Write What You Now

They say write what you know, which I used to consider rather flimsy advice. What’s the point of writing if you’re not making stuff up? And most people, all they know is the same boring stuff. Of course, some people like to read the same boring stuff. It has something to do with catharsis, and metaphor, and compare/contrast, and bunch of other stuff I allegedly learned in school.

As a result of write what you know, I think a lot of writers end up writing about writers. My latest is a case in point. Go ahead and take a gander at “Tooth and Nail.” The first sentence was my way of sort of invoking the muse: “An average, every-day sort of guy walks into a coffee shop with the intention of getting a cup of joe, opening his laptop, and writing a perfectly normal story.” I really was desperate to write a boring, simple story. The result, alas: magical realism.

Go over to Wikipedia to see if this is, actually, magical realism, or just a cheap facsimile thereof. Suffice it to say my goal, once I got into it, was to make it real. I didn’t want it to be just an extended metaphor– I wanted all of those fantasy elements to be part of the story, not just in the main character’s imagination. Not sure if I achieved that, although I think it’s more or less obvious by the time he talks to his mom on the phone. Of course, one could point out that any fantasy story is just an extended metaphor. Ah, shaddap.

Maybe “write what you know” is not advice, but sort of a description. You will end up writing what you know, regardless, so you’d better start knowing some pretty interesting stuff before you write. Thanks to the internet, though, we can all become instant experts, so we don’t have to guess our way through esoterica in order to achieve verisimilitude.

At any rate, in this story I think I accidentally ended up meeting my original goal, having tricked myself by the distractions in the main character’s world. So, if you want, you can read the story he wrote, as a stand alone document, by clicking on “An Average, Everyday Story.” Actually, that was the original title of “Tooth and Nail” before I decided that, ultimately, I didn’t want an “ironic” title afterall. And, while we’re on the subject, I have also posted a version of Tooth and Nail that sets the main character’s writing in italics, just in case you want to keep them separate. Personally, I wouldn’t want it that way, but that’s the opinion of a reader, not a writer, so consider it with a grain of salt.

Finally: no, I did not spell “know” wrong in the title of this post.


FAT PS! I popped “Tooth and Nail” into a silly little analyzer called “I Write Like” and this is what it told me:

I write like
Margaret Atwood

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

So that’s one robot’s vote for the Magical Realism thing!

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Stand Still, Dog

Not nearly enough blogging of late. Dedicated to making that change. I’d like to say it’s because I’ve been busy, but that’s not a near enough truth. The truth is, once again, I’ve set my “standards” too high: always have to have a picture, have to have something relevant to the the writing I’m working on. Got to either prepare better, or be willing to free-blog.

Enough minutia. Here’s what been going on: got a new short story in a few days ago, called “The Secret Red Book.” I’ll tweet that today. It’s a bit of meta-fiction, if you want to know, and once again, one of those stories I started a long time ago, forgot what I meant to do with it, so decided to just finish it. Also, I think it was inspired by a dream I had, once. Or a vision. Or some kind of false memory. We’ll consider it exorcised, more or less.

Because I’ve failed to tweet that said story was posted last week, I’ll have to wait before posting the next one, longer than I wanted to, but probably for the best, as I am already posting them too fast and will burn out if I don’t slow down. But, as a teaser, coming up: some magic realism, a story with sex in it, and one with zombies.

Otherwise, life lately has been the Ragnar Relay, Inception, Tilth, the New York Times crossword puzzle, “Happy Town“, “Person’s Unknown“, Stan Helsing, The Eternal Prison, and my mega-hot wife.

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Whattup, Homies

I’m trapped in a vicious cycle. I get it into my head that I need to drink more water. So I drink a ton of water. This result sin frequent trips to the bathroom, and I flush a lot of sodium out of my body. Then my body starts craving salty food. But I interpret that as a craving for food, in general. I binge till I’m bloated and depressed, and think I think: I know, I should be eating less and drinking more water!

Etc.

Binge/purge, that’s me. I don’t know how to quit anything except cold turkey. I don’t know how to be into something without being really really into it. Finding a balance is key, I know, but in order for me to find a balance, I’ll have to end up really really into the balance. We’re talking Wikipedia articles on acrobats, type of a thing.

Would really like to find a balance with this writing thing. That’s why I’ve been holding back, not publishing stories as soon as they’re written. Trying to actually finish a few of the old ones, not just let me self go hog-wild with a new blank page every 30 minutes. Is it tough? I would not call it tough. Just foreign. Maybe a bit unsettling. But, I think, necessary. We’ll see– who knows, by this time next month, I might be saying the same things about guitar practice.

At any rate, here’s a new story: “When the Tough Get Going.” This one is all new– not an old one resurrected and polished off. This one started because I was thinking about that writing exercise, the one where I steal the dialog from a comic strip and write a mini stories around it. I was thinking of doing that again, trying to come up with a way to describe the dread a character was feeling, and that turned into the first paragraph. The rest just happened. I sort of like it like that– just happening. Hoo boy I’m a lazy fart.

Anyway, enjoy.

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Tonight’s Wine

I follow several blogs, most of them written by friends, several of whom will post recipes when they’ve cooked something wholesome and delicious. My own wife post recipes, about twice a year, on her blog. I am not going to do so now, since thats not the purpose of this blog. But I will say that we cooked with wine, so I had to buy a cheap bottle, so I got the Covey Run. And I’ve been drinking it. Yeehaa. If I was clever, I’d find some way to write something pseudo-fictional that described the recipe (since the the purpose of this blog for the past 23 and the next 27 days is to report on attempting to write every day).

Something like: “Harold, 43, divorced, horny, walked through the grocery store, attempting to glide with a nonchalance that belied the contents of his cart: ground turkey, bread crumbs, sour cream and egg noodles.” Or even “Ground Turkey in America, bored off his keister, went for a roll, in a bowl, 32 times… Diced onions and minced garlic were there.” (with apologies to Richard Brautigan).

Of course, in the one print of issue of Wiffli that I did last year, I had a fictional article written by a chef, complete with recipe. But that’s too much work for right now. So, apparently, is maintaining some kind of meaningful thread in this entry. Sorry. I started this and then we watched Men Who Stare at Goats and it was pretty bad. Tell you what, tomorrow I’ll post a new short story.

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Blurry Ninety-Six

I’ve managed to write something for 23 days in a row now, but all else has suffered. Don’t blog as much. Don’t read nearly enough. My pledge to finish a book a week? Dead dead dead. Alas and alack. Maybe what I’ll do is try to get back on the reading horse, via DBTC. Maybe I’ll log my 50 days of writing, the way I did 50 days of blogging, then dedicate my self to 50 days of reading– all the while hoping I keep blogging, keep reading. A pipe dream. But not a dream differed, yet.

Wanted to tell you about a few things. I am finishing stories faster than I can publish them. Okay, this is not strictly accurate. I can publish as many stories per day as I care to spend hours on the internet, but I don’t want to inundate. I should keep it down to one per week. Certainly not one per day. But a few days ago I finished and posted ”Microwave Popcorn.” And there’s three more in the bag. Including a long one. One of those is even a story that was not merely an old one finally finished: it was started and finished all in one sitting, just a few days ago. Is it any good? Does that even matter?

Finally, (and I’ll end with this) last Monday, I was e-mailing a friend, and jokingly suggested he write a novel based on his corporate IT experience. I suggested he basically mix Dilbert with Cormac McCarthy and William Faulkner. Then I gave it a go. Had so much fun, I decided to call it a “writing exercise” and asked some friends to try it out. Maybe you’ll want to try it. (WARNING: foul language in high use…)

The exercise: take a comic strip, and rewrite it as narrative prose, mimicking the style of a writer or multiple writers. Try to conserve all dialog as is. Feel free to quote directly from the mocked author’s work. As this is an exercise, over-explaining your intent and execution is not only allowed, but expected.

Square-top head, manbag on his shoulder. Sweat leaking down the crack of his ass, stepping out of the fuck-you-in-the-eye-hole Idaho sun, entering the freezing, gelid car-rental cubicle. Approaching the counter, eyes six inches to the left of the counter-man’s face. The name’s Dilbert. “I reserved a mid-sized sedan.”

Counterman stares, thinks about college. Easy tail. One of them knocked up. Kid with cerebral palsy. Bus ticket, and this fucking job. “We don’t care what you reserved. We’re in the business of selling car insurance and overpriced gas.” He stabs his finger at an invisible keyboard, reluctant cunt, acne scarred computer screen.

Dilbert doesn’t have a mouth, can’t frown, can’t smile. His best friend is a dog, an asshole. “That’s refreshingly honest.”

Counterman scratches his crotch. “I can get you into a clown car or an ashtray on wheels.”

Dilbert decides refreshingly honest is not so refreshing. He’d rather go back to comfortable lies, tactful obfuscation. He slaps counterman across his face. Counterman’s hand drops from his crotch, shocked. Then he hangs his head in shame. Dilbert’s eyes are empty and blue and serene again.
-Jason Edwards

In this example, my goal was to blend Cormac McCarthy with some William Faulkner. McCarthy’s style, at times, uses short, clipped sentences of noun phrases without verbs, evoking a harshness, an existential hostility. I tried to further that hostility with blunt language entirely antithetical to a comic strip, but still appropriate to Dilbert’s “loser-chic” aesthetic. The slap, and the line “[his eyes were] empty and blue and serene again” are taken from the ending of The Sound and the Fury.*

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More than One Way to Put Out a Burning Cat

Back when I was blogging about blogging I waxed rhapsodic about all of the different ways I had available to make a blog entry: various ways to use email, different apps, programs, and so on. I ended up settling on just one method, so my take away from the experience was that it pays to explore different ways of doing things you might otherwise not find motivation for doing. This makes sense for a guy like me, for whom art is accomplished not by the inspiration of an idea, but the inspiration afforded by the materials at hand. I’m a function-follows-form kinda guy.

I’m finding the same type of thing is developing with writing every day. Note that I did not say writing in general- no, I mean specifically the discipline of writing as a daily exercise. I am trying out all different kinds of tools, and I think I may be gravitating to one, now, in particular: Simplenote.

I have all kinds of input devices at my disposal, and normally I don’t worry about getting some writing moved from one device over to my home pc. But I am lazy, and sometimes I let too much time go before collating these disparate notes, and I lose momentum. With Simplenote, I can write on any one of these devices and the work is syched so that everything is always in one virtual place.

This also helps if I am not near enough to my home pc but I want to look at some unfinished story, in a spare moment here or there. I can bring my stuff up no matter what device I have at hand, even someone else’s Internet-connected pc. Last night, for example, I was helping a friend with a school project, and while she worked, I hopped on my wife’s laptop and did the day’s exercise.

FWIW, that’s how “My Illegal Aliens” was started: me, sitting my hallway with one of my devices, trying to think of something to write. Thanks to being able to compose in Simplenote, it was easy for me to bring the story up and finish it the next day.

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Some Days You Get the Bear

I’m on day 16 of my latest “Don’t Break the Chain” thing, which is actually only my second thing, which is to work on or finish fiction writing every day. You will recall, or I will let you know now, that the first one was to blog every day. After 50 days, I felt like I had gotten enough momentum that I did not need to be chained to DBTC to keep on blogging. You see, if I ever achieve my goal of becoming an alcoholic, rehab for me will be away to get my drinking under control enough to still occasionally imbibe. If that analogy makes no sense, blame the beer sitting next to me. Heifeweizen, you saucy devil.

Also, I don’t want to DBTC two or more things at the same time. But I don’t know if I can find it myself to still write with any kind of discipline if I don’t have a means to achieve a daily discipline. You’ll notice I have not submitted a blog entry since last Tuesday– that’s because every time I sit down to do so, I realize I have not written or worked any fiction yet, so I do that instead. I am afraid that it will easier to skip days and days of writing for whatever else it is I try to achieve via DBTC.

Or maybe not: I decided to blog today first. [edit: woulda been true, but posting this way later than having written it.] Hooray for you. Also I’m posting a new story that I finished days ago. If I’m not careful, this writing will be just a bubble, new stories posted every few days for a few weeks and then the bubble will burst and that will be that. Of course, the bursting may catapult my World of Warcraft warlock to level 80, just in time for Cataclysm. Cloud, meet silver lining.

Anyhoo. Here’s the story: “Reverse Stalking.” It’s yet another one I found in my Unfinished folder, couldn’t figure out what I had originally intended for it, slapped on an ending, and voila. I don’t know if that’s lazy or productive.

[edit again: was going to talk about the title of this post, as it relates to Lawrence Block, his short stories, the difference between reading and writing, and why I'm actually a jerk because I don't like to read the kinds of things I write. But I'm tired so I'm going to go to bed instead.]

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Running in Wenatchee

This weekend we went to Wenatchee for some rafting. The rafting was pretty damn good, but the time with friends was the real draw. A must redo. This picture is one I snapped with the camera phone on a run. Don’t get those kinda views running in Seattle. There are views to be had, for sure– morning runs through Golden Gardens, looking over the sound at the Olympics, for example, is stunning. But this has less of a Pacific North-Westy Pine trees look, and has more of that big sky and scrub brush look. Except for the wind, it was an exhilirating run. I ran over two bridges, thus two rivers. People who know me know I like to run over bridges.

And although we were out of town, I got in my mininal writing exercises. Managed to do so on the iPod Touch. Alas, this has yielded a few new story starts. Momentum may see me actually finishing them. Talking about writing to a pal, she said “writing comes to you so easily.” That’s flattering, and I suppose it’s something I would wish for myself, so I should count myself blessed. But if its true, it’s only with the proviso that it’s easy once I get going. That has to be true for lots of people, right?

At any rate, I finished, just now, “My Illegal Aliens” a story I started last night. Not really sure about it. It totally started like this:

Where was I? Oh, right, the zombie. Naw, something else I think. Oh but what. But what I say. Here I am in my hallway, pretty much the only hallway we have in the house, sitting on the floor and writing. Ah, but time to introduce a fictional element. Aliens. Illegal aliens. The reason I’m sitting on the floor is because there are illegal aliens in my bedroom, in my office, in my guest room and the kitchen and the dining room and the den and the media room.

I’ve since changed the beginning, of course. To make it less of a writing exercise and more of story. just went with the flow. I suppose that’s all I can ask for.

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Drag n Drop

Yesterday I started a blog post in my head that went “I really don’t have time for this…” and look what happened. If you were glued to your computer, this blog on the screen, clicking the refresh button every few seconds in the hopes that finally a new post would materialize… you have problems I can’t solve. One of them is that you don’t exist.

But the “good” news is I have managed to squeeze in some writing over the last few days. Nothing stellar, but for this DBTC experiment, stellar is not a requisite. I think that makes 8 days in a row I’ve managed to get some time in front of keyboard enough to satisfy the compulsion to write.

And lo, a new story is published. Go check you “A Minor Incident at Parkwood and 45th” if you wanna see what I mean. This was, yet again, something I had left undone from years ago. Somehow found enough of the sense of it to finish it off. Enjoy.

I am going to post this now. I wanted to write something pithy about working in spurts, but I keep getting interrupted and now it’s bedtime and if I don’t post this it might never get done.

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Lie Down, Joker

Wrote yesterday, didn’t blog, blogging now, have not written yet. Need to. Not sure what on. Have lots of things to choose from. Or I can start something new. That’s always an option.

I wonder if its good or bad or otherwise that I have so many things in the works at the same time. Maybe this phenomena is akin to my job, wherein I am usually on three to eight different projects at the same time. Different products, different teams, different customers. Different styles. Of course, one of my duties is to bring some coherence and consistency to the process. It wouldn’t do if any one proposal was too unique as to be unaligned with any other proposal. But there is room for interpretation.

Maybe that’s why I’m “comfortable” have many different stories in the works at the same time. OR, I’m just too lazy to stick it out and finish one before starting the next.

As of right now, a quick count of my “unfinished” folder shows 69 files. A lot of these, though, I shoved into a file called “very short stories” just so I could pretend they were, in fact, done. There’s about 60 “stories” in there.ON my desktop I have 18 files that I think are worthy of actually finishing. Then there’s the file called “starters, notes, etc” with about 40 items in it. And I’m not even going to mention my experimental “250 page 250 word novel” where each page is exactly 250 words and contains 2 to 4 elements that appear in at least one other page. Oh, wait, I did.

What’s the opposite of writer’s block? The one where you have too much going on to finish anything? That’s me.

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