Advice For Newbie Writers

A fellow writer asked me for advice today. Unfortunately, and surprisingly, I seem to have offered up a straight answer (for the most part). Straight answers really kill the entertainment potential, but do make for a nice break.

I've written most of my life, but only sought publication about three years ago. Up until that time, I'd written journals, poetry, and short stories. I'd always wanted to write and sell a novel, and fancied I could if I put my mind to it. I love crime thrillers, so I tapped out a Jim Thompson-type noir. It took me about six months to polish the novel into something that I believed was good enough to send out. I researched the book biz and realized publication would be a tough nut to crack, still...I was pretty confident. I'd written a great story after all.

I decided that the best way to get my story published was through an agent. I'm talking mainstream publishing. You can self-publish and create a quality book, but I wanted to be a writer, not a publisher. The best tool I found for locating an agent was agentquery.com and the best tool I found for writing a decent query was Evil Editor.

I sent out queries and no one was interested. And it was a great story! Thrills, chills, spills, and all that...
But a great story is not enough. Luck and timing are involved. And sometimes the story needs more work. And sometimes it needs to go into a drawer for a few weeks or months or years. Everyone says it, and it's true: Keep writing, keep re-writing, keep polishing, and keep submitting. When you get feedback, listen to it. You don't have to agree, but listen to it.

So I sent out queries and collected rejections. Mostly form rejections and the occasional form rejection with a personalized scribble at the bottom. I decided that while I was submitting the crime thriller to agents that repped crime thrillers, I could write another novel to send to agents that repped other novels. Like what? I'd read somewhere that the thing to sell was a romance novel. So I tried my hand at romance...and didn't have much luck. It wasn't fun. I'm not a romance reader and I didn't enjoy writing it. And you have to write something you enjoy. I have three chapters of a romance titled TRAIL TO LOVE that I hope no one will ever see.

As a kid I was a big reader, so I took a stab at a story for young readers. I cooked up a middle grade adventure and loved it. I loved writing it. I sent it out and collected more rejections. I wrote a second middle grade work and began sending that one out. I collected rejections, refined my queries, filled the occasional request for sample chapters and manuscripts, and refined my queries even more.

Next I thought I'd give horror fiction a try. I was in the middle of writing a novel about underwater vampires when the notion of an eleven year old girl who only "thinks" she's a vampire entered my head. That idea eventually became the story that is currently sitting on shelves in libraries and bookstores around the country.

A TASTE FOR RED. (Does happy dance)

So my advice to newbies is simply a regurgitation of my own experience: Write things you LOVE to write, read all the time, listen to informed feedback when you're lucky enough to get it, set reasonable goals, and don't be discouraged.

It's hardly original, but there you have it. One nugget I'll offer that veers slightly from the run-of-the-mill is this: If you have a day job, quit. Even if you don't want to be a writer, quit your day job.

Work is silly.

Book on the Brain

I dreamed about A TASTE FOR RED last night. I could relate to you the specifics of the dream--I'm sure that you can be trusted--but best not to risk it. Someone we don't know might read this post and then--wham!-- I'd find uniformed men brandishing enormous butterfly nets banging at the front door.
Best to be safe.
And best to take a break for a few days...or at least after today. Later I'm heading to a couple of bookstores and then to the Ocala Library, but after that I'll be laying low for the weekend. I'll be trapped in the Parent Zone, where nothing productive can happen anyway. I see lots of sausage and cake and baking soda in my future.
Surprisingly, it sounds just right.

Postcards From The Edge

I've been working on postcards and bookmarks lately. Do I need these things? Sure, I guess...everything says that I need them. It makes sense. I need something to show that I was there...I need to leave a trail.

I picked up an order of postcards the other day and they look terrific. I've been working on my bookmarks this afternoon and I've finalized the design. Haven't I? Well...at least for the moment. I've talked to some printers and then some more printers and then spoke to some other printers and now I'm ready to call a printer. I'm trying to determine if I want gloss or matte or one-sided color or two-side color or coating --whatever coating is...

It's just a bookmark...relax.

Just pick something and pay for it--big deal...but a get a receipt.

I'm a page folder anyway. Bookmarks are...well, for other folks. I love to fold the corners of pages. The top corner, the bottom corner, left page or right--it doesn't matter.

I used to worship books, and still do, but with less reverence. Now I like to abuse a book a bit. Take ownership of it. Leave a nice fat thumbprint or mustard stain. While backpacking, I've even ripped the pages from books to start a fire--then burned the rest of the book to lighten my load. Self-help books burn best.

I think it's the fumes.

Summer Reading

School is almost out! It's time to visit your local bookstore and grab a few books for young readers. Last week I passed along selections to my niece and nephew. I hooked them up with Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry, Skellig by David Almond, Monster by Walter Dean Myers, and The Road by Cormac McCarthy. The Road? Yep, it's the odd man out in the group, but I think my nephew will appreciate the story. Plus, it's going to be a movie soon, and one should always read the book before seeing the movie, right? Hopefully they'll read many more than these four works, but I think the collection is a good start.

It's always fun to search for a gift read with a particular person in mind. But it's tricky, too. You have to make the right selection or your influence on the reader's habits will be critically compromised. Take The Pickwick Papers for example. It's one of my all-time favorites, but I doubt 800+ pages of Dickens will hold much curb appeal for cool kids on the go, go, go.

I'm a big fan of broccoli, but when I was a kid, not so much.
So get the young people in your life excited about reading.
Steer them toward great books.
But not broccoli books, they'll eat those when they're ready.

Morning 40 Federation Powers Down

Earth Hour will be upon my slice of the globe in minutes. For one hour, beginning at 8:30 p.m., We The People are encouraged to switch off the lights. This is an effort to draw attention to our personal energy use and its effect on the planet. My local power company has chipped into the effort with enthusiasm. The electricity at my residence went kaput at around 5 p.m.. If past performance by the power company is any indication, I'm not looking for a resumption of service anytime soon--certainly not today, but who knows? Life is full of surprises. Still, it will make my participation in Earth Hour a given.

Currently, I'm enjoying a brief jolt of power at my local bagel shop --complementary wi-fi included.

And speaking of power--it's nice, but there seems to be less of it in my world. I received the tragic news last week that Morning 40 Federation has gone splitsville. Morning 40 (for mature audiences only) is one of my favorite bands, a local New Orleans phenomenon. I remember stumbling home from their shows just before dawn and undressing on my narrow balcony. It was important to leave all of my clothes outside so as to avoid contaminating my apartment with residual chaos. I'm not sure if I've technically ever been in a mosh pit, but a Morning 40 show was the closest I've ever come. I went back to New Orleans about a year ago, specifically to catch a 40's show at Checkpoint Charlies. My knees still ache when I think about it. It's been eons since I was in any kind of shape to do "the pogo" --and certainly not for two hours straight. What's "the pogo"? Well if you've been to a raucous rock explosion and witnessed a middle-aged man jumping up and down like a wild idiot and flirting with a heart-attack, then you've probably seen "the pogo." I can only hope that the 40's will bless us with a reunion from time to time.

And that I'm in better shape when I get there.

For now, it's time to power down and look to the future.

Post Print Seattle Post Intelligencer

I read a line from a fellow writer lamenting the passing of the print edition of the Seattle Post Intelligencer. And I'm not happy about it either. Other newspaper print editions will inevitably follow. For me, the ritual of reading a print newspaper is an act of relaxation. "Coffee and a newspaper" sounds so soothing. Online papers can certainly provide the news, but what about the relaxation? The joy of the print newspaper is that you can see the end of it; sadly and reluctantly turn that final page and sigh "ahhh...time to get back to work." (or whatever)
But then there are other things to read, yes? And there will always be upstart, subversive rags trying to make a go of it. Maybe not always, but you know what I mean--for some time to come. And then there are the other joys, too numerous to mention (like Indian food and zombie movies) . And new rituals on the horizon.
And a billion different kinds of coffee.
Or at least a dozen different kinds with a billion different names.

Manatee Trip

Finally home after weeks of packing and unpacking, rolling and rambling.
And eating.
And swimming.
One excursion was a snorkeling trip on the west coast of Florida. We spent a long weekend in Crystal River squeezing ourselves into wetsuits and braving the chilly waters. The water wasn't TOO bad, but I was definitely grateful for the rubber skin. The wetsuit also played a great part in my survival; I'm blessed with the buoyancy of a rock and the aquatic instincts of a camel with an ear infection.

Have you heard how being in the water adds an element of grace to one's movements? Yeah? I've heard that one, too.

Doesn't seem to apply to me.

But I did enjoy flipping my flippers, flapping my arms, and flailing my way through the semi-murky depths in search of the wily sea cow. Not that they're so hard to locate around Crystal River. In fact, I bumped into several quite by accident. They can grow to be the size of a barn door and weigh nearly as much as I do after an evening at Seminole Wind country buffet. Maybe more.

But my wrinkly fingers are smooth now, and my wet socks are dry. It's time to get back to work and back into a routine.

At least for a little while.

Rock Band 2, Fried Foods, and No Discipline

Two weeks into the new year and I feel I'm still in the midst of the holidays. For all practical purpose, I've been on vacation since Thanksgiving. Almost two months. It's horrible (but not really). As a writer, one should try to write a bit every day. Have you encountered that nugget of advice before? I have --it's quite standard. Sounds solid. Hard to argue against it. Practice makes perfect and all that.
But I've a confession. It's been several weeks since I've written a word. I did do a bit of research at Paula Deen's place in Savannah, though. Very nice. Terrific fried chicken. From Savannah, we cruised south to Daytona and shacked up on the beach. Nice and quiet there this time of year. Empty really. Good time to film a zombie movie. Very nice.
We drove east and racked up loads of family time in Tampa and Ocala. Lots more food. Fried things and chocolate covered things and cream and sugar and shortening. I've since developed a shortness of breath and tingling numbness in my fingers and toes. I'm hoping a salad will clear it up.
On the heels of the new year, we gathered for a festival of sorts. We titled it Cuzapalooza 2, since we'd had one before. Cousins from my partner's side arrived bearing adult beverages and an electronic thingamabob titled Rock Band 2. Ever heard of it? We played about 11 hours straight that first day. Bon Jovi's "Wanted! Wannnn--te-ed! Dead or al--liiiiiive" is still stuck in my head. Like a knife. It's not good. Really horrible.
And I want to play again.
Luckily it's gone now. Along with the mixers and deep fried pita chips and most of the cream cheese.
At the moment it's freezing. Soon we'll head out for a swim with the manatees. Two more weeks of vacation to go. Might as well make it two months even.
Then I'll write some more.
Maybe struggle through a set of sit-ups.
Happy New Year and all that.

Crazy Life

I heard a lady on the radio talking about the benefit of books and reading and the promotion of literacy. She touched, also, on the challenges kids face growing up in a tech-heavy world; short attention spans, an attraction toward blinking lights, and a tolerance (even preference) for obnoxious sounds (think Top 40 ring tones). Of course, youth always appears silly and shortsighted when viewed from the vantage of years (and it only takes a couple).
The radio lady said that books are a good thing. And who's not on board with that? Then she said that audiobooks are good, and that's okay, too. But she went on to say that an audiobook is the same as a book-book, book-type book.
And I don't think so.
An audiobook is better than television (at least commercial television). It's better than Halo or a gambling problem or a pomegranate. It is a very good thing. A terrific thing! Heck, I've got one coming out in June. But it's not the same as reading a book.
When you read, the voice is entirely your own. The pictures are your own. The squiggles on the page are pieces to build a world inside your mind. But the reader builds it. It's a workout.
An audiobook lightens the load.
Which can be nice.
You can do homework as you listen to an audiobook. You can drive. Make spaghetti or mudpies or build a ship in a bottle. You can multi-task.
And some people have to.
Multi-task, that is.
They can't relax and lose themselves in a book. Because they can't do ONE thing. Can't. They don't enjoy it. Or understand it. They're not built for it. It's a feature found on fewer models. Going out of style.
Replaced with...technology.
I listen to audiobooks and I read books, too. They're both good things, but not the same thing.
And one isn't a substitute for the other.
I could go on, and want to, but the tinny strains of Livin' La Vida Loca demand I answer the phone.

Buy A Kid A Book!

It's almost Christmas! And even if you're not a Christmas person, you'll probably still shell out dough for something lousy, something that a loved one (or boss) probably doesn't need, or even want. Junk, really.
But it has to be done. And a random swipe of a trusty credit card will make it happen, take the chore off of your plate. You're only a Chia Pet or Ginsu Knife away from not even having to think about it anymore. And wrapping? Hey, that's just a little newspaper and duct tape.
Finis.
But if you're getting a gift for a young person, an impressionable mind, then a Ronco Rhinestone Applicator won't do. Not even an Ironman Action Figure will suffice. Or a Wii.
Seriously.
Remember back to those long-gone yesteryears. What was the best gift you ever received? It was a book, right? Right! The Hobbit, The Cay, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Conan of Cimmeria, War of the Worlds, and on and on and on and on...
Books are the things that last; in your mind and on a shelf somewhere. They might even be ready for a re-read. And inside the jacket flap is a scribbled line that says "Merry Christmas! Love Grandma" or Aunt June or Mom or Santa or somebody that loved you enough to give the very best gift.
It doesn't require batteries. Or make an obnoxious noise. And hardly ever wastes time. A book teaches patience, it rests the soul and races the mind and lasts.
Where's all that electronic junk you got when you were a kid?
Uh-huh.
So buy a kid a book for Christmas. They make an excellent birthday gift as well. Or just a nice surprise. You'll be doing the kid a favor, and the world, too.
But skip Harry Potter or Twilight --they already read those.

Back To School

I spent the morning at a local elementary school observing young people. I could say "interacting" with young people, but that would be a wild stretch. It was terrific fun--if not a completely natural situation for yours truly. I'm embarrassed to say that at one point I found myself informing a pair of energetic boys to cease their "horseplay". Ouch. I cringe to think I've become one of those adults. One of those non-fun adults. One of those responsible worry-worry adults. But at some point that simply becomes our job, doesn't it? To worry so kids don't have to. What a rip-off! Those lucky ducks! It was all for a good cause, though --namely to prevent the inexperienced youth from "interacting" intimately with the unforgiving pavement. Head vs. Concrete is a battle we all fight and lose sooner or later, but later is always better.
So this morning I found myself acting as a monitor at the "poofy" slide exit of one of those giant, inflatable, rumpus-room-type thingamabobs. My job was to make serious demands in a serious voice; things like: "Don't bounce!", "Slide on your butt!", "Feet first! Feet first!"
It was actually kind of hard for me.
Sure--I write books for kids, but not because I have a knack for communicating with kids; I write kid's books 'cause I'm sort of a kid myself (don't let the gut and the gray hair fool you). I can certainly empathize with a youngster's strong desire to launch himself mid-air off the parapet of an inflatable castle, especially if he's dressed up like Superman, which more than a few of them were.
Believe me, if I had basic health insurance, who knows what I might do! I might even think about jumping off something myself.

I'd probably think about it a long time, though.

Celery, Rhubarb, and the Dow Jones

I belong to a discussion group on the web. It's a forum for writers, a place to bring questions, observations, and publishing news. The current subject under discussion touches upon an author and a case of excessive attention on the part of a reader. Hmm...It's kind of an uncomfortable subject. And a puzzle for me. I'm a bit of a wallflower myself --shy I would say. Most of my friends would disagree. They would probably describe me as a...ham. I love to perform at open mics. I usually do well with a toast or speech. I'm not nearly as afraid of girls as I used to be. But still--I'd say a shy person. Private, maybe.

But suddenly I find myself with a website and a blog, splattering myself across the WORLD WIDE WEB. Hoping. Hoping for attention. For successful self-promotion. For my book to fare well(A Taste For Red --available Spring 2009 from Clarion Books! Check out http://lewisharrisbooks.com/ for details! And Fun! Fun! Fun!).

See.

So I'm inviting people in. Strangers. And almost everybody is terrific. People are great --for the most part. But sometimes folks are a bit off. A little too enthusiastic maybe. Or cuckoo.

I used to work as a room service waiter in New Orleans. We'd get tons of celebrities in the hotel, especially around Mardis Gras. My fellow room service waiters would go ga-ga for the chance to deliver a grilled cheese to John Stamos or joint of mutton to John Goodman. They wanted to make that contact. To have that personal connection. That reference.

I never got the fever. I was always just the opposite (and not simply because the 'handlers' tended to tip poorly, either). I had zero desire to impose myself upon someone just because I'd seen them in the movies or read their book or caught the sentencing portion of their trial on Court TV. The only exception was Gerry Spence. Utilizing a steak knife, I did once liberate a leather fringe from his jacket. I couldn't help myself--he's such a...nice country lawyer. I just had to have a piece.