Archive for October, 2009

Game day jitters

Five hours.

In five hours, both NaNoW­riMo and the Max­i­mum Geek Ulti­mate Writ­ing Chal­lenge begin. I’m going to a NaNoW­riMo kick­off party tonight here in Den­ver, and I’ll start writ­ing at the stroke of mid­night. Bet­ter yet, since I’ll likely still be writ­ing at 2am when the clocks fall back, I get an extra hour. Not to sleep as most peo­ple use this odd autumn bounty, but an extra hour to write.

And I’m gonna need it.

Right now, I’m writ­ing this in my friendly neigh­bor­hood Chipo­tle, where I plan to do a lot of writ­ing over the next year. It’s either a hor­ri­ble or oddly aus­pi­cious night to do this, as the place is likely well above the legal occu­pancy limit because of their annual “dress as a bur­rito and get a free bur­rito pro­mo­tion.” Nearly every one of the hun­dred peo­ple in here have at least some alu­minum foil wrapped around some­thing. Some, like the ones who just have a lit­tle crimped over an ear, aren’t really try­ing, but the cashier is being pretty gen­er­ous. The point is that if I can write in this din, with the end of the line con­stantly bump­ing past my table — the only one in the place with access to an AC out­let — then I can write any­where, anywhen.

And I’m gonna need that too.

On the sur­face, what I’m about to do — rather, what I’m about to start, this is a marathon, not a sprint — isn’t all that unusual as pro­fes­sional grade writ­ing goes. Stephen King does two thou­sand words a day, every day, when in the com­po­si­tion phase, and there’s a lot of writ­ers who work even faster than he does. But the dif­fer­ence is that I’m not tak­ing a leave of absence to do this. I’m not get­ting paid to do this. I don’t even have a spouse who can sup­port me for a year while I chase my dream.

In the next year, I’m going to tran­si­tion into a new job. I’m going to file bank­ruptcy, some­thing I know very lit­tle about and that scares the heck out of most peo­ple. I’m going to move out of my par­ents house into a place of my own. I may end up buy­ing a new car or buy­ing and learn­ing how to ride a motor­cy­cle. Despite what my friends seem to think, I’m going to main­tain an active social life, though I prob­a­bly won’t date more than I do now, which is to say I won’t date at all. I’m going to keep blog­ging and tweet­ing. I’m going to have a full life.

And I’m going to write some­where between a half and three quar­ters of a mil­lion words of fiction.

And now, as I sit in this cacoph­o­nous Chipo­tle, that’s start­ing to sound… real. That’s start­ing to sound daunt­ing. The enor­mity of my task looms before me and I feel small.

Tonight, I get to do that.

Because in five hours, every­thing changes. In five hours, I start writ­ing. And I don’t stop until I get to the end of book seven. I don’t give up. I don’t despair. I don’t get to run to any­one to take this bur­den from me. This is my dream. This is why I’m here on this planet and this is what I’ve spent the last twenty years run­ning from.

In five hours, the run­ning stops. And the writ­ing begins.

Comments (2)

Is it okay to podcast old work?

So the plan, such as it was, was to pod­cast the orig­i­nal ver­sion of Between Heaven and Hell as three 20-​week sea­sons while I write the new and Uni­fi­ca­tion Chron­i­cles series (of which the first three books com­prise the same events as Between Heaven and Hell). I fig­ured this would help get my name out there and start build­ing a fan base so that when/​if I started pod­cast­ing the new books, there would already be a siz­able audi­ence. Even if I decided to go the tra­di­tional route and query the (nigh unsaleable) seven book series to agents/​editors, a pod­cast audi­ence would show that there was at least a mar­ket for this story.

Then today I was lis­ten­ing to one of the pan­els from Drag­onCon ’09 (via the Dead Robots Soci­ety, my new favorite pod­cast I don’t host) and Mike Stack­pole had a sug­ges­tion that stopped me in my tracks. He said that you should def­i­nitely not pod­cast old work you just have lying around, that it’s vital if you’re build­ing a fan base that you show them what you’re capa­ble of as a writer today, not years ago.

Between Heaven and Hell was orig­i­nally writ­ten in 1996, and in just reread­ing the first chap­ter, I can tell how much I’ve changed as a writer in the last 13 years. When I wrote that book, I’d only actu­ally writ­ten five real short sto­ries before that, and only one of those based on my own char­ac­ters and not fan­fic. I’d had decades of sto­ry­telling expe­ri­ence through oral sto­ry­telling and later run­ning role play­ing games, but my actual writ­ing expe­ri­ence was thin. And frankly, you can tell. I know so much more about the craft now than I knew then, have learned so much about writ­ing in the screen­play and two nov­els I’ve writ­ten since, along with what I learned from writ­ing that first novel that you can only learn by writ­ing a first novel, that it really does read like it’s from a dif­fer­ent author than the stuff I write today. In a very real sense, it is.

Which means that Stack­pole has a point. It might not be a good idea to pod­cast a 13-​year-​old book as a way of get­ting peo­ple famil­iar with me and my style. And yet, it would be good prac­tice in pod­cast­ing fic­tion, and I know peo­ple enjoy the story, how­ever awk­wardly I told it. And it would seem that one of the unique things peo­ple like about pod­cast fic­tion is being able to see a work develop over time as new ver­sions of the same story come out (see Sigler, Scott and Hutchins, J.C.). Pros and cons to both sides.

Pros to pod­cast­ing Between Heaven and Hell while I write Uni­fi­ca­tion Chronicles

  1. Estab­lishes a fol­low­ing who want to read more of my work
  2. Gives me expe­ri­ence in pod­cast­ing fiction
  3. Gives peo­ple a “before” to which to com­pare the “after” I’m writ­ing now
  4. Refreshes my mem­ory to the major plot points and char­ac­ter moments for writ­ing the new books

Cons to pod­cast­ing Between Heaven and Hell while I write Uni­fi­ca­tion Chronicles

  1. Not a true rep­re­sen­ta­tion of my cur­rent capa­bil­i­ties as a writer; peo­ple might not come back to see the new stuff
  2. Will take a lot of time and effort I may not have while try­ing to write 2,000 words a day
  3. Could blind me to new pos­si­bil­i­ties with the reworked plot and char­ac­ters; might slav­ishly stick to the orig­i­nal plot too closely

I hon­estly can’t decide at this point. While I mull this over, let me know what you think.

Comments (3)

KILROY 2.0 IS EVERYWHERE">KILROY 2.0 IS EVERYWHERE

If you’re read­ing my stuff, you’re prob­a­bly no stranger to SF pod­cast­ing. But one of the giants of the pod­cast­ing field and a man after my own cliffhang­ery heart is hav­ing a big day today. J.C. Hutchins is cel­e­brat­ing the print release of his novel 7th Son: Descent today. If you like mod­ern day tech­nothrillers, as I do, you’ll love this book. I don’t want to give too much away, but it involves a bril­liant psy­cho killer, human cloning and gov­ern­ment conspiracies.

But here’s the thing. The pub­lisher hasn’t picked up the sec­ond and third books of the tril­ogy, so 7th Son: Descent needs to launch in a big way. You can show your sup­port by pick­ing it up at your local book­store, or snag it on Ama­zon. Either way, get it while it’s hot!

Comments (2)

Making writing a priority

NaNoW­riMo is right around the cor­ner, and I’m champ­ing at the bit to get started. But while NaNoW­riMo is a chal­lenge, I’m tak­ing it a lit­tle bit far­ther than that. 50,000 words in 30 days is great, but in the spirit of kick­ing it up a notch, I’m going to do 500,000 words in 300 days. NaNoW­riMo times ten.

Here’s the plan. For NaNoW­riMo, I’m start­ing with Rev­e­la­tion, the first book in the Between Heaven and Hell Tril­ogy. This book intro­duces Daniel Cho and drops him into a web of intrigue, decep­tion and ancient secret soci­eties that make the Illu­mi­nati and Masons look like the 4-​H Club. I plan to write this novel through to the end, rather than stop­ping when I hit 50k or the end of Novem­ber. At a pace of 2,000 words a day, I expect the first draft to take me about 6 weeks, fin­ish­ing about a week or two before Christ­mas. And the day after I fin­ish it, I’m start­ing on Cru­sade, then Jihad to round out the story of Daniel Cho. Then we jump for­ward a cen­tury or two to the Uni­fi­ca­tion Chron­i­cles Tril­ogy: Mis­taken Iden­tity, the story of our dis­as­trous first con­tact with an alien species, The Neme­sis War, the galaxy-​wide strug­gle we get pulled into, and then a break to write Sins of the Moth­ers, a spin-​off novel of one human lead­ing the oppressed half of the alien race we fought in Mis­taken Iden­tity in rev­o­lu­tion after the Neme­sis War is over, before finally wrap­ping up the seven vol­ume saga (what am I, Tolkien?) with Uni­fi­ca­tion. If every­thing goes accord­ing to plan, I’ll fin­ish Uni­fi­ca­tion just before Drag­onCon 2010 on Labor Day Week­end, and I will make my trip to Drag­onCon a cel­e­bra­tion wor­thy of some­one who just fin­ished writ­ing seven nov­els in less than a year.

And because I can, while this manic man­u­script marathon of may­hem is going on I’m also going to record and release four pod­cast nov­els (Do Over and the three books of the orig­i­nal Between Heaven and Hell), file bank­ruptcy, set­tle into a new job, move into a new apart­ment and try to lose 50 pounds. My only regret is that I can’t get mar­ried, have a kid and get divorced in the same time span just to round out the list of Most Stress­ful Things A Human Can Go Through. Maybe I’ll get hit by light­ning instead.

Why am I doing this to myself? Good ques­tion. Clearly, because I’m stark rav­ing mad. Or maybe I’ve just decided that with my high school grad­u­a­tion twenty years ago this past sum­mer that in two decades of coast­ing by on as lit­tle effort pos­si­ble, I’m tired of half-​assing my life. I’ve never really pushed myself to my lim­its, even in Basic Train­ing. As far back as I can remem­ber, I’ve done as lit­tle as I could to get by. Clint East­wood once said, “A man’s got to know his lim­i­ta­tions,” and I don’t know mine. I’ve never really come close. I feel like my whole life I’ve been dri­ving a vin­tage Porsche 911 (my writ­ing abil­ity) around the block to the gro­cery store and back. I want to know what I can really do once I get out on to the high­way and really open this baby up.

Twenty years ago, I was liv­ing with my par­ents, work­ing a McJob, and dream­ing of being a famous writer. And now, twenty years later, I’m liv­ing with my par­ents, work­ing in IT tech sup­port and still dream­ing of being a famous writer. I’ve achieved more than I had any right to expect, don’t get me wrong. I’m deeply thank­ful for every one of my fans, and in a lot of ways, I’m return­ing to Daniel Cho and the world he cre­ated for you. But I’m also doing it because while I’ve kinda sorta set out what I intended to do, I haven’t done it really. What I really want is to be a speaker at Drag­onCon, for peo­ple to fill a room to hear me talk about writ­ing. I want, when I’m old, for peo­ple to look back on the giants of spec­u­la­tive fic­tion and name out Hein­lein, Asi­mov, Kirvin.

Can I get there? Maybe, maybe not. But that’s the point. I still don’t really know, because I still haven’t really been tested. I’ve taken the quick and easy path (the Dark Side, if you recall) ever since ele­men­tary school.

That ends right now.

Start­ing Novem­ber 1st, I’m going to get up every morn­ing at 6 am sharp, regard­less of how late I dragged myself to bed the night before. I’m going to wake myself up with a shower and think about the novel I’m work­ing on. Then I’m going to sit my ass at my desk and write until 8 am. I’m going to do this every day, seven days a week, no days off and no vaca­tions. If the muse is with me, I’ll get my 2,000 words for that day in that 90 minute ses­sion. If I don’t, I’ll write on my lunch hour or after work, but I’m not allowed to go to bed until I have my 2,000 words. Fol­low­ing the advice of Anne Lam­ott, Stephen King and Mur Laf­ferty, I do not care how good the words are. If I’m “blocked” and the muse just isn’t show­ing up, then I’ll get 2,000 words of gib­ber­ish or some­thing later in the book or any­thing I can think of. The words don’t have to be usable, they just have to be there. I think most of them will be good. But I’m not going to sweat those that aren’t. That’s what rewrit­ing is for, after DragonCon.

And that, dear read­ers, is the dif­fer­ence. That even though I’m going to have all this other stuff going on in my life, even though I have so many non-​writing things to accom­plish, writ­ing is going to by my num­ber one pri­or­ity, com­ing before all else. Writ­ing is the most impor­tant thing in my life. It has to be, or the next twenty years will be just like the last twenty, and I won’t have that.

Every­one I’ve told about this plan thinks I’m nuts. I don’t think that’s true. Stephen King writes 2,000 words a day, James Rollins does about 1,500. The quota itself isn’t all that much more than the 1,667 words a day every NaNoW­riMo par­tic­i­pant shoots for. It’s only when I phrase it as “writ­ing seven nov­els in a row” that it sounds crazy. But if I pull it off, if I suc­ceed, I will have finally Accom­plished Some­thing that no one can take away from me. Is it the end of the road? Hell no. As men­tioned above, there’s rewrites, find­ing a pub­lisher, agent, pro­mo­tion, etc. and that’s if I go the tra­di­tional pub­lish­ing route. I could also go self-​promotion podcast/​CreateSpace/​Amazon route, self pub­lish­ing in tra­di­tion of Walt Whit­man and Henry David Thoreau. (Walden was orig­i­nally a pod­cast. Look it up.) But those are wor­ries for another time. First, I have to write. I have to get these sto­ries out of my soul, so I can make room for new ones.

And I’m tak­ing you, dear read­ers, along for the ride.

Comments (10)

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-​10-​25

Comments (1)

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-​10-​25

Leave a Comment

More on opening lines

So we know that your open­ing line, or at least your open­ing para­graph, will define the tone and style of your story. We know that the open­ing line needs to be snappy and pow­er­ful to win over casual browsers at a book store. But what does that all actu­ally mean?

Let’s look at how to craft an open­ing line and see both what works and what doesn’t. To begin, we’ll look at the open­ing line from my first novel, Between Heaven and Hell.

It was a bright and sunny day in Wash­ing­ton DC, and Daniel Cho found him­self at the scene of an accident.

What’s wrong with this? So many things. (In my defense, it was 13 years ago, I was young and I needed the money.) First off, it’s a weather report.

Do not start the story with weather. It’s a rookie mis­take, and it makes you look like a rube. Any men­tion at all of the weather in the open­ing line pegs you as just one notch beyond “It was a dark and stormy night.” or “The night was humid.” Set­ting is impor­tant, sure, and there are lots of ways to estab­lish that in a para­graph or two, but it’s pretty low pri­or­ity for your open­ing line. Open­ing lines need to do four things:

  1. Estab­lish character.
  2. Estab­lish con­flict, or if you pre­fer, dra­matic ten­sion (no, you don’t have to start with a fight scene just because peo­ple say conflict).
  3. Set the nar­ra­tive tone or voice for the story.
  4. Broadly estab­lish the set­ting or genre of the story.

Tech­ni­cally, the line above meets all four of those cri­te­ria, but it does so in a very clumsy way, throw­ing the set­ting in your face and push­ing the con­flict back to almost an after­thought. What kind of acci­dent? Did some­body spill peanuts in aisle nine, or did a jet­liner crash into the Capi­tol dome (remem­ber folks, Tom Clancy did it long before al Qaida took a crack at it)? The stuff that should be direct is vague and the stuff that should be vague is direct. Def­i­nite room for improvement.

Here’s the first line from a rewrite I attempted in 2007.

Daniel had just stepped out of the 7-​Eleven when he heard the crash, his pis­ta­chio ice cream already melt­ing in the heat.

Bet­ter, but not per­fect. We’ve got an extra detail, the ice cream melt­ing in the heat, that tells us some­thing about where Daniel is with­out men­tion­ing the weather directly. But we still have an indi­rect tense (“had just” are unnec­es­sary words and warn­ing signs about your writ­ing) that removes Daniel and his per­cep­tions from the action. The tone is thus still ten­ta­tive. We also don’t know much about the crash, although that is more spe­cific than “acci­dent.” We’re still not sure how much we should care.

Daniel Cho stepped out of the 7-​Eleven and heard the unmis­tak­able col­li­sion of steel on steel.

This is sim­ple, direct and yet man­ages to tell us sev­eral use­ful things. We know our character’s name, where he is (broadly, we know he’s in a mod­ern urban set­ting where one might find a 7-​Eleven; this isn’t medieval fan­tasy or outer space) and that to him, the sound of steel col­lid­ing with steel is unmis­tak­able, giv­ing us a hint at his back­ground or pro­fes­sion (as it turns out, and as we’ll see in the next few para­graphs, Daniel is a para­medic in Wash­ing­ton DC). This line is the short­est of the three, and yet it’s the most pow­er­ful. It’s pow­er­ful in large part because it’s sim­ple, because it doesn’t beat around the bush and gets right to the action. We know there’s vio­lence afoot, and we know that Daniel is going to react to it. We’re hooked and ready to see what hap­pens next.

Leave a Comment

Opening lines and tone

Con­sider two open­ing lines, both con­vey­ing the same idea.

As plans go, it was right up there with the Mag­inot Line.

and

The plan sucked.

Which one is better?

The first line is fun­nier and more styl­ish. It also has a way of grab­bing atten­tion. On the other hand, it relies on a cer­tain famil­iar­ity with Euro­pean his­tory. If you don’t know what the Mag­inot Line was, and why it was so spec­tac­u­larly inef­fec­tive, the joke falls flat.

The sec­ond ver­sion, in a tone I like to refer to as “The Hem­ing­way,” is direct, down­beat and to the point. It also has a stark sim­plic­ity and frank­ness that cap­ture the futil­ity of the plan.

The answer as to which is bet­ter depends on the tone for your entire story. Is it bit­ing and sar­cas­tic (option 1) or dark and hard-​boiled (option 2)? Or some­thing else entirely, mean­ing both of these lines would be ill-​suited to the task?

I’ve been think­ing a lot about open­ing lines recently, since that’s again some­thing I can tin­ker with for Sins of the Moth­ers before actu­ally start­ing NaNoW­riMo in Novem­ber. In many ways, your open­ing line defines the tone of the novel for your reader and sets up expec­ta­tions for the nar­ra­tive. In a lot of ways, both of the options above wouldn’t actu­ally work for me, as I’ve set­tled on writ­ing this book in third per­son and both of those sound like first per­son nar­ra­tive lines to me.

My default style for third per­son view­point is a tone I think of as “The Asi­mov,” a com­pletely invis­i­ble nar­ra­tor that remains neu­tral and just tells the story with­out edi­to­ri­al­iz­ing or embell­ish­ment. I tend to avoid more vis­i­ble nar­ra­tors because unless they’re done really, really well – talk­ing Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash here, where the enter­tain­ment of the nar­ra­tion com­pen­sated for the holes in the plot – I find them to be more dis­tract­ing than use­ful. Remem­ber that story is king, and punchy nar­ra­tion or even Aaron Sorkin-​class dia­logue won’t turn a bad story into a good one. Nar­ra­tion can dis­tract from minor plot issues, but if the story doesn’t work then ban­ter­ing with the reader isn’t going to help. Per­son­ally, I’d rather fix any struc­ture prob­lems and then get out of the way, let­ting the story tell itself.

Which, of course, brings me back to the open­ing line. How impor­tant is it, really? There are tales float­ing around on the inter­webs telling authors that your first line will make or break the novel, that all agents or edi­tors comb­ing through the slush pile are going to care about is the open­ing line, or the first para­graph at most. If you don’t hook them imme­di­ately, you’re doomed.

I’m not so sure I believe this. I think open­ing lines are impor­tant, but they’re only vital for true slush, unre­quested sub­mis­sion of your whole man­u­script. With no sup­port­ing mate­r­ial, the first line bet­ter be good or no one is going to read any farther.

But that’s not the way pub­lish­ing works any­more. In most cases, the agent or edi­tor isn’t even going to see the first page of your man­u­script until after you’ve sent them a well-​crafted query let­ter and they’ve been intrigued enough to ask for sam­ple chap­ters (or the com­pleted man­u­script). So in this case, they already know they’re inter­ested based on the query, and aren’t going to change their mind just because the first line didn’t reach out and grab them by the throat. If 21st cen­tury writ­ers put as much effort into their query let­ter as they do into their first para­graph, they’d prob­a­bly get much bet­ter results.

So that’s pub­lish­ing. What about read­ers? Don’t you have to grab the reader once the book is on the shelf?

Again, I’m not so sure. Per­son­ally, and I know I’m atyp­i­cal here, I don’t buy books from shelves any­more. I buy ebooks exclu­sively, mostly from eReader.com, though I’ve shopped Short­Cov­ers and the Ama­zon Kin­dle store, since I can read both of those on my iPhone as well. In all cases, the first line is a minor fac­tor in the buy­ing deci­sion process if it’s even avail­able for con­sid­er­a­tion at all. In a lot of cases, I don’t get to see the first line of the book until after I pur­chase it, and by that point I’m invested and deter­mined to read as far into the book as I can so that I get my money’s worth. (I actu­ally am as cheap as they guy in the McDonald’s com­mer­i­cal with the jack­ham­mer.) So again, in ebooks you’re much bet­ter off pol­ish­ing your pro­mo­tional mate­r­ial, the sum­mary posted on the web site with your book, than in mak­ing sure the first line grabs the reader.

But while ebooks are the next hot thing – finally, only a dozen years after I got into them – I know a lot of peo­ple still don’t read elec­tron­i­cally. So for the folks that still do haunt the brick and mor­tar book­stores, surely open­ing lines are still vital for them, right?

Maybe. At least in that venue, you know that the poten­tial buyer can access the open­ing line of your book. There’s a chance they’ll see it. But a lot of peo­ple don’t. A lot of read­ers lit­er­ally judge a book by its cover: its back cover. The blurb on the back cover of a paper­back, or the jacket flap of a hard­cover, tells most read­ers every­thing they need to know about whether or not to make a pur­chase. If that sells them, they’ve already made their deci­sion by the time they see the first line.

So does that mean first lines aren’t impor­tant at all? Of course not. Like I said, it sets the tone and nar­ra­tive expec­ta­tion for the reader. And no mat­ter what, you want to start strong. But the open­ing line isn’t the most impor­tant part of your nar­ra­tive – that would be the end­ing – and it isn’t vital to get­ting your book noticed. Make it good enough, match the tone to the rest of the story, and focus on get­ting the story right. The rest will take care of itself.

Comments (4)

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-​10-​18


Fatal error: Maximum execution time of 30 seconds exceeded in /home/.landmark/jeffkirvin/jeffkirvin.net/wp-content/plugins/wp-typography/php-typography/php-typography.php on line 1135