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.

What I’m about to talk about will not work for everyone.  Indeed, some people will actually be hindered by what I’m about to describe, because every writer is different, and the boon of one might be the bane of another.  That being said, this might work for you, so don’t knock it until you try it.

This is along the idea of “fake it until you make it.” Some people have the ability to fake a smile even though they’re not feeling particularly happy, and eventually, they become happy.  It’s like that.

When getting ready to write, dress up like you’re going to work.

Again, this isn’t going to work for everyone, and depending on your profession, you might have to tailor this advice to something else.  If you’re a fireman, for example, it might be a little bit too uncomfortable trying to write while wearing bulky protection.

This works for me, though.  As a programmer, I can pretty much wear whatever I want, but I choose to put on slacks and a button up shirt when I go in to the office, and that increases my productivity.  By putting on clothing which I associate with productivity and professionalism, I become more productive, and more professional.

So it is with my writing.  If I want writing to be my job, then I need to approach it with the same respect that I give my full time job.  When I do, it helps my self-image.  I stop feeling as much like a hobbyist with confidence issues, and I become the author I want to be.

I know that part of the reason it works for me is related to my time in the Air Force.  Putting on a uniform meant something to me, and I still have a great deal of respect for the uniform, and for those that are willing to put one on every day.

Self-image is important when it comes to writing.  Some of us have enough problems hushing the inner editor and chasing off demons of fear and doubt.  When I dress up to go to Starbucks, I put on armor that helps deflect some of those self inflicted barbs.

Some people are going to work better in a bathrobe, and if that’s what works for you, then keep doing what you’re doing.  But if you’re like me, and you sometimes have trouble being productive, this could be just the thing to try.  I’ve settled on business casual so far, but I might bust out the suit some time and see how that feels.  It might be just the thing.

I haven’t read a lot of other author’s beginning drafts.  I’ve read many, but not on the scale of a slush reader or editor.  Even so, I’ve looked at early drafts and thought smugly, “My early drafts are cleaner than this.”

When you’ve got a bit of Impostor Syndrome going on, you take pride in what you can, sometimes.

I write cleanish early drafts.  But they’re far from perfect, and for good reason: every writer needs an editor.

 

We get too close to our own work

After pouring so much time and energy into a story, we become numb to the details.  Even if we put it away for a long while (which we should all do!), when we come back, we can still be blind to places where the story just doesn’t work.  If you want to know if you evoke specific images or emotions, you need to put the work in front of other people and harvest their reactions.

Note: If they do not see your genius, do not try to convince them of it verbally, or outside your story.  You don’t have to agree with everything they say, but you should respectfully acknowledge their views, and use the opportunities they give you to make your work better.

 

Just as we have darlings that need killing, we all have a set of mistakes we frequently make

Every writer is unique.  We all have different backgrounds that we draw on, and different writing styles.  Some people are plotters, some are pantsers, and some of us are somewhere in between.  And, we all have certain mistakes that we make without noticing.

My common mistakes include: frequent use of passive voice, qualifying words, using longer sentences than I should, and mixing up narrator and character voices.  Some stories, I make more of these mistakes than others.  I’m getting better at catching some of these problem areas, but I still make these mistakes frequently.  Often, I don’t see the mistakes when I go to edit my own work.

 

What makes sense in our head doesn’t always translate to the page

We imagine our plots, settings, and characters for months or years.  We work it out in our head, and we bend over our keyboards or notebooks, trying to translate the crystal clear images in our mind onto the page.  It’s a daunting task, and just talking about it now makes me wonder how I’m able to do it at all.  It’s like we’re setting out to do slow, clumsy telepathy.

The translation isn’t always perfect, and just as we can’t hear our own accent, we don’t always see where the image hasn’t coalesced on the page correctly.  It takes another set of eyes to see the missing pieces.

 

I stated that we all need an editor, but this doesn’t have to be a single individual.  It could be a writer’s group, or several writer’s groups.  It could be a collection of skilled beta readers.

If your lovely wife is reading your work, she can be an amazing asset.  Just remember that people that are close to you might try and spare your feelings.  Or, if you’ve talked to them about your work a bit, they might be too close to your work as you are.  They may even become numb to your particular set of flaws.

Edit: Below is not what I originally posted.  I wanted to try and talk about assumptions, public persona, and knowing your audience.  To do that, I wanted to feature Juliette Wade, someone I admire and respect, and use her as an example of how her public persona influenced some of my assumptions.

Unfortunately, it was brought to my attention that it didn’t come across that way.  Someone suggested that I remove the post entirely, and stated that it looked like I was reacting badly to a critique from Juliette.

The truth is, she gave me a good critique, and my original post wasn’t about what she said as much as it was about me making assumptions on her tastes, based on her public persona.

So let me edit this down, and try to salvage this.

If you’re reading this, you should check out Juliette Wade‘s blog.  Actually, that site doesn’t look like it is updated as often as this one.

Juliette is a cool individual.  Here are some facts:

She has been published several times, with short stories in Analog and Clarkesworld. She studies cultures and language. She hosts Worldbuilding Hangouts on Google+ every Thursday. She posts frequently to Facebook, often quoting or linking to stories concerning feminism, racial inequality, or the need for diversity in fiction.

 

Again, she didn’t hate my story, and she didn’t say anything that hurt my feelings.  I really value the things she had to say, and I have a great deal of respect for the time and effort she put into it, knowing that the story she was reading was not the sort I thought she would enjoy.

Both workshops were overwhelmingly positive experiences for me, in fact.  But I can see how someone might take what I originally posted and think that it was something other than I intended, so I’m editing this.

Let’s all be cool to each other.  Tomorrow, my topic will be “Every Writer Needs and Editor.” Looking at this post, apparently some bloggers could use one, too. 🙂

It is October!  Perhaps one of the greatest months of the year that start with the letter O!

Last year, Michael told me about this challenge, where bloggers were to write a post every day in the month of October.  He told me about it on October 2nd, so I was already behind.  But I like challenges, so I launched into it, and posted twice on the 31st.  I achieved the goal in spirit.

It’s not actually called Blog-tober, of course.  It’s called…

 

That seems a bit wordy, though.  I like Blog-tober, better.

The Ultimate Blog Challenge is basically a marketing thing, and the purpose for the participants is to get more readers.  I assume that the people that put on the challenge get email addresses to use for evil purposes.  I’m not sure.  I haven’t looked at it that closely.

I’m not doing this to get more readers.  Sure, it would be pretty neat to get more than 4 or 5 people reading what I post here.  I would find that flattering.  It’s not what I expect out of this, and it won’t break my heart if my hit counters don’t go up.

The real reason I’m doing this is because it gears me up for NaNoWriMo.  The exercise of writing something every day for a month is perfect just before a month of furious writing activity.  I think the reason I was successful November last year was because I spent so much time writing blog posts in October.

Last year, my posts were somewhat random.  I didn’t go into it with any sort of plan, and there were a few days where I had to scramble for something to write about.

This year, I have plans.  I opened up notepad and jotted down 15 topics.  All of them pertain to writing.

I may write some fiction for some of the posts this month.  I haven’t made up my mind on that, yet.  On the one hand, it’s good exercise, leading into November.  On the other, it feels pretentious posting first-draft fiction on my blog, as though all of my dabbling is worthy of public display.  I don’t know.  Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much, and just post whatever the hell I want.  That’s kind of the idea in the first place, isn’t it?

It does touch on something I’ve questioned for some time, though.  What is my blog for?  What purpose does it serve?  Am I trying to educate or entertain?  Is this a crutch, or is it therapy?

Regardless of this blog’s purpose, there will be a whole lot more of it this month.  Put on your safety helmets and buckle your seat belts.  Blog-tober begins.

 

 

If this were a series, I’d start this with “Last time, at Convolution 2014…”

I remember finishing my previous post and thinking that the evening was nearly done, and that I wouldn’t have that much to write about.  That was before Melissa and I decided to go to the Delphic Oracle panel.

I laughed so hard, I had tears.  Michael was duel wielding hip flasks, and though he claimed to be sober, he certainly seemed like he was at least a little bit toasty.  Chris Garcia was drinking pitchers of water as though he were preparing to cross a desert.  Todd McCaffery hosted the event, and everyone was present and hilarious.  It was so much fun!  I’m so glad we went to it.

Afterwards, Melissa and I went back to our floor and poked our heads into a few parties.  We imbibed with FLARE, and with Klingons, and we supported a couple of convention parties.  To my surprise, Melissa drank a bit more than I did.  I think we appreciated not having to contend with stairs or elevators when we finally retired for the evening.  Also, the noise wasn’t an issue.  Of course, part of that could have been because we were slightly inebriated.

Concerning the party floor, there was some strangeness with the hotel staff.  While Melissa and I were in a hallway, two large, suited men with earpieces came to the door near us, and pulled down some posters.  At first glance, I thought they were attendees in convincing secret service costumes.  Then I saw that one of them had a thick stack of posters acquired from the rest of the floor, and he was not happy.  Apparently, the hotel had changed its policy in regards to posting things to the walls and doors.  I watched the security guards move on, and where they went, it was like the a couple of high school bullies moving through a lower grade school yard.  The attendees shrank away from them, looking small and defenseless.

All of that was Friday.  The first day.

Saturday morning, Melissa and I got up early enough to go to breakfast.  Then I gathered up my things, went up to the 8th floor, and prepared for the back-to-back writers workshops.

“I was nervous” would be an understatement.  When it comes to my writing, I still care too much.  Intellectually, I know that the stories I produce are distinct from me.  I know that my stories are not perfect, and that they are getting better.  Comparing my recent work to stories from just a few months ago shows noticeable improvement.  My brain knows one thing, but my heart feels another.  My heart tells me… well.  My heart tells me a lot of bullshit, and I’m not going to repeat it here.  Not tonight.

I steeled myself for the worst.  The pros and the other writer for the first session arrived.  Then it began.

I’m going to write about the experience of those two workshops in a different post.  I learned a lot.  I felt a lot.  There’s quite a bit to talk about, and I’m not going to short-change the experience by condensing it too much.  For me, both workshops were extremely positive, and I’m still processing it all.

After the workshops, Melissa joined me, and we attended a couple more panels.  I’ll post the notes regarding those later this week, when I’ve had a chance to type them all out.  In the evening, we attended the Masquerade (which was a contest, not a ball… I had misunderstood before, and Michael corrected me well in advance).

It had been a long day, and Melissa and I were both hungry.  We went to the sports bar inside the hotel to get a late dinner.  I had fish and chips, which were greasy and good.  As we were leaving, Jon Del Aroz, his wife Sam, Todd McCaffery, and someone else (I’m sorry I don’t remember your name!) were on their way in.  Jon invited us to join them, and I couldn’t refuse.

Everyone there was amazing and friendly.  Jon mentioned karaoke, and we talked about different songs.  The beer I’d had earlier was catching up to me, and after Jon and I had shots of vodka, I was feeling bold enough to go sing Ebony and Ivory with him.

We wound up singing Dancing in the Street instead, and it was not quite as amazing as what we had imagined.  We were undeterred, however.  We just needed a better song.  We pawed through the books, and Jon was leaning towards some music that was a little bit more urban and unfamiliar to me.  I suggested Regulate by Warren G and Nate Dogg, and we knew we had our song.

Unfortunately, we were never called up to perform that piece.  I’m pretty sure it would have been spectacular.  Jon and I will have to perform that lyrical masterpiece at our next opportunity.

After karaoke, Melissa and I went to the parties, and I imbibed a little bit more.  We made it back to our room a little after 1AM, feeling pretty good.  Again, being on the party floor was not a problem, because we found sleep easily.

Sunday morning, Melissa and I rose feeling a little bit rough around the edges.  We were well enough to go down for breakfast, then attend a couple of panels.  Jennifer Carson, one of the pros that had really liked my Mel Walker story, invited Melissa and I to join her and her friends for lunch, and we accepted.  We went across the street to the American Grill, and I felt spoiled.  Everyone at the table was very generous with me.

After lunch, Melissa and I attended one more panel, then closing ceremonies.  With the event drawn to a satisfactory conclusion, we jumped in my mustang and cruised back to Sacramento.

Convolution 2014 was really quite magnificent.  To paraphrase Tanya Huff at the closing ceremonies, the community at Convolution is extremely generous and appreciative.  The programming was really well done, and there are tons of enthusiastic, talented people in attendance.  There were over 700 individuals attending this year, and both Melissa and I were glad to be among them.