An apology to my first ever children - I had forgotten you.
December 1st 2008 01:33
I have worked out, the largest barrier to a writer becoming a published writer is the writer themselves.
Remember my frenzy awhile back? Where I wrote "Correct me" and "Progress in finding a publisher"? OOh, man, I was on fire. I was going to smash the publishing world with my writing from all angles - I was going to hammer the magazine, book and drawing creative markets. I had it sussed, I did my research, I was gonna be a writer, I was, I was!
Well...WTF happened? Absolutely nothing. Oh, sure, I sent out a porno poem to Australian Penthouse, (no reply) and tentatively asked for submission guidelines to a few magazines, but in truth, I really did nothing pro active. We writers come up with a myriad of excuses Ive found "I was too busy" "I dont have anything polished enough" "The markets not good right now" "I cant find/afford an agent" "I cant find a good market to plug to" "Its too hard to get my work ready" and so on to infinitum.
Heres the thing. We writers are true creationists. We create. After being part of the artistic as well as the writers world quite heavily there is not much difference between those who create actual images and those who create them from words - we writers tend to say that those who paint, sculpt and draw are the 'artsy fartsys' who are emotionally high strung and far too touchy about their work. Scared to 'put it out there' and cop the critisim that their lines werent straight enough, trees not realistic enough, abstracts not abstract enough, fauvisim not colourful enough - not like us writers, scoff scoff. We be brave us wordsmiths, scoff scoff. We are always handing out our words for people to read, not hiding in the closet, we be writers, scoff scoff SCOFF!
Writers are the WORST and you know it all you writers reading this....We are more terrified than the artists and the musicians....Far more sensitive, far more touchy. Sure, yeah, we create little communities of ourselves to share our words, and hesitantly put forth some of our worst trash, just so we can all nod our heads, yuk it up and say, "Yea, Verily, that is an amazing writ. Pat pat on the back, standing O....Now, may you critique my work with the same sensitivity?" And having such praise for the 'trash' the good stuff stays safely locked up where you can read over it and go, "Whoa. I can write. Aint this good? Better not let anyone read it though. Social climate's no good for it right now....Maybe in 5 or so years, society will be ready for this piece"
And we wonder why so many writers become famous after they're dead? Jeez.
While I was in my little frenzy a few weeks ago, I was sorting through layers upon layers of poetry, to put together an anthology. While there, I found 'Dark Way' and 'Place to Herself' two of my most successful short stories. Because dear readers, I did, once, have total confidence, and I won competitions. I won the school writing competition 3 years in a row, I won the Literacy award for another, and came second in the science competition for 'Harmony Virus'. 'Dark Way' and 'Place to Herself' I glanced over...Yeah, whatever.....But then I stumbled upon 'MintFresh Disaster'. I had forgotten about that little gem. A small little two pager that is really engaging, and funny, and nowhere near as dark as my other stuff. I giggled away with it....And last night, something drove me a-searching.
No. Not just something. Im reading 'Lisey's Story' again. Our dear dead hero of the tale, Scott Landon, writing genius, had many published novels but according to the widow Lisey, also had a "veritable stream of non stop short stories..." and reading over that part, I thought shit. So did I once. She also says "wherever he went, whatever he was doing, Scott Landon wrote" Well heck. So did I once. All my friends, and even the Kman, saying to me "All you ever did K was write" has suddenly sunk in with clarity. I did. I really did. And last night I found the evidence.
I found more short stories - I found the notes on 'Harmony Virus' because I inteded to turn it into a longer story, perhaps a novel. The story is good, the characters solid. The original needs a little tweaking, but hey, I was 15. I found 'The Changeling' my twist on the Lycanthropy theme. I found 'The Shark' my attempt at 'Jaws' and I remember a whole summer holidays spent researching sharks. I found the ever maddening first page to 'Terrible Sounds' a story I love deeply, and is only two pages long, but somewhere Ive lost the second page. I found 'The Immortals' a four part series of brilliant writing even if the plot 'creaks a bit' and a host of other shorties I had completely forgotten about. I found 'Kiss the Boys' which is not even partially finished and set to be a real cracker. Theres more. A lot more.
I apologise to you, my sweet beauties. How could I have forgotten you for so long? What the bloody hell happened? Of course, life did, and life tends to get in the way....But there is no excuse really, none. I used to write in every spare second I had and that is what made me great at it. In commercial breaks from my favourite shows. In car rides, waiting for the bus. I would rip out whatever was closest to the fingertips and go for it.
I can now see why I felt so very lost when it came time to actually contact publishers with my work. I wasnt familiar with it. Its like I was reading something from a brash new writer, learning her style of description and her way of twirling the plot. Im there thinking, "I can do this, Im a writer...." But Im not. Im an animal trainer that used to be a writer! And that is perfectly obvious by the way that I uncovered and discovered stories that I had loved, yet erased from my memory. They were even buried strata style in my old desk, covered in dust and cassette tapes. Fun stories. Cool stories. Stories that would sell, and be read, no matter when they were released.
So now, Im going to work on them - they are all hand written, of course, computers had only just come on the market when they were penned, save a couple that were banged out on mums old type writer that had trouble with the letter 'E'. I'll convert them to the laptop, and work on a sale market...And try and garner enough courage to actually send them out. Here Im going to need your help. Whip me friends. Its the only thing I will understand. Every few days, say, "So, any closer to publication Kleo? Well, Why the fuck not?" Ask for drafts, ask for progress. Force me. Do not take any excuse.
If not for my sake, then for the sake of those poor forgotten stories, that are begging to be read.
Remember my frenzy awhile back? Where I wrote "Correct me" and "Progress in finding a publisher"? OOh, man, I was on fire. I was going to smash the publishing world with my writing from all angles - I was going to hammer the magazine, book and drawing creative markets. I had it sussed, I did my research, I was gonna be a writer, I was, I was!
Well...WTF happened? Absolutely nothing. Oh, sure, I sent out a porno poem to Australian Penthouse, (no reply) and tentatively asked for submission guidelines to a few magazines, but in truth, I really did nothing pro active. We writers come up with a myriad of excuses Ive found "I was too busy" "I dont have anything polished enough" "The markets not good right now" "I cant find/afford an agent" "I cant find a good market to plug to" "Its too hard to get my work ready" and so on to infinitum.
Heres the thing. We writers are true creationists. We create. After being part of the artistic as well as the writers world quite heavily there is not much difference between those who create actual images and those who create them from words - we writers tend to say that those who paint, sculpt and draw are the 'artsy fartsys' who are emotionally high strung and far too touchy about their work. Scared to 'put it out there' and cop the critisim that their lines werent straight enough, trees not realistic enough, abstracts not abstract enough, fauvisim not colourful enough - not like us writers, scoff scoff. We be brave us wordsmiths, scoff scoff. We are always handing out our words for people to read, not hiding in the closet, we be writers, scoff scoff SCOFF!
Writers are the WORST and you know it all you writers reading this....We are more terrified than the artists and the musicians....Far more sensitive, far more touchy. Sure, yeah, we create little communities of ourselves to share our words, and hesitantly put forth some of our worst trash, just so we can all nod our heads, yuk it up and say, "Yea, Verily, that is an amazing writ. Pat pat on the back, standing O....Now, may you critique my work with the same sensitivity?" And having such praise for the 'trash' the good stuff stays safely locked up where you can read over it and go, "Whoa. I can write. Aint this good? Better not let anyone read it though. Social climate's no good for it right now....Maybe in 5 or so years, society will be ready for this piece"
And we wonder why so many writers become famous after they're dead? Jeez.
While I was in my little frenzy a few weeks ago, I was sorting through layers upon layers of poetry, to put together an anthology. While there, I found 'Dark Way' and 'Place to Herself' two of my most successful short stories. Because dear readers, I did, once, have total confidence, and I won competitions. I won the school writing competition 3 years in a row, I won the Literacy award for another, and came second in the science competition for 'Harmony Virus'. 'Dark Way' and 'Place to Herself' I glanced over...Yeah, whatever.....But then I stumbled upon 'MintFresh Disaster'. I had forgotten about that little gem. A small little two pager that is really engaging, and funny, and nowhere near as dark as my other stuff. I giggled away with it....And last night, something drove me a-searching.
No. Not just something. Im reading 'Lisey's Story' again. Our dear dead hero of the tale, Scott Landon, writing genius, had many published novels but according to the widow Lisey, also had a "veritable stream of non stop short stories..." and reading over that part, I thought shit. So did I once. She also says "wherever he went, whatever he was doing, Scott Landon wrote" Well heck. So did I once. All my friends, and even the Kman, saying to me "All you ever did K was write" has suddenly sunk in with clarity. I did. I really did. And last night I found the evidence.
I found more short stories - I found the notes on 'Harmony Virus' because I inteded to turn it into a longer story, perhaps a novel. The story is good, the characters solid. The original needs a little tweaking, but hey, I was 15. I found 'The Changeling' my twist on the Lycanthropy theme. I found 'The Shark' my attempt at 'Jaws' and I remember a whole summer holidays spent researching sharks. I found the ever maddening first page to 'Terrible Sounds' a story I love deeply, and is only two pages long, but somewhere Ive lost the second page. I found 'The Immortals' a four part series of brilliant writing even if the plot 'creaks a bit' and a host of other shorties I had completely forgotten about. I found 'Kiss the Boys' which is not even partially finished and set to be a real cracker. Theres more. A lot more.
I apologise to you, my sweet beauties. How could I have forgotten you for so long? What the bloody hell happened? Of course, life did, and life tends to get in the way....But there is no excuse really, none. I used to write in every spare second I had and that is what made me great at it. In commercial breaks from my favourite shows. In car rides, waiting for the bus. I would rip out whatever was closest to the fingertips and go for it.
I can now see why I felt so very lost when it came time to actually contact publishers with my work. I wasnt familiar with it. Its like I was reading something from a brash new writer, learning her style of description and her way of twirling the plot. Im there thinking, "I can do this, Im a writer...." But Im not. Im an animal trainer that used to be a writer! And that is perfectly obvious by the way that I uncovered and discovered stories that I had loved, yet erased from my memory. They were even buried strata style in my old desk, covered in dust and cassette tapes. Fun stories. Cool stories. Stories that would sell, and be read, no matter when they were released.
So now, Im going to work on them - they are all hand written, of course, computers had only just come on the market when they were penned, save a couple that were banged out on mums old type writer that had trouble with the letter 'E'. I'll convert them to the laptop, and work on a sale market...And try and garner enough courage to actually send them out. Here Im going to need your help. Whip me friends. Its the only thing I will understand. Every few days, say, "So, any closer to publication Kleo? Well, Why the fuck not?" Ask for drafts, ask for progress. Force me. Do not take any excuse.
If not for my sake, then for the sake of those poor forgotten stories, that are begging to be read.
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Comment by Cibbuano
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
Fat Cult
Techbreak
Comment by Louie
Climate Red
randomthoughts
Phil's Wellness Tips
Good luck, ill try to remember to come back and kick your butt, finding time is hard, discipline is harder (says me who certainly doesn't have it!!!!!)
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Well, I hoped they might! I sent it to the story submissions centre, as it had high praise. I might just start bombarding them with sex stories and poetry...They will have to publish something!
Louie,
HAHaha....Now theres a good start! Its funny, cos I never considered writing to be a discipline at all....It was just too easy. But now, my mind is definitely changed!