Tuesday, January 29, 2013

WRITING FUNK--the idea guy

I've been in a writing funk.  Let's be honest, you, no one at all reading this, as my Confessor.  I'm not for sure what it is.  I may have an inkling of an idea.  Ideas.  That's all I have anymore.  Someone I really respect once called me an IDEA GUY--the last thing a writer ever wants to hear.  An IDEA GUY can't write.  Sure, he can think of cool shit, just can't put it to paper.  The old saying, put up or shut up comes to mind. 

I started two stories.  One, an intimate portrait of a man on his deathbed being tended to by two enemies--a true story.  The other, a freaking love story!  I was in something akin to love once a couple months back.  Ended in disaster.

Here's the thing (I hate that empty saying): I'm distracted in my "single" days, I'm not confident right now, I'm writing with the thought that it'll never see the light of day, I'm writing with disappointment in most of my former publications which (take a breath for this long sentence), which...I took like a writer whore.  I accepted publication from magazines I don't even admit to.  E-zines mostly.  Sure, I turned them down before (well, once).  So I'm all out of sorts.  Ironically, the IDEA MAN, is grappling for any idea to get him going again.  Someone has recently been kind enough to read some of this stuff that may never see the light of idea and give comments on it.  Much appreciation.  Maybe this will get me revving again.  Besides, I have a lot of ideas.

Saturday, January 12, 2013


I've got two novels written, one is a bloated but well written thing, the other is a streamlined direct punch.  The latter is my favorite.  But I'll never give it or it's fatter brother see the light of day.  This is because I'm a pussy.  I write these things then sit back and relish how well written I THINK they are, but I don't send them off--I'm scared of rejection.  I spent two years on fat ass, which used to be fatter, and a year on the young, athletic one.  I spend no time trying to publish them.  So why'd I ever write them?  I'm not going to bullshit anyone and say, "I write because I have to."  I generally disagree with that artful rubber stamp many writers like to spout off.  I don't think any writer is really like that.  Well, if they are, they're in an insane asylum for some profound OCD condition.  I write to get published.  Sure, that's a bit arrogant.  I think we're all that way if we're writing then trying to publish it--"I have an idea and I'm going to write it, work with it, then show everyone what I did.  It's that good.  Look!"  So I can send off my short stories en masse, but why not my novels?  One, it's a lot of work--more than sending off a short story.  You have to put together that perfect query letter, that ever important letter designed to get someone's attention.  But it can only be one page, it has to sum up you, your writing style, your novel, your history, and mention your opinion on the state of economic affairs in Eastern Europe.  Then you have the synopsis, if required.  Sum up your book in a page, like a TV Guide capsule description.  And make it interesting.  I've read descriptions of how a synopsis made the reader cry for joy or attach themselves so much to the story that they could see it as a movie.  SOLD! 

Maybe I'm lazy.
Maybe I'm scared.
Maybe I know they're not good enough. 
Hell!  I know they are.  I've read some real crap lately.  Sure, I know they both need that professional editorial eye, that litany of suggestions from a publisher.  Shit, I'd sell my left testical to get published.  But I'll never self publish.  I want to make it on my own merit.  And I realize it takes persistence and a lot of luck.  One thing is for sure, I'll never get it published without growing a pair of testicles and submitting.  Hell, I can't even afford to trade the left one away at this point.  This post has degraded to a ramble.

I'm just being a coward.