Never Give Up

In mystery novels, as in life, it’s all a matter of perspective. Depending on their positions in the room, characters will see different things. A witness’ memory is a frail thing at best, failing the truth despite best intentions. Misinterpretation and preconceived notions are the enemies of accurate reporting, adding to the confusion. Evidence is a somewhat better source, but only if investigators successfully sift through the mountain of irrelevant material to find the meaningful pieces of evidence hiding in plain sight.

Sifting and sorting through the details of the novel, scene by scene, chapter by chapter, I soon felt like I was drowning. Not only was I trying to deconstruct the original story, but I was creating a new book out of the ashes of the old. The characters were a decade older, so I had to figure out how their relationships with the people in the story had changed. What motivated the murderer? For that matter, who was the murderer? And why did my amateur detective get involved in the case in the first place?

Answering those questions gave me a fresh perspective on the story and the characters soon began to take their places on stage, waiting to deliver their lines. I still had to write them, creating the scenes that would bring the drama and tragedy of their actions to life, but by the end of the first week, it was starting to take shape. And I hadn’t written much of anything yet.

The other challenge I faced was shifting the main character from third person to first person perspective, a change I felt was warranted to bring the reader closer to the lead character and her world. That alone would take some very picky editorial work, ferreting out every third person reference (I can’t tell you how many hundreds of references to “her” and “she” I changed).

I took a cue from the creators of Dramatica Pro, Melanie Anne Phillips and Chris Huntley, and started to deconstruct the manuscript into its component story throughlines. Five character throughlines provided the perspectives of the murderer, several suspects and the amateur sleuth, while a six throughline covered the events leading up to a pivotal event in the story. Throughlines are a powerful method for tracking a character or subplot from beginning to end. I found it exposed missing elements and structural weaknesses, enabling me to quickly address problem areas that I likely would not have seen in the context of the entire book.

As I came down to the wire the weekend of October 10th, I needed to integrate all the pieces of the book into a cohesive whole and run a final edit on the entire manuscript in time to put it in the mail on October 14th (my goal was to have it in New York on October 15th). Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that weekend. Despite my efforts, I was not going to make the deadline unless I could free up one more full day to focus on the book. I took my last remaining vacation day and worked until midnight, finishing the manuscript. I wrapped up the final editorial on Tuesday night and prepared the manuscript for mailing on Wednesday.

That was when the train went off the tracks. The competition information on the website was written in a singularly confusing manner, and I must admit that I misread the requirements. Although the manuscript was due October 15th, applicants were advised to submit the entry form, which was only available by mail. And the package was supposed to be sent to a judge, whose address would be sent along with the entry form.

So, I’m standing in my office, staring at this convoluted language while I realize that I’ve spent the better part of a month preparing for a competition I will be unable to enter and I’m surprised by my reaction. I didn’t care because I hadn’t written the book for them. I realize that I’ve done all this work for me and nothing, least of all an incompetent copy-writer of competition rules, is going to stop me from taking this book to market. I scroll through the webpage and discover that the Edgar First Crime Novel competition has a deadline in November. So, I draft a letter and send it off, requesting the entry form and judge’s name and address. Life is so good. I’m entering the Edgar competition.

When the letter arrived in November with the entry form and my judge’s mailing information, I had that little rush of happiness that comes over you when you realize there’s no place to go but up. I put that package together (carefully checking everything so I missed no detail) and sent it off.

Then I jumped right off the cliff, posting an announcement on Facebook that I had entered the competition. That was harder than sending the manuscript, but I felt like I owed it to myself to own my success or failure in front of family and friends. Lots of wonderful comments and support. I dropped a line to Karen Gilb, thanking her again.

Kicking back with a virtual glass of sherry by the fire. A good month’s work and more to come. I am galvanized and working anew on my other project.

Just Think Differently.

Making Magic

“There’s a myth among amateurs, optimists and fools that beyond a certain level of achievement, famous artists retire to some kind of Elysium where criticism no longer wounds and work materializes without their effort.” -- Mark Matousek

Among the multitude of excuses and explanations put forth in service of the force of Resistance, the claim that great stuff is produced through some magical process is the most tragic. This is a disservice to the creator and to magic as well. Do I believe in magic? Oh yeah, I do.

The difference is that my Magic wears jeans and work boots. She doesn’t sit on some flower brushing her hair and fanning her gossamer wings until just the right moment to appear and shower fairy dust on my creative output. Magic is a blue collar gal, who gets up in the morning and goes to work with me. She inspires me mainly by prodding me in the buttocks when I start kidding myself about the reality of creative productivity. And I am here to tell you, those boots of hers really hurt!

She’s not just a taskmaster, though. She’s right there by my side when I’m working, encouraging me to put in my time and rewarding me with shimmering insights when I finally get it right. And nothing truly fresh and original springs forth fully realized. If you think it does, you aren’t there yet. In the land of creative endeavor, things that look to good to be true are just that.

Ideas are the first step in a long and torturous journey to powerful creative output. They must be turned, polished, revised, deleted, and pursued down tangential pathways to places no one would ever think of going. The best friends a writer has are the six questions: what, when, where, why, how, and who? Journalists use them to mine and define their material; novelists use them to ferret out the implausibilities, omissions, and follies in their imagined worlds.

I’m currently investing significant energy in world-building for an alternate-reality project I’m developing. I started out with a pretty mundane (dare I say hackneyed?) idea about a girl, a sword, and an elf. Then I started twisting it and at this point, I’ve got humans, self-exiled magical species, demons, and the delicious possibilities that arise when you thrust these disparate creatures together after a millennium of separation. Underpinning it all is the simple question that led me there: What would happen if all the magic left the world, and then suddenly came back?

The answer: All kinds of Hell would break loose. I am so looking forward to it. What’s turning your world on its ear? Just Think Differently.

Resistance is Fertile...

Last week I raised the subject of dreams – daydreams vs. dreams born of passion. The realization of a dream is the hardest thing in the world, and the easiest. Put one foot in front of the other. That’s it. Achievement comes down to one thing, action.

I used to think that there was something mysterious or dramatic about making my “Big Dreams” into reality. So, I kept busy using all the marvelous tools of procrastination to keep myself from ever taking the necessary and fundamentally mundane steps that lead to success. I did laundry, ran errands, worked hard at everything that didn’t support my dream, and I was remarkably good at it all. I would carve out slivers of time to devote to my dream, looking around expectantly for the lightning bolt to strike and inspire me to greatness. Strangely, that miraculous sign never appeared in the sky (with accompanying orchestral score by John Williams), nobody parted any seas (Red or any other hue), and not a damn thing happened.

Along the way, I excelled at various jobs, built a happy personal life, enjoyed some hobbies, traveled and had some good times. But I couldn’t seem to get things rolling with my dream projects, except in fits and starts that fizzled as life got in the way. I wondered why others could do what I seemed unable to achieve. What was wrong with me? Was it fear? Lack of talent? Laziness?

Then I ran across a book that was written just for me. It changed my life because it shattered my illusions about making dreams come true.

“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.”

Steven Pressfield wrote this in “The War of Art,” along with many other utterly brilliant, insightful things about the single greatest threat to creative endeavor, Resistance. You may also recognize it in its sister form, Inertia who keeps your ass cradled in your miserably familiar pond. And there’s their little brother, Self-Doubt, who chips away at your confidence, while cousin Fear paints terrifying visions to keep you from taking the risk to try at all. Great family, and they all live right there, between the ears of every person with a dream, idea, inspiration, or hope.

Pressfield posits that Art is war, an apt metaphor because war is ugly, difficult, and will only be won through perseverance against a plan created and directed by a purposeful leader. There will most certainly be setbacks, losses, and excruciating pain. Some days, just moving forward one step at a time will feel like the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Other days, you will triumph and take territory you never thought to win. Ultimately, the agony of the struggle will lead to victory.

And the next day, you get up and start the next campaign, with a new goal, a new vision, and no end in sight. The difference between a life of frustration and stress and a life filled with wonder is the willingness to embrace the challenge posed by your own dreams and do something about them. That’s right, put in the time day in and day out and you win. You may never be rich or famous, but you will live with more passion, joy and lust for the life you have.

You don’t have to quit your day job to fulfill your dreams, just kick Resistance and her dysfunctional family out of your head and take action. Build your campaign, line up the troops (you on the front line), and start marching toward your goal. Carve out time every day to work on it.

No excuses. No fear. Forward march! Just Think Differently.