The Dory Method

Damage Control Fantasy Rewriting Sean Golden Starting a Career The Writing Life The Writing Process No Comments

This month’s theme is about damage control. When I saw that in the schedule, I laughed to myself, a sort of bitter, resentful laugh. Let’s just say that my last year has been a target-rich environment for damage control. Rejection, lack of sales, family issues, job struggles, potential financial ruin, cancer, death… It’s been a heck of a year, for sure.

Back in January I think I hit the lowest point of motivation and hope I’ve ever reached as a writer. I covered part of that in this previous Fictorians post. I won’t cover all that again. Thank goodness. But the gist is still relevant to this subject, which is all about dealing with struggles, setbacks and lack of motivation.

Right now I am doing my final proofread of the third and final book in my War Chronicles series. You want struggles? I was supposed to finish this back in February. You want setbacks? I pretty much rewrote the final third of the book three times. One of the lowest points of that entire year was when I finally came to terms with how much help and support I had gotten from my brother, who passed away from cancer last year. It turns out that it is no mere platitude to say that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Really gone. Forever.

So there I was, a month late with my personal deadline for my third book, with my previously planned ending in ruins as I realized it wasn’t the right ending, my main support for working through issues gone, living in a tiny rent house while trying to build my dream home, struggling with a new job as it became painfully obvious that writing wasn’t (yet) going to pay the bills, and dealing with a ream of personal issues better left unsaid here.

I could have packed it in. I could have just said “It’s too much right now, I’ll deal with this after everything settles down.”

But here’s the thing that I’ve learned in my life. Nothing ever settles down. Things rarely, if ever, get easier. And the longer you put things off, the harder it is to pick them up again.

So my means of coping is something I call “The Dory Method.” You know what that is. Everyone knows. But here’s the thing… It works. I just kept at it, a little at a time, worrying at the story issues like a dog with a bone. Until finally, one day, weeks later, I figured out what the story was lacking, and then everything started coming together.

Working full time in a new job, while trying to build a house, and living in a tiny rent house with no privacy is no way to write a book.

But you can do it. If you just… keep writing. Just keep writing. Just keep writing.

Edison was right. Success really can be 95% perspiration. Or in the case of writing, 95% perseverance.

And the result? Warlord, coming soon to an online book retailer near you. 🙂

The Aftermath of the Small Print

The Writing Life 2 Comments

Alright, I’m a lawyer.  Make your jokes now.

Now, let’s get to it.  There’s two kinds of lawyers in the world:  planners and litigators.  Planners live a life of quiet intensity.  It’s their job to look everything over and get everything right so that there’s no lawsuits, no drama.  The life of a planner is asking “what if,” and if the planners did their job right, then no litigation ever happens.

I’ve done a little planning work in my career.  It’s not my cup of tea, though.  No, I’m primarily the other thing; I’m a litigator.  And the reason wasn’t personal choice; it was the clients who were available to me.  When I did civil law, rarely ever did one of my small-town clients come to me until after everything had gone completely to heck.  And half the time, my first interview with a prospective client went something like the following:

Me:  OK, well, I see that you signed away basically everything under the sun in this ironclad contract that the people who are now your corporate masters paid an entire staff of planning attorneys their own weight in frankincense to draft.  So what seems to be the problem?

Prospective Client:  Well, I don’t like the terms now.  They’re bad.

Me:  Oooookay.  But you don’t meet any of the criteria in the termination clause.

Prospective Client:  But look at how unfair this is!

Me:  Well…why did you sign it?

Prospective Client:  I, uh, I didn’t read the small print.

Me:  Yeah.  You’re screwed.  Maybe come talk to me before you sign a thirty-page contract next time.

Now, don’t get it twisted up; this isn’t the talk-to-a-lawyer-before-you-sign rant.  I’ve got that rant, and I can bust it out at a later date if called for, but the subject this month is talking about what happens when things go bad.

So, I’m going to assume that you’ve already completely screwed the pooch.  A publisher has your rights, they’re not giving them back, they’re not actually publishing your work, and everything you worked for is taking a spiral journey down the porcelain waste-hole.

Now what?

Here’s a couple of things to remember.

1.  Double-check everything.

Not everyone’s planning attorneys are great.  Oh, I know I just painted a scenario wherein a lawyer tells a prospective client that they are screwed, and that happens a lot.  But not always.  It’s worth it to take the contract into a lawyers office, get it double-checked for something.  Perhaps the termination clause has a trigger you can pull.  Perhaps there’s a good-faith obligation on their part to do a thing that eases the pain.  I have no idea what your specific problem is, so don’t take my word for it that you’re screwed.  Take this thing to a lawyer who can look at it from every angle and determine that you are.  If you’re a SFWA member, they have folks that can help with this.  If not, well; find one yourself.  It’s worth it to double-check.

2.  Denial is your enemy.

I’m going to assume that your attorney didn’t find anything.  Now you’re the client in the above scenario, you’re screwed.  And you love this IP.  You crafted these characters from portions of your soul.  Now, thanks to some stupid small print in a contract that nobody ever reads, you’ve lost them.  It’s not fair.  It’s not right.  And you hurt, and it sucks, and you feel like, for you, there is no justice in the world.  And it is perfectly OK and legitimate to feel those things.

But.

One of the most common ways we deal with emotions like that is good, old-fashioned denial.  We convince ourselves, despite what everyone is telling us, that there is a way to make it all OK.  Because if we can believe that, then we don’t have to face the cold, hard truth that we destroyed the thing we love.  This right here?  This is where so very, very many clients of mine have absolutely screwed the pooch.  They believe that their side will prevail because, emotionally, they need to believe that.

As a result, anyone who tells them they won’t are either liars or incompetent.

This kind of denial is a downward spiral.  It’s the worst possible thing you can do to yourself.  Because if you are screwed, then the fastest way out is step #3 (see below).  Denial makes you wallow in the past like a pig rolling about in its own filth.  It keeps you fighting when everyone around you sees you’re tilting at windmills.  Denial will suck away your pocketbook.  It will prevent you from doing anything new.  It will, in fact, destroy you more thoroughly than a bad experience with a contract ever did, because until you accept that you completely screwed the pooch when you signed that contract, you will never be able to:

3.  Move on.

This is hard.

You’re hurt.  You’re bitter.  You’re disillusioned with this whole writing thing.  You’re not in denial anymore; you know you screwed yourself over, but you had characters and a world you loved, and now they’re gone.  You screwed up and sold them, and they’re not yours anymore.

Do the next thing.  Work on the next project.  The only way over it is through it.  Some things can’t be fixed, and there’s not reason to quit being you.  Learn from your mistakes, and go on to do the next thing.  You can write more books, make more characters, and do more projects.  Put a smile on your face, then go on with your life.  Because milk has been spilled, and the thing to do here is to pour yourself another glass of milk.

Short Story Deadlines

Balancing Acts Dealing With Personal Calamities Failures Mary Pletsch No Comments

One of the challenges of writing short stories for publication–other than, you know, the writing part–is keeping track of calls for submission.

T-18-Cover-270x417-100dpi-C8Many ongoing magazines don’t accept stories year-round.  They have submission periods, during which writers are invited to submit stories.  When the window closes, writers have to wait for the next submission periods.  Magazines do this to give their editors time to catch up with submissions, to ensure their queue of stories to review remains at a manageable length.

Anthologies have publication dates, and the editors need to factor in time for edits, typesetting, printing, and everything else involved in preparing a book for sale, whether in print or in e-book format.  This means that anthology submissions also have deadlines, and the editors will choose the best stories from the pool they receive before the deadline.

Respect deadlines.  Begging editors for more time is a waste of their time, and unless you know the editor well, they probably won’t give you an extension.  After all, they have deadlines of their own to meet.  Turn your work in on time, or else wait for the next submission window, or consider another market.

I’ve found a wall calendar to be very helpful in giving me a clear visual picture that will tell me at a glance what deadlines are coming up for what markets and how much time I have to finish the projects.  Online calendars don’t work well for me because I don’t think to look at them, and pop-ups serve only to annoy me when I’m trying to focus on something else (so I dismiss them, then out of sight, out of mind….)  A big calendar right there on my office wall catches my eye every time I enter the room, but doesn’t interrupt me while I’m doing other things.

But…damage control.  What do you do when those deadlines are too close?

When you haven’t signed a contract, you’ve got the freedom of choosing to miss a deadline.  It’s disappointing not to submit for a project you were excited about, definitely, but you won’t be held legally responsible for it, either.

I’ve learned from experience that I can’t do my best work when I’m under the gun.  Some people can; I’m not one of them.  I need at least a week for edits, because my stories are always much stronger after the fifth or sixth revision, and most of those ideas for revisions come to me at night, or in the shower.  If I don’t have time to think on the story, I can’t “brew” those revisions.

Knowing this, I know that if I have less than a week to submit a story, it’s probably not worth my time to race for the deadline.  I’m unlikely to create work I’m satisfied with, meaning that time, and effort, would be better spent on a project that will be my best work and that is more likely to pay me for the time I spend on it.

Also, if I have a week, but most of it is already devoted to other commitments (like travel, where I can’t access a computer, or contractual edits for a novella, in which I am obligated by the contract to return my edits in a certain number of days) that also counts as “less than a week” of actual working time to focus on the story in question.

It’s best to find a system that works for you so deadlines don’t take you by surprise.  Eventually, though, one will.  If you’re under contract, you’ve got little choice but to gun it (if you can’t make it, for example, you’ve been hospitalized, have a family member or friend contact your editor as soon as possible to let them know the situation).  If you’re not, then self-awareness is key.  Some writers do great work in bursts, sprinting for deadlines; some don’t.  With practice, you’ll know how long you typically take to produce a piece you’re happy with.  If you don’t have time to do work to your usual standard, you might be better served spending your time and energy on a different project and letting this one go.

Your Best Work Just Got Rejected. Let’s Cope.

Failures Kristin Luna Starting a Career Submissions The Fictorians The Writing Life 2 Comments

About two months ago, a much younger, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Kristin signed up for this month thinking, “You know, I can help people unpack rejections and give them some positive options on how to deal with them.”

HahaHAHA! That was before I got rejection after rejection after rejection (and so on) in just a week’s time. And between you and me, it was hard. All of the coping mechanisms I had built up and employed up until that point crumbled before my eyes. And that’s when I came up an entirely new set of rules for coping with rejection.

First, let me give you the old, yet very helpful, coping exercises.

  1. If you received any feedback with your rejection, consider it carefully. Does it ring true? If so, then make edits. Does it not ring true? Then continue to submit your story elsewhere.
  2. If you received no feedback with your rejection, read over your story again and consider a few things.
    1. Do you still love this story?
    2. Do you see some ways to make it better?
    3. Was the editor just out of their mind to reject your story?
  3. If you see some ways you can make your story better, whether it be another grammatical pass or making the villain more villain-y, do that.
  4. If you still love you story and think the editor just didn’t see what you see in your story, continue to submit.
  5. Take out your journal, or a specific writing journal that you keep, log the rejection, and also take some time to process your feelings about it. Don’t be afraid to say you were really hoping for the story to be accepted and you are hurt that it wasn’t. Continue to write until you feel that you have processed your feelings or thoughts on the story and the rejection.

Now, let me give you some new coping exercises. These will only work if you’re a feeling human being with real human feelings, and you were really hoping for an agent or a publication to accept your work.

  1. Get a bag of potatoes. Cry hot tears of broken expectations onto those potatoes. Why? Because you know what’s yummy? Cooked potatoes.
  2. Eat those potatoes.
  3. Do not shower. Go to the store. Pick out three bags of chips because today, you don’t have to decide between the kinds you want. Today, you get all three bags of your favorite chips. And those hot tear potatoes really got you hungry for some crunchy potato byproducts.
  4. Visit the candy aisle, then the frozen dessert section. Pick out at least two items.
  5. Carry the items to the check out. When the person scanning your items smiles at you, smile back at them, and relish that there is still some goodness, some kindness in the world.
  6. Go home and share the potato chips with your dog. Look deeply into the dog’s eyes and wonder why everything can’t be as simple as your wonderful, loving, perfect dog.
  7. Eat the ice cream or candy and stare blankly at the Netflix menu. Scroll through every menu. Wonder what the point of it all is.
  8. Turn off the TV and think about why you started writing in the first place. Question if what you’re writing now is important. Wonder if it is how you idealized it to be. You realize it’s not quite on the mark. Your younger self would wonder how you veered slightly to the left. You make resolutions to re-align your writing to your ideals.
  9. Go to bed at 6:00pm, or at the very earliest sign of light fading.
  10. Wake up at 2:00am because you went to bed at 6:00pm. Play Candy Crush on your phone until 4:00am, then fall back asleep.
  11. Wake up at 6:00am. Walk your wonderful, loving, perfect dog.
  12. Take a very long shower. Wash away yesterday, and the remnants of yesterday that are globs of mashed potato in your hair and crunchy pieces of potato chips between your toes (don’t be ashamed, you really went for it yesterday).
  13. Make yourself a cup of your favorite tea or coffee with creamer (the creamer you know you shouldn’t drink because it has so many extra calories but it’s just so good).
  14. Sit down at your desk. Open up your laptop.
  15. Take a deep breath.
  16. Go back to the old, yet very helpful, coping exercises.