“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” — Frank Herbert, Dune

That’s easier said than done.  Let’s crack open some of these little-deaths, and see what’s squirming inside.

 

I’m afraid I will fail.

This is the broadest, most insidious fear.  We all face it.  It can debilitate us in nearly any endeavor.

How does one fail as a writer?  I think there are lots of steps along the way.

1. Get an idea for a story, but never start.
2. Start the story, but never finished the first draft.
3. Finish the first draft, but never edit it.
4. Edit it, but never show it to anyone.
5. Show it to people, but never submit it for publication.
6. Receive rejection letters, but never get over them.
7. Get the story published, but no one ever reads it.
8. Finish the first story, and never start the next.

All but one of those points of failure are within the writer’s control.  That’s comforting.

Really, the only way to fail is to give up.  Surrender is far worse than rejection.

 

I’m afraid that I will succeed.

This one might sound a little strange, but I do worry over what can happen if I manage to get a book out and in front of readers.  My life will change.

For starters, I might feel emboldened to quit my day job and focus on writing.  That would make me very happy… unless I turn out to be a one-hit wonder.

What do you do if your dream comes true?  Will I still be motivated?  Will I continue working as hard as I’m working now?  What if I discover that I’m miserable writing full time?

It’s basic, raw, uncertainty.  I’ve faced this tentacled monster before at different stages in my life.  The good news, at least for me, is that this kind of worry doesn’t impede me anymore.  If I succeed, but the success is short lived?  Then I’ll enjoy what I can, and move on to the next thing.

Success is often whatever you define it to be.  So define it as a nice place to be, then go live there.

 

I’m afraid that I’m not a real writer.

I’ve talked about this kind of fear before, and I’ve pointed at a quote from Neil Gaimon to support it.

It’s not just a lack of confidence.  Confidence can play a part, but there’s more.  Perhaps if I define what a “real writer,” it will make more sense.

A real writer…

• Knows what they’re doing.
• Is good at managing their time.
• Writes every day, or almost every day.
• Has discipline.
• Knows people that can help them with the business of writing.

Looking at my description of what a real writer is, I’m just seeing a list of things I wish I was better at.  I didn’t make any mention of having talent with words.  I’ve got that.  I didn’t mention how a real writer is passionate about writing stories.  I’m passionate.

We all can do better.  We all have some ideal that we try to measure ourselves against.

Having listed out what I think a real writer is, I know what I need to do.  I’m going to work on one of those attributes each day, and see where that leads me.  And, if I’m still afraid I’m not a “real writer,” well… I’ll take some comfort knowing that I’m not the only one that suffers from this fear.

Before I get too far into this post, let me just say that I don’t know all that much about developing a platform.  I’m not at a point in my writing career where that’s even something I need to worry about.  What I have to say on this subject does not come from a place of authority or experience, but from an individual that is looking to the future.  These are my thoughts and fears.

In other words, if you’re looking for guidance on how to develop a platform, you’ve come to the wrong place.

So.  Your platform.  Huh.  Where to begin?

Let’s start with a comic, courtesy of writerunboxed.com.

So how does one avoid becoming that guy on the right, with the fancy platform but no substance?

As far as I can tell, you just do the obvious thing: write more.  Focus on making the highest quality product you can.

Are you using your time wisely?  Cultivating a following on twitter is time consuming.  Would you be better off working on another revision of your manuscript, or posting to social media?

That’s the cautionary tale side of platform development, but it’s also a bit naive.  Unlike the comic above, a healthy story isn’t as obvious as a healthy sheep.  People will look for other indicators to judge the quality of your work before actually sampling it.

That means having a good cover.  It can also mean being active in social media, and having an online presence.  Some people do internet searches before trying an unfamiliar author.

Word of mouth will always be superior, but what do you do when you’re just starting, and you don’t have people out there to talk about your work yet?

How much begging and pleading do you do with your friends and acquaintances on Facebook and Twitter?  When do you cross the line between a reasonable solicitor, and an annoying advertiser?

I don’t have these answers.  It’s something to consider, but not something to worry about.

A writer’s platform is more than just the selling of books.  A writer’s platform is about reader’s expectations.  When a writer starts to gain some readers, those expectations become more rigid.

For example, George R. R. Martin is well known for his Game of Thrones books.  He’s also known for his Wildcards stories, but let’s set those aside for the moment.  If you walk up to someone on the street and mention George’s name, chances are high that they’re going to think of Game of Thrones.

What limitations does that put on him?  For starters, if he decides to start a different fantasy series, fans of his work are going to get upset.  He’s already criticized for not delivering stories fast enough.  People look at his age and his weight, and they prognosticate on whether or not he’ll live long enough to finish the series.  Game of Thrones is his platform, and he’s locked in.

Brandon Sanderson and Jim Butcher have multiple series under their belts that they actively write, but they are both working in science fiction and fantasy.  They’re both writing in speculative fiction.  What would happen if one of them tried to put out a romance novel?  Would either one of them get away with that?

Once a writer begins to grow their platform, it takes on weight.  It develops inertia and gravity, and it becomes a defining portion of the writer’s career.

 

But again, all of that is well beyond what I need to worry about at this point.  The only thing I need to worry about is finishing my edits.  Then I need to put my story in front of the right people.  Platform?  That’s the least of my problems.

Every writer is different.  Each one has different methodologies.  Each one is more comfortable with different writing implements.  Some can listen to music.  Some need silence.  Every writer needs some place where they feel comfortable listening to their muse.  Every writer needs a space where they can do their craft.

When I first started writing, it was wherever my Apple computer was.  This was the family room for a while, but it wasn’t long before it was simply in my bedroom.

If you’ve read my post on the tools I use, then you might guess that my writing place is wherever I can sit comfortably with my Surface.  Sometimes this is my garage, but often it is a Starbuck’s not too far from my house.  I go there every Wednesday evening.  Sometimes, I’ll go and spend an entire Sunday there, and knock out an entire first draft of a short story.

For a place to be a good writing spot for me, it must have some key qualities.

 

It must be a place with minimal interruptions.

The Starbucks is surprisingly good for this.  When a person sits down with their laptop in a public place, there’s a social force field that seems envelope them.  Sometimes it’s more like an invisibility cloak.  Every once in a while, someone might ask me a question, but it’s pretty rare.

Most of the time, my computer out in the garage is a good place to get away, but it depends entirely on what the rest of my family is doing.  I’m more likely to get asked to do some chores at home than I am if I’m out in public.

My work place is an example of a place that is not a good writing space.  I’ve tried to spend my lunch hour or breaks working on fiction, but it just doesn’t work.  There is always something that demands my attention at work.

 

It must be a place with limited audio distractions.

I cannot write fiction while listening to music.  I know that some people find inspiration in music when they write, but those people are not me.

I’ve tried going to different Starbucks locations, and some work better than others because of the music that they play.  There are a few I’ve been to where the music seemed intentionally loud, in order to drive out people like me.

Etiquette note: I don’t drink coffee anymore, or buy any of the drinks at Starbucks.  However, I always buy something.  On Wednesday evenings, I always get a panini sandwich for dinner, and sometimes I get a brownie or something for desert.  I think it’s important to be a courteous patron, and not a cheap loiterer.

I like the background noise in public places, because it becomes white noise.  In my garage at home, the washing machine and dryer can also be non-distracting background noises.

 

I need at least an hour in order to get anything substantial done.

I talked to Glen Cook once about how he writes, and he talked about how he used to work an industrial job, and would jot down bits of his stories in the 90 second windows between duties.  I am not Glen Cook.  It usually takes me a little while to get going.

If I go to a public place to write, it must be somewhere that I can sit in the same place for at least an hour.  If I have to change tables much or move around, it’s not a good spot.  I might get some work done, but I probably won’t be happy with it.

 

Here are some places I’ve tried to write, but failed.

 

In Bed

The problem with writing in bed is that it just isn’t very comfortable.  If I somehow manage to get the keyboard into a place that I can type comfortably, I wind up with a stiff neck or sore back.  If Melissa is in bed with me, it really doesn’t work.  No matter how she tries to accommodate me, I invariably get bumped or moved around.  On top of that, I feel guilty for trying to do a singular activity next to her.  Writing in bed does not work for me.

 

In a car, with someone else driving

I can be on a laptop in a car, but I can’t write.  There are too many distractions.  Also, I hate to block out the people I’m traveling with in order to focus on my story.

I can program while being driven around, because I can take frequent breaks while I’m programming.  I can also converse to a limited degree, even when I’m neck deep in code.  But I cannot write fiction in a car.

 

On a plane

I’ve tried a few times, but it just doesn’t work out.  For one thing, I’m a nervous flier.  I can (usually) read a book during a flight, but I can’t get into my own story while up in the air.

A few times, I’ve taken notes and done some plotting while flying.  That’s useful.  But I cannot write while flying.

I could probably write on a train.

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”

– Stephen King

 

As I described in my post yesterday, I don’t have a lot of time.  I have to manage my time carefully.

Something else talked about yesterday is that writing is extremely important to me.  It’s one of the “large rocks” I put into my time bucket first.

But what about reading?

Truth be told, I don’t have much time to actually read.  The last book I actually read was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.  It’s a great book, and I’m glad to have read it.  Unfortunately, it took me about 8 months, and it is not a long book.

I believe wholeheartedly that a good writer reads a lot.  And I want to be a good writer.

The solution, at least for me, has been audio books.

I talked about two ideas in yesterday’s post regarding time management.  Prioritize (put the big rocks in first) and Organize (combine activities when you can).

Audio books fit into the Organization part of my time management.  I can listen to a book while doing something else.  Most often, this is during my commute to work.

I started listening to books last year, and it’s had a huge improvement on my writing.  I’m consuming more books than I used to, even when it’s only two hours a day.

I recommend a subscription with Audible.  It costs about what I used to spend on World of Warcraft.  With the subscription, I get a free book every month.  If I need a second or third book in any given month, the subscription provides a good discount.

There some downsides to audio books.  The big one is that a bad reader can be a huge distraction.  As much as I love the Dresden Files, I had a hard time listening to Ghost Story because of the reader.  He wasn’t necessarily bad, but he didn’t breathe the life into it that James Marsters did with the other books in that series.  Then there was Ender’s Game.  Most of it was fine, but the woman providing the voice for Valentine needed to drink a red bull or something.  I’m currently listening to Words of Radiance by Brandon Sanderson, and again, the woman reading the female voices isn’t quite right.  She reads mechanically, so it sometimes sounds like Siri telling me a story.

Audio books have been a fantastic way for me to consume books.  Try it if you haven’t already.

From Star Trek: The Next Generation, episode titled “The Outrageous Okona”

“Life is like loading twice your cargo weight on to your spacecraft. If it’s canaries and you can keep half of them flying all the time, you’re all right.”

 

Another thought…

 

However you want to look at it, there are only so many useful hours in a day.  How do you use them?

 

I started this with a Star Trek quote.  The way it applies to time management is: Pack your activities into the day so that they all fit.

The “put the large rocks in first” idea is: The minutia fill take up all of the space, if you allow it.  Prioritize, and do what is most important, first.

 

If I were to list my “rocks,” they would include:

• My family
• My job
• Writing
• Playing my saxophone
• Personal programming projects
• Hanging out with friends
• Playing games

There’s a bunch of other things I could list, but that’s probably enough for now.

Some items take up set blocks of time that I can’t easily change.  My job occupies the same hours every week day.  Sometimes, it takes up more time than I’d like it to.  Without the job, I’d have a very difficult time supporting my family.  I wouldn’t be able to afford some of the other things on my list, so it gets the lion’s share of my time.

Playing my sax also has a fixed block of time.  I play with the River City Concert Band every Monday evening, and whenever we have concerts.  If I want to keep the music in my life, then I have to give it the time it demands.

Before I’ve really done much prioritizing, some of the “rocks” have already gone into the cup, and there’s not much I can do about it.  What about the others?

This is where the Star Trek quote applies.  Some of those items, I put together, so that they fit into the same time space.  For example, my daughter played clarinet in the same band.  We’d get to spend some time together every Monday.

Another example… my wife has started coming with me to more of my writing events.  She went with me to Westercon and Convolution.  It might not have been the most glamorous vacation, but it was time we got to spend together, while at the same time, allowing me to pursue my dream.

Ultimately, I have too many activities, and not enough time.  There’s a web service I’ve been wanting to write for years, for recording and reporting gas mileage.  There are friends that I haven’t spoken to regularly for years.  There are gaming communities I’ve had to leave, and games that I’ve purchased but never played.  My family, my job, and my writing have the highest priority, and often, they’re enough that I just can’t do much else.

Time management is all about setting priorities.  It’s also about finding a routine, and sticking to it.  It’s also about making some hard choices, and knowing what parts of your life you may need to sacrifice.

I’ve had one or two opportunities to be on a panel at conventions, and I’ve turned them down.  After my post yesterday, where I talked at length about what I’d like to see on a world building panel, this might seem to be a contradiction.

I’m intelligent, and I think I compose myself fairly well.  I enjoy talking and sharing what I’ve learned.  On some subjects, I have quite a bit to contribute to a panel.

The problem is that I haven’t earned it yet.

For those of you that don’t attend conventions or panels, this probably doesn’t mean much to you.  You might even be wondering why I’ve now dedicated two posts in a row to this thing.  Let me break it down a little bit, because underneath it all is something that everyone can relate to.

When I went to Renovention, my first WorldCon, it woke something in me that I thought had died.  It was my dream of being a successful writer.  I was overwhelmed by a feeling of belonging.  I connected with a community filled with people that I could relate to, that understood me.  It was an experience that inspired me and changed my life.

Since then, I’ve attended two other conventions, and several smaller ones.  I’ve started taking my wife with me to them, and she’s seen me in my element.  And at all of them, I’ve attended panels, taking notes and trying to learn all that I can.

The people that get to be on these panels are, at least for a moment, set apart from the rest.  They’re given a name.  They’re given a responsibility to share what they’ve learned.  They’re given the spotlight, and a chance for people to listen to them.

I want to share what I’ve learned.  I want people to listen.

But who am I?  I’m smart, and I’ve got some talent, but that’s most of us.  Why should my name be on a card, and why should anyone listen to what I have to say?

The truth is, I’m blowing this up into a much bigger deal than it is.  Most of the panels I’ve attended, I’d never heard of the people on the panel.  They’re just folks like you or me.  Maybe they’ve had a little bit more success in the industry, but not always.

And of course, I’ve attended some panels where some of the people didn’t seem like they should have been panelists in the first place.

I don’t want to be one of those people.

I want to earn my name on a folded bit of cardboard.  If I’m ever on a panel, and someone were to ask, “Who are you?” I want to be able to answer, “I’m Brian C. E. Buhl.  I wrote The Repossessed Ghost.” It doesn’t matter if they’ve read it or not.  It only matters that I wrote it, and put it out there.

It is another stick to throw on my motivational fire. Until I’ve put something out there, I’m not going to be on any panels.  No matter how much I might want to.

I like world building panels.  They’re like short classes, where a small group of experts talk about world building in an effort to educate and enlighten the people attending.  These are different than discussions, which I also think are wonderful.  In fact, Juliette Wade runs a great discussion every Thursday on Google+.

Panels are different than discussions.  Sometimes they focus on a subset of world building, such as magic systems, or spirituality in a fantasy setting, or politics in SciFi.  There is often a question/answer period at the end, but for the most part, there is limited interaction between the experts and the people in the crowd.  The experts bring with them examples and counter-examples, drawing deeply from their own experiences.

I love attending these panels.  I drink it all in.  Sometimes I ask questions at the end, but I’m usually content just to hear what other people think about world building.

The topic is so broad, that the problem with this panels isn’t what they say.  It’s what they don’t say, usually because they don’t have time.

Here are some thoughts I would love to see articulated on a world building panels.

 

1. The world you’re building is a stage.  Treat it accordingly.

This point can best be demonstrated just by comparing the original Star Wars trilogy to the prequels.  When I think about the original trilogy, I think about the characters.  I think about Han and Luke and Vader, and I think about their many, quotable lines.

When I think of the prequels, I think of the special effects and the visuals.  For its time, the original trilogy was a visual masterpiece, but those movies didn’t upstage the actors the way the prequels did.  The world in the original trilogy was functional and solid.  It supported the actors.  It didn’t distract from them, the way the prequels did.

The advice, then, is to build your world to support your story.

 

2. Build what you need, and just a tiny bit more.  Don’t overbuild.

A rich, fictional world is chock full of details that bring it to life.  These details include geography, currency, history, culture, technology… the list goes on and on.  Build in all of these areas that you want.  Just don’t go too crazy.

Let’s say you draw a map.  You add roads, rivers, cities, towns, and mountains.  You might feel inclined to cover thousands of miles with these details, spanning oceans and raising continents.  However, if the entirety of your story takes place in a 20 square mile area, you’ve probably spent a bunch of time and effort on places no one will ever see, instead of increasing the detail and richness of the world the reader does see.  Go ahead and shape the whole world.  Just use broad strokes when describing the parts of the world that aren’t in the story.

Another way of saying this: Make the visible world vivid, rather than the invisible world detailed.

 

3. Consider the tone of your story when you’re detailing your world.

Is your world mystical?  Is it mechanical?  Do you want the magic to feel poetic, or do you want it to feel like another branch of science?

There are no right or wrong answers to those questions, but answering those questions helps with consistency and tone.

Consider the Star Wars movies again.  In the original trilogy, the Force was mystical.  When Obiwan tried to describe it to Luke, the words he used gave it a spiritual quality.  There were no units of measure to describe the Force.  It was magic in a universe filled with rocket ships and laser swords.

Now look at the prequels.  They tried to quantify it, taking blood samples and using scientific measurements so as to compare the strength of one Force infected individual to another.  By trying to quantify the Force, the Force was diminished.  It was no longer the backbone of Vader’s “ancient religion.” It was a bi-product of microscopic organisms.  The Force was turned into midichlorian poop.

I heard Patrick Rothfuss talk about this idea at a panel, once.  He suggested that you should determine in advance what you want your magic system to feel like.  Is it like the magic that Gandalf does?  Or it is more like the magic system in the Mistborn series?  Do you want the reader to believe that magic works, because a trusted character says it does, or do you want the reader to believe it works because you’ve shown how it works, as Brandon Sanderson does?

 

4. Remember that world building can be as distracting as videos of kittens.

World building can be time consuming.  The details of your story are going to bring it to life and make it vivid in your readers’ minds, but the devil is in the details, and she will distract you.

It’s cool to come up with a unique currency for your world.  But if you spend a week designing each one, with intricate, detailed drawings of each denomination, and spreadsheets describing exchange rates and historical values… well, that all sounds cool, but if it’s not what your story is about, then all you’ve really done is give in to distraction.  Maybe you can change your main character into a coin collector?  Which brings us to…

 

5. If you overbuild, you may be tempted to dilute your story with the details.

Have you ever read a story where it was obvious that the writer had done their research, and they wanted you to know it?  This point is along those lines.

If you write 200 years of history for your world, you’re probably going to be tempted to display your work, somehow.  And if your story is following a kid fresh off the farm, thrust into his first adventure, that rich history might not have a place on the page.

Don’t get me wrong.  Figuring out how the world is put together can help make it stronger and more consistent.  But it’s not enough to build the world.  You have to describe it.

 

The difference between a detailed world and an interesting world is all in the eyes of the characters.  It is your characters’ perceptions, and more importantly, their reactions, that will deliver your world into the reader’s mind.

I used to think that one of the biggest differences between writers and other artists was that other artists practiced.  For example, a graphic artist has a sketchpad, full of doodles and experiments that were never intended to be standalone pieces.  Musicians practice, running through scales or playing music that is never intended to be part of a recording or performance.

I thought writers were different.  I argued that when a writer sits down to craft a story, they’re investing more time and effort than the musician or graphic artist.  I thought that repetition helped other artists, but not the writer.  I now no longer think this is true.

There are exercises a writer can do.  This evening, I’ll be meeting up with a small group and I’ll be doing some writing exercises.  I’ve met with them a few times, and it’s been a good experience.

Here are some examples of the kinds of exercises we’ve been doing, and the results:

 

Poem Prompt: An Old House

I don’t remember what the exact prompt was.  A poem was read to us, and we had 5 minutes to write whatever came to mind.  The poem was about a house.  It might have been a haunted house.  Here is what I wrote:

The wind parted the faded curtains of the empty window frame as the young woman walked into the yard. Her feet crunched on the gravel walkway. Dry weeds reached up from the stony ground around her, brushing the hem of her skirt. Dark clouds hid from her the stars and dimmed the silvery light of the moon. She shivered as she moved, but not because she was cold.

The porch creaked under her sandaled foot as she made her way to the door. So close to the house, she could see bleached wood in patches where the paint had faded and flecked away from the building’s exterior. She clutched her bag.

We read to each other what we’d written.  We didn’t focus on sentence structure or plot.  The exercise was all about capturing a mood, and conveying that as quickly as possible.

 

A Figurine: A Girl on a Swan

With this prompt, the group’s organizer had brought with her a bag full of random objects.  We reached into the bag and pulled an object.  We then had about 5 minutes to write whatever came to mind.  The object I pulled was a porcelain figurine.  It featured a thin, dainty fairy, lounging on the back of a large, white swan.  Seeing the swan, I immediately thought of The Ugly Duckling.  Here is what I wrote:

The giant swan glided across the cool blue water beneath the starry sky. On the great bird’s back sat the frail form of a girl, her legs pulled up beneath her. She was one of the winged people, and her white and pink wings stretched out behind her, drinking in the quiet moonlight.

“It’s hopeless,” the girl said, stroking the swan’s neck with a gentle hand.

The bird continued to move across the lake, its legs pumping unseen beneath the dark water. It swam, straight and true, until the water was broken, and a mer-lass rose up from the depths.

“What’s hopeless?” the mer-lass asked.

A tear rolled down the winged girl’s cheek. She turned her face away, her cheeks crimson.

“Please,” the mer-lass said, reaching up with one hand. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you so said?”

“I’m ugly,” the winged girl said, and her shoulders shook with a sob. After a moment, she said, “My wings are all wrong, and my face is too straight and smooth. I’m the ugliest bat girl there ever was, as ugly as this mutant duck.”

I had a lot of fun with this one.  The joke was in my mind as soon as I held the figurine, and I was able to type quite a bit in the short time we had.

 

Image: A Woman in Orange

We were shown an image of a woman leaning out the window of a log cabin.  Her short hair and the bright color of her blouse gave me the impression of the 70’s.  I focused on her stance and the color of her shirt.  Again, we had 5 minutes.

The sounds of the forest surrounded the isolated cabin. Birds chirped, and insects buzzed. A brave squirrel scampered up a tree, its tiny claws making scratching noises against the hard bark. Nature’s pulse beat all around the cabin, but the inhabitants heard nothing.

A woman in orange peered through the pane-less window.

“Damn, Sally! Get back! You want us to get caught?”

The woman backed away from the window at the sound of the man’s voice. She smirked at her companion, also dressed head to toe in orange.

“No one’s coming, Gary,” Sally said, walking towards him.

“For now,” Gary said. “But it won’t be long before the cops are onto us. We need to ditch these jumpsuits and get into some real clothes.”

There hadn’t really been anything to indicate that the woman was an escaped convict.  It just seemed like a fun detail to make up on my own and include.

 

Music: I Will Survive

The organizer popped in a CD and played I Will Survive.  This wasn’t Gloria Gaynor’s version.  This sounded more like jazz than disco, to me.  I focused on the feel of it, rather than the words.

I ducked into the dive, the rainwater pouring off my jacket and off the rim of my Fedora. A man in a bow tie, with too many white teeth and greedy palms tried to take my coat, but I chased him off with a hard look. I was here for business. The kind of business that if it went sour, I’d need to leave in a hurry. I’d keep my hat and coat.

Hank was at the bar, as always. He lifted his chin towards me, and I gave him the nod. Without exchanging words, he drew a glass and drew the arm on the draft. I was there for business, but there was always time for a cold one.

The curtains on the stage parted. The people in the bar shuffled. A spotlight snapped on with a thunk. The bright lights illuminated…

I didn’t have time to get to what I was imagining.  I managed to catch the feel, though.  I wanted a gritty noir setting.  The spotlight was going to illuminate a woman in a sparkling dress, that would then melt the place with her voice.

 

All of these prompts were based on different stimulus.  We had some others where we were to describe a hero, a heroine, and a villain.  All of these prompts had a tight time frame, and none of them had any of the pressures that come with trying to write a “serious” work.

These are sketches.  They’re practice.  And they’re every bit as useful as the doodle’s in a graphic artist’s sketchpad.

George R. R. Martin writes on a computer disconnected from the internet, using the ancient word processor, WordStar 4.0.  Ray Bradbury wrote most of Fahrenheit 451 on a typewriter which required a dime for every half hour of use.  Kevin J. Anderson dictates, recording his words while hiking.  Some of my writer friends prefer a trusty pen and a pad of paper.  Different people use different tools in order to pry the words out of their heads.

I’ve tried a number of different tools, both hardware and software.

 

Low Tech – Pencil and Paper

It’s been a long time, but I used to enjoy writing with just a pad of paper and some good, soft-leaded pencils.  I preferred the paper to be thin lined, and the pencil to have a hard wood and dark, easy lead.  I remember writing a short story about a second arc, where animals were launched into space to find a new home.  It wasn’t a particularly great story, but it was some of my earliest attempts at writing fiction.

I have two problems with pencil and paper.  The first is that it’s too easy to lose.  The story I just mentioned is gone forever.  Maybe if I was a little bit more organized, I could have kept it.

The second problem is that my wrists aren’t as good as they used to be.  If I write more than a page or two, I experience some fairly intense pain in my wrists and my hand.  Maybe over time, I could work up the stamina to write without pain.  I’m not sure there’s much value in it, though.

 

Old Tech – Appleworks on Apple IIgs

I wrote a few hundred thousand words on the old Apple.  My first novel was written with this setup, as was its lost sequel.

My Apple IIgs still works, and believe it or not, most of the disks I have for it are still readable.  This summer, I started transposing some of the old stories onto other media, since that old computer isn’t going to last forever.

Writing on the old Apple still has a certain charm.  The keyboard is mechanical, and the tactile and audible feedback is very satisfying.  Modern gaming keyboards are similar in their touch and sound.  When I’m in the zone, the click-clack of the keyboard is very soothing, and helps keep me going.

I could write with this tool, and feel like George Martin, using the older technology.  It would free me from internet-based distractions.  There are a couple of problems, however.  The first is that the Apple probably won’t last that long, and anything new I create there runs the risk of being lost.  At least with physical paper, you can lose a page or two and still recover.  With the old floppies, all it takes is a magnetic bit to fade, and everything is gone.

There is also the problem of sharing the stories.  Just as I’m doing with the old stories, I’d need to transpose everything.  I’m not sure I could afford to replace the paper or ribbon for the old dot matrix printer that goes with the Apple, so I couldn’t print and hand off the task to someone else.  I’d need to sit with the old hardware and the new, and just hope.

 

Previous Tech – Gateway Laptop, with Microsoft Word and OneNote

Now we’re getting closer to the tools I use now.  In 2007, I picked up a Gateway laptop that converted to a tablet.  It had a stylus, and really impressive hand recognition.  I would take notes in OneNote, writing out my various story notes.  Then I’d use a manuscript template in Word, and write my stories there.

This was a really great setup.  It gave me mobility, so I didn’t have to be hunched over in my garage on my PC.  The laptop was fast enough, and it worked.

With my stories in the PC world, I’m able to backup everything to different places.  I was no longer afraid of losing my work.

I would still be using that laptop, if it wasn’t so old.  Seven years is an epoch when it comes to PCs.  Like the Apple, I was getting worried that it just wasn’t going to last much longer.  I wasn’t afraid of losing my stories as much as I was afraid of being without a good tool to write with.

 

Current Tech – Microsoft Surface Pro 2, with Scrivener

The old Gateway was great, but it was a bit heavy and bulky.  When the Surface was first introduced, I was intrigued by the form factor, but turned off by the price, and by the fact that you needed to go with the Pro version in order to use a proper stylus.  The first generation seemed interesting, but not quite worth it.

The second generation hooked me.  I got to look at one first hand, and it could do everything my Gateway could, but was a fraction of the size.  It’s still a little bulky compared to other tablets on the market, but it was perfect for me.

Shortly after my wife got me the Surface Pro 2 for Christmas/birthday, I picked up Scrivener.  I still take some notes in OneNote, but Scrivener is a fantastic all-in-one tool for keeping notes and tabs on different parts of your story.  It also allows exporting in different formats.  There are more features in Scrivener than I actually use, but the ones I do use are very handy.

I use Dropbox for automatic cloud backup, by the way.  I was using SkyDrive/OneDrive, but there was some conflict with OneDrive and Scrivener that made me nervous.  Dropbox works just fine.

 

Who knows what I’ll use a few years from now?  Maybe I’ll try dictation, though I doubt it.  It doesn’t sound like it would be a good fit for the way I write.  I still like the clickety-clack of the keyboard.  Sometimes, I hook up a Razor Blackwidow gaming keyboard, just to get that feedback as I’m writing.  As picturesque as Kevin J. Anderson’s hikes might be, I’m not sure I’d be able to enjoy them when I’m writing.

Some people prefer to plan out every detail before sitting down to write their story.  They flowchart.  Sometimes, after they’ve charted out the big stuff, the zoom in and chart at a lower level.  Some keep iterating, planning out finer and finer details.  Once they’re ready to write the story, they no longer worry about what they’re doing.  They get to focus on the sentence structure and the prose without having to worry about where the story is going.  These people are the Planners.

Some people want to be surprised when they write.  For them, they receive the same thrill of discovery as the reader.  The words are there, just ahead of their cursor or pen.  They write “by the seat of their pants,” and so these are the Pantsers.

I’m sure I’ve talked about this subject before, but with November creeping closer, it’s weighing on my mind.  Am I a Pantser, or am I a Planner?  How much do I prepare for my new novel, and how much do I leave undiscovered?

I know that I used to be a Pantser.  I remember what it felt like when I wrote my first story, 25 years ago.  It felt like magic.  I felt like I had a super power that let me look at a screen and cause words to appear by my will.  I guess I still feel that way, sometimes.

When I’m programming, I create flowcharts all the time.  I plan my logic out.  I scribble on notepads and whiteboards, and I write pseudo-code.

It’s different when I’m writing fiction.  There have been several stories that I’ve tried deeply plan out in advance.  I broke the story into acts, then broke each act into chapters, then broke each chapter into scenes.  I wrote up character sheets.  I planned it out so that there’d be no surprises.

I wasn’t able to write that story.  There wasn’t enough joy left in it.  Since I already knew what was going to happen all along the way, the story was spoiled.

Last year, I discovered that I can’t simply wing it anymore, either.  When I didn’t have a plan, my writing slowed down, and the story wandered aimlessly.  It wasn’t my best work.  I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going, and that uncertainty came across in the story.

Pantser or Planner… I’m somewhere in between.

I’ve talked to writers about this subject before, and it always fascinates me.  The hard-line Planners I’ve talked to are organized, and talk with disdain about people that don’t plan things out in advance.  If I were to assign some sort of virtue to the Planners, it would be discipline.  Planners seem to be a little bit more disciplined than Pantsers.  I like discipline, so I want to be a Planner.

The hard-line Pantsers I’ve talked to are more likely to talk about their characters taking over and going places they didn’t expect.  The writing experience they describe resonates with me, in terms of the kind of joy and fun they have.  If I were to assign a virtue to Pantsers, it would be spontaneity.  I like spontaneity, so I want to be a Pantser.

I need to be a little bit of both.  Writers I’ve talked to sometimes use words like “where you are in your writing,” referring to where I am in my development as a writer.  In some ways, I’m advanced.  In other ways, like this particular topic, I’m still finding my way.  It feels like something I’ll always tinker with.

As I said yesterday when I talked about dressing up to write, different things work for different writers.  I need to do some planning, but I must avoid being too detailed with those plans.  I need to make sure that there are places where I can be surprised.