Steve Buccheit wrote today: "I over-describe because I'm afraid my readers won't know just what the heck is going on."
Hey! I've done that. (I've also overdone it in the opposite direction, but this entry is not about that.)
A couple years ago, in this very journal, I quoted Keith H. Basso's Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the Western Apache.
The Apache apparently know more about trusting the reader than any writer I've ever met. Witness:"Western Apaches regard spoken conversation as a form of 'voluntary cooperation'... in which all participants are entitled to displays of 'respect'... Such considerations may influence Apache speech in a multitude of ways, but none is more basic than the courtesy speakers display by refraining from 'speaking too much'... Although the effects of this injunction are most clearly evident in the spare verbal style employed by Apache storytellers, people from Cibecue insist that all forms of narration benefit from its application. And the reasons, they explain, are simple enough.
"A person who speaks too much--someone who describes too busily, who supplies too many details, who repeats and qualifies too many times--presumes without warrant on the right of hearers to build freely and creatively on the speaker's own depictions. With too many words, such a speaker acts to 'smother'... his or her audience by seemingly to say, arrogantly and coercively, 'I demand that you see everything that happened, how it happened, and why it happened, exactly as I do.' In other words, persons who speak too much insult the imaginative capabilities of other people."
The explanation goes on a bit more, and wraps with: "An effective narrator takes steps to 'open up thinking,' thereby encouraging his or her listeners to 'travel in their minds'" (Basso 85).
(The ellipses largely occurred where I chose not to render for the Web the Apache words that appeared in the text.)
Trusting the reader is always good advice. But it is, indeed, a delicate art.
First, the science in science fiction... from a long time ago:
("What it will be like living in the futuristic world of 1999.")
Found at Library Revolution
Second:
David Moles discusses Duchamp on Delany on ambition in writing (enough prepositions for you?). And then discusses it some more. And some more, this time with gender.
I am... bemused? Yes, I am bemused by "what happens when you set your sights on writing just well enough to get published." Bemused (maybe even bewildered) by the thought that there might be some people out there pulling their punches? I mean. Writing just well enough to get published. Considering that I've been trying to write well enough to get published all this time, I can't quite imagine what it's like to be able to exceed that and then choose not to.
Also? Writing well is in the eye of the beholder. I'd rather have a good story, capably written than a bad story well-written. But maybe writing here also means story-telling. But it's the story-telling that's important to me as a reader. The rest is gilding the lily. And I have to say, as a writer, I tend to remember how I react to things as a reader.
Third:
Toby points out an article by JJA, "Speculative Fiction: the Next Generation". Which is a good article. But honestly, it was the quote from Toby that kicked me in the pants. Toby may very well be the King of Focus. I think I'm going to have to comb through his archives and re-look at the stuff he's talked about for staying on task and on track. Because he has talked about it, quite a bit.
Free form. Without organization or hierarchy. The third order of information is alive in my blog!
(Apologies. Library school has definitely eaten my brain.)
Jim C. Hines interviews his agent, Steve Mancino
Deanna Hoek points out "Mistakes authors make: addressing peerage"
Agent Manners (aka Jennifer Jackson) answers my question about MS shipping (She's been taking requests)
Sherwood Smith points out Rachel Manija's posts on PTSD for the writer
That's all for now...
There's nothing quite like that moment when you realize that you've failed in your mission to communicate something so badly that five out of five people have no idea what you're talking about.
Besides being embarrassing... which it is... it's so very helpful.
Back to the drawing board...
In case it wasn't clear, my critique group met tonight. Aye, me.
There's been too much good material floating past lately, and it's time to capture some of it. Especially as it gets more relevant.
(Semi-sidenote: I'm rereading The Forest for the Trees by Betsy Lerner. Or rather, reading further than last time. Last time, four years ago, I read through to chapter three and said, "ACK! She knows WHO I am, HOW I sabotage myself, and if I KEEP READING, Betsy Lerner's hand is going to come out of the book and smack me. Me. On the nose. I better play it safe, put the book down, and GO WRITE." Brilliant. Three chapters kept my butt in the chair for almost five years. But it was time to pick it up again. Though if the person I lent it to would reveal themselves, I'd be grateful--I know I lent it to you and said, "If I need it, I'll ask for it back," but I don't know who that was anymore. Right now I'm reading a library copy.)
(Anyway, the side-note was to say that I am working, rather diligently, on one single novel again.)
(Though I am not done with Betsy Lerner.)
Ahem.
On the topic of revisions...
Picture going on a cross country road trip, only to have to return to your house every two hours because you forgot something. Every day. For a month straight.
I tend to hack the book into all of its component pieces, spread them out, and then systemically (don’t ask me what kind of system that matically refers to) rearrange them and delete them. From there, I reshape the story and write it again.And there are pictures of her COLOR-CODED system of story events. It's writing-office supply porn, folks, and it is good.
On points in the writer's life...
You have to be good. You have to be great. And you can’t do that 100% of the time. But still, even at this level of acceptance, you realize you know nothing.He speaks truth. It's not all of the truth, and it's not everyone's truth, but it's truth.
Breaking in is almost as confusing as being an aspiring writer, except with more internal validation. You sell a story, then two more, maybe even to a top-level market you've dreamed of since you were a kid hiding in the library bookstacks during the dodgeball games. Suddenly your writer friends start looking at you funny, while your non-writer friends (and likely family) have no idea what the big deal is.Ah... well, true on the non-writer friends having no idea what the big deal is, but I don't think a couple of pro sales several years apart engenders the funny looks that Jay Lake must have gotten when he broke in. Because there's a vast difference between selling four or five stories a year (me) and selling about fifty (Jay Lake) in your breaking-in years.
The purpose of a goal is to be obtained, but once that happens its job is done. A goal in its essence is a direction, not a destination. You don't clear a lot, build a split-level with a pool in the back and move in. That way lies stagnation. If you don't want to stagnate, you have to look for the next goal or retire. Those are your choices. Pick one.
Someone else made a link roundup...
In the "obvious, but obviously not obvious enough" category...
And for the "everyone else is bookmarking it" file:
And as for advice I've actually taken in the last week:
Have you ever been blocked while playing Frisbee? Eating doughnuts? Dancing naked in your living room? Those are joyful things and there’s nothing at stake: if you fail, who cares? Nobody. If there are no rules, and no judgment, psychological blocks are impossible.
I have been kind of absent here lately, as you no doubt well know.
First, there was the perfect storm of evil cold + jury duty, which I mentioned.
Then, I was reluctant to keep adding entries when I thought I was going to have to hand convert them all over to Wordpress. (Silly, but true.) But now my husband thinks he can mess around with SQL for me and save me a hell of a lot of trouble. MY HERO. (It's stuff I should probably know, but, eh. I know other things.)
Then I handed my wireless card over to my husband with the admonishment not to give it to me before 10PM on any night (and only on request), and my productivity shot through the roof.
So. My new rule is: during the week, internet only at work until after 10. And that means lunchtime ruminations on ye old blog for the forseeable future. Expect more (better?) brevity in future. Especially since I am cutting my lunch hour to a half hour so I can come to work later to accommodate my exercise class and my new (more distant) parking spot.
I'm performing a lot of experiments this summer, not just in parking and exercise and internet usage. I'm attempting to write a story a week (the Jay Lake method). Based on my efforts so far, this is turning out to be 300-500 words a night, and I am expecting to make a big push on the weekends to finish the pieces. In addition, I am working on the novel regularly (not the Tarot Book, but I don't think I'm going to say which book, since whenever I talk about the novels I'm writing I seem to curse them. No, none of my experiments this summer are going to involve decreasing magical thinking).
My reasons for the short story push vary, from the mundane to the meta:
1) I want/need more stories in circulation.
2) I want to write all the short stories that I've got in my front burner folder, thus clearing the mental front burner for novels.
3) They are good ideas and deserve to be completed.
4) The feeling I get from finishing is almost as good as the feeling I get when I publish something. So why not aim for the feeling I can control? Particularly when the feeling I can control is a prerequisite for the feeling I can't?
5) I want to know if I can do it.
6) I need to STOP rewriting stories between submissions. Like now. No. Like last year sometime.
At some point it occurred to me that perhaps my experimentation was tending towards the "out of control" side of things, but really, I'm remembering that I'm just like this in the summer. Around about March, I start getting enough sunlight, and everything just gets a hell of a lot easier. EVERYTHING. From getting up in the morning to solving problems to just plain doing things. Procrastination is my watchword all winter, but in the summer, I do things.
I am beginning to wonder exactly how to harness this knowledge to avoid the winter doldrums. I mean, I already have done a few things (we have full-spectrum lamps in the house, and all that; and my work schedule has shifted from 8 am to 5pm (go to work in the dark, come home in the dark) to 10 am to 7 pm (only one leg in the dark), and that was an awesome boost to my health and well-being. But.
*sigh*
Well, in six more years, we can consider moving someplace sunnier. Until then, I'm guessing a sun lamp is the next step.
Anyway. The other key to my current productivity plans is my continually evolving "talking to myself" with the voice recorder on my commute. I always get my best ideas when I'm moving--walking or driving. Rather than try to write at red lights and on straight-aways, this seems a much safer option. I have managed to noodle through problems of story that have been stumping me for years because I wasn't having any luck with the brainwork part of writing.
Mostly, I just turn on the recorder, pick a story from the front burner and start listing plot options.
And it's totally awesome.
And later, when I'm like, "Hey, what was that thing?" I just dial up the recording. Since I record onto my iPod, it's super-easy, because I already take my iPod everywhere. Just like the pod creature Apple wants me to be.
So, in short, I am awesome, and my writing is awesome. How are you?
This week, I have been working on my list of accomplishments for the 2006-2007 fiscal year at dayjob. I managed two pages before deciding that if I hadn't thought of it, it just shouldn't count. In the meantime, I managed to clean out about 150 messages from my work email--I was using the messages to remind myself of projects completed and that sort of thing, but found a lot of debris at the same time.
I have come across several emails that begin "As you know..." They were cc'd to me, as they were emails sent more or less at my instigation to the department head, requesting permission to buy equipment or reform processes. They begin with "as you know" because the department head does know. They launch into lengthy exposition because:
a) the email may get passed on to people who don't know
b) the email may be used for the cover-your-ass file
c) the department head may know the broad strokes, but not the details
And you can imagine other scenarios in which this would be done, but they aren't applicable to my office.
This is one of those disappointing moments where it turns out that, maybe, just maybe, "as you know, Bob" may not be an unrealistic way of dumping exposition. If I were going to use it in a story, of course I'd add in some reaction.
"Of course I know," Bob sniped. "Just get on with it."
or
Bob rolled his eyes, but didn't stop Martha. The CFO was listening to the whole explanation, growing angrier with each passing moment. At the end, the CFO leaned forward. "Bob, you knew about that?"
or
Martha hated the diligent recounting of details that everyone in the department already knew, but she wrote out the pedantic email anyway, explaining each excruciating step of lost-book processing before explaining about why they needed a new policy. She had no desire for Jim to come over and point out that she'd overlooked a step.
(I know those aren't particularly exciting scenelets.)
But I also know--and I'm sure you do, too--that even this seemingly ironclad rule doesn't reflect real life, and can be broken creatively.
Quickly... as I have only ten minutes to write this entry before the timer goes off and tells me to start writing.
Some time back, Elizabeth posted a report on a panel called "Common neo-pro mistakes" at Wiscon. It was, evidently, time to read that again, because I just now stumbled across the first time I mentioned it. (Elizabeth, if I can use your whole name and link to your LJ, just let me know, 'cause I'll do what you prefer).
I read the report when she posted it, feeling all neopro-ish at the time because I was just a few months off of the publication of my first pro sale. You'll note that it's now two years later, and I just made my second SFWA-eligible sale, so you could say that I've been living in neopro limbo for a while now. I am still just a neopro, sales-wise. I feel like I've been slogging around for so long, I should have a different name, but it's like being a sixth-year senior, not like becoming a grad student, so any name-change would just be an annoying reminder that I'm not actually any further along. I'm still a neopro, and God only knows when the transition to full-on pro will show up. (I figure it's the first time I'm invited to be on a panel at a con, instead of having to beg. Or at least it's long past the point where SFWA membership isn't yet an option.)
Of course, the other option is that I jumped the gun on believing myself to be a neopro, and I really was still a beginner.
There really should be some rules, or something.
One way I've changed since the beginning: I used to think that a cool idea was enough for a story. Then I thought, "No, you have to have two cool ideas." And then I decided, "You know, I'm going to have something cool on every page." And right now I'm working on having something cool in every paragraph.
For me, that's been a real and tangible piece of my transition.
Time's up.
Thoughts?
I have written an essay every year on (or near) my writing anniversary. I started the rigorous (as opposed to the lackadaisical) submitting of short stories in April 2003. I am preparing to write essay four.
I've refrained from editing these essays too much; my first essay, The Freshman Writer, has everything in it that I wish I'd known when I was fifteen and made that first, impetuous, egged-on, SASEless submission to Woman's World's Fifteen-Minute Mystery. (The story was called "The Library Murders"--the library theme was already present--and a friend of my aunt's from back in her newspaper days, who had achieved some level of local poetical publication success, strongly urged me to submit that story to that venue, but without the extremely important SASE advice.) I was pig-ignorant prior to that April; Julie and Lisa already knew a lot of that stuff, having undertaken their own educations with a bit more rigor than my reading of the essays in The Writer's Market.
By April 2004, I'd sold "Heretic's Day Out" for copies, made $10 off "Charmed Lives," placed four poems without compensation, and felt victorious about all of it. By April 2004, I'd taken each of my thirty-odd rejections terribly to heart, and further, managed to get through all extant seasons of Angel on DVD, because rejection inevitably led to a 1-disc binge. By April 2004, I was convinced that if I ever got a rejection from Gordon Van Gelder instead of John Joseph Adams, I would be satisfied with my writing lot.
The distance between all the milestones feels infinite until you actually arrive.
The writer I was in April 2004 is so not the writer I am today, and only the writer I was in April 2004 was really fit to talk backward to the writer I was in April 2003. Each year that goes by, each success that I enjoy, each saleless month (or six) that I suffer through, each milestone that I pass, makes me less empathetic for that mid-twenties newbie. "There's so much you should have known!" I think. I could stumble over myself trying to explain stuff to a new writer now. It would be a terrible mistake to even try. I want to think that I'm just as capable of understanding what it's like to be with zeroes in the acceptance and the rejection columns as I was three years ago, but I'm probably not.
Because, well. The one thing no new writer wants or needs to hear is how a burgeoning neo-pro still feels like they haven't gotten anywhere. I probably would have taken an ice-pick to my eye if April-2007-me went back to visit April-2003-me and said something awesome like, "Yeah, well, you'll have sold to some pro-mags, but, you know. You haven't gotten very far."
There are no guarantees for when you'll pass the milestones, nor for which order the milestones come in, let alone which milestones you'll hit.
What I know now isn't actually relevant to who I was then.
So no. 2007-me doesn't get to go back and rewrite what 2004-me had to say to 2003-me.
She just doesn't. I look back at it all now and say, "Really? This was your big revelation?" Yeah. It was big to me. Rejection took so long for me to figure out. I still don't always get it--the "close, but not close enough, but we had to sit on it for six months to decide that" rejections are killer, as just one example.
2007-me also has the advantage of knowing how bad of a writer that 2003-me was. I mean, competent? Sure. Occasionally good, even. Consistently good, though? Naaaaht really. We've gone through some upgrades since. It took experiencing the mediocrities of slush to recognize I was mediocre.
Really, it's just like four years of college.
But 2003-me totally didn't need to know how mediocre she was, because she wasn't a good enough writer to fix any of it, yet. Just a few months of practice and she was markedly better, of course, and in the four years since 2003, she/I damn well better be better! I've written as much as--or possibly far more than--I would have if I'd taken an undergraduate degree in writing. My guidance has been spotty and limited frequently to peer review, but the grading scale has been harsh and professionally-administered.
Still working on that essay
And all of this is just to say that I'll be writing my 2007 essay to my 2006 self, and that I won't be looking back four years to yap at the freshman I once was.
Longwinded, I am.
In lieu of personally-generated content (what more can I say about not writing hard enough or fast enough? Not bloody much), I bequeath to you the week's haul in writing and writing-related links.
Rules for Writing Regency Fiction
-I'm not so sure about the house on the moors, but the rest is spot on. Read closely items 16 and 16a, for between those two items lives my moral dilemma. See also Sherwood Smith's "Fantasy and Regency Romances" for further edumacation.
How to Write More Clearly, Think More Clearly, and Learn Complex Material More Easily
-Well, maybe. It's interesting, for certain.
Cheer me on: Writing Buddies
-about writing as a group; takes me back to the great days of Write Club
Marion Zimmer Bradley's What is a short story?
How to write a novel in 100 days
-is not actually anything like how to write a novel in 100 days. I should do one of these for real. Plus a joke one, for fun.
How to Build a Universe That Doesn't Fall Apart Two Days Later from Philip K. Dick.
...of course I'm wordy. I'm in love with words, my own and others'. It's at the core of why I became a writer. If you look at my chromosomes, you'll find the marker for wordiness, right next to the marker for storytelling.
Writing is the craft that defies craftsmanship: craftsmanship alone will not make a novel great. This is hard for young writers... to grasp at first. A skilled cabinet-maker will make good cabinets, and a skilled cobbler will mend your shoes, but skilled writers very rarely write good books and almost never write great ones. There is a rogue element somewhere - for convenience's sake we'll call it the self, although, in less metaphysically challenged times, the "soul" would have done just as well. In our public literary conversations we are squeamish about the connection between selves and novels. We are repelled by the idea that writing fiction might be, among other things, a question of character...
From Fail Better by Zadie Smith.
As far as I'm concerned, it damn well better be about soul, self and/or character.
Here we sit, at Writer's Retreat (me and Julie, that is; the others don't come in 'til tomorrow).
I've managed about five hundred words of a new short story--it's going quickly because I'm creating this story out of a dream I had a few weeks ago, and really, when your subconscious gives you a nice global warming-rebirth of magic story in one neat package, you'd be a fool to pass it up. I can't quite hit a title for it yet, but it will come to me as I write (she said, hopefully).
In the meantime, I should tell you that I've already given myself the joy of half-convincing myself that the crazed ghost of a homeless man is living in the basement. There's a light on down there that I don't remember turning on. Just for about a tenth of a second I had that momentary, "What if?" And plus, "The Library Seed" is rife with the ghosts of homeless men, so it was a bit like being in a Stephen King novel for a second there. I have refused to go turn of the light.
Julie mocks me, I might add. Even offered to come with me to turn off the light. But I'll note that she didn't offer to go down there by herself.
Hm...
Orson Scott Card said in an interview on It's the Story, Stupid--provacatively enough--that Stephen King does not, in fact, teach the kind of writing he does in On Writing. OSC provacatively says something along the lines that King is rehashing what he taught as a high school English teacher.
I paused to think about that for quite a while. Okay, not that long. But it stuck with me.
Later, the podcaster of ItSS (who strangely doesn't have his name easily findable on his website... unless it's CharlesP, but even then, not super obvious since it's not on all the entries) mentioned a tip given by OSC in a workshop, which is to look at your pages of dialogue and just pluck out a random exchange, as though the speakers just skipped ahead together to a later point in the conversation--like real life. An interesting suggestion. I've done it by accident before--here "accident" means "desperate to reduce wordcount, I took out a fairly meaningless little bit right in the middle of a conversation that wasn't pulling it's weight, and made my characters look much more insightful in the process." So, I guess I knew that one, even though I didn't know I knew it.
I have listened to even more podcasts since the review I did for Elizabeth. For the record, that review was me talking to my peer; it's my belief that Elizabeth and I are at about the same point in our needs in terms of writing advice, and I was very subjectively judging the podcasts on a personal preference scale with a little bit of "what might Elizabeth need to know" thrown in for good measure.
I may review some more for her later... though in brief, I've been listening to the AmericanWriters.com podcast, the aforementioned It's the Story Stupid (which largely reviews writing books and picks out choice bits of advice), and Dragonpage Cover to Cover. I haven't figured out if I love any of these yet, but I know they pass muster into the "worth a listen" category thus far.
In other news, I did manage to finish my rewrite for Ideomancer but I'm letting it sit for a day or two. I need to give it to my husband for a reaction shot, too; his cues are subtle, but I think I understand by now that the dubious "are you sure?" face is actually code for "I smell cat poopies" and a blank stare means "too elliptical" and a shrug means "well, I don't think anyone is insane for buying this." He's honest, but the honesty is all in code.
And in still other news--which is not so much news as "grand plans" (the kind that precede "great expectations"), I have decided to write a short story tomorrow night. I'll hunker down with it as soon as I get home, and I'm not standing up until I reach 4,000 words or have a complete story. If I manage it, it'll be a (precedented) miracle--a feat I've not managed in years, though--and if I don't manage it, it will have tried.
I am planning to write the first of my "Beauty and the Beast" retelling trio that I have known I was going to write for some time, but didn't realize until today that I'd be writing three separate versions of the story. This will be the non-fantasy one--the far distant future but realistic-ish one, actually, because only one of them will be a fantasy story--called either "Thaw" or "Migrado." ("Migrado" is a much better title, but it lacks direct relevance, and to make it fit, I'd have to abuse the idea somewhat. The sequel could be "Migrado," I suppose. But that's not the "Beauty and the Beast" retelling, and it's not the story I'm writing tomorrow night.)
That's the news for now.
I really meant to write an entry about this a while ago. In fact, I think I'd had the whole thing written and then lost it to the ethers--but that's okay! Because I've vetted even more podcasts since then! But now Elizabeth asked me to recommend some writing podcasts to her, and I realized it was time. So, presented in my order of preference, here is the list of podcasts I've listened to over the last six months.
The Secrets (Michael A. Stackpole)
Stackpole has published 38 novels and has broken onto the bestseller lists with his Star Wars novels. So--credentials. He's keen on popular writing, and thinks highly of Stephen King. Stackpole is--in case the Star Wars bit wasn't clear--a sf/f genre writer, among many other things.
The podcast itself has good production values, Stackpole's voice is clear and understandable, and he has a good sense of humor as well as a fair amount of good advice on a wide range of topics. Naturally, I differ with him now and again--that's going to happen when writing advice is being given--but I always come away feeling inspired in some way, even if it's just to smooth over a paragraph of previously written stuff, but usually, he makes me think about much bigger things. Topics cover everything from first chapters to character development to career management.
I'm probably not praising this podcast highly enough, actually, since this is the only on-going series whose episodes I don't delete off my iPod. I have listened to every podcast he has available at least twice, and I'm saving things for at least another round.
There are 24 episodes currently available on the iTunes subscription page for the podcast, so there's a nice backlog to go through.
Getting Past Being Joe Blow Neopro (Tobias S. Buckell)
There are just six Joe Blows, and I value them all. These are another set of no-delete podcasts, and I've listened to them about five times now. Whenever my enthusiasm for the whole business flags, these manage to pick me back up.
They are largely centered on the neopro's career, but there is an excellent bit on original source material that I think a writer at any stage could benefit from. Beyond that, Toby's work ethic comes through in these, and that's always a good energy to be around.
The production values are excellent, and they're read by a professional reader.
The Kissy Bits (Kiki Opdenberg)
An on-going series about romance writing. Kiki is an early-career writer (I'm not sure she's sold anything yet), but she's got a pretty excellent handle on things. I appreciate her perspective, and she has good advice even for people who aren't writing romance novels. Check out the excellent episodes on Emotional Honesty and the First Kiss, for example. Kiki wisely points out that the vast majority of books have a romantic element in them, so you can't go wrong listening to this. I have kept a few episodes for repeat listens.
I count 14 available episodes... though I'd skip the Chick Lit episode, since it seemed to me to be more about identifying the Spotted Chick Lit in the wild than writing it.
Kiki has a charming Australian accent, though occasionally, her sound quality feels a bit muddy.
I Should Be Writing (Mur Lafferty)
Props to my hometown girl Mur. Well, actually, I don't know that she's my hometown girl at all, but she sounds like all my friends in high school and junior high--that is a grade A Southern accent she has there, and all the people who fake Southern accents should go listen to this podcast and get a clue. Southerners can still sound Southern and educated. Er. Wait. How did this soapbox get under my feet?
Ahem. Mur's podcast is conversational and straightforward, and delightfully honest. I have not listened to the greater part of her work, as there are only 10 of the nearly 50 episodes she's done available on the iTunes subscription, but I am a dedicated listener from here on out.
Mur's advice in the eps I've listened to tend towards the macro, not the micro; I did catch an episode about villains, but mostly, her advice seems to be about getting over the fears and foibles that stop you from writing or stop you from submitting--call it career management for the Freshman Writer. Good production values, and an excellent podcast.
We're up to episode 5, and while I enjoy these podcasts, I've not yet met one that I feel requires a repeat listen. It's possible these eps don't gobsmack me because I've read most of the corpus of Holly Lisle's writing advice on her website--I have to wonder, how much can one's advice change in just a few short years?--but the episodes are pretty solid. I'm a smidge disappointed that episode 2, called "Plotting Trilogies Series, Part One," has not yet been followed up on.
Good production values, however, and it appears that there's a keen interest in answering reader mail. The most recent ep about originality vs. uniqeness, I thought, was really nicely done; even though it was advice I didn't need, it's good advice, and goes hand in hand with Toby's podcast about original source material. I think if you read those both together, you might really have a good grasp on how to go about making your work stand out.
Writers on Writing (Barbara DeMarco-Barrett)
This is actually a podcast of a radio show, so it's a little slicker, a little more polished than the average podcast. It's also non-genre, whereas the podcasts listed above are. This is done in interview format, and I've honestly only listened to episodes with authors I recognized so far.
Somehow, radio-as-podcast strikes me as a little less dynamic than podcast-as-podcast. It feels less personal, less intense. So, this one doesn't register very high, perhaps because it's too much like listening to NPR--which I love when I'm in an NPR kind of mood, but I'm not in an NPR kind of mood when I've pulled out my iPod and turned to the podcast playlist.
Weird, I know.
Anyway, I've not given this one a fair shake yet, though I've liked what I've heard.
Paula does these as interviews with writers, much like Writers on Writing, but this is fully a podcast, not a radio show, and somehow, it makes a difference! I've listened to many of these episodes, though I have to say, they're usually so long that I lose interest at some point. Twenty to thirty minutes really seems to be my podcast sweet spot. (Of course, that also happens to be the length of my commute.)
There are eighty-three episodes available, and at least one of them has to resonate with any writer-listener. Topics are wide-ranging, though they usually concentrate on a type of book: the comic novel, the true crime novel, the urban novel... though just as often, there are really excellent career-related episodes about marketing and publicizing your novel, or auditing your royalty accounts. I would call the focus of the show much more macro than micro--we aren't getting into minute writing tips very often here.
I really loved the "Podcasting Science Fiction" episode with Steve Eley. I probably could/should have listened to it before submitting stories to Escape Pod... on the other hand, I didn't, and it's worked out pretty well. The podcast was recorded some months before my acceptance for "One Million Years B.F.E."--which was not previously published anywhere (which is against Steve's preference), and which Steve added sound effects to... (which he had not, he said in the podcast, ever intended to do). Go, little story! Defy the odds!
Writing for Young Adults (Arthur Slade)
I sigh to think about this one. I really wanted to like this podcast, but they're just too short, and with too little content. I can't even settle in to think about what's being presented before the podcast is over. I listened to eps 1-11, and then I gave up on this one.
It's a pity, though, because I love Canadian accents.
The Survival Guide to Writing Fantasy (Tee Morris)
I'd heard such good things about this podcast.
But then there was the one minute introduction of sound clips from various war movies. And it really was only one minute, because I checked the iPod, but it seemed like five minutes, and I was so bored.
And then there was a nice interview with Terry Brooks, and I thought, "Okay, I could like this podcast. That was a good interview."
And then the next episode I listened to began with a kerfuffle between the podcaster and a detractor on his website, and I was immediately turned off. And it just seemed to go on and on and on. So I went on to the next episode after that. And I don't even remember what bugged me about that episode, but I gave up, right then and there--unsubscribed, came home, deleted the eps of the iPod.
It's a pity here, too, because the buzz about this podcast is good, and because the name of the podcast is also terribly good.
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Now, I've recently subscribed to a half-dozen more writing or writing-related podcasts, but I haven't even listened to the first one of those yet. If anything really strikes me, I'll holler.