Big Announcement, Big Changes

October 4th is my two-year anniversary writing this blog. My first post talked about a class I had just finished at Grub Street. Two years later I'm still talking about taking classes and writing and books and publishing. For the most part. Which is great. And I plan to continue writing about writing, but just not on this blog. 

Why keep a blog? It is standard publishing-business wisdom that a writer trying to make it in the cut-throat lit world must keep an active blog, keeping a high profile up and running continuously. So, that's what I've been doing. And I love keeping a blog, but feel I've covered, in two years, about all I can say about my little world of literary without starting to get redundant.

And if we're talking audience, I've averaged about 20 views a day for a good long time, and don't see that changing. So switching it up at this point isn't going to break a lot of lit hearts. Besides, as my regular readers probably know, I post over at Beyond the Margins once every couple of weeks. I'm lucky and grateful to be a part of that blog and am finding more often than not I save my tastiest morsels for that outlet.

But I love Unreliable Narrator, and am glad I started it when I did and have kept it going, because it's a wonderful feeling to look back over two year's worth of posts and see the bulk of writing that continues to accumulate. I had no idea I could turn the fiction side of me off so cleanly, and push aside my technical writer brain, for these brief spells. It's been a challenge to write in these chunked blocks of essays.

Unreliable Narrator has never been about the daily life of a writer. I've never felt comfortable spilling my guts on an internationally accessible forum. I did not use UN to talk closely about my current writing projects ("Dear UN, today really sucked because chapter 3 is not going well. I'm having trouble with Claude, my new talking horse character, and also I can't seem to describe how maple syrup flows, or how one chainsaws a branch. I wonder if I should write in third person instead of first? That flashback I wrote last week about Claude's bad time with the nuns back in parochial school is taking on a life of its own, and could be the start of a screenplay or a pilot."), although there are writing blogs that have that focus, which is well and good.

But I am of the mind that after you start talking to everyone you know about your current project, the air starts getting let out of the proverbial first-draft tires, and soon you can't help thinking what everyone is thinking about your writing. I'd rather go off in a corner and write for a few years, then start showing it to people, and then start worrying about what people think about it.

So. I'm trying something different with UN. Starting in a couple days the format will change, temporarily. For one year I will be writing about a topic other than literature (for the most part, there will be days when I will just have to share some writer/book/pub thing with y'all). What's that other thing? I'll announce it soon. While I whip up a tasty post about why I want to write about that topic, and the concept behind the switch. Yes, there's a concept, an idea. Or as they say in the publishing world, a platform. My blog is soon to have a platform.

New Post on Beyond the Margins

Good morning all. Check out my new post over at Beyond the Margins this morning where I give the skinny, the 411, the lowdown on where to find all the best online resources for writer's.

Music for Writing

I write better to music. It helps my concentration, keeps me focused. I listen to music whenever I can during the day. During my commute. At home after work. Hanging around the house on the weekend. I have a job that allows me to use my iPod much of the time, filtering out the noise of cube-city and the nearby printing station. Silence is fraught with random pops, bangs, and clicks. It drives me up the wall if I'm trying to concentrate. That's why I go on the counter attack to create my own noise.

Classical music and jazz don't always work for me, unless the pieces are low-key and consistent. Erratic melody interrupts concentration. Instrumentals work best, or music with the lyrics well buried. Buried under what? A wall of consistent, impenetrable sound. I cannot write, or read for that matter, to any music where the vocal tracks are front and center. This includes most pop and rock songs, all rap, r + b, ballads, and standards.

I've put together a series of mix CDs (which, when I went digital, became playlists) that I listen to when writing. They are top heavy with music by bands and artists like Cocteau Twins, Robin Guthrie, Thievery Corporation, Ulrich Schnauss, Brian Eno, Bethany Curve, Air, Lush, Readymade, Slowdive, Engineers, Ride, Chapterhouse. These bands perform music that contain melodies wrapped in guitars and reverb, or mellow beats and airy, atmospheric vocals that sit way back and watch the show, or walls of guitar distortion and effects that allow me to sink into my writing. Most of my output is due to these and other similar-sounding bands.

Here's a sampling:

Here the Cocteau Twins throw down probably their biggest 'hit' (I remember seeing it featured on MTVs 120 Minutes), Carolyn's Fingers, which mixes their dreamy blend of pop sensibility, shimmering guitar, reverb, and Elizabeth Frazier's otherworldly voice singing nonsensical lyrics. This falls right into the category of instrumental music, since I don't know what she's singing about except for an occasional phrase in English.



Robin Guthrie was the guitarist for Cocteau Twins, and he went on to release mostly instrumental music much in the vein of the Cocteau Twins' later output. It's like hearing the Cocteau Twins, minus the instrument that is Elizabeth Frazier's voice:



Thievery Corporation are a bit different, since they use multi-vocalists and meld many different styles, such as salsa, Latin, African, among many others. Not all their stuff is writer friendly, but they are consistent within songs. I know what to expect when a song comes on and can always skip it if it features some inappropriate vocals. Here's a good example of their beat-heavy, but still mellow (chill, if you will) stuff that features delicate female vocals and a dreamy soundscape:



Ulrich Schnauss mixes the best of all worlds; his stuff is mostly instrumental electronica, with harmonies, and perhaps a guitar or two (who can tell?), and the songs that feature vocals have them buried in waves of multi-tracked soundscapes. His music achieves a thoroughly integrated, fugue-like sound. It's especially good to listen to at work; when I have some really dry material to read or write about, I just click on old Ulrich and I'm lost for hours in concentration.



Brian Eno is the father of modern instrumental ambient music (or at least the older brother) and so I find that I can listen to most of his output interchangeably, whether it's his early stuff from the 70s, through to his gorgeous work on Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks in the 80s, or his poppier 90s efforts.

Here's a selection from Atmospheres and Soundtracks:



I discovered Bethany Curve on a website devoted to shoegazer bands. Popularized in the late 80s and early 90s by bands like Jesus and Mary Chain, Slowdive, Ride, and My Bloody Valentine, shoegazer literally refers to some moptop dude or dudette staring at his/her shoes while playing guitar. The music is marked by a wall of guitar distortion and reverb, propulsive drums (sometimes), buried vocals (my favorite kind), and often extended song lengths. Bethany Curve is part of a second or maybe third wave of bands to follow the lead, or continue the cause, since most of the original shoegazer bands are MIA. When I'm feeling less mellow but no less writerish, I'll put on a little shoegazer for the soul.



Slowdive was part of the first wave of dreamy shoegazers, heavy on the echo and thick guitars. Dense but pretty, they never quite got the respect paid to My Bloody Valentine. Or maybe I just made that up. Singer and guitarist Neil Halstead went on to form Mojave 3 and later record solo.



My Bloody Valentine started the whole shoegazery thing. Not always perfect for writing, but occasionally, when I need to go deep, I'll throw on Loveless and the writing time just floats on by and 50 minutes later I'll surface and notice the sunlight and take a breather. Loveless has been influential enough to be beget a book in the 33 1/3 series.

Here's a clip from their recent successful reunion tour:



Do you listen to music when you write? What kind? Or do you need complete silence?

Prime Directive

I try not to get too personal about my writing on this blog. It’s challenging enough to write fiction without the blogosphere witnessing. It’s like exercising in public—a little too much information. But part of being a writer (generally) is that we want others to know about it; to share in news of its loving conception and difficult birth. I always hope for a reaction like, “What a beautiful baby!” Even backhanded compliments are welcome. I’ll settle for, “What a unique child,” or even, “He doesn’t look anything like you.”

Currently my writing output is stuck between conception (writing a novel outline), birth (jump starting another draft), short story revision, and dawdling indecision (writing this blog post). I’ve approached my novel from multiple angles, switched up characters’ ages, personalities, and back stories, but I’m still not satisfied that I’ve hit upon the correct mix of variables that will see me through completion of a successful final draft.

Writing outlines can be part of the writing process. Some writers can’t start writing until they have a complete outline. Some writers blanch at the mention of writing from an outline. Then there are writers like New York Times bestselling author Ms. X, who had been researching the shit out of her second novel for a few years before she signed a book deal, and faced a hard deadline. Before she wrote a word, she wrote an outline. To finish her book on time, she needed to know not just her characters and plot, but also the structure before she started writing. She didn’t have the time to rework structure halfway through a third draft. She couldn't have completed her new novel on deadline otherwise. And from what I hear, she’s met the deadline. Thank you, Outline!

My prime directive is writing. Time for writing is my luxury. Or rather, not having a deadline. It makes up for not having a New York Times bestseller. Well, almost. Conception can be a fertile writing experience, but am I using my time appropriately? No amount of preparation replaces a finished short story or a novel draft.

Is an outline the first step or just a bluff?

Anonymous Has a Bad Day

A few days ago I got the following anonymous comment on one of my writing group posts:

“Dyou people realize what a joke Grub Street and other groups such as this are among the literary and publishing industry. Having read some of the "work" of this group, I can see why. What all of you need to do is go out inot the public and listen: listen to the flow of words and how people talk.listen to the stories.
Finally, I have been published and haven't taken or attended a "workshop since colege. Writing is about life so live it”

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what anonymous is unhappy about, and why. Let’s parse this cryptic note and see what we find.

Dyou people realize what a joke Grub Street and other groups such as this are among the literary and publishing industry.
I can’t speak to ‘other groups,’ but as far as I know Grub Street is highly respected in the industry, and gaining momentum by the week. Proof comes every spring, when Grub holds its annual writer’s conference. There, dozens of established literary agents and editors donate their time to participate in panel debates, luncheon discussions, and the manuscript mart where they meet with writers to discuss their work. More than a few writers have secured agents through connections made at the conference. Many respected, best-selling authors run workshops and seminars at Grub Street. It’s unlikely either the conference or the workshops would attract such participation from representatives of the literary and publishing industry if Grub Street was a joke. Right now I have a partial out to an agent I saw at this year’s conference. I’m almost certain that my affiliation with Grub Street was a tremendous boon to sustaining this agent’s attention.

Having read some of the "work" of this group, I can see why.
Low blow, that. Certainly you haven’t read work from the veritable thousands of writers that have attended Grub workshops, classes, conferences, and special events since the mid-90s. Grub Street’s vibe has always been inclusive, embracing all levels of experience; where writers who are just starting out can mingle with, and learn invaluable lessons from, seasoned vets. Where non-pubs meet the pubs. You imply that Grubbies aren’t talented enough to gain industry attention and respect, yet every week I read success stories of Grub writers getting stories, essays, memoirs, and novels published. This is more than a show of respect from the literary and publishing industry, this proves what a sustainable resource Grub Street writers, and writers from such organizations around the world, are to publishing.

What all of you need to do is go out inot the public and listen: listen to the flow of words and how people talk.listen to the stories.
Good advice. As long as it doesn't preclude taking an occasional writing class.

Finally, I have been published and haven't taken or attended a “workshop since colege.
Congratulations on finally getting published. I’m guessing that you were not impressed with your college workshops. I don’t know what college workshops are like; I didn’t study writing until I was well out of college. Sounds like you are implying you got published in spite of these college workshops, and you’re grumpy about Grub Street workshops. Perhaps you had one or two poor experiences with Grub Street. Are you saying, ultimately, that writing cannot be taught? That taking a writing workshop is a waste of time? That a like-minded, supportive writing community is not a good thing? A few thousand Grub Street writers would probably argue the point. I suggest taking another Grub class, see what you think this time around.

Writing is about life so live it
I couldn’t have said it better myself.

A Writer’s Downtime

I didn’t write this weekend. But I did help Liz at her final craft show of the year. The SOWA Holiday Market. But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t furthering my writing. I sat behind her table of beautiful handmade items and watched people. People-watching is a great way to help build a stable of characters and character traits. What do real soccer mom’s look like? (Thin, harried, sandy blond hair, worn down.) What kind of hats do twenty-something city-dwelling women wear in the winter? (Tie beanies, Berets, Cabbie caps.) What kind of lipstick do grandma’s wear when they’re out of the house? (Vivid red, thick. Or none at all.)

We were set up next to a woman who sold hats and head bands with feathers on them. All weekend women tried on these items and primped in mirrors. I realized as I watched this very feminine process, that I was witnessing actions usually only saved for intimates. That is, seeing a woman prepare in the mirror is an intimate act, her behavior a delicate display of hair teasing, with subtle head and shoulder canting as she presents herself in the best light to see if she looks good in a hat. Or a head band with flowers. You’d be amazed at how many women want a head band with flowers. These are all details I saw and had the opportunity to write down, or commit to my data base memory of character details to call upon during my writing.

There was also opportunity to collect dialogue by overhearing snippets of conversations. I learned that people who knit are patient. I heard one end of a cell phone conversation: A young man repeatedly told the phone that he couldn’t do it today. Maybe tomorrow, but definitely not today. If he had known ahead of time, maybe.

I saw how parents dealt with children. Some parents hold strong command over their child’s every move. Some make deals to try to keep them satisfied, striking compromises and promises. One of my jobs was to block access to my wife’s wares from clawing, sticky children. At one point I saw a six year old boy break away from his family and run toward our table. Unbound, he aimed for one of Liz’s high-end necklaces. She interrupted the boy’s momentum by saying, in a friendly but firm manner, “Hi, I made all those beads!” The boy stopped, looked up, and realized he was being watched. The fun was over and he withered under our attention, giving his mother enough time to track him and pull him away.

What else does this ‘downtime’ do for a writer? Well, now I can set a story in the cutthroat world of craft shows. I’ve learned about the behind-the-scenes shenanigans. The backstabbing and competition between vendors. The heartbreak of making shitty money or the rejoicing at breaking records and selling all but two cupcake pincushions. I’m already considering storylines starring some of the characters I met this weekend.

There’s that young woman with black rimmed glasses and the stylishly sloppy hair that stayed in any position she prodded it into. Maybe she’s a vendor who sells stuffed dogs and she’s kicked up a fierce competition with the older vendor who wears thick red lipstick, whose specialty is stuffed cats. Maybe these two women join forces against the vendor who needle felts replicas of human fetuses. Maybe, as it turns out, the baby fetus vendor is sleeping with the stuffed dog vendor’s husband. If I don’t want to keep the craft show milieu, then I can transplant my characters. How about the woman who looks just like a Kennedy? Take her out of the Holiday Market location and move her down the street to the Pine Street Inn shelter where she’s mistaken for a lost Kennedy granddaughter. Hilarity ensues. Maybe tragedy. Depends on my mood.

The craft show is two days and one evening. It’s a busy show and Liz does well. I help by being her support system. I bag merch and fold receipts and make change. By Sunday the buyers dwindle. Maybe everybody’s at Mass. Or sleeping in. Or walking their dogs. Maybe I could write a story that takes place on a cold December Sunday morning. Two weeks before Christmas. The lonely crafter oversleeps, and wakes alone. Then he harnesses up his two adorable terriers and walks them down the block. To Mass. After that, he’ll hit the craft fair to buy Christmas gifts. Hmm. Needs work.

Late Sunday afternoon and I’ve put away my notebook in preparation to pack up Liz’s booth. Swooping past our booth on her way to check out the human baby fetuses I spot Ms. X, my erstwhile Grub Street instructor. I shout her name, Ms. X. Ms. X come back! She hears me and doubles back. We’re pleasantly surprised to run into each other at such a non-writerish event. It’s good to see a walking talking working writer outside of her writing nook (I’ve never been to Ms. X’s house, but don’t all writers have nooks they write in?). She says she’s taking a day off. I know Ms. X is busy working on her second novel (she’s got a crazy Spring 2009 deadline) so I don’t ask her how her writing’s going. None of my business. She checks out Liz’s wonderful stuff. Then she asks me how my writing’s going. It throws me, this question. I stammer, “Um. Gosh. Well, I’m working on some short pieces.” And it’s true, that. But what I don’t get around to telling her is: I have some new characters in mind and some hot dialogue and some topical character descriptions. And maybe a couple new storylines to try out. All because of a little writer’s downtime.

Rudderless

Since putting away the first draft of my novel, I’ve been working on revising short stories. Not a bad way to pass the time. But whenever I sit to write it takes a few moments to remember what I worked on the day before. The narrative thread that tied together my novel is on a hiatus. So, I have to create temporary narrative threads for each story I write.

It doesn’t always work. I miss living with the same characters for months at a time. The characters from my stories live in bursts, sometimes brilliant, but often foggy and unformed. Especially if I’m still figuring out what the story’s about and what the characters are supposed to do. But characters from a novel stay with me. I know what they eat, what they do on an average Wednesday, what music they listened to in college, whether they know how to spell communiqué.

My novel characters hibernate as I consider them during their long winter, until I'm ready to sit back down and exhume them for another go-round. And when I do, they'll come alive and show me what their favorite colors are and how they quit their first job by skywriting a note to their boss and why they broke up with their pregnant girlfriend on Valentine's day then asked her out the day after.

Until then, I’m rudderless; dealing with cranky protagonists who bother me to understand why I brought them into my world, confused about what to do next. They’re not my first loves, but they’ll have to do for a while.

Friday my iPod Slept Late

Black Lipstick—Grandma Airplane
Weezer—Troublemaker
The Cure—Catch (live bootleg)
Echo and the Bunnymen—It’s all over now, Baby Blue (Live)
Orange Juice—Poor Old Soul (Part One)
Bill Nelson—Another Day, Another Ray of Hope
Pavement—Summer Babe (Winter Version)
The Jesus and Mary Chain—Hole
The Field Mice—The Last Letter
Gnarls Barkley—Last Time
Underworld—Boy Boy Boy
Thievery Corporation—Lebanese Blonde
Figurine—New Mate
New Order—The Him
Belle & Sebastian—I Don’t Love Anyone