Kent Haruf speaks the truth

I heard a wonderful excerpt from an interview of the now deceased author Kent Haruf.  He said that in his experience there is no shortage of creative writing students with talent.  The shortage is in creative writing students who are willing to put in the work required to write something truly good.

It was a fine articulation of a truth you must come to terms with if you plan to succeed in the arts.

I spent a month writing a short novel.  I’m finishing up the first draft now, probably by Friday.  60k words written as fast I can go.  The next part is where the work is.  I’ll have to take that mass of gobbly guck and refine it into something worthy of your time.  That’s a lot of work.  It’s so much work that the first draft of the short novel I wrote last year sits idly on my hard drive, taunting me, telling me I’m not a pro yet because I’m not willing to go back and do the hard part.

Thousands of people finished novels during NaNoWriMo this year.  I suspect that the published results will show Mr. Haruf to be correct.  Only a few of the authors will be willing to put in the work required to write something truly good.

I expect to be one of them.

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Creation is an act of will.

I was talking about NaNo with a friend of mine the other day – he decided not to participate “this year” – and another acquaintance of ours joined in.  He was surprised that I wrote, then wasn’t.  But he did ask an insightful question, even if it is common for those of us with a second, non-writing job.

“Where do you find the time to write a novel too?”

I said, “Usually I write screen plays and they aren’t quite as long.”  That was a joke but I don’t think anybody else got it.  I then told him, “I ride the train.”  ‘Nuff said, that’s 2 hours a day where my choices are limited.  He nodded, like that was all there was too it.

Thing is, it isn’t.  I used to say that if I rode the train I’d write a novel.  Said it for years.  Then I started riding the train and after a couple of weeks I actually tried to write a novel.  Two days in a row.  Then I stopped.  Went back to reading and playing games.  Did that for over a year.

What I’ve learned is that creative art is something you make time for.  The same way you make time for going to DMV or grocery shopping.  In the novel, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” Phillip Dick gives us the idea of kibble – stuff that fills all available space but has no value or purpose.  Our schedules fill with kibble, can be over-run by kibble.

I’ve just come off a very nice break, a five day weekend if you will.  (An expression I really don’t like but seem to use anyway.)  No train.  No agenda.  Still wrote.  It was about showing up.  Yesterday I showed up three times, wrote for about an hour each time.  Got 2800 words.  Day before?  Only showed up once.  Got about 1k – split it between the blog and the project.

You get what you put in.  If you like the idea of writing or the act of writing itself is all you’re after, feel free to show up when you find time.  But if you want to actually create something, finish it, then you’ll have to make the time.

And show up.  Otherwise the kibble will stifle you.

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What Guy?

It’s November, that magical time of year when thousands take to the proverbial quill and parchment to craft the next great American novel.  But not me, I’m going for the next commercially successful American novel.  If you have any interest at all in writing the long form, please give serious consideration to participating in NANOWRIMO.  There is something magical about the shared experience and there’s a ton of encouragement floating around.  You might not write something great, but you have the best chance ever of finishing and that really does mean something.  I’m off to a reasonable start and it’s funny how different year 2 is.

I plan to keep the blog going during the month.  I remember last year getting a bit short on time and skipping out on a couple of entries.  This year I’m more professional.  And I fully expect to get blocked along the way so I’ll have plenty of opportunity to write posts instead of prose.

Anyhoo, on with today’s original fiction inspired by a conversation I had with #4 over the weekend.  For background, he and his brother like watching – and mocking – the “survival” shows on Netflix.

What Guy?
by Jon Stark
November, 2014

I was waiting for the train, as I often do, and heard a cell phone ringing.  I hate that.  People should have the decency to mute their phones when sharing public spaces.  But we can’t have everything and this wasn’t so bad, it was Frank Sinatra singing, “Same Old Saturday Night.”  One of my favorites.  In fact, I like it so much that I… oh.  Made it my ring tone.

I answered the phone.  It was Martin and he had an emergency.  It was a typical emergency and involved both being late and a girl.  Not what you just thought.  He was late for work and had gotten drawn into a long conversation with his favorite barista.

I asked, “Why was she so talkative?”

“Don’t know,” he said, “But from here on out I’m going to get just plain coffee.”  We shared a laugh.  “Traffic is awful today, I’m never going to make it.”

“Sure you will.  You always do.”  I wasn’t sure, but it was my line.  We had this conversation three days out of five.  “And you’ll get the same coffee you always do tomorrow.”

He laughed.  “Maybe. “  There was a moment’s silence.  I’m never sure if he is changing lanes or thinking of something clever.

“You guys want to come over this weekend?” he asked.   (He must have been changing lanes.)

“Probably.  I don’t think we’ve got anything going on.”  I heard the train whistle.  “I gotta run.”

“Sure – whoa, this guy is crazy.  What is he –“  There was some sort of noise but I had to jerk the phone away from my ear.

“Marty?”  No response.  I looked at the phone.  Call ended.  I tried to get him back.  Got voicemail.  Odd, I thought, but the train had come and I sit in the quiet car.  No calls.  But I was curious.  What guy?  What was he doing?  I sent a text.

Martin never answered.

Dweameh White Christmas

It definitely looks like Christmas around here.  In fact, about the only place that isn't decorated and festive, is the train station.  Not a single light, ornament, sign, or anything.  How ironic is that?

Today's original fiction is a glimpse at the world of my Nano project.  I'm not sure what led me to this story, setting, or genre.  None of them are what I usually write or read, but when #1 and I first started kicking around the idea of people who are crazy, but aren't, but don't know for sure if they are or not, we thought that the only way to make it the least bit fresh and interesting was to make it steampunk and in space.  Then one day Sonja and her Tree showed up and they've been pestering me to be written ever since.  When it was time to write nano, theirs was the story I had to tell.

This does not appear in the novel.

Dweamah White Christmas

by Jon Stark

December, 2013

Sonja stared out at the stars.  They looked different tonight.  She stood in the parlor, a decadent space for a private steamer, big enough room for all of the crew to assemble.  The pipes had been hidden behind paneling but the Tree's branches and roots were still clearly visible, crawling across the ceiling and down the walls between the shelves and cabinets, flawlessly crafted and lacquered.  Brass lamps floated in the air and rugs covered the steel decking.

"Come help me." said the Lady Hillary.

The girl turned from the window and went to Hillary's side.  The old woman stood near a chest that Vanderwall had brought to her from the hold.  Inside, a menagerie of sparkling glass, ribbons of silk, and carved figurines lay packed with care.

Hillary handed the girl a small crystal globe with a bit of thread.  "Hang this on the Tree."

Sonja looked at her blankly.  Hillary frowned, then took another of the globes and, standing on a chair, attached it to an exposed root near the ceiling.

"Why?" said Sonja.

"Because it's Christmas." said Hillary as though everyone knew that.  "We're going to have a party and I need your help to get ready."

Most girls Sonja's age would have asked a million questions at that point, but Sonja wasn't like most girls and she wasn't as young as she looked.  She watched Hillary place another ornament then another. "Does it hurt the Tree?"

Hillary laughed lightly.  "Not at all, Dear."  She looked at where the decorations hung, arms crossed.  "I think they make it look quite nice, don't you?"

Sonja shrugged, but she dutifully began to hang ornaments on the exposed parts of the Tree.  She thought it was rather silly, but as the ship's Dew'all, it was her job to do all of the odd jobs that the rest of the crew was too busy for.  And she liked Hillary.

The old woman kept at it, providing a constant stream of decorations to the girl and singing quietly to herself.  After the globes were hung, they strung garlands and placed tinsel.  She had brought special perfumed candles and they put them around, with stands that looked like branches and needles.

"It’s pretty." said Sonja.

"Have you ever celebrated Christmas?" said Hillary.  Sonja shook her head.  "I'm sorry."

Sonja thought that was an odd thing to say.  "Are we done celebrating now?"

"No." laughed Hillary.  "We still have the party.  And one more decoration."  At the bottom of the chest was a small box.  Hillary lifted it out gently and placed it on one of the tables.  She opened it and Sonja saw a collection of statues.

"Who's that?" asked Sonja pointing to the baby.

"That's God." said Hillary.  "Christmas is about his birth."

"That should be God."  Sonja pointed to the figure of the woman.

"God made the mother." said Hillary.  Sonja made a face.  “Earth was the first thing he made.”

"But if he's her baby, that doesn't make any sense."

"I know." said Hillary.  "But when he came into our world, he needed a body."  Sonja thought about that.

"Sort of like when the Mother gave us trees.  She needed a way to provide for us."

Soyer, the Ships'ook, came in with a bowl of punch.  "Where do you want this, Ma'am?"

Hillary showed him.  He set down the bowl.  "Help me with the rest, Girl."  Sonja left with him.  Hillary fussed at the decorations.

"I don't believe we've ever celebrated Christmas on board."  She turned and saw the Captain of Dweameh standing in the doorway.  "And in light of our current situation I’m not sure this is the best time to start."

"How can you not celebrate?" she asked him.

“We will be fortunate to make port, Good Lady.” he said.  “Hardly a reason for celebration.”

“Dire circumstance is all the more reason to reflect on-“

"We aren't exactly religious." said Eben dismissively.  He was an older man, dressed sharply and, even at the end of middle age, was powerfully built.

"I've never met a sailor who wasn't religious." said Hillary with a smile.

"There's a difference between being superstitious and claiming God." he said.

"Captain, I've traveled all over the universe and there are two things that have been the same everywhere I've been."  He waited for her and she continued.  "People.  And their hunger to know God, whether they claim Him or not."

Soyer and the girl returned with trays of food.  It smelled wonderful and Hillary's face lit up.  Eben raised an eyebrow.  "Where did this come from?"

"The Lady Hillary arranged for it to be added to our stores, Captain." said Soyer.  "And I must say, it has been a pleasure preparing it."  He looked slyly at the old woman and then snatched a gingerbread cookie.

Sonja had crumbs on her coveralls and the corner of her mouth.  “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

Vanderwall and Donnelly stuck their heads in the parlor.  "Smells like real food." said Vanderwall.  "Is there enough for us?"

“It's for everyone." said Hillary

Donnelly looked at the Captain and he nodded.  "You may call the rest of the crew.  Tonight we'll celebrate with our guest."

Hillary enlisted Alexis, the Captain’s wife, as hostess and even Tabitha helped the old woman entertain the men, though she had not planned to come until Sonja had insisted.  "She's made the Tree look pretty." the girl said.  And the Tree was happy.

Alexis played the organ after they had eaten.  The hull of Dweameh vibrated with the sound of the pipes and their voices.  The stars watched as the small ship, battered and leaking, sailed through the void, staring in through the window at the small group of people, encased in a brass and wood cocoon.  Hope had come to them, and, whatever might happen, they were joyful that night.

Vanity, all my spam these days is vanity

Basketball season has started for our county league.  That means #3 and 4 will think, and speak, of little else for the next couple of months.  It's okay, they spend a lot of time outside shooting and dribbling and we enjoy the games.  It's also a focus that I understand.  After all, last month I was hammering away for Nano.

And, much like basketball season, now that the contest is over I am still writing but the urgency has subsided somewhat.  (I just started a paragraph with 'and', must be still a bit undertheweather.)  Nano offers a "chest full of prizes" for winners and some of them are pretty good -- you could get storist for 50% off -- but there's nothing I need, or even especially want on the list.  What I want is more time, and the shiny new packages on offer promise just the opposite -- less time writing, more time poking around.

There are also several self-publishers that are offering "prize packs" and I'm not interested in those either.  I have nothing against self-publishing (okay, Vanity Press) but it isn't for me.  I do suspect, however, that they get a lot of business following Nano, after all, people put in a lot of work and the story always seems great when you are writing it.

I get a lot email these days from Vanity Press representatives.  Most of them remind me of the old "drawing contest" ads in the back of Car and Driver.  I got a new one today -- an outfit in Pennsylvania spotted my copyrighted piece and thought it might be the perfeect fit, I just needed to submit it and they'd get back to me.  There were a few things wrong with the email, and after a brief internet search to confirm my gut reaction, I deleted it, but it got me thinking about the power of playing to ego.  By suggesting that there was a submission approval process, that particular company was implying they were selective and better than the folks that offer 75% off deals.  But really, it's a vanity press, does anyone think they would actually turn down any customer?  It would be like a diner turning away a customer because he wanted a turkey salad sandwich on toast but could only pay in cash.  Nonesense.

"Nanu-Nanu!"

Big writing day in my house yesterday.  #1 entered the 5 minute fiction contest with me this week and, not only eked me out of a finalist spot, actually won the contest.  First time out.  Totally awesome, as they said back when my Z. Cavaricci's were still in style.  I'm thinking we need to dust off our "You write a chapter and then I'll write a chapter" project.

Of course that would require more time for writing or another project mixed into the limited writing time of the day.  I took a Myer-Briggs test yesterday and now I'm over analyzing everything!  It's like I'm an alien studying life on earth.  Speaking of which, today is Must See TV and in honor of the Nano theme, I'm going with "Mork and Mindy."



Don't miss the "Video Recorder"



I was pretty young when it was on and remember the show, but not what it was about -- until Jonathan Winters popped out of Mork as his backwards aging son.  And I mean popped, he hatched from an egg.  The rest of the show?  Apparently it was about the alien and the girl and was funny.  I remember the funny suit (looked sort of like Ralph Hinckley’s suit) and a big voice.  Oh, and "nano-nano."

What do you remember about the sitcom set in Boulder, CO?  I think the jeep was brown, but I'm color blind.

"Never don't be afraid."

Welcome to Wednesday and "Tales From the Script."  In the spirit of our Nano theme this week we'll look at "The Croods."  What's the tie in?  When I finished Nano, I watched it.

I suppose I should have written on "Water for Elephants" but I haven't read the book, seen the movie, or even read the script.  Why "Water for Elephants?"  The novel began as a Nano entry.

Enough about would've, could've, and pachyderms.  On with “The Croods.”  (A DreamWorks Animation production about a family of Cavemen who make a road trip with cute animals.)  (Nicholas Cage voices the lead and was very(!) good.)

First off, let me say that I was surprised by this film.  It was not what I was expecting (do NOT read unpredictable).  There were a lot of things they did right and the script still made me laugh out loud even though I had just watched the movie and was late because the trains were all messed up.  I actually decided, as I finished the last page while pulling into my station, that universe conspired to make the entire rail system of Northern Virginia malfunction just to give me time to finish it.  Sorry everyone.

If you watch animated films or have children/grandchildren, you will most likely enjoy “The Croods.”  Spoilers follow so if you don't want to know the ending before you've watched the first five minutes of the movie, see you tomorrow for Must See TV Thursdays.

Problems first, because there were only two and I don't want to end on a negative.  The first problem was the introduction.  It took far too long to get to the story because they introduced the family twice.  Once in an extended voice over title sequence, and then again when the Croods actually come out of their cave for breakfast.  One or the other, please, but not both.  By the time Eep (teenage daughter) is sneaking out, we're sick of setup.  I was, anyway.  The other issue was how predictable the story was.  There was never any suspense, or question about what was going to happen.  But it was a kid’s movie so they haven't seen the formula a hundred billion times and I'm sure that the Macawnavore is plenty suspenseful for younger tykes.

The good?  I'll start with the obvious.  The Crood family is not crude.  They love each other very much and it shows.  There's lots of familial bantering but it isn't offensive and they never took the low, easy road for a quick laugh.  The characters are distinct and consistent, but stereotyped too. Again, however, I think it plays to the younger audience and in one scene they actually poke fun at the typecasting when the jock says to the nerd, "Ideas are for weaklings."

The humor is steady throughout the entire 91 pages of the script.  It establishes early on that the story is more "Flintstones" than "Clan of the Cave Bear."  Boulders crash, animals eat people and spit them out, grannies are tossed in the air, and silly things just sort of happen -- but it's all funny and doesn't get old 45 minutes in.  It also doesn't dry up for the last 5 minutes.  It’s probably the most impressive feat of the authors.

The script was an easy read but again I was struck by the double introduction of the family.  Everything of importance happens after "The... End" - da daah daaaaaahhhh.  Let's get there faster.  This script was the closest to the actual finished movie that I've read.

The script is clear.  I've been told to focus on “clarity over poetry” in my screenwriting and The Croods nailed that.  There are paragraphs that are on-the-nose clear about who is doing exactly what, hardly a single pronoun.  But it didn't matter, the story was... clear.

This was not the best movie ever.  It was not my favorite animated film.  But it was better than “Monsters University” and I certainly won't mind seeing it again.  Or listening to the stellar voice acting and witty dialogue in the car, stuck in traffic, refusing to quit driving just because it's taking forever, while my children watch it in the back.

"and for those about to rock... I salute you. "

Welcome to December.  Don't blink.  Not literally "don't blink."  That would be bad.  My November flew by this year.  It might be because of Nano.  It might be because I'm getting older.  This is my blog, so I get to choose :) and I'm going with Nano.  In fact, it will be the theme of this week's posts -- as long as I can find a way to work it in without it seeming forced.  (That would be bad writing.)

It's Monday and there's a pretty good chance that you've had a few days off, or that you're working with people who did, and it might take a little more than just a cup of coffee to get going.  Standby for inspiration.

I accomplished Nano.  Got a winner's badge, saw the video saying, "Well done, Author!"  It was all very exciting at midnight but, being the considerate husband I am, I waited until morning to share the good news with my wife.

51k words in a month is pro level quantity.  A lot of people hit that mark last month.  Many, many more didn't.  Even more didn't even try.  Most of those who didn't try didn't want to and never claim any interest in writing anything.  But there are some who didn't try that should have.   The one's that dream about writing but never really get started.

Last night I had a conversation with a man I respect a great deal.  He was telling me about how his family had just acquired a piano and he was looking forward to his children having a chance to learn a bit about music.  Then he dropped the bomb.  "That's one thing I really regret.  I never learned how to play an instrument."  You can probably guess what I said...

"It's never too late."  I was thinking of my mother who started to play in her 40s.  I was thinking of my step-mother who is rocking nursing school at an age when most people are considering hiring a nurse, or at least saving up to hire one.  I was thinking of me, finishing Nano more than 20 years after leaving a novel half done.

But he didn't take it seriously.  He laughed it off, gave me some excuses I was ready for.  They were light, much like my comment, but behind them were truths.  The same truths that keep all of us from investing in dreams.  It's too hard, it will take too long, I don't have any natural talent, I'll never be any good... you know the list.

I want to follow up with him.  I want to tell him he can do it.  That he'll surprise himself as long as he doesn't want to play Chopin in 6 months.  I want to tell you that you can do something big.  It just takes a little while.  I was far too impatient at 18 to write a novel.  That's why it sits, half finished in a box in my garage (and on a hard drive in the cloud).  But I finished Nano!  I know, absolutely, that this story I'm writing will be published because it is a good story, and, of equal importance, I'll finish it.

That is, I hope, what you will be inspired to do.  Finish it.  Because once you've done something big, something that took longer to finish than the burst of inspiration that started it, you'll know you can do it again.  And then you'll be able to rock too - whether it's the keys or nursing school.  Or writing.

Almost there.

No Tales From the Script this week.  I'm too busy writing a novel in a month to watch any more movies.  Next week will be December.  I'll have succeeded in my goal and be back to the usual schedule.

Have a great Thanksgiving.

Nobody got time for that.

Today's tool of the trade is prioritization.  Instead of writing some clever insight or pithy rant, I'm going to demonstrate it.  I'm in the final week of nanowrimo and have 13k words to go.  I can do it, if I buckle down.  I plan to do it.  I've come to far to not make it.  But I can't do that and everything else.  My family is a bigger priority so I won't steal their time.  My job is a bigger priority (can't buy groceries with a nano badge) so I won't shirk my duty.  But the blog?  Well, I love writing the blog but it's a few hundred words I could add to my nano total coming in on the train.  Through the sleet and snow.

**update.  I was able to knock out 1200 words this morning.  Thank you for your understanding.

"His turn of phrase clearly had her entranced."

I have thrown my hat into the ring.  I am now a Nano (or NaNoWriMo) participant.  Hear me roar.  There are plenty of reasons for both doing, and not doing, Nano, but for me the positives outweighed the negatives.  All that's left is to write 50k words of a novel draft before 11/30/13.  I've got just over 2k right now.  If past performance is any indication of future results, I should be okay.  I'm averaging about 2k a day during the week if I count the blog and the writing projects.  Some days I get far more than that - a few of the recent shorts were over 1900 words and they were all written during a single sitting on the train.

Word count does not a novel make, but neither does a final draft appear magically from space.

I will post more on this epic undertaking as I go.  If it is interesting.  Meanwhile, I will continue to consume vast quantities of "extra work" sized Snickers bars left over from Halloween.  (Okay, the label says "fun size" but what's fun about a candy bar that's a quarter the size of normal one?  You have to do 4 times the work for the same amount of satisfaction.  I bet it was named by the same people who came up with the idea of self-checkout at the grocery store.)