the musical connection come after?

I never listen to music whilst I write, no. I’ve got the attention span of a three year old at the best of times so that would be too distracting for me, especially considering that at the moment my playlists are full of Bring Me The Horizon, Parkway Drive and The Acacia Strain. I do, however, allow myself to be inspired by the music I listen to, whether it’s the lyrics or just the feel of them. And I never look for inspiration from music directly, it’s more of a background thing. That’s true of all my inspiration, really, I don’t’ research as such, I just consume information on a daily basis and occasionally it leaks back out again. I read and listen to that which interests me and stories just come out of that – rather than me listening to or reading something and trying to create something out of it. Plus the music which inspires me changes as my tastes change. Whilst I started out using industrial music as inspiration that kind of morphed into punk and then some electronic stuff then hardcore and then it all just kind of merges after that. Which is sort of the effect I’m going for in my fiction, actually.

What’s awesome about being a writer or storyteller?

Creating something – that’s what’s awesome about any form of art. To have added something to the universe that wasn’t there before. To read or see something else that is so utterly shit that it infuriates you and being able to respond to that anger, to use it, by creating something in direct opposition to it.

Conversely, what sucks about it?

Not a lot, to be honest. It used to bother me working in a vacuum where you would toil away for months on end then produce something and have no idea if anyone else knew if you or it existed but that doesn’t bother me anymore. Since I’m comfortable writing for myself it’s nice to get feedback from people who have read and enjoyed my work but it makes no difference to what I create or whether I create it. Considering that I’m sitting at a computer in a warm room making shit up, it would be pretty crass of me to complain about it sucking …

Deliver unto us a single-serving dollop of writing or storytelling advice that you yourself follow as a critical tip without which you might starve and die atop a glacier somewhere:

Listen to what others have to say then feel absolutely free to ignore it. I have no problem with writing rules and conventions and they are certainly handy to know but at any point if I feel a story would benefit from pushing them all to one side then I’ll do it. Along similar lines I’d also say look at what others are doing and then do something different.

Do you then believe that writing is more a work of art than a work of craft?

I think it’s a nice split between the two. The craft side of things is good to learn and to know but I would only ever view it as a guideline rather than a rule. If it feels right to start a sentence with “and” or to break other grammatical rules then I’ll do it – so I guess in the end the art overrides the craft but both are important. I’ve read a number of books in which the craft is spot on but there’s just no art to it and they always leave me feeling a little hollow. I don’t want people to read my stuff and feel the same.

If feedback doesn’t play a role in your writing, if you’re comfortable writing for yourself, where does interaction with the marketplace come in? Is commerce the enemy of good writing?

Not necessarily but there is that risk because commerce tends to follow whatever is popular, the path of least resistance, and so if everyone goes that route then it all comes out the same. You see that when something becomes popular, such as the Twilight books, then everyone jumps on the bandwagon – but all they’re reacting to is the end result, not the things which inspired it in the first place. They’re replicating the form, not the spirit. I do think it is vital for any writer who is wanting to work commercially is at least aware of market forces and what can sell but I would never write something purely to that end. I don’t mind shaping, however. I do listen to what people have to say and since I recently got an agent I’ve now got to take that all a little more seriously, however in the end it’s my decision on what to do and how to do it because it’s my name on the book cover.

What are your thoughts on self-publishing?

In and of itself self-publishing is neutral – it’s what is done with it that matters. Personally I think that it’s great to have that option there because a lot of writers would never have been published not because they weren’t any good but for marketing reasons. I once had a rejection for my first novel, Pretty Little Things To Fill Up The Void, from an editor who said she loved the book and would loved to have taken it but that she just didn’t see how it would be marketed. That’s fair enough because they are there to sell lots of books but the fact that we now have the option for people to get their books out there for less financial risk is positive. I’ve seen people argue that the loss of traditional publishers and editors might open the floodgates to lots of crappy fiction because those “gateways” are gone and others argue that the reading public at large will just step in to take their places – I’m undecided on the issue. Personally I would always prefer to be published by someone else just to re-assure myself than I’m not deluded and the only one who thinks what I’m doing is any good (which is always a possibility).

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

Onamatopeia, for sure. And there’s nothing better than good old-fashioned “fuck” though as a Scot I’m partial to the occasional “bas’tart”.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

I’m with the Dude Lebowski – White Russian.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, game: something with great story. Go!

I always like to point people towards a little-known Spanish film, Fausto 5.0. I saw it without any idea of what it was and was just blown away by it – it’s a retelling of Faust but set in a slightly off-kilter modern day Spain. Throughout the film there is this background about a virus and people dying or going missing but it’s never really explained and I love when a film does that. There’s a great scene where the protagonist goes to a convention hall and the entire front of this massive building is covered in plastic sheets and in the background crews of guys in biohazard gear are spraying blood away – again, no explanation is given. And in a weird coincidence my friend, the ultra-talented Dan Schaffer, did the UK DVD cover for it.

Where are my pants?

Pants? You Americans, honestly …

Got anything to pimp? Now’s the time!

Katja From the Punk Band is my latest, an industrial crime thriller which has been described as Jackie Brown meets the Sex Pistols. Very stripped-down but with multiple plotlines interweaving and stuffed full of punks, chemicals, video games and body modification. It’s done pretty well for me (it got me an agent for starters, my fellow Scot Allan Guthrie) and people seem to be digging it. It’s available in paperback and e-editions and you can find out more about it, plus the other stuff I’m working on, at www.coldandalone.com – including the latest on lovejunky which is part dystopic crime thriller, part brooding noir romance, and Guerra, an industrial thriller about guerrilla media wars.

August 24, 2011 / 43 Comments

In Which I Answer Your Emails Right Here, Right Now

I get a lot of e-mails these days.

No, not just the ELITE BONER PILLS or SWEET TIJUANA DONKEY PORN or DEPOSED ETHIOPIAN SPACE MARINE kind, but actual emails from actual readers of this site.

I like to hear from you folks. I really do. It’s nice to know you’re not only reading, but you’re absorbing and interacting and are brave enough to hit that contact button.

That said, some of those e-mails fall into a couple categories, and I see a lot of the same questions again and again. So, I thought I’d address four of those questions right here, right now. This then fulfills my “lazy” qualification and will let me just throw a link to this post in an email and say, “Ta-da!” And then I go about my day huffing glue and writing the stories that result from it.

Here, then, are the answers to commonly-asked questions.

I apologize in advance for being a dick in… well, pretty much this whole post.

Let us begin.

Q: “How Do I Be A Writer?”

This is by far one of the most common e-mails I get. It’s often a sort of vaguely-worded, tender-footed, well, how do I do it? The day-to-day, the word count, the storytelling, all of it. This weird gauzy miasma of possibility, this cloud of uncertainty, this unpindownable task with no margins and zero permutations. Sometimes it’s about creating a routine, other times it’s about commitment, occasionally it involves executing on an idea, sometimes it’s just a request to understand how the fuck I and other writers do it.

Let me answer this way, and I apologize if this answer comes across as particularly acidic or feels like a boot to your trachea, but it tends to be how I roll here at Jolly Olde Terriblemynds.

You’re looking for some kind of secret. You think that writers possess some kind of insider knowledge that you do not yet possess — a golden idol that, if stolen from the forbidden temple and inserted rectally, will infuse your body with the wisdom of the gods. You think, perhaps, that we’re holding back.

We’re not.

Here is the not-so-secret secret, a secret so not secret that I’ve said it countless times and, in fact, have written it on a hammer in masking tape and then proceeded to bludgeon you with said hammer:

You write by writing.

I’m sorry to say, but Nike’s marketing team pretty much nailed the shit out of this:

JUST DO IT. (swoosh.)

That’s your secret, right there. Usually the advice is, “Get off your ass and do it,” but here the advice is, “Get onto your ass by plopping it in front of a computer or notebook and just goddamn fucking holy shit do it.”

You could, instead, rephrase the question by imagining different scenarios of difficulty:

“My doorway is blocked by a chair. How do I get out of the room?”

Answer: move the chair.

“My hand appears to be immersed in some kind of… bucket of fire ants. How do I stop them from biting?”

Answer: remove your hand from the bucket.

“I’m hungry. What do I do?”

Answer: put food inside your body, preferably by way of your mouth.

People want to learn to write the way they want to learn to lose weight — as if there’s some secret, some trick, that goes beyond “put less food in body and move ass more frequently.”

If you’re looking for discipline, I can’t give that to you. Only you can give that to you. Yes, I can make a suggestion on how to create and maintain a routine — I’ve heard tell that if you do something 16 times in a row you create a routine out of it, which is probably a load of cock-syrup. Ah, but truth lurks there just the same in that, if you do something enough times it becomes rote. But even still the advice there remains fundamentally the same: do it. Just do it! Want to be a writer? Write. Yes, it’s work, but that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what separates the real writers from those wearing the masks of writers: real writers know that to write they need to — gasp — actually perform the task.

So, there’s your non-advice advice.

Do work.

Put words on paper.

Wanna be a writer, just write.

Q: “Will You Read My Thing?”

I will not read your thing.

I appreciate you asking. I do. I’ve been you. Really. Way back when, when I was a dumb-faced college student and e-mail suddenly existed where no such form of communication existed before, I would write writers — like, say, poor Christopher Moore, who was as nice about it as could be — and ask them to read something I wrote. Desperate for validation. Hungry for that kind of communication. Eager for an “in.”

It was nonsense, of course. But sometimes you just don’t know better.

So, let me say upfront: I am genuinely honored you have chosen me to read your work. I assume that means you think I’m a man of some talent and wisdom (I’m not), or that I have some kind of magic power and big-name-pull (from your lips to the Writer God’s ears, but sadly also not true). But just the same, I’m not going to read your story, novel, script, nascent blog post, or cult manifesto.

Here’s why.

First, I don’t have time. Nothing personal, but I’m already juggling flaming chainsaws in terms of writing projects and family life. Time I take to read your work is time I can’t spend ~~masturbating~~ doing other things.

Second, while likely not a problem, I don’t feel like running afoul of IP infringement. If I’ve got a novel about Hell-Clowns I’m writing and here you send me a short story about Hell-Clowns and I read it and then my book gets published and I get some kind of big movie deal (Hell Clowns II: Greasepaint Rodeo), then the last thing I need is you feeling like I ripped you off and made big bank with your IP.

Third, you should get hooked up with a writer’s community and make friends with other writer-folk. Those people will help you far more than I can, and that sense of community is valuable. I’ll probably just yell at you and crush your dreams. Speaking of dream-crushing, here it comes…

Fourth, if you need that kind of validation from me, you’re not yet ready for primetime. I wasn’t, at that point in my life, and you probably aren’t either. This isn’t a universal truth, and you may be close, but you need to find the kind of comfort in your heart that tells you when your work has merit, has potential. Don’t look to me to give that to you. Or other professional writers. We don’t know shit about shit. I’m just making this stuff up, same as you. Find your center. Write from a place of confidence. I remember that transition — the time when I went from “I don’t know if this is any good” to “I actually think this has a real shot.” It’s an important shift to look for in your work and self-esteem.

Q: “Will You Take No Money To Be A Part Of This Project?”

Again, I appreciate you asking. You obviously want me to be a part of your anthology or blog or whatever, and that’s nice. Really. I’m happy you want me and my work. It’s nice to be wanted, even if it’s based on the dubious suppositions that I a) have talent or b) have some kind of name-cred.

That being said, I’m going to have to say “no.”

I mean, unless there’s money on the table.

I get it. That’s a crass commercial sentiment. It’s not a sentiment everyone shares. But here’s the thing: I only have so many hours in my day and I also have bills to pay. Hours spent writing That Unpaid Thing are hours I really need to spend writing that other Totally Paid Thing so people from the government don’t try to take my house, my son, and my dog. (I don’t know why they’d want my dog, but she is awfully cute.)

I’m pretty much a big ol’ greasy-fingered word-whore. Unless there’s money on the nightstand when we’re done “sharing words,” then I don’t know if we have a deal.

Q: “Can I Repurpose Your Blog Post?”

A lot of people do this without asking, and I understand that my blog appears free for use given that it lives in the Digital Wild West that is the Internet, but sometimes someone actually asks. Which is nice.

But no. No you can’t. Or, at least, I’d prefer you didn’t. I’m unlikely to throw together a crack-shot legal team or anything, but I would really rather you not copy-paste my entire blog post into your own blog. To be fair, most times that people do this, they do still credit me and occasionally even link back here. And again, I appreciate that they dig the post. But it’s actually sort of silly to just copy/paste an entire post of mine when it already lives here. You’re just creating redundant content and bogging the Internet down with soggy diapers caught in the pipes. In fact, I blame you for why YouTube is always so slow. Stupid YouTube.

My preference then is that you take a part of my post and quote it there — say, no more than a third of the entire post, or the “highlight reel” — and then link back here so people can get the whole enchilada.

All This Is True, Unless

…unless I know you. If you and I have communicated in a meaningful way at some point, I will totally read your stuff, I will totally talk about your anthology, I will definitely blab about writing, I will absolutely give you a blog post. But to strangers, ehhh, not so much. Nothing personal. But you have my reasons.

So, there you have it.

Me dropping the dick-hammer.

Commence the throwing of overripe fruit at my cage.

August 23, 2011 / 80 Comments

25 Things Writers Should Know About Social Media

1. The Devil’s Trident

Social media has three essential prongs of activity: broadcast, rebroadcast, conversation. This is true for everybody, not just writers, but it’s worth noting just the same. I say something or repeat something someone else said (broadcast/rebroadcast), and from that social seed-bed, conversation may arise.

2. Be The Best Version Of Yourself

Writers and other creative-types often seem to believe that they need to become someone different online, that they cannot be themselves lest they not find a publisher, not get work, not sell their book, not collect sexy groupies, etc. To that I say, bullshit! And cock-waffle! And piddling piss-wafers! Be yourself. That’s who we want. We just want the best version of you. Scrape the barnacles off. Sit up straight. Smile once in a while. But you can still be you. Uhh, unless “you” just so happen to be some kind of Nazi-sympathizing donkey-molester. In which case, please back slowly away from the social media.

3. Put “Brand” And “Platform” Out Of Your Fool Head

You are not a brand. Social media is not your platform. The world has enough brands. You are not a logo, a marketing agenda, a mouthpiece, a Spam-Bot. Approach social media not as a writer-specific tool (keyword: tool) catered only toward your penmonkey self and see it instead as a place where you can bring all the crazy and compelling facets of your personality to bear on ~~an unsuspecting populace~~ your audience. People want to follow other people. People don’t want to follow brands.

4. Communicate With Other Human Beings (And The Occasional Spam-Bot)

Put the “social” in “social media.” Social media needn’t be a one-way street. A real connection goes both ways. Talk to people. Chat. Converse. Discuss. Share ideas. Don’t be one of those writers who uses their social media channel as a bulletin board announcing naught but their next signing, book release, or $0.99 bowel movement. Don’t aim only to be heard but to open your ears, as well. (Oh, and I’m totally kidding about the Spam-Bots thing. Don’t talk to Spam-Bots. Eradicate them with extreme prejudice. Perform the “honey-pot” maneuver — draw them to you with keywords like “real estate” or “ipad” and then EXTERMINATE EXTERMINATE EXTERMINATE with the vim and vigor of the Daleks.)

5. Guide Them Toward Your Sticky Embrace

Having a blog, website, or online space where you establish an authorial “base camp” is a great thing. It allows you to own your content, track stats, post long-form material, and be whatever it is you need it to be. I use this site for writing stuff, baby babble, recipes, and pagan Lithuanian pornography. Can’t see the porn? You haven’t unlocked the special content. Enter Konami code. Password is: “TheWhoreOfVilnius.”

6. Determine The Tools In Your Toolbox

Find different uses for different social media. Facebook is pretty light on writer-stuff for me. Google+ is good for longer-form discussions. Twitter is really where it’s at for me — it’s where I get the most conversation and connection. Then the blog is the central tentpole to the whole goddamn circus. Maybe you use Tumblr. Or some as-yet-unknown social network, like Wordhole or iPalaver or Friendhammer. Anything except LinkedIn. I mean, c’mon. LinkedIn is the scabby venereal disease of social media.

7. Breed Positivity And Share What You Love

Writers are content creators, and so it behooves us to share what we love. You’re generally better off showing positivity rather than sowing the seeds of negativity. For the most part, the Internet is a monster that thrives the rage of countless disaffected white people, so I don’t know that it does a writer good to be a part of that noise. Your audience cares more about what you’re into rather than what you’re not. After all, I don’t particularly care for a lot of things. Most things, really. If I spent all my time talking about them, I’d be little more than a septic social fountain spewing my bitter froth into the world.

8. Show The World You’re Not A Raging Bonerhead

The Internet is like hot dogs: it’s made of lips and assholes. A writer does well to set himself aside from all that and use social media to reveal that he is, indeed, not a giant bucket of non-contributing human syphilis

9. Kill Them With Kindness

Connection, not conflict. Communication, not combat. Don’t get into fights online. I mean, it’s one thing if you’re getting into an argument with a Nazi-sympathizing donkey-molester. Because, seriously? What an asshole. But nine times out of ten, getting into a snit-spat-tiff-miff-feud-fuss-or-fracas online doesn’t make you look like a shining prince of social media. It just makes you look cranky. Note the difference between “friendly, chummy disagreement” and “pissy Internet rumpus.” The former? Fine. The latter? Not so much.

10. Variety Is The Spice Melange Of Life

…and is essential to the creation of the sandworms, as well as the diet of the wandering Fremen. Wait, what? This isn’t Frank Herbert’s DUNE? Oh. Oh. Sorry! What I’m saying is, divvy your social media existence up. Don’t talk about any one thing. It may not be critical to chop everything up into neat percentages, but just vary the content of your broadcast. Ensure that you do more than share links. Contribute original thoughts. Add conversation. Say something. Just keep the commercials — i.e. self-promotion — to a necessary minimum.

11. Be An Escort, Not A Whore

Speaking of self-promo… the reality of the modern writer’s existence is that self-promotion is inescapable. Whether you’re published by the Big Six or published or by your buddy Steve out of his mother’s basement, you’re going to have to serve up some self-promo. Social media is your online channel for this. It has to be. And it isn’t a dirty word — if I follow a writer, I want to know that their new book is out because I may have missed that news. I just don’t want to hear it 72 times a day. And there’s the key to self-promotion — like with all things (sodomy, gin, reality TV), everything in moderation.

12. Just Say No To Quid Pro Quo

Controversial notion: do not re-share something purely as a favor to someone else. I know — it’s an easy favor to make. “You shared my link, now I share your link. In this way, we tickle each other’s pink parts.” The thing is, if one is to assume you are a writer to trust, then those who listen to your social media broadcasts want to know that the information you share is, in a way, pure. If they believe that the things you’re saying are motivated only by mutual social media masturbation, then you’ve gone and ruined that. Share things you think your audience wants to hear or things you believe are worth sharing. If all you’re doing is echoing links endlessly, what separates you from just another Spam-Bot?

13. You Don’t Build Audience, You Earn It

Lots of writers look at their follower tallies like they’re experience points in a role-playing game, like with every MilliWheaton earned you hear a “ding” and then gain +4 against 4chan or a new Save Versus PublishAmerica roll. Your audience isn’t just a number. It’s a whole bunch of actual human beings. Humans who don’t just want to be sold stuff or yelled at but who want to interact and be amused and enlightened — and who want to amuse and enlighten in turn. Earn your audience, don’t build it. They’re not dollar signs. They’re not credit you can spend buying vintage porn on eBay.

14. Followers Are Not Fans

It’s easy to believe that, pound for pound, those who follow you and read your broadcasts and interact with you online are automatically the same people who are going to buy your books, pimp your stuff, and become super-fans. Bzzt. Wrongo. A retweet or Facebook “like” or “Re-G” on Google+ (that’s what I’m calling the re-share feature over there) is free. The investment to procure your wordsmithy is a whole different level of commitment. That said, these people are all potential fans. It’s your job to make that happen.

15. As A Storytelling Medium

Use social media to tell stories. Real stories or fictional ones. Hey, if my three-month-old baby has an epic diaper-breach and manages to defy gravity and shit up his own back and into his hair, I’m gonna tell you about it. Talk about your life. Or use Twitter to write micro-fiction. Or empower your blog to experiment with telling old stories in new ways. Experiment! Do what you’re bred to do: write.

16. My God, It’s Full Of Words

Social media is, as noted, full of words. Words that must be written. You’re a writer, so tackle social media — from Tweets to Blog Posts to Friendhammer Epistles — with all the grace and aplomb you would give to any of your writing. In other words, let social media demonstrate your abilities as a writer. Use punctuation. Capitalize. Write well. Learn to engage in brief spaces. This will help you be a better writer.

17. The Self-Correcting Hive-Mind

Social media self-corrects. Many find this uncomfortable, but it’s an excellent memetic Darwinism. If I tweet about, say, my three-month-old’s poosplosion, inevitably I’m going to come across people who don’t want to hear about that. Eventually they may say, “This guy talks a lot about poop,” or “Boy, he sure says ‘fuck’ a lot,” and then they stop following me on Twitter or stop coming here to terribleminds. It’s regrettable, but that’s the nature of life. Social media is a frequency that people can tune into or turn away from. That’s normal. Let that happen. Don’t get mad at it. Embrace that kind of course-correction.

18. Dip Your Ladle Into The Brain Broth Of Social Media

Writers need to know things. So ask those in your social media world. Say, “I need a good book on wombat husbandry for a novel I’m writing,” or, “Can anyone recommend good writing music?” or, “If I were to write a stage play based on the Twitter stream of Kanye West, would anybody beta-read it for me?” Don’t be afraid to ask for things. And don’t be afraid to answer when others ask. Again: communicate.

19. The Water-Cooler For Writers

I believe it was game designer and writer Jeff Tidball who said he sees Twitter as a water-cooler for stay-at-home freelancers, and I think he nailed it. Writers don’t have the ability to hover around a water-cooler and talk to other writers most times, and so social media fills that function. It’s a great way to connect with other penmonkeys and creative-types and engage, interact and amuse. It’s important for writers to know other writers. It’s how we get book blurbs or find out what bottle of Bourbon we should try. Used to be you had to travel to conventions and conferences to do it. Now you can do it at home. Without pants.

20. Gaze Into The Whirring Gears Of Industry Machinery

You can use social media to do more than connect with writers. The entire industry is out there. So go and watch. And then partake. Follow agents. Ping publishers. You can watch trends unfold and see what agents are looking for (or what mistakes people are making in their queries). It’s a great place to interact with the industry as a person-who-is-a-writer, not merely a writer-shopping-a-product. Though, I must pass along a critical warning: gazing too long into the publishing industry is like dropping a fistful of acid and then staring into a backed-up toilet for days. You will starve and go mad.

21. Behold Zen Serendipity

Open yourself to the social media experience. Don’t be one of those walled-garden scrod-boats who follows like, 10 people but has 10,000 followers. Put your ear to the ground like Tonto. Listen to shit. Pay attention. Let the sweet serendipity and weird waves of connection wash over you. People are each their own little rabbit-hole: grab a thread and follow it down into the dark, and just as you might use Pandora to discover new music or Amazon to discover new books, use social media to discover new people. Without people and their thoughts and their stories, writers are just lonely weirdos screaming into an empty closet.

22. Appreciate Your Audience

Your audience follows you and rebroadcasts you and that’s a very nice thing. So appreciate them. Interact with them. Respond to them. I don’t mean to say, act as God from on-high acknowledging the little people — I mean, you’re them and they’re you and social media is a powerful equalizer. Appreciate that they take the time to listen to your nonsense day-in and day-out. That’s pretty cool of them, innit?

23. Crucify Gurus And Stab Them With Your Mighty Spears

Anybody who wants to charge you a bunch of money to “optimize” your “social media skills” is selling fool’s gold. This stuff isn’t hard. It ain’t fucking math. At its core, social media is really, “Talk to people, and try not to be a dick.” That’s true for writers as it is for everybody else.

24. Go Old-School

Every once in a while you need to unplug and embrace some old-school social media: go outside and talk to people. Go to a bar, a book signing, a game store, whatever. Engage with fleshy 3-D meatbags!

25. Remember That You Need To Escape Its Gravity

In the end, social media has uses for the writer. But it also runs the risk of becoming the Sarlacc Pit: a giant evil desert vagina that draws you in with its tentacle porn and slowly digests you over the course of many millennia, not allowing you to make any progress on that screenplay you’ve been writing for the last 16 years. Your priority is to write stories, not to fritter away hours on Facebook or dick around on Adult Slutfinder or pretend like LinkedIn is anything but a giant digital boat anchor. The most important thing a writer should know about social media is that it is not the crux of the penmonkey’s existence. What matters most of all is that you write great stories. So what are you doing hanging around here?