Wodehouse the Prolific

Confession: I know I'm not going to finish "Ferian" tonight. But I'm going to do a scene tomorrow, and keep at it until the draft is done.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

Ninety-seven books. How can anyone have written ninety-seven books? The idea of completing a single short story in a month is daunting, and this man wrote multiple novels per year, not to mention countless short stories, plays, and lyrics for musical? He managed to create almost singlehandedly the genre of the romantic comedy in musical theater while simultaneously developing characters that have been archetypes? Hell, they even named the website AskJeeves after his character of that name!

I am in awe of Wodehouse, and it's not just his prolific nature, but the overall quality of his work. Yes, his characters and plots are all alike, but that's not the joy of reading him. It's his use of this English language, the well-turned phrase, the juxtaposition of the serious with the comic, the high-flown with the slangy, that has never been successfully imitated. The man is a genius.

Twice since I moved to Long Island, I have visited his grave. It sits at the back corner of a well-tended cemetery on the more fashionable end of Long Island. Not flashy, not ostentatious, simply tasteful. The grave of a gentleman.

How can the man be so like and yet so unlike his characters? He was a marvel, and absolutely everyone should read him. Right now.

Advice from a Friend

Confession: I wasted most of today reading webcomics. I also make a chocolate cake, but I don't count that as wasted time.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

I spoke with a friend today who, I believe, gave me the advice I needed to finish "Ferian."

"What sort of education did he have?" he asked. "What was his relationship with his father?"

I was stymied. As I wrote two days ago, I have a decent idea of his character, but I know nothing of his background. It's no wonder I don't know where to take him if I don't know where he's from. My entire concept of his background was that he was a con artist, roaming the country with his wagon and his horse, living it up and scraping by. But as for how he got there, I have no clue.

So I'm going to answer those questions and start again. I'd better finish tomorrow, since that's my deadline. If not, I'll take a little bit of time this week, but by next weekend, I want to be working on Dairhenien's Library again, if only for a weekend.

Hard to Write Characters

Confession: This blog entry is pretty much all I accomplished today. And it's late, to boot.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

After staring at the screen for a while, I gave up on "Ferian" for today. Part of the reason is because I really have a hard time getting into that character's head. If he were a supporting character, no problem, but he is the central POV character, and if I can't understand his rationalizations and reasoning, then I have no chance of writing a convincing story.

His is a type of character I love to read. He's part Vlad Taltos from Steven Brust's incredible series, part Moist von Lipwig from Terry Pratchett's Discworld, and part Sawyer from Lost. Problem is, I have never really been able to relate to those characters. I enjoy reading them and I might even respect them, but I just don't understand them. The Con Artist is just so opposite my own personality that it might as well be a foreign culture.

But that's who Ferian is, at least in the way I've described him up to now. He's a showman and a rogue, and he leaves a trail of destruction behind him without really realizing it. He is self-centered and vain, and carries along everyone around him in his cult of personality. But that's okay, because he can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to get swept up with him.

See? I can describe it just fine, but I just have a hard time remembering his motivations as I write. My own personality is pulling the character away from his initial concept to something else. And the question is, should I go with that or not?

Meet Ferian Fetlock

Confession: A friend took me out to dinner tonight to celebrate a personal triumph. Her suggestion was a restaurant I don't really like, but I went anyway so as not to hurt her feelings. I wonder how often I force my own tastes on others in the name of friendship?

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

Tonight, I'm going to write a short passage from Ferian Fetlock's POV, just to get it straight before working on the story tomorrow.

Gaze into my eyes, these twin limpid pools of soul. See the reflection upon reflection of depths unimaginable, of possibilities unexplored. Witness wisdom wise enough to know it knows naught, and see kindness and gratitude in equal measure. Fall into those eyes, and know what it means to trust.

Got it? Great. And now I've got you.

I'm about as deep as a puddle, but if you can convince a man with a wet foot that he's drowning, you're halfway there. Throw him a rope and charge him for it, and that's the other half.

Mine is the only truly noble trade. The farmer grows fat by letting nature do what it does naturally, and selling the result. The vintner does the same, and gets to drink in the bargain. The blacksmith passes time by hitting heavy things with heavier things. All center around one premise, to wit: preying upon the inability of the rest of mankind to do the same damn thing for themselves.

I, on the other hand, offer an Education. I do not cultivate the naivete of my clients; I seek to exploit it, and in so doing, shatter it forever. I provide a service, and if I set my own price, what does that matter? And if I choose those in greatest need of that service, who can fault me?

And if I line my pockets with gold, why should I worry? It will go back to the farmer and the blacksmith eventually, and the vintner right away. I am the lynchpin that holds together the great circle of commerce.

Convinced? Yes? Then perhaps you'd like to see my line of equine curatives....

Location, Location, Location

Confession: It's been a while since I was in a relationship. Even the group of women knitting in the corner of the restaurant look hot. To my credit, they are all about my age.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

I wrote almost all of "Illuminated" in the Barnes and Noble in Smithtown, NY. "Cora and the Sea" was conceived on the walk between my house and the local Borders books, and written there in an afternoon. Each story in Floorcraft has a different origin: Lauinger Library, the Leavey Lounge, the Davenport Coffee Lounge at American University, Uncommon Grounds at Georgetown, and others. I can remember each one distinctly.

Dairhenien's Library has ranged wildly. Lately it has been written at the back table of the Panera Bread in Bohemia, but in the past, it's been at the Borders in Friendship Heights, the Barnes and Noble in Georgetown, La Madeleine in Chevy Chase, and others. It started at my dad's work computer at Cargill Steel and Wire, where I typed up some notes while waiting for him to finish up for the day.

Location is pretty important for me and my writing. It's not that these places set the tone for the story--I mean, they're pretty much all coffee shops, bookstores with coffee shops, or college coffee shops. But each is distinct, and just thinking about those places puts me in the same mental place I was when the stories were written.

With "Ferian Fetlock," I have no such place. Each part has been written in a different location. I think I need to find a place, a new place, and write there until it's done. That's my project for this weekend... to finally put that story to bed and move on to something new.

A Choice, Briefly

Confession: I'm a slave to my own impatience.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Cora and the Sea"

As you can see, I've finally finished my revisions on "Dolly" and submitted her for publication. I have high hopes, especially since I'm supposed to hear back from the magazine within two weeks. We'll see.

In the mean time, I find my thoughts turning back to Dairhenien's Library more and more. Should I work on the novels while the mood has me, or should I finish "Ferian Fetlock"? Which would do me more good?

I Have Found My Motivation

Confession: I'm afraid of epiphanies. It's not that I fear they're not genuine, per se, but rather because I'm afraid I'll lose that feeling, and with it the motivation will be gone. Then due to my own negligence, I'll lose out on the great thing I could have had.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I had an epiphany today. I was in the town of Greenport, New York, and I decided that was where I wanted to live my life.

That's a big declaration, and it's not directly associated with writing, so let me give some background. I've been kind of tossed around on the seas of moving over the last ten years. After finishing up at Mississippi State in Starkville, Mississippi, I moved to Washington, DC for nearly seven years. I moved back to Memphis after that, but for a while I thought that DC was where I wanted to live. But at some point, I realized that was because of the people I had left there, and who were no longer there. But Memphis held no attraction for me either, so when I was offered a transfer with my job, I took it, and wound up on Long Island. And here I am.

I like Long Island, but again, I feel no particular connection to it. But somehow, Greenport was different. It felt right, but there was more than that. I can see myself living there. I can imagine a sense of satisfaction from being there. In essence, I can see myself being happy living there.

But of course, I would need a job. And that's where writing comes in. Greenport would be perfect for me if I were a full time writer. And therein lies the further development of my Plan.

I'll work backwards. To live in Greenport as a writer, I need to be a full time writer. To do that, I'll have to quit my current job, and to do that, I'll have to have a sufficient source of income both to make the move and live when I get there.

To do that, I'll probably need to sell one novel and have some good contracts for others. And to do that, I need to establish myself as a writer... oh, and actually finish the novel(s).

For that, I need more practice at my writing and some publications. So that means I need to write stories and submit them. Which brings me to where I am write now.

I wrote a few days ago that I was in a period of the doldrums... well, I think the last few days have brought fresh wind to my sails. I have a reason to write now that goes beyond just liking it. Each finished story, each submission, each is a step on my road to achieving that dream. And that's a major thing. I'm working towards a lifestyle that I want very much to have. And I can achieve it.

Idea with reservations

Confession: The last few days, I've been phoning in these blog entries. Tonight, too.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

One idea I had for a blog was to go in-depth on a single book. Each entry would be the analysis of one chapter of a long, long text.

But that takes some serious dedication and time commitment. If I did it once a week, it would take several years to get through. I don't know if I have that kind of dedication.

Then again, if I can't do that with someone else's novel, could I do it with my own?

Artistic Inspiration

Confession: I had a long conversation with a stranger in a train on the way back from the city today. I think he was a stoned-out ex-hippie. It was fun.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

More ideas for DL today, or at least, an idea about how to get ideas. One weekend, I will take the train into the city, visit the Met, and wander through the various galleries looking at the portraits and landscapes. I will take a picture of each one that inspires me, and also sit down right in the gallery with a notebook and write up a little character sketch, or description of the setting.

They say a picture is worth 1000 words, but I'll probably keep these closer to 250.

The idea is to build a character library of descriptions and characterizations that I can turn to when I need someone to fill a role and I get stuck. This can work for other stories too, but DL is where I got particularly stalled with such things.

Immigrant Inspiration

Confession: I visited Ellis Island today, and it was all I could do not to cry.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I had an idea for Dairhenien's Library today. At one point the title character leaves his homeland on a journey with someone whom he regards as an enemy. He has to travel incognito, and do so without revealing his abilities to anyone.

The setting of the series is a fantasy one, but the cultures are on par with what you might find in the late Victorian, early Edwardian era. Social mores are paramount, and man has achieved so much in so little time that there is a feeling that nature can be utterly conquered.

So when Dairhenien is traveling, he would naturally have to pretend to be someone innocuous... why not an immigrant? He'll get a view of the culture he enters from the bottom up and no mistake!

I'll just have to see how that fits in.

The Doldrums

Confession: I'm so used to people thinking of me as "the smart guy," I'm not comfortable in any other role. No matter how lonely.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

Right now I lack motivation. I've hit that place in my writing where I simply don't feel inspired to move forward. It's the doldrums.

I love the historical meaning of that word. It's an area of the ocean around the equator where wind can be almost non-existent, and therefore boats could easily become stalled for weeks at a time. It's stagnation, a slump and it's hard to shake myself from.

So what I need is a wind from outside to come and rustle my feathers a bit. I wish I knew how to find that.

Blowhards

Confession: I do not want to be posting right now... so sleepy...

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I went to my bi-weekly Writers' Guild meeting today. I briefly want to mention the Blowhards. I won't say that there are only two, but there are two in particular that came to my attention. The first is a somewhat robust lady with giant glasses and a voice like a rusty bandsaw, to co-opt one of my own metaphors.

She barely allowed me to sit down before subjecting me to a barrage of questions and advice. She was uninterested in my answers, and indeed, barely paused to hear them. She was enjoying being the center of her own attention. I could barely make it to the restroom... she kept trying to call me back, and my repeated polite demurrals didn't make a dent in her attitude.

When she read, it was a story we had all heard before, barely altered. A picture book, but with no pictures--she couldn't draw. Then she lectured us all on how to get published, although she never had. It took an Oscar-style intervention to get her to stand down. Why do people feel they have to center everything on them, in perpetuity?

The other Blowhard? Oh, he just runs it.

What Makes Good Description?

Confession: To lose weight, I decided not to buy desserts. Instead, I buy flour, sugar, eggs, and butter and tell myself that if I want to have a dessert, I have to make one. Then I make one, and take the leftovers into work the next day. It makes me very popular, but I'm not losing weight.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

My stories tend to be very dialogue-heavy. To me, speech is the best window into character, and one of my greatest strengths as a writer (if I do say so myself) is to write dialogue in the voices of the characters who are speaking it.

My weakness, though, is description. All too often, I will write a scene with riveting dialogue but no sense of where that is taking place. That reduces the story to two floating heads gibbering away. I have to constantly remind myself that what people are doing, where they are, and what it feels like is just as important as what is being said.

So every so often, I'm going to practice a bit of description.

There's a thunderstorm outside right now. When the rain started, I thought the air conditioning was turning on. Only it came not from the vent overhead, but from the bathroom window. It was a pervasive rising hum, like some massive machinery of nature grinding into life. Each moment I expected the swelling noise to ebb, to fall into a sinusoidal pattern of waxing and waning sound. But it did not. Instead the noise increased to a deafening pitch until, finally, the deep bass notes of thunder shuddered through the structure of the house. The tension of the storm was lessened, and although other rumbles came, and other gusts battered the window, none could equal the first dismal climax.

Charles de Lint and the Archetype

Confession: I've made no progress on either "Ferian" or "Dolly" in over a week. This blog is all that's keeping me writing.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I've read quite a few novels and short stories by Charles de Lint in the past, and by now they're starting to take on a familiar tone. All of his stories explore the theme of fantasy in a city setting, but that's not what I mean, precisely. It's just that all his characters are so similar.

There is the male character who works in a criminal or borderline criminal occupation, but has a heart of gold. He often wants to improve himself, and yearns for an enlightened life even as he rejects the usual trappings of it.

You also have the female character who is a free spirit and wants to seek beyond the mundane trivialities of life. She sees the good in people, although she is more than usually street smart and often comes from a troubled background.

Finally, there's the sensitive, artistic man who is pretty much just a male version of the female character above. By the way, they are all artists in some way, either writers, or painters, or poets, or musicians, or photographers, or sculptors, or some other purveyor of creativity.

And that's it, really. All the heroes are variations on that them. All the human heroes, at least. Where de Lint really shines is in the character of the otherworldly. The process of discovering that strangeness is what makes me like to read his books.

The human heroes are there to provide eyes for us to see this world. They are good of heart, of course, but their art and creativity provides a sort of key. It's how they deserve to see that other world, at least in the context of de Lint's Newford stories. Once they accept that there is more to reality than they know, they can enter and participate in it, although they never really seem to join it.

What I want to carry away from this reading is the presentation of strangeness in a way that makes the reader want to experience more.

How should it have ended?

Confession: I love learning languages, but I'm often too embarrassed to try to use them.

Reading:

• Someplace to be Flying, by Charles de Lint

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I finished reading The Van late last night, and I was left with a profound feeling of sadness. It wasn't just that the book was over, although I always tend to feel a little let down after finishing a book I enjoy. The longer the series, the stronger the feeling. In fact, it takes a particularly satisfying ending to avoid that sensation. The most recent time that has happened was with Harry Potter.

But there was a bit more than that. The Van ended on a sad note. I'll go more into the story itself later, but so much was left open. A friendship was damaged and not yet healed. The motivation one character had to continue was gone. It was an ending filled with destruction, not creation; with loss rather than gain.

Oh, it was well written. That's part of why it hurt so much, because I related to those characters. And for a comic novel to have such a sad ending, well, I just wished the series had gone on, that's all. The previous two had ended on a happy note.

But perhaps that has to do more with the main characters of those novels. In The Commitments and The Snapper, the main characters were Jimmy Jr. and Sharon, young people whose lives were ahead of them. The Van focused on their father, Jimmy Sr., and his was at an end.

Not that he was about to die. But he had been laid off his job, and the book dealt with his depression and purposelessness in the face of forced retirement and poverty. He faced his own inadequacies and did not conquer them. He faced his own humanity and flinched.

By the end, perhaps, he had learned from his mistakes, but to what purpose? Where did he have yet to go?

I don't know, and perhaps Doyle didn't either, else he might have continued the story. We always assume that characters stay the same when their story is done, that they continue on with their same momentum perpetually until the window opens and we see them once more. If they were real people, that wouldn't be true, and there's no reason it has to be true with fiction, either. The thought that sometime down the road, Jimmy Sr. finds a purpose... well, that's the ending I want.

But it wasn't the one I got.

Feel-good Reviews

Confession: I have a tendency to buy things that represent how I want to better myself without actually going through the effort to use them.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

Today, I received a really incredible compliment. Someone told me that my review made her day.

I didn't give a 100% positive review. In fact, it was a little severe in places. But I told her what I thought worked, and what I thought didn't work, and offered suggestions for improvement throughout.

And she loved it. Her reaction was over-the-top, almost effusive, and it made me want to put her response up as a poster on my wall. I had made a difference to her as a writer, and because of me, she was going to submit the story and actually work towards starting a writing career.

I think that is the true power of a review. It has the potential to cut down a story while building up the writer. And I feel honored that my review was thought of so highly.

It's not always like that. I have a very detailed reviewing style, and occasionally I'll get a response in which my review is countered, point-by-point. I have no problem if someone disagrees with a comment I make, but sometimes it feels like stories get posted on these writing forums to show off, rather than to improve. I say, don't ask for comments if you don't want to hear them.

Reviewing others can make you a better writer yourself, because you learn how to think critically. I guess the trick is to be just as hard on yourself as anyone else, but not to forget to build yourself up, either. And there's one more thing. When writing a review, you can't fix the story for them. When critiquing your own work, you can.

Restrictions

Confession: I'm very shy, and I hide that behind a shell of extroversion. Don't knock it, it works.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I'm at my most creative when I'm at my most restricted. If someone gives me a blank piece of paper and tells me to write anything I want, I blink in consternation. What the hell should I do? But if someone tells me to write a story about a leper dreaming about joining the circus, and to make sure a single red rose is somehow very important to the main character, well, then the ideas start to flow.

What does the rose represent to him? Something pure and unblemished, maybe. Or what if the rose has black spots on it too? Or it starts to develop those black spots as the story goes on. Does it mirror the progress of his leprosy? What would he do in the circus... strongman? No, something that takes skill rather than brute strength. Juggling, maybe. He learned to juggle because he could do it by himself, just for himself, but someone told him that he had real skill and could join the circus. It was said in a offhand manner, but he took it to heart, and now it's what keeps him going.

One of his friends at the leper colony is a gardener and gives him the rose when the circus comes to town. Does he sneak away? Dunno, I'll have to check if leprosy can be cured or contained in modern times. Just checked wikipedia... turns out leprosy doesn't cause body parts to rot, only a lack of sensation. (Oooh, that could make his juggling harder later on.) So he runs away, but his gardener friend gives him a rose as a going away present. He goes to the circus, but they want him to join the freak show. Or what if they don't tell him at first, he thinks he's a juggler, but he juggles in the freak tent. Everyone laughs and jeers, and he runs back to his trailer where he finds that the rose has turned all black and splotchy from age, just like him.

Is that how the story ends? I don't know, and I doubt I'll ever actually write it. What I've just written is my train of thought as I'm developing a story. Without even meaning to, I established that the theme of the story was decay. This is overt in terms of the disease, and carried through in the metaphor of the rose.

I also got some ideas for characters. The main character is a little idealistic, and believes the world is a much better place than it really is. He wants to be accepted, but doesn't realize that even though his colony is accepting, the rest of the world isn't. Who is the gardener, though? Male or female? Dunno yet, but it is in conversation with this character that I can get across some of the characterization of the main guy early on.

There would need to be a head of the circus figure to serve as the mouthpiece for the discrimination he faces. What about his fellow freaks? What if he were repulsed by them? (Oh, the irony.)

By the time I start outlining the story, breaking it up into scenes, I should already know what each section is supposed to accomplish in the whole story, what happens, and who is in it. That way when I write the story, I can concentrate more on how I'm saying it rather than what I'm saying.

So see, this post was originally going to be about restrictions, but instead, it turned into an exercise in creativity. Huh.

Omniscient versus Limited

Confession: I have to force myself to remember to eat vegetables. I don't dislike them, per se, but I never seek them out.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I have a great dislike for 3rd person omniscient stories. It feels like cheating to me. I have no problem with several different 3rd person limited perspectives, and I actually quite like a good 1st person narrative. But hovering above a story like some kind of ghost, dipping into anyone's head you want... that's just lazy writing, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm sure my non-existent readership could offer dozens of counterexamples in which this technique was done and done well. But fuck them. I don't like it, and it doesn't work for me, and this is my blog. Take your whiny non-existent opinions elsewhere, thank you very much.

It's not the feeling of distance really that gets to me. I have read 3rd person stories in which the narrative wasn't really centered on a given character. In fact, it was centered on none. We were the aloof observer, unable to see the motivations and emotions of the players, but an invisible witness to all.

That shit is cool.

Now, it's the kind of story where we are told every why and wherefore that I hate. I feel like I'm being jerked around in dozens of directions when that happens, and I find myself not relating to anyone in the story at all.

I prefer a restricted approach because that makes it interested. When a composer creates music, he does it within a framework of musical theory. That's not to say that he can't violate the rules at all, but the violations are the exceptions that prove the rule. Creativity forced along unexpected channels can give surprising results.

Writer versus Author

Confession: I paid $13.25 to watch You Don't Mess with the Zohan this evening. I'm so ashamed.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I think I've finally realized why I've managed to keep this blog going for three weeks. You may laugh, but this is my 25th entry, and that's longer than I've ever managed to keep something like this going. That's right, none of the "Radioactive Duck"s lasted this long.

This blog is my way of reminding myself I'm a writer. I start every entry by forcing myself to say something clever or unexpected in my confession. They're true, every one of them, but that's part of what makes it interesting. (I believe it's the restrictions in writing that inspire creativity... but that's another post.)

Next, I list out my current projects. Part of my job as a writer is to read, and to think critically about what I read. There should never be a point at which there is not some sort of book on my plate. All too often, I get caught up in the minutiae of life and set a book aside. When I finally remember it again, I'm out of the flow, but don't feel like starting over. And so it is abandoned. But this way, I list every day the book I'm reading, and if I don't finish, I don't forget.

After that comes my actual writing projects. The same thing holds here: how can I set a story aside when I don't allow myself to take it off the list until I'm done with it? That's not to say I can only work on "Ferian" and "Dolly" right now, but they don't get off the list until I'm done with them. That's a constant reminder that at any moment, I can either write or revise. Or read.

There's one last part. Did you spot it? It's hiding in plain sight. That is the blog post itself. I'm afraid that one day I'll run out of topics, but is that possible? Not while there are books I haven't read, at least, because I can always comment on what I'm reading if I can't think of anything else. Just tackling a theme on the topic of writing forces me to think about that theme, and to develop in a ways that I might not otherwise pursue.

All of that comes down to this: I am forging my identity as a writer so that I can have a career as an author. To me, the difference comes down to one of professionalism. I don't make a living as a writer, so I am not yet an author. I hope to become one someday, even someday soon. But I must first think of myself as a writer primarily, not as my day job.

Sci-fi versus Fantasy

Confession: I have to be very careful not to read special significance into coincidences. I think I'm just predisposed to find meaning in randomness.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I've never been a big fan of utter realism in fiction. What's the point of reading about reality? There's enough of that in real life to go around. But my tastes have shifted from a love for science fiction to a love for fantasy.

I wouldn't say there was ever a point that I disliked fantasy. The Hobbit was one of my early favorites, although I started The Lord of the Rings too early to really get into it properly until much later. But there wasn't a great deal of good fantasy stories for my age range available in the 80s and early 90s. The age of Harry Potter had not yet begun.

No, this was the age of Star Trek. Thanks to Reading Rainbow, I found out that LeVar Burton was in another show too, and that looked pretty cool. So from 1987 until my sophomore year in college, I was a dedicated Trekkie. At one point, I had over 200 of the Star Trek novels, as well as every single episode on tape, recorded off of television. My greatest literary achievement of high school, the fifteen part epic entitled The Happy Wars Saga was heavily based on the Starfleet system outline in Star Trek. Essentially, it was a universe in which I and a few of my friends were happy to play.

By the time I got to college, that fervor started to wane. I can still remember when I stopped reading Star Trek fiction. It was in Wal-Mart when I saw a certain paperback--a Star Trek/X-Men crossover. My illusions were shattered.

Ten years later, I read that book. It sucked, but not as bad as I was afraid of. It still read like Mary Jane fan fiction.

I had an immediate outlet, though. This was 1998, and Star Wars fervor had begun, first with the release of the Special Editions, and soon with the advent of the first prequel. I'm going to go on record right now to say that The Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie. (That's right, fuckers. That's not even a confession, because I don't feel guilty about it.)

But Star Wars is often held up as somewhere between sci-fi and fantasy, and I always related more to the Jedi than to droids or bounty hunters or X-wing pilots. And there was more.

Without the monthly influx of two or three Star Trek novels, my reading output went elsewhere. It found Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time, Martin's Song of Ice and Fire, and revisited old favorites like Anne McCaffrey's Pern series and the venerable Lord of the Rings. Then I discovered Terry Pratchett, and he displaced Douglas Adams in my mind as the king of humorous speculative fiction.

Wherefore this change? I think it's because science fiction is all about dehumanization, and fantasy is all about being human. And between the two, I know which I'd rather fantasize about. I never really read much sci-fi outside of the Star Trek universe, and when you think about it, that show was never really about the technology either, only where it could take you.

I love stories about honor, and by the time you get to the post-apocalyptic worlds of science fiction, honor no longer exists... or if it does, it's in a story like Dune that is as much fantasy as Star Wars.

Gender and POV

Confession: I eat too much and hate exercise. It's amazing I'm only twenty pounds overweight.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I found it very difficult the first time I was called on to write a story from a female POV. It wasn't even in the first person. It was just... uncomfortable is the best word I can think of to describe it. I knew I was going to get it all wrong, that everyone was going to laugh at me, that I would reveal some sort of great error that would shame me for life.

As a result, the character became even more wooden than she might have been otherwise. It was from her POV, but I resolutely stayed out of her head.

I can tell you exactly when that started to change for me. As a way of learning to write in other voices, I joined a bunch of different forums one weekend. I created a "character" for each of them, and made sure to post only in that person's voice.

The only female character in the lot turned out to be the most successful. Part of it was because I liked the subject matter in that forum best, but I think it went deeper than that. I became friends with the other people there, and as I did, I put more and more of myself into her and her story. When good things happened in my life, they happened in hers. Bad things, ditto. They happened through the filter of the character, of course, but as time went on, that mattered less and less.

I was accepted without reservation, and after a while, I took that for granted. She was consistent, but still developed as time went on. After a few years went by, I gradually posted less and less, gave my excuses, and quit the forum. I did this not out of boredom, but because I had become such good friends with those people, and it pained me to keep lying. But I couldn't tell the truth, because I'd rather they remember her well than me poorly.

That experience taught me one thing--we all have the same motivations. We may act on them differently, or with different results, but the things we want out of life are the same: pleasure, security, fulfillment, peace, love, excitement. We also fear many of the same things too. And the whole trick to crawling up into another person's noggin is to find out how they react to what they fear, and how they pursue what they love.

Armed with that knowledge, I had no qualms about writing several stories from female POVs. And they've been well received, by both men and the lady types. I'm sure if I get something really wrong, someone will be glad to let me know, but if I do mess up, it won't be because I've forgotten that deep down, we're all human.

Damn that was clichéd. I feel like adding a dick or fart joke here at the end, just to balance it out.

Audiobooks

Confession: Johnathan Strange & Mr Norrell ranks as one of my favorite books. I have never read it, only listened to the unabridged audiobook. Three times.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

Just the other day, I recorded a reading of one of my stories for the first time. As long as I've been messing around with audio, you'd have thought I'd have done it before now, but there it is. I recorded it, acted it out as best I could, and listened to it several times. It wasn't that bad.

The story I read was "Cora and the Sea," which presented several challenges. First, it is a first person POV from a woman's perspective, and I never know quite how much to act up the feminine side. Let me rephrase that. Whenever I'm reading aloud and I get to a woman's part, I do try to alter the tone of my voice to indicate the gender difference, not in a high pitched, squeaky, Mickey Mouse way, but more in the... well, I don't quite know how to describe it. But I've heard other male readers do the same thing in the same situation, so I'm not alone.

What I find myself doing is emphasizing the difference more in dialogue, even though the narration is from the same character's POV. But I used the same voice, if that makes any sense. Pretty much I'm just doing my best to echo that character's voice in my head, in whatever way I can.

After completing the spoken version of the first story, I did the same with "Black Pudding," only this time in a British accent. Now let me say this--my British accent is fucking awesome, and I've been told it sounds authentic by actual Brits who would have loved to find one more reason to ridicule me. So I'm confident it doesn't suck.

But there I was, trying to use several different voices in the context of that one accent! The POV character was a woman again, but there were two other female characters (although one had only one line) and two male characters. I gave each his or her own voice. And the thing is, I don't know how, except to say that those are the voices that I heard in my head as I was writing.

And I think that's why I like the idea of audiobooks read by the author. Some authors have the ability with voices

I'm arrogant enough to think I do

and some don't, but they all know what the characters were supposed to sound like. The great ones can render that into the way they present their material. I'd like to do that myself some day.

The subject comes up because I'm going to be on the program for a reading this August, for "Cora and the Sea." I'd like it to be perfect, so after revising the story next month, I'm going to practice, and practice, and rerecord the audio version, then listen to it several times so I can pin every nuance. I have ten minutes to sell that story to the audience, and I'm going to sell the shit out of it.

The Reader as a Character

Confession: I ate at a Chinese buffet for lunch, and ate WAY too much. I feel like I'm about to pop over here.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I just got an idea for Ferian Fetlock which I think might be a good idea, something distinctive about the story and the series as a whole (assuming I do continue on with the other two planned stories which set up the other two recurring characters.) It's the idea of the Reader as a character.

The conceit of a first person narrative is that the narrator is telling the story. We see it from their point of view. However, except in rare cases, there's no mention made of the fact that the person who lived through those events is actually sitting down at a computer and typing it out, or telling the story to someone else.

My mind goes to P.G. Wodehouse, whose excellent Jeeves and Wooster novels are written from the first person point of view of Bertie Wooster himself. The character Bertie Wooster is a buffoon, who has a hard time expressing himself in anything other than slang terms and various animal noises, but Bertie as a narrator has a peculiar patois of misquoted quotations and flowery prose. This juxtaposition is part of what makes those stories so enjoyable to read, or even more so, to hear read aloud.

Occasionally, Bertie will mention the previous stories as "these little chronicles" or some other fourth wall-breaking phrase, which implies that at some point down the line, Bertie himself is sitting down to compose his memoirs. In a way that stretches credibility, since Bertie never reads anything more difficult than pulp mystery novels. Still, Wodehouse is clever enough to keep the reader from asking that question most of the time.

In every version of Ferian Fetlock so far, at least all I can remember, the POV is first person, always from the viewpoint of Ferian himself. But to whom is he telling these stories? The short answer to that is, the Reader, but that's in the real world. In the context of the story, who is his audience?

That's not going to be the first question the reader asks of a first person POV story, but if I do it subtly enough, perhaps I can make it work.

I'd like to gradually, over the course of the stories, imply that Ferian is on trial. He will certainly commit enough crimes over the course of the stories for that to make sense. If he is speaking, as it were, in his own defense, then I've got an excellent reason for him to try to phrase his adventures in a manner complimentary to himself; however, the truth will still come through.

Let's say that for some reason, he cannot lie. He can, however, use his remarkable talent with words to make the truth dance, and this is what he will try to do. Instead of an earthly trial, then, he's actually making his case to some Higher Power. For that, I'll need to invent some of the mythology of this world... for that matter, I'm still not certain what Lizaju is, other than that he's blue, and has strange abilities.

But for the first story, I don't need to know more. I just need to know who Ferian is actually talking to. Why does he start the story here? Well, for my own purposes, it's a chance for us to meet the character is an archetypal adventure, before we switch up the mix. From Ferian, though, this is the story of how he caught a cold. And in the next story, "Ferian Fetlock Catches a Cold," we see how he meets Lizaju. And in the next one, "Ferian Fetlock Takes a Wife," we meet Cassie, and now our trio of main characters is complete. That should serve as the first act of the larger story... wherever that happens to go.

Time to stop putting it off and actually write it, no?

Plot versus Story

Confession: I have terrible fashion sense. If I ever get a book advance over $500,000, I'm going to dedicate 5% of that to hiring someone to help me revamp my entire wardrobe. Someone with taste.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I just finished The Snapper by Roddy Doyle this morning, during the time that (according to yesterday's schedule) I was supposed to be revising "Dolly Hobbles." For shame. Still, if I do that this afternoon, then I'll have tomorrow to dip into old Ferian pretty heavy. Maybe.

Reading The Snapper got me to thinking about what "story" is, at least in relation to plot. I say this because The Snapper is a story that I could not have written. And I'm not talking about the Irish slang, either; it's a story that, in some sense, could be written in any poor, urban area with strong ties of community and a penchant for gossip. The Barrytown setting gave it flavor, but not substance.

No, it's the way an entire novel was written about a pregnancy. The baby itself is born in the last page, and serves as a denouement to the story, not even a vital part. And the plot is simple. Sharon is pregnant, and she tells her parents, then her friends. They are all remarkably okay with it, although her father does have some issues later on, which they deal with. The identity of the father gets out and causes some problems, but thanks to a lie no one believes but everyone pretends to, it turns out pretty much okay.

I could never have made that interesting. Ever. Because the scenes dealing exclusively with the plot don't really make up the story.

The story is about the Rabbitte family. The story is about Sharon in relation to her community, the whole family in relation to the community. It's a journey for Sharon's father, Jimmy Sr., and to a lesser extent for her mother Veronica. But pretty much all of her siblings get a plot thread that carries through the whole story. All of these elements work together to make the story, and make Sharon's predicament matter. Because we know her siblings, her parents, her friends, we actually care about her. We laugh along with her ribald jokes when she's with her friends, and we tremble with her when her baby daddy tries to lure her to a life with him in London.

This is not a story about a pregnancy, even though it's a plot about a pregnancy. This is a story about character. Sharon has to overcome her concern for how she appears in the eyes of the neighborhood... and so does her father. They do this different ways, but they do so successfully, and the story thus becomes a triumphant one.

And this is remarkable, all the more so given the somewhat appalling conditions in which Sharon lives. We see her excessive drinking during the pregnancy, even up to the last week, and we have one more reason than Sharon does to worry that the child won't be born healthy. We see Jimmy's self-indulgent attempted manipulation of Sharon, to try to wrangle out an apology, yet we still somehow sympathize with him.

It's remarkable because we see all these things through the eyes of the participants, and we can see the love and affection the characters have for each other. We see this through the filter of the culture in which it is set, without judging them too harshly.

The final novel in the trilogy, The Van, focuses on Jimmy after he loses his job. (I'm only a page into the story, now, so I can only echo what I've been told about it.) But again, that's just the plot, and I can't wait to find out what the story is about.

Weekend Plans

Confession: I am addicted to Blistex Lip Medex. I have a little blue tub of it in every room of my apartment, in my car, and at work.

Reading:

• The Snapper, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

There's a lot of pressure for me on the weekends to get as much accomplished as I can. It's hard to do much writing during the week... in fact, keeping this blog has been the one thing that forces me to thing about writing on weekdays. But on the weekends, I have wide open swaths of time to write, and I should make the most of it.

So here's my plan for tomorrow.

• Get up
• Shower
• Get my ass over to the Panera for breakfast, coffee, and a little revisin'

You see, all week people have been helping me to revise "Dolly Hobbles." It's not a bad story, but it betrays its origins--i.e., written in an afternoon in six hours and not touched since. Well, this is when I touch it again and turn it into something worthy of submitting elsewhere.

• Drink me some coffees.
• Get a sore ass from wooden chairs, go home.
• Maybe watch a bit of the teevee.
• Lunch! Pizza from Tony's, and read some more on The Snapper. Girl's gonna have that baby pretty soon.
• Come home again, pack up the stuffs.
• Off to the B&N for an afternoon with Ferian Fetlock.

I've got the beginning of this story and the end of it so far. There's a big chunk of middle that I skipped, and that is totally not like me to do. I think it's because I don't have a good concept of this story yet. Knowing me, that means I need to

• Take a walk

It's the best way for me to think. I can't seem to do it sitting still for some reason, and the weather is supposed to be good tomorrow.

It's a distinct possibility that tomorrow, I might complete one story and revamp another. Kind of exciting.

The Forest or the Trees?

Confession: I just popped the =+ key off my keyboard accidentally. And this is my work computer. It took five frantic minutes to put it back on.

Reading:

• The Snapper, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I realized something about my writing style today. I write deductively; that is, I start with the general and move to the specific. I can't visualize doing it any other way, although I've been told, and by people I trust, that it is possible to do it the other way around.

You see, I have to have the big picture before I can even start. That means, for me at least, an outline. For that, I write about one line per scene, with additional notes on important details or plot points that have to be unveiled. Once the outline is done, I read through it, just like a movie director would flip through storyboards to see how the movie will come together. Tweak where necessary and voilà! The first part is done.

What's left is the writing, and that's fun too. I have the bones, but I'm adding the muscles and tendons and little wiggly bits. Once a scene is finished, I check it against the outline to see if I covered what I need to cover, and if not, I go back and adjust. Sounds pretty easy, right? Except sometimes the story takes on a life of its own.

If you've never experienced it, it won't make any sense. I'll try to explain. When you speak, do you have conscious control over every word that comes out of your mouth? Probably not. You've got the thoughts in your head and they come out your mouth, and they get converted into language somewhere in between where we really don't even think about it. The next time you get stopped dead in your tracks because you can't think of a word, you'll know what I mean. It's like a train getting derailed.

Composing, at least for me, is similar. I think less about individual words and more about the flow of the description, or making sure that the words of dialogue that emerge are in the appropriate character's voice. The characters don't know the plot or where it's going, though, and that can cause problems. Suddenly I look up, and their motivations or actions have led them down a different road than I intended, subtly at first, but finally to an extent that my outline is no longer valid.

There are three options for me, here. One is to work the digression into the story. I don't usually have a lot of success with these kinds of detours, though, and it's usually better to go with option two, which is to prune. You figure out where the story diverged and you revise from there.

But sometimes even that doesn't serve. The characters struggle to break free from the bounds you give them, and you have to follow the new path. This is where I freeze. I find that I have to go back, reconceive the story from the beginning, and revise everything to match the new direction before I can proceed. It's what held me up in writing "Illuminated," as well as Floorcraft and ever other novel I've ever attempted.

In fact, "Illuminated" is the first story that has ever survived derailment. I should figure out what I did, and do it again.

The Balancing Act of Critique

Confession: I have a dream that one day, I'll have enough money to purchase a nice, big apartment over one of the restaurants or shops in downtown Sayville, or another similar Long Island town. I would have several internet connections, sofas and comfy chairs, desks, writing supplies, and no televisions. It would be a writers' retreat, and I could give keys to students or other young writers who are looking for a place to go and meet other young writers, free of distractions. It's the sort of place I'd love to find now.

Reading:

• The Snapper, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

A few days ago, I sent out a huge call for critiques on "Dolly Hobbles." I advertised on a message board I frequent, as well as on Facebook, and got about two dozen responses.

Many of the critiques are just one or two words, directly addressing the questions I asked. It's a good thing I asked them, or I might have gotten a response like "it's good" or "I liked it," or my personal favorite--"I had to read it a couple of times." (Never sure if that's a good thing or not.)

Other critiques go into detail on word choice and grammar (that's a lie, my grammar was fine), and write long paragraphs for each of my questions. I get the fact that these are the people who didn't have time to finish the second essay on their AP English exam).

Both types of critiques are useful. The short ones cut to the heart of the matter, and the long ones expand on it. My confidence is (currently) high enough so that even the negative criticisms don't wound.

Overheard in the restaurant just now: a girl in her twenties wearing a green hoodie. "Look how fun it looks!" she says, showing her Panera salad to her dining companion. "How fun! Look at all the colors!"

But that brings to mind the difficulty in giving a good critique. As anyone who has been on the receiving end of one of my critiques will know, I tend to be detail oriented... sometimes at the exclusion of the big picture. Let's just say that detail is my default, and only when I am asked do I step back and take in the whole forest.

But there is a fine line between a detailed critique and a list of nitpicks. The way I attempt to avoid this pitfall is to give justification for each comment or edit, as well as bestowing praise on those elements I like.

Because you know, it's hard to read through a critique of your work. When I'm by myself, I look at a piece and I see the glaring, obvious flaws. But let someone else lay a finger on it, and I have to restrain myself from jumping to its defense. I'm like the big brother who loves to pick on his little sister, but death to the schoolkid that tries to do the same.

But of course, we all like compliments on our work. They help soothe the itches of the criticism. And suddenly, critique becomes a balanced breakfast. There's the stuff that's good for you, and the stuff that tastes good, and it's the most important meal of the day. (Not sure where that fits into the metaphor.)

Some authors might not need the frosted side of the Mini Wheats to choke down critique. I've sat down a swallowed my share of negative comments, and once I manage to get ego out of the way, I've seen how they improved the story. (Helped build strong bones?) And other times, I have to put them away, shut the criticism away until I'm strong enough to face it.

There are few things that are so uniquely personal as writing. And until a piece is published, it has an air of impermanence, as if every single word has yet to be pinned down and formalized. The possibilities of change are infinite, and it never, never, never lives up to what it could be. Somewhere out there in the ether is the perfect word choice for every single line, and only one monkey sitting at one typewriter will ever see it.

When I look back at the writing attempts of my youth, I can barely read from embarrassment. Other people don't understand why I'm shy about showing the stories I wrote when I was ten, but they don't understand. I don't see the story of a ten-year-old writing at a high school level. I see failure, the attempt to create the perfect story that fell short because it just wasn't in me.

Yes, I know it's impossible to create the perfect story, that it's not in me, but I still can't help but feel that an imperfect story is a glimpse into my imperfect soul, and it makes me feel naked and vulnerable in the way that physical nudity never could.

And to have that imperfect work criticized... well, isn't that just a criticism of my imperfect soul? And don't I feel the need to justify at the same time that I know those criticisms are entirely correct, even mild in comparison to the truth?

But damn, dude (I say to myself), chill. Yes, a story is a glimpse into my soul, but only into a fraction of it, and to render imperfect what I feel is not the same as being faulty or worthless. After all, it's just a story.

Story for the Sake of Character

Confession: I'm a political junkie. What could have been a great evening of writing has turned into a CNN marathon.

Reading:

• The Snapper, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

As you can see above, I've started a new book now. It is the second book in the Barrytown Trilogy, a series of novels written about the Rabbitte family, poor, working-class Dubliners. As an American, I can't pretend to understand more than 60% of the references in the series, but I was attracted to it years ago thanks to an excerpt in a collection of Irish humor I got one St. Patrick's Day.

The previous novel in the series, The Commitments, as well as The Snapper, share one trait in common--the clever use of dialogue. The text is written in non-standard English, making full use of profanity, slang, and accents rendered into spelling. And that more than anything makes the characterization come completely alive.

You don't have to understand every word or phrase to understand the story, because the power of the characters drives it along. The Commitments had a simple plot--it centered around a young man named Jimmy Jr., and his quest to form and manage a soul band in Dublin. The Snapper has even less of a plot, in a way. In it, Jimmy's sister Sharon is pregnant, and as of now, she has not yet revealed the name of the father to anyone. We see Sharon dealing with her new situation, and her friends, and siblings, and parents.

In one respect, nothing has really happened. Sharon broke the news about fifty pages ago. But I keep reading not to find out what happens next, but to find out more about the people in the story. In that regard, reading The Snapper is a lot like hanging out with your friends. Sometimes the point is not what you do together, but who you do it with.

Master of the Whoosiewhatsit

Confession: If I didn't enjoy reading it, I wouldn't. So yes, this post is hypocritical. So what, you're saying you can be hypocritical, and I can't?

Reading:

• Master of the Cauldron by David Drake
• The Snapper by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

This morning I finished the last few pages of Master of the Cauldron. I was left with a profound sense of futility and frustration, and I couldn't imagine why the main characters didn't feel the same way.

First of all, the guiding premise of the story is that Garric must unite the Isles against the coming Evil, or else all of mankind will be destroyed. In fact, no greater motivation for unification is given, even though the Isles have not been united in 1,000 years. Now that's a nice round number, but just imagine if all of a sudden, some whackjob claiming to be the distant ancestor of Charlemagne decided he had to unite Europe under one flag (i.e., his).

In fact, the entire argument reminds me just a little too much of the "War on Terror" propaganda campaign which has dominated so much of the media for the last six and a half years. Now I specifically do not want this blog to get political

Obama in '08!

but I don't think I should ignore politics when it slaps me in the face. In the world of the Isles, all Wizardry is Evil! Unless, of course, the Good Guys are using it, and they do it the right way. (Is "waterboarding" a spell?) Humans are the Good Guys, but everything that is non-human is presented as monstrous and extremely well motivated to kill us. The huge climax of Cauldron features wave after wave of misshapen creatures boiling out of the ground to serve as sword fodder. Why do they want to kill? We never find out, although it might have something to do with Wizardry. And when the Wizard dies, the rest of the poor sons of bitches are hunted down anyway. No pity. No mercy. It becomes a game, and even the game is held up as a Good way to train the soldiers for battles to come.

To be fair, this is the first book in this series in which these overtones have really come through for me, and I don't know anything about Drake's politics besides what I read in the pages of his books. And all of the above is a critique of the themes of the story, not of the mechanics of the writing itself. Both are valid critiques, but if the point of this blog is to improve my skills as a writer, I should turn to the mechanics before I'm done.

First of all, the titular character, this Master of the Cauldron, doesn't even appear until the last fifty or so pages. When he does, we do not recognize him as such until towards the very end. You see, the misshapen creatures I mentioned before are pouring out of a cauldron, and the Wizard who enchanted it is their master, and you see... you see where he went with that?

But let's rewind a little first. As I suspected, it wasn't long before each of the four main characters were split up to pursue their own plotline. Ilna and her pirate boyfriend Chalcus get sucked into a parallel universe/dimension/other world/strange continent/place, just like always, along with a dude named Davus who seems to be pretty cool and likes rocks. They're purportedly searching for little orphan Merota, but she doesn't get much of a mention except at the beginning and ends of that plot thread. Their story consists of a Journey towards a Citadel, with adventures along the way that don't really contribute to the story, and barely add to the characterizations of any of the three.

Meanwhile, Ilna's brother Cashel gets whisked away by a lady-type Wizard who seems to be pretty decent. She gives him the grand tour of a Crystal City, and I spent the whole book, until the end, thinking that it was the same Citadel mentioned in Ilna's plot. After all, Ilna and Cashel disappeared off the same mountain at the same time, so why couldn't they be in the same universe? Both plotlines were talking about the rule of the Old King, and described a similar wasteland of neglect. One plot mentioned trolls made out of rock, the other plot told of the Made Men who were created by the King. It all fit together! I was looking forward to seeing Ilna and Cashel on opposite sides of a growing war. That would be juicy!

It also didn't happen. They were in two separate alternate universes/parallel dimensions/conveniently distant plot threads. Huh. Cashel winds up inspiring a bunch of kids to give their bodies to six dead heroes and go into battle, where some of them die, but that's okay, because it's a Good Thing. Oh, and the Wizard Lady is a Queen and also Cashel's mom, which we figured out from the moment she introduced herself, even though Cashel had to be told at the end of the book by people who weren't even there.

Now onto Sharina, who managed not to get sucked into any parallel alternate dimensional pocket universes until the beginning of Chapter 13! After a bizarre sequence in which she cuts off her hair to give to some sea nymphs for a faster transit time back home, she dicks around for a bit, gets zapped to the enemy headquarters, and unveils a plot for a bunch of bronze armored blond guys to take over the kingdom. They kill a bunch of them and save the day. But then she is needed back at Garric's plotline, so they hop the deus ex machina express back to the island where they started.

That's where Garric has been hanging out this whole time with his hot library girlfriend, Liane. (Well, she's a noblewoman of some description, but she has the function of a glorified secretary throughout the whole story, and I can just picture her being played by Jennifer Garner wearing horn-rimmed glasses. She would take them off halfway through the story to reveal her RAGING FEMININITY!) He's trying to play nice and take over the island without a fight using all sorts of passive aggressive political techniques. Meanwhile, the voice of his long dead ancestor Carus provides a sort of commentary in his head, which usually consists of variations on "Yep, I wouldn't have done that, because I was a bloodthirsty bastard when I was a king."

Eventually, Garric gets it into his head to, I don't know, do something about the people he suspected from the very beginning, but it's Too Late, and the freakazoid patrol comes bubbling out of the Cauldron which, we are informed, has a Master. (This guy is killed toward the end of the book by the Isles equivalent of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I just reread that sentence, and it makes the book sound a lot cooler than it is.)

As my confession indicated, I must have enjoyed this book on some level, or else why keep reading? In part, it's because I've ridden through six books with these people, and I want to find out what happens. But also understand, I waited over a year between books five and six, and I feel no real need to pick up Fortress of Glass immediately. (That's book seven, and the volume that promises to be the antepenultimate entry in the series. Next to next to last, in case I made that word up.)

I think the explanation is that they became all the same. I kept waiting for character development that never came, because all four of them are already perfect... even Ilna, for all her self hate. So here's what I would do for each of them to re-energize the stories.

Garric:

As I mentioned before, he's got a voice of a long-dead king in his head. (That must be inconvenient when he's trying to get some hot library sex with Liane. You don't want to hear comments like, "You're a much better lover than I was, lad! You really care about the lady. I just drove my oxen for home like the oxcart was on fire!")

The problem is, Garric and Carus always agree. Let's have some disagreement, dude! And even better, leave it vague as to who the reader is supposed to think is right! Carus may try to take over Garric's body at some point or another, at least to accomplish one task. Maybe he succeeds? Does Garric try to banish him? Let's say he does, and loses the advice that he needs later on. Garric is proud of the job he's been doing, but what if he gets prideful? Does he do something to hurt Liane?

In essence, Garric is powerful when he has his ancestor's advice, his girlfriend's support, and an army at his back. Okay. Take those things away, one by one, and make him earn them back. We'll learn who Garric is when we see him with nothing.

Sharina:

She was great in the first book when she had a mentor who was teaching her the way of the Fierce Warrior. Her plots have been kind of bland since then, even with Tenoctris the Good Wizard at her side.

I'd like to see Tenoctris fail at something, or for her strength to give out. She has just been too perfect up until now, always lasting as long as necessary, magic always doing what she intends and no more. Has she no desire for anything more?

Much is made out of the way Tenoctris uses bamboo shoots as an athame (read: magic wand). What if she finds an athame that she thinks she can control, a Good athame, as it were. And at first, it seems to be working, but as time goes on and she grows more powerful, she starts to change, and has to give it up.

That addresses her, but not Sharina. She has acted as Tenoctris' friend and caretaker, but what about when she has to step in and do the intervention? And when she does, she fails. More than fails. Tenoctris blasts her, and suddenly Sharina isn't the beautiful blonde princess anymore. Maybe she's old, or ugly, or disfigured. Will Cashel still love her? And for goodness' sake, don't do the Fairy tale Fuck-up Fix at the end and turn everything back to normal. Give us consequences we have to live with!

Cashel:

Dawwww, he's a big dumb lug who always does the right thing. Isn't that wonderful? Cashel has absolutely, positively, the least character develop of anybody in these stories. Yet somehow, he's the most likable character, and I can tell that Drake likes to write him. He's the perpetual underdog in intelligence, but his simplicity, sincerity, and fucking huge muscles manage to win the day every time. But above all, you can always rely on him to do the right thing, no matter what.

There's two ways you can go with this. One, have him get scared and not do the right thing for once. Show us he's human. Unfortunately, six books on, that probably wouldn't work, since it goes against everything we know about his character. So take it a different way.

Instead, have him do the right thing, push forward no matter what the cost... and then he finds the cost is greater than he had thought. Maybe it has something to do with Sharina or Ilna, or even Garric. If Cashel had simply been misled, it wouldn't bother him. He would blame the person who misled him and not himself. No, Cashel will have to have been demonstrably wrong about something, and that leaves it up to him to fix it. And I would love to see him in a situation that his quarterstaff can't fix.

Ilna:

I saved her for last since she's the most interesting of the four. In the first book, she actually had plot development, starting as a chick crushing on Garric and turning into a force for Evil. Hot damn! Then the spell is broken and she sees a trail of death and destruction behind her, and decides to take the path of righteousness.

Yes, that's the same path that the others are on. But they are on that path because they are led to by their very natures. Ilna walks that path because she chooses to... in fact, chooses to act against her nature. So every single day, she feels the temptation to be and do evil, and resists because she has made that choice.

But arrrrrrgggghhhh, that potential gets wasted. She has never deviated from that path, even for a moment. It's like the recovering alcoholic who never takes another drink. That's awesome in real life, but in literature, if you've got a recovering alcoholic, he's got to take a drink at least once. Because then you get all the meaty territory of figuring out how to deal with backsliding and all the self doubt and self loathing it entails.

Another thing--emotion. Ilna seems to be emotionless, so much so that the scene at the end where she thinks Chalcus and Merota are dead rang completely untrue. (They had been turned to stone. So? The story started with her freeing someone who had been turned to stone. You can't tell me she wouldn't have figured out a way to turn them back if Davus hadn't fixed things.)

I would have liked seeing her worry for Merota building throughout the story. Let emotion get in the way, let her make mistakes. Let's see an explosion! Let's see her take it out on Chalcus, and let's see him not be perfectly understanding for once. I want some goddamn conflict!

In conclusion (because I should conclude, I really should), the characters only have external conflicts. The story could be improved if they had internal conflict, or conflict among themselves. Without that, they don't change, and without change, each book is interchangeable with the one before it. Of course, that might be just what Drake is going for.

Research Time

Confession: I have the tendency to hide my failures and expose my successes. And then I have the nerve to wonder why people act like I succeed effortlessly. I can't have it both ways.

Reading:

• Master of the Cauldron, by David Drake
• 2008 Novel & Short Story Writer's Market, Lauren Mosko, Editor

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising:

• "Dolly Hobbles"

"Ferian Fetlock" is a comedy. Since the news yesterday of my grandmother's passing, I haven't been in what you might call the right frame of mind to do humorous writing, so after a nice long thoughtful blog yesterday, I'm going to regroup by doing some research today. I have purchased a bright shiny new copy of a book I should probably have just checked out from the library (if I didn't already have four items past due).

For someone who loves books as much as I do, I hate checking them out from libraries. The problem is that they make me give them back.

Today, I get the chance to put my metaphorical money where my metaphorical mouth is. I claimed on my previous post that I would accept comically low pay and copies in returns for publication. Well, my wish might be granted. This year's guide has a nice little section of small circulation publications that offer just that. Although not as well recognized or lucrative, they offer a better chance for new writers to get published, and build up that all important resume before aiming for the big leagues.

I have no problem with starting small, so that's what I'm going to work on today. I'm going to compile a list of magazines, along with their submission requirements (or where to get them). And as I get stories ready for submission, I'll pick the best and get it out to them.

You've got to understand that I think of this as work, as opposed to writing, which is fun. (Revision is about halfway in-between.) But it furthers the writing, and what better activity to engage in when my mind is not in a writing kind of place?

Before I start on that, though, a note on "Dolly Hobbles." It was written for that same 24 Hour Short Story Contest that I've mentioned several times in the past. It won honorable mention, a fact of which I was quite proud. But this is the first time that I've tried to revise one of those stories out of its churned-out-in-an-afternoon roots. The length of time that it takes to write a story means nothing outside of the context of the contest, and if it's a story worth salvaging, it deserves a long-term polish.

The trick is that the structure of the story was determined by a word count that also no longer applies. So this will be good practice at a different kind of revision--starting at the structural level and rewriting perhaps the entire story to fit that new structure. I get the feeling that when I finally make a serious attempt at a novel, that will be a skill that becomes very, very important.