Category: editing

Well, there’s less than a hundred hours left in the year. Guess it’s finally time to do one of those end of the year wrap up posts. Take a moment, look back, and see what got done this year.

So… what did I get done this year?

First off, this was a very crap year for me, focus-wise. Some of you have heard me complain about this in the newsletter. We had construction on three sides of us (like, right next door) basically from early April until late October. Power tools, guys shouting, music loud enough so they could hear it over the power tools and shouting. Plus stress-watching them rip out all the surrounding landscaping. Mature trees, bushes, lawns on either side… all gone. Road crews ripping up the street, the parking strip, the sidewalk, and even the edge of our lawn. From my office I had a front row seat to see a lot of the landscaping I’ve spent years working on get ripped out so the city could put an access ramp five feet from my driveway. It honestly got so bad we had a few discussions about moving.

But now it’s over.

Hopefully.

All that said… The first few months of the year were me finishing off the book I’ve been referring to as GJD. It’s currently the biggest thing I’ve ever written. It has a very large cast of characters. We’ll be talking about it more in a few paragraphs…

Then I dove into my new project, currently called TOS. I spent a lot of the summer on this one. It’s probably going to be huge too. It’s currently close to 60K and feels like it’s just getting fired up. Hoping to get back to it in the next week or two. Why? Well, keep reading…

I also wrote three short stories this year. I don’t do a lot of short stories these days, but all of these anthologies tickled me just right. Altogether that was probably four weeks of work, writing, editing, polishing, all three of them. And two of those anthologies are already out (I may have mentioned them once or twice or thrice or…)

Anyway, about September or so my agent and I had a talk about GJD and some of, well, the issues it had. And at this point I’d been away from it long enough and worked on enough other things to see… yeah, it had some issues. And in all fairness, some of my early readers had mentioned these issues and I’d sort of brushed off their comments as “they don’t understand my brilliance!” So this was also a bit of cold water in the face for me. It’s okay. I think it’s a good thing for most of us to get that splash in the face now and then so we can sit back and reassess a bit.

So I spent the past few months doing a… well, not quite a page-one rewrite of GJD, but rewriting a lot of it. A few characters were re-envisioned (which changed a bunch of things). A few chapters were completely deleted (which changed a bunch of things). A few new chapters have been written (which also changed a bunch of things). As I’m writing this for you right now I think there may be… two weeks left on it? Maybe a little less. Regardless, as I mentioned above, hoping to have it back to my agent at the start of the year and then I get back to TOS and hopefully you get to read them all sometime soon.

Also this year I had my assorted blogs/pages consolidated into this one website and got the ranty writing blog back up and running. If my math is right, I’ve done forty-five posts here this year. Not bad, considering I didn’t do any until April.

And I’m still doing the newsletter. Thirteen of those went out. More-or-less once a month updates about what’s going on with the writing and other stuff in my life. Cool things I’ve been watching or reading, cool toys that’ve made their way to my desk, and so on. Once a month, because let’s be honest—you don’t have time to read a dozen different newsletters every week. How many of them just turn into spam and never get opened? So if you haven’t already, feel free to sign up and let me not clutter your mailbox sometimes.

It’s probably worth mentioning I also read twenty books this year. Not fantastic. Better than last year. I refer you to the previously mentioned concentration-shattering noise and would also mention that one of these books was a monster about three or four times times the size of an average book.

So that was my year. How about you? Did you get as much done as you’d hoped? Are you happy with what you did get done? Remember, don’t beat yourself up about it. People work at different rates, write at different speeds. What really matters is you got something done.

And I think that’s it for you and me and 2023. As always, many thanks for being here. I hope this past year I’ve maybe helped you work through a few things, writing-wise, and if not… well, I hope I’ve been mildly entertaining.

See you in 2024.

Until then, go write.

Between holidays and my own work and life in general, the ranty writing blog’s suffered a lot these past two or three months. I kept starting things and then rethinking them. Sorry about that.

Anyway, I really wanted to get in one more semi-helpful post before the holidays kick in and it’s all Black Friday this, Cyber-Monday that.

And I figured a cool topic might be, y’know, starting things and then rethinking them.

I think a lot of the reason I struggled with outlines for so long was because having an outline meant I had to KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING. Yes, all caps. No, not in the sense of writing. I still don’t know what I’m doing in that sense. But in the sense of my book. An outline meant I had everything worked out in this story. I knew how it all fit together. That twist, this character arc, that cool scene. I knew it all.

I mean, an outline’s essentially a map, right? It’s were I start from, where I want to end up, and all the interesting places along the way. The more detailed that map is, the less room there is for deviation or change. In theory, the less room we need to deviate or change. Because we’ve got it all worked out, right?

And that’s why I didn’t use them for so long. Outlines felt like the exact opposite of how I tended to write. I like discovering things while I’m writing. Or maybe coming up with something all-new as I worked. I don’t mean that in some vague, artsy “how my muse compels me” way, just my general process. Outlines tended to make me feel like I had to do all the work first. And if I didn’t use all that work… well, I’d just wasted time, hadn’t I?

It took me a long time to realize that, no matter how structured and solid my outline is, there’s always flex room. Just because I’ve got a ten or fifteen page outline doesn’t mean I need to stick to it. I can always tweak things and adjust.

And the ugly truth is… sometimes we just need to toss the outline and start over. Things that made sense when they were three sentences in the outline don’t work as well when I actually write out the full two pages. It’s easy to write “then X happens,” but then I sit down and maybe… X doesn’t just happen. Maybe X doesn’t make a lot of sense after all. The characters might’ve changed a bit as they fleshed out. I might have a different sense of how things interact.

There’s nothing wrong with getting 10,000 words into something and realizing it’s not working. Or 30,000 words. Or 50,000. As I’ve mentioned before, we’re always going to need to rewrite. And there’s always going to be stuff we write that nobody ever sees. Lines of dialogue, characters, sometimes whole chapters.

And I know, this feels wrong. It feels like we’ve wasted time and effort. What was the point of doing the outline if I ended up tossing so much work?

Y’see, Timmy, the outline’s a map, yeah, but it’s only a map to my first draft. That’s why we revise. To find all the places the trip could go a little better. To find out if there’s a way to cut a few hours off the drive. Maybe, for example, by not letting Wakko drive. At all. Perhaps we didn’t need to spend that long here, but really could’ve spent more time there. And maybe now we know to always stop at this place for food and that we definitely shouldn’t‘ve spent the night at that place. Never, ever staying there again. And maybe we find out our trip had a better starting point—that we all could’ve met up there instead of here. And maybe we thought we wanted to go there, but it turns out, y’know, that’s a much better place.

I’m currently rewriting this book. It had a thirty page outline. I wrote and revised a 170K manuscript. And I’m doing another big revision right now because I stepped away from it, talked with some folks, and realized there were a few parts that ultimately just didn’t work. Some have been changed. Some have been yanked. I’ve cut over 10,000 words out of it so far and I’m barely at the halfway point.

But it’s the right thing to do. And there’s nothing wrong with doing it.

Okay, next time, as I mentioned, we’re going into the holiday season so expect to see Black Friday and Cyber-Monday posts from me, as you have in the past. And then after all that we should be back to our regularly scheduled whatever I think of. I think there was a suggestion about plotting tools and tips…?

Until then, go write.

I stumbled across this old train-of-thought document a few weeks back, which I guess I’d written out… looks like sometime early in lockdown? Maybe in response to some social media discourse of the time? I don’t know. But parts of it struck with me and I’ve been flipping it over and over in my mind, so I thought I’d share it with you.

I’m kind of 50-50 on writing instruction, for lack of a better phrase. All those articles, lectures, books, and blog posts that tell you what/ when/ how/why to write. Which probably isn’t a great thing to confess here on the ranty writing blog. But really, I think if you look at most of that stuff with a critical eye, we’d find there’s a lot of good stuff you can get out of them, but also a lot of useless stuff, depending on our particular situation. Some might even be classified as harmful.

And it struck me that part of this is that “writing instruction” covers so much stuff. I mean, we all probably had a bunch of basic writing classes in grade school, right? Everybody had those. But maybe you also had creative writing classes in high school? Not the same thing. And I had a class in college that tried to teach writing, but also another one that tried to teach you how to be a writer.

Hopefully you can see the subtle nuances in all of these. I try to make it here a lot of the time. This blog is about writing (turning the idea in your head into a finished manuscript) but overall I tend not to talk as much about writing (the life, the career, the source of 83% of my stress and worry).

So let me tell you about a few writing classes I took. One in high school, two in college.

Also probably worth mentioning up front, I’d been writing for years before that first class. It was all garbage, sure, but I’d been writing and submitting and getting professional feedback. I’d already collected a good number of rejection letters from assorted editors at Marvel and a few different fiction magazines.

Class #1 was high school. In retrospect I’d call it harmless. It was approached more as a potential hobby than anything else. The teacher gave us writing prompts, would give us simple deadlines, taught us some bare bones stuff about character and imagery and critiques. But there wasn’t any in-depth discussion of anything, art-wise or career-wise. This would’ve been spring of ‘87– no public school was going to encourage a kid to go into the arts. Writing wasn’t a real career, after all.

I stumbled across one of the stories I wrote for this a few months back. It’s a kind of fun, fairly predictable story about two little kids (almost) being tricked into letting a monster loose. I remember the picture he showed us that inspired it, too

Class #2 was junior year of college. In theory, a general creative writing class. In reality just a bad experience overall. I liked a lot of my classmates, but the instructor had very literary aspirations. He talked a lot about ART and berated anyone in class who wasn’t trying to write the great American novel. I wrote a sci-fi/ horror short story for one assignment and was told (loudly) in front of the class that it was just mass-market garbage. If I was just writing to entertain—if I wasn’t trying to change people’s lives with my words—I was just wasting everyone’s time and should probably leave.

There wasn’t much instruction in this class of any sort. It was really just a critique group where the instructor encouraged people to be as harsh as they could with said critiques. All in the interest of “making them better writers,” of course. I ran into one of my classmates a year later and she told me she’d kind of given up on writing after that…

(fun fact—the story the instructor tore apart in front of the class was called “The Albuquerque Door,” about an experimental teleportation gateway gone wrong, and I always liked it even if he thought it was nonsense. It was (eventually) the inspiration for a book…)

Class #3 was my final semester of college. It was simply amazing. I was lucky enough to spend five months with John Edgar Wideman as a professor at UMass. Yeah, we’re naming people now that it’s a really positive experience. He made me look deeper at my writing and showed me how real life could still be the foundation of the strangest characters or situations. He was also the first person to point put that sometimes writing meant not sitting at your desk. It was good to shake things up now and then. Today… you know what, let’s just go down the hall to another classroom. I think 216 is empty. Today we’re going to have class under that tree out there. Today… everyone’s 21, yes? Let’s go get a drink at the bar in the campus hotel.

I have to add Professor Wideman was also the first person to ever tell me he thought I was going to be a successful writer. Direct, flat out, no qualifiers. My writing was very good, I could do this.

So… what’s the point of this stroll through my memories?

Every one of these classes was titled “Creative Writing,” even thought there was a huge range in what the instructors were offering. And what they delivered. Some were teaching about writing, others touched on being a writer, and really none of them were about writing as a paying career. Depending on what I was looking for—or needed—they could’ve been absolutely perfect or a complete waste of my time. Or even worse, the thing that makes me decide I hate writing.

I think, when we approach any kind of writing instruction, we should be really clear about what we need and what we’re hoping to get. And if it’s possible, maybe get a better sense of what this book/ class/ site/ conference is actually offering. If I’m really invested in the art and nuance of writing, a course about how to game the social media and Amazon algorithms to promote sales probably isn’t for me. If I want to work on going from my first draft to an edited second draft, a book of writing prompts and encouragements won’t be of much use to me. And if you just want a couple people to tell you your writing isn’t horrible and you should keep at it…

Well, you definitely didn’t want to be in that junior year writing class I was in. I should’ve dropped out. You could’ve too, and we could just go encourage each other at the Bluewall.

Anyway, next time I wanted to talk a little bit about Rashomon. I seem to recall you liked that movie, yes?

Until then, go write

A week or so back on Twitter I was asked to comment on a question that needed a little more response than 280 characters allowed. I tried to give a quick, simple answer, but it gnawed at me for a bit, ‘cause I’ve seen this question many times before (from several angles), and it always feels like the answers it gets are very simplified. So a few days later I added it to my list of topics for here.

“Anyone know whether publishers will pick up a book that’s
already been self-published for a new edition?”

Like so many things in this industry, this is one of those questions that sounds really simple, but there’s actually a lot more to it. I think this is really a few questions that’ve been Voltroned together and then demanding a single, comprehensive answer. Which is why the answers it gets tend to always feel a bit over-simplified and off. To me, anyway.

For example, even if we’re just asking how many self-pubbed books get picked up by traditional presses, this is a loaded question. Because most people don’t consider smaller traditional presses in that—they’re really just interested in the big ones. And small presses are, generally speaking, more open to picking up a formerly self-pubbed book. So viewing things this way already skews my answer.

Plus, it depends on just how we’re phrasing things—slightly different questions can get very different answers. If I’m asking how many Big Five books started off a self published works… the odds aren’t horrible. I mean, just personally, I know enough people it’s happened to, and I have a good enough sense of how many books get published, so I feel comfortable saying yeah, there’s passable odds it can happen. It’s not exactly common, but I’d be willing to bet out of the thousands of books the big presses put out each year, more than a couple were previously self-published. And, as I just said, the odds get even better if we bring in smaller presses.

However… if my question is what are the odds of a self published book getting picked up by a big traditional press… well, those numbers plummet. Because now we’re talking about hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of self published books each year and (as I said above) maaaaybe a dozen of them get picked up. So I can end up with a very different picture of things depending on what I ask. And, to be honest, how people want to answer. There’s a lot of wiggle room here to make the answers fit what somebody wants to believe. Or wants you to believe.

All that in mind… why don’t we try to break this Voltron-question down into its three (or maybe four) component lion-questions and answer each of those.

First off is the big one. Is my book something a traditional publisher would even want? Let’s be honest—anything can be self-published. Absolutely anything. The most illiterate, nonsensical garbage can be self-published. So right off the bat, I need to have actually written a good book. Something a publisher might’ve picked up if they’d originally seen it. Something with a very solid structure, good characters, and strong dialogue. In this aspect, it’s just like any other book they’d be looking at, and they’re probably going to have much higher standards than… well KDP.

Not only that, but odds are they’re going to be looking at my actual self-published book. I mean, I’m now a small press trying to convince a big press to take on one of my titles, so is it shocking to think they might look at it? Is it edited and copyedited? Does it have a nice layout? Awful as it sounds, does it have a halfway decent cover? They’re not going to judge on any one of these things, but they’re all going to have a degree of influence. I’m asking them to pick up this book, and if it looks like a crap book… well, they’re going to notice that.

Second is the money side of things. Is it worth it for a traditional publisher to pick up my book and republish it? Again, one aspect of this is going to be like any other book—is this the kind of thing the publisher usually sells? Not a lot of historical romances coming out of Tor, and Ballantine isn’t picking up a ton of splatterpunk. And even if I’ve written a straight sci-fi book, is it so sub-sub-niche that Tor might only sell a few hundred copies altogether?

That’s actually a good place to bring up a sort of second-and-a-half point. There’s also some math at work here. See, if my self-published book’s only sold sixty or seventy copies, it means it’s not getting any interest or word of mouth… which means it’s probably not worth it for a big press to republish it. But if the book’s sold too many copies, that means I’ve actually eaten into the potential audience. Every book realistically is only going to sell so many copies, so if all the market research says my book might appeal to an audience of ten thousand and I’m telling them it’s already sold eight thousand self published… that also means it’s probably not worth it to them to pick it up.

Also (what are we up to, my second and three-quarters point?) right now, as I’m writing this and you’re reading it—okay, maybe not as you’re reading it, depending—publishers are actually having meetings about what’s going to be on sale for Christmas 2022 and even talking a bit about spring of 2023. Seriously. They’re working that far ahead. Which means, on a lot of levels, they’re not as interested in what’s going on right now. So I might think this is a fantastic time for my book to go big, but as far as they’re concerned… that time was fifteen months ago.

Third is what am I expecting to get out of this? Mass distribution? Book signing tours? A futon stuffed with twenty dollar bills?  Welllll… remember that math I mentioned above? How much they think they can make off my republished book is going to affect how much they’re going to pay me. I can’t expect to get a huge advance off something that’s been out there selling copies for a year or two now, so if I’m demanding a six or seven figure check out of this… get used to disappointment.

And them paying less money means they need to make less of an effort to recoup that money. So no book tours. Not on their dime, anyway. I’m probably still going to be pushing this a lot myself. It’ll be more available, and it’ll have a little more weight behind it, but I’ll still probably be doing the same level of self-promotion I was doing when it was self-pubbed.

Also worth noting that the days of piecemeal rights deals are pretty much long over. I can’t be thinking I’ll ask the traditional publisher to take over just print and audio rights, but I’ll still get to put out the ebook. Doesn’t matter if it’s my choice or because things are locked up in some previous deal. It’s extremelyunlikely someone’s going to accept very limited rights for the book, especially a big publisher. I might be able to make it happen with a smaller press, but even they’re going to be a bit leery about it.

And all that’s kind of a broader answer to “will traditional publishers pick up a book that’s been self published.” There’s lots of ifsand buts in there, and I need to figure out where my book (and where I ) sit with all of them to get a real sense of an answer. And again, that’s just to get us to whether or not it’ll happen. Y’see Timmy, ultimately—like any other publishing venture—my journey of getting a self-published book picked up is going to be different than your journey, and odds are neither of us are going to get a deal like she did.

So… very long answer to a deceptively short question.

Next time, I want to talk about cake.

Until then… go write.