Category Archives: Writing Aids

Prose’s Teacher, Poetry

Can reading or writing poetry improve your prose?  I’ll go with a yes on that.

First, allow me to give you my take on the differences.  Let’s consider Prose and Poetry as siblings, as brother and sister respectively, for they are related, both being offspring of language.

The sister, Poetry, keeps her work brief.  Her words are densely packed, tiny packages brimming with meaning.  She prides herself on juxtaposing words in a way to convey a clear impression without wasting syllables.  For her, only the right words will do, and she takes great pains to find them.  True, her brother Prose can be brief when he wants to, but he is not that way all the time.

To a greater degree than her brother, Poetry is in love with the sound of words.  She rhymes at certain times, and is often tending to play with words’ endings.  Albeit she also allows a lot of alternate alliteration.  Rhythm, too, is her forte.  Poetry is a close friend to Music, to whom Prose is only a casual acquaintance.  This focus on the sound of words themselves, not just their meanings, gives Poetry a majestic sound, a special and important sound.

For these reasons, most poetry should be read slower than most prose, to extract meaning and enjoyment.  Even though it’s shorter in length, poetry can therefore take just as long to read!

Having established the differences, we turn to my main point, whether familiarization with poetry can help a writer of prose.  We’ve all come across authors whose prose reads like poetry, where it’s clear the author loves the sounds and rhythms  and flow of words, where the word choices sweep and lull us along with the story as if we’re listening to a song.  The author that comes to my mind is Ray Bradbury.  Read any of his works and you’ll likely agree he must be a poet in the thin disguise of a prose writer.

You might argue there are plenty of fine prose authors whose works don’t read like poetry, and I concur.  But even these authors might dabble with poetry on occasion.  Perhaps they’ll have one character in their story who speaks in the manner of a poet, or who quotes poets like Shakespeare.  It’s one way to distinguish characters, to give them depth.

Another way poetry could help your prose (perhaps the most extreme way) is by shifting to poetry altogether.  The epic poem form of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey seems to be coming back now and gaining acceptance in the form of verse novels, or novels-in-verse, especially for teen fiction.

At the very least, a familiarity with poetry might influence your prose writing by making you more conscious of word choice, brevity, juxtaposition of unlike words, and the sound of words themselves.  You may find it adds flair to your prose.

I confess to being a part-time poet.  My poems are rather private, for family members on holidays, or people retiring at work.  Those poems are not worthy of submission for publication, but perhaps the experience of writing them has improved my prose; I like to think so.

To quote Gilbert & Sullivan, “Although we live by strife, We’re always sorry to begin it.  For what, we ask, is life, without a touch of Poetry in it?  Hail, Poetry!”

From Poetry’s glass you should imbibe; so say I–

            Poseidon’s Scribe

October 9, 2011Permalink

To Retrieve a Lost Muse

I’ve written quite a bit about my muse–that creative alter ego of mine–but I’ve not written much about yours.  You might be protesting, “But, Steve, I don’t have a muse.  I’m not a creative person.”  Well, it’s my contention that we all were born creative and that many of us taught ourselves to be uncreative over time.  However, we can teach ourselves to be creative again, regain the lost skill, and recover the abandoned muse.

Were we really all born creative?  Certainly we were born curious, and curiosity is an essential element of creativity.  When you watch a wide-awake baby who is by herself and not engaged with anybody else, that baby is looking around, curious about her environment.  She will make every effort to interact with it, to learn about it. She’ll reach and touch things, put things in her mouth, etc.  The interesting part is, she’s doing all this with a bold attitude and no fear of failure.  She will try anything.

Somewhere along the growing process, many of us learn to stop behaving that way.  We get burned by the environment too many times, or scolded or teased by others; we become afraid to try new and different things, instead preferring the safety of the commonplace and conventional.

Given such an ingrained lifetime pattern of avoiding creative thought, how can we get back to the bold, fearless approach we once had?  There is one place we can be curious and creative without getting burned by anyone or anything, and that’s our mind.  In the mind’s playground we can try anything, explore anything, see anything from any vantage, and no one will criticize us; nothing will hurt us.

One technique for building creativity makes use of this mental playground.  I learned this from my father many years ago.  He said when you have a problem, and when you have alone-time on your hands, (such as when you’re doing a drudgery task like driving or mowing the lawn or cleaning or doing laundry), you can try this method.  Just think of twenty possible solutions to the problem.  Don’t stop until you get to twenty.  Here’s the fun part–the solutions don’t have to be practical, or possible.  Each solution should be related in some way to the problem, but you are not allowed to self-criticize the solutions or reject them for being impossible or bizarre.  You’re not writing them down; this is all being done in your head.

You might be asking, “What’s the point of coming up with twenty solutions that won’t work?”  The point is that such creative play where there is freedom to imagine without fear will often generate a dumb solution that sparks a subsequent smart one, even an ingenious one.

Another way to build creativity is with the use of mind maps.  I’ll discuss that in a future blog post.

There are many more techniques you can use.  This site explains ways to solve problems by creating “distance” from the problem in either space or time.  This site provides sixteen specific methods, many of which involve shifting mental gears.  A new environment can stimulate a fresh idea.  This site gives you a list of ten creativity-building approaches that are a bit more general.

There’s an obvious parallel here with the problems of losing weight or becoming more fit. The only effective way to do those things is some combination of exercise and better diet.  The only way to regain lost creativity is to exercise it (through some of the techniques) and feed it a better diet (of stimulating environments as mentioned in the rest of the techniques).

Go ahead and try some of these methods. You’re more creative than you realize. That inquisitive child remains inside. Let it roam free in the playground of your mind.  Your long-abandoned muse will return. That’s a solid guarantee, provided by–

                                                                     Poseidon’s Scribe

September 4, 2011Permalink

In the Mood…

…for writing, I mean.  If you’re an author, how do you get in the best possible mood to write?

Face it, not every moment of the actual process of writing involves the seamless flow of ideas from brain down to fingers typing with frenzied speed on a keyboard.  There are moments (minutes, hours?) spent staring out the window, looking at a world that’s become far more interesting than the problem of figuring out what the next word should be.  At those times, you need a way to get unstuck.

To be clear, I’m not talking about the classic “writer’s block” where you can be stuck for long periods of time—months or years—and unable to get any creative ideas.  I’m talking about the lesser nephew of writer’s block—let’s call it writer’s clog—a temporary condition where your muse has already whispered the story’s basic idea and sketched out a rough plot.  She has since flitted off to Tonga, or wherever she flits to, and left you in charge of the actual writing part.  You’ve worked on the story for a few days, but all of a sudden words aren’t flowing.

Yogi Berra said of baseball, “Ninety percent of this game is half mental,” and I calculate that statement is eighty percent more true of writing.  So your writer’s clog problem is most likely a mental one.  Now, how are you going to stimulate your mind so it wants to write again?

The simplest way for me is to recall the thought process that led me to the story.  That usually conjures up pleasant memories of the initial enthusiasms, the high expectations of how good the story could be.  Back at that earlier time, my muse had just whispered the story idea and it sounded great.  At that moment, I knew the world needed to hear that story and I was excited about the notion of bringing it forth.

But let’s say that’s not working for you.  Consider using this interesting property of your mind—it can associate two things together (like putting two documents in the same file) just because they happened at the same time, no matter how unlike they are.  Let’s say the muse conveyed the story idea to you while you were in the shower, or mowing the lawn, or out for a walk.  Strangely, your mind now connects your story with that experience.  You might be able to regain your passion for the story, and relieve the writer’s clog, by recreating the experience.

Another method is to artificially create a mental association that’s easier to replicate later.  During the first day of writing the story, while the fervor is still there, the muse’s ideas fresh in your mind—you can make your own mental linkage by finding a picture that depicts something about your story (a scene or character) and staring at it.  You could burn some incense or put out some potpourri and stimulate a fragrant linkage.  Or you could play a CD where the music suggests something about the story, thus establishing an aural connection.

Now whenever you see that picture, smell that scent, or play that CD, you will think of your story and likely be in the mood to continue writing it.  Think of it as Writer’s Clog-Be-Gone (patent not exactly pending).

Do you think this technique might work for you?  Has it worked?   Let me know by clicking “Leave a comment.”  It’s down there right below where I sign this entry as…

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 10, 2011Permalink

A Little Prompting

Would you like to write a story but don’t have any idea what to write about?  Perhaps you often find yourself having this problem.  Once you’re given some external spark, you can write like crazy; it’s just difficult in the beginning to figure out the idea for the story.

In February I mentioned I don’t usually suffer from this problem.  But there must be many who do, given the number of books and websites devoted to helping people solve it.  If you search for “writing prompts” you’ll see what I mean.

No, I won’t be giving you a list of prompts in this blog post, sorry.  My aims are to (1) give you some sources of prompts and (2) suggest some ways you can become self-prompting.  It’s akin to the “give a man a fish” adage.

When it comes to books, I recommend Story Starters by Dr. Lou Willett Stanek, which I had briefly mentioned in a May 15 blog.  Her book is full of brief suggestions, short little prompts you can use to build a story around.  Many of them can be used as the hook–the opening–for your story, after a little alteration.

One website with plenty of prompts is that of Kelly A. Harmon.  Not all of her posts contain prompts, but they are a frequent feature of her site.  And she’s giving them away for free!  The only price is this—if one of her prompts is just the spark you needed to write a story, then out of courtesy you ought to leave a comment thanking her!

Let’s see, I did promise to help you become self-prompting, didn’t I?  It may not be much help to tell you how I do it, but my method just might work for you.  I assign the entire problem to my muse.  (Yes, I know my “muse” is really just the creative side of me, and therefore I’m assigning the problem to myself.  Just go with me here…)  Prompting is my muse’s strength; writing is mine.  It’s just a matter of workload assignment according to aptitude.  What’s more, as long as that’s all I ask of my muse, so far she’s come through for me every time.

Right, that’s no help to you, I know.  Here’s something that might serve you better.  If you examine the common traits of the writing prompts provided by Dr. Stanek and Kelly Harmon, you’ll see the following:

  • They contain a touch of the ordinary. Something links the prompt to everyday life, or at least something within most people’s experience.  In my February 20 blog, I called this the “seed.”
  • They may contain a twist, something that alters the ordinary and makes it unusual, or even extraordinary.
  • They may be related to something visual, a picture or image.  Vision is our primary sense, and seeing something intriguing can be just the thing to spark a story idea.
  • They suggest a problem for someone, or a conflict that someone must resolve.  The conflict may be against someone else, against something in the environment, or against something inside that person.
  • They may involve, or at least suggest, a strong emotion of some kind.
  • They come from the world around us.   You can be prompted by something you actually experience, or by something you read online or in a magazine or newspaper or see on TV.

Those are the elements of a writing prompt. Now you know how Kelly comes up with hers, and how Dr. Stanek wrote a book full of them.  (Don’t tell them I gave away their secret!)  Now you might be able to come up with prompts all on your own.  You may even find, as I suspect, that the initial spark wasn’t your problem all along.  Your real problem is fleshing it out, actually writing an interesting story.

Ah, that would be a subject for another blog post, perhaps one yet to be written by…

Poseidon’s Scribe

 

July 3, 2011Permalink

Writing in the Flow

You know the feeling.  Maybe you were playing a sport or a musical instrument; maybe you experienced it at work or in church.  I’m talking about that experience of being in the zone, in the moment.  Runners call it the “second wind.”  Everything’s going well and you’re super-productive, almost flawless, and you’ve lost complete track of time.  How cool, how sweet, is that?

When writers experience it, words come out without effort; there’s a lack of awareness of surroundings and the passage of time; and the prose is better. It’s as if writer and muse are one.  If you’re like me and writing is a part-time hobby, then the precious time available for it needs to be maximized somehow.  It’s desirable to spend as much time in the zone as possible.

According to this Wikipedia article, the psychological term is “flow.”  It was coined by Mihály Csíkszentmihályi, and there are ten associated factors (though not all are required):

  1. Clear goals
  2. Concentrating within a limited field of attention
  3. A loss of the feeling of self-consciousness
  4. Distorted sense of time
  5. Direct and immediate feedback
  6. Balance between ability level and challenge
  7. A sense of personal control over the activity
  8. The activity is intrinsically rewarding, so there is an effortlessness of action.
  9. A lack of awareness of bodily needs
  10. Absorption into the activity, narrowing of the focus of awareness down to the activity itself

So how can a writer intentionally bring about this state of mind?  For me, preparation is the key.  I find I can make the flow more likely if (1) I’ve prepared a story outline so I know the general direction I’m heading, and (2) I’ve previously thought about the story during “down time.”  Down time is when I’m doing an activity that doesn’t involve intense concentration, an activity such as commuting to or from work, mowing the lawn, and taking a shower.  It’s during these periods when I think about the scenes, characters, dialogue, and plot.  If I’ve done that, my mind is ready to write when I have time available.  I’m much more likely to get in the flow.

You might be different.  Some writers can induce the flow by playing music, by writing in the same spot and at the same time each day, or even by burning incense or setting out potpourri.

Unfortunately, it’s hit-or-miss getting into the flow, and very easy to get kicked out of it.  One way to get kicked out is to decide, as you’re writing, that you need to do some research.  This is a tempting urge, and can be more enjoyable than writing.  Sadly, it is a huge time sink, and there’s really no need to have it spoil your flow.  In my January 30 blog entry, I suggested something I called “bracket research.”  Just take the question you want to investigate and put it in brackets, or highlight the text yellow, or do something to distinguish it. You can stay in the flow and keep going, then do the research later.

Another dangerous practice that will kick you of the flow is to pause and self-edit too much.  You can do that later.  For now, just let words flow.  I don’t know a really good cure for that, but I suspect participating in NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month, is one way to cure yourself of that urge.

I hope you can experience and maximize the flow in all your favorite activities.  Good luck!  I suppose I should know something about flow; after all, I’m–

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 29, 2011Permalink

Reading Your Way to Better Writing

What book should you read that will make you a published author?  Surely someone has written down all the little secrets in a handy volume, right?  I mean, that’s how I learned to do some household plumbing.

In earlier blog posts I’ve stated that the how-to books about writing do have some value.  You can read them to learn or re-learn a few tidbits, but do not expect that reading a book will make you a great writer.  I’ve stated that I put more stock in critique groups.

Even so, I have read a few books intended to help writers.  The following list of books I’ve read is in no particular order.  I recommend them all, but read them for the occasional “golden nugget,” not because they will make you famous.

  • On Writing by Stephen King
  • How I Write:  Secrets of a Bestselling Author by Janet Evanovich
  • Writing the Novel by Lawrence Block
  • The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (and How to Avoid Them) by Jack M. Bickham
  • Your Mythic Journey:  Finding Meaning in Your Life Through Writing and Storytelling by Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox
  • Manuscript Submission by Scott Edelstein
  • The No-Experience Necessary Writer’s Course by Scott Edelstein
  • Story Starters by Lou Willett Stanek
  • The Elements of Storytelling:  How to Write Compelling Fiction by Peter Rubie
  • Creative Writing: Forms and Techniques by Lavonne Mueller and Jerry D. Reynolds
  • The Craft of Writing Science Fiction That Sells by Ben Bova
  • Cosmic Critiques: How and Why Ten Science Fiction Stories Work by Isaac Asimov and Martin Greenberg

I will single out three more for special mention.  Zen in the Art of Writing:  Releasing the Creative Genius Within You by Ray Bradbury is one I read many years ago, but the essence of it still rings in my mind.  Bradbury conveys the passion for writing, how it grabs you and carries you along on a crazy ride.  You can enjoy your writing pastime, but you can’t control it.  A good book.

Consider reading Hooked:  Grab Readers at Page One by Les Edgerton.  That book will help you begin your stories the right way.  Edgerton’s book is new, with fresh insights about what works in modern stories and what the editors of today are looking for.

 

Lastly, and best of all, you must, must, must have The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White.  That’s the formal book title, but everyone knows it as “Strunk and White.”  First published in 1918, this very short book will remind you to keep your writing succinct and to always make things easy for your reader.  You’ll want to re-read this one every few years.

If you’ve read a book on writing that you recommend, let me know.  For all I know, maybe someone has written a book with no-fail, sure-fire advice for making its readers into great writers.  Such a book, if it exists, has not yet been read by–

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 15, 2011Permalink

Are Outlines…Out of Line?

Do you outline before you write stories?  If you’re not a fiction writer, do you outline in preparation for any substantial non-fiction you write?  I do, but this won’t be an attempt to persuade you to outline, but rather a description of why and how I do it.  Perhaps you’ll benefit from knowing such things.

I’m sure many writers don’t use outlines.  Too much of a bother, they’d say.  Too confining, others believe.  Still others would profess that time spent outlining is time not spent writing.  For some, their outline is in their head, and that’s enough.

More power to them.  I can’t imagine writing without an outline.  For me, it’s not a bother, but rather a way to ensure my story stays on track, stays true to its intended purpose.  I suppose outlines can be confining, but I think if them as flexible guidelines, every bit as subject to editing and rewriting as the story itself.  I rarely adhere entirely to my outline anyway.  It’s true—the process of outlining takes time that could be spent writing.  However, the time I spend outlining is worth far more to me than time wasted writing a story that lacks direction or purposeful flow.  As for keeping an outline in my head, I’m too afraid I’ll forget something important.

How do I outline, you ask?  I always start with a mind map.  If only my teachers had covered mind maps in elementary school!  Instead, I first heard about them in my thirties.  What a marvelous note-taking and brain-storming method!  I recommend reading Use Both Sides of Your Brain, by Tony Buzan, but you can also learn about the technique through internet searches.  I use mind maps initially to form ideas for my story, letting my mind free-stream, and organizing my thoughts on the mind map.  Later I might refine or redraw the mind map as things clarify.

More often I use the mind map to create a document called “Notes for ___” where the blank is either the title of the story, or the initial idea for the story.  This Notes document will eventually contain the research I’ve done, as well as the outline fleshed out from the mind map.

That outline basically consists of: (1) a list of the characters, along with character traits and motivations, (2) a description of the setting, along with any research I’ve done about the setting, (3) some notes about the conflict(s) to be resolved (both external and internal), and (4) the listed series of events making up the plot.

I know—seems like a lot of work, doesn’t it?  But I write short stories, so my lists of characters are short, the settings and conflicts are few, and the plots are not too involved.  As important as outlines are for my short stories, I imagine they’ll be even more necessary when I take the leap into writing novels.  For me, there’s little danger of getting snared in the trap of forever planning the story and never writing it.  Every moment I’m outlining, my bored muse is screaming at me to stop that tedious business and get writing!

As I write the story, I keep the Notes at the ready and refer to them often.  In almost every case, I reach a point where the story wants to deviate from the outline.  This can occur when a minor character starts taking center stage more than intended, or when my outlined plot requires a character to do something he or she just would not do, or many other reasons.  Here I must decide whether to detour from the outline or edit the story to match the existing outline.  Most often I abandon the outline, but I’ve done both.

My process has evolved to this and will likely continue to change.  Perhaps the next time I address outlining in a blog, my method will have altered again.  The process you choose will be different and uniquely you; it may not involve outlines at all.  It’s my hope you enjoy your writing adventure as much as…

Poseidon’s Scribe

April 24, 2011Permalink

It’s Not the Critic Who Counts…

So begins the famous and stirring quote by Theodore Roosevelt, which goes on to praise “the doer of deeds” over the one who “points out where the strong man stumbles.”  I certainly agree with TR when it comes to uninvited criticism, but what about the case when you seek it out?

In a writing critique group, Teddy, everyone intentionally takes turns being the doer of deeds and pointing out where he stumbles.   More than any other method I’ve used to improve my writing, participation in a critique group has been the most effective.  I’ve subscribed to writing magazines, attended writing conferences, read books about writing, and gone to writing classes.  Note that each of those other venues features a writing professional, an expert with some stature as an author.  How is it that a critique group formed spontaneously from a group of rank amateurs, without any money changing hands, can be superior to the other methods?

I don’t know that answer, and it may not be true for you.  Certainly one can have a bad experience with a critique group and get soured on the whole idea.  But if you live in a populated area, or are willing to travel to one, it can be easy to start up another group.  Perhaps that new one will suit you better.

In a later post I’ll discuss various critique group arrangements and rules, but for now I’d like to concentrate on what you bring to it and what you get out of it.  What you bring to it are: (1) your written stories or chapters, (2) an open mind and a thick skin willing to receive well-meaning criticism about your work, and (3) a willingness to provide good critiques of other people’s work.

Notice I didn’t say anything about bringing money.  Most critique groups are free, or nearly so.  I’m amazed at what you can get people to do for free.  Among fellow amateur writers, if you’re willing to critique their work, they’re willing to critique yours.  It’s said you get what you pay for, so maybe each individual critique is not as comprehensive or as accurate as if a professional had done it, but you’ll be getting more than one—generally you’ll get critiqued by every other member of the group.  The combined thoughts of the group (even when some thoughts contradict) will come close to the quality of a professional’s critique.

I’ve listed the things you bring to the group.  What do you get out of it?  (1) Taken in combination, you get well-meaning written reactions from a group of readers to your work.  Some of these criticisms will sting, but remember that these people are criticizing your work, not you.  Their only interest is in helping you get published.  Wouldn’t you rather hear the sad truth from a group of friends than realize it later after enduring many dozens of rejections?  (2) You get the supportive urging of a group to write more.  It’s strange how the looming date of the next critique group meeting can serve as the prompting force making you churn out some text.  (3) You get the benefit of learning from others about the business side of writing.  Depending on the expertise of the group and the time available, talk often turns to experiences they’ve had with agents, editors, submitting stories, their website, the conference or workshop someone just attended, etc.  (4) You get the invigorating and energizing atmosphere of just being among fellow writers, people going through the same private agonies and ecstasies, people who get it.  Most of us don’t enjoy that atmosphere at home, unless you happen to live with a group of writers.  (5) Over time, you’ll find you grow as a writer, and as a critic of other people’s writing.  While editing your own work in preparation for the group meeting, you’ll find yourself making corrections you just know the critique group would have recommended.

When I first joined a critique group, I thought the objective was to wean myself of the need to be in the group.  After all, I imagined, the world’s greatest writers aren’t in critique groups, are they?  Now I’m not so sure.  It’s hard for me to imagine being a writer and not being in a critique group.

One final thought.  There’s an aspect of critique groups that I find intellectually appealing. These groups form spontaneously; they are essentially self-generating.  Order emerges somehow from what were, at one time, several writers working in isolation.  Out of nothing at all comes shared wisdom and shared growth.  That creative magic of critique groups is, to me, akin to the writing process itself.  Maybe, President Roosevelt, it is the critic who counts, too.

Tell me what you think about writing critique groups.  In the meantime, with limitless gratitude to my own group, I remain—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 27, 2011Permalink

Shortcut to Greatness?

When we watch magicians perform, we’re smart enough to know there’s no real magic involved.  We know there’s a perfectly logical trick.  In fact, we’re sure if that magician would only reveal the trick to us, we could do the act too.  Magicians guard each trick with great care so that knowledge of how they do it doesn’t spoil the show.

Think it’s the same with writing?  What if we could beseech a great author to teach us his tricks, reveal the secrets she’s been concealing?  “Make me a best-selling author, too,” we’d say, “I don’t care if it takes all day!”

I’m not a best-selling author (yet), so for all I know they are withholding the secrets from us, hoarding their tricks and special knowledge, unwilling to spill the beans and open themselves up to a little more competition.

If those no-good, stuck-up top shelf authors really are keeping secrets from us, then they’re not only guilty of that, but of lying as well.  Writer after writer has claimed there are no secrets, other than hours and hours of practice.  Writers as diverse as Isaac Asimov, Janet Evanovich, Stephen King, and Tom Clancy all say there are no shortcuts, no simple tricks, and no keyboard sleight-of-hand moves that will make you a great writer.  W. Somerset Maugham said, “there are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”  Apparently the number of rules is three, though, so that’s progress.

In his book Outliers: The Story of Success, Malcolm Gladwell claims the secret to genius-level greatness in any field is a combination of luck and a lot of time spent practicing.  How much time?  Gladwell says around ten thousand hours.  Yes, ten thousand. That’s a lot more than the solid afternoon we were hoping to devote to it.  More like fourteen months, continuously, without sleeping.  If all you can spare is two hours a day for your writing, then you’ll need nearly fourteen years to achieve greatness.

At this point, you may be yearning for some easier path.  What about writing courses, writing conferences, workshops, how-to books, critique groups, and the online versions of these?  I’ll give my perspective, having tried many of them.  I think all of these aids have value, some more than others.  In particular, I believe critique groups have been the most beneficial for me.  However, it’s important to embark on each one with the right attitude, the correct level of expectation.

If you pay for a conference, a how-to book, etc. thinking you’ll emerge out the other end as a pro market author, I suggest you ratchet down your hopes a few settings.  Each of these venues is fine to partake on an occasional basis to learn different viewpoints, refresh knowledge you might have forgotten, etc.  But make you a superstar author?  Doubtful.  Not impossible, just improbable.

There are expenses involved with each of the venues, too.  On the other hand, the long hours of lonely practice are nearly free, except for the amount of time spent.  I urge you not to fall into the trap of thinking that just because the last writing course (or workshop, etc.) you took didn’t result in instant success, surely the next one will.  Now that I think of it, I’ve never heard of a Great Author attributing his or her achievements to a how-to book or a conference, or any of those things.  Many of them do talk about reading a lot, especially reading the classics.  But they all say there is no substitute for writing, writing all the time, writing constantly.

So maybe one day some successful author will take you down a winding staircase into a hidden hideaway, enter the little-known combination into the locks, swing wide the series of creaking vault doors, and open the chest containing the secrets to easy writing greatness.  If you know those secrets, e-mail me here.  Until that day, I suggest practice.  But what do I know?  I’m just…

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 6, 2011Permalink