Writing Exercises

From Openclipart.org - jhnri4

In my mission to use this blog to talk about all things writing, I feel that I have to bring up writing exercises.  I've been writing since I was a teenager but I've only taken it seriously for the past three years.  By "seriously", I mean I see it now as a valid career option.  I write five days a week, submit often, and am learning about the business side of writing.

As someone that considers themselves an emerging writer, I feel confused about writing exercises.  I now write large projects from plays to screenplays to novels.  In between and often times during those long projects I will also write short stories and ten minute plays.  I no longer do any writing exercises.  I do write character journals and I sketch out scenes and let my pen wander the page from time to time in free thought, but no writing prompts. 

So that we're all on the same page, by exercises I'm referring mostly to writing prompts or small assignments like "Think of ten compelling titles" or "your character is in a field and is covered in jam, how did they get there?"

My thoughts on exercises are this:  They are extremely useful for beginning writers, writers who are stuck in a rut or have writers block, and for writers that want desperately to write but are short on time.  I'm wondering, though, if I'm truly missing an integral part of becoming a better writer or if I'm honing my skills enough with all the projects I'm writing. 

So, here's the question of the day: do you mix in writing exercises along with your regular writing schedule?  What are your thoughts on writing exercises in general.

Happy Hump Day! Internet Lit

Half way through the work week!  You're almost there!  Here are a few things to brighten up your hump day:

One again we visit Cavalier Literary Couture because they publish some seriously funny material.  I was intrigued by this title:

Sit Back and Relax as I Forcibly Subject You to Some Ridiculous Bulls**t About Dragons 

Let me just say, I respect the Fantasy genre but have never really gotten into it, apparently neither has Coleman Larkin.  The above is a fun satire of what a non-fantasy fan reads when they try to read about dragons and wizards in a far off land.

Or, how about a brilliant revision of this classic:


Or, you could check out one of my favorite blogs ever:

Jill's Today I Saw

This is from Jill's Today I Saw - click pic to go to blog

This blog is one of the cutest things I have seen ever in my entire life.  I check it daily because it's incredibly adorable.  This is one of MANY postcards that Jill has made.

Recent Reads I'd Recommend: Gruesome Playground Injuries

Rajiv Joseph is a young playwright that has made quite a splash in the theatre world.  I first heard of him while participating in the 2010 Kennedy Center Playwriting Intensive.  Mark Bly, the dramaturg currently at the Alley Theatre, had worked on the original staging of Gruesome Playground Injuries and was so impressed by Joseph and the play that he could not stop talking about it (I mean that in a good way.)

Gruesome Playground Injuries is the story of Kayleen and Doug.  The two meet when they are eight years old in the school nurse's office.  Doug has just ridden his bike off the roof of the building and Kayleen can't stop vomiting.  The two are slightly accident prone but as they mature they become self-destructive.  Kayleen becomes a cutter and suffers a mental breakdown.  Doug pushes his body to the limits until he ends up in a wheel chair.  The play spans nearly thirty years of their relationship and is told in non-sequential order.

This is a twisted story of love and friendship about two characters that can never fully love each other and only see each other every few years, usually after some injury has occurred.  The timing's never right and each one is always in need of saving, even begging for it occasionally, but they never can quite save one another.  It's sad and heart breaking and funny all at once.  The characters are deeply troubled by their pasts and, much like in real life, don't really talk about why they behave the way they do, they just set to tear themselves apart.

I enjoyed reading the play on many levels (for the record, I haven't seen it staged yet).  The characters were easy to enjoy and the opening is nice and fun.  What I truly liked about it besides the great story is that this is a play where people don't just talk.  Everything they say means something.  They don't tell you why they're messed up, it's not a confessional.  It's subtle in certain areas and highly kinetic and overwhelming in others.  There's a balance to the story telling that is very mature and fantastic and even reading it you get a sense that this is a very theatrical play that could not be easily translated to film or novel form.

If you're not a big reader of plays, you should check out local theaters to see if Gruesome Playground Injuries is playing near you.  It's worth it. 

Links:
Interview with Rajiv Joseph by fellow blogger Adam Szymkowicz
Gruesome Playground Injuries article on Playbill.com

Stories Without Borders

In my daily perusing of blogs, I ran across a post by L.G. Smith, writer of the Bards and Prophets blog, that asks a good question.  L.G. is writing a novel called THE HEARTS OF DRAGONS that does not fit into the usual genres.  The premise of the story sounds fascinating and I'll quote directly from L.G.'s blog:

From Openclipart.org

"The story is about a queen of Wales five hundred years in the future in what is best described as a post-apocalyptic, post-dystopian world. There are no mythical creatures in the novel and certainly no magic. What it does have are mystics, and ghosts, and a technological twist that relies on the futuristic setting of the novel."

You can read the entire post here.

This is a novel I would read.  Like most readers, my tastes are eclectic and varied but I'm a huge fan of speculative fiction.  I love reading about worlds that are similar to our own but are not our own.  As a reader, I have no issue with cross-genre/multi-genre/no genre writing.  As long as the story is good and the world is clearly defined, I will read it.

L.G. brings up a good point in her post, though.  Does writing in a non-clearly defined genre limit your possibilities of getting published?  I don't really have an answer for that because I don't know a ton about publishing, at least not yet.  I'm sure it's far more difficult for first time authors but there are more and more popular speculative fiction authors out there.  I'm including Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Jasper Fforde and Kurt Vonnegut in that list.

I'm guessing it's difficult but not impossible.  I'm taking Jasper Fforde as my one and only example here, mostly because of time and because no amount of anecdotal evidence will ever make up for facts.  Fforde's first published novel was The Eyre Affair.  For those not nerdy enough to love this series, it's a speculative fiction series where the main character, Thursday Next (a literary detective) enters the novel Jane Eyre to hunt down a master criminal.  That's the most basic premise I can give.  This book had lots going against it:
It would appeal mostly to a well read audience.
It's speculative fiction - set in an alternative 1985 - and that also limits the audience
First published work by a new author - no guaranteed readership
It doesn't fit into any one genre - includes some sci-fi elements like time travel and rebirth of dead species as well as a "magical" literary world and a heavy dose of thriller/crime. 

And still, it was published.  It was a huge success and now there are multiple Thursday Next novels including the one I'm currently devouring: One of Our Thursdays is Missing.

So it's possible to have a non-genre specific book be published and be successful.  Is it probable?  That I can't answer.  Any thoughts?

Flash Fiction Friday!

Me and Jo-Jo in the Deep Blue Sea

Deh-deh.  Deh-deh.   Deh-deh.

“You hear anything?” I asked Jo-Jo.

“No.”

“Okay.”

We kept swimming.

Deh-deh. Deh-deh.

“Really? You don't hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The sound of impending doom.”

“You've been down in the deep water too long.”

I tried to shrug off the comment. He was right, of course.   I'd been doing deeper and deeper dives.  I've been down below the Great Blue Line, as we call it.   I didn't want to admit it but being that far down, with that much pressure, had affected my senses.

“What are you doing down there, anyway?”

“Trying to get out of a rut,” I said.

Jo-Jo stopped swimming for the briefest of milliseconds.   He was in shock.  We don't talk this way.  We don't share our feelings. Jo-Jo started swimming again.   I think he was more surprised he'd stopped moving then he was about my news.  We never stop.

“You okay?” he asked.  Jo-Jo was a good friend.

“Yeah. Just, tired of sea lions is all.”

He broke out into a grin.   All the fish near us scattered.  They hate when we smile.  I'm assuming they can see relatives stuck in our teeth, but what are we supposed to do?  I don't want to terrorize their fragile psyche's with reminders of the brutal carnage visited upon their loved ones.   I just want to eat.  It's kind of all I want to do.

“I feel you there.   I like sea lion, don't get me wrong.  I'm happy there are so many, but I too like a taste of the exotic.”

“You've been diving deep?”   I couldn't believe it.   In all my time, I'd never seen another shark down there in the deep dark blue.

“No. Just the opposite.  Want to see?”

We started swimming in a direction I hadn't gone before, towards the vast waste land.

“Jo-Jo, we're going to run out of water soon.”

“Trust me,” he said.

I did.  I trusted him.

Deh-deh.   Deh-deh.  Deh-deh.

The music got louder. Doom was just around the corner.   Was it my doom?  I wasn't sure, but I had to keep swimming.  Jo-Jo had done this before and he was okay.  Sure, he had a few scars, but who didn't?  I had a few myself from some scrapes, mostly with killer whales, once with a giant metal monster infested with fleshy parasites.

Deh-deh.  Deh-deh.   Deh-deh.

All I felt was fear and adrenaline.   I love that feeling, when you know something big's about to happen and it could go either way.  It could be a delicious sea lion or it could be a vicious surprise.   It's the not knowing that I love.

Deh-deh.   Deh-deh.   Deh-deh.

“There,” Jo-Jo said.  We were in shallower waters.

“Where?” I didn't see any fish. I just saw a lot of light blue water.

“Look up.”

And that's when I saw them.  The parasites from the metal monster.

Deh-deh. Deh-deh. Deh-deh.

That sound was making it hard to think.  It crashed into my brain like a tsunami.

“Them?”

“Yeah.”

Nothing smelled appetizing.  Jo-Jo and I swam in circles.   I glanced up often, but it just didn't feel right.

Deh-deh. Deh-deh. Deh-deh.

“What do they taste like?”

“You'll love them.”

“Do they have claws or sharp teeth?”
 

“No. They're wimps.”

Deh-deh.  Deh-deh.  Deh-deh.

I geared up, got my tail swinging like crazy.  I aimed towards the sunshine.   I wanted to breach the water at full speed, surprise the buggers, just in case.

CRUNCH!

One big mouthful of parasite.  I tore off a huge hunk of flesh and bit down in triumph.  And all I could taste was disgust.  I spit out the meat, it's metal-tasting blood bitter on my tongue.  I left the parasite slapping and shouting and bleeding.  Other parasites tried to help him.  Most swam away.

I swam back to Jo-Jo who was damn near belly up with laughter.

“Taste like crap, don't they?” he said when he could catch his breath.

“Yeah.  You really got me there, Jo-Jo.  Good one.”

I swam off leaving him behind.  I'd forgive him eventually, I always did even though I hate pranks.   But just then, I was back off to deep waters.  Somewhere, there had to be a food I hadn't tried that actually tasted good.

Ten Random Thoughts Throughout My Day

I'm using this Thursday's post as a way to acknowledge that random thoughts just pop up.  These didn't all happen in one day, but over a series of days.  I'm sure everyone has these little moments where synapses connect and produce little thoughts that are not about ourselves or our daily lives and are not extremely productive or useful.

Thought One:
Who do you think Hitler first told of his plan for genocide and what was their reaction?  How does one first broach that subject?  Is it done over a beer or a glass of wine?  What is the vein of that conversation?  In what atmosphere do you feel comfortable in discussing exterminating an entire race of people? 

Thought Two:
Does anyone drive extremely close to cars with "Baby on Board" signs just to scare the drivers?  Do those signs work?  Are their statistics that show how many cars with that sign were involved in accidents in the past decade?

Thought Three:
What kind of person first thought up Cream of Asparagus soup?  Who's mind goes there?

Thought Four:
Do animals ever laugh at us?  I bet they do. 

Thought Five:
Do pigeons aim?

Thought Six:
If your head came off and you could still live, would you carry the head around with you or would you live a head-free existence?

Thought Seven:
Would Ed Gein's life have been any different if he had joined a book club?

Thought Eight:
What do mimes sound like when they make love?

Thought Nine:
What will happen when tattoos go back out of style?

Thought Ten:
What if the bugs of the world united and decided they were tired of being stepped on?  Would the assault begin with an air raid of bees, wasps, mosquitoes, dragonflies and butterflies with sharpened wings or would a good old ground assault do?  Ants and beetles and spiders and roaches all creepy crawly and biting or at least being generally unpleasant.  Would bugs attacking be the worst or is there a worse thought?  Would I rather be attacked by thousands of bugs or one big bear?  Can I take a bear in a fight?  Could I take a cub?  Could I kidnap the cub and hold it for ransom with the bear?  Would bugs attack every animal or just humans?  Would they decide on a regional basis?  Rain forest bugs could attack the animals that hunt them and city bugs could go after humans.  Hmmm... 

Happy Hump Day! A Little More Vimeo

Today we look at experimental eye candy via Vimeo.com.  Once again, if you're a net surfer and you haven't been tasting the waves of Vimeo.com, you're wasting your life.  Just putting it out there.

First, we have Flight Patterns by Charlie McCarthy.  I don't have much info on Mr. McCarthy but you can check out his blog here or his Vimeo page here.  The video is a neat play on light and dark with bursts of energy and electric sizzle.


flight patterns from Charlie McCarthy on Vimeo.


Next, we have Seaweed by Tell No One.  It's a very short video with a surprising visual repetition and twist.  You can find the Tell No One Vimeo page here.  Once again, I don't know a ton about Tell No One other than they are London based filmmakers Luke White and Remi Weekes and that they make cool stuff.


Seaweed from Tell No One on Vimeo.


Now for a couple by Maxim Zhestkov.  Zhestkov is a young director, graphic artist and video artist.  I don't know much about him but he has an obsession with black and white, color, and movement.  These videos range from intense to mesmerizing.  It's clear Zhestkov knows how to create emotions through a visual medium.  There is a good article on him here. 


m_001 / Zhestkov.com from Maxim Zhestkov on Vimeo.


m_002 / Zhestkov.com from Maxim Zhestkov on Vimeo.


Nokia / Zhestkov.com from Maxim Zhestkov on Vimeo.


Hope this helps you through the work week!

Recent Reads I'd Recommend: Exley

 Exley
by Brock Clarke

Let me start by saying that I have not read A Fan's Notes, but it is waiting for me on my ereader.   A Fan's Notes is the fictional memoir of Frederick Exley and is the basis for the entire plot of Exley.  I thought I gave Brock Clarke quite the challenge by reading Exley before A Fan's Notes but let me assure you, Mr. Clarke was up to the challenge.

Exley is the story of Miller Le Ray, often referred to as M., a nine-year old desperately trying to save his father, Tom.  Miller's father is not a fan of A Fan's Notes, he is a rabid reinactor of Frederick Exley's life.  As an example, in the book A Fan's Notes,  Exley goes to a bar and reinacts the Giants football game as he watches it.  He sprints through the bar and dives into an imagined end zone just like the players on the screen.  Miller's father does that too.  Just take a second and imagine a grown man sprinting through a bar and reinacting every play of a game.  Yeah, so that happens. 

At the beginning of the story, we find out that Tom is in the VA hospital in a coma.  He has been there two weeks.  Tom and his wife, Miller's mother, have had a fight at the end of which Tom says, "Maybe I should go to Iraq, too."  Before this, Tom was a lay-about and considered too old to join the army so no one  believed him, except Miller.  Even when Miller's mother got the phone call from the VA hospital, she preferred to believe Miller had paid someone to call her and pretend to be a medical professional. 

Miller is a precocious kid and is willing to live in a fantasy land as long as it gives him what he wants, a belief that his dad will be okay and will return home.  Miller believes the man in the VA hospital is his father and that he is in mortal danger and that the only way to save him is to find Exley and to bring him to Tom.

Miller's mother believes that Miller has an overactive imagination, which he does, and that he is obsessed with his father, which he is.  Miller is sent to a therapist who Miller eventually renames Dr. Pahnee and whom he feeds lines of dialogue directly from A Fan's Notes. 

Dr. Pahnee prefers to be called a mental health professional.  He falls desperately and immediately in love with Miller's mother.  As Miller reshapes the doctor into what he wants, Dr. Pahnee slowly becomes something else.  I'll leave it there because it's a brilliant transformation and I prefer not to give anything away.

So that's the basic story.  Besides the compelling nature of the plot, a son trying to save his father through the logic of a nine year old brain, there's also the mystery of what is real and what is Miller's imagination.  That is not so easy to figure out given the eccentricities of all the other characters in the story.  Mr. Clarke did well to make Miller's mother extremely realistic to the point of near frustration and for Dr. Pahnee to be a bit unbalanced.

This is a hard book to recommend because any spoilers would ruin the story but would be intriguing enough to get most avid readers to pick it up.  I can tell you it's a fun, quick read and the characters are fantastic and the story is told from several points of view.  I can tell you it's not maudlin and that it is, occasionally, heart-breaking amidst the laughter.  I can also tell you that I think Brock Clarke is amazing and that I am in love with Exley as well as a An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England.

As a side note, I'm not a big fan of underlining titles because it looks incredibly formal and strange.  As there is Exley the character and Exley the book, I felt it was necessary in this post.

Links:

NY Times Review
Washington Post Review
NPR Review
Amazon Customer Reviews
Brock Clarke Website

Daily Writing Hours

Every writer works differently.  It's a craft and an art and a continuation of habits as much as it is anything else.  I wouldn't expect two painters to have the exact same regiment, nor two actors, and certainly not two writers.  I do find myself intensely interested in people's work habits, though.  So here goes, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

I have a day job and most likely will until the end of time.  My hours for work are sporadic, anywhere from 10 am to 8 pm.  I work roughly three days a week instead of the standard five (thanks to my husband). This means that on the days I work, I have to be flexible with my writing time.  In real life, which is how I refer to my days off, I write in the mornings either after a work-out or in my pajamas.  I'm a little fresher, a little more aware and a little less likely to make excuses.

My writing habits are flexible depending on the subject and format of the project and the current phase of the project - plotting, outlining, character journals, scene sketches, rough draft, editing, etc.  For instance, right now I'm trying to settle on the subject and format of my next big project.  I have two ideas for novels and one idea for a play as well as two screenplays I've been meaning to finish.  So, for the last two weeks and most likely for the next couple, I'm plotting, outlining and writing sketches of scenes and trying to see in which direction I'm drawn.  Because this is a little more loosey goosey, I can move my writing to the afternoons without much difficulty.  I also tend to shrink my writing hours during these sessions to 2 -3 hours a day as opposed to 5 - 6 hours.  I use the extra time to daydream or do research.

Things change once I'm involved in a project.  I try to keep my writing time pretty standard, except on day job days where writing is fit in before or after work.  I write between 5 and 6 hours a day but still take frequent breaks because that's just who I am.  These breaks are just a few minutes at a time, maybe to read a blog post or to watch a clip on youtube or take a quick walk around the block.  This pace lasts until the project is complete, roughly after 8 - 12 drafts for plays and screenplays, not quite sure what to expect for a novel yet.

I do give myself a day or two break in between drafts where I either don't write or I work on a short story or a short play.  I like these little breaks and I prefer to work on a short piece because it lets my mind focus on something else and gives me a little freedom to leave the big project for a while.

So, there's mine.  What are your habits?  What time of day do you find the most success?  How do you balance writing and the day job?

Flash Fiction Friday!

Love Notes

Cale,

Please quit staring at me.  It's just a pimple.  You act like you've never seen a pimple before.  Jesus.

Betty,

I've seen pimples before but not like that one.  It's like Mt. Vesuvius ready to erupt.   I feel like a citizen of Pompeii over here.   Just kidding.  LOL.   I didn't even notice it.  Also, I wasn't staring at you, I just glanced in your direction.  That's pretty narcissistic of you though.

Cale,

What a douchey thing to say.  Who uses big words like that?  And yes, you were staring at me.  Ten seconds straight is not a glance, it's a stare.   Ask anyone.

Betty,

Douchey is not technically a word, but I'll let it slide.  You counted?  Who counts the seconds someone looks at you?  Did you say “One-two-three” or “One Mississippi- Two Mississippi” because “one-two-three” would be way too fast.   So, probably I glanced over for three seconds but you gave it a super quick ninja count and now I'm a gawker.

Cale,

Douchey is completely acceptable when one is being a douche.   Ask Mrs. Klein if you don't believe me.  And yes, I used the “One-Mississippi” technique.   I played hide-and-seek when I was a kid.   I know the counting rules.   If you keep staring at me I will have my brother beat you up.

Betty,

Your brother is three years younger than me and has a gimp arm.   Are you trying to get his ass kicked? Also, I'll gawk where I please.  And I choose to gawk at you.  I was trying to work up the courage to ask you out.  I did see that raging zit on your face and I was willing to look past Mt. Acne but I don't know if I can look past your gigantic ego.   Sorry I was “gawking” at you, but you don't have to sic your little gimpy brother on me and make me beat him up so everyone thinks I'm the asshole of the year.

Cale,

You are the asshole of the year.  How dare you bring up Roger's arm?  He was born that way.   It's called a deformity, like your personality.  Ewww, like I'd go out with you ever.  Deformed person hater.

Betty,

Pointing out that someone has a deformity doesn't mean you hate them for it, it just means that you have eyes.   And why wouldn't you go out with me?  What is this “Ewww” business?  I'm not “ewww”.  I'm awesome.  I'm super awesome and way too awesome to date a zit faced narcissist like you.

Betty,

I didn't know Mr. Rasczak was right behind us.  Sorry.  I also didn't know he was going to read that note aloud in class.  I'm sorry everyone laughed when I called you a zit faced narcissist.   I didn't mean it.   I just can't believe you called me “Ewww”.  I think you're pretty.   I've always thought you were pretty and never “Ewww.”  What the hell is “Ewww” about me?

Cale,

Me and my zit will get through it.  We've bonded over this class period.   I'm going to call him Harold. We're best friends.  Okay, I shouldn't have said “Ewww” but I was pissed off about Roger.  He's a good kid and if he had two good arms he would've fought you.   Poor kid.  He can't get into proper fights because of that arm.  You think I'm pretty?   Really?

Betty,
Of course I think you're pretty.   I wouldn't be staring at you if I didn't.   I know that Roger's arm is a sore subject.   I tell you what, if you want us to fight, I can tie an arm behind my back so we'll be even. I won't sleep the night before so my reaction time will be slower and that should make up for the age difference.

Cale,

That would make Roger so happy!  We have boxing gloves at home.  I could make a little ring in the back yard and officiate.  I'll make us lunch.  It could be our first date.  This Saturday?

Betty,

You mean it?   It would be a date?  Of course.   Of course we can do it this Saturday.

Cale,
Yay!   I'll tell Roger.  I'll make us something very nice for lunch, something manly for after the fight. Do you like ribs?

Betty,

I love ribs!  Can you wear that yellow dress you wore last week?   That would be most excellent.  Also, should I throw the fight?  I can do that.  I don't mind losing to a guy with one arm if it makes you happy.

Cale,
No, better fight as hard as you can.  Roger doesn't like charity.  And yes, yellow dress it is.  Bell's about to ring.  See you sixth period?

Betty,

Yes. Of course.  Want to walk to class together?

Cale,

I'd love to.

Betty,

Me too.

Cale,

See you then.

Betty,

Harold and I look forward to it.  Kisses!

The Good and Bad of Critique Groups

I have, over the years, belonged to several critique groups for all kinds of writing.  I've been in two screenwriting groups, one playwriting group and am invovled currently in three fiction groups.  Obviously I am a big believer in receiving and delivering critiques.  Even so, there are a few things to look out for when joining a group.

I've belonged to both productive and annoying groups.  The productive groups are honest without being mean and are thoroughly consistent in meeting times, work accomplished by participants, and attendance.  The consistency of meeting times and attendance allows members of the group to bond and to become aware of each others styles both in writing and critiquing.  To put it bluntly, after a few critique sessions you know who's opinion to take seriously and who's to ignore.  You'll discover quickly who's there to be helpful and who's there to exercise the old ego, as it were.  Being involved in a good group also means that the members are regularly productive.  You should never be involved in a group where, depending on the size of the group, there's a week or multiple weeks without material to critique.

The annoying groups I belonged to were either filled to the brim with egos or were full of writers who feared sharing their work.  Egos can kill a group.  It's fine to be confident, it's another thing to push your opinion as if it were the only one that mattered.

As for writers fearing to share their work, this can mean a few things.  Some writers are intimidated when it comes to receiving a critique.  Critique sessions, even good ones where all the comments are well thought out and begin with compliments, can be painful and difficult to go through.  It's just something every writer has to deal with.  Each writer has to find their own way to accept being told that their work can be better, because really, that's all that's being said.  It is difficult and I have to admit that my eyes have watered a few times, but it makes you better to hear other people's honest opinions of your work.  If you respect them as writers and, more importantly, as readers, then it can only be benificial.

I have run into a second type of sharing-your-writing fear.  I was in a screenwriting group, which I belonged to for all of one session, where no one would get critiqued because they were scared of someone trying to steal their ideas.  I've never encountered this before and certainly never encountered it with an entire group.  It was insane.  Ideas are easy for many writers, it's the actual work of writing that's the difficult part.  Also, should someone actually "steal" your idea, it will most likely end up completely different from your script.  It's very rare that two writers will write the same thing the same way.  Look at the results from writing prompts, you get as many variations as you have writers. 

I've personally found critique groups extremely helpful.  I've only had one truly bad experience and that was with the screenwriting group mentioned above.  The critiques I've received have rarely been harsh and most groups I've joined are extremely supportive.  Honest feedback can do wonders to helping you grow as a writer.  Compliments are fantastic and I'll take as many as I can get (as would any writer) but a critical analysis of your writing from a good reader or group of readers is far more beneficial.

Happy Hump Day! Songify This/Auto-tune the News

Here we are, on Wednesday, hump day.  Let's get through the week with a smile, shall we?  These are some videos by Songify This and Auto-tune the News.  As the names imply, these are interviews/news clips that use auto-tune to create a song.  Nothing here is too heady, just pure fun.  Enjoy!

Recent Reads I'd Recommend

 

As you may have guessed, my recommendation for today is Terry Pratchett's "Making Money" from his Discworld series.  Why?  Because I LOVE IT, that's why.  But seriously, "Making Money" was the first Terry Pratchett novel I ever read and I fell in love with it at once.  The Discworld series had been well underway by the time this gem came out, but it was still rather easy to follow.  Unless my beloved Wikipedia is wrong, this is the 36th novel in the series.

Our hero, and yes I do believe we should call him hero, is Moist von Lipwig, a one-time thief turned Postal Master (see "Going Postal" for more info.)  Moist is a master of disguise in that he looks so normal and boring, no one would ever notice him.  This swindler is a genius at efficiency and after tackling the cumbersome postal service of Ankh-Morpork, Moist is asked by the city's Patrician, Lord Vetinari, to conquer the Royal Mint.  Needless to say, Moist is not thrilled.  For an actual plot summary, click here.

Let me tell you why you should read it.  It's funny.  It's a funny good read that will have you cracking up, I promise.  The entire sub-plot of Cosmo Lavish attempting to become Lord Vetinari is delightful., even when it's completely gross.  There is an underground laboratory staffed by many Igors.  There are golems everywhere including an army of golden golems and a transvestite golem to boot.  There are twists and turns and nothing is ever easy for the Moist von Lipwig, just as it should be for a proper hero.  They style is fantastic, the dialog crisp and fun and sometimes deserving a second or third read.  

Don't believe me?  Read these far more articulate reviews: 

The Guardian

Boing Boing

Mostly Fiction Book Reviews

These random 5 star reviews from Amazon

  

Submitting

No one likes submitting.  To start with, every publisher/theatre/producer/agent requires their own formula of forms and rhetoric.  "We require a one page synopsis, a 10 page dialog sample and an author bio."  "We require a one paragraph synopsis, a 15 page dialog sample and a current resume".  "Please send the entire script without any personal information, a one page synopsis, a complete character breakdown including ages and races of characters, and a urine sample."

 

Then you have form issues.  Everyone wants either a hard copy or an electronic file so you need PDFs of everything and saved in every possible way (with and without personal information on the title page, for instance)  "We only accept electronic submissions."  "We do not under any circumstances accept electronic submissions.  If you email us your work, it will be deleted."

Let's get to the real meat of the problem, though (tofu for those of us who are vegetarians/vegans).  Submissions take up time.  They take energy.  They're boring.  And most of time, you're going to get rejected.  It's no fun paying $4 to send off a play knowing there's a one in six hundred chance it will be picked to be produced.  It sucks filling out forms and writing cover letters and it's grueling agony trying to encapsulate the story it took you six months to write into a one page synopsis.  It's even worse if you've had a reading of your play/screenplay or a critique of your short story/novel and it went extremely well and still you can't find a producer/publisher.  Submitting sucks.

But you have to do it.  You have to commit to doing it frequently.  As an author, you are your own advocate and most times, you are your ONLY advocate.  No matter how much someone or some group may love your work, they're hardly ever, if at all, going to push the work out into the world for you.  You have to think of submissions like being in labor, you push and push and push and it hurts like hell but, assuming all goes well, it's worth it.

2011 is my year of submissions.  I did 80 last year for five short stories and two plays.  This year, my original goal was 100.  I'm at 60 as of today so I've revised my goal to 200.  This year, so far, I'm submitting two full length plays, six short plays (with more in the plans to be written), one screenplay and five short stories (with more in the works).  If I'm as productive this year as last, I should be able to add a novel and another play to the list as well.

Anyone out there have any thoughts on submissions or goals or stories?

Flash Fiction Friday!

Every Friday, for as long as I can keep it up, I will post a piece of flash fiction on the blog.  Should my creative well dry up, I will do my best to scour the web and find some proper flash fiction and/or short story links!

All Dead

      

    Jacob crouched down low, his knees aching with the strangeness of the angle. Years of sitting at a desk didn't prepare him for this. In his old life, he was more inclined to eat candy bars, slurp Mountain Dew and clack keys all day. His had been a cushy existence.
    Smoke wafted from behind the 7-11. Smoke meant fire and fire usually meant survivors. Survivors meant either friends or foe: no way to know unless you ask and asking could get you killed. But they were out of everything. No more canned food, no more bottled water, and sure as shit no more Mountain Dew.
    She needed him. She was alone now, big and swollen with child. They were so happy when they first found out. A baby was a blessing in those days, seven months ago when the world was right. Now, a baby was a burden plain and simple. He didn't know how to deliver one, and who knew where a doctor was, if there were any left in the civilian world. Maybe there was still a regiment out there, wandering around with a doctor in their midst, thinking there was still someone left to fight and something left to win.
    He scanned the street looking for movement. One kicked can could save his life. Nothing. All dead. “This block, all dead”. That's what the sign at the end of his block said. He and Jenny hid when the soldiers came. They hid like children in the crevices of their house: her in a crawl space, him in a trunk in the attic. The soldiers were looking for survivors to draft them into service. This was back when the wars were in full swing, before the collapse of nations. Back before all communication had ceased.
     He could see the 7-11, only a few hundred yards away. No good food at a 7-11 but at least it was calories and it was close. Right now, that would have to do. It wasn't safe to stray too far from the house, he'd found that out already.
     He would raid a big store tomorrow, he thought with a false sense of bravado. The idea of leaving his own block had been terrifying, but racing the ten blocks to the big store, hoping to meet no one? He couldn't think about that now. That was tomorrow's chore.
    He peered around the fender of the Subaru station wagon. The station wagon was on its side, the windows busted out. Whether that was from the looters (back when things had value) or from the most recent battle, he didn't know. He could've easily pushed it over, the crazy angle it lay at begged for a push.
    “Get ready. Get ready. Get ready,” he told himself, psyching himself up like an Olympic sprinter. “Get the food, get some supplies, get the hell out of there.”
    His mind wanted to launch but his legs were frozen. Just because he couldn't see anyone didn't mean they weren't there. He thought of Jenny, thought of the life in her belly. This was his responsibility. She couldn't do it for herself, not now.
    “Go, go, go, go!” he screamed in his head. He stood, knees popping, and raced across the street towards the building. Faster. Faster.
    Then he saw them, kids really, teenagers. All of them covered in dirt and grime. They came from around the corner of the store, guns in hand.
    He ground to a halt.
    The kids stood in front of the door. He stood in the parking lot. They stared at one another.
    “Can I come in?” he asked. He had a gun tucked into the back of his pants, but there was no way he'd last in a fire fight. There were three of them and, besides, he had never fired the gun. It was there just to scare people off.
    “It's our store,” the tallest one said. He guessed the kid had been an athlete before the wars. He was tall and muscular. The kid would focus on Jacob for a few seconds, then let his eyes dart around, looking for other threats.
    “I just need a little food. I won't take much. I'll find another store tomorrow. Please.”
    “Can't. This is ours. It's all we have.”
    “There's a big grocery store ten blocks from here.”
    “Burned down.”
    He let that sink in. He'd have to use a scooter to get to the next store. The roads were too littered with debris and bodies to use a car. He'd be in the open, vulnerable.
    “Please. My wife is pregnant and she needs to eat. I won't take much.”
    “I told you. We can't,” the kid said moving closer, gun raised, eyes only on him now.
    “Pregnant?” This was from the youngest of the bunch. He looked to be about twelve. It was hard to tell because all his baby fat had melted away, leaving him with hollow cheeks and an old man's gaze.
    “Yes,” Jacob said. “Pregnant. Seven months.”
    “None of the chemicals got to her?” the kid asked. No one was sure what was dropped, but yellow liquid fell like a mist on all their houses. Death was quick for most, only a few hours of pain. For some, months. For a lucky few, there was no effect at all.
    “She's fine. I'm fine. Baby's still kicking.”
    “Not our problem,” the athlete said.
    “Let him in,” the youngest said.
    “Richie!”
    “I said, let him in.” The youngest kept his gun at his side but his eyes were fierce. “How many pregnant ladies you seen recently?”
    The athlete looked from Richie to Jacob, his eyes darting back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.
    “Please,” Jacob said.
    The athlete dropped his weapon. “You get one bag full. That's all. The rest is ours.”
    “Absolutely,” he said. “I'll go to a big store tomorrow. I'll even bring you guys a few cans of stuff.”
    “I wouldn't be planning tomorrow until you get through today,” Richie said.
    When he left, groceries bulging out of the biggest bag he could find, the boys were standing well away from the door, on the corner. Jacob nodded to them. He scanned the streets. All Dead.
    “Hey,” one of the boys called. Jacob looked over. The athlete hustled over to him. He scanned the streets as well.
    “We haven't seen anyone around here in a while, but there's been smoke that way.” The boy pointed to the east. “I think it's been moving this way. It's a lot of smoke. I think something's coming.”
    “Thanks,” Jacob said.
    The boy nodded then ran back to his buddies.
    Jacob ran across the street and ducked back behind the Subaru. He looked towards the east, no smoke right now. But he could feel it, something was coming. Something was always coming at you now.

Dear Paul

Dear Mr. Giamatti,

Though we shall never meet, I feel it is necessary to let you know that I will most likely watch every single movie you make from now until the day one of us expires.  As you are a bit older than me, I sincerely hope you expire first.  Since that is up to neither of us, I will accept the cards fate deals us.  Please note, if I die first it will be a tragedy of epic proportions as I was born a full decade after you and since I was forced to grow up in the 80s (damn you crappy synthesized music!!!), I already feel like yours has been a much happier and more fulfilling life.  But I digress.

I just finished COLD SOULS via my Netflix Roku awesomeness.  I went to IMDB to check on some facts, and what do I see but a trailer for WIN WIN, which I cannot embed here to show the good people that follow this blog, though I do not blame you for this oversight.  I am thrilled.  The story looks fascinating and somehow reminiscent of THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP, though that is probably just the wrestling influencing my opinions.  BTW, that kid's tattoos in WIN WIN are completely awesome and I would probably go see the movie just for that, as shallow as that may be  (raised in the 80s, not my fault).

I saw you over a decade ago on Broadway in THE ICEMAN COMETH with Mr. Spacey, who I also adore.  You were not quite as famous then as you are now.  Even so, I was in love with your performance.  If I was not so incredibly self-conscious of looking like a putz in front of famous people and if I had any idea what to do with a name written on a napkin, I would've asked you for your autograph after the show.  Instead, I stood near the backstage door with a friend and made fun of the people that did ask you for an autograph (though I did so ironically).

I just recently saw BARNEY'S VERSION in the theater.  Though I found it more like a biopic than a film, I still loved it.  Why?  Because sir, you were in it.  The scene where you and your wife break up, I nearly cried.  My usual response to stress and/or emotional situations is to lie on the floor.  As I was in a theater and the floors there are typically covered in grime, popcorn butter and the occasional discarded condom, I could not ease my emotional pain with the typical response and, therefore, had to resort to allowing my eyes to water.  As I have bad eyesight anyway, this left your film blurred for several moments.   But dammit, I was emotional.

Though I don't know if I can love any performance more than the one you gave in AMERICAN SPLENDOR (except maybe for the first movie I remember seeing you in which was as Pig Vomit in Howard Stern's Private Parts - blame my parents for that one), I look forward to each and every movie you choose to lend your talents.  You sir, are a gem. 

Respectfully,

Libby Heily

PS - As I am not a rabid stalker, I will not be sending this letter directly to you.  Instead, I will post it on my blog where it will be read by, at best, three people, none of whom are you.  Good day.

Happy Hump Day!

The middle of the week can inspire a good bit of insanity.  Wednesdays are so close to the weekend, but still too close to Monday to celebrate.   So, from now on, Wednesdays will be the day that we will take a break from the usual blogging and do something that's fun.  A little mid-week brain candy, if you will.

Today will feature some of my favorite Vimeo videos.

If you don't already, you should really check out Vimeo.com.  It is a most awesome video site with high quality videos.  Youtube is fun and I like it, but Vimeo is the next level of user generated material.

Take this gem for instance:


Nothing To Fear from Simon Russell on Vimeo.

This is by Simon F A Russell  His work is pretty stupendous.  This is a haunting short film.  Sure, there's some Clockwork Orange imagery but it's more the moving little pieces and robots that make it creepy and sad.

Or this quirky piece:



Muzorama from Muzorama Team on Vimeo.

This is based on the work of surrealistic artist Jean-Philippe Masson.  I'd love to say that I'm so highly cultured that of course I knew Jean-Philippe Masson.  I had to Google him.  What can I say?  I want to be cultured, but I am uncouth.

For those  of us born with my natural sophistication and cultivated tastes, you'll enjoy this:


Film "Rockn'Toll", "Béton désarmé" from Fabrice Mathieu on Vimeo.

"Rockn'Toll" is the world's first "reality toon" and uses a premise most commonly seen on Looney Tunes.

Hope that helps you get through the rest of the week.  Ta ta for now!

Recent Reads I'd Recommend

I read.  I read a lot.  I read whenever I can.  I read when I wait for the doctor or when I ride the Metro.  I read when I'm wasting time before work or when I should be doing other, more productive, things.  I listen to audiobooks frequently, including when I go for runs or lift weights.  I love the written word and I'm perfectly willing to have someone read to me.

From time to time, I will plug certain authors or books that I've read recently and feel the world should enjoy.  Many of you will probably already know these authors or books.  I wish I was cool enough to pick the next hot new thing, but I've never been cool and chances are if I like something obscure, it will stay obscure (take the Alvin Band for example).

Today's Lit Pick:

Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart.  The main character, Misha Vainberg, is a Russian Jew looking to get back to the US and to his Bronx based girlfriend, Rouenna.  He is trapped in Russia because his "beloved poppa" killed an American and now the American Government is keeping him out.  After the death of his "beloved poppa", Misha, all 300+ pounds of him, travels to Absurdsvanï in order to obtain a Belgian visa.  He ends up in war-torn Absurdsvanï, unable to escape.  The people of Absurdsvanï are engulfed in a civil war that makes little to no sense and though Misha wishes to help, he ends up causing more troubles.  For instance, the war gets far bloodier with bombings after Misha tells the Absurdi dictator that the war is not significant enough to garner international attention.  In the world of Absurdistan, Halliburton and Bechtel play major roles.  There is discord between religious groups.  Corruption runs freely.  This book obviously mirrors many war torn nations, but with a Joseph Heller like eye for the absurd nature of it all.

The story is good, no doubt about that.  Misha is an extremely likable character and I never tired of hearing him referred to as "a melancholic and a sophisticate".  The pacing and style are good and this is not a book that rambles.  These are all good qualities.  But really, it's the humor that makes me recommend Absurdistan.  There were multiple times that I found this book laugh-out-loud funny.  The entire scene where adult Misha is circumcised by Hasidic Jews is hilarious.  Misha's treatment of his servants and his loathing of Russia are treated with a comedic charm that make both very palatable.  If nothing else, read this book for the scene where he meets his adored Rouenna, and smile to yourself as she calls him "Jumbo."

What are you waiting for?  Get to reading!

NY Times Book Review of Abusurdistan.

Day Jobs

I studied acting in college and, as such, I also learned to wait tables. When you want to be an actress, whether you know it or not, you agree to work a string of crappy jobs while you wait for your big break. Actors need a loose schedule so they can audition frequently and they need time off for rehearsals should they get cast. These were the terms I agreed to as an actress.

The problem is, I decided shortly after graduating from college that I did not want to act. I wanted to write instead. Yet, I still worked actress day jobs. I have waited tables, been a barista, worked at a call center, produced commercials for a local cable provider and worked in retail. My pay range has varied anywhere between $7.50 and $20 an hour. I have spent several years without health insurance and multiple years without spare money for small things like clothes not found in bargain bins.

I am not your typical scribe. Writers are a different breed when it comes to wage earning occupations. Most of the writers I know have very grown up day jobs. Many are teachers either in high school or college. Others work as editors for large and small publishing firms. Some work for the government or at newspapers as editors or journalists and still others are doctors or lawyers. I am one of the few writers I know that has worked a string of very low skilled jobs to pay the rent.

So why am I so different? I don't really know. I never invested the time or money to get better skills. I've never stayed in one place long enough to grow with a company (I've left every job after a two year mark, more or less). In truth, I just never really wanted to do it. All the energy I would need to spend to establish a career is energy better spent on writing.

It's not just me, though. I think it's also a difference between the two "dreams". Actors tend to be very young, writers often times come to writing later in life, after their careers are well under way. I don't have statistical proof of this, only anecdotal proof. Most struggling actors I know are very young, below 25. Most of the writers in the three writing groups I've been in have been far older than me, mid-40s and above.

Right now, I consider myself pretty lucky. I have a pretty fun day job working at a running store. I don't stress much about work and I don't bring work home with me. My mind is pretty free to focus on writing and I have plenty of time to write and read.

Feel free to leave some comments on your best and worst day jobs. What do you think about the differences between actor day jobs and writer day jobs (if you think there's a difference at all)?

Fun Friday

Here's a few things to keep you amused at work, etc:

I submitted to this online lit mag a few days ago.  I pulled up a piece to see what kind of stuff they published.  That's where I found this hilarious story.  I'm pretty sure I'm not breaking any copyright laws here because this snippet is so short, but please click on it to read the rest, you will love it.  It's called "My Most Recent Rejection Letters" by RT Sehgal:

Penthouse Forum

While we appreciate your recent submission, we regret to inform you that we will be unable to use it in our magazine. We don’t use fact-checkers and we certainly believe that fantasy plays a large role in what we do, but having Eleanor Roosevelt involved in your threesome seems odd given the historic level of her unattractiveness

If that wasn't funny enough for you, then you should click here to go to Mr. Sehgal's blog which is also quite funny.  If I may recommend his letter to the Nobel Prize Committee.

Because of all the pictures involved, I won't copy and paste a bit of this, but please click this title if you want to see something cool on Tor.com.  The title is "The 12 Days of Zombie Christmas" by Sean Beiri.  Click it, you know you want to. 


Also on Tor.com that seemed pretty cool is: "The Cockroach Hat" by Terry Bissom.  Not too shabby.

Also, you should check out this super funny video my buddy Ty made:

Kromwell's Kitchen of Khaos (Parody) - watch more funny videos

Just a few things to help you while away the hours until you get to leave for work.  

Slogging Through

Sometimes you get into a zone and you're ready for anything.  You can write for ten hours straight without stopping.  The world you live in disappears and the one you created is the only one out there.  It's a great feeling, a feeling every writer chases daily.  It's an all consuming feeling and one that leaves you thinking that maybe, just maybe you made the right choice in becoming a writer.

Then there's the other 90% of the time.  Most of it goes okay though it can be frustrating.  About 20% of the time, you're slogging through. What do I mean by that?  It means you don't want to write, you don't want to sit at the computer and your mind's operating like it's trapped in molasses.  The words are slow to come or, much like my day yesterday, you could spend an hour staring into space as you try to wrap your head around a character.

Even though you'd rather quit, let the dream go for the day, you slog through.  You put in your time.  You refuse to quit, you refuse to watch TV or go meet friends and forget about the task you've set for yourself that day.  Anyone can write when they're inspired, but you need to write when you'd rather do anything else (including when you'd rather scrub your toilets then sit looking at a blank page.)

This isn't just about writing, this is about life.  I'm not being preachy, and trust me, I've chosen the lazy path many times, but it's only when I've agreed to slog through the crap times that I've been able to accomplish anything.

So, here's to all the people slogging through their day, waiting for the inspiration to hit.

Completely off topic: when did Dr. Dre become a bodybuilder?  I'm not hating, he looks amazing, but wasn't he kind of chubby for years and years?

On Rejection

The best thing I could have ever done as an emerging writer was a Google search on famous writers.  Why?  Because that's where I learned that every writer, well almost every writer, is going to get rejected and rejected and rejected before they ever get accepted.  I read recently that Jasper Fforde was rejected 76 times before he was published and I think we all know the JK Rowling stories of multiple rejections.

I have developed a thick skin in the past few years.  I started becoming really serious about writing three years ago and have since been rejected what feels like a million times.  My heart used to break with every rejection.  I swore it meant I should quit writing.  Once or twice, I ended up laying on the floor and staring dejectedly at the ceiling for a few hours.  I'm not really a crier, so this is how I tend to express agony and stress, extended floor laying-abouts.

Now, I tend to breeze through my rejections.  I received three this morning alone, which is a lot for me in one day.  One rejection was a contest for a theater conference I was truly hoping to attend.  The rejection was extremely pleasant, which I appreciate immensely, and they offered me free housing if I still wanted to go to the conference which is great.  Maybe it was the friendly tone or the free room offer, or maybe it's just that I'm getting used to being told no, but these rejections didn't phaze me a bit.  I went on with my day, including six new submissions.

As I covered in an earlier post, this March is my first Playwright Binge.  I found some interesting and somewhat disturbing information via the listsreve of the binge.  Fellow playwrights put up some information about their own submissions and, so far, they've mirrored mine.  One playwright said she gets one yes for about every 50 - 75 nos.  Another playwright says that he submitted over 500 times last year and that about a quarter to a half got back to him, and that that's par for the course.

So far this year, I've submitted 45 times.   Five more times, and I might get a yes.

Oh Obsession

The bad thing about blogging is that you spend SO MUCH time checking your blog, as if it's changed.  Every time I want to see if I have a new view or a new follower.  So lame, but seriously, obsessiveness is a trait of writers, right?

I had a blog once before and I checked it every hour for days.  I was attempting, piss poorly mind you, to make some cash blogging so I could "quit my day job".  I'm not even attempting that anymore.  I'm just trying  to see if I can't build a little web presence.  And still I check this every hour.  I'm hoping I can quit the habit once I get more used to blogging. 

Let the Binge Begin!

I joined the Playwrights Binge a few months ago.  This is a Yahoo group that sets up a challenge of a submission a day every day for 30 days twice a year.  The group encourages one another and makes the writer accountable for handling the business side of writing.  There's also a lot of resource sharing.  I've already found four new websites for playwriting opportunities. 

Today was day one of the latest binge.  I did 25 submissions last week and really want to spend some time writing so I decided to only do one submission today.  I chose Avatar Repertory Theater.  I thought it would  be cool because they're considering doing short plays that they produce in the virtual reality atmosphere (or is it more a game?) Second Life.  So, it would be a computer generated play in a virtual reality world, the idea very much intrigues me.  I get rejected A LOT, so don't hold your breath for this one either, but it's such a cool concept that I hope I get accepted.  I sent them a play about seven people trapped on a runaway train, but the people turn into animals  You can read the play here.  If you want know more about Avatar Rep, click here.

My goal this year is to submit at least 100 times.  I'm currently on 39.  I thought that was a lofty goal until I found out some bingers submitted over 500 times last year!  I'll keep you posted on my progress. 

If you an interest in checking out the binge, click here.