A Late IWSG Post... AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The great Alex J Cavanaugh has given us a noble task of venting all our writerly neurosis onto the world on the first Wednesday of each month. I, as part of my new year’s resolution, decided to be more awesome this year, actually that was my only resolution. I’m already on pace to brush my teeth more often and I parted my hair for work today. Oh, I also did ALL the dirty laundry yesterday. So, I can pretty much mark off my resolution as mission accomplished for 2013.

 

Where was I? Oh, well, we’ll just call the fact that this post did not go up this morning as my first big oopsie of the year. See, I got my days a bit mixed up. I thought internet-wise that today was Tuesday (in the real world, I knew it was Wednesday – there is a downside to the ability to compartmentalize, leads to contradictory beliefs).

 

So anyway, all that aside, today is my day to vent. Ready?

 

I haven’t written a word of fiction since October.

 

Nothing. Nada. What have I been doing. Well, outlining, breaking down my WIP into small chunks and carefully reviewing each scene. Nominally, I hope to make it better. Really, I’m stalling. I have to change my ‘about me’ page to reflect my self-published novella coming out later than I said it would. I’ve just not done a thing.

 

And that’s weird to me, I was on quite a roll I think for a lot of the year. My actual wordcount may not have been ridiculously high for the year, but I did write something in the neighborhood of a dozen stories – I’d say on average about 5k words per. I liked them all, more or less. I did leave a few unfinished, but for the most part, I didn’t leave many things undone.  

 

Then it all came to a screeching halt. Not just writing, but everything related to it. I didn’t think of it at the time, but if I were get all analytical with myself, I think I had a crisis around the time I hit 40. I realized that I’m getting older, I’ve got a family that I’ve been neglecting, and job that is getting more and more demanding with each passing day, and quite honestly, I’m not sure my level of craft is good enough to warrant continuing to spend so much time dedicating towards it.

 

So, I don’t decide anything, I just flounder about and hope I’m hit with a flash of inspiration that allows me to be better at everything, and have more time to do everything. I’m hoping that talking about it gets it all out of my system and I can move forward.

 

Wish me luck on that.

Insecure Writers... I'm Lost Edition!

It’s time to celebrate all my insecurities with you. Thanks to Alex J Cavanaugh and his brainchild, I now have that opportunity.

I’ve already done this. This post, I mean. I wrote it up and had it ready to go and then I did something strange. I deleted it.

It was dark, and even for me, a bit whiney. So I made an 11^thhour decision to axe it and do something else.

I struggled with it because, well, in case you haven't noticed, I’ve not been around much lately. And I don’t only mean in regards to posting. I’ve not really visited anyone else in a while either. I’ve kinda gone incognito.

Why? It isn’t NanoWriMo, I decided not to do that this year (we’ll see, I did change my mind one year and signed up on the 15^thand still managed to get it done). It isn’t the giant barn/office we’ve built in the past two months, my work there is more or less done.

Lately, just turning on my computer feels like it’s a burden. I’m burned out. I’ve continued to write, mostly on lunch breaks at my job, so I’ve been doing short pieces and not really working on my big projects that I should be doing. I’ve continued to work on art projects that have deadlines – even if those deadlines whoosh past with fantastic speed.

So, I’m not making an an nouncement, I’m not making a decision to change anything. I’m just giving a state of the blog update. It’s in a “I don’t really feel like it” kind of mode right now.

I need to write more. Not just write in general, butactually write in the projects that I’ve committed to. So, I am committing to this: I’m not starting ANY new stories until I’ve got some of my in-progress stuff complete.

Insecure Writers ... Halloween Edition!

ALEX J CAVANAUGH, in his great wisdom, created the opportunity for any writer who feels like he or she needs a guilt free forum to vent all about their insecurities. Every first Wednesday of the month is the day for all who want to, to let it out. The Insecure Writers Support Group.

So, what’s my deal this month? Well, my plan to be super positive went out the window, as I’m feeling a bit down about everything.

I think I’ve always been looking for ways to gauge how close I am being a pro-level writer. I realized about a year and a half ago that the best way to tell would be to submit to pro markets. So I did, and I have.

And since that time I’ve had zero sales. Nada. I’ve had multiple stories out to all my dream pro short story markets for a while now. They keep not being accepted.

I received a rejection last week for a horror story I’d written. It had several personal notes in the rejection. That’s supposed to be a good sign, right? But then, when I read the notes, they say things like they didn’t care for the name of a secondary character, or, they think my math was wrong when used in the story (it wasn’t, but upon rereading, I can see why they thought that – that really is my problem).

And I’m thinking, WTF? I can change the math, I can change names. Don’t use that as a reason to reject the story. Tell me what’s wrong!

Of course, they rejected the story for other reasons, I know they were being helpful, or trying to be. It’s just that, well, I want someone to say, ‘Hey, this is pretty good, we want to publish it.’

So, I joined an online critique group for some feedback. I submitted a story that I thought was pretty good, but still didn’t seem quite finished to me. And that’s when I started getting feedback. And more feedback, and more, and more. And now I just want it to stop. It’s too much.

One person said it was the best (that’s a paraphrase) thing they’ve read since they’ve joined the group.

Someone else said it was such a mess that they weren’t sure if it was good or bad. It was just too all over the place.

The grammar was awful… no, wait, it’s actually pretty tight.

The aliens at the end were awesome! The aliens at the end was a stupid idea (an FYI, my story had no aliens – that looks like something I need to address, since more than one person thought there were).

And on and on it goes. Crits are pouring in and I want them to stop. I don’t like it. I’m not sure what I can take away, since stuff was all over the board about what was wrong with the story. It did manage to make me feel beat up.  

/End rant

IN OTHER NEWS, I self-pubbed a new novelette this week. I've done my darnedest to make it free on Kindle for the next few days. Please download it now if you're ever going to be interested. Well, unless it's not free, in which case you should wait until it is. 

I don't know if it's a good cover. But it was damn hard to do.

I wrote it several years ago for a charity in town, the book it appeared in sold horribly, but the charity still got something from it. I reread it recently, realized the rights are all mine, and thought it was still a pretty cool tale – even if I had to fight the urge to rewrite every word. Since not that many markets are interested in reprints, I figured I’d put the thing up for the world to see. It isn’t spec fic at all, just a story about a guy discovering his grandma’s secret history.

IWSG - May Edition... Part 4

The great Alex J Cavanaugh once had a dream. To give all the writers of the world who suffered from one neurosis or another an opportunity to vent to the world all their frustrations or fears into the world without the worry of judgement.

And the Insecure Writers Support Group was born.

My big take for this month: I’m not so bad.

I’m turning 40 this month. The big Four-Oh. And as such, I think it’s given me an excuse to examine my life. Not just writing, but everything. My wife, trying to be supportive, had a conversation with me the other day on the topic. It went something like this:

Her: “I think you should be a scientist.”

Me: “Me too, but I’m not qualified.”

Her: “You’re as smart as any of them, you should be one anyway.”

Me: “You think I’m smart?”

Her: “Well, don’t get carried away. They don’t know what they’re doing anyway. Did you know they say the Brontosaurus isn’t real anymore? And don’t get me started about dark matter?”

Me: “This part sounds familiar. Where have I heard this before?”

Her: Shrugs. “I’m just saying. You can make up crazy stuff just as easily as they can.”

Me: “Are you encouraging me, or not?

Her: “Look, there are all sorts of labs around here. Go… be a scientist.”

And with that, she was done. That may not have been a true transcription, as it took place last weekend and I’m retelling it now - the details may have gotten fuzzy. I thought we should’ve spent more time talking about the qualifications necessary before applying for a position. As I’m pretty sure people showing up off the street and demanding to be named ‘scientist’ and given a job don’t have a high success rate. But then again, maybe that’ll work.

But her larger point, which I’ll summarize instead of giving it away through dialogue, is that I may have missed my calling in life. And she’s telling me I can still pursue my dreams.

I told her I like to write, but she meant dreams that make me money. Not dreams that eat up my nights and weekends and don’t bring in any income.

Sigh. Did I have a point? This had something to do with the IWSG for August. I meant to be encouraging. Especially after last month when I said I was going to stop complaining all the time.

Regardless, thanks Alex. It't been a good year.

Insecure Writers... May Edition: Part III

It's that time again. The great Alex J Cavanaugh's brainchild, The Insecure Writer's Support Group. A time for all those authors with some sort of hang up can express themselves in a judgement-free environment in an effort to comfort one another.

I've been doing these posts for awhile now. I can't recall how long, but long enough in the past that I feel like I'm repeating myself each month. It's okay for me, because like all people who are somewhat self-absorbed, I don't really mind repeating myself.

But I've been thinking about this, and I'm going to try to make this my last complaint filled post on the subject. I hope future ones will be far more uplifting and not-so self deprecating. I might not succeed, but I feel like I've run the gambit on my insecurities over the past - well, however long it's been.

I've got this problem, the problem is in finishing things. I've got something in the order of half a dozen novels written that are in need of revisions and self-editing. HALF A DOZEN. For those of you keeping tabs, that's around six.

Yes, I had The Blutonian Death Egg out there being subbed at one point. But it's been taken off the market temporarily while I reconsider a few structural issues it may have.

So I'm always 'working' on something, but I'm rarely finishing things. At least novel length works. I'm afraid I'll go to my grave with 40 or 50 half-finished novels and nothing complete. I'm getting old, I need to churn some of these things out.

I have made a plan of action though, I know that free-wheeling it isn't producing much by way of manuscripts. I've got my plan and I'm going to stick to it.

I hope.

Happy IWSG everyone.

Insecure Writers - May Edition!

IWSG - May edition.

During the month of May, rejections for stories submitted through the first half of the year began pouring in. And I do mean pouring. I know writers can struggle with confidence, and I think I can struggle more than most. So my precious, fragile ego took quite the beating.

It does make me nervous, I was thinking that I might be getting close in my writing, approaching the oft-coveted ability to take a story and make the reader get carried away with it. Sigh. So, what does that mean for me? Well, the obvious thing that happens is that I take my insecurity to a whole new level. I supposed I've got a lot of work to do.

So, if it weren't for the great Alex J Cavanaugh, and his Insecure Writer's Support Group, I'd be all alone in my misery. It's good to know there are others out there that allow me the opportunity to vent.

Thanks Alex. Thanks everyone.

Insecure Writers... May Edition

Can’t believe the whole A-Z challenge thing is over. I’ll be reflecting on that next week. But for now I’m here to talk about my insecurities. I think every post I do is about my insecurities, but I suppose this in the one-time per month I have a permission from a support group to post about it.

Yes, it's the brainchild of Alex J Cavanaugh - a monthly look at all the things that writers stress over. Click to learn more.

For me, possibly my biggest insecurity, or at least the one I try my best to actively avoid, is rejection. During the heat of the A-Z challenge I got dinged with a couple of rejections from stories I’d submitted. One was my sci fi novel that I’ve been shopping around so long that I’m afraid it’s no longer relevant. Well, relevant might not be the right word, but already  rendered all but impossible as a contemporary tale. I did go through the thing last year and give everyone iPhones to make it feel more modern. But that sort of thing is a Band-Aid, not a fix. So after another year or so I’ll either have to really rewrite it – which I might have to do anyway – or give it a firm date and call it a historical science fiction piece.

I’m going to give it one more go with the traditional track before I give up and throw the thing up as a self-published work and move on. Regardless, I think I’ll need a new query letter. My previous ones were targeting editors, and my new ones will be targeted at (sigh) super agents.

So, I can say goodbye to this gem:

“Dear Editor,

My novel, The Blutonian Death Egg, has been compared to such made up works as, The Man Who Forgot That He Couldn’t Remember, and the classic, White Elephants and Pink Whales: One Man’s Descent into Nicorette Addiction.

James Coastsman is a know-nothing, lazy, unmotivated, borderline sociopathic loner that gets forced into becoming an astronaut because he’s also me! And I’m awesome and should totally get to be an astronaut. So, while I’m he’s astronauting, he saves the world, kinda, gets the girl, and fights the establishment that is jealous of him.

I don’t think it’s a stretch to call this POS at least as good as some of the crappier SF being published currently, I mean, did you read <title redacted>? What a crapfest that was. So it isn’t like you’re throwing out winners right and left. I mean, c’mon.”

I know, who could reject that? My new query will probably be something along the lines of:

“Dear Agent,

My previous attempts at submitting directly to publishing houses have met with some crushing rejections, despite a terrific query letter.

I’m coming to you because I’ve been led to believe that you can actually get me a book deal, please do so now. I’ll be honest with you, I read a book published at a major house by one of your clients and I found that book incredibly mediocre. He was a first time novelist, so I’m pretty sure that you can get some otherwise unremarkable stuff noticed. I can’t imagine how bad it was before it had several rounds of rewrites and professional editing. I may not be capable of producing award winning fiction, but I can at least whip up something as good as <name redacted> has.

My book? Well, my completed manuscript is something about a slacker that goes into space because I needed him to for the story. Think Dumb and Dumber meets Apollo 13… Also, there may be government conspiracies… I’m not sure because I’ve got so many plot holes that I can’t recall what is on purpose and what is the result of sloppy planning. I’m not big on plotting anyway. I doubt any readers will get past the first couple of chapters so I’ve not put a lot of effort into a satisfying ending. Just slap a good looking cover on it and we’re gold!

Cheers,”

Wow. No matter how many times I read it I start to think I’ve got a sure fired best seller on my hands. Surely no one would reject that.

D is for Demog

A-Z Challenge day number 4!

Back to things from my would-be fantasy novel. This is something I referred to as a Demog in my manuscript so far. It's a chimera made by the gods to torment men.

It ended up looking a bit more ape-like than what I wanted to sketch, but again, you're getting first drafts, I'm not going back and changing stuff once its down.

It's funny, the reason I like sketching, or art in general, is because it allows me to express things that exist only in my head for others to view and hopefully enjoy. It can be frustrating when I can't quite make my vision inside easily be put down in a sketch. But whatever, it's sorta what I had in mind, use you imagination if you have to.

Also, I'm noticing that there isn't very much sense of scale here. I'll need to correct that in future sketches.

Arg! I only have fur on my head.

Also, today is Alex J Cavanaugh's Insecure Writer's Support Group. A time to vent our fears and hope that others can share in our neurosis. My fear of the month this month is that this Demog is just like me. A chimera made up of bits of other things... but nothing about it, or me, is truly unique.

I do think about that sort of thing, a lot. Here's hoping that I can take all the disparate parts that have influenced me and turn them into something truly new.

Insecure Writers: March Edition

I'm running late on this. So today's post will be thankfully short. Several months ago, the great Alex J Cavanaugh created the Insecure Writers Support Group for people just like me - writers who have issues.

Today I want to talk about what might be my biggest fear in regards to my writing. It's my biggest fear because I think it has such a realistic chance of actually happening.

I'm afraid, not that I'll wake up one day and say I quit. My fear, is that one day I'll wake up and realize I've not written anything in so long that I will have quit and not realized it.

I tend to write in bursts anyway. It's very hard for me to write every day. I'd rather write nothing at all than spend 20 minutes a day working at something. I want, no need to have five, six, seven, ten hours or more that I can carve out to write. I want to plow through.

So I spend a lot of time not writing because I just don't want get started. Lucky for me that I manage to get stuff done nonetheless. Slowly, much more slowly than I'd prefer, but still. I make headway.

But if I'm not vigilant, if I'm not always making myself actually sit down and do it. I'll spend my life talking about writing, planning on writing, research for my writing, but not actually writing. Even now, working on book covers, other artwork, reading, blogging, even watching TV of movies all come out of  a single block of time I have daily to do whatever it is I'm going to do. Time is not my friend. I can't do it all.

And I still haven't entirely given up on playing music. Of photography, I want to learn other things. I have other interests. Writing is chief among them, but it requires a greater commitment if I want to excel.

And there you have it.

Insecure Writers - February Edition

There are several things going on today that I’d like to mention.

First! I mentioned on Monday that if anyone managed to sit through all those videos I posted I’d make a big deal about it today. Well, congrats to Gail who patronized me by watching them all. She was too pooped to really have thoughts about it. But hey, she was like a marathoner that wouldn’t quit.Alex emailed me later and mentioned that he watched them all (and that doesn’t mean he watched his own five times either, I asked). But beyond that I’m not sure anyone else was able to hang in there for all of them.

If I missed anyone please let me know, I didn’t leave anyone out on purpose. Some of the comments were a little dodgy on the topic.

Second, the legal whiz, Briane Pagel, came up with an idea for what is perhaps the greatest blogfest ever devised. Where he got the idea is beyond me, because it’s amazing. On Friday you need to write something about a pineapple, you can read about it here, I’m not actually sure about the details, as the rules read much like a calculus final, but I figure that if I post something about pineapples the rest will take care of itself.

And I signed up for the A-Z blogging challenge in April, it’s pretty much the greatest blogfest ever devised… wait, why does that sound familiar to me? Regardless, I’m pretty sure it’s the biggest. The day after it went live it already had several hundred folks signed up. Look, April is going to be a lonely month if you don’t plan on being a part of it. So hop in and go with it. You can sign up here.

What else? Oh, today is Insecure Writers group – February edition. Thanks again to Alex J Cavanaugh for creating the group.

And I've got so many insecurities I’m afraid some of them even contradict one another. You know, like suffering from agoraphobia and claustrophobia at the same time. I’m the kind of person that wants to do everything, and I mean everything, myself. Which is why I always feel vaguely ashamed if I have to ask for someone’s help on anything I produce.

How far does that go? Well, let’s just say that I do my digital painting in photoshop – I feel like I’m cheating because I didn’t write the code myself. When I draw on a piece of paper I’m always wondering if I should have made the paper myself, from a tree that I grew from a seedling.

Sigh. I know, it’s a problem. Ironically, I love collaborative efforts, I only get that way about things that will only have my name on them and no one else’s. Am I the only one who struggles with this? Have I invented a  disorder? This rears its ugly head in me when I get editing or critiquing help from others as well. Like, if I put a period at the end of that sentence then all of a sudden it's not really my work anymore. I recognize that it's ridiculous, but that doesn't change how it feels to me.

Oh well, thanks everyone.

Insecure Writers - January 2012 Edition

The internet has Alex J Cavanaugh to thank for Insecure Writer’s Support Group. It’s a monthly opportunity to vent your fears, insecurities, and whatever else writers get weird about, and get to know others that feel the same way.

For the first couple of weeks of the year I’m going to have to try real hard to not start every post with some sort of ‘this is the first time this year that blah blah blah…’ or ‘this is the best (or worst) thing that happened this year.’ It can be a hackneyed way of doing things, but at least for me, it’s heartfelt. One of the few holidays that really impact me on an emotional level is New Year’s.

Every year I find some time to reflect, see what I’ve done, what I’ve not done, dream of what may come, and predict what seems likely given my past performance. It’s this weird time of despair and optimism. Where I wonder if this is the year I quit dreaming and grow up, or if this is the year I actually begin to live the dream.

2011 felt like a pretty productive year for me, until I stopped to see what I actually accomplished. Which was close to nothing. I managed to submit a novel for publication, see it rejected, submit it again to someone else, and not hear back. I wrote a novelette, and novella, and a short story… I have half a draft for a novel, and another short story that I can’t really call done because it’s too horridly awful.

That doesn’t seem like very much. All that combined puts my word count for the year at close to 100k. That feels about typical for me. But that is nowhere near the productivity I would like to have. By my math, that averages out to around 250 words a day.  Not so much, that’s about a single page’s worth of text.

That sort of failure to produce is exactly why I at least try to make resolutions around writing, around goals. I mentioned yesterday some of the writing things I want to get done this year, and I need them, because without setting goals, I will achieve nothing. I’ll end up here in 2013 lamenting that I didn’t do what I hoped to.

And that’s my worry now. I did spend close to a decade of my life talking about writing, and researching for a novel I never wrote. My big moment of realization came when I, per chance, had a professional, published author, a guy nominated for a Pulitzer, offer to read over some of my stuff and give me some helpful tips.

I jumped at the chance to let him read some of my stuff. I had nothing. Nothing! I recall running home and writing a three page story about a college professor fretting about the world ending, then rushing back to his office the next day and handing him my crappy story. The poor guy very politely went over some storytelling basics with me, and gave me a book on the craft of writing that I still savor to this day.

And if I’m not diligent, I’ll spend the next 20 years of my life turning out stuff at a snail’s pace. Not because I can’t do more, in which case it wouldn’t bother me as much, but because I didn’t make good use of my time. And that, well, that bothers me.

Insecure Writers, Christmas Edition

I hope we all know the routine by now. Alex J Cavanaugh started the Insecure Writers Support group a few months ago as a chance for all of us to vent our fears/frustrations about writing and to encourage one another. So, please go sign up, or, if you’re one of those writers that doesn’t struggle with confidence, then go and encourage all your fledgling brethren.

Last month, Nancy, who is a mental health expert in the real world, mentioned that the imposter syndrome plagues many people. But then I was thinking, does it still count when you have imposter syndrome but you've not had any success either?

A lot of this goes back to knowing your station in life. I spent many of my formative years living with relatives, grandparents, aunts and uncles, before my mother scrounged up the funds to put us in a sweet little trailer on a farm.

I’m not sure of the relationship we had with the farm owners, but we eventually wore out our welcome and had to move. We took that trailer and found a place that was nestled between lots of country, a few nice homes, and yet another farm. We plopped that trailer down on a very small plot of land that had been slivered off from the many acres of grasses and pasture and we lived there through all my middle school years.

Except for that nagging feeling like I didn’t belong. I always felt like I was that one kid, the one who was living in the wrong zip code. Others belonged and I did not. Never could shake that feeling - my whole life, just thinking that I didn’t belong, no matter where I was. I had to know my place.

I was well into adulthood before I realized that the problem might have just been with me. I’ve always enjoyed diagnosing myself as suffering from an assortment of behavioral disorders, and despite not knowing anything at all about disorders, and usually resorting to making up conditions to classify myself to fit in, I feel like I’m pretty dead on.

Example: did you know that I suffer from Conflictarian Rousal and Avoidance disorder? It’s where I find the situation with the highest drama, completely involving other people, and firmly insert myself into the middle of it, then do everything I can to not be involved.  

It’s a disorder, I have no control.

Anyway, you get the idea. Well, I have also diagnosed myself with the disorder I’ve named, “Social Aversion and Discordance Disorder," the acronym is S.A.D.D., which is cool, but also I’m sure had been taken by some drunk driving campaign, and I don’t want to confuse people, so I changed it to:

“Social and Hierarchal Aversion Temperament?” There, the name is less cool, but I like the acronym better.

Yes, I have S.H.A.T.

This will totally keep people from knowing I'm crazy!

What does that mean? Well, as I started to mention earlier, before I got sidetracked, is that I always feel like I have no business even trying to do the things I do. I feel guilty, yes, guilty for wanting to be a writer. Look, people around me in real life are generally supportive, if a bit confused about why I would choose to do something like this with my free time. But they don’t discourage me, the opposite really. So why do I feel this way, why do I feel bad about writing, about hoping to write even more?

I have no idea. Does it have something to do with my childhood? The more I think about it the more I think I would have felt this way no matter my upbringing. I mean, it sounds so lame that a farmer forcing my mother to move when I was a kid was that big a deal, I moved a couple of times a year up until I got to middle school. That wasn't that big a deal, and it sounds like a pretty lame excuse. No, I was just born this way. I’m insecure, yes, I have S.H.A.T., but I haven’t let that stop me for moving on anyway.

So, here’s to feeling like I can belong. Cheers.

November Edition Insecure Writer's

The months keep whizzing right on by. Can't believe another month has gone by since the last post I've made as my part of The Insecure Writer's Support Group, as hosted by Alex J Cavanaugh (who by the way, saw his novel, CassaStar, hit the top 10 in space opera on Amazon last weekend. Good job, dude!).

This is always difficult for me, not because I don't feel insecure, but because I'm not sure I can articulate all that mess that is going on in my head and it come out in a way that the reader can understand. Well, there's that, and I can kind of be like that guy, the one that just broke up with his girlfriend and won't stop talking about it. I mean, at first you try to be supportive, you listen as he tells you about how much he cared for her, how she crapped all over him, how she was so awful when they were together. How much better it will be now that she's gone.

Then, the next day, he says the same thing. The second time through you kind of figure he just needs to get it out of his system, and you try your best to come up with a reason to leave. Then before you know it, it's been two weeks and every time you've seen or talked to the guy he's trying to corner you so he can complain about his crazy ex-girlfriend.

Well, I've been on both sides of that. I've been that guy who can't shut up,and I've been that guy who takes the long way to the bathroom at work because I'm avoiding that other guy.

So, now I'm here, given the freedom to talk about what I'm feeling insecure about. Well, in the immortal words of Dave Coverdale, "Here I go again."

No, wait. I don't want to go there again this month. What am I insecure about? Well, among other things. I'm afraid that I'm going to give up one day. I have a history of it. My rock star dreams, my artist dreams, even my photography dreams. I don't trust future me to want the same things that present day me wants.

I don't trust me to pursue my dreams. Again, I've gone to school to be a bible scholar, a biologist, an accountant, and have pursued none of those things. I dreamed of being an actor, but never auditioned for anything. I'm tired of obsessing over something new every 5 or 6 years. Dammit, I'm done with my wanderlust.

I'm a writer. I hope.

Insecure Writers Support Group - Oct Edition

It's that time again. Alex J Cavanaugh's Insecure Writers Support Group. It's that time of month when those of us that have all sorts of insecurities about our craft, future, whatever, all get together and vent about how freaked out we are. The goal is to visit everyone who is part of the group and offer your best wishes or encouragement.

Man, I can write one of these posts about once a day. Last month I talked about. Damn. I have no idea what I talked about.  But whatever it was, it was one of my insecurities. This month, I’ll talk about, well, another one. Or, maybe it’s the same one, since I can’t recall what I wrote last time, it’s hard to say.

Writing for me, the dream part anyway. Is that I’ll do it well enough so the people of this world will pay me to do it. It would be all I would need to do. Never have to work another job, just write my little stories and have folks eagerly hand over cash for the privilege of reading. I think it’s odd that I used to think writing, being a writer that is, was the equivalent of me becoming a theoretical physicist. It was something reserved for only the select, elite, and noblest members of society.

So, early in my twenties I started thinking that I wanted to be a writer. To write novels. I know most people have long since figured out whether or not they will write way before then. But not me. The funny thing though, once I made that decision, I figured I had to get permission before I could try. So I spent years, and I mean years, planning on writing as soon as I knew how – or got permission to.  I recall during one of my many stints in college, this one somewhere around the time I was 30, talking to one of my professors, an author of several books, including novels, about wanting to be a writer. He said, “bring some of your work in and let me take a look.”

I didn’t understand, I said I wanted to be a writer - I didn’t say I was one.

Believe it or not, I was dumb enough to rush home, whip something up, and bring it back. Yep, I really did. I’m so embarrassed about it now. What makes it worse is that it was a scene about a college professor worrying about the sun exploding. Geez. I’m going to have to write him a letter and apologize for subjecting him to that. He was great though, he gave me a book on writing as a gift and encouraged me to continue.

And I did.

So, what did that have to do with anything?  Well, it brings me back to that dream I was talking about. I’m afraid that the world of writing is going to leave me behind. Self-publishing seemed so cool to me a while back, but after a month where sales were really close to zero, I started to wonder if that was what I should expect to see if I'm not going to be constantly beating the bushes and screaming at folks to buy my stuff. Because, I don’t like doing that. I’m not a sales guy. I’ve been reading a lot from folks that are successful, and they all seem to spend quite a bit of time promoting themselves, they don’t talk as much about the story, the craft, it’s isn’t a creative endeavor for a lot of them. It’s a job. They talk about sales quotas and hitting targets.

Buy my book! Buy my book! Buy my book!

I don’t think I’m one of those people. Some facets of it might be okay, but I don’t want everything I do online to be a business decision. I joined Goodreads to keep tabs on books I was reading, (and later, to see what people I know are reading) not to ‘network’ with potential readers, I am on twitter because it’s awesome, I don’t want to follow 1000 people because I hope they’ll follow me back so I can spam them with crap about buying my books.

If that’s the future, then I’m going to be left behind. It makes me sad, it makes me want to… well, I don’t know what. But it makes me doubt that dream I mentioned earlier will ever come true.

Where Am I?

Alex Cavanaugh, the guy who happens to be everywhere, has recently started the Insecure Writer's Support Group. It's a group created for folks just like me, that is, folks who are a wee bit insecure about what they're doing with this whole 'writing' thing. So far, I think something like a million people have signed up. Please follow the link above to read stories from all the fragile writer's out there.

Sigh. So many writers, and I count myself among them, have this fragile confidence about what they are doing and how they are doing it. And what the final product looks like. In fact, if I were to use myself as a guide, I'd say that the internal debate I have is often whether or not I should just quit.

But I'll be thinking that while I'm writing away. So I'm not sure it matters.

Imagine you spend months, er, years, working on a single book, having it finished, then scrapping it, starting over, finishing it, then editing it half a dozen times, realizing that there is a major plot hole, rewriting again. And again. And again. Well, I did all of those things, partially because the novel I'm discussing was my first novel I ever wrote, and it needed a bunch of work to make it readable.

Now, what happens when you, after the better part of a decade of constant reworking your manuscript,  pick up a book and find out it is so similar to yours that it might make yours deemed a rip off should it ever see the light of day?

Cause I read a book last week that was sorta that way for me. It, well, it gave me a bit of weird feeling. I kinda reviewed it here and didn't get into any of why it gave me a such an icky feeling. Mostly because that feeling I got had nothing to do with the book itself, but instead of what it reminded me of.

It reminded me of my unpublished novel... a lot. After reading it I got this sinking feeling that if my book ever gets published folks who have read them both might think I was copying plot elements straight over. I figured I could do a quick checklist to see if I'm right.

Present/near future? Check
NASA centric? Check
Hastily thrown together mission to NEO (near earth object)? Check
NEO is Alien artifact? Check.
Astronauts explore artifact? Check
Misguided Astronauts sabotage mission? Check
Folks get stranded on NEO? Check

I could keep going here. There are other similarities that are apparent to me, but those get deeper into the plot twists area that I'd rather not get into now. Now, there are differences, the book I read was a multi-veiwpoint thrid person and mine is a first person narrative. There's is a pretty big difference in main characters. In fact, lots of that sort of stuff is very different. In fact, when I look at character arcs, the stories aren't alike at all.

But it got me thinking about how many similarities two works can have before people start crying foul. I'm reading a book now that is clearly a retelling of The Count of Monte Cristo, I read a book last year that was clearly a retelling of Shakespeare's, Hamlet. Folks generally think doing that is brilliant. But there the characters are essentially the same and the settings are changed. What my story has is the same setting, but with different characters.

Is there a difference? Is one more acceptable than the other? I don't know. I do know that science fiction is a genre that has lots and lots of stories that are similar to one another.

All I can do, I guess, in the end, is to  let other people tell me if I'm ripping someone else off.

But that won't stop me from worrying about it.