Nathan Bransford, who is some big-time agent, has a great post about what is up with publishing these days.
Mostly it focuses on how the power in publishing continues to shift. Very informative.
It’s called Moving the Needle.
Writers, check it.
What makes for great art? I won’t say I have no idea, but I am certainly on the shallow end of the pool, treading slowly and carefully deepward. One thing that does appear essential to me is the idea of limits. Without limits, and maybe more importantly, contrast, we don’t have much to show that will harmonize with reality on any level. Nevermind delight.
When I had the rare chance to learn from the brilliant Orson Scott Card, one thing he emphasized in world creation was this idea of limits. Our group had a long, involved, discussion that he directed on the limits of magic in stories. He emphasized that characters who can do anything and are not opposed by evil, even strong evil, are not memorable, or worthwhile.
He pointed out that Superman, at one point, had blown out a sun with his breath (like a candle). Boring. Good job Superman, but what now? Can this be the least bit interesting from here on? He said that shortly after that kryptonite was introduced, saving the character. This is why, perhaps, Batman is so much easier (seems to me) to tell a good story about than Superman.
Give me a limited, even a self-limited, character any day.
Limits are essential; cost is essential. Pain, suffering, and struggle are central to all worthwhile storytelling.
And so it is with the life of man.
We are, after all, art.
“When we are born, we are granted by God a specific number of exclamation points. When we use them up, it is our time to go.”
Dean Koontz
HT: @RachelleGardner
In the spirit of my post Tuesday –The Hunt for (a more widely) Read October– and on the anniversary of my first year at the Rabbit Room, I am posting this original essay which first appeared one year ago today on October 2, 2008 in a dimly lit corner of said Rabbit Room. The regulars laughed. Some walked out. But some stayed and some new chaps came and started small fires which caused hundreds of quid in damages. The original RR post is here. -sam
“Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.” –Joyce Kilmer
There are few finer pieces of practical theology I have read (outside of Scripture) than those tremendous words. I want to consider them in light of the Word of God, and alongside some thoughts by three guys I met at a football game -guys named Lewis, Tolkien and Milton. OK, to be honest, it wasn’t a football game. It was in books. Books are things people used to read before they invented text messaging. Sadly, these three amigos are unlikely to appear at any football games I may attend. But if my fantasy life is ever fully realized then you may see Jack Lewis coming on to kick the game-winning field-goal for the West Virginia Mountaineers with an able hold, laces out, by “Tollers.” Milton, blind as a bat, would be the long-snapper.
Writing is a business fraught with innumerable obstacles and marked by disappointments. No, it’s not like fighting-a-war hard, but it is simply very challenging if you are serious. That may seem silly but it won’t to anyone who has ever tried to get beyond the “I have a few ideas” stage and actually set to work. I don’t say that to garner pity (alone) but to say that it is easy to get discouraged about a lack of progress. I have been fighting that feeling off with varying degrees of success lately, and trying to keep my frustration in check. Then here comes October.
This October reminds me of last October. Last October was a good month for me in my efforts to be a “real writer.” I got my first paying gig writing fiction for West Virginia South magazine as they accepted my proposal to publish The Fledge Chronicles. The first story was published last October, “The Lion, the Bridge, and the Wardrobe Malfunction.” Since then they have continued to publish an installment of the serial in each publication. I am very thankful for Audrey Stanton, the editor of WVS, for being willing to publish the stories, and for her abundant supply of enthusiasm for them.
Last October I also debuted at the Rabbit Room, by the whimsical invitation of Andrew Peterson. I have posted two, or three times a month there (as AP requested) for the last year. It has been a joy to be in the company of such incredible artists and to get to know some of them a lot more betterer (see, writing is hard). The readers and posters over there have been a big encouragement to me, and I am so thankful to Andrew, and to the whole gang.
So, all in one month, I was being read by a lot more people and getting paid for it. Reflecting on this has been humbling for me this October. Who knows what awaits for me this October? Maybe more literary success. Maybe not. But I have reasons not to grumble.
Further, God seems to be kicking me in the pants with numerous exhortations to be grateful. Reminders of the mercy I’ve been given are jumping out in front of my car in a way impossible to miss. Mainly it’s the Gospel –pardon and peace with God! But it’s also babies, books, and bluegrass and many other things all singing from the same sheet music.
So October comes again. It’s another reason for skipping grumbling and going straight to gratitude. Who gets thanks? The God of Abraham.
I received word that I did not win the West Virginia Fiction Award. This was a disappointment, but it was an honor to have been included among the finalists.
It was mostly difficult because chief among the criticisms I received from the final judge were formatting issues that could have only been altered after the story was sent in (electronically).
I was asked to paste the story in the body of an e-mail (as well as attaching it in a Word document) and I can only assume that it was then copied and pasted again where the original formatting was lost.
So it was a bummer to read a detailed critique mostly about formatting issues (“Never, never, never, ever send in a story without page numbers!”) when almost all of those were in the original story.
Oh well. Such is life. Next time I’ll be sure to ask if that kind of thing is being done. And I’ll ask for UN observers. Hopefully this won’t affect my Heisman campaign.
One wonders what would have happened if the judge would have seen the story as originally formatted. But I really do still think I would have lost.
As a wise man once said, “Somebody call the waaaaambulance.”
Next week at this blog: Even more whiney action! Don’t miss it!
Here’s a link to a helpful resource from Smashing Magazine: 50 Free Resources For Writers. I don’t know about the rest of the magazine, but this part really is smashing.
If you have a blog (or communicate in some way by means of the written word) you will find it useful. I haven’t spent a lot of time with these yet, but if I post it here then I’ll be less likely to forget it exists.
As you have likely noticed, I could use some help on some areas of grammar. Like this one particular challenge: when to use effect and when to use affect (Ten Flagrant Grammar Mistakes).
#5: Effect for affect
No: The outage shouldn’t effect any users during work hours.
Yes: The outage shouldn’t affect any users during work hours.
Yes: The outage shouldn’t have any effect on users.
Yes: We will effect several changes during the downtime.
Note: Impact is not a verb. Purists, at least, beg you to use affect instead:
No: The outage shouldn’t impact any users during work hours.
Yes: The outage shouldn’t affect any users during work hours.
Yes: The outage should have no impact on users during work hours.
There’s a lot more where that came from, as that represents one part of one of the fifty resources.
Maybe we should all spend some time there, if for no other reason than to laugh at everyone else’s tweets/status updates.
I know Andrew is laughing at mine now.
HT: Michael Hyatt
The latest installment of The Fledge Chronicles is out and you don’t want to miss it.
I took that last sentence from Cliché Adverts Plus and inserted “The Fledge Chronicles” where it said “your product name.”
I am a marketing genius.
This story is called Missing Inaction and it’s the heartwarming tale of a two lovers who hate each other at first and then later they fall in love and save the factory and heal old wounds. It’s a fun ride for the whole family.
Again, Cliché Adverts Plus. I inserted “Missing Inaction,” which is the real name of my real story and it doesn’t have anything to do with two lovers and saving the factory and healing old wounds.
It’s really about what happens when a man spills coffee on his shirt while trying to exit his vehicle by means of his window. Then other stuff happens after that. There’s funny parts.
You can subscribe to West Virginia South if you want to have these stories and so much more delivered to your house anywhere in the United States.
Again, Cliché Adverts Plus.
But, there literally is a picture of a cool biplane on the cover of WVS.
The editor says in the table of contents (which is a table where magazines store their contents) that this S.D. Smith fellow will have you “roaring with laughter.” This is funny because there’s a part about a lion (recall: roaring) in this little yarn which was first discussed in The Lion, the Bridge, and the Wardrobe Malfunction. That being the first Fledge story published, this being the last –latest. This one follows up on the lion fiasco a bit.
OK, I am officially out of marketing-juice and I’d rather be punched and kicked in the corner for a few hours than look at this keyboard for ten more seconds (ever feel like that?).
Thanks to you for reading and for sending me full boxes of Big League Chew.
This is my post from the Rabbit Room today. Go there and join the discussion. Note: In case you are looking for an old RR post of mine. Though you can’t find all my RR posts over there, you can link to them all at my front page, there’s a RR icon over in the bottom right corner: http://www.sdsmith.net/. That’s if anyone cares besides my mom. 
Do people everywhere say they covet prayers?
I have heard a thousand people say that they coveted my prayers, or the prayers of everyone. I’m glad there’s nothing in the Bible against coveting your neighbor’s prayers, because man would we need a lot of repentance in the south.
Do not be deceived, people of the listening audience; this post is all about the craft of writing (or singing, clogging, etc.) and not about prayer coveting. But is there a parallel in the world of writing? Let’s force one through, shall we?
You shall not covet your neighbor’s writing? OK. Let’s go with that, I guess.
I usually chafe a little beneath the bridle of our popular culture’s religion of selfish rebellion, with all its focus on originality and uniquity. Uniquity is defined (by me -because I think I just invented it –original!) as a sinful preoccupation with your own uniqueness. Witness the fad of denying the sufficiency and inerrancy of the Scriptures and the rush to express and encourage private, personal, non-binding, accommodating, and feckless meanings (which just happen to be fashionable).
But it can also be a humble approach to aim to express your own gifts. If we see them as that –gifts- then we should not be tempted to take too much credit for them. Nor will we be too surprised when the way we express ourselves as writers (or painters, or banjo pickers) is different from others. Maybe we’ll also be better prepared for criticism. Bonus.
Imitation, they say, is the highest form of flattery and I’m sure there are cases when it’s appropriate. But if you are a gifted writer, then be yourself. We do not need another C.S. Lewis. If we did, he would still be here. But we might need you.
Clones are boring.
In my youth (and adulthood as well) my wise father frequently quoted from that great fount of philosophical wonder –the Tooter the Turtle cartoon. In this show’s conclusion Mister Wizard would invariably remind young Tooter that his desire to be someone else (a knight, a baseball star, etc.) was misplaced. He argued for contentment, and his exhortation to use your own gifts and be your own self is folk wisdom in a grand, glorious gulp.
“Always, always I tell you, Tootor. Be just what you is, not what you is not. Folks what do this has the happiest lot.”
Sounds good to me. Now, about actually doing it…
My new post is up at the Rabbit Room.
In the first part (which you can read here, even here, I say) of this random, semi-coherent series about why I write fiction I made an inexhaustive effort to answer a basic question of legitimacy in the minds of some folks I come across (usually with good intentions) who are afraid fiction is at best a waste of time, and at worst an evil distraction from truth. I think I also took a firm stance against run-on sentences. Having thus preached to the choir, I continue on with the following answer to the titular question.
Why do I write fiction? Because I love and believe in the value of stories as powerful means of expressing the deeply human. Francis Schaeffer talked a lot about the importance of seeing “man as man,” and “the mannishness of man.” I think there is almost always a quality in the things we find in creation that can be explored and displayed as intended and that this will almost always be a good thing.
We must remember, as Lewis has reminded us, that God invents and the Enemy perverts. Things were made right, but were subject to corruption because of our father Adam’s sin. So there is a proclivity toward sin in what we do. Things are messed up. When things become perverted, bent and twisted we are certainly in trouble. But the bentness of most art we are presented with does not argue convincingly against the joys of sub-creation.
I feel a great passion to see the “thingness of things.” So I write partly in an effort to do a thing well. Whether I am successful in this pursuit might be irrelevant to the validity of the point. I think it’s a worthy goal.