Who am I to not make New Year's Resolutions?
1. Stay the course. Yeah, my first resolution is an affirmation of the path I have already blazed in my life. (Let's start with the positive, shall we?) If ever there was a year that I stuck to my plan and stuck to my guns, 2010 was it.
2. Remember the lessons learned. Really. Those plans I stuck with? It wasn't easy and it took more than one false start. Don't be afraid to refer back to the writing journal to see where those pitfalls lay. This life is an open-book test.
3. Go another step out. If I pushed myself in 2010 to write better, more often and with more courage, let me take it a step farther in 2011. Maybe I won't up my word count but I can up my daring. I can take bigger chances with my plots and characters.
4. Work on new story ideas. I love to lose myself in a story. Blessedly I'm not afflicted (yet) with the urge to start a new story when my current story gets tough. The other side of that coin, however, is that when one story is done, I don't immediately start my next one. Maybe it's just how I write. But this year, I'm keeping a story file, with clippings and notes and fragments of story ideas so that when my current WIP is completed, I at least have something to poke through.
5. Try at least one new writing outlet. Currently I write novels and a short column for a quarterly magazine. This year I'm going to write something new – short stories, poetry, longer non-fiction. And submit it. Repeatedly, if necessary.
6. Connect with more writers. I love my writing community on Twitter, Yahoo and Facebook, as well as the WV Writers. This year, I'm heading to Matera, Italy for some new brainstorming ground. More writers mean more ideas, more encouragement, more inspiration. Find ways to be helpful.
7. Dare to suck. I'm polishing my Italian, working on my pathetic chess skills, dusting off my paintbrushes. This is just the beginning. It's a big world out there and I don't have to be the best to have the best time. If we only do what we're good at, we'll never know what we're capable of.
There, seven is a good number. I can live with it. How about you? Anything on here ring a bell with you? What would you add?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Mental Compost Heap
Okay so you might have noticed a slight gap in my posts. I'll give you the five cent tour of events: started a story, changed the story, changed it again, changed it back, started a new one, was told to go back to old one, banged head against wall and chucked it all. Started an entirely new project that roared to life like it was born in jet fuel and consumed three solid months of my life. A happy ending, yes?
Yes and no.
I'm thrilled with the finished manuscript, a thriller titled FLOWERTOWN. (More on that later.) When I had finished the edits, however, I noticed a distinct absence of words in my head. The writers among us know how unnerving that can be. There was no next story chattering, no characters nagging, no plot threads weaving through my now resting mind. The silence was only compounded by the diagnosis of nodules on my vocal cords that required me to stop talking, and therefore working, for two weeks. Now that, my friends, is silence.
What had happened? I looked back over the past months and saw how I had spent four solid months: working, writing, coughing, working, coughing, coughing, writing, working, writing, writing, coughing. And coughing some more.
Notice anything missing? READING.
Somehow amid all the creating and coughing and mundane work I had let the habit of reading slip away. As impossible as it seems, I had used up all my words.
And so, with two quiet uninterrupted weeks (and I won't lie, that didn't suck) I began to read. I read everything I could get my hands on: Steig Lawson, Robert Charles Wilson, Lawrence Block, Harlan Coben, Barbara Kingsolver, recipes for sour cherry chicken, Paris Review, a can of fried onions, CD liner notes. If it was printed I read it. As the stories, facts and delicious serving suggestions went in, I could feel the words, the styles, the phrases, the images, peeling off and piling up in that part of my mind that I mine for inspiration.
I've come to think of it as mental compost, the natural process of breaking down all the organic compounds of the world around us, especially those in the written word, into a thick, loamy fertile pile of goodness into which the next seed of an idea can burrow, sprout and become a living thing. I can already feel the heat and life returning to that overly tapped part of my brain, can feel it being replenished.
Have you ever run out of words? Or worked the words you have so hard that they become dry, sterile things? I've learned a valuable lesson. This garden I call my mind, as bizarre as it can be sometimes, needs a steady supply of mental compost. Now when I let my mind lay fallow for a month or two, I know all this reading is just replenishing the soil.
Yes and no.
I'm thrilled with the finished manuscript, a thriller titled FLOWERTOWN. (More on that later.) When I had finished the edits, however, I noticed a distinct absence of words in my head. The writers among us know how unnerving that can be. There was no next story chattering, no characters nagging, no plot threads weaving through my now resting mind. The silence was only compounded by the diagnosis of nodules on my vocal cords that required me to stop talking, and therefore working, for two weeks. Now that, my friends, is silence.
What had happened? I looked back over the past months and saw how I had spent four solid months: working, writing, coughing, working, coughing, coughing, writing, working, writing, writing, coughing. And coughing some more.
Notice anything missing? READING.
Somehow amid all the creating and coughing and mundane work I had let the habit of reading slip away. As impossible as it seems, I had used up all my words.
And so, with two quiet uninterrupted weeks (and I won't lie, that didn't suck) I began to read. I read everything I could get my hands on: Steig Lawson, Robert Charles Wilson, Lawrence Block, Harlan Coben, Barbara Kingsolver, recipes for sour cherry chicken, Paris Review, a can of fried onions, CD liner notes. If it was printed I read it. As the stories, facts and delicious serving suggestions went in, I could feel the words, the styles, the phrases, the images, peeling off and piling up in that part of my mind that I mine for inspiration.
I've come to think of it as mental compost, the natural process of breaking down all the organic compounds of the world around us, especially those in the written word, into a thick, loamy fertile pile of goodness into which the next seed of an idea can burrow, sprout and become a living thing. I can already feel the heat and life returning to that overly tapped part of my brain, can feel it being replenished.
Have you ever run out of words? Or worked the words you have so hard that they become dry, sterile things? I've learned a valuable lesson. This garden I call my mind, as bizarre as it can be sometimes, needs a steady supply of mental compost. Now when I let my mind lay fallow for a month or two, I know all this reading is just replenishing the soil.
Monday, July 5, 2010
3 Ways to Get Unstuck
We've all been at that point where you know, long term, where the story is going but between you and long-term, there is a vast wasteland of white page and you can't get word one written. What to do? Here are three things that might work.
1.Get to the action.
Right to it. Your current chapter ends with the action looming on the horizon and you're dying to get to it but there's all this other "stuff" that has to be explained and set-up and prepared before you get there. You know what? You're probably going to wind up cutting all that stuff anyway, so why not skip it now? Get to the part you're dying to write. Now, I'm not a fan of writing the action scenes and stitching them together because those winding paths between high points can take you in some interesting directions, but if you're itching for action, your reader probably is too.
2.Start a conversation.
When you're stuck in a plot line, your wheels tend to spin. You want forward motion but everywhere you look is nothing but mud and walls and plot-drop cliffs. Your characters are standing around looking nervous and/or bored wondering why you're not letting them do what they want to do. Ask them. Put two characters together and let them start talking. See what's on their mind. I once discovered the reason a scene was stalled out was because a secondary character was seriously pissed that his best friend had blown him off for a woman (and the plot) and was therefore refusing to do his part to continue the story. I set them down over a few beers and let the friend lose his cool and, lo and behold, my main character had the unhappy realization that he could be a self-absorbed prick. It was a nice touch of dimension that I wouldn't have really seen if I hadn't let them talk it out.
3.Write something completely insane.
True story: a friend was stuck deader than dead in the first third of her book. She could think of no logical way to jump start the next phase so she had a monkey fall out of tree onto her main character's head. In the middle of a city street, no previous mentions of monkeys, no apparent reason it happened. The character, understandably, screamed and swore and the monkey peed on her and ran off. After that, the character recovered and the story continued. Needless to say, the monkey scene was cut (after many hysterical readings of said passage) and the story continued. It may not work for you, but throwing in something nonsensical can take the pressure of deathless prose and breathless plotting off of your mortal shoulders.
We've all been there. I'd love any tips you could share.
1.Get to the action.
Right to it. Your current chapter ends with the action looming on the horizon and you're dying to get to it but there's all this other "stuff" that has to be explained and set-up and prepared before you get there. You know what? You're probably going to wind up cutting all that stuff anyway, so why not skip it now? Get to the part you're dying to write. Now, I'm not a fan of writing the action scenes and stitching them together because those winding paths between high points can take you in some interesting directions, but if you're itching for action, your reader probably is too.
2.Start a conversation.
When you're stuck in a plot line, your wheels tend to spin. You want forward motion but everywhere you look is nothing but mud and walls and plot-drop cliffs. Your characters are standing around looking nervous and/or bored wondering why you're not letting them do what they want to do. Ask them. Put two characters together and let them start talking. See what's on their mind. I once discovered the reason a scene was stalled out was because a secondary character was seriously pissed that his best friend had blown him off for a woman (and the plot) and was therefore refusing to do his part to continue the story. I set them down over a few beers and let the friend lose his cool and, lo and behold, my main character had the unhappy realization that he could be a self-absorbed prick. It was a nice touch of dimension that I wouldn't have really seen if I hadn't let them talk it out.
3.Write something completely insane.
True story: a friend was stuck deader than dead in the first third of her book. She could think of no logical way to jump start the next phase so she had a monkey fall out of tree onto her main character's head. In the middle of a city street, no previous mentions of monkeys, no apparent reason it happened. The character, understandably, screamed and swore and the monkey peed on her and ran off. After that, the character recovered and the story continued. Needless to say, the monkey scene was cut (after many hysterical readings of said passage) and the story continued. It may not work for you, but throwing in something nonsensical can take the pressure of deathless prose and breathless plotting off of your mortal shoulders.
We've all been there. I'd love any tips you could share.
Friday, June 25, 2010
In Praise of a Writing Journal
I've never been a journal keeper. Maybe it's because, as a leftie, I could never manage to get my hand into those tiny little books with the metal clasps. And even if I could, the lines in those things were so infinitesimally spaced…well, let's just say I'm still a wide-ruled girl. Plus my personal idea of hell is to think that anyone can read my mind and, for me, a journal just seemed a doorway to that netherworld.
During the writing of Storyteller, however, I had so many story ideas and worries and enthusiasms bouncing around at once, I decided to break down and carry a composition notebook around with me. Who knew I would love it? Having all my ideas in one place? What is this "organization" thing you speak of? Unfortunately, many of the pages have lines like "no words today - boo" or cryptic messages like "Don't forget the Cheerios under the seat!" I kept it through Storyteller, its sequel The Reaches, a nonsensical NaNoWriMo project and the ill-fated mystery endeavor. I'm into my third notebook now just as I'm starting my newest project and have discovered the real beauty of the journals.
"I've been here before." You know that feeling at the start of a new, exciting writing project when it feels just like someone drops you in the middle of Kansas and says "Now get to the Grand Canyon! Pronto!" You're psyched! You love the Grand Canyon and you have a pretty good idea where it is from here. You get ready to take that first step… and all you see is wheat. Miles and miles of wheat. And that voice pops up and says "You can't get there from here."
Pull out the old journals. Writing periods I remember as effortless or story arcs that seemed to me now to have grown out organic and smooth are remembered quite differently up close in the notebooks. Days and weeks of anxiety and despair and false starts and weird go-nowhere ideas take up pages and pages of the journal. I see a million tangents that got weeded out after they had helped bridge difficult passages; I see periods of frustration that were just hammered through with brute force. I see moments of elation when things finally picked up steam. Mostly, though, I see that I made it. Again and again, I wrote my way from start to finish, each time convinced this would be my last time.
Like the journals themselves, the stories were messy and flawed and full of missteps. Unlike the journals, however, they have been edited and tweaked and cleaned up so nobody has to know their ugly childhoods. Their beauty comes from their polish. The journals' beauty comes from their rough ugliness, from the crazy and sometimes pathetic desperation scrawled through their pages. "I've been here before" and my journals have the scars to prove it. Consider me converted to the world of the writing journal.
Now if you'll just point me in a west/southwesterly direction, I've got a Grand Canyon to see.
During the writing of Storyteller, however, I had so many story ideas and worries and enthusiasms bouncing around at once, I decided to break down and carry a composition notebook around with me. Who knew I would love it? Having all my ideas in one place? What is this "organization" thing you speak of? Unfortunately, many of the pages have lines like "no words today - boo" or cryptic messages like "Don't forget the Cheerios under the seat!" I kept it through Storyteller, its sequel The Reaches, a nonsensical NaNoWriMo project and the ill-fated mystery endeavor. I'm into my third notebook now just as I'm starting my newest project and have discovered the real beauty of the journals.
"I've been here before." You know that feeling at the start of a new, exciting writing project when it feels just like someone drops you in the middle of Kansas and says "Now get to the Grand Canyon! Pronto!" You're psyched! You love the Grand Canyon and you have a pretty good idea where it is from here. You get ready to take that first step… and all you see is wheat. Miles and miles of wheat. And that voice pops up and says "You can't get there from here."
Pull out the old journals. Writing periods I remember as effortless or story arcs that seemed to me now to have grown out organic and smooth are remembered quite differently up close in the notebooks. Days and weeks of anxiety and despair and false starts and weird go-nowhere ideas take up pages and pages of the journal. I see a million tangents that got weeded out after they had helped bridge difficult passages; I see periods of frustration that were just hammered through with brute force. I see moments of elation when things finally picked up steam. Mostly, though, I see that I made it. Again and again, I wrote my way from start to finish, each time convinced this would be my last time.
Like the journals themselves, the stories were messy and flawed and full of missteps. Unlike the journals, however, they have been edited and tweaked and cleaned up so nobody has to know their ugly childhoods. Their beauty comes from their polish. The journals' beauty comes from their rough ugliness, from the crazy and sometimes pathetic desperation scrawled through their pages. "I've been here before" and my journals have the scars to prove it. Consider me converted to the world of the writing journal.
Now if you'll just point me in a west/southwesterly direction, I've got a Grand Canyon to see.
Monday, June 14, 2010
FEAR
FEAR. There's a word for ya. Good fear, bad fear, deep fear, hidden fear. I am of the belief there are only two real emotions in the human heart – love and fear. Today I'm talking about fear.
It all started because a friend of a friend decided she needed to start a "bucket list." (May I nominate that phrase for most annoying phrase/concept since "cool beans" and "think outside the box?" In my humble opinion, writing out a bucket list gives unnecessary gravitas to ridiculous but fun things, like getting laid in Vegas, while trivializing difficult achievements, like becoming fluent in Hungarian. And, even worse, it gives people an excuse to put off doing the things they'd like to be doing if they would just conquer their own fear and inertia. "I can't do it now, my show's on, but it's on my bucket list!" Sorry, I should save this for another blog.)
Anyway, my friend's bucket list contained white water rafting on the New River in Fayette County, WV. I live in WV and have always felt a sort of secret shame that I had never partaken of one of my state's most famous and exciting activities, but to be honest, the thought of it scared the piss out of me. I don't really know why. I can swim; I'm not scared of water, but there are some serious Class Five rapids and, well, I like breathing. But the opportunity presented itself and I agreed to go, fear be damned. We also decided that, as a reward for bravely facing the lower New River in spring, we would treat ourselves to the newly opened zip line canopy tour that ranged across the gorge. A good plan, right?
Well…
I received two excellent pieces of advice before we left to raft. One, your paddle in the water will keep you in the boat. (Thanks, Melanie.) Two, listen to everything your guide tells you. I concentrated so hard on every word out of our guide's mouth I nearly set him on fire with my mind. I don't really know how or why it happened, but on that long, winding bus ride down the gorge to the launch site, my fear grew from anxiety to white-knuckle terror but part of my brain (probably the part that didn't want to be laughed at by the 11 year old kid in the raft with me) told me to stare down that fear, to fight through it. Or rather, paddle through it. We came upon the first real rapid of the day, a Class Three with a Class Five hole at the bottom, aptly named "Surprise" and what do you know? I did exactly what our guide told us, paddled like hell and came out on the other side laughing my head off and immediately in love with white water rafting. In every picture of me on that river, I am grinning like a baboon.
Fear of the unknown conquered by facing it head on. Check.
Skip ahead to the next day. Our adrenaline glands had gotten a well deserved rest. We suited up for the tree-top canopy zip-line. Three hours of gorgeous sailing over the beautiful New River Gorge. I had a few little butterflies but mostly I was pumped. After all, I had jumped out of an airplane the year before and I had just upped my bravery quotient by successfully rafting the Lower New River. I was ready! The fact that thunder clouds were rolling in over the mountains only gave me slight pause. The tour was rain or shine. I was in.
It started with a ground-school. These people take their customers' safety very seriously and they make sure everyone understands exactly how to do what they are going to spend the next three hours doing. We were clamped onto a pair of wires in a rather complicated series of carabineers, given instructions on breaking and steering and self-rescuing should we not complete the zips, one of which would be over 730 feet long. I watched my friends go first, zip lining over the perilous height of four feet. I learned from their mistakes. I felt confident in my ability to follow the directions. And then I felt this sick little worm of fear begin to twist inside of me. I thought maybe it was just a left over from the day before, or perhaps an unfortunate habit of fear that I might have picked up somewhere, like a cold sore. I took my turn on the ground-school line successfully and told that little evil worm of fear to buzz off. I had come to zip line and zip I would!
The first zip was 100 feet long heading right out into the gorge. The landing platform was easily thirty feet up in a sturdy hemlock and if you don't think that's high, well, think again. I could feel the adrenaline pumping as I watched friend after friend zip across the chasm with varying degrees of success, all laughing, all whooping it up. When I stood on the launch stump, harness hooked in, palms sweaty, heart pumping, I told myself I was going to face this new fear, this new shade of unknown, and I was going to zip my ass all the way across that gorge.
And I zipped. I kept my ankles crossed; I braked softly when instructed; I steered as true as an arrow and landed perfectly on the second platform. And do you know what I learned in that one jubilant instant? That I hate zip lining. The guide congratulated me, hooked me to the safety belt to prepare for the next zip and looked genuinely shocked when I said I wanted off the platform. There was one more zip to go before the rescue line and the guide assured me that once I did it again, I'd get over my nerves. After all, she told me, you're doing really well. And so we zipped again. Another 100 feet, another easy, straight, fast dead-on landing. And the transformation of my dislike of zip lining into outright loathing. The storm was blowing in. The hemlocks were swaying and I was fully prepared to scamper down that tree like a squirrel if need be. The guide told me to trust my equipment. I told the guide several words that rhyme with "duck" and the rescue line was prepared.
Did I regret bailing on my adventure after only two short zips, ignoring the guides promises that I would come to love the activity? Not for a heartbeat. The gentle man on the ground who plucked us from the rescue line (I was not alone in this defection) told me that I had made the right decision. He said "Honey, if you don't like it by now, you're gonna hate it in three hours." Truer words were never spoken. And when I saw the face of my best friend, who is perhaps the bravest, boldest, ballsiest woman I have ever known, when she returned from three hours zipping through the gorge in a driving rain storm – well, I congratulated myself on making the right decision.
What's the message here? One, don't invite me zip lining. But two, all fear is not bad fear but all fear must be faced. Some things you fear because they've become big boogey monsters in your head and when you right up to them, they're nothing more than ghosts. Some things you fear because when you get right up on them, they are indeed scarier than hell. But you won't know until you get right up on them and that is usually the scariest step of all. And whether you fight or flee, you can at least know you were brave enough to take that step in the first place.
It all started because a friend of a friend decided she needed to start a "bucket list." (May I nominate that phrase for most annoying phrase/concept since "cool beans" and "think outside the box?" In my humble opinion, writing out a bucket list gives unnecessary gravitas to ridiculous but fun things, like getting laid in Vegas, while trivializing difficult achievements, like becoming fluent in Hungarian. And, even worse, it gives people an excuse to put off doing the things they'd like to be doing if they would just conquer their own fear and inertia. "I can't do it now, my show's on, but it's on my bucket list!" Sorry, I should save this for another blog.)
Anyway, my friend's bucket list contained white water rafting on the New River in Fayette County, WV. I live in WV and have always felt a sort of secret shame that I had never partaken of one of my state's most famous and exciting activities, but to be honest, the thought of it scared the piss out of me. I don't really know why. I can swim; I'm not scared of water, but there are some serious Class Five rapids and, well, I like breathing. But the opportunity presented itself and I agreed to go, fear be damned. We also decided that, as a reward for bravely facing the lower New River in spring, we would treat ourselves to the newly opened zip line canopy tour that ranged across the gorge. A good plan, right?
Well…
I received two excellent pieces of advice before we left to raft. One, your paddle in the water will keep you in the boat. (Thanks, Melanie.) Two, listen to everything your guide tells you. I concentrated so hard on every word out of our guide's mouth I nearly set him on fire with my mind. I don't really know how or why it happened, but on that long, winding bus ride down the gorge to the launch site, my fear grew from anxiety to white-knuckle terror but part of my brain (probably the part that didn't want to be laughed at by the 11 year old kid in the raft with me) told me to stare down that fear, to fight through it. Or rather, paddle through it. We came upon the first real rapid of the day, a Class Three with a Class Five hole at the bottom, aptly named "Surprise" and what do you know? I did exactly what our guide told us, paddled like hell and came out on the other side laughing my head off and immediately in love with white water rafting. In every picture of me on that river, I am grinning like a baboon.
Fear of the unknown conquered by facing it head on. Check.
Skip ahead to the next day. Our adrenaline glands had gotten a well deserved rest. We suited up for the tree-top canopy zip-line. Three hours of gorgeous sailing over the beautiful New River Gorge. I had a few little butterflies but mostly I was pumped. After all, I had jumped out of an airplane the year before and I had just upped my bravery quotient by successfully rafting the Lower New River. I was ready! The fact that thunder clouds were rolling in over the mountains only gave me slight pause. The tour was rain or shine. I was in.
It started with a ground-school. These people take their customers' safety very seriously and they make sure everyone understands exactly how to do what they are going to spend the next three hours doing. We were clamped onto a pair of wires in a rather complicated series of carabineers, given instructions on breaking and steering and self-rescuing should we not complete the zips, one of which would be over 730 feet long. I watched my friends go first, zip lining over the perilous height of four feet. I learned from their mistakes. I felt confident in my ability to follow the directions. And then I felt this sick little worm of fear begin to twist inside of me. I thought maybe it was just a left over from the day before, or perhaps an unfortunate habit of fear that I might have picked up somewhere, like a cold sore. I took my turn on the ground-school line successfully and told that little evil worm of fear to buzz off. I had come to zip line and zip I would!
The first zip was 100 feet long heading right out into the gorge. The landing platform was easily thirty feet up in a sturdy hemlock and if you don't think that's high, well, think again. I could feel the adrenaline pumping as I watched friend after friend zip across the chasm with varying degrees of success, all laughing, all whooping it up. When I stood on the launch stump, harness hooked in, palms sweaty, heart pumping, I told myself I was going to face this new fear, this new shade of unknown, and I was going to zip my ass all the way across that gorge.
And I zipped. I kept my ankles crossed; I braked softly when instructed; I steered as true as an arrow and landed perfectly on the second platform. And do you know what I learned in that one jubilant instant? That I hate zip lining. The guide congratulated me, hooked me to the safety belt to prepare for the next zip and looked genuinely shocked when I said I wanted off the platform. There was one more zip to go before the rescue line and the guide assured me that once I did it again, I'd get over my nerves. After all, she told me, you're doing really well. And so we zipped again. Another 100 feet, another easy, straight, fast dead-on landing. And the transformation of my dislike of zip lining into outright loathing. The storm was blowing in. The hemlocks were swaying and I was fully prepared to scamper down that tree like a squirrel if need be. The guide told me to trust my equipment. I told the guide several words that rhyme with "duck" and the rescue line was prepared.
Did I regret bailing on my adventure after only two short zips, ignoring the guides promises that I would come to love the activity? Not for a heartbeat. The gentle man on the ground who plucked us from the rescue line (I was not alone in this defection) told me that I had made the right decision. He said "Honey, if you don't like it by now, you're gonna hate it in three hours." Truer words were never spoken. And when I saw the face of my best friend, who is perhaps the bravest, boldest, ballsiest woman I have ever known, when she returned from three hours zipping through the gorge in a driving rain storm – well, I congratulated myself on making the right decision.
What's the message here? One, don't invite me zip lining. But two, all fear is not bad fear but all fear must be faced. Some things you fear because they've become big boogey monsters in your head and when you right up to them, they're nothing more than ghosts. Some things you fear because when you get right up on them, they are indeed scarier than hell. But you won't know until you get right up on them and that is usually the scariest step of all. And whether you fight or flee, you can at least know you were brave enough to take that step in the first place.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
When You're Not the Writer You Thought You Were
I knew what kind of writer I was. I don't mean genre vs. literary, fiction vs. journalism. I mean, I thought I knew what KIND of writer I was, what my method was, how my mind worked and my habits held. It turns out, I was all wrong.
When I wrote Storyteller, I was the type of writer who had to work in silence. My day job is nothing short of bedlam and the time I set aside for writing has always been a blessed and sacred oasis of silence. Outer silence, that is, so that inside I could hear the rhythm and songs of the stories that turned me on so very, very much. These were my stories, my characters, my world-made-by-hand and there was no place I felt more at home. I set huge word counts for myself and wrote with crazy abandon.
After the first manuscript was finished and polished, I started the submission process, got an agent I trust and have been waiting patiently for great news on the series' fate. (The patiently part is a tad generous. Okay, extremely generous, but cut me some slack, alright?) I wrote the second in the series because the story had to come out and, again, silence and discipline were the keys to get me to that blissful groove where the story just flowed.
But then what? We all know how slowly the publishing world works. Writers have to write; it's the only part of the publishing process we have any real control over. So I decided to try a new project, a new genre – mystery. I did my market research, read some of my old favorites, read some great resource books and got underway. My agent liked the project; early word from editors was positive. Things were rolling, right? Wrong!
The first mistake I made was ignoring a teeny-tiny voice in my head saying "We don't want to write this! We don't like this hook!" Not a good voice to ignore during the first chapters of what you hope will be a long series. The second mistake I made was ignoring viral bronchitis that was just setting in. Long story short, the first hook was sent back to be reworked; said rework was rejected again with a phrase I used to find flattering: "We like her writing but the project isn't for us." It's become the literary equivalent of "It's not you, it's me." It's very positive feedback to get, but it starts to feel like almost going to the prom. You don't have a lot to show for it.
Then came the period my family and friends tactfully refer to as "The Set-Back." Let's just say it wasn't pretty; it wasn't quiet but it was blessedly brief. I tore down my writing station. I threw out all my previous drafts of the mystery, notes, etc. I used some remarkably colorful language, even for me. And I completely stopped writing. I didn't know how long I would stop, but hell itself could not have gotten my fingers to that keyboard.
It turns out I was a lot sicker than I had originally thought (which I'm using as my excuse for my abominable and petulant behavior) and I used my recovery time to take apart the image I had of myself as a writer. First let me say that recovering full lung capacity is a hugely enlightening experience, especially when you're ramped up on steroids, and I hit some pretty high levels of euphoria. Here's what I learned:
NOT ALL STORIES ARE THE SAME SO THEY CAN'T BE WRITTEN THE SAME WAY. It's so ridiculously basic, you'd think it a no-brainer but for me it was a revelation. My urban fantasies are full of tradition and new language and violence and in many places read like a dream. It makes sense they would be written in a near-dream state. My mysteries are light-hearted and (hopefully) clever. They need noise and chatter and levity. I don't think they can be written in a silent room. They don't necessarily benefit from the grounding austerity of black coffee. A nice cold Stella Artois has gotten me through more than one clunky scene, despite my old insistence on keeping writing and drinking separate. (Some of you who know me well are probably shocked at that old rule, but it's true.) The effortless word counts of one project can't be expected, and would probably suck, for a different project, so there went another old misconception. Pantsing was replaced with plotting; for the first time ever, characters needed notes.
Over and over, old notions of myself, my habits, my identity went tumbling away, leaving only two irrefutable truths:
I AM A WRITER BECAUSE I WRITE. I love writing. I love telling stories and nobody has the final word on how I get those stories onto the page but me. And second:
WHEN WRITING, CARROT STICKS ARE NEVER AN ACCEPTABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR M&MS. Sorry. I've tried. There are some universal laws that cannot be broken.
So how about it? Ever had your own writer self-illusions shattered? Altered? How did you cope?
When I wrote Storyteller, I was the type of writer who had to work in silence. My day job is nothing short of bedlam and the time I set aside for writing has always been a blessed and sacred oasis of silence. Outer silence, that is, so that inside I could hear the rhythm and songs of the stories that turned me on so very, very much. These were my stories, my characters, my world-made-by-hand and there was no place I felt more at home. I set huge word counts for myself and wrote with crazy abandon.
After the first manuscript was finished and polished, I started the submission process, got an agent I trust and have been waiting patiently for great news on the series' fate. (The patiently part is a tad generous. Okay, extremely generous, but cut me some slack, alright?) I wrote the second in the series because the story had to come out and, again, silence and discipline were the keys to get me to that blissful groove where the story just flowed.
But then what? We all know how slowly the publishing world works. Writers have to write; it's the only part of the publishing process we have any real control over. So I decided to try a new project, a new genre – mystery. I did my market research, read some of my old favorites, read some great resource books and got underway. My agent liked the project; early word from editors was positive. Things were rolling, right? Wrong!
The first mistake I made was ignoring a teeny-tiny voice in my head saying "We don't want to write this! We don't like this hook!" Not a good voice to ignore during the first chapters of what you hope will be a long series. The second mistake I made was ignoring viral bronchitis that was just setting in. Long story short, the first hook was sent back to be reworked; said rework was rejected again with a phrase I used to find flattering: "We like her writing but the project isn't for us." It's become the literary equivalent of "It's not you, it's me." It's very positive feedback to get, but it starts to feel like almost going to the prom. You don't have a lot to show for it.
Then came the period my family and friends tactfully refer to as "The Set-Back." Let's just say it wasn't pretty; it wasn't quiet but it was blessedly brief. I tore down my writing station. I threw out all my previous drafts of the mystery, notes, etc. I used some remarkably colorful language, even for me. And I completely stopped writing. I didn't know how long I would stop, but hell itself could not have gotten my fingers to that keyboard.
It turns out I was a lot sicker than I had originally thought (which I'm using as my excuse for my abominable and petulant behavior) and I used my recovery time to take apart the image I had of myself as a writer. First let me say that recovering full lung capacity is a hugely enlightening experience, especially when you're ramped up on steroids, and I hit some pretty high levels of euphoria. Here's what I learned:
NOT ALL STORIES ARE THE SAME SO THEY CAN'T BE WRITTEN THE SAME WAY. It's so ridiculously basic, you'd think it a no-brainer but for me it was a revelation. My urban fantasies are full of tradition and new language and violence and in many places read like a dream. It makes sense they would be written in a near-dream state. My mysteries are light-hearted and (hopefully) clever. They need noise and chatter and levity. I don't think they can be written in a silent room. They don't necessarily benefit from the grounding austerity of black coffee. A nice cold Stella Artois has gotten me through more than one clunky scene, despite my old insistence on keeping writing and drinking separate. (Some of you who know me well are probably shocked at that old rule, but it's true.) The effortless word counts of one project can't be expected, and would probably suck, for a different project, so there went another old misconception. Pantsing was replaced with plotting; for the first time ever, characters needed notes.
Over and over, old notions of myself, my habits, my identity went tumbling away, leaving only two irrefutable truths:
I AM A WRITER BECAUSE I WRITE. I love writing. I love telling stories and nobody has the final word on how I get those stories onto the page but me. And second:
WHEN WRITING, CARROT STICKS ARE NEVER AN ACCEPTABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR M&MS. Sorry. I've tried. There are some universal laws that cannot be broken.
So how about it? Ever had your own writer self-illusions shattered? Altered? How did you cope?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Chatting with Eric Fritzius of WV Writers
As many of you know, the WV Writers Conference is less than a month away! Today I'm chatting with Eric Fritzius, aka E. Meritus, who is a featured presenter at this years conference. If the name sounds familiar, it's because Eric was gracious enough to invite me to his podcast earlier this year. Now, bwah-ha-ha, the tables have turned!!!
SGR: There aren't many interviews that start with "Hello Master." Well, at least not on this site, but you are well known in the mountain state as the webmaster for the WV Writers. I know you play a huge role in the upcoming conference. Could you give us a quick run down of the conference. Who, what, where, when and what can writers expect to find?
EF: I’m not as heavily involved in the conference planning, beyond my president emeritus advisory role. WVW’s president, Terry McNemar, and the team he’s assembled, are the ones doing the heavy lifting for the conference this year.
I’m astounded at how the conference grows and changes from year to year and it always seems to get bigger and better. This year we have nearly 50 different workshops on hand, not counting the People’s Choice competitions sessions, and none of those workshops repeats. So basically during each of the three days of the conference, there will be around four workshops being taught, and sometimes five during the class hours. To break it down a little better, if you think of the conference as having high school class periods, there will be four class periods per day, except for Sunday, which only has two, with each class period being 75 minutes in length. But within each of those class periods will be four or five workshops to choose from. The periods are also designed so that each will contain workshops on fiction, nonfiction, poetry, business, etc. so that people who are mainly interested in writing poetry or writing prose can have a workshop to attend in that subject.
People can see the full lineup of presenters at our website (http://www.wvwriters.org/conference.html) but some of the major ones who are drawing attention include Denise Giardina, Gretchen Moran Laskas, Rick Campbell, Jimmy Carl Harris, Tim Poland, Cheryl Ware, Dana Wildsmith, Sandy Tritt, Rob Merritt and many more. Another of our planned guests, Lee Maynard, is in all likelihood not going to be able to attend after all. This is breaking news for us, but there have been some very serious developments in his immediate family and he regretfully has asked to bow out. He said that there still is a chance he’ll be able to make it and, if so, he’ll be a surprise guest, but the odds aren’t good on that front. We’ll miss him. Lee has been a friend of WVW for several years now and his workshops have always been fantastic. In the meantime Gretchen Moran Laskas has stepped in to fill one of the workshop slots for Mr. Maynard.
Another major aspect of the conference will be the presence of two professional editors and two literary agents. Peter Lynch, who is an editorial manager with Sourcebooks, Inc., is returning again this year. We had a lot of fun with him last year and he’ll once again be on hand to take pitches for potential projects with Sourcebooks. The other editor is Kaylan Adair, who is with Candlewick Press, one of the major children’s book publishers. Kaylan won’t be taking pitches at the conference, but anyone attending any of her workshops will be given a code word allowing them a three month window in which to pitch projects by mail. This is pretty big news, as Candlewick Press is not currently taking any new project pitches. For the literary agents we have Christine Witthohn, from Book Cents Literary Agency. She’s been a friend of our organization for the past few years and has always willing to help us out, particularly when it comes to helping arrange for folks like Peter Lynch to come in for the conference. On occasion, she even picks up a new client or two from our conference, which is always nice. And we have a new face for the conference in the form of agent Kelly Mortimer from Mortimer Literary Agency. Kelly specializes in pre-published authors—those who have not yet had a manuscript published. She has been a more recent addition to the conference and will be filling one of Lee Maynard’s workshop slots with one on the dangers of passive writing.
And for those people who would like to pitch to one of the above folks, we have all the information on that at our website (http://blog.wvwriters.org/2010/04/wvw-2010-summer-conference-pitch.html). And for people who would like more information on the actual pitch process, I’ll be doing a podcast interview with Christine Witthohn sometime in May to give folks a primer on that. And Christine will also be conducting a similar workshop at the conference.
SGR: I see on the schedule that you are MCing the entertainment Friday night. Can you give us a sneak peak behind the curtain?
EF: For the past few years, our Friday night entertainment has been kind of a variety show, though I don’t think we’ve ever called it that before. Usually it’s just thought of as three or four different things happening on Friday, showcasing some of the talent found among our members. This year we’re embracing the variety concept and are putting on a show called A WV Writers Home Companion, loosely in the style of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion. Partly we hope for this to be a dry run for a similar show we’re doing as part of this year’s FestivAll in Charleston on June 26. We may not have exactly the same show in both places, particularly the more Keilloresque bits, but they’ll be recognizable as members of the same family. So there will be drama, poetry, prose, humor, song and whatever else we can squeeze in.
And for Saturday night’s entertainment, we have Pops Walker and Kipyn Martin. Pops will be a 3 time return performer for conference entertainment, which is a testament to just how good he is. Kipyn Martin is a young lady who regularly composes more classical style music, but who is an astounding singer/songwriter when she gets a guitar in her hands. In addition to their own music, they’ll be doing some tribute pieces to Keith Pitzer, a friend of both WVW and Pops and Kipyn both, who passed away this past December. Keith and his wife Joan had originally been scheduled as entertainment this year.
SGR: One of the seminars I'm definitely attending this year is your seminar on podcasting. I was lucky enough to participate in your podcast on www.WVWriters.org For many writers, this is new territory, an entirely new forum in which to promote their work and engage in conversations with other writers. Tell us about what you'll be covering.
EF: I started the WV Writers Podcast a year ago not only because I’m such an enormous fan of the medium but because I was already scheduled to do a workshop on blogging and podcasting at the conference and wanted to do it for research on the How To aspect. Very much like the medium of blogging gave every day folks an international forum for writing, podcasts give everybody the chance to host their own radio and TV-style shows. Just like any medium, there’s a lot of noise out there, but the chance to rise to the upper tiers of the heap is not limited to instantly recognizable names. The medium of podcasting has continued to grow tremendously in the past year and is absolutely becoming a daily ritual for millions of people across the country. With smartphones and 3G and 4G data connections making it even more convenient to find and download such content, the field is only going to increase. How to make money at it is still a very iffy proposition, hence the title of my workshop “Podcasting for Fun and (Mostly) Nonprofit.” But there are actually people who do make money at it, or find creative ways to use the medium as a tool toward that end. We’ll talk about all that, help the workshop attendees brainstorm possible passions they might turn into a podcast of their own, and give everyone a crash course in how to start your own for surprisingly little money.
SGR: But you're more than just a good-looking tech! You're also a writer/artist in a number of mediums. I'm going to let you run amok here and dazzle us ( and by that I mean make our heads spin) with your many projects. I know you have a short story in DARK TALES OF TERROR. Is that your favorite genre? I'm guessing not from the wide variety.
EF: I tend to do a lot of different things because I’m interested in them. I do podcasts cause it’s fun and exercises old radio muscles. I write short stories because they’re fun and incredibly satisfying when they turn out right. They can also experiment with form in a way that novels can’t, or at least probably shouldn’t. I write plays because I’ve been a theatre guy for most of my life and enjoy acting and writing for the stage. I’ve had three plays produced in the past couple of years. And I write nonfiction articles because they too are fun and I get paid for them.
As for favorite genres, I used to describe mine as “mostly science fiction,” but I’ve had to reevaluate that in the past few years after I noticed that I tended to buy mostly modern fantasy/horror. It’s a genre that I tend to write in as well, though many of my stories and plays are completely down to earth except for one odd bit in the middle. I rarely write outright horror, though. In fact, when my short story “Nigh” was published in the anthology Dark Tales of Terror, that you mention, I was afraid it didn’t fit. When I first submitted the story to Woodland Press, the anthology they were preparing was entitled something like Spooky Stories from the Mountain State. While “Nigh” is definitely dark—being filled with more than a smattering of death and coffee—I kind of wondered if that particular dark tale was terrifying enough to merit inclusion in a book called Dark Tales of Terror. Woodland Press seemed to think so, though, and I was proud to have it included.
The other major project I’m involved with is a nonfiction book about the Smith Mountain community near Alderson that Belinda Anderson is writing. This was a remote community with around 30 families that had lived on farms around Smith Mountain for decades. However, the place was all but abandoned during World War II after many of the men and children left to fight in the war and those remaining were unable to keep up with the farm work and were forced to move into town. While most of the buildings have either rotted to the foundations, or had their materials salvaged, there are still a few structures to be found. There are a few buildings left. The place is pretty much inaccessible except by four wheeler, horse, or on foot—which is how we made it up the first time—but we’ve photographed a lot of what is there. There are still a few people alive with first-hand memories of living there and even more who had relatives who did, so there are still plenty of stories to be told. Belinda has been tracking them down to record their stories for the past few months. West Virginia has its share of ghost communities and we think the chance to help tell the story of Smith Mountain will be fun. Mainly I’ve been assisting with the technical side, archiving the audio recordings and occasionally serving as photographer and videographer for the project, but my main role will come when we begin compiling Belinda’s manuscript into its final format and I’ll get to do the layout of the book with the accompanying pictures. We’re also talking about including a multi-media component with some of the videos and audio interviews included on a website.
SGR: Some people might be intimidated by such a long list of projects, feeling overwhelmed. You don't seem to be in that group. Do you find yourself drawn to having many irons in the fire? Do you find it more or less challenging to have the number of Works in Progress limited?
EF: I don’t really know any other way to do things. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a lot of irons in the fire. Just to extend the metaphor, this is not to say that all the irons were being actively watched, or were even close enough to the fire to be very warm, but they were at least in the fireplace. Once in a while, one gets hot enough to shape and I can take it out and whack it with hammers until it looks like I want it to. The flip side of this, of course, is that by not concentrating on one project at a time, by the time I get around to finishing the work on one it might not look exactly like it did in my head when I first got the notion to stick that iron in the fire. And having so many in there is admittedly distracting and daunting. It’s probably not the best way to work, but it’s what I do.
SGR: Before we wrap it up, could you give some parting words of encouragement or advice to anyone reading who is considering attending the WV Writers Conference? Besides watching for goose poop when you walk around the lake?
EF: Well, one should never ignore the importance of proper goose poop avoidance technique, but maybe that’s a workshop for another year.
For those who’ve never been before, the WV Writers Summer Conference is one of the most laid back writers conferences you’ll ever go to. We’ve been told this not only from those of us on the board who regularly attend other writers conferences, but also from our members who do as well. And each year, by the end of the weekend, one of the new presenters will pull one of us aside and assure us that we have something special going on and offer to return whenever we’d like. I don’t know if there’s any one thing you can put your finger on as to why the conference works so well, but having an excellent staff of workshop leaders, the beautiful setting at Cedar Lakes, the new friendships made or old friendships reacquainted, the entertainment, the camaraderie, etc., all has to go into the mix. And while lots of people come for the added bonus of seeing friends, new faces are just as welcome and always have a blast. In fact, we have literally had diagnosed agoraphobics come to the conference and have such a great time they swear they’ll be back.
So to new folks, I advise you to bring a short piece of poetry or prose to submit for either the writers’ wall competition, or a piece you can read in under five minutes for either of the People’s Choice sessions. Also, it is vitally important that you bring an umbrella or some sort of rain gear because there WILL be a torrential downpour at some point during the conference. It’s usually not for very long, but it has happened each of the seven years that I’ve attended and probably has stretching back to the first conference in 1978.
SGR: There aren't many interviews that start with "Hello Master." Well, at least not on this site, but you are well known in the mountain state as the webmaster for the WV Writers. I know you play a huge role in the upcoming conference. Could you give us a quick run down of the conference. Who, what, where, when and what can writers expect to find?
EF: I’m not as heavily involved in the conference planning, beyond my president emeritus advisory role. WVW’s president, Terry McNemar, and the team he’s assembled, are the ones doing the heavy lifting for the conference this year.
I’m astounded at how the conference grows and changes from year to year and it always seems to get bigger and better. This year we have nearly 50 different workshops on hand, not counting the People’s Choice competitions sessions, and none of those workshops repeats. So basically during each of the three days of the conference, there will be around four workshops being taught, and sometimes five during the class hours. To break it down a little better, if you think of the conference as having high school class periods, there will be four class periods per day, except for Sunday, which only has two, with each class period being 75 minutes in length. But within each of those class periods will be four or five workshops to choose from. The periods are also designed so that each will contain workshops on fiction, nonfiction, poetry, business, etc. so that people who are mainly interested in writing poetry or writing prose can have a workshop to attend in that subject.
People can see the full lineup of presenters at our website (http://www.wvwriters.org/conference.html) but some of the major ones who are drawing attention include Denise Giardina, Gretchen Moran Laskas, Rick Campbell, Jimmy Carl Harris, Tim Poland, Cheryl Ware, Dana Wildsmith, Sandy Tritt, Rob Merritt and many more. Another of our planned guests, Lee Maynard, is in all likelihood not going to be able to attend after all. This is breaking news for us, but there have been some very serious developments in his immediate family and he regretfully has asked to bow out. He said that there still is a chance he’ll be able to make it and, if so, he’ll be a surprise guest, but the odds aren’t good on that front. We’ll miss him. Lee has been a friend of WVW for several years now and his workshops have always been fantastic. In the meantime Gretchen Moran Laskas has stepped in to fill one of the workshop slots for Mr. Maynard.
Another major aspect of the conference will be the presence of two professional editors and two literary agents. Peter Lynch, who is an editorial manager with Sourcebooks, Inc., is returning again this year. We had a lot of fun with him last year and he’ll once again be on hand to take pitches for potential projects with Sourcebooks. The other editor is Kaylan Adair, who is with Candlewick Press, one of the major children’s book publishers. Kaylan won’t be taking pitches at the conference, but anyone attending any of her workshops will be given a code word allowing them a three month window in which to pitch projects by mail. This is pretty big news, as Candlewick Press is not currently taking any new project pitches. For the literary agents we have Christine Witthohn, from Book Cents Literary Agency. She’s been a friend of our organization for the past few years and has always willing to help us out, particularly when it comes to helping arrange for folks like Peter Lynch to come in for the conference. On occasion, she even picks up a new client or two from our conference, which is always nice. And we have a new face for the conference in the form of agent Kelly Mortimer from Mortimer Literary Agency. Kelly specializes in pre-published authors—those who have not yet had a manuscript published. She has been a more recent addition to the conference and will be filling one of Lee Maynard’s workshop slots with one on the dangers of passive writing.
And for those people who would like to pitch to one of the above folks, we have all the information on that at our website (http://blog.wvwriters.org/2010/04/wvw-2010-summer-conference-pitch.html). And for people who would like more information on the actual pitch process, I’ll be doing a podcast interview with Christine Witthohn sometime in May to give folks a primer on that. And Christine will also be conducting a similar workshop at the conference.
SGR: I see on the schedule that you are MCing the entertainment Friday night. Can you give us a sneak peak behind the curtain?
EF: For the past few years, our Friday night entertainment has been kind of a variety show, though I don’t think we’ve ever called it that before. Usually it’s just thought of as three or four different things happening on Friday, showcasing some of the talent found among our members. This year we’re embracing the variety concept and are putting on a show called A WV Writers Home Companion, loosely in the style of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion. Partly we hope for this to be a dry run for a similar show we’re doing as part of this year’s FestivAll in Charleston on June 26. We may not have exactly the same show in both places, particularly the more Keilloresque bits, but they’ll be recognizable as members of the same family. So there will be drama, poetry, prose, humor, song and whatever else we can squeeze in.
And for Saturday night’s entertainment, we have Pops Walker and Kipyn Martin. Pops will be a 3 time return performer for conference entertainment, which is a testament to just how good he is. Kipyn Martin is a young lady who regularly composes more classical style music, but who is an astounding singer/songwriter when she gets a guitar in her hands. In addition to their own music, they’ll be doing some tribute pieces to Keith Pitzer, a friend of both WVW and Pops and Kipyn both, who passed away this past December. Keith and his wife Joan had originally been scheduled as entertainment this year.
SGR: One of the seminars I'm definitely attending this year is your seminar on podcasting. I was lucky enough to participate in your podcast on www.WVWriters.org For many writers, this is new territory, an entirely new forum in which to promote their work and engage in conversations with other writers. Tell us about what you'll be covering.
EF: I started the WV Writers Podcast a year ago not only because I’m such an enormous fan of the medium but because I was already scheduled to do a workshop on blogging and podcasting at the conference and wanted to do it for research on the How To aspect. Very much like the medium of blogging gave every day folks an international forum for writing, podcasts give everybody the chance to host their own radio and TV-style shows. Just like any medium, there’s a lot of noise out there, but the chance to rise to the upper tiers of the heap is not limited to instantly recognizable names. The medium of podcasting has continued to grow tremendously in the past year and is absolutely becoming a daily ritual for millions of people across the country. With smartphones and 3G and 4G data connections making it even more convenient to find and download such content, the field is only going to increase. How to make money at it is still a very iffy proposition, hence the title of my workshop “Podcasting for Fun and (Mostly) Nonprofit.” But there are actually people who do make money at it, or find creative ways to use the medium as a tool toward that end. We’ll talk about all that, help the workshop attendees brainstorm possible passions they might turn into a podcast of their own, and give everyone a crash course in how to start your own for surprisingly little money.
SGR: But you're more than just a good-looking tech! You're also a writer/artist in a number of mediums. I'm going to let you run amok here and dazzle us ( and by that I mean make our heads spin) with your many projects. I know you have a short story in DARK TALES OF TERROR. Is that your favorite genre? I'm guessing not from the wide variety.
EF: I tend to do a lot of different things because I’m interested in them. I do podcasts cause it’s fun and exercises old radio muscles. I write short stories because they’re fun and incredibly satisfying when they turn out right. They can also experiment with form in a way that novels can’t, or at least probably shouldn’t. I write plays because I’ve been a theatre guy for most of my life and enjoy acting and writing for the stage. I’ve had three plays produced in the past couple of years. And I write nonfiction articles because they too are fun and I get paid for them.
As for favorite genres, I used to describe mine as “mostly science fiction,” but I’ve had to reevaluate that in the past few years after I noticed that I tended to buy mostly modern fantasy/horror. It’s a genre that I tend to write in as well, though many of my stories and plays are completely down to earth except for one odd bit in the middle. I rarely write outright horror, though. In fact, when my short story “Nigh” was published in the anthology Dark Tales of Terror, that you mention, I was afraid it didn’t fit. When I first submitted the story to Woodland Press, the anthology they were preparing was entitled something like Spooky Stories from the Mountain State. While “Nigh” is definitely dark—being filled with more than a smattering of death and coffee—I kind of wondered if that particular dark tale was terrifying enough to merit inclusion in a book called Dark Tales of Terror. Woodland Press seemed to think so, though, and I was proud to have it included.
The other major project I’m involved with is a nonfiction book about the Smith Mountain community near Alderson that Belinda Anderson is writing. This was a remote community with around 30 families that had lived on farms around Smith Mountain for decades. However, the place was all but abandoned during World War II after many of the men and children left to fight in the war and those remaining were unable to keep up with the farm work and were forced to move into town. While most of the buildings have either rotted to the foundations, or had their materials salvaged, there are still a few structures to be found. There are a few buildings left. The place is pretty much inaccessible except by four wheeler, horse, or on foot—which is how we made it up the first time—but we’ve photographed a lot of what is there. There are still a few people alive with first-hand memories of living there and even more who had relatives who did, so there are still plenty of stories to be told. Belinda has been tracking them down to record their stories for the past few months. West Virginia has its share of ghost communities and we think the chance to help tell the story of Smith Mountain will be fun. Mainly I’ve been assisting with the technical side, archiving the audio recordings and occasionally serving as photographer and videographer for the project, but my main role will come when we begin compiling Belinda’s manuscript into its final format and I’ll get to do the layout of the book with the accompanying pictures. We’re also talking about including a multi-media component with some of the videos and audio interviews included on a website.
SGR: Some people might be intimidated by such a long list of projects, feeling overwhelmed. You don't seem to be in that group. Do you find yourself drawn to having many irons in the fire? Do you find it more or less challenging to have the number of Works in Progress limited?
EF: I don’t really know any other way to do things. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a lot of irons in the fire. Just to extend the metaphor, this is not to say that all the irons were being actively watched, or were even close enough to the fire to be very warm, but they were at least in the fireplace. Once in a while, one gets hot enough to shape and I can take it out and whack it with hammers until it looks like I want it to. The flip side of this, of course, is that by not concentrating on one project at a time, by the time I get around to finishing the work on one it might not look exactly like it did in my head when I first got the notion to stick that iron in the fire. And having so many in there is admittedly distracting and daunting. It’s probably not the best way to work, but it’s what I do.
SGR: Before we wrap it up, could you give some parting words of encouragement or advice to anyone reading who is considering attending the WV Writers Conference? Besides watching for goose poop when you walk around the lake?
EF: Well, one should never ignore the importance of proper goose poop avoidance technique, but maybe that’s a workshop for another year.
For those who’ve never been before, the WV Writers Summer Conference is one of the most laid back writers conferences you’ll ever go to. We’ve been told this not only from those of us on the board who regularly attend other writers conferences, but also from our members who do as well. And each year, by the end of the weekend, one of the new presenters will pull one of us aside and assure us that we have something special going on and offer to return whenever we’d like. I don’t know if there’s any one thing you can put your finger on as to why the conference works so well, but having an excellent staff of workshop leaders, the beautiful setting at Cedar Lakes, the new friendships made or old friendships reacquainted, the entertainment, the camaraderie, etc., all has to go into the mix. And while lots of people come for the added bonus of seeing friends, new faces are just as welcome and always have a blast. In fact, we have literally had diagnosed agoraphobics come to the conference and have such a great time they swear they’ll be back.
So to new folks, I advise you to bring a short piece of poetry or prose to submit for either the writers’ wall competition, or a piece you can read in under five minutes for either of the People’s Choice sessions. Also, it is vitally important that you bring an umbrella or some sort of rain gear because there WILL be a torrential downpour at some point during the conference. It’s usually not for very long, but it has happened each of the seven years that I’ve attended and probably has stretching back to the first conference in 1978.
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