Archives: January 2012

The temptation to quit?

My book began simply and without grand ambition. Writing creatively has always been a source of joy for me and has rarely felt like work, even when it was to meet a scholastic or occupational requirement imposed upon me by others. The first three chapters saw their genesis in Sunday morning sessions on my laptop, writing in the quiet early morning hours with a cup of coffee and a comfortable chair, simply for the joy of it. Without any long-term goals, I merely wrote what I wanted to read. The main character is not based on any person, alive or dead, fictional or factual; he is what my hands typed almost at random, nothing more.

I learned about the main character the same way the reader does, word by word, sentence by sentence. His personality unfolded to me as I wrote him. Once I was introduced to him, ideas and inspirations began to form in my mind about interesting things that could happen, so I had to equip him with the skills and experience necessary to survive and thrive. He needed friends and family, so they came next as well as the world he lives in.

It wasn’t until I finished the first three chapters that turning it into a bona fide book began to seem plausible. I re-read everything I had written so far and found myself eager to read more, wanting to know what happens to him next. Up to that point I had simply written what I would want to read, so I made the audacious assumption that what I liked might also appeal to others. I made the decision to keep going with the explicit intention of making a book out of it.

At that point I stopped writing and began to read everything I could about the business of writing; how to write, what to write, and how to make it sell once the writing was done. I almost ended the entire project because the odds of getting it published and sold at anything resembling a successful level seemed nearly impossible.

I began to doubt myself. I let my wife and a few close friends read what I had so far and they were very enthusiastic about it, eager as I was to see what happened next. I contacted Michael J. Sullivan, a rising star in the epic fantasy world, who had become an overnight success that was more than 10 years in the making. A conversation began via email; questions were asked, answers were given, and ideas were discussed. After several weeks, Michael offered to read my work and give me an honest and professional critique.

Sullivan’s feedback was perfect because it was both encouraging and constructive. He admitted that my gritty writing style wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, but that aside, he gave me some pointers describing how he might change things. He added the caveat that there isn’t always a right or wrong way to do things, just different approaches to solving the same problems.

I took his advice into consideration, which basically means I contemplated scrapping the whole thing and starting from scratch purely out of frustration. At this point I had four fairly long chapters written and the idea of reworking them to the level he suggested seemed like more work than it was worth. Starting over seemed easier.

Writing for fun is one thing. Writing for profit is an entirely different enterprise. The scale of what you write varies, of course, but there are many other concerns that I quickly discovered would influence how I wrote the story. Just like pop songs and blockbuster movies, there are formulas that govern how top-selling books are written. I found myself in a state of mind focused on the mechanics of writing a fantasy novel rather than being driven by the passion to create. It was this loss of passion that tempted me to give up.

Then I realized something. Books, like art, are very subjective things. Even non-fiction can be subjective. Three different authors can witness the same event yet they will write about it in completely different ways. Readers will like one version and dislike the others. It’s all subjective. I wasn’t overly worried about spelling and grammar, but if I made sure I didn’t have any plot holes or reference things or characters that weren’t previously introduced to the reader, I could continue writing what I would want to read and just let the book unfold and finish the same way it started.

I now find myself eager to keep writing because I really want to find out what happens next. Stay tuned…

Excerpt: Ohlen at the Three Fans Inn

This is an excerpt from Chapter 2…

The ranger passed through Eeron’s gate without question or suspicion. Although raiding parties were common in the area, Eeron was seldom a target and between dawn and dusk the gates remained open. As was common for most garrison towns, Eeron was busy with activity and trade but there was little energy spent on appearances. The streets were mud and dirt, the sidewalks made of rough-cut boards where they existed at all, and the shops were made of wood and thatch. Only key portions of the outer wall and the inner keep itself, small by most standards and with a modest tower, was made of stone.

Ohlen had been within Eeron’s walls many times before, typically to resupply or gather information. He had built up a small but reliable network of informants, some within the keep guard, and he hoped the information he sought could be obtained quickly. Ohlen never liked cities, and anti-social by nature, he preferred the solitude of the wilderness.

His first stop was a small inn a few blocks off the main street. Because it wasn’t along the main thoroughfare, it received less business but also less attention. Over the years Ohlen had become friends with the owner, a rough and ready monster of a man. With a frame more suited to wrestling buffalo than serving drinks, Merrick Stonehorn had owned the Inn of the Three Fans for more than a decade. Consensus on the street was that he bought the inn using spoils won while adventuring through a massive orc stronghold near Shellon, on the other side of the mountain range to the west. Merrick had numerous scars and a well-documented reputation as a brutal street fighter which lended credibility to the legends of his adventurous past.

Ohlen had met Merrick under nearly fatal circumstances. The big man had only owned the Three Fans for a few months when a fight broke out in the main room. Ohlen had walked in the front door just in time to duck a sword stroke that would have easily liberated his head from his shoulders. With frightening efficiency, Ohlen disarmed the drunken offender and knocked him out with a rabbit punch to the back of the head. Moving his way through the crowd, the ranger assisted Merrick in ending the fight, acting as impromptu bouncer. By the time the town guard showed up the melee was over with only the ranger and the massive inn keep standing amidst a pile of groaning, bleeding combatants.

The two became fast friends and developed a trust they could rely upon, perhaps because Merrick recognized a kindred spirit in Ohlen’s no-nonsense personality.

As Ohlen entered through the inn’s front door he recognized several notches in the frame from that fight many years earlier that made him smile. It would be good to see his big friend again. Since that day, the Three Fans had developed a reputation of being a relatively safe place to eat, drink and sleep, and its prices reflected that safety. Merrick was doing better than average for himself and he took great effort to make sure things stayed that way. Although Ohlen sought to avoid routines or patterns of behavior, he always sat at a special table along the back left wall of the main room. It was near the kitchen, which had its own outside service entrance. The ranger liked to have more than one exit in case he needed to make a quick or discrete departure. There was also a false panel in the wall next to the table knee-high above the floor. It hid a dagger and one swift knock in just the right spot could produce the weapon in case of unexpected need.

He sat down with his back to the wall, alert and facing the front entrance. A rosy-cheeked girl of ample proportions and bunches of curly black hair greeted him with a smile. She was new and didn’t recognize the ranger, but was courteous and pleasant as she took his order of roast lamb, boiled vegetables and a dark ale. She paused and asked Ohlen to repeat himself when he asked that the ale be served upside down. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, sir.”

“Just repeat my order to the cook. He’ll know what it means.” The ranger’s stern tone came with a wink and the serving girl quickly realized it was an inside joke. Smiling, she patted the ranger’s hand and winked back as if to say, “Your secret’s safe with me!” Ohlen found himself admiring her curvy backside as she walked into the kitchen.

Less than ten breaths passed before a red-haired giant of a man emerged from the kitchen. He wore a fairly clean but well-worn white apron hung from a neck thick as a tree that covered his barrel chest. His hair was long and tied into a thick single braid down the center of his back. Large, thick gold loops hung from each ear and a three-day growth of scruffy gray whiskers covered his grinning face. Merrick and Ohlen didn’t say anything but smiled as they shook each other’s hand. Ohlen only saw his friend once every year or so, but was always amazed at just how massive the man was. Merrick was six-and-a-half feet tall and must have weighed 300 pounds. Despite his size the big man moved with an ease that belied his past as a warrior. He had a ready smile that could be either soothing or frightening, depending on the viewer’s status of friend or enemy. He pulled a chair from a nearby table, spun it around so the back was facing the ranger, and sat.

“I still laugh when I remember the first time you ordered your ale upside down. Shar lost a nut trying to figure out how to serve it. She wasn’t exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, eh old friend?”

“Perhaps. But she sure could cook, huh?” Ohlen winked, both men knowing what that really meant.

“I miss her. Well, I miss parts of her anyway. What a shame.” Merrick wiped away an imaginary tear. He had more wives than Ohlen could count in the years since he bought the Three Fans, all of them gone. Shar had been killed under mysterious circumstances. Only Merrick knew that it occurred in the bed of another man.

Ohlen nodded his head toward the cute barmaid that had served him as she took several plates of food to another table across the room. “What about her?”

“Who, Leela? Nah, she’s too sweet for my kind of attention. I doubt she’d survive one night.” Both men chuckled at the joke. Merrick was a big man but had a soft heart in the bedroom. He liked to maintain his tough-guy reputation, though. As they shared a laugh, Leela brought Ohlen’s pint of ale and a basket of bread. She set a small ramekin of melted honey butter next to it. Ohlen guessed she was 18, maybe 20. The ranger got a pat on his shoulder and another wink and a smile from the girl as she walked back into the kitchen. He could feel himself blushing at the unexpected attention. Nearly twice her age, the ranger wasn’t used to being noticed by young women.

“She likes you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“Good thing.” Merrick flashed Ohlen another of his big grins and clapped the ranger on the shoulder. “Enjoy your meal, my friend. I’ll make sure your room is ready. When you get settled, send for me. We’ll talk.”

Ohlen smiled back as the big man rose and pushed the chair back to the other table, then returned to the kitchen.

Professional advice from Michael J. Sullivan

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I use Scrivener as my primary writing tool. I came across an article describing how acclaimed fantasy author, Michael J. Sullivan, uses Scrivener to write his books. Michael and I exchanged emails for a while, discussing various aspects of writing as a profession with a focus on the ‘getting published’ side of things. During these discussions I mentioned that I was working on my first fantasy novel and Michael volunteered to read what I had so far and give me a critique.

So I took him up on his offer.

Author Michael J. Sullivan

Although Michael wasn’t personally enamored with my work so far, he said it was better than most of the works he reads from budding authors. He followed up with some excellent advice on how to improve the grab-factor of my first chapter, and more specifically, the first three paragraphs. Editors, like record executives, need to be hooked by your story as quickly as possible or they won’t bother reading the rest. You can’t write something obscure and then explain it in chapter three, hoping the reader has the patience to last that long into your story.

Michael is an approachable and likeable author who is willing to share [via his blog] his experience and wisdom gained in his effort to become published. He has numerous posts that impart valuable tips on the entire range of the “I want to be a successful author” effort. I am halfway through his first novel, Theft of Swords, and can attest that he’s a damn good writer as well as a nice guy.

For those like me who are aspiring to become novelists — regardless of genre — check out Sullivan’s blog. The breadth of information and advice he provides is invaluable. His books are definitely worth reading as well.