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Posts in the "Lessons Learned" Category

  • I rather like riffing off my fellow authors’ blog posts. So I’m gonna do it again.

    Last week, Richard wrote that rules can be stifling, and I admit, I may have gotten up on my soapbox when I was talking about realism in SF/F. Richard is absolutely right in that writers should indeed be encouraged to bend, break, mutilate and spindle the rules in search of a good story.

    My only addendum to that would be…so long as they can pull it off.

    I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a pretty hide-bound writer when it comes to craft. Part of this is because I’m a rank newbie. I don’t have a desk-drawer full of practice novels; The Daedalus Incident is pretty much it, and I’m obviously excited and gratified that I managed to get this first effort published.

    That said, I spent 15 years as a journalist and another five-plus in corporate communications, and I wrote a few non-fiction books as well. I think my craft is very much informed by that experience, which isn’t that conducive to rule-breaking. I remember writing a piece for the 75th anniversary of the 1929 stock crash; my big idea was to intersperse my article with wire reports dating from the actual crash. The approval chain to get that done was rather onerous, and certainly didn’t encourage further innovation.

    I was very comfortable with using those reports, however, and I think the piece turned out well. I was confident enough in my writing to try it, fail if need be, learn from mistakes and try again. Obviously, my comfort level with journalism-style writing remains very high. Fiction less so, hence rules.

    I’ve tried a few exercises in breaking and bending my own rules, and since you haven’t read such exercises, you can easily imagine how they went. As I do more fiction and get more experience under my belt, I may stumble upon some unique expression that totally blows convention out of the water. And chances are, when I’m comfortable enough with my own skills, you might see it in print somewhere.

    I’m very much supportive of writers trying new things and breaking the rules. I think the key to doing it is to be exceptionally comfortable with it and to not be self-conscious about it. (I know, right? Here I am, making rules on breaking rules. Paradox take me!) I’m pretty forgiving of writers who really try something new but may not get all the way there with it, no matter where there is. It’s usually worth the effort. And if it’s a neat concept with a good effort behind it, I’m on board. Good effort, can’t wait to see the next.

    If the rule-breaking doesn’t serve the story, though, or even actively overshadows it, well, then I’m not sure it’s a wise undertaking.

    Then again, that’s me. When it comes to any and all rules, I’ll be happily proven wrong.

    Michael J. Martinez breaks a few rules here and there, most notably the speed limit on the New Jersey Turnpike and the “no refills” sign at various soda fountains. He does, however, recycle assiduously and pay his taxes on time. He’s also the author of The Daedalus Incident, coming out May 7. He blogs at www.michaeljmartinez.net and is on Twitter at @mikemartinez72, where he very occasionally flaunts the terms of service.

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  • Earlier this week, Michael J. Martinez posted “Realism in SF/F” here in The Night Bazaar. His essay asserts that “stories need to make sense, to be told with authority, and to be relatable.”

    I sort of agree with all of that. It’s the way I try to write most of my own stories. Still, that said…

    When we writers discuss our craft, we tend to proclaim The Rules. If we didn’t, it would be difficult to address the subject clearly and succinctly.

    Yet almost inevitably, what the giver of such advice is really providing is tips for writing the type of story he turns out himself, and a good thing, too. That’s what he has to share that’s apt to prove helpful to others.

    But there are different types of fiction. Stories strive for differing effects and employ differing methods to achieve them. In the genre of the fantastic, we have tales, some of them masterpieces, that deliberately embrace the inexplicable and preposterous and eschew that which is relatable in any conventional sense.

    We even see some of this in high fantasy. In The Lord of the Rings, Middle-Earth impresses the reader as credible because the setting mostly operates like the real world. Supernatural phenomena like magic spells and spectral Ringwraiths don’t stir our disbelief because Tolkien keeps them within bounds.

    But in The Silmarillion, things are different. The author chronicles a time when the sun and moon did not yet exist, but the Earth did. It even supported a thriving population of Elves thanks to the two magical trees that lit things up.

    Even postulating the reality of magic, that’s crazy on a whole other level from anything in Lord of the Rings. There’s really no way to sell it with internal logic and realistic detail. Yet we buy into it because it feels right that a primordial age is defined in mythic terms.

    It’s horror, though, that exploits unresolved mystery, blatant absurdity, and the unfathomably strange to greatest effect, most famously, perhaps, in the tales of the Cthulhu Mythos. Lovecraft proposes that human reason and perception are incapable of comprehending the terrifying entities and forces lurking behind the façade of mundane existence. We can catch glimpses, perhaps in our hubris imagine we understand, but if we really get hip to even a little bit of What’s Out There, we’ll go as bananas as the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred.

    It’s a premise that largely frees authors from the constraints of plausibility because an assault on our common-sense notions of what’s possible is the point, and those who follow in Lovecraft’s footsteps continue to exploit it to eerie effect. In W. H. Pugmire’s stories of the Sequa Valley, certain mystical phenomena make the stars flit around in the sky like fireflies. Like Tolkien’s Two Trees doing the work of the sun and moon, this really ought to be make us cry, “Bullshit!” But served up in the proper style and context, it doesn’t.

    The context doesn’t always have to be cosmic terror in the Lovecraft tradition. Some horror stories that dispense with realism work on a psychological or existential level. In “The Town Manager,” Thomas Ligotti doesn’t spend a word trying to convince us the events he describes are plausible. The resulting surrealism creates the feeling of nightmare.

    Ligotti’s work also demonstrates the extent to which a fine writer can sometimes get away with a piece that isn’t relatable as the term is commonly understood. “The Red Tower” literally has no characters. It would be tough to get less relatable that that. But the story’s chilling.

    You’ll notice I said “fine” and “sometimes.”  That’s because it’s unquestionably easier for the average writer to create an effective story if he shoots for a realistic effect. Still, it’s worth knowing that the various components of realism are only some of the colors in our crayon boxes. From time to time, it may prove worthwhile to break out the others.

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  • Richard’s headline in his post last week got me thinking about keeping SF/F “real.” I’ve read some genre fiction that, at times, had me scratching my head because it required not just a suspension of disbelief, but a complete abrogation of it.

    No matter whether you’re writing about wizards or aliens or eldritch horrors, stories have to have at least some degree realism — truthiness, if you will. The stories need to make sense, to be told with authority, and to be relatable. That can be hard, especially when you start getting into a very involved, very detailed setting and plot. But it has to happen.

    First off, the reader is going to know when you’re cutting corners or getting lost in your own work. A genre setting needs to make sense in order to further the suspension of disbelief. Do you have flying cats? Well, you have to show the reader not only why that’s important, but also how the little furballs took flight. If you have a magic system, it has to work according to well thought-out rules — Peter V. Brett’s rune magic comes to mind. Faster than light travel? How do you do that, exactly?

    This comes from logic and research. If you’re writing fantasy, you have to really come up with a reason for why things are the way they are, and you have to think through the chain of events and history to ensure there are good reasons. For example, The Daedalus Incident has sailing ships in space. OK, fine. How’d they get there? Alchemy, because in this setting, alchemy is a Mystic Science, not mere puffery. How was this discovered? One of Columbus’ ships literally took a wrong turn en route to the New World…and ended up on the Moon. What has that done to history? The colonization of the New World was replaced with the colonization of the Solar System.

    And so on. You have to follow that chain of thought to get the big questions answered. Same goes for science-fiction. At least we have futurists and research to help us envision what things might be like, but we have to do that homework, and we have to think it through.

    That’s where authority comes in. If you leave something open-ended, have a good reason, likely one that can inform future plots. Don’t hedge. Own your setting and show you’ve thought it through. You don’t have to bog the story down with exposition, but you can work on building that setting gradually as the story develops. When I plan out a novel, I make sure to note possible setting elements to introduce throughout the work. Even if they’re throw-aways that don’t really come back later, they illustrate the amount of thought and research that went into the book, and that adds to my authority as a storyteller. Plus, they might make nifty hooks later.

    Finally, you have to be relatable. Why do you think SF/F is populated with (mostly) humanoids? Because writing about quad-sexual amorphous sentient algae with telepathy and a quantum-based thought process is pretty much the most confusing thing you could tackle. (Not that I’ve tried.) Stories are, in the end, about ourselves, no matter how we dress them up. I believe SF/F allows us to explore some of the most extreme aspects of the human experience, because no humans have really faced the plots and settings we devise. But the reader still needs to empathize with the characters and believe that they, too, could be part of these worlds.

    So while SF/F is about as unreal and surreal as you can get, there has to be some “real” in there to make it memorable.

    Michael J. Martinez is the author of The Daedalus Incident, coming May 7 from Night Shade Books, and he did his best to keep it real while writing about mad alchemists, sailing ships, Martian mining colonies and ancient aliens…all in the same book. Want to read more? Enter the Goodreads giveaway for your chance to win a copy of the book before it comes out. Mike blogs at www.michaeljmartinez.net and Tweets at @mikemartinez72.

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  • G.J. Koch

    G.J. Koch...is NOT procrastinating...she swears...

    I don’t buy into the idea of writer’s block. I do, however, buy into the idea that outside and internal influences can and will affect anyone and everyone, including writers. Probably especially writers. Writers seem to live to be distracted. Oh, not ME of course — hey, is that a hummingbird outside my window? Where’s my camera? — but others tell me they get distracted all the time.

    Among the many things that can cause “writer’s block” are work and family challenges, boredom with life or whatever it is you’re working on or both, feeling overstressed or overtired, and false pressure to make every word on the page shine.

    So, what do you do when you feel frozen and the words won’t come?

    There are a lot of techniques I use. I switch up the music I’m listening to until I find the right band or song to rev me again. I watch a movie or TV show I love and analyze what they’re doing in the various scenes. I break down and walk my dogs. (Hey, exercise and happy dogs are a guaranteed outcome on this one.) I switch off from the project I’m working on, even if it’s on deadline, and work on something else for a while, until I feel like the words are flowing again.

    But sometimes, none of that works.

    So, what then? Especially when a deadline looms, truly, what THEN? (more…)

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  • A writer comes to many realizations. Sometimes it’s about how best to schedule writing time, or how to be true to characters, or pacing, or all those other tools we all need but which are often boring to sit down and master. Hopefully, though, not all of a writer’s realizations are

    Paul Tobin

    about his or her writing. There’s a chomping lot of LIFE that needs to go into a novel, and that life needs to be raw. It has to be real. A writer needs to give a novel some teeth… because a good novel is a mirror that bites back.

    My novel, PREPARE TO DIE, was written in a mad haze of realization. I was gleefully slamming words down onto the page, letting them sort themselves out, because as any writer knows… the words are often smarter than we are. Characters and events, once given the nudge, will take matters into their own hands. I can’t guess the number of times I’ve been working on a project and I’ve referred to my outline and was well on the way to implementing the next piece of the organized skeleton when a character all but looked up from the page and said, “Sorry, Paul. There’s no way in hell I would do that. Either think of something else or, even better, hand me the keys. You’ve given me life, and I can handle this.” So, while Character A was once going to date character B, and Character Z was going to die, suddenly Character A and Character Z are stripping each other naked, and Character B has far too strong a will to die.

    But then, in this new alignment, everything suddenly makes sense. Before, it was a trudging trek, and now it’s an adventure. It’s a story.

    (more…)

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  • Author’s note: Since my fellow bloggers changed the topic for this week from “genre trends” to “marketing lessons,” but I had already written this column, I’m posting my piece on the original topic.

    Genre Trends for 2012

    I’m notoriously bad at staying on top of trends in any medium.

    This is true of music, literature, art and design, technology, movies, TV…Sometimes I’m way ahead of the curve; sometimes I’m well behind it. I joined Friendster and Tribe before Facebook existed — but when I design a website, it looks like the 1996 has risen from the grave to wreak its bloody vengeance on the universe.

    Regardless, you can consider yourself guaranteed that whatever’s trendy this year, I’ve either never heard of it or I’m annoyed by it. If I ever liked it, I’ve lost interest in it, and I disapprove of people who are now into it. It doesn’t matter what trend it is; if you’re into it now, I either have no interest in discussing it with you, or I think your a mope for liking it.

    It’s nothing personal. I’m not trying to be “cool,” I’m just funny that way. So if you mention your cool proto-coalpunk corset or how you’re writing a Gothic pinot noir mystery, and I roll my eyes, you don’t have to worry that you’ve made a social faux pas. On the contrary, you’re in good company: people whose trendy obsessions I disapprove of; it’s a very large club.

    Plus, you can rest easy knowing that whatever trendy topics you’re into right now, I’ll be into it five years from now, and I may have forgotten that I ever disapproved of it.

    Then, you can feel free to pull the same shit on me. (more…)

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  • I like the list of stuff we’ve learned format everyone seems to be using, so I’m going to go with that. I think what I’d like to talk about are five changes to my life since publishing my book and five lessons I’ve learned along the way.

    1. Writing time is different than real time.

    In some ways—those not related to writing—this year has gone quickly. But man, I tell you, last December feels like three years ago. So much has happened to me on the writing front. The thing is—and if you were here for our early posts this year you’ll remember—you’ll find that it takes quite a while to break into publishing. Why? Because it takes a long time to learn the craft, it’s terribly competitive, and a host of other reasons. The point is that usually one struggles in relative obscurity for years. But when your first book comes out, you’re suddenly getting a lot of attention.

    The amount of attention you get is relative, of course. Some will receive more than others, but few will say that they receive less attention when their book comes out than they did while struggling to write short stories and work their way up the chain (or whatever it is they did during their apprenticeship).

    So for me, this was one of the biggest changes: the simple attention that comes with a published novel. I like to think I’m relatively humble. I don’t particularly like talking about myself—I find it hard to hawk my wares, as it were—and I become somewhat uncomfortable, especially in person, if someone talks about my work too much.

    Mind you, this doesn’t mean I’m not gratified to hear positive reviews. I’m immensely gratified. But adjusting to the fact that people are reading your stuff and talking about it is … a challenge.

    I know. Cry me a river.

    2. The work of a published author never ends.

    Some of the attention for the book came from the mere publication of it. It shows up in catalogs, on various “upcoming” lists, and so on. But I also worked hard to get the word out. In some ways it’s felt like the things I’ve done haven’t mattered. Like an interview or a guest post is up one day and gone the next. But these things have a building effect. In the words of my agent, the exposure is like the drops that slowly build the stalagmite. In other words: my brand awareness is building.

    As a small aside, some writers cringe at the notion of a brand, but it’s impossible to escape. Slowly, over time, the readership will build a certain view of you based on your works and your online presence. You’d be wise to help them form the right one.

    (more…)

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  • I usually spend my time looking forward, making resolutions, planning my next adventure.   Reflection is not typically part of my repertoire.  Taking a minute to ponder what the last twelve months taught is nice, though.

    My experiences as a debut author were much the same as other debut authors.  In addition to all that, this year I was exposed to quite a bit more of the genre than I ever knew existed and I positively gorged myself on books.  Since I’d like to believe there was a point to it other than wallowing in shameless book gluttony, here are some lessons I’ve learned as a reader of science fiction/fantasy:


    1)  Science fiction and fantasy teach philosophy and culture.

    This is not news to most readers.  In fact, there are books and college courses taught about that.  You can learn all about it here. Clive Thomas thinks sci-fi is the last bastion of philosophical writing. In Cameron Hurley’s God’s War, the reader is immersed in a futuristic Muslim society in which the entire civilization is locked in a sectarian battle. Likewise, Brad Beaulieu’s The Winds of Kalakovo draws deeply on Russian culture to create its fantasy world. When I read them, I was not only  immersed in the story but I also felt that I had gained insight into a culture I have little to no familiarity with.

    2)  Read outside your bubble.

    Just like your Internet filter bubble only feeds you links of news it thinks you might like or shows you sites whose opinions and viewpoints that match yours, you can get in a reading bubble.  That is all well and good.  It can help you more easily finds things you will like, but you aren’t going to get your mind blown by stuff inside your bubble.  There’s good stuff out there that you might not know about if you don’t philosophically turn off your filters or physically log out of your Amazon account. For example, you might not think that Jeff Burk’s  Super Giant Monster Time! (Choose Your Own Mind-Fuck Fest #3) is necessarily your cup of tea, but you’d be missing out on some seriously outside-the-box funny. Horizons = broadened.  (more…)

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  • Now that the year is on its deathbed, taking its last few holly-scented draughts of air, I look back at my debut year and am well pleased. I learned a few things about myself, about the industry, and about how to conduct myself (or not conduct myself) professionally. Broke a few eggs. Made a few messy (yet delicious!) omelets.

    The main thing I take from this year regarding publishing is this – if something doesn’t seem right to you, you’ve got to fight for your book, and your vision of the book, even though it might offend people. Because it’s YOUR book. (more…)

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  • This year, after writing and submitting stories and manuscripts for 15 years, 10 years since attending Clarion, 9 year since I went to my first SF convention, 7 years after I started blogging, and 3 years after my first book acceptance… my first book was published. Followed six months later by the second.

    It was a strange thing to happen, after so many years of just… well, work. And because it had been such a long road getting there, it felt like it happened all at once. Sometimes my head spins just thinking about it.

    Here’s what I learned from this wild year of author firsts:

    1. Going to Clarion, conventions, blogging, and networking with other writers is totally worth your time. You can write a great book all you want, but unless you can get the word out, you’re sunk. It helps to have people who are willing to give you space to speak about it on other sites, or who have already heard of you. If you read my long road to publication, you’ll find it littered with nudges and good words and recommendations and coincidences that involved connecting with people who knew somebody… who influenced somebody… who called somebody. Not only that, but you may also find people generous enough to read and critique your early stuff. This is vital to writing a good book. Which leads us to…
    2. You better have written a good book. It doesn’t matter who you know if what you write is crap. Even your best friend isn’t going to put their rep on the line by pushing a book off on other people that’s total crap. If you’re still writing total crap, none of this will make any difference.
    3. Having an agent really is worth it. If you have a day job, and a life outside of writing, then handling the long submission and negotiating process involved in pitching to big publishers will give you hives. And if, as happened with my book, there are contractual hiccups along the way, you don’t want to have to be the one screaming at everybody on the phone. And having a good agent gives you a lot of cred that you otherwise wouldn’t have gotten from the Big Guys.
    4. Marketing your book is exhausting. It is probably the toughest part of the job. I knew I wouldn’t have a ton of help with this from my publisher, and there was a lot of legwork involved. A lot of cold pitches to folks. A lot of “saying yes” to everything. Though I was ready for the physical work of this, I didn’t realize just how much mental energy it was going to take out of me. If you know when your release date is, you should take some time off the day job and/or ensure you have a lighter workload during this time. Plan for your book release the same way you would for any other work project, allotting the proper resources.
    5.  Figure out where to invest your time. Speaking of marketing, shotgun marketing doesn’t do anybody any favors. It will just make you more tired. Figure out where your audience is, and what venues you show up in that get results. Either in mentions/retweets, clicks, or actual sales numbers. Sign up for Amazon Associates and track clicks that way. Even if people don’t immediately buy, it gives you an idea of whether or not the people you want to reach are reading/viewing the venue you show up in. This will save you a lot of time and wasted effort.
    6. Your family may be a lot more awesome and supportive than you think. What I write is pretty weird, so I was surprised my family came out so enthusiastically for these books. My dad even went so far as to build it into a performance promotion for the restaurants he oversees operations for. And more than a few wait staff and waiting rooms on the West coast ended up getting free copies. My mom has spammed every publication in Southwest Washington with the news – twice.
    7. Know what you need to break even. When you’ve got your first book out, it’s good to know what your print run was and how many books you need to sell to earn out your advance. Not necessarily because you can do anything about it, but because it will make you more realistic in your expectations for success. Knowing what “success” actually looked like was good for me. It ensured that me, my agent, and my publisher were on the same page.
    8. Bookscan is a piece of crap. This is a free service through Amazon (you have to pay for it elsewhere), which is the only reason it’s a good price. Don’t rely on it to give you accurate book sales. All it can do is tell you the overall trend in your sales – sales are up relative to this week over this week, or down this week over this week. Don’t use them to plan your pity party.
    9. Know when to fold. I am just a meatbag. I cannot do ALL THE THINGS. Especially not if I want to spend time actually writing books. I planned a three month marketing calendar for each book, which turned out to be too much for me. Eight weeks is what I can do. Devoting more than that and keeping up with the day job and writing the next book proved… maddening.
    10. The hardest stuff is yet to come. I always thought that publishing my book would be the hard part. After that, I figured I’d have proven myself. I could just write books and get recognized as a pro and tra-la. But it doesn’t work that way. Pro careers end. Sometimes spectacularly, but most often with a whimper. Poor sales, generally. Or just poor publishing decisions. Or bad luck. It happens. Careers fizzle. Or are relaunched. And with every new book, you are issued a new set of challenges, and a new chance at succeeding or failing. Books fail all the time. Careers implode. Everything you worked half your life for can be gone in a second. Because, of course, novel writing isn’t like leveling up in a video game. It’s more like a fitness regime. You have to work out every day. Maybe hire pros to help. You have to explore new routines, get new trainers, and above all you have to work at it – every day. It’s never over. Never done. You’re on the treadmill now, and you sink or swim not only on everything that has come before, but everything you’re doing now.

    So spend your time wisely.

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