Lucy, anything you've got ready with heavy backstory, I'd love to read it to see how you handle that. I'm putting some of my supporting details in foot/chapter notes. (Don't know how footnotes work for e-pubs.) The rest, I'm just trying to break it up.

.

Do you know how to put that title-author-page number in the upper corner of a word doc? I'm having a hell of a time. I finally got it to place the title and page number, but when I scroll down to pages with more than one digit, the first digit sits on one line and the second sits on the line below. If I do only a page number, it works fine, but I have achieved it through a different command which places only the number.

.

I'm getting a few chapters of Sly ready to submit to another contest. I'm going crazy trying to get it submission-ready according to what I've read is expected as far as format goes.

.

Here's another question I've been meaning to ask you: I handle manuscripts at my job.Some have the full title-author-page number slug-thingy, many do not. Many have only a page number. What's with that?

--edited by Mimi Speike on 11/20/2014, 12:45 AM--

How am I feeling about my writing, right NOW? Well, as I've garnered some courage thanks to the praise of people from Book Country about my Voice--Thanks, Carl, Voran, Lucy Silag--I have to say I've gained confidence. Right now I'm going through a major 'test' rewrite of the first half of my Book, Destiny's Bond. It's completely different from my previous version--More action, more, hopefully, adventure, and more insight into my main heroine Destiny. So far, I think--hope, pray--that it's much more entertaining than the other version. It's certainly entertaining me. But then, I'm the one who wrote it.

Carl, if you're reading this, I finally realized what you wrote about my Book's problems were right. Our back-and-forth conversation sunk into my thick skull. You were right, I was wrong. Thanks for not giving up on me. Lucy, likewise, you were right. Totally right. So were you, Voran.

Anyway, I plan to upload these new test chapters some time in the future, once I have them finished. And I pray I've not bungled the story again.

Happy Writing!

--edited by Amber Wolfe on 11/19/2014, 6:54 PM--

@Amber: I'm glad my criticism helped! It's like I always say, criticism falls into three categories: 

1. That which you know immediately is correct.

2. That which you know immediately is wrong.

3. That which you are uncertain, or conflicted about.

Category #3 is the one that used to trip me up, time and time again. I've learned: My subconscious (and I suspect yours, eh?) is mulling things over, even when I'm consciously unaware of doing so. I've been in the midst of some other completely different activity when a thought, seemingly out of the blue, strikes a week or two later: "Fix story problem x by doing y." 

More often--and less dramatically--when I reread my work months later errors jump out at me, usually errors of word usage and punctuation I was blind to when writing in a creative heat.  

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/4/2015, 8:23 PM--

When I was 13, my family moved from Iowa to California, and my parents had to buy a new washing machine for our house. They bought a front loading washer that was very newfangled at the time, and I believe it came from Sweden or Germany. The store delivered and installed it, and then it came time for our family to use it. My parents realized they did not know how to make it work--they could not even get the front-loading door to unlock and open.

I remember this as being a small catastrophe in our family during the first few weeks of living in another state. My 3-year-old brother and I generated a lot of dirty laundry. My parents could not for the life of them figure out how to open their own washing machine, and apparently, no one at the store was able to advise over the phone. All directions were in another language. This was before the internet was useful for things like this--1996--and we likely did not have internet service for a couple more years, anyway.

One night my stepfather woke up in the middle of the night. He'd been dreaming about the washing machine. He got up, went to the laundry room, and located the button that turned on the washing machine's power, which was connected to the lock. That there was such a button was what had been throwing him off--he hadn't been looking for it. He put in a load of laundry and some detergent and did the inaugural washing in our new house, in the middle of the night, and went back to bed.

This story has always stuck with me because it's a perfect metaphor for how I solve problems--it takes me SO much time, and I usually have to be doing something entirely different for the solution to come to me. You get stuck pulling at the lock, studying everything near it, getting so frustrated that it is not opening up to you, and only when you walk away from it do you realize that the machine isn't even on.

I thought of this when I read everyone's comments about getting feedback and revising. It's also exactly how I am feeling about my writing, right now, because I am just trying to remember that all these issues that pop up for me as I write will, eventually, be figured out, and probably in ways I could never hope to anticipate ahead of time. That's creativity.

In all the years I've been writing, mostly for myself until recently, a similar thing happened to me. It's the first time.

I was at the end of the latest thing I'm doing and couldn't get the ending done. Something just didn't work exactly the way I wanted it. After wrestling with it for a couple of hours - writing, deleting, writing and more deleting - I closed the word processor and gave up. When I went to bed that night, I started thinking about the final few pages, and fell asleep.

Next day, after my coffee, my workout and watching a little TV for the latest news, I opened my laptop and word processor and wrote almost 5,000 words in just three hours, and finished it. In addition, it's decent writing. I've made some small changes but most of it, in my opinion, can stand as written.

My problem now, it doesn't even make 40,000 words. I've put it aside and won't look at it for a couple of weeks or so and will then try and figure out where I can add some length to it. I find it ironic that my earlier work was longer than I like. I tried to figure out where to cut and write a bit shorter, and now I think they're too short.

@Lucy: Love the story of your grandfather and the washing machine! Life as metaphor. Thank you for sharing that incident with us.

@ChuckB: Sounds like you experienced "writing in flow".

Haha, I did NOT mean for that story about a washing machine to be that long!!

It's awesome to hear other writers share the progress they are making. "Progress," when it comes to writing, is so nuanced.

Carl, you're so right about that. It took me about a week of brooding over what we were discussing before I threw up my hands and exclaimed, "Bother! Let's see how doing this makes me feel!" Enraged, I opened a new Word Processor page, typed in the title as Destiny's Bond, then sat waiting for my character to give me the story, confident she wouldn't cooperate on the change of plans.

But then, surprise, surprise, she did. And as I listened and wrote out that second chapter--the first one stayed unchanged--I was embarrassed to discover how much more fun this new version was turning out. The words have just been flying to the page as my character commandeers the show, letting me get more into her head. I keep dreading the moment the inspiration chokes and I'm assaulted by the accursed Writers Block. With how well my writing's been going--oh, how I hope it's going well and I'm not just hallucinating--I'm probably going to get hit and be stuck for a long while.

Saw this quote on Facebook and thought it was apropos to this discussion . . .

“I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

@Jean Marie: Hello! Pleased to make your acquaintance. 

Re: "I have a nasty habit of focusing on what I know to be incorrect and remaining there, even when I've received much in the way of positive remarks."

Understandable. The deep-seated psychological need to be right burns within us all; so the temptation to focus on those areas of criticism we perceive as "wrong" constitutes an incessant, maddening itch we feel we must scratch in order to (1) defend our choices, (2) assert our command and control of craft, and (3) reinforce our own confidence in our work.

It's unhealthy to remain in that mindset overlong, however--as you recognize. As artists, we are going to be routinely misread, under-appreciated and all but ignored by most. Better to thank the reviewer for the gift of time and effort they expended on our behalf, acknowledge how and where they've helped us, and then--if truly necessary (and would help other reader/writers deepen their command and control of craft) explain our choices in as brief, direct and neutral a tone as possible. And then thank the reviewer again.

Our job (as I see it) is not only to write well, but to help educate and uplift the general reader (who reads at between a 6th-8th grade level). Done with genuine kindness, gratitude and good humor you may not only make an online friend but a fervent "constant reader" and book-buying fan for life.

Cheers! 

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 11/26/2014, 3:32 PM--

All I can say is, when I'm done with my novella, I may write a cautionary tale about the dangers of being a pantser. My thing is veering off into tangential territory in my new chapters, which were meant to do nothing more than to add more live action.* I have an idea how to nudge the story back to where it needs to be. Hope it works.

* Live action and things at stake, immediately.

--edited by Mimi Speike on 12/2/2014, 1:04 AM--

How am I feeling about my writing, right NOW?

Truth be told, I'm in a bit of a rut--emotionally, I guess. As I am redrafting Destiny's Bond, I've found myself conflicted. I've finished rewriting the entire first half--which, in my own uneducated opinion, is much better than the previous version--and have begun integrating the second half back in to the new version. Now, where I come into confliction is that I've read and reread and rewrote that second half so many times that, whenever I read it now, I can't think of any ways to improve it. But, in honest truth, I can't see that second half as being different, anyway--Yes, I'd rewrite a bit, tweak a couple sentences here and there--but to scrap that last half seems like wrenching out my heart and stomping on it.

My theory on this problem I'm having stems, I think, from that last half being what I considered some of my best writing. I found my true individual style in that half, and can't bring myself to change it as drastically as I have the first half.

Maybe my concerns about it are because one third of it's not very fast-paced. It's basically a lull in action, where my main heroine, Destiny, strengthens the bond she's made with a group of characters I introduce, who are important to the series as a whole.

For some reason, I'm having an 'Oh, this will never do, your writing stinks, who would ever read this garbage?' crisis. Don't know why, especially as I've read fantasies--most of which I deeply enjoyed reading--that have done the same as I did. A kind of calm before the storm thing, where the characters are given a chance to flourish and show their individual colors before catastrophe strikes.

I don't know . . . maybe this is my 'novice writer who doesn't know lick and what makes you think your book's any good?' demon coming out again. My confidence is dwindling, despite the encouragement I've gotten from the writers here, who've complemented on how well I write and the potential I have.

Arg! It's so frustrating! And I'm ranting, which is never good. I'll stop here, since everyone probably thinks I'm a depressing mess now. Just felt like unleashing my fear and frustration so it's not bottled up inside.

Happy Writing!

@Amber: I would suggest that you keep writing--albeit something different.

The key sentence in your post there for me is: "Now, where I come into confliction is that I've read and reread and rewrote that second half so many times that, whenever I read it now, I can't think of any ways to improve it." 

That tells me you're done with this particular project for a while. Take a well-deserved break, engage in a favorite activity other than writing, start something new when you're ready.

When you return to this book (should you feel the need to do so; it sounds to me like it's finished) you'll know immediately what to tackle next. If anything. 

I understand your angst. I do. It's [censored].

And part of the writing life. There's no easy way to say this: Down here in the trenches, angst is the engine that powers future writing. 

PS. Things may be different for best-selling, award-winning authors. I wouldn't know. Though I've read enough to understand that many of "The Greats" had to fight through their own recurrent bouts of despair, anger and frustration. It seems to be an occupational hazard for many . . . (Updike excepted.) 

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 12/11/2014, 4:23 AM--

Carl, as usual, you're totally right. I know I need to back away from this one for a bit. I just want to get past this spot I know needs spicing up, but if I find myself lagging there, I'm going to walk away and play Skyrim for a week. That usually cheers me up, and gets my creative juices flowing again (Can't say why, though).

As for the manuscript being done, I sort of doubt it, but only because I'm having a tiny snag. Currently, I've got two flashbacks I want to somehow integrate into the book, involving two characters I've introduced--the main hero, Arashi, and his happy-go-lucky companion, Nixie the pixie. I found them fun to write and fun to read (When I get a chuckle out of my Dad, I know those scenes must be amusing on some level), and they give insight into these characters. My problem is figuring out where to put them. Right now, they're basically back-to-back, a chapter for both of them, one after the other. Really, I've read books that have done that sort of thing, and they entertained me well enough. But I've no idea whether they work in this spot. For me, it works, but that's probably because I'm the one who wrote it, and I'm still tweaking them to make them as passable as I can.

What I'm planning to do is upload this newest draft to Book Country once I've found a suitable spot to stop. And ask for feedback regarding these flashbacks. Depending on the opinions, I'll either try to figure out a way to separate them or put them where they work best.

Hopefully, somewhere in the future, Destiny's Bond will be as good as I can make it.

Happy Writing!

Well, no one's posted on this thread in a while, but I feel like talking about how I'm feeling about my writing, right NOW, so I'll go ahead and do so

In the past months, I've finally found the courage to scrap the last half of Destiny's Bond--I resigned myself to the fact that those chapters just didn't work for the story. Then I sat mulling, trying to picture how I could rewrite two thirds of Destiny's Bond to make the novel move at a faster clip. I kept asking myself these three questions:

1. What am I missing?

2. What can I do to make the story move faster?

3. Why isn't the Muse whispering?

That was my main problem--the Muse wasn't whispering. My characters were sitting on their butts, lounging around as they waited for me to puzzle out my inner conflict. It depressed me really, because I was reconstructing and rewriting scenes, then scrapping them and starting over. The words just wouldn't flow, as I'd dreaded months ago--I said I was worried that, because my writing was going so well at the time, the dreaded Writer's Block would get its clutches on me.

And it did.

This went on for about a month. Then I stopped writing . . . bad, I know. Real bad. But I didn't do it to never write again, I did it to give myself a break from the stress. During the time I wasn't writing, I was reading. And while I was reading, it was Anne Bishop who saved me. Or more specifically, it was her Tir Alainn Trilogy that saved me.

There I was, sitting with the last engrossing, horrifying, funny novel of the Trilogy, when an idea pops into my head--the idea I'd been chewing over the past month. The one that'll make Destiny's Bond so much better. In that moment, my brain flooded me with scene after interlocking scene of the how the next two thirds of Destiny's Bond was meant to be. Then it went even farther and gave me pictures of how the second and third books should go.

A couple months later, in the present, my writing has been going well--I've gotten great feedback from Book Country friends, my confidence is boosted, and I was even featured on the Member Spotlight--Talk about a terrifying yet euphoric moment!

It took Anne Bishop's wonderful writing to get my creative juices flowing. It's thanks to her that the Muse started whispering again. And this is why she is my most favorite author ever!

So, in conclusion, I feel I'm on my way--I still consider myself a newbie learning Craft, but I think my writing's much improved from when I first joined Book Country.

Of course, I refuse to get a swelled head--a writer who lets their ego get to them starts writing sloppy. Plus, I'm timid, so I'm firmly fastened in a 'You write, sure, but are you good?' mindset.

Wew! Went off there, didn't I? Sorry about that. Just wanted to get that off my chest.

Newbie Writer, Amber

Carl, you say - "I discussed you and this particular manuscript with the acquisitions editor of a major US publisher yesterday at lunch. (When you post on Book Country your manuscript is seen by many professional eyes across the spectrum of the industry, probably far more than you realize.)"

Um, what's that all about? Just curious.

Not quite confident. I'm co handling a book club of some sorts right now and that puts some sort of pressure on myself.

I hope it goes well though with the members, I've really worked hard on my composition. 

I'm low energy right now. I'm a little depressed. Once again, my story is off on a lengthy detour. You all know of the monkey on your back. I have a cat on my back.

.

Well, I just read something that's put a smile on my face. I'm at work, and I'm working on a history of nineteenth century London. I've found a passage on a gesture that little boys made, called 'cock a snook', sticking a thumb up the nose and wiggling the fingers as an insult. I have written a bit about Sly's early years on the mean streets of London. I believe that one of his great regrets will be that, with no thumb and nostrils too petite to allow him to stick any digit up, he was unable to cock a snook like his street pals.

.

He may have tried to poke one claw up a nostril, with very unhappy results.

--edited by Mimi Speike on 3/26/2015, 6:40 PM--

Lucy, that is a wonderful suggestion. I'm going to think about that.

Not sure where to put this. This will do, I guess.

.

It's Friday night, Labor Day weekend. I'm at work, on the night shift. Things are slow on any summer Friday night, Labor Day, that goes double. Those editors in Manhattan beat it early. The daily messenger brought next to nothing. I work for a compositor in Connecticut, and we get our new work sent up from NYC every night around seven.

.

Tonight I've got lots of time to think. Thought number one: I'm working on reprints of a series of Regency romances published in the early nineties. Looks like appallingly tame stuff. Not that I would know. Maybe par for the course. I don't read historical romances. Do they have sex in them these days?

.

Here's what catches my eye: As I'm flopping them page by page on the copier, to be sent out to India as pdfs, I see paragraph after paragraph that makes me say, hey, I would love that as an opening paragraph of a novel. This is beautifully written stuff. It's not the recommended (and frankly, I find it tiresome) Bang! - out of the gate style that we are all told is necessary to capture a reader's attention. Don't shudder, this stuff is fairly descriptive, and rather lyrical.

.

I'm going to take a few of these home and read chunks of them in the next few days. I'm going to reread my own novel, with the latest comments in mind, and think. Because it's time to nail the novella down. I've got the poem pretty set, but footnotes are creeping in, dropping hints of what's in the (related) novel. If my novella is a teaser for the full novel, the pretend children's story is a teaser for the novella. It would be a wise move for me to have both ready to put out at the same time.

.

There's another series I have my eye on. The MC is someone named Alcatraz. The promo blurbs are marvelous. The one that grabbed me immediately said (something like) 'For middle school, but sharp humor that adults will adore'. Got to check that out. Anybody read them?

--edited by Mimi Speike on 9/5/2015, 12:19 AM--

@Noelle: I know the feeling. I've been away for a while, just fumbling my way back into writing practice now.

@Mimi: Not sure what the hell you're talking about but, as usual, it sounds intriguing! I love the way you find inspiration and workable literary models everywhere. Trust yourself; I do. Your "high-literary" voice is unique and most certainly your own.

@to all who have asked, only to get evasive answers:

I just went through a very traumatic time. Queue world's smallest violins playing just for me (as we used to snarl at one another in the Marine Corps, heh!)

Briefly: I lost my job when my entire department was eliminated at Chicago-based Loyola Press. Had to sell off damn near 99% of my library to keep from being evicted/avoid car repossession/etc during the extended bout of unemployment that followed.

Again, I state: This is simply info for those who have asked. If this is not you, there's no reason to continue reading; there's nothing to see here, folks. The rest of us--let's give it a couple of seconds, eh?

Okay. Everyone who isn't "inner-circle" gone? Good.

So--to continue--here's the thing: My entire life, I envisaged retiring with a well-stocked library of beloved tomes I could re-read in old age. As the decades went by I acquired book after book whose texts I highlighted, underlined, notated as I read. Do you understand? I had relationships with these books; they were to my writing what Samson's hair was to that Bronze Age warrior of ancient Judah: a source of pride, comfort and redoubtable strength. 

And now they're gone. Row after row of floor-to-ceiling bookcases stand empty, their contents sold off for fractions of their actual worth to pay for such trifles as food, utilities, medicine, car payments.

And because crises never occur singly (leastwise, they never do in my life; how about yours?), it was at this moment in the adventures of Your Truly that the IRS called and left the following message on my cell phone: "Hello, Mr. Reed. My name is ______, badge number _______. I'm calling about the additional $5000 in back taxes you owe the U.S. government from tax year 2014. Please call us at ______."

Ermm . . . Hmm . . . I checked my bank account to see what revenue my writings had brought in this last quarter: twenty-two cents.

My health collapsed. Clouds of floaters exploded in my eyes, no doubt due to my borderline diabetic condition, making further reading and writing a laborious chore. A persistent, dry-hacking cough returned. (Chronic Bronchitis.)  My legs swelled up like over-ripe melons, only to pop weeks later (you haven't lived until you've seen rivulets of clear water trickling down your legs from divots in the flesh) and twist into tingling, purplish-black-bruised ankle-to-knee horrors. Dizzy spells and 16-hour intervals of non-restorative sleep followed. I've never experienced exhaustion like this: I'd work for 3-4 hours, imbibing copious quantities of caffeine the while, only to fall fast asleep the moment I closed my eyes--anywhere. Everywhere. I was having a heart attack in slow motion. These, and other symptoms which I won't detail, told my doctors everything they needed to know about my rapidly-failing health.

I fell into a black, angry, inchoate depression. I couldn't write. Stopped reading. Believed my life was over. I lost interest in . . . everything. (Except compulsive net-surfing, lottery scratch-off tickets, and binge-watching seasons of True Detective and The Walking Dead. Yeah.) 

But here's the thing, friends and neighbors--I didn't die. I changed my diet, began a regimen of home-based calisthenics (fuck you heart; I dare you to give out while I'm doing knuckle push-ups on these hardwood floors . . .), started a new job as a CS rep at a local pharmacy.

I learned something irritating about myself: I cannot write in the midst of crisis. I wish I could. I wish I had that strength of focus and fortitude most successful selling authors have. Alas, I do not have that "certain something" the masters possess. (Listen to Joyce Carol Oates: "One must be pitiless about this matter of 'mood.' In a sense, the writing will create the mood. If art is, as I believe it to be, a genuinely transcendental function—a means by which we rise out of limited, parochial states of mind—then it should not matter very much what states of mind or emotion we are in." Paris Review, No, 72.)

Yet here I am. Symptoms subsiding; energy returning; omnivorous, questing curiosity re-asserting itself.

So--what's to do?

Return to the work. A distant siren doppler-shifting as a police cruiser races to some pressing destination in Chicago this hot, humid 2:00 AM. (No doubt to the shell-casing littered location of yet another gangland shooting.) Cromwell (a most assertive, stubborn, and incorrigible beagle) snoring and snorting in his sleep whilst curled up in his flower-print dog bed against the wall. (He lives now year-round with my ex; I have custody this week while she visits her mother in VA.) Writing by the pallid glow of a single, low-wattage bulb in a floor lamp in this hollowly-echoing 2nd-flr apt above a Chinese restaurant in NW Chicago. Air conditioner thumping away in the window. Empty, hulking bookcases behind me, like treasure-raided sarcophagi standing sentinel in some desert pharaoh's tomb lost beneath shifting sands and the weight of time. Blinking and rolling my eyes to scatter these damn floaters so as to see more clearly between laboriously-constructed sentences, then--on to the next word; the next sentence. Fighting exhaustion, despair, recrimination, regret. I work.

How am I feeling about my writing, right now?

Pretty damn good, friends and neighbors. Pretty damn swell. (I believe that is the only time I have ever used that word.)

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/11/2015, 10:21 PM--

Carl, I am so sorry to hear of your difficulties. I relate to a lot of that, especially the deteriorating eyes, and to the books. This is the reason I dread to move south, retiring to a cheaper locale. I will have  major battle with my husband over paying moving costs on damn near (my estimate) five or six thousand books, many of which I paid fifty cents or a dollar for at thirty years of library book sales, many of them obscure works that I may never see again. 

--edited by Mimi Speike on 9/6/2015, 11:25 AM--

@Carl: So, so sorry to hear about your hard times. That's real rough. I'm glad you're getting better, though.

Damn. To lose a life's collection of beloved books . . . that's like having your eyelids peeled off, I'd wager. I can't begin to imagine how that'd be like. I want to put into words my sadness on your behalf, but words don't seem like they'd be enough.

Keep writing, Carl. You're one of the best writers I know.

Amber

@Amber: Thanks for the best wishes! But please know that I had more than maudlin "woe-is-me" sentiments in mind when I sat down to write last night. I wouldn't have shared all of those somewhat mortifying personal details if I didn't hope the take-away for other readers/writers following this discussion would be: You are not your material possessions, no matter how much talismanic power you psychically invest into your particular horde of (apologies to Tolkien) "preciouses". Especially if you've done the hard, necessary, humanizing work of actually reading good books--they're with you always, unto the end. You are not the same person who first bought those books in the long, long ago. You are now (is it too much to ask for, too much to expect?) a more intelligent, thoughtful, empathetic exemplar of Homo sapiens; one who has transcended mere parochial provincialism in favor of a broader humanism: one who more readily sees the commonalities between divers peoples and cultures and not merely the foregrounded differences.  Therefore, one can--one must--continue to write. If you have something to say, and a burning desire to say it.

Let others know: They are not alone . . .

PS. Of course it's maddening to realize that my personal library has been scattered to the winds. Even so, I haven't completely lost my sense of perspective; I am ruefully aware that this is an example of what people call "first-world problems". Also: it is interesting to discover what books one simply can't bear to part with; what titles and authors remain on the shelves when a library is ruthlessly shorn of 95% of its contents.

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/6/2015, 3:00 PM--

@Lucy: That's a very interesting question! Without a doubt the most painful losses were the writings of Michael Chabon, Ray Bradbury, Philip K. Dick, Stephen King, Michael Dirda, Harlan Ellison, H. P. Lovecraft, Joyce Carol Oates, Clark Ashton Smith, Robert E. Howard, John Gardner, Charles Bukowski, Billy Collins. 

Three specific volumes I ache for (all done by the Folio Society of Great Britain): 

(1) Fahrenheit 451 -- Ray Bradbury

(2) Moby Dick + commentary volume -- Herman Melville (this particular packaging of books is now selling upwards of $600 on e-bay.)

(3) Beowulf -- Seamus Heaney

Would it surprise you to learn that I've already begun to replace these books (though in cheaper paperback versions this time)? 

I thought not. Heh!

Here are three books I ordered today from Amazon.com that might be of general interest to all:

Maps & Legends: Reading & Writing Along the Borderlands -- Michael Chabon

Browsings: A Year of Reading, Collecting, and Living with Books -- Michael Dirda

On Writing -- Charles Bukowski

Cheers! 

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/12/2015, 12:41 PM--

Carl.  I just stumbled on to this thread. Sorry to hear about the truly horrendous things that have been happening to. Glad to hear that you are fighting back against rotten misfortune. Especially glad that you are writing again. Losing that would be a genuine loss for all of us who appreciate the compelling (and frightening) visions and the exemplary craft that we always find in your writing.

To wrest this thread back to its original concept: how do I feel?  Lethargic.  The tap that gushes words has slowed to a trickle over the past few months. I force myself to fill a page a day with the newest novel, which isn't difficult to do, but which I still need to tell myself to do. I have asked myself if it is this novel which is bogging me down, and should I shelve it for a while (or shove it for good), but I don't think so. The book is solid and the writing is good. I like the characters and I  do want to find out precisely what becomes of them (I know generally. The plot is not in question, only the details.)

No, I think my writerly lassitude springs from a deeper source. Some of it surely comes from personal and family issues that have been eating up a lot of my emotional energy, and some of it comes from the lack of interest my published work has inspired in the world of book buyers and readers.  Not that anyone has had anything bad to say (doubtless some have kept their strong opinions to their chests, a choice I appreciate) but simply that I can't get anyone to notice me at all. I know, we all share this problem to varying degrees, for reasons that do not need rehashing, but it can wear on you.

Ideally, I need to forget about it.  Just write, by gum, by golly, but I'm always a little surprised that I even manage my meager page a day.

It'll turn around. It always does. I should exercise, eat better, drink less, spend more time outside, stop worrying about the things I can't control.  If I did all of those things, my feckless muse would probably kick into high gear. As it is now, I think even she is getting a little bored with me. And that can't be good.

--edited by Atthys Gage on 10/4/2015, 3:25 PM--

@Atthys: Thanks for the well-wishes; right back at'cha, Atthys! As for myself, I just finished an extensive revision of "The Zoo: A Story Of Sunlight & Birdsong" and sent it off to the Book Country publishing elves for release into the wild. Should hit Amazon.com in a month or so. (And thank you, everyone, who contributed to the improvement of this tale by your thoughtful criticisms.)

Now, to this question of struggling to write when your entire body is encased in gluey molasses and a damp, suffocating towel is jammed down your throat whilst a cackling, clown-faced failure-demon takes repeated whacks at your head with a padded mallet. Granted, those aren't the words you used to describe Resistance but it's how I feel when battling this hated foe.

A couple of observations. Yes, I've said this all elsewhere and many times before but it's still pertinent, necessary and of the utmost importance to struggling writers everywhere. Writers just like you and me, Atthys.

1.) As Stephen King said (close paraphrase): "Sometimes when you're writing the act of setting words down on paper feels like you're just shoveling shit. You have to trust yourself at these difficult times; trust the process. You have to believe that when it comes time to review and edit your words you'll find something worthy of note there." 

2.) Set your MDSQ (mandatory daily sentence quota) low when you're struggling with personal crises and other drama that clamors for your attention. Better to limp along then stop writing completely. Truly. The physical fitness analogy applies here: even 5-10 minutes of exercise a day is an order of magnitude improvement over not exercising at all. And applaud yourself when you put in time at your desk (or wherever you write); you must become a self-generative perpetual forward-motion writing machine: Rabid Fan No. 1 of your own work.  

3.) As for the "no reward, no recognition" response from the world-at-large: Yeah, it's tough. Demoralizing. Maddening. One rides a hellish, fear-fraught roller-coaster of stormy emotions when the writing goes out into the world and sinks without a trace. But then . . . how long will anyone's writing last, anyway? Look what they did to Sappho. Tens of thousands of writers since, whose works have vanished into obscurity/nonexistence. This may sound depressing and demotivating in the extreme, but it brings me to point #4:

4.) The real reward for writing well occurs both imperceptibly and instantaneously at the moment of creation: appreciation for the works of "The Greats". Trust me on this, old friend: If you and I did not write, and write fair-to-middlin' well, we would not half so much enjoy those masterworks (yea, even with all their myriad flaws so exhaustively cataloged and critiqued by academic drudges in thrall to the soul-deadening process of "interpreting" texts in accordance with the evaluative criteria of one lit-crit school or another) we read for pleasure and experiential excitement, both intellectual and spiritual.

5.) And finally: You and I have talent. Not to use this talent is to say "fuck you" to (chose your term) God, the gods, the cosmos, your doting Aunt Hilda who always believed in you. 

I believe in you, Atthys. And I want to read more of what you write.

PS. Books lost to time that would have changed the world: http://www.cracked.com/article/18368_7-books-we-lost-to-history-that-would-have-changed-world/ 

--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/5/2015, 3:41 PM--

@Atthys: We know what you're going through. This is one struggle after another. I think we have to define for ourselves what a success would consist of ... for me that will be finishing something ... and be surprised by anything beyond. The fact that you signed with a publisher is a major accomplishment. I hope that fills your sails and scoots you forward.

.

About maketing, I saw this proposed the other day on Scribophile. I don't know if it would make any real difference. Someone over there proposed to form a group. One book at a time, on a co-ordinated day, all in the group would purchase the book of the week, to boost it in the ratings, make it more visible. I'm dubious about it. I'd go with bumper stickers over that, a tasty line or two. For my Sly Poem it will be: Catly Curiosity: A cat, a frog, a hog, and a boatload of nonsense. Spark is a catchy name. If I saw it on the car ahead of me, I'd read to find out what it meant. And, how about that Google books thing that GD is trying out? I think that's worth a try. Maybe let him do the detective work, and get a report.

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Here is info on that Scribophile group: This is a group where self-published authors agree to buy a copy of each others' e-books (all priced at the same price -- 99 cents or 2.99 have been suggested so far) resulting in sales of 20 books per day for three days to get their books high enough in the Amazon standing to get "noticed" and start sales rolling on their own after that. I will keep an eye on the discussion, they have not started up yet. 

--edited by Mimi Speike on 10/6/2015, 2:01 PM--

Carl, Mimi, other dear friends;

Sorry to wax so gloomy and then abscond. I DO know what you are saying, and rest assured, if the writing stopped being fun and fulfilling, with or without positive feedback, I would stop. There just isn't any other reason to do it, y'know? And yeah, one page a day? I think that qualifies as a pretty realistic (and minimal) MDSQ.  As it happens, a new novel just broke through the soil a few days ago, and I'm getting very excited about it as I sketch out the plot. And I'm not about to abandon the rough draft that I'm currently eking through at a page-a-day rate. Plus I'll be getting the first round of edits for my new book with Black Opal Books sometime in the next month or two, so yeah, I'm not anything like giving up.  

In the mean time, those personal issues I spoke of just erupted a few days ago, which is both horrifying and, dare I say it, vaguely cathartic. I mean, at least the other shoe has dropped. I can't go into details, but it was a pretty nasty shoe, and it had been hanging in the rafters growing rank and unsightly for a long time, but at least it's down now.  Hopefully the monster that lost it wasn't of the the three- or four-footed variety. 

Be well, chums. Keep your noses clean. Write when you get the chance.

Atthys

A week ago I finished my novel. I'm letting it rest, before I go back through it a couple more times. In my day job I write all sorts of things, reports, persuasions, presentations, contract language, and I edit the written work of others including my boss and sometimes his boss. I mention this because it has made me thorough in self-edits. My novel draft is polished, though I have already thought of tweaks I'll make to a few scenes when I get back to it. 

I've sold articles and short stories, and have two short story collections put out by a small traditional publisher. My plan was to write a novel after the second short story collection, and I've done it, and that feels good. I haven't written anything for a week. I'm resting now.

Yesterday there was a regional writers' workshop in a neighboring town. I didn't go. It was a beautiful  bright cold fall day here at home. We had our first hard frost overnight, and I brought in the last of the eggplants and peppers, pulled up the spent plant material in one of the vegetable gardens and prepared the ground for winter, thinned the raspberry canes, mowed the grass in the garden areas and in the orchard, mowed the sleigh and cross country ski trail for the last time, mowed our acre of lawn, put away the big rotary mower for winter and put the back blade on the tractor, made room in the shed and the barn for the tractor and the truck. One of the mares has an abcess in a hoof, and I spent an hour nursing her. We all have things that keep us from writing. The things I did yesterday were all necessary and enjoyable.

While I was mowing the sleigh trail, I was planning a short story about a card game at the casino that ends in a showdown between old enemies. I was working out different first lines. It's a good story. I like where I am with my writing right now. 

@Perry: Congrats on completion of your novel! A milestone. 

And thank you for reminding us all: Art must support life, not the other way around.

Sounds to me like you've had a very rich and fulfilling weekend.