Posts in the "Wolf Pack of One?" Category

• It’s Never Over ‘Til the Big Dawgs Howl

  Wolf Pack of One?

  One of the things I hear all the time from other authors, and readers, and random people on the street, is how solitary our pursuit is. How we sit in silence, all alone, working away on our books, shunning all contact with others, dreading the time we have to open the door to the UPS man.

  Maybe them. But not me, baby. I’m a chaos writer. Bring on the noise, bring on the funk, bring on the words, that’s my motto.

  In order to write, first off, I need music. Loud music. Rock ‘n’ roll for preference but anything with lyrics will do. Don’t even have to be lyrics in my native tongue. I can and do listen to French and Spanish language songs, too. And German. Really, anything with a beat and singing, that’s my thing.

  A bottle of Coca-Cola up from Mexico is also a nice, helpful addition to my writing, as is chocolate. As is alcohol. But I can and do write without any of those. Oh sure, not all the TIME. But still, I can manage without if needed.
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• Howling at the Moon

  Wolf Pack of One?

  Some writing is collaborative in nature–sitcoms, some movie scripts, plenty of nonfiction. But writing fiction, with few notable exceptions, is generally a solo effort. You cloister yourself and labor away in solitude, trying to take some idea that is beautiful, sublime, terrifying, or fantastic in your head, and translate it into words on a page that capture the essence of what spawned them. Sometimes you fail at this; sometimes you fail a lot. And it’s all on you—you can’t point the finger or blame a poor working relationship with another writer. When you bomb, it’s a poor working relationship with yourself or your ideas. And boy, that’s no kind of fun to face.

  Ultimately, though, if you keep after it and revise long enough, you’ll create something you feel pretty good about. Even if it isn’t perfect, it’s solid. You think. But you’re still so close to the writing, sometimes it’s hard to tell. And that’s when it can be really worthwhile to show the work to someone else, to get validation or confirmation that what you’ve produced isn’t complete drivel.

  In college and grad school, I participated in a lot of fiction workshops (some might say too many!). You can learn some really good habits in them, but some pretty lousy ones, too. (more…)

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• I need help, but only when the time is right

  Wolf Pack of One?
  

  Bradley P. Beaulieu

  I do indeed write largely alone. That hasn’t always been the case, though. It used to be, when I was first starting out, that I wanted lots of feedback. Lots. When I was active on the Online Writing Workshop, I would post each chapter of the novels I was working on practically as soon as I finished writing them. It was a quick way for me to gain feedback, and I learned pretty quickly how much negative feedback stung, and continued to sting. I started pulling back a bit. I would work harder on the chapters, both while I was writing (using the lessons I was starting to learn) and during editing.

  Slowly, the feedback became less negative, more positive. This gave me more confidence. I continued with that type of workshop—online trading of crits—but I started to feel like it was helping me less and less. This is no knock against those in the workshop. It’s just a natural progression. Eventually you’ll grow. You’ll move on. You’ll find new critting partners that bring something new to the table, and hopefully you’ll do the same for them.

  During this time (my early, pre-published apprenticeship), I would actively trade full novel crits as well. That’s always a great thing to do, both reading others’ works critically, and getting yours read. It helps you to see the larger arcs and the problems that can crop up in trying to present them dramatically.

  Over the next 4 years, I attended several intense writing workshops. Viable Paradise, Writers of the Future, Orson Scott Card’s Literary Bootcamp, and finally Clarion back in 2006. Once I’d finished with those, I wasn’t burnt out, but I needed some time away from such things. I no longer actively critiqued online. I didn’t have any local workshops. I really only critiqued with a few close friends. This was the point at which I knew I was getting close. I was selling short fiction pretty regularly. And I felt if I could just find a good enough idea for a novel, it would put me over the top. At least, that’s what I hoped. There’s still so much luck involved, getting the right project into the right person’s hands at the right time. (more…)

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• Out and Back Again

  Wolf Pack of One?

  My mother got her Masters in Psychology studying under David Keirsey, who wrote the Keirsey Temperament test, a version of the Myers-Briggs temperament theory. Whenever my mom got into something new (about every two years), she’d call me up to tell me all about it, saying, “You’re going to need to know this for your writing!” And she was right, because what in all the worlds can we be certain we won’t, someday, need to know for our writing?

  According to the Keirsey, an extrovert is someone who gets energy from being with people, while an introvert gets energy from being alone. So, when you are tired and sad and raddled by the world, if your impulse is to go hang out with friends or go to a bar or a club, you’re probably an extrovert. If, instead, your need is to take a long, solitary walk in the rain, or head for the hidden alcove in the back of the library, or someplace where you can shut a door on the world, you’re probably an introvert.

  According to Keirsey, about 70% of Americans are extroverts, and 30% are introverts. Thus, being alone by choice is frowned on in American culture. Note how anyone who acts out his criminal insanity is always, in retrospect, classed as a “loner,” even by all the guys he used to hang out with.

  “I have to be alone now,” in our culture means something must be wrong with you. However, “I have to go and write now,” is socially acceptable. I once met a writer who has a theory that introverts become writers so that they are allowed to be alone as much as we must be for our health and sanity.

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• Writers Anonymous

  Wolf Pack of One?

  I’m always been interested by authors who co-write, because it’s something I can’t imagine doing. I don’t think I could give up the level of control needed to collaborate, even though collaboration can be incredibly inspiring. Writing feels like a solitary pursuit, and if it were a full time job (oh far, far distant goal!), I don’t doubt that I’d find it a lonely one as well. For me, writing is vocational; something I always have done and always will do, whether as a professional career, for friends and family, or only for myself. When I write, I put a piece of myself on the page. You can call it heart, soul, worldview – but it’s both the creation and reflection of a certain period of my life, be that a week or five years. Writing is a way of reaching out, searching for people who share a way of thinking, a way of perceiving and understanding the world. The process of writing is solitary, but it’s ultimately about connection. And of course, when you do find someone who connects with what you write, that’s amazing.

  Producing work I feel is worthy of being read, however, is inevitably a long road of self-doubt and self-critique. I have moments of believing I’ve written something amazing and moments of believing it’s utterly diabolical. Often those thoughts are about the exact same paragraph. So writers may be lone wolves, but we need perspective. We need someone to say: ‘You know what? That’s okay. That’s working.’ And occasionally: ‘That, my friend, is really not working.’ Willing friends help: my go-to lady is the marvellous Clare Bullock, who has cast an eye over various works-in-progress for me over the years, and invariably offers sound editorial advice. But there’s only so much feedback you can ask for, and the other thing I find useful is workshops.

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• All For One, One For All…?

  Wolf Pack of One?

  Although the post title comes from The Three Musketeers, of course, I’m going to respond to this week’s question–whether we write solo or in a pack?–by asking which you’ll enjoy more: The Dark Knight Rises or The Avengers?

  In DKR, we get the solo artist.  Batman lives alone, works mostly alone, researches by himself in the Batcave, builds his weapons by himself.  For good or bad, he carries the story’s heroic arc on his caped shoulders without help.  That kind of focus tends to make things…intense.  The Avengers, on the other hand, gives us a team.  Each member of the team is a unique figure, but they rely on each other through the movie to advance their goals.  There’ll be more storylines, and less time to tell each.  With more heroes carrying the load, the heroic arc might be a little…lighter.

  I’m looking forward to both, which I guess means I can be either solo or group.  Neither approach to writing is inherently more effective, but if I’m one or the other, then I’ll quote Michael Keaton in  1989: “I’m Batman.” (more…)

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• The Yeti in the Outhouse

  Wolf Pack of One?
  

  Paul Tobin

  This week’s theme is the wolf pack of… one?

  Meaning, when writers go about the task of crafting a novel, are we writing in a vacuum, staring at the walls and lost in our own thoughts, with no knocking on any of our mental doors or outside influences crawling through the windows and catching us at the computer in our underwear? Or… do we participate in writer’s groups and workshops, sending material to beta readers or asking our Ouija boards if our characters should make love or make war, and also pleading with the spirits to make sure we don’t accidentally use your when we meant you’re?

  I think the answer to all of this is… yes. A novelist is alone. Everything is blank before you. And everything is blank UNTIL you. Every word that’s on the page, every single sentence, every character that’s pulling a trigger, every barista who’s blowing a kiss, every woman with a dagger behind her back, every spaceship that’s crash-landing, every villain that’s stepping from the shadows, every pair of underwear on the floor and every yeti that’s trapped in the outhouse… that’s all you. None of that happens until the writer says it does. If a writer doesn’t put it down on the page, then none of this ever happens. The girl never gets kissed. The spaceship never enters orbit. The story never develops and sasquatch is saved from an embarrassing predicament.

  You’re a writer. You’re alone. (more…)

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