My Hyper-Caffeinated Mind

Some days I want to quit writing for good.

Today is one of those days.

I know folks will probably comment with the usual "Aw, buck up, it's a long road everyone's got to walk" encouragement, and if they do, that's fine.  The thing is, I'm a verbal person.  When I'm feeling low, I need to get it out of my system.  I have to whine.  I have to moan "epic fail", or else it just gets stuck in my system and festers.

So.  Here I am about to whine and moan, "EPIC FAIL!"

It's probably just the day.  I should know better by now.  I never get any writing done on days off and vacations anymore - ironically - simply because it disturbs my schedule.  When I work five days a week, I actually get more writing done, because I get into a groove: 

1. Get up at 3:00 AM.

2. Devotions and quiet time until 3:15

3. Breakfast and morning read (Usually Bradbury or Gaiman or Koontz or lately Lebbon, to fill me up with the right stuff) until 3:45

4. 3:45 - 6:00 write

5. 6:00 shower and off to work

Summertime's not a problem, because with two and half months off I can reset to a different schedule.  It's just these random days off and Christmas breaks that throw me into a loop, which is kinda depressing.  I've discovered the benefits of a daily schedule, but in my old age have become obsessive-compulsive, and now one little deviation from the thing and I can't write.

At all.

Which sucks.

Of course, I have two children five and under.   Both special needs (which I don't talk about much.  There.  I talked about it.).  Maybe things will be different when they're older.

Maybe.

Again, it's probably just a sucky day.  I got a ticket. Basically because a county sheriff was bored and wanted to raise cash for the county.  Our son didn't nap, which means no nap for us, which shoots down ANY chance of writing.

So. Probably just the day.

But there are other things swirling, also.  One is the increasing doubt that I really have what it takes to be a writer, but worse...what if I have enough only to reach a certain point...one that I'm not happy with? I can keep working.  Keep pushing.  Keep trying.  Jack Ketchum said on a panel at Necon this past summer that if "you're good enough and hang around long enough, someone will find you."  I've heard dozens of other authors say similar things.

Maybe I just don't have what it takes to hang around long enough.  Or, even worse (and this doesn't say very good things about me) maybe I don't have what it takes to be happy with whatever I achieve.

See, at a certain point...all the hard work and waiting in the world just doesn't make a difference.  You are what you are.  Mature people come to grips with that.  I'm not sure if I can.  

So maybe I should quit.

This is all a part of life.  As an elementary kid, I dreamed of being an NBA star.  By the time I reached junior high, I knew that wouldn't happen, but still dreamed of playing Division I hoops (for Syracuse, of course).  By senior year, I faced the facts:  too short to play forward, too slow to play guard, so I realized that competing at the Division III level or for a community college would have to do.  Because I was able to do this, I enjoyed four years of college basketball, when lots of other folks gave up along the way.

There are writers I aspire to be like, whom I adore.  Too many to name.  There are others who are a few years ahead of me, just around the corner in their journey, and I hope to someday be where they are.

But they're moving farther away.  Doing bigger things.  And I'm....

Not sure what I'm doing. No short stories of consequence landed in over a year.  All these writers talk about their mentors. I know writers I'd love to call mentors, but I don't dare because we've spoken only once or twice.  I want to spend more time reading and writing poetry, but I have no idea if my poetry is even any good. We're hurting financially - badly - because I blew so much money attending all these conferences...and I'm still trying to decide how worthwhile they were.

Now, again - this is "whine epic fail day".  I'm whining. I know.  The release of my Hiram Grange title is coming, and hopefully a few folks will notice that.  I learned that a short story of mine did get shortlisted in an anthology, and it's likely that I sold another "slice of life" essay.  My thesis adviser loved my thesis, and thought it's chances at being a great novel where better than average.  I've accomplished more than I ever thought I would, and still...

Well, confession time.  Part of me isn't happy.  Why?  Because I suspect that just like that junior high basketball player I was, I'm gonna have to face the fact that I'll never go as far or last as long as those whom I love to read.

I'm working hard on being content with that.  I love Shroud and Tim Deal. I couldn't be happier with the relationship that's developing between us.  There are other relationships that are waiting in the wings.  I just have to be content with that, and let the future hold what it does.

I enjoyed a fulfilling college basketball career because I accepted that I wasn't the next Larry Bird.  If I can do the same thing with writing (which I think I will, eventually) and accept that I'm not the next "whomever", I'll enjoy wherever my writing career takes me.

It's just not a fun thing to do.

At all. 

Posted by kevinlucia at 09:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

So this is going to be another one of those randomly generated blogs brought about by the spastic bursts that happen every now and then in my wonderful little brain.  Anyway, I've been adhering pretty well to my "take a break from writers' boards and forums and not haunting Facebook" policy, and then Christmas vacation hit me.  The problem with making that policy stick over vacation is with all that time off, even with playing with the kids and building snowmen and getting a lot of reading and writing done, there's still a ton of downtime that actually leads to a little boredom.

So anyway.  I trolled a little.  This morning, I just happened to Google "Leisure authors", because after reading a streak of Sarah Pinborough, Simon Clark, Tim Lebbon (I ordered three of his novels for Christmas) and now Graham Masterton, I realized something.  I love British writers.  So, I wanted to know if Leisure had any other Brits stepping up to bat in their lineup. I squealed when I saw Ramsey Campbell had a Leisure novel forthcoming.

It's crazy, but I think actually like British writers better than a lot of American writers.  Not all American writers.  I still love the King, despite his critics I remain loyal to Koontz, and I crave Peter Straub.  I'm also waiting with bated breath for Brian Keene's next two novels, "Darkness at the Edge of Town" and "A Gathering of Crows". Gary Braunbeck is always a winner, as is Rob Dunbar.  Nate Kenyon is simply one of the best "traditional novelists" I've read in a long time..if that makes any sense, and nobody invokes mood better than Mary SanGiovanni.  Bryan Smith's latest was the perfect mix of insane plotting and very realistic, flawed characters.  I anticipate very great things from Kelli Dunlap, Maurice Broaddus and Alethea Kontis, also. (I'd call Rio Youers an American writer I love, but he's sorta from a lot of places. Regardless, he writes fantastic stuff). T. L. Hines is like a younger Koontz, and I love the trail Tosca Lee is blazing. There are plenty other Americans I still like, so I haven't gone completely turncoat.

But man.  Those Brits.  William Hussey and Joe D'lacey of Bloody Books - fantastic stuff.  I'm hungry for more.  At first I wasn't sure why; I just cited something vague like "more lyricism", until I decided to compare the last two books I read, one by an American and the other by a British author.  I know some folks say you "can't dissect books to find out what makes them tick, it ruins the creativity...blah blah."  I agree you can't do that too much with your own writing, especially DURING the process, but if at some point you don't become interested in WHY you like the books you do and don't try to figure out why...shame on you.

I'll step down from my pedestal, now.

 Anyway, at the same time I've been doing this, I ran across a posting at a "shall remain unnamed forum" (and no, it wasn't Shocklines) about upcoming Leisure authors...this is how I found out about Ramsey Campbell's upcoming novel.  It was batting about Campbell's work and others like him - ironically comparing his work to Straub, an American - and several of them admitted, even those who liked his work, that they couldn't get into his work - or Straub's - because both authors "put too much everyday, real life stuff in there."

Really?

Pardon the forthcoming snark, but to me that translated as: "Sorry, wez can't handles theze novelz becauze theyz talky-talky too much with the big wordz about boring thingz that hurtz our brainz."

Okay.  To be fair.  I've read more than my share of novels that DO drag a bit too much.  But I've come to the realization that the novels I love the most very often tend to be the novels most people set down and say, "Sorry.  Just wasn't exciting enough.  Big paragraphs, and all." (I apologize.  I'm in quite a mood this morning).  This is important, because when it comes to the novel form, anyway...this seems to be the direction I'm headed.  Not so much with the big paragraphs, but with that awful, nasty intrusion of pedestrian, boring real life into my little plot structure.

As a book reviewer, I understand how much preference and taste plays into things.  I'm not so much criticizing the American reader (Well, maybe I am, a little) as I am realizing what I like to write, and wondering about the ramifications.

Conclusion: I guess, in the end...I don't really care.  I'll write what I like.  We'll see if anyone else likes it, too.

Anyway, back to the British VS. American writers.  Not a fair comparison, because both King, Koontz, (Although he's gotten a bit 'out there' lately), and Straub do this as well...and so do the American writers I've mentioned above, as well as many others...but in comparison I've found this:  the American novels I read and found lukewarm were all plot-driven.  In other words, everything in the novel served to advance the plot, for the most part.  That's all. 

The majority of the writers above that I love - both British and American and well traveled - are CHARACTER DRIVEN.  They still plot, and plot well. But they used lots of extra words (Maybe not big.  That was probably an unnecessary slam. Probably.) to build their characters up and make their "boring real life" backgrounds seem, well...real.  Thus, creating empathy.  Thus, engaging me, the reader, and making me buy into their characters' plight, and um...CARE about them and their story.

Also, I'm sure plenty of British writers also write plot-driven stories with shallow characters. It's just the ones I've read haven't, so far.  AND, this is my PERSONAL opinion that's very reflective of my tastes and my writing, and hey...my blog, so I'll say what I want, right? 

Okay.  Seems like I've run out of snark-steam.  Anyway, bring on the books with boring background life details that actually makes me care about the characters and their stories.  I'll read them, even if no one else will.

Oh, and death to Kindle.  Word.  Books forever.

Okay.  I snarked off, so I deserve all the return snark folks can muster...

Posted by kevinlucia at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)