The Glamorous Life of the (Unpublished) Writer

Today began nicely. Woke my daughter up, finding a new way to gently break through her desire to not get up. Took her to school, then came home, looked at the clutter of the kitchen and living room, and said “This will not do.”

Four hours later I had a clean kitchen and living room. Then I sat down and wrote until it was time to get my daughter. Once she was home, I cleaned the master bathroom (only called such because it’s in the “master bedroom” area; it’s exactly the same size as the other bathroom–smalled, even, as the other one has a tub and this one just has a shower stall. But I digress…), and then sat down to write again.

Then I made her dinner, then helped my wife put her to bed, and then began writing again. At the end of the day, I had 1,853 new words, bringing the total for the book so far to 60,122. I finished the heroes’ daring raid on an Imperial Intelligence data store and their subsequent seat-of-their-pants escape, including the hero nearly falling off the top of his hovering starship to his death (starships are not running surfaces, especially fifteen stories above the ground). That means I’ve got between 30K and 40K words left to write. Only three chapters (I write long chapters)!

My daughter usually only goes to summer camp at her school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But tomorrow is the last “water play day” at summer school, with the promise of an ice cream party and a kid’s movie, and she really wants to have fun with her friends. So I’m sending her. And since I did all the cleaning today, tomorrow is going to be six hours of nothing but writing. Well, four hours of writing, and some reading, most likely, but we’ll see how it goes.

Next week I go back to work. My curriculum is ready, and all I need to do now is get the classroom set up and print up my syllabi, then prepare for Back to School Night later in September.

And now? Now I’m tired, so I’m going to go read (I’m nearly done with Peter F. Hamilton’s The Great North Road; it’s great by the way) until I am ready to sleep.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Just a quick check in

So, I keep meaning to write more here, but the truth is, not much is happening. I could bitch about this or that, but what good does that do?

The Damned Book is coming along. I wanted to finish it over the summer, but I didn’t for various reasons, some my fault, some due to interference from the world and other people. But I’m close–I have four chapters to finish, but I have them plotted, and now it’s all about the writing.

Once that’s done, I’ll start the beta/revision cycle.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I left the protagonist and his crew in the middle of a raid on an Imperial Intelligence datastore, and if I don’t get back there, Tajen is likely to get himself killed. And then it’s all over.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Book Update

So, back in May, I vowed I would finish this book before the end of summer. After all, I thought, I am home alone two days a week, and I have at least a couple of hours every day to write.

It turns out I was being optimistic.

See, first I had a metric buttload of Things That Must Be Done, most of which took up far more time than I expected. Then my daughter broke her arm riding her bicycle, which caused me to have to do a lot more for her that she usually handles on her own.

Then I hit a brick wall of ideas.

I’ve broken the wall, and I’m back to work, but I still have far less time than I really think I will on a daily basis, because six year olds don’t respect that you’re trying to write, and neither do adults, sometimes. My wife tends to want to talk to me, and I can’t very well tell her to shut up, so working at night when the daughter goes to bed doesn’t always work. I’m having some success in working earlier in the day, then going to do my required bits, but it isn’t daily.

This weekend, though, I’m going (car) camping, and for the first time ever, I’m taking my laptop and getting some writing done while I’m there. Not sure if it will really work, but we’ll see.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Pet Peeve #38: People who refuse to use the resources literally at their fingertips

So, I freely admit this might be elitist of me, but it really burns my hide when people are posting online and misspell something, then put (sp) after it.

By doing that, the poster signals to anyone who reads it that he knows he spelled the word wrong, but he hasn’t got the inclination to look up the spelling.

While he’s posting on the internet.

Which has no end of electronic, easily-accessible dictionaries, wikis, and fan pages.

You’re accessing the single biggest collection of knowledge our race has ever created–and you can’t be bothered to look up how to spell the word? Seriously?

If I’m missing something, feel free to let me know.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

How Chuck Wendig’s Advice Saved My Book

So, there was this scene.

It had some good stuff in it–a line of dialogue I liked, a conversation that needs to happen at some point–but the scene, as a whole?  It was awful.  The kind of awful one writes when you’re just too tired to be at the keyboard, and you sink into silly wish-fulfillment.  It read, honestly, like RPG-based fanfic.  Bleah.

Yesterday I opened twitter up and read some of the people I like.   One of them is Chuck Wendig, who, if you don’t know, is a writer, and also writes a lot of profanity-laden, kick-you-in-your-teeth writing advice on his blog.  Yesterday on twitter were a series of posts (link goes to a storify version of them) about daring to change direction.  And, reading them, my brain flash-fired on a new scene and chapter that would make the story better, AND get my protagonist to a place, and a confrontation, I need him to be in that works better than what I had planned.

So this morning I copy and pasted the parts I liked into a folder I keep in my Scrivener project called “Snips.”  The Snips folder is for those bits of prose that work in a scene that otherwise doesn’t, or bits of text I wrote out of sequence and haven’t found a place for yet. Some of the snips will find their way back into the book, some won’t.  Maybe some will find their way into a future book.  We’ll see.  Anyway, I did the copy/paste, and then I took a snapshot (it’s a Scrivener thing) of the project, took a deep breath, and deleted 1,650 words.  Then I whimpered, went to the break point, and started writing.

And damned if it isn’t flowing better than it has in weeks.

Thanks, Chuck.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

My Writing Process Blog Chain

I was tagged into this by Beth Matthews, who asked me to do it in March (Sorry, Beth, I forgot!) and more recently by Alex Haist.  Beth and Alex were my suite-mates at Viable Paradise, and they became friends very, very quickly.  So I’ll play along.


I haven’t got a clue what the elevator pitch would be.  It was originally “The Irish Troubles in Space,” but the story has morphed along the way.   My original working title was Things Fall Apart, which was to be followed by The Blood-Dimmed Tide and, hopefully, the concluding volume, Mere Anarchy.  These titles seemed apt considering that the genesis of the tale is the Irish struggle for independence, and my love of Yeats inspired much of it.  But then I recalled Achebe’s book, and now I just call it The Remembrance War, Book 1. Or, more often, “The damn book.”


Unlike most Space Opera, humans aren’t the dominant species in my story.  In fact, they’re just the opposite.  They are, rather, a minority, treated as second-class citizens, strictly controlled by the aliens who rescued them from a failed colony.  In part, the series is about how humanity reclaims its pride; book 1 is about how that process–and the Remembrance War–begins.  It’s also, though, a book about how one man gives up running from his past and rebuilds for himself a family, and it’s also a book about the lies we disguise as history and tell our children.

This all came about because I had this idea of a story in which somebody stole the Earth from humanity.  And I was bored one night in a class on Modern Irish Literature, and then there was a moment of Irish lit in my sci-fi/sci-fi in my Irish lit, and BAM! the story coalesced into one in which the history of humanity has a seriously huge lie built right into it.  And from that the rest of the story emerged.


There are several levels to this question.  Let’s go through them all.

I write novels.  I have written, in my life, maybe ten short pieces, and most of them were rather long–easily in the novelette range or higher.  I don’t seem to be able to write less than 10,000 word stories.  My VP Thursday story was 4700 words, and when I took it home to rewrite it based on feedback I got on it, it grew to 8700 words.  I tried to find places to cut, but I couldn’t find much.   The story has now been rejected from three markets.  I should probably look at it again (I haven’t since November), but I’m not going to for a while yet.  I’m too busy writing the Damned Book.  And it’s less painful. Mostly, anyway.

I write novels because I like longer-form storytelling.  Nothing against short stories; I like to read them just fine.  But I don’t seem to be able to write them, and even when I read stories I like, I often find myself thinking “Wait, that’s IT?”

I write space opera because… well, because space opera is my first love. I grew up on Star Trek reruns, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, and Battlestar Galactica (which still has a place in my heart even though I know now how bad it was).  I grew up reading Harry Harrison, The Uplift series, the Ship who Sang, and of course Asimov’s Foundation series.  I also read fantasy, of course, but Interstellar Empires and wars that rage over galaxies have always appealed to me more than magic swords and elves, even though I do love those, too.  In adulthood I read Hamilton’s Night’s Dawn trilogy, the Honor Harrington books, and now I’m devouring the Mageworlds books.

And I tend to write Orphans, or at least people who are trying to build lives and families for themselves.  I do this because I’m an orphan.  I lost my parents when very young, and my adopted parents weren’t the best one could hope for; I was disowned by them (and my adopted siblings).  So a lot of my work is about orphans and the issues they often face.


I am a minimal outliner.  I tend to ruminate on a story idea for some time, putting pieces together, researching and thinking and when the story is “ready,” then I start outlining.  I do a basic plot arc: Beginning, Middle, and End.  Then I fill in scenes and ideas along the arc.

Next, I create a Scrivener project, and for each scene, I put a basic one-line description of what happens there.  I got this idea from Jason M. Hough.  It allows me to remember what happens, but doesn’t straitjacket me.  It allows spontaneous changes, which has been very helpful since I started on this book.  Some of my favorite plot points have been because, in the middle of writing a scene, an idea occurred to me and I let it happen.

Every time I sit to write, I reread what I wrote last, and make any adjustments I feel like.  Sometimes I just put a comment in the Scrivener project.  I’ll deal with those later.

That’s the first draft.  On the second pass, I tighten the language and story logic, deal with those comments, and make any changes I think are necessary.


If you want to do it, by all means do so, and please link back to this post.  I’d particularly like to see it done by Nadya Duke.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

The Power of Diverse Authors and Stories

When I first started reading Ancillary Justice, I commented to a friend that I didn’t like the “linguistic trick” of using “she” for characters the narrator KNEW were male.  The ambiguous gender of the narrator didn’t bother me. And the story was amazingly good, so I stuck with it.

As I continued to read, I started thinking about why the pronoun issue bothered me, and I came to realize that what I was feeling was probably the same thing women feel when they encounter words like “mankind” or the use of “he” in most literature, though of course I could close the book and not see that anymore.  This, to me, was an important revelation.  I’ve always sort of rankled when people got pissy about words like “mankind,” because to me it’s always been obvious that this means ALL humans, not just men.  It’s right there in the definition, right?  But when I really thought about it, I saw how privileged that was.  As a male, I can say “Mankind means ALL people, not just men! Everyone knows women are in it, too!” and mean it–precisely because I’m male.  It doesn’t take anything from me.  And it occurred to me that if someone said “We don’t need to SHOW black people in the future, everyone knows they’re there,” I would think that person was a complete fucking idiot, and a racist dickbag, too.  And then I had to face that even I, a supposed feminist, have some sexist ideas I needed to examine more.  

Having realized all this about halfway into the novel, something snapped, and it didn’t bother me anymore.  I’m not stupid enough to say that that’s it, I’m not full of sexist ideas anymore.  But I am willing to say that I won’t be casually dismissing anyone who says “That was maybe sexist,” or ignore my own privilege.  I’ve always been a staunch ally of women and People of Color, but I think sometimes I forgot that meant I had to examine my own attitudes as seriously as I looked at the attitudes of others, and that sexism doesn’t always mean “thinks women belong in the kitchen.”  

This is, I believe, why we need diverse books, written by and about diverse people.  Literature, and more specifically stories, have a way of getting past our defenses, the walls we build between us and the Other.  Stories can force us to confront, even gently, our own views of the universe, our own distorted ways of thinking, better than a thousand arguments from others.  

We all see the world from our own particular window, and none of us have exactly the same window.  Mine shows me how the world looks from a relatively privileged place.  But mine is not the same as the window of my friend Mike, who fled Cambodia at five years old, whose last sight of his grandfather’s home in Pnomh Penh was as it was hit by a mortar shell, and who has had to learn to fit in to white American culture.   And my window is not the same as my sister’s.  And it isn’t the same as my friend Brian, who has to deal with racism and homophobia both. 

We need stories from authors from all over the world, from every race, from every group and social class, marginalized or not, to show us the view from their window.  Because only by combining our views can we widen them.  


Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 4 Comments