It Adds Up

Posted on July 31, 2012 by Pearson Sharp

Another month! Phew! Wow that went by fast. It’s been a full month, to be sure, but I still wish I’d made a little more effort updating this site. It doesn’t take long! Honestly. Fifteen minutes or less and I’m done. But in any case, I did manage to squeeze out nearly 2,000 words on my novel today, which put me over the 61,000 word mark. Yeah, it’s been a long road since that initial 50k hurdle. But productive, as well. I feel like the intervening period of work and not work and contemplation has really given me some much needed perspective and insight into my own writing process and what works and what doesn’t.

As I have mentioned before, I’m simultaneously inspired and intimidated by authors such as Bernard Cornwell and George R.R. Martin and Frank Herbert. I read their works, and I can clearly see the efforts of brilliant minds at play. It’s very instructive to read how they do what they do, and it teaches me to be a better writer. At the same time, I’m discouraged because nothing I write seems to come close to the clear, simple, sturdy prose that they produce and that makes their books the compelling benchmarks they are. One of the biggest challenges I’m facing is coordinating all the different characters and the many plot threads. There’s so much political and religious intrigue happening, on such a large scale, that I sometimes wonder if I lack the maturity as a writer to deal pull it off. All I can do is keep going though, and learn, and revise. If I don’t make it, I’ll have gained quite a bit of experience in the effort.

In his book, Wait: The Art and Science of Delay, Frank Partnoy says that procrastinating isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and that its origins stem from early Christian ideas about work ethics. He adds that in ancient times it was quite common to procrastinate decisions until the solution presented itself naturally. I can vouch for the fact that waiting until the last second has often provided the necessary creative impetus to complete a project. He goes on to say that what he calls “creative delay” is when you’re not sure where to go next with your work, and that time for reflection and introspection are essential for any artist hoping to see their project reach its full potential. Even when we think we aren’t working, we actually are.

Our minds are churning through the little layers of our work that we don’t even realise are there, the pieces that slowly congeal somewhere in the back of our subconscious between those moments of indecision and sudden inspiration. These moments can take quite a bit of time, but are crucial to accept as part of the process. He concludes by saying that we often find the solutions to our mental blocks far simpler than we might have imagined. It just took a while to straighten out the knots and reach that point. I’ve certainly found this to be true.

Working against deadlines is often a helpful motivator. It’s the open ended time table that is the real nightmare. Take my book for instance: including all re-writes, drafts and research, it’s on its fifth year now. I’m hoping that once I squeeze this first novel out, I’ll have gained enough insight into the experience that I can fire out the next one a little more quickly.

Day by Day

Posted on June 21, 2012 by Pearson Sharp

As promised, a further update. I’ve not gotten nearly as far as I would have liked on my book the past few weeks, but this month has been a lot busier than usual. It’s fairly easy to let the days slip by, and the thought that one day doesn’t really make a difference adds up quite quickly. However, I’m only about ten thousand words from the pivotal moment of change in the story, which will wrap up the first book in the novel. My growing concern is that the work I’ve put into building the setting has dragged on too long already, and that every word is adding to something that’s already tedious.

so might I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn.

I’m currently reading “The Burning Land“, by Bernard Cornwell. He’s one of my favourite authors, and just about the only contemporary author I’ve encountered that I enjoy reading, aside from George R.R. Martin. However, one of the defining characteristics of his work, and the thing that makes it most enjoyable, is the pace. Action, plot development, and description are all blended seamlessly into one, allowing the reader a smooth transition from one part of the story to another.

After sixty pages, a major battle had already taken place, and the intrigue and character development was perfectly matched with the action so that there was no interruption in the flow. “Game of Thrones” does this very nicely as well, and reading these two books makes me trepidatious. I feel that my own work is bogged down by lots of character development and lengthy dialogue, without much happening. I’m 100 pages into the story at this point, and it’s all taken place over the course of a single day.

I have the damning need as a perfectionist to say everything, to explain every detail, to make everything fit. And that just doesn’t work. It’s boring! Voltaire said that to be a bore, you only need to say everything. Well, I feel like I’m on my way. Cornwell doesn’t have that problem at all. Granted, he’s written dozens of books and knows the drill. Days, weeks, months pass by in the space of a paragraph or so, and it all works.

As a reader, you don’t wonder what the characters were doing all that time, why so much time has passed, or what they’re thinking or occupying themselves with when you’re not there watching them. They do their thing, and you follow along, and it works. That’s my new writing goal: to integrate the transition of time into my story. I feel like the characters are like people: they’re always doing something, and I need to show it. But, like people, you don’t need to see what they’re doing all the time. If you miss someone having dinner, you haven’t missed much. It seems like a simple lesson, but it’s sure a hard one to learn.

A Game of Drones

Posted on March 29, 2012 by Pearson Sharp

Of the many challenges I’ve faced as an writer, perhaps the greatest has been merging my love of classical literature with contemporary writing styles. I don’t like modern books. That’s all there is to it. Have I read them all? Of course not, so I can’t say that this is true across the board. But some of my favourite authors include Twain, London, Melville, Fitzgerald, Conrad, Robert Louis Stevenson… Until very recently, no one from even the last half century. Poe was probably the single greatest inspiration to start writing seriously, and he’s about as antiquated as they come.

You can’t connect with a modern audience, however, if you’re using early 19th Century vernacular. You just can’t. So with a heavy heart I picked up Hemingway (being about as modern as I wanted to try). Imagine my surprise when I found his deadpan prose not only palatable, but fantastic. I was immediately hooked, and proceeded to read six of his most famous novels one after the other. I couldn’t put it down! I don’t normally enjoy being wrong, but this was an occasion in which I was thrilled.

I haven’t really found a suitable replacement for Hemingway since I decided to give him a break, but there are modern authors I’ve been enjoying. Bernard Cornwell spins really excellent tales of adventure, and I was also surprised to find that I enjoyed Anne Rice‘s vampire novels. Iain M. Banks is another science fiction writer who’s created a brilliant world in his Culture novels, and of course there’s no overlooking Frank Herbert. He virtually defined the medium as a serious practise with his Dune series.

Yet a recent inspection of the top sellers from the New York Times best seller‘s-list left me nauseous. Is this what passes for literature these days? The prose was dead, cliché, uninspired. Yet reader reviews were raving! “The best book I’ve ever read!” shouted one enthusiastic reader. Books with four and five stars that are international hits. I was dumbfounded. Yet rave review after rave review left me wondering if perhaps I was on the outskirts of the literary world. As I massaged my aching temples night after night, staring forlornly at my computer screen, waiting for words that would not come—crafting each paragraph meticulously and trying to capture some of the astounding and life changing passages I’d read in my favourite books. I must be doing it wrong.

Yes, and no. There are audiences for both types of literature. But, as reality TV has proven, most people are content not thinking. The less people have to think, the better, and so it is true for the books they like to read. My target demographic is too small—the market would destroy me if I ever released the kind of novel I’m aching for, the kind of thing I like to read.

So after long deliberation, I headed over to the local Barnes and Nobel and began perusing the best sellers section. I passed a lot of books, but finally found myself standing before Game of Thrones. I stood there eyeing the book for a long time, like two prize fighters sizing each other up. I didn’t think I’d like it. In fact, I assumed I’d hate it. I’d seen the TV series on HBO, and my expectations weren’t high. I carefully pulled it off the shelf and flipped to the prologue. Stiffling an inward groan, I began reading.

And, in spite of myself, I liked it. It wasn’t Faulkner! But it wasn’t bad.

I ended up buying it, and taking it home I liked it so much. It’s not that I think it’s a fantastic novel, but it does a lot of things right. Martin’s strength, I think, lies in the smoothness of the story. Everything flows exceptionally well, each chapter and character and scene are seamless, from beginning to end—there are no tedious hang ups or snags that halt the rhythm. This is something I feel I have a lot to learn about, so I’m not only finding that I like reading the book, but that it’s also teaching me a great deal.

A book really needs to connect with me on both of those levels—I don’t like reading something and mentally correcting or editing the writing as I go. I don’t want to feel like I could do it better, in essence. George R.R. Martin understands how to keep a story moving, and even managed some poetic imagery here and there. The story and setting aren’t particularly original or stunning, but they’re well-crafted, and that’s worth a lot. I’ve heard that I shouldn’t get attached to any of the characters, but for now, Game of Thrones is a wonderful book and learning experience, and has already given me hope that there are more contemporary authors out there for me to discover.