So, a while ago after my novel DEAD END failed to find a publisher, and after I’d written a really long horror novel and several partial works that petered out, I concluded that maybe the horror genre did not love me as much as I loved it.

I wrote on this tumblr that my best work in the genre was only a pale imitation of King and Hill.

That may still be very true, but horror has once again seduced me—and I can thank author Paul Tremblay for bringing me back into the creepy fold. His book HEAD FULL OF GHOSTS is a brilliant and scary book that wowed me and also showed me something I needed to find: the way to write the story that had been squirming inside me for years.

This past August, I started THE MONSTER WITHIN, which is, essentially, a complete rewrite of DEAD END. I am now almost 80,000 words done with the first draft, and heading toward the finale—and I’m feeling pretty good.

Tremblay’s book taught me that old tropes can be revitalized and harnessed into newly scary scenarios. His book taught me that the best horror—the sort that burrows under the skin—is always ambiguous. It is the menace of possibility that unsettles. Maybe it was a ghost or a demon or a monster. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. His book handles this balance wonderfully, and it was that very element which opened the door to my current work in progress.

Tremblay helped me see my book in a different way, and that has made all the difference.

The future is always unknown. What will become of this book? I don’t know, but I am finally writing it the way it has always wanted to be, and that may be miraculous enough.

I should be writing.

BIG MAGIC by Elizabeth Gilbert

Hope Springs Eternal

. . . Sending positive vibes to the writerly gods . . .

The Ongoing Saga of Trying to Write a Novel—Entry #10

July 2, 2015 — Entry #10

You know what Writer's Block really is? Avoidance.

I'm currently 293 handwritten pages into my book, which is pretty slow if we consider how fast I was working when I started (one Moleskine 118-page notebook/month).

There are a couple reasons for this.

1. I discovered that sometimes it is best not to keep at it. Stories need time to mature, to grow organically. A day or two off can bring me back to the page with fresh ideas and a clear feel for where to go.

2. It's always easier to put it aside and mess with other things—even other stories/projects. I have a screenplay I wrote that needs to be revised, another screenplay I'm co-writing with a friend that needs to be pushed along, a giant stack of books to be read, a ton of short story ideas battling for their day on the page—and let's not forget: emails, tweets, blogs, bills, adult responsibilities, and all those movies and TV shows I need to watch.

It's easy for #1 to be the opening floodgate for #2. A writing postponement done with the best of intentions can turn into an extended hiatus. Since May 31, I've only written 60-some pages.

That is depressing.

Over a year ago, I started the prewriting for this book.

Depressing.

And, oh yeah, most of that (along with the 700+ page first draft) got tossed.

Need I repeat? Depressing.

Perhaps I could console myself by recognizing that I'm suffering Writer's Block. The story is split between the protagonist's POV and the numerous POVs of the people surrounding the villain—the hero's POV has come very easily but these other POVs are really making me struggle. Each time I start with a new character, it's a giant, blank landscape demanding to be filled before I proceed.

It's like assembling one of those 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzles.

Or maybe I could blame the usual end-of-the-school-year grading/testing/grading/meetings/grading madness all teachers experience. The paying job has to come first, after all.

Those are excuses, not reasons.

The real reason I'm moving so slowly? Lack of discipline.

I've never really experienced Writer's Block, but I know Writer's Avoidance really, really well.

And the longer I stay away, the harder it gets to slip back into the story. If I stay away long enough, the entire tale will disintegrate.

Now, sure, maybe that could be good. Scrap this book and jump into something new and fresh. Maybe it'll be amazing.

And maybe I'm fooling myself.

Writing should be fun—no question—but that doesn't mean it should be easy.

And what about this longhand thing I touted so highly?

I still love it, but one particular benefit—the mobile, write-anywhere appeal—can work against me. When I typed my first drafts, I had to be at my computer at my desk. I did it every morning.

That fostered discipline.

It is too easy to carry around my Moleskine and never write in it.

Time to change that.

But one more thing: The Critic Troll loves this. He scampers through my mind, claws at my confidence, and assures me that this book is crap. No one is going to want it. NO ONE!

Well, I reply, that may be true, but I believe in this story, in what it has to say, and, dammit, I care about these characters and I want to find out what happens.

With that, I head back to my notebook and the story that waits there . . .

Writing a Novel Longhand

April 19, 2015 — Entry #9

Well, isn't this interesting . . .

Eight days after my last post, I started rewriting REVIVAL ROAD—from scratch. I know, I know. Sounds crazy, right? Like maybe I'm purposely avoiding the arduous task of revision.

Maybe. But dig this:

First, check out THIS BLOG POST. Go right now. Read it.

Yes, that's right. Not only did I go back to page one with a full rewrite—I'm doing it with pen and paper.

There are a couple reasons why I decided to do a FULL rewrite and not simply revise that monstrous 700+ page manuscript I printed on yellow paper.

It goes back to Betsy Lerner and seeing the forest for the trees. While writing (typing) REVIVAL ROAD, I was very aware of the trees. I wrote what I still think are some particularly effective action-horror sequences. I did not, however, step back and examine the forest.

And that's why the book sucks.

The character motivation is unbelievable. The horror is almost campy and way too over the top. The canvass is too large and the characters too under-developed. I forced things to happen instead of letting events organically arise.

So, I spent a week or so outlining a new take on the book's premise (starting with a log line). I scrapped many, many characters (including the hero), and crafted an outline for the book's overall path.

I have long been suspicious of outlines, but instead of distrusting the perceived tyranny of the outline, I am making the process work for me, letting it be fluid, easily changeable and adaptable to whatever organic developments arise out of the new draft.

This has been a great help. I actually know where the story is headed, and why it's headed there. And I'm not enslaved to the outline. I keep going back to it, redrafting certain parts, making the story into what it wants to be.

Okay. So. Writing longhand.

As of today—exactly a month since I started—I have filled one Moleskine notebook (118 pages) and have reached page 143 overall.

Here's the proof:

What do I think of this primitive process?

I love it.

It is so freeing.

I can now write anywhere. I have been unchained from the computer screen and the clicky keyboard. I write in the kitchen with my coffee close at hand. I write outside with the sun shining on my face. I write parked in my car. I write while waiting in line. No electricity needed. My imagination supplies all necessary power.

Portability has empowered me to write more often. I write for long periods early in the morning, and then I write for short stints throughout the day. A sentence here. A sentence there. Words gather, a story emerges.

I love the tactile sense of it. I love caressing the used pages with their braille-like bumps. I love smelling the notebooks (just as I smell the books I read). I love that the notebooks are books, so in a very authentic way I am actually writing a book.

Writing longhand (Moleskine notebook, Pilot G-2 07 black pen), has forced me to slow down. I can only go as fast as the story demands. I'm trusting my instinct. This is easier to do because writing words on a page takes more effort than stabbing at keys on a keyboard, and so I can't blindly push ahead. I must stop, think, get in my character's head, and see what she wants to do.

Ironically, this has also lessened the anxiety that typing can foster. While typing, I feel a need to go fast. The book must get done now. Opportunity is slipping away. If I don't get it done, revised, and off to my agent, I'll never get anywhere. What if someone else is writing a similar book? What if that writer gets there first? My heart pounds frantically.

Writing longhand tosses those concerns away. It allows me to focus on the story, not on my wild dreams of publication and literary success.

It has also encouraged me to revise. When typing, I would open the electronic file and pick up right where I left off. Full speed ahead. With my notebooks, I go back, reread a few pages and, quite naturally, I revise.

So, this approach has many more levels of revision naturally built into it.

While writing longhand, I'm much less likely to branch off into literary tangents. I'm less likely to get flowery and all highfalutin and purple with my prose.

Writing longhand forces me to get on with the story.

When I type a story, I'm likely to write something that pleases/challenges me as a writer (like 1000-word sentences and shifting, omniscient points-of-view). When I write longhand, I'm crafting something that pleases me as a reader. Straight-forward story—character and action.

That is an epic difference. Trust me.

I have no idea if this approach will lead me to ultimately crafting a publishable, successful novel (or how long it might take to get there), but here's the last—and most important—advantage of writing longhand:

I'm having immense fun.

It takes me back to when I was a kid and wrote stories in black and white marble composition books. Progressing from those books to a typewriter, to a word processor, to a computer, was once a great leap forward. Now I know better.

I have notebooks I like. Pens I like. And a story I love.

Oh, yeah, I've got yet another new title: THE RESURRECTION MAN.

Inspired, I just started the second draft of my recent novel—writing it longhand.

First Drafts Suck

March 11, 2015 — Entry #8

So, get this: I started rereading REVIVAL ROAD, Draft #1, and it's pretty awful. Not only is the writing rough—the story itself is at times so silly and ridiculous that I couldn't even finish reading my own work.

Ha.

Now, maybe this is the Critic Troll at work again, reminding me with every page of my 700+page draft that the work sucks—or maybe there's something to it.

The Troll isn't always wrong, remember.

This has been quite the journey—one of over 200,000 words—and I find myself going back to the drawing board.

How can I actually get this story to gel?

First: back to basics. What is the essence of my story? The central conflict? The necessary characters?

That 733-page first draft was a creative outpouring, a messy, erratic spilling of ideas, characters, and situations.

Most of it is terrible.

There are some things that can be salvaged, but not much.

It should be noted that while I was writing this draft, I was mostly going along on a literary high. I thought it was great.

Silly writer.

In Betsy Lerner's book, she stresses how important it is for a writer to step back from his work—to see the forest for the trees.

That's what I'm doing.

Some friends and family have suggested I share this first draft with a couple readers before tossing the whole thing away.

I will not. The first draft is mine only. I do not want this malformed, ugly story to imprint on anyone's mind. If I let that happen, it will then be damn-near impossible to rid it from those infected minds once I have something better. The first draft is mine, and I must decide what to do next.

Joe Hill had, as usual, a brilliant post about writer uncertainty. He writes that "every novel makes an amateur out of you." I love that.

It is depressingly true.

I must accept this, and I must also accept that a second draft is not simply a first draft slightly tweaked.

A second draft can—and probably should—be very close to a complete overhaul.

It's not starting over.

It's moving forward.

Wish me luck.

(NOTE: You can read more of this long journey here.)

Work in Progress: Revision

January 18, 2015 — Entry #7

So, I finally printed my novel. I chose yellow paper, I suppose, because I once heard yellow was the color of insanity. It's 733 pages, 176,117 words. Sounds pretty insane to me.

Now, the hard part: revision.

Here's the plan I've developed:

1. Read through the whole thing. 

I want to get a "feel" for the book. I want to see how well the story hangs together. I want to identify character motivation issues and plot problems. I do not want to stop and fiddle with the diction. That will come later. I will make notes as I go, but I don't want to get bogged down—I want the story to grab me. 

2. Fix character motivation and plot problems.

I know they are there. I want to find them and fix them.

3. Assess the book, forest-from-the-trees style.

Does the thing work? Is it satisfying? Do I care about the characters? Does the book work as a whole?

4. Make necessary changes.

5. Print a new draft.

The next color will be cream. That sounds  soothing.

6. Read through to check all identified character/plot/story issues have been addressed.

7. Read through for diction and sentence structure.

Back into the forest, tree-by-tree. Make the writing shine. Make the sentences work. Most of all, stay out of the way and let the story roll. As Joe Hill suggested in his brilliant post on revision: "I want story and a little music."

8. Make all needed changes.

9. Print another draft.

I'll try blue. Sounds pleasing and somehow more solid.

10. Read through again.

11. Bribe a handful of readers to take it for a test run.

12. Wait for feedback.

13. Revise accordingly.

14. Print another draft.

Color yet to be determined.

And from there? Hopefully, off to my agent, who falls in love with it and vows to find it a home.

Final point about revision: I'm going to work slow, and I'm going to trust my instinct. If it seems wrong, I'm going to change it. Maybe this book won't go anywhere, but at the very least, it's going to teach me to be a better writer.

In the end, that might have to be enough.

P.S.: At the end of my previous post, I declared I was going to revise a previous book, DEAD END. I've toyed with many ideas, but I have not yet discovered how to make it work. Hope springs eternal.

I did, however, write a short story inspired by the awesome Lawrence Ferlinghetti poem, "The Pennycandy Store Beyond the El."

It was good to step away from the novel and write something separate. It has helped clear out the cobwebs.

Finally printed the first draft of my novel. It's 733 pages, double-spaced, 176,000 words. Longest thing I've ever written.

Now, time to see if there's actually a good book trapped in all these pages. 

In Reflection of a First Draft Completed

December 20, 2014—Entry #6

Three days ago, I wrote this: THE END. I started this version of REVIVAL ROAD on August 27, 2014, and now here I finally was almost four months later at the opposite end. The initial journey is over.

A 176,000 word-long journey.

At least two more thorough drafts await before any of my trusted readers are asked to spend several days of their lives in my imagination.

[A minor, yet vital, digression here: The temptation to simply send this first draft copy to my readers is huge. I’ve done this before, of course, and I’ve learned something simple: DON’T. Do not send anything to anyone unless the work is as good as you can make it. BETA readers may offer the benefit of the doubt, but they are not endlessly forgiving. The book must be readable. The book must be engaging. If I want to be taken seriously, I must put in the time to hone my craft and make this book the best it can be. Some BETA readers may be willing to read several drafts, but most will not, especially if they are given a first draft riddled with errors, inconsistencies, and bad prose. I’ve done this, and when the critiques came in, I got defensive and said asinine things like “Yeah, I know that part’s screwy, but what do you think about the essence of the book?” Essence? What the hell does that mean? Frankly, it’s the type of thing a lazy writer says in desperate defense of sloppy work. Don’t do this. Resist the urge. Take the time to make the work good. Make it better than good. Make it so damn good your readers devour it and look at you with a mix of awe and jealousy. Quality work can do that.]

Before I print out the 733-page monster and head down Revision Road, I am sitting here thinking of what this particular first draft journey taught me.

First, discipline. My father-in-law believes that everything in his dreams represents a part of him—the trick is to identify what each thing symbolizes—and he has decided that when I appear in his dreams, I represent discipline.

My writing schedule was flexible, to a point, but typically it went like this: Up at 4am Monday through Friday and writing until 5:50 when I had to shower and get ready for work. Often, Friday morning writing did not get done, as I met a friend for breakfast at a diner. Saturday and Sunday, I got up around 6am and wrote for as much time, and energy, as was available.

This is how I wrote 176,000 words in about 110 days. That’s about 1,600 words daily. Some days I wrote less; some days I wrote much, much more. I didn’t necessarily have a daily word goal in mind. I wrote as much as I could.

Second, instinct. I wrote about this in my previous post, but it is vital. Instinct told me to scrap most of my first effort (all 60,000 words of it) and start again. Instinct told me my characters were weak—change them. Instinct told me the story was dragging—restructure and make something happen. Instinct told me to keep at it. Instinct told me to take a break, let ideas percolate. Instinct told me to write faster because it’s always tempting to give up, run scared, or even start all over again. Check out this excerpt from the Wonder Boys screenplay:

And, while we’re at it, watch this clip where Grady’s student gives Grady writing advice, also from Wonder Boys.

Instinct told me what choices to make. Some might be bad, many probably are, but that’s what revision is for: choice-honing.

Third, don’t worry if it’s crap. I tell my students this all the time and, amusingly, I must constantly remind myself, too. First drafts suck. They’re mostly garbage. They are malformed children with mutant faces and extra appendages. Some must be put down (like my first 60,000-word stab at this book) and some can be saved. Instinct tells me when to do which.

[Side note: How to develop instinct? Read a lot and write a lot, and pay attention to what works for you as a reader. You can’t hope to please all the people all the time, but you can strive to please yourself first, and that can help you begin to please others.]

Fourth, have fun. There were many days when I was sipping coffee at 4:30am and staring at the computer screen and wondering what the heck I was doing. The Critic Troll would perch on my shoulder and tell me to quit. He’d point out stupid parts and stupid characters and stupid dialogue and stupid action scenes and, well, most of it was stupid so just SELECT ALL and DELETE.

This hideous, wart-faced green monster loves to usurp instinct. He tells you something is bad and you think instinct is telling you that. Sometimes the two are aligned, but they are never in cahoots. Instinct wants to help. The Troll wants to punish you for trying. He wants you to give up and accept you’re a failure. Who will ever want to read your crap, anyway? After all, if you were any good, you’d be a success already. How many publishers rejected DEAD END? Almost twenty? Geez, isn’t that enough of a message? Take the hint: GIVE UP!

This troll looks something like the one from Cat’s Eye:

I imagine clamping my hands around its lizard-skin neck and strangling him. You can’t kill him. But he can be silenced. He can be sent back to his hovel.

Be careful! He will emerge from his pit and crawl up your shoulder to whisper in your ear at any and every stage of the writing process. He’s evil. Don’t fall prey. If you listen, he’ll set up permanent camp on your shoulder. You’ll feel his weight. You’ll hear him all the time.

I know my Critic Troll well, and sometimes he’s not wrong, but I know he has malicious intent. When I hear his nefarious ridicule, I turn to Instinct and this happens:

Instinct Cat battles Critic Troll.

I keep the Troll at bay, or I wrangle with him, bare hands versus needle teeth. I may come out bloodied, but I will not capitulate. You shouldn’t either.

Finally, it is important to cleanse the writer’s palate. Before I jump into revisions, I want to distance myself from my book as much as possible. I want the story to seem only vaguely familiar. I want to forget parts of it. Time can do that, yes, but time mixed with focused effort on another creative work can do that even better.

And I know just what to do.

Revision awaits—but first, I am going back into DEAD END. There’s something salvageable there. I’m sure of it.

Storyteller Instinct

[Note: This is an entry chronicling my Work in Progress.]

On Instinct.

So, two weeks after my previous entry, I stopped writing Revival Road. I was almost 60,000 words into it. Why did I stop? Simple: instinct told me I had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

At the time, I was reading two wonderful books: HOW TO WRITE BEST-SELLING FICTION by Dean R. Koontz (1982) and TECHNIQUES OF THE SELLING WRITER by Dwight V. Swain. I had read Koontz's book before, way back when I was in college, but the book seemed even more relevant and helpful to me now. The Swain book, published in 1967, was nothing short of a revelation.

Koontz assured me that I could, and should, attempt to write whatever I wanted so long as I focused on "Thought, Care, Craftsmanship, and Storytelling." The best chapters are "Action, Action, Action"; "Achieving Plausibility through Believable Character Motivation"; and "Style." These chapters, in particular, reminded me that I wasn't squeezing all the drama I could from my novel. Koontz pointed out that my characters needed better motivation. Who was I to disagree?

Swain's book is more expansive—and much more detailed, which can get taxing—and he has very strong beliefs on what works in fiction and what doesn't. What stood out the most for me was his dissection of the Motivation-Reaction Unit, his emphasis on What is Happening Right Now in the story, his insistence that Character is Action NOT background, and his detailed breakdown of story structure: "Beginning, Middle, End."

Trust me: It's not as obvious as you might think.

For example, Swain stresses that the protagonist MUST commit to action as early as possible: "Let [the focal character] decide to fight the danger that threatens his desire, instead of stalling or backing off or running from it." Until this happens, Swain argues, the story can never move forward. It is stuck in its beginning.

In much of what I write, my characters are stuck in the beginning for a long time. My characters are caught in indecision. Bad things are happening, and my characters are going all Hamlet and soliloquizing whether they should or shouldn't do something. Bad things keep happening and they keep dodging commitment. Only after things get REALLY BAD do my characters finally take action.

When I read that bit about the focal character needing to commit to a course of action as early as possible, I knew I had to restart Revival Road. In order to properly motivate my main character, Abbott, and jumpstart my story with conflict, I had to start from page one, which I did on August 27, 2014.

Now, of course, I reused much of the 56,000 words I had written since restarting at the end of July, but I also scrapped a lot of it. What I kept, I re-crafted and polished.

The story now has a kick-ass opening and very clear character motivations and unique character nuances, which the reader will discover through action. Backstory and dialogue come into play, of course, but I have placed the emphasis on action, which is where I think it needs to be.

In particular, I enhanced and deepened the conflict between the focal character and the antagonist. Once that was done, much of the subsequent action became very clear.

Instinct had told me to stop and start from page one. Throughout the writing of this first draft, instinct has come into play over and over.

In an effort to keep this entry on the shorter side, I'll save those details for another time. But, in a nugget of advice: If you think your story went the wrong way or a character didn't react as he should or a scene seems unneeded or too short or too long, you're probably right.

Trust your storyteller instinct. Does it say you took a wrong turn? Does it tell you to start over? 

Go back to page one.

I'm at nearly 160,000 words in just over three months—I owe it to instinct.