Write Two Words.
I was writing at the library yesterday afternoon. The session started off slowly, as it often does. I had just finished a paragraph on my piece, and wasn’t sure what the next paragraph would bring. Believe it or not, I knew the first two words of said paragraph, but i wasn’t sure where to take the rest of the opening sentence, and therefore the rest of the paragraph.
I played with ideas in my head for while. I brainstormed. I relaxed and looked around the (unusually quiet) library. All the while I kept a mental note of those first two words I knew I was going to open the next paragraph with. My thought process at this time was something like,
“Okay, I’ll start with those two words, and then what? Those two words followed by a list? Could those two words be a sentence, or at least an understood fragment? All right, sit back and take a breath for a few minutes. You’ve got the two words for now at least.”
Then I realized, I did not have those first two words I’ve been going on and on about. I knew them, but I had yet to type them on the screen of my laptop. They had just been sitting there in some kind of antechamber of my imagination, waiting for me to put them to some kind of use, or to dismiss them. At that point it struck me: I could either sit there and not do any writing at all until I knew what the next paragraph was doing, or I could literally put down the two words I knew I would use, and honestly say I had written something. After all, those two words were going to be on the screen at some point, why not now?
So I did. Just those two words. Nothing magic happened, but once i did type those two words, I was no longer waiting to write, i was actually doing so. That little bit of further progress mattered. It was still a few moments before I knew what came next, but no I had something put down in words that I didn’t have before, and you know what? Those following few minutes of pondering didn’t feel as strained as the pondering and thinking I did before I wrote the two words.
Before I left the library, I had written a few more paragraphs. It was such an enlightening and satisfying moment, I tweeted about it.
As a writer, you won’t always know what’s next, and that’s fine. Yet if you know even a fraction of what comes next for now, write it down. Write one sentence, or write two words, if you know they’re next. The door for the next few words, sentences or paragraphs may open more quickly than it otherwise might have. Even if it doesn’t, two more words on the page or screen is better than zero while you try to determine the entire next page in your head. Two words put down works. It’s progress. It’s writing.
Reading and Writing a Series
As a reader, I avoid starting a series of novels. Multiple adventures with the same set of characters that each exist as a stand alone novel? Fine. I can handle that. Yet I have rarely touched a series of novels that must be in sequence, wherein you’ll not have the “grand” resolution until you read all of them. Harry Potter is a notable exception to this, and I am not as wild about those books as most people are. They are easy (though usually too long) reads, that I got started on because a girlfriend at the time insisted. My reading of the series lasted far longer than the relationship, but I was too stubborn to not eventually read all seven novels.
Like I said, I enjoyed the Potter series. Moderately. Once was enough though.
At least I knew they were a series when I went into them. (Or I should say allowed my arm to be twisted to begin them in the first place.) Many novels, particularly of the fantasy/adventure genre are part of a series. The stand alone fantasy/adventure novel is rare. Not only is a stand alone rare, a mere trilogy is rare, from what I have gathered. Five to ten novels seems to be the average number of series installments, and there are plenty that go beyond that range.
If it came highly recommended from a trusted source who understood my tastes, as well as being very readable and/or engrossing I could perhaps be coaxed into a trilogy again at some point. A series larger than that would have to be one of the greatest things I’d ever read in order for me to finish as well as begin.
Yet for the most part when I finish reading a novel, I want to feel satisfied, and I don’t if I know the end of the book means that it only represents a tiny scratch in the narrative surface.
Plus, I get the sense I’d get weary of the same characters for that many books. It happened with the Potter books for me, i in fact. After about book four, I started to think, “Okay, Hermione’s smart and arrogant, Ron’s a goof, Harry continuously finds out he knows nothing about the wizarding world in which he was born, I get it.” Yes, there were some arcs to them, but not seven long novel’s worth of arc, in my opinion. I can’t image how an author keeps characters fresh for ten books plus. (At least George R.R. Martin kills people at a regular enough clip to shake things up, from what I hear. I’ve not read that series either.)
But, would I ever write a series of novels?
Strictly speaking, most people would probably say I should not. After all, we are supposed to read a great deal of what we plan to write, and as I just said, I don’t read a series very often. I have never totally bought into that, though. A bit of research, and some honest reading of a genre is to me enough for an author to “earn” the right to create something in that genre. So my lack of reading a series isn’t a stand alone reason to not write one.
Yet I still don’t see it happening, even though series writing is the true money maker of writing fiction, so they say. Never say never of course, but I think many of the same things that turn me off to reading a series of novels would turn me off from writing one. I wouldn’t like stretching a character’s arc out into infinity. (Or fifteen volumes, which would certainly have the illusion of infinity from my perspective.) I can’t say I’m a genius when it comes to arcs, but I do feel what i can accomplish should be accomplished within the course of a single novel. I have an idea, draw it out, rough draft it, revise it a few times, and, for the moment, I publish it. Even if I didn’t, I would shop it to an agent, maybe, some day. But knowing me, I’d want that process to feel complete for its own sake, as opposed to a stepping stone to something I may have already half written.
I’ve played around with the series idea for short stories, wherein there is an overall narrative linking them together, even as the individual story unfolds within a given story. I haven’t mastered an idea for that yet, but I can see myself continuing the experiment as time goes on, because in a short story, there is always a greater amount left out of the narrative than is so in the novel. “What happens next?” is a question I’m a bit more willing to invest in answering than I would be for a novel, which in general I want to be a journey, not a stop, for the reader.
Boredom is poison to the reading experience. But if you think being a bored reader is bad, try being a bored writer. Writing may not always be effortless, and in fact rarely is for me. It takes some discipline. Yet so does playing football, and that would hardly be a boring thing to do. Yet if I become bored with my own material, I am likely to never offer readers what they deserve, especially when there are many other ideas out there waiting to be explored. A series of novels, I feel, would bore me as a writer way too early in the process. I marvel at the epic scale of some author’s vision for their series of a dozen books, but I just don’t think I can ever embrace something so far reaching as that, either as a reader or author.
So far with writing novels, I like to dance with someone for a number, as opposed to rave until dawn.
It takes all kinds of authors, and as usual, I am not declaring my approach the best one. But the question often comes up as to whether I am working on a series, and this post is a current answer to that FAQ of the author community.
My Seed of Marriage Equality
I must have been about five years old. Maybe six. As was often the case those days, a rerun of some old sitcom or another was on TV during the day, and I was watching. Two women were sitting at a table eating, I believe. A question in my mind was born, though from whence it came, who can say?
With no particular rush, I got up and walked down the hallway to the kitchen where I found Mom performing some domestic chore over the sink.
“Mom, can a girl kiss a girl?” I asked. “Not in the same family.”
A very brief pause, as Mom kept her eyes on whatever she was doing in the sink. Then she answered.
“Yes.”
My follow up question was probably obvious to her, but my five year old mind felt the need to be thorough.
“Can a boy kiss a boy not in the same family?”
“Yes.” No pause this time. Still working in the sink.
That, to the very best of my memory, was the end of that conversation. I turned and went back to watch TV, thinking little more of what was said.
At this point I’ll mention that Mom was of course already aware of my unusual propensity to ask probing, difficult questions at such a young age. She may have been somewhat concerned that the entire subject would soon unfold into areas she was not ready to explore with me at the time. I don’t know, but let’s just say I wouldn’t blame her if that’s what she was preparing for. In conversation I went places very few five-year-olds went, after all.
Yet I had no concept of sexuality, or even romance. A cursory understanding of the concept of being in love, and people getting married was present in my consciousness, but not much beyond that. I don’t think my question centered on such things, however. I think I just knew men and women kissed when they weren’t in the same family, and I wanted to know if two men or two women could do so.
“Yes.”
Often I look back on that simple answer my mother gave while she was distracted, (so it appeared) with kitchen work as one of the most important things to happen in my childhood. Yes, some of you might say that my mother could have stopped what she was doing, pulled up a chair, and explored why I asked the question, and gone deeper into things. Perhaps that’s what happened with your own parents when you broached such a subject. Yet I don’t believe, have never believed, that the brevity of Mom’s answer, nor her continued work while she gave said answer was indicative of her discomfort with the subject matter. Not having the time to get into all of it may have been a part of it. If Mom had stopped to delve into every complex subject my persistently precocious mind brought up during my childhood, she would have probably had time to do nothing else.
Yet she also did not stop what she was doing, and say something like, “Why would you ask such a thing? I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you anymore.” Or, the worst possible answer I could be given by an adult at that time, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to get into that.”
In the end, whether or not I had a clear idea of sexuality and couplehood, Mom’s answer was still the right one. Yes, a woman can in fact kiss a woman that is not in her family. It’s the very straightforward quality, the very lack of a crusader’s answer that I think was key to the encounter. I’ve often felt that the simplicity, casualness, and calmness of the answer, not giving any indication that I had somehow derailed her day, planted the seed of sexuality-tolerance that is one of the cornerstones of my worldview today.
Indeed, it was not the last time such a subject would come up. A second grade teacher had admonished the class to never use the “bad meaning” for the word “gay,” which she did not define in class. When I (inevitably) asked Mom what the “bad meaning” would be, she said she didn’t know. Of course, she did know. But again, delving into sexuality before I seemed ready for it would have done no good, so I imagine explaining the latent bigotry in my teacher’s statement would have done no good at the time either.
Over the years, mainly in high school, I did use words I had no business using, making off hand remarks in private about outwardly flamboyant people on TV. Not my greatest hour. But if it means anything at all, even as I made such jokes within the confines of my home, I never did think anything bad should happen to homosexuals. Never did think they should suffer for what were more often known as “preferences” at the time. In 8th grade, a run of deadly gay-bashing incidents was making the news, and one female classmate of mine said, “They deserve it in a way.” I called her out on it.
So, I may not have always had fully formed, mature outer behavior as pertains to sexuality. Yet those of other sexualities remained human beings in my world. Despite some of the vocabulary I at last spent years trying to erase from my casual conversations, even at home, their humanity was obvious to me. I like to think that a large part of that had its start in Mom’s simple, almost off handed response to my question while she was rinsing a chicken or whatever, back when I was five years old.
A girl can kiss a girl. A man can kiss a man. And now, as per a ruling of the United States Supreme Court, a girl can marry a girl, and a boy can marry a boy all across the United States.
Book Promotion Experience
Well, it has been quite a week in my writing world so far. Not only did I launch the novel, but I had my short story “The Cave” chosen as one of five finalists in the monthly Writer’s Digest flash fiction contest. (It would mean a lot to me if you would go read it here, and vote for it in the comments! It’s a horror short.)
Most of my personal writing time this week has been dedicated to promotion of the novel. Or, in most cases so far, learning more about promotion of the novel.
I’ve already made a youtube video, which I attached to my Smashwords page. Hopefully someone on youtube will stumble on to it as a result of the many tags I put on it. Who knows?
The point is, I am trying new things. I realize there are all kinds of things that most indie-authors do to promote their work, that I myself am unable to do right now. My budget is not endless. And while I do have some budget to go into promoting, I am attempting to immerse myself in explanations of the free options available to me, so what money I do have can be targeted in the most effective ways.
Self-promotion does not come naturally to me. (Said 90% of every writer and 98% of every introvert.) I’m not ashamed to admit that there will be a natural limit to what I am capable of in this department; a limit most authors can probably surpass. Yet I can’t expect to be as good at it as most people; I can only do what i can to be better at it than I already am. To that end I have focused more mental effort on it in the last few weeks than I have previously.
My approach right now is to be a spokesman for the story as much as I can, and let the story speak for itself. Quotations, overviews, tweets, that sort of thing. I still believe that if I can grab the attention of fellow theatre geeks, I will have success. The book is for everyone, but there is some icing on the cake for those readers who know community theatre, and if most of them recognize what I’ve created, I think I’ll be pleased.
I can very much use your help, though. Not only do I ask you to buy and read my novel, but if you like it, I ask you to tell your friends and other interested parties about it. Word of mouth is still the most effective, (though least predictable) promotional tool of them all. I also kindly ask for any advice you may have in this endeavor. If any the readers of this blog have successfully promoted, or know people who have, I’d love to hear from you.
Until then, the marathon goes on, and hopefully the right person will catch sight of me as I run by!
Please Vote For My Story, “The Cave.”
It’s been quite the 24 hours in my writing life. Yesterday, of course, I launched my novel, Flowers of Dionysus for purchase in ebook form. (Please consider it!) Just today, though, I was informed via email that a flash story I wrote called “The Cave” is one of five finalists in this month’s Writer’s Digest flash fiction contest.
The winner is chosen by public vote in the comment section. So if it’s not too much to ask just one day after asking you to buy my novel, please vote for me in the comments section of the finalists page. (Assuming of course you like my story, and I think you will.)
The winner will be published in a future print edition of Writer’s Digest, and that would really mean a lot to me and my career. So this is a great chance to thank me if you have enjoyed this blog over the years.
As I told my friends on Facebook today, I now promoter and not just author. Such is the case these days. I try to promote the work of other indie authors as well, but between now and the voting deadline of July 17, I am my own favorite cause!
Thanks everyone.
Ty Unglebower 