Tag: Random

10 Questions Writers Must Ask Themselves

Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die.

Yes, you will die if you don’t ask “why.” Or something.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

I had a question I was going to ask you about writing, but I forgot! You tell me, what should I ask?

—Mark Cedeno, Tucson, Ariz.

I’m feeling quick and dirty. Let’s dive in. Here’s what you should be asking yourself as a writer:

1. Why am I doing this?

Money? Fame? Class project? A dare? Depressed? Bored? Trying to come off as intelligent? I’m not going to give the answer. If you don’t have one, then stop now. Try dancing. Then you’ll have an answer to why you took up dancing: “Because I didn’t know why I was writing.” Work your way from that.

2. Who am I trying to impress?

In our social media age, we are driven on a quest for relevance, whether conscious or subconscious. You could say that you have a potential audience. You may not. Unless you are an artist with a soul purer than Jesus, then you crave an inkling of recognition. Maybe it’s just ‘you’ you’re trying to impress. Find whoever it is. Stop schmoozing up. Write.

3. Can I explain this in three sentences?

If you cannot summarize the story, start over until you can. You’re only writing yourself into a painful circle. Unless you just need writing practice, then fine.

4. Who would want to read this?

Draw up a profile of your reader. If it’s someone who’s easily led, likes mass-market paperback, reads to say “they read,” then CONGRATS! That’s almost everyone! SF/fantasy fans who like everything you do and have already friended you on the internet? Even better! They won’t care about promoting your work, because you’re everyone’s friend! Win win win.

5. How will this contribute to the way readers view life?

Ooooh, breaking out the philosophical. Bring something worth bringing to the table. We already have salt, napkins, plates. If you’re bringing ‘potato salad,’ the trashbin is that way. If you bring ‘tuna casserole,’ then you need plant your face in it until it suffocates you to death. If you bring a combo of ‘polenta,’ ‘arugula,’ ‘aioli,’ ‘quinoa,’ and ‘edamame,’ then you’re just trying to be “trendy” without substance. (Yes, yes you are.) Contribute something worthwhile.

6. Am I friends with a bunch of other writers?

If the answer is ‘Yes,’ then write away. Your work won’t matter. You have your reward. If ‘No,’ then write away. Friends won’t matter. Your writing will speak for itself. You will have those who appreciate art, even if they’re not your besties.

7. What have I had for influence lately?

If this list can either 1) be found at a local liquor dealer, or 2) get you arrested, then I’m not liable, ok? Know what it is that feeds your soul, for out of it comes your art. Unless you’re a sexy, soulless teenage vampire.

8. What would happen to me if I stopped?

This should be something really bad. If not, then go ahead and stop. Ballet is waiting.

9. What kind of recognition am I hoping for?

Set this bar wherever you want. Local book-signing at a thrift store. #1,095,367 in Books on Amazon. Seeing your book on a bookstore shelf—because you brought a copy with you, placed it there, and Tweeted it anyway. Wherever. That’s all you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

10. Is there something else I should be doing?

Hey, fair question. If your pregnant husband or wife has been dogging your lazy end about overdue bills, mustard stains on tank-tops, not bothering to clean the dishes from last week, the kid strung from your cheap light fixture by a pair of cheap, sodden underdrawers, then maybe the “undead urban fiction” can wait. Or if you have some ungodly talent in another field, play that field instead. Michael Jordan didn’t choose writing because he wasn’t a skilled craftsman, you know. He had greater-than-greatness in the basketball arena. Who knows? Your sandwich making at the Sub Shack® might serve you better.

What kinds of questions would you think to ask yourself?

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).

Review in Brief

There are times where I have to give writers credit for trying.

This is not one of those times.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

The coffee dipped out the last juices from spiteful dregs.

“Pathetic,” Jaremy mumbled, the spite lacing his coarse-ground pre-morning speech. He didn’t much mind the dying drops of coffee, but the finality of the event depressed him to the point where he felt as if his life was a continuation of events in which he arrived last at each checkpoint, picking up spare parts, leftovers, things gone cold, and the last items to go on clearance.

He trudged back to a weary cubicle, part of a castle of conquered souls. Warriors of once-before, wearied and worn-down by mismanagement and oppression, here they sat – 

(Editor’s note: I’m removing the rest before I lose everyone….)

—Mary Ann Malcolm, Honolulu, Hawaii.

Bravo in not requesting I criticize, evaluate, or even read what you submitted. It’s as if you let the text stutter for itself. Too bad it repeats itself at odd junctures repeatedly.

Didn’t think I’d notice? That’s the problem when you no longer read for fun. Gone are the beautiful faces and figures. The standout warts and gimpy elbows are all that remains.

Not to knock what you wrote. It knocks itself, but only just. Let these be lessons to those fooled by your overall taut outing:

1) Don’t use alternate spellings for the sake of alternate spellings.

No, I don’t feel sorry for the wave of upcoming children whose mothers got too exuberant with “different” approaches to nomenclature. Dayvidd. Myleigh. Kate-E. Djustyn. I would feel sorry for your kids, but I hope my resolve will instead encourage them to spite you for the trendy, faddish mistake you made.

So don’t do that to your character. “Jeremy” is fine, Mary Ann. Or M’arry Annn.

2) “Do what it do.”

Coffee doesn’t “dip.” You’re confusing it with a local practitioner of the chewing tobacco. Sure, you can elasticize in some areas, but you’ll reach the breaking point far sooner than you want if you’re not careful.

3) Check your checkpoints of repetition.

I counted only 5 words between “spite,” 16 words between “event,” and 11 between “weary.” That’s too few. Don’t pull the “emphasis” card either. That’s just as weak as claiming your improper spelling and grammatical maladroitness is “your writing style.” There are what, a billion words in English? Use a few more of them. And no, this doesn’t qualify as emphasizing le mot juste. Unless you’re trying out some hapax legomena, variety is your friend.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).

Putting Off Procrastination

Procrastination. It’s like the alcoholism of the weak-minded writer; the bane of upstarts. It’s nature’s way of weeding out the pretenders.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

I wanted to write and see what advice you might have about procrastination. I’ve got one page written, and I can’t bring myself to write any more. As an aspiring writer, I know I can’t just let it sit there. What’s your advice on putting off procrastination?

—Jered Gillen, Dallas, Tx.

Shakespeare kicks Milton in the nether regions every time someone mentions the phrase “aspiring writer” in anything but a negative sense. Stop that. You, that is. Not Shakespeare. He does what he wants.

Procrastination can be helpful; it keeps you doing a whole bunch of stuff that doesn’t matter. These may not be the most “writerly” solutions, but you need something to start building the better habit of productivity. We can work on your crap writing some other time.

Tips on putting off writing procrastination:

1: Writing Fast

Padlock the fridge, freezer, and pantries. Mail the key to an editor. Only when you have fifty or so pages of a decent submission, have them mail the key back to you. Better hope he/she likes your stuff, or else you’ll be eating out until you get that writing in shape.

2: Face the Failure

Buy paper. Buy a printer. Print copies of the pittance of words you’ve mustered. Hang them everywhere. When your family complains about “all these blank pieces of paper,” I can only hope a little dagger was twisted within your heart.

3: Chart your Creative Consumption

When it comes to creative endeavors, you create, or you consume. All those hours on the TV, the Blu-Ray binging, the Tweeting, the blogrolling: you’re making yourself fat and useless. How many hours do you spend taking and taking and taking? And no, you don’t have to “give back,” just “do something!” Make a chart, let it show you how obese you’ve gotten in the creative consumption cesspool.

4: Refocus the Mismanagement

If you’re a procrastinator with something, you are not a procrastinator with everything. Complain about not picking up writing all you want, but you are picking up things that you could leave to the jaws of procrastinations. You’re always in the gym, I’m sure, trying to show off your awesome bod. You run x amount of miles so you can #humblebrag about it on Facebook. You’ll always make time to watch trite sitcoms, scripted reality TV, or other mindgum garbage. Give those things a rest for one. Put ‘em off.

5: Bite Sizing

Write a sentence a day. Yeah, that does make sense. Whether you have to keep your work in progress next to the loo, the shower, somewhere you park each day, it’ll remind you to get something done daily. And that’s a start.

Baby steps here, folks. Doing it “later” is “never doing it at all.” Or else you’d have done it already.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).