A Storyteller's Journey

My social circle is chock full of people who write. They either actually write, or they plan to write, or they kinda-sorta dabble at writing, or they scatter words upon e-paper with the wonton carelessness of a drunken Jackson Pollack impersonator. But they self-identify as writers, and so — writers, they are.

When I first dabbled in long-form fiction, nearly 15 years ago, I was quickly humbled by how hard it was. I had been a newspaper editor and editorial writer for years; I could place 800 print-ready words into the queue on 20 minutes' notice, so how hard could it be to just make shit up?

Turns out: hard.

Since then, I've written roughly a dozen novels. None of them will ever see the light of day; they're training manuscripts. They've made me a better writer, but none of them are really ideal for placement on a bricks-and-mortar retail shelf. And that's as it should be. I weep for the writers whose first effort is their passion project, yet they desperately seek to have it published. First novels, after all, are (and should be!) garbage, much like a potter's first vase is garbage and a painter's first watercolor is garbage. Art grows by doing and learning and tweaking. Expecting a commercially successful book at your first at-bat is, I think, ridiculously arrogant and demonstrates a depressing lack of self-awareness about one's own skillset and positioning within the literary industry.

We can't all be the black swan in the flock!

Over the last few weeks, my weekly "silent writing time" at the bookstore's conference room has been going well. It's three hours of no talking (except to Theon d'Cat, who likes to visit and chat). I've been using that time to fine-tune my detective series. And also, anyone who wants to attend is welcome.

As I re-tool the series to make it a legitimate collection of stand-alone kinda-cozy detective mysteries, I've had to walk back the ad-hoc way I viewed the work I've already done to find an approach that's plausible, yielding stand-alone books that nevertheless allow my six main recurring characters (four primary, two secondary) to also grow as a team in subtle but real ways over the course of these books.

Which, as an exercise, has been simultaneously frustrating and invigorating. But I think I've learned a three new things from this process.

First, there's a fine line between author self-insertion and "writing what you know." Part of Jordan that's being added to the mix is a change of vibe. Instead of being a young urban professional living in a downtown condo, he lives on a hobby farm and has horses. Guess what? I have horses. I'm not making Jordan the Jason I wish Jason could be, or the Jordan I wish I could lead by leash into my bedroom. Rather, I'm making Jordan a more interesting character because I know horses and I can use horses to better flesh out Jordan's temperament and backstory. Similarly, one of the main characters — the medical examiner, Alexandra — is a scuba diver. I, too, am a scuba diver. For Alex, diving is a stress reducer; I can write a more accurate and richer diving scene from ample lived experience than if her hobby were stamp collecting. About which, I know practically nothing.

Second, I find value in helping the Front Six characters coalesce as friends and as colleagues over the course of a half-dozen planned novels. Each novel features some small movement. They start in Book No. 1 as being mostly strangers to each other, connected by Jordan, to a group who comes to view that group as a found family. But that dynamic doesn't play out over a single novel; in real life, people don't bond that quickly or that durably. But over a half-dozen stories sequenced in time? Much more plausible. But also, much more subtle to interweave on a per-book basis. Harder, but more rewarding.

Third, backstory is critical but it shouldn't be data-dumped. I have always pulled together something of a story bible for each novel-length project I've started. For my character sheets, the bible consists primarily of bullet points recording attributes that need canonical references. Stuff like hair color, accents, bits of relevant character history. But this time around, I actually developed narrative backstories for each character — essentially, psych profiles embedded in mini life stories that explain who each person is. And in one case (Alex) I actually cried after writing it. These characters now make sense to me in a way they didn't before. I'm not going to cut-and-paste this info into a manuscript; it's for my eyes only. But my eyes guide my hand as I write the story.

Writing is hard. We each write in our own ways. But after a lifetime of writing, I think I'm only now arriving at a headspace where what I write might be of interest to the public. I've never been a black swan, but I think I'm at the point where my white swan is nevertheless ready to soar.

In Other News -->

August was fun:

• I attended GenCon and was a panelist for the Writers' Symposium. I sat on a few panels and, memorably, led a panel featuring authors Cat Rambo, Danni Williams, and Matt Dinneman (of Dungeon Crawler Carl fame) about indie publishing during an active tornado warning. I also had a chance to chat with Mychal Threets, the new host of Reading Rainbow.
• Cade and I had fun visiting Deer Trax Junction, which is a drive-through safari and petting zoo in Cedar Springs, Michigan.
• The bookstore opened after a long hiatus related to the change of our inventory systems.
• Our Book Club — having been inspired earlier in the year by a read of Wuthering Heights — hosted a "fancy dinner." It was a multi-course meal lightly themed with quasi-Victorian costuming. We had fun, and may repeat the exercise again.
• A few feathered friends crossed the rainbow bridge: Rex the chicken, and the quail Dorothy and Beryl.
• I was privileged to serve on the examination board for this year's black belt test at the dojo. Four candidates succeeded in this step of their journey, including my business partner and dear friend Allison, who is now a fourth-degree practitioner.
• I rode Macey for the first time. Yay! For being an old quarterhorse mare with a bit of mild separation anxiety, when she is in work mode, she stands like a Breyer and demonstrates the patience of Job. I love this horse, and I'm a bit miffed at the universe that we only met her in her senior years.

And stay tuned, friends: My next post, a few weeks hence, will offer reflections about my half-century mark on this beautiful blue marble we call home.

Until then, stay well.