IMAGINATION or INSANITY?

By Sharon May

One morning my spouse, Peggy, asked me if I thought Stephen King was insane. Not your typical morning coffee question. 

Apparently, a woman in her water aerobics class had just finished It and complained about its dark ending, which led her to throw the book at the nearest wall. She and her companions concluded King had to be insane if he could create such monsters and dark endings. Peggy wanted my take on the subject since I was a writer.

King may be insane. I have no clue as to his mental state. Many authors have been, depending on the definition of insane used. But my answer was that he has a vivid imagination, which all authors rely on. That is how we create fiction.

So how do we imagine what we don’t know? According to cognitive scientists, imagination is influenced by our environment, our memories, and what we know about how the world works. You may ask yourself what world horror writers live in, but an alternative world does not make them insane or evil, any more than the science fiction writer, romance writer, or mystery writer.  

Some people may think I had a dark childhood as I often write stories of child-abuse, sexual-abuse, violence, and murders. Nothing could be further from the truth. My childhood was the envy of others. Those horrible events I write about happened to others. I was just keenly aware of the world beyond me.

I don’t consider myself evil just because I can imagine evil. Imagination allows me to roam a world the victims and assailants might have lived in so I can capture what otherwise average people, some of whom I vaguely knew, experienced.

But entering alternative worlds through imagination can lead one to forget, at least for a while, the world around us. With both writing and reading, imagination can take us away for hours on end. One loses a sense of time and place. It can be likened to an out-of-body experience. When I write, I’m unaware of everything but the story. A poet friend says he goes so far away at times that he’s surprised he comes back.

So how close to insanity is this place we go while writing? What is the difference between a psychotic break and writing fiction? Awareness. The insane are not aware that the world they have gone to is made up, not real. Think of Jack in The Shining, who thinks his several hundred page manuscript is brilliant though it is one line typed over and over.

Writers, no matter how far we drift from the real world, will eventually hear the phone ring, finally realize the pain in our backs from sitting too long, or suddenly know it’s time for lunch. We may be frustrated we have to leave our imaginary world behind for such mundane and trivial matters, but we do come back. At least, until we write again.  

WALTER MOSLEY

By Laura P. Valtorta

www.gattafilms.com

www.thearthousemovie.webs.com

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The most practical book about the mechanics of writing fiction that I’ve read is Walter Mosley’s This Year You Write Your Novel. It’s more along the lines of a how-to book than Stephen King’s On Writing, or Eudora Welty’s One Writer’s Beginnings. King and Welty give us insights into their personal lives and stories about their childhoods. Mosley’s book doesn’t really do that. Mosley’s book resembles How to Write a Movie in 21 Days by Viki King because it’s a blueprint for finishing a piece of writing.

I read Mosley’s book partly looking for a description of his life. What was it like being a Jelack (that’s a term invented by Margaret Atwood) growing up in Los Angeles? No clues. Mosley adds a tough Jewish lawyer to his Easy Rawlins series, but the character is a woman. Most of his fiction (science fiction, detective stories, and literary fiction) describes the lives of black men with anthracite skin.

Mosley’s book on writing prescribes several habits. He believes writers need to write every day. The first draft, for him, takes three months. Then he advises reading the entire first draft, and making corrections, which becomes the second draft. The reading of the first draft could take an entire week. Many re-writes follow. He shows how to avoid repetition, create good dialogue, and edit away too much detail. He suggests reading poetry. He believes that writing in a journal can distract someone from writing fiction.

I believe that Mosley should have included more in his book about building a story arc. For me, that’s the toughest part of any writing.

From This Year You Write Your Novel, I gleaned a few details about Walter Mosley, the man. He studied writing at the City College of New York in Harlem. Like me, he enjoys listening to birdsong while writing. He often has antisocial feelings that he represses in life, but not in his writing. How?

I imagine Mosley living alone in a loft in New York City. High ceilings, big bed. Within walking distance of a café. I imagine him sitting at his writing desk next to a beautiful window that looks out on trees and birds, maybe a sidewalk below.

Reading Mosley’s fiction is what brings me closer to Walter, the man. Loving that fiction also brings me closer to John Grisham and Bill Clinton, both of whom profess to be fans of Mosley.

TELLING STORIES: A HUMAN EXPERIENCE

By Raegan Teller

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about telling stories, which is natural, I guess, considering I’m an author. Recently, I began doing some research on this topic. Perhaps I was just looking for an excuse to take a break from writing, but I learned a lot, so I’ll share some key points in this short post.

Before I begin, however, I want to tell you why I think storytelling is critical to our humanity: we are nothing without our stories. Imagine that you lived in a world where there were only facts, with no emotional attachment to them—no stories to connect these facts to the human experience. We would all be like robots, processing information without asking ourselves what it means or why it’s important.

The evolution of storytelling is fascinating. Oral storytelling was a way for early mankind to share events and to make meaning of what happened. One of the oldest surviving stories is the epic Mesopotamian poem, “Gilgamesh,” a tale about mortality. It was believed to have been written around 2100 BCE and is often regarded as the earliest surviving great work of literature. Around 1300–1000 BCE, “Gilgamesh” was carved in stone tablets and widely shared, becoming the first known written story.

Just look around you. The most successful people in their fields are great storytellers. Attorneys who weave evidence into the best, most engaging stories win trials. Business leaders, like the late Steve Jobs, use stories to get employees and customers to buy into their visions. Walt Disney created an empire from stories.

Now, we have podcasts, video, films, photography, and social media that tell the stories of our lives. In French airports, kiosks dispense short fiction to entertain travelers. The technology and methods of storytelling will continue to evolve, but one thing is certain: Storytelling will always be a part of the human experience.

Brandon Sanderson, a fantasy writer, said, “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.” When I read that quote, I thought of my own novels. In Murder in Madden, I invited readers to ask themselves how much personal risk they would take to learn the truth. In my second book, The Last Sale, I presented a different query: What would you do if someone you loved just disappeared? I began writing those books by asking myself: How would I answer those questions? How do my answers reflect my values and who I am as a person? And how might others react differently? In the process, I learned a lot about myself.

Good storytelling connects us and provides meaning. The next time you’re reading a story or watching a movie, consider what questions are being posed. Examine your own emotional responses. Ask yourself, “What meaning do I make of the experience and what does that say about me?”

WRITING in SERVICE

By Kasie Whitener

A long time ago in a leadership camp, I completed an exercise called the Lion, the Owl, and the St Bernard. After answering a series of situational questions, each leader was diagnosed as one of the three animals. Each animal has its beneficial leadership traits and also its flaws.

Recently, I had the privilege of representing our Columbia II chapter of the South Carolina Writers Association at the Chapter Leaders’ summit. To a one, the board members who introduced themselves at the summit said they were no longer actively writing; board service takes up too much time.

When it was my turn to introduce myself, I said I’d been reluctant to serve the organization because I am focused on writing and submitting. To date, I’ve submitted 17 times this year, weekly and more, to literary journals, agents, and small presses. While I was only a substitute representing our chapter for our lead who couldn’t attend, I told the group I was there to serve in whatever capacity I could for the weekend and beyond as appropriate.

One phrase that came up again and again was “What are people getting for their membership fee?”

I think that’s the wrong question. When a volunteer-run organization focuses on the transaction of membership, it diminishes the spirit of service on which it must rely for participation, leadership, and engagement.

We join the SCWA because we want partners in this part-time pursuit of writing. We want an organization that supports us and promotes us, a place to learn and grow in the craft. We join the SCWA because we are learning how to be something different, something new.

We are being changed by our experience. That is worth the price of admission.

I blog monthly for our chapter not to promote my own work, but because doing so enhances our chapter’s web presence. And because doing so reminds me to practice the art more frequently. When I haven’t written anything in days, I will come to this blog and be creative and expressive, and supported.

SCWA members should want to serve. They should want to give of themselves because in doing so they enhance our community.

I suggested to our conference chair that we look inside our organization for faculty members. Our literary journal should recruit non-submitting members as readers. We could have regional half- and one-day events that focus on craft and are instructed by chapter members. The SCWA could sponsor webinars that provide tips and tricks, writing education at all levels. These sessions could be open to members and would-be members alike. None of these ideas can happen without process definition. In that capacity, I can serve.

Servant leadership has never been my style. I’ve been a lion – all bark and charge without hesitation or fear. I’ve been an owl – analytical and thoughtful, cautious and curious. I think I’m just now coming into my St. Bernard skill set – nurturing and compromise-seeking.

I’m being changed.

We all have gifts and knowledge to share. So, let’s share. Let’s serve.

WHAT WORKS for ME in the NOT-SO-WILD-WEST

By Mike Long

I write Western Era historical fiction.

My first book was a self-published manuscript. The next two were picked up by small presses, and the fourth Western I wrote was purchased and published by Five Star Publishing.

Since 2010, I have sold over 11,000 copies of my four novels. Publishers sell some, but they can't give you much help unless you're a New York Times best-selling author.

Many of my sales have been consignment sales from Independent Booksellers (indie stores) and historical sites with a Western, military, or historical theme. These books sell at cover price with a typical 60/40 split in my favor. E-sales are steady but small.

I've also lost hundreds of dollars to failed bookstores. At one point I was in 242 stores, but one large chain failed and now I'm down to maybe 50 retail outlets. I'll do a store book signing if invited, but I've had little success in those.

Most of my success now is at events. I attend gun shows, rodeos, church bazaars, Spring/Fall Festivals, and other genre-relevant and thematic-appropriate events. I rent an 8-foot table which costs me about $60 for a Saturday and Sunday rental. Sometimes I take my own table, tent, and chairs. I display my books on half the table space and display some interesting period guns on the other half. I encourage folks to handle the artifacts as a way of stirring conversation about the period, the genre, and eventually, the books.

I have branded paper bags for buyers to store their purchases and offer complimentary book marks as they sometimes become e-book sales. I sell my three trade paperbacks for $8 each or all three for $20. I charge more for the hardcovers. Copy volume beats price for me: the more copies people have, the more they read and eventually purchase more books in the series.

I take payment with a Square card reader for credit card sales but charge an extra 3% for those to cover the Square 2.75% charge. On a slow weekend I'll sell 15 books. On a good weekend, I’ll be 25 books lighter on the ride home.

Moreover, at events, I meet a lot of nice people. Many of those people become readers and fans.