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.

FEAR IS A FACTOR, EVEN FOR THE ARROGANT

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.  

LAYING MYSELF BARE, WHY I WRITE DARKNESS

Someone once asked me why I don’t write anything happy or funny.  I am happy sometime, I’m funny—or so I’ve been told.  Johnny Cash had his black outfits, his dark songs (skip the bullshit gospel junk).  I have my stories.  I wish I didn’t sometimes.  Most of my stories are ripped right from my life in some capacity.  In “Tom Ford, the Girl, and Rejection” he loses his family.  Ditto.  In “The Numbness” he encounters his father corpse, a man he hated all his life.  Ditto.  In “The Surrogate” she longs to have loving family minus an insane mother and abusive father.  Ditto.  In the yet unpublished “A Patch of Earth, a Spot of Sky” he tries, and for the most part is unsuccessful, to come to terms with showing feelings of sadness for someone he’d admired.   I could go on and on…  I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve never had that feeling of contentment.  I’m 39, about halfway finished with my life.  I’m alone.  I’m pretty much broke for the time being.  I worry constantly about the next catastrophe to come down the pipeline.  Women, the one’s I’d be interested in are married, attached, or more messed up than myself.  Some of the them enjoy my company when it’s necessary to get a fix of feeling good about themselves and then they move on.  I’m left alone again.  But I condone it through my actions so I must get that fix as well.  It’s not a happy time.  Therefore, I write.  And it’s during the shitty times that I write the most.  So maybe someday I’ll not write at all because I’m content.  Or maybe I’ll write that sweet story that must be inside of me.  It’ll be my own version of that Johnny Cash gospel music phase.  Until then, I’m the man in black.     

Digital Publishing--No, sir, I don't like it.

It's been a good past couple of weeks writing-wise.  Found out I was published and didn't know about it.  This I can blame on two things:  I never check Submishmash for follow up because I assume I'm going to get an email or phone call if I'm wanted, two: they never emailed which they usually(no I mean always) do if your story is wanted.  It's a nice looking publication and I was paid $00.00 which is nice.  Another story, I found out was accepted as well.  I feel it's too good for their mag.  Looking at the number of acceptances they have each e-zine issue tells me the story either isn't that good or it's too good to not see paper.  I'm having a difficult time embracing the digital format.  I know it's the wave of the future and all, but I like seeing mags I was printed in on the top shelf of my bookcase--not bookmarked on my computer.  Vanity. 

My novella Penitence was introduced to the digital world.  I haven't seen a penny from Amazon yet.  I made money when it was in paper though.  After I got the rights back to it I rushed to upload it onto Amazon which, despite their advertisements, is an assload of work if you want it to look nice.  I'll have to look into not receiving any money.  According to their site, I've sold several copies and am owed my whopping .31 a copy sold.   But I'm not retiring anytime soon even if they pay me.

My buddy Benltey Little mailed me a letter last month.  In it, he responded to my bitching about the digital format.  He too doesn't seem to care for it.  He did, though, liken it to his being published in several low budget magazines which are no longer in print.  Take what you can get.  He told me to shoot for paper pubs first, then settle for digital.  I'll settle for digital with some of my stuff.  But the stuff of mine that I know is damned good will have to wait for paper. 

Here's my flash fiction story, The Numbness, published in Emerge (page 28-29):      http://issuu.com/emergeliteraryjournal/docs/emerge_literary_journal_october_2012?mode=window&viewMode=doublePage  

It's Not a Hobby

Writing.  What other hobby can make you feel so good and so bad at once?  None.  But it's not a hobby.  Writing is something you do because you know you can do it.  You may even be so flamboyant as to think it'll be published.  One thing I've learned though, is to separate the two aspects of writing, the putting it all down on paper and the submitting.  There have been a very few times when I've written something that actually made me tear up with thoughts that "this is good.  this is really good."  There is no reason to give myself that feeling then check the status of submissions at my submission email address.  There isn't a reason to check my Submittable to see if something that once made me feel like crying for joy now makes me feel like sobbing for other reasons. 

My story "A Patch of Earth, a Spot of Sky" is one of those such stories.  I wrote it, felt all gooey inside after doing it, then sat on it forever.  I looked at it again and still thought, it's pretty damned good.  I edited it, changed some things around, then felt all gooey--gooier even.  I sat on it some more.  Finally, I sent it off.  First to one mag, then a bunch of them.  To date, it's out there in the writing ether.  Imagine my disappointment when I got the first rejection.  With no comments.  But it's only one.  And it's been out for awhile.  I'm curious to see if this story that I'm so close to, that I've totally departed from my more traditional style, is as good as I think it is.  But if it isn't, eventually it will be.  And I'll get that gooey feeling again, that pretentiousness that prompts me to submit it.  I've made it a rule to not check for these submissions statuses until after a couple hours of writing.  If I feel the writer's high, to heck with checking it.  I'll ride this feeling, then check later.   

Now, about my book I need to submit...   

Hello, blog.  Actually, it's more like a diary, save for the one comment I received.  Wow!  Sadly, it made me happy to see that, yes!, it is read sometime.  I've given up keeping score.  Put it this way, when it rains it pours (perhaps my usage of cliches keeps me from print).  Sometimes, you get rejected--a lot.  Sometimes, you get published a lot.  I got published twice this month.  The unfortunate aspect of this is that it's the same story.  TOM FORD, THE GIRL, AND REJECTION.  The e-zines that are publishing it don't care if it's accepted in another publication.  But here's the thing:  I wouldn't care anyway.  If you're not paying me, i have no sense of loyalty to you and I'm out for number one.  I fill up your pages or your site and you don't pay me? 

Sure, I'm bitching--after getting published.  Can't please me?  No.  I'll be pleased when I get a novel published.  And get paid.  Of course, an agent or publishing house aren't going to knock my door down to publish me.  Maybe submitting will help.

Yes, I still operate this blog.  Sometimes.