WILL YOUR WRITING CREATE the NEXT GREAT TECH INVENTION?

By El Ochiis

I wrote a short story that took place in the 1850’s, in which one of the characters possessed an advanced, technological object enclosed in a rare metal. An editor, who read my piece, commented that I had created a future, technological invention. Inventing was not in my thought process when I wrote the story; I only imagined making the events in the story believable, to do that, I had to create this object. 

The editor’s position was that our most recent technology had been invented because of ideas gleaned from stories. I meant, what if she was right? She’s an editor, she was always right.   

A few days after our conversation, I got stuck in an airport and decided to re-read Fahrenheit 451. Ray Bradbury had predicted, in this book, the techy toy that I inserted in my ears to listen to music - headphones. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the only writer to honor him. Here’s hoping, however, his other predictions, made in Fahrenheit 451 were less accurate.

  

Logging onto the internet to find another flight, I gave a thumbs up to Mr. Mark Twain, who was one of the first persons to dream about the possibilities of a globally connected community, in his 1898 short story, from the London Times of 1904, where Twain introduced readers to something called a “telelectroscope” that used the phone system to create a worldwide network for sharing information. No, Al Gore, you did not invent the internet; the writer who wrote The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn did.

  

The editor wanted to Skype; I preferred video chatting on iMessage. Hold the phones, this concept was described in E.M. Foster’s novel: The Machine Stops: “But it was fully fifteen seconds before the round plate that she held in her hands began to glow. A faint blue light shot across it, darkening to purple, and presently she could see the image of her son, who lived on the other side of the earth, and he could see her.” Skype; iMessage – just call Foster. 

I decided to watch: 2001: A Space Odyssey, a movie from 1968, on my iPad Pro. There was a scene where astronauts watched and read from a pair of flat-screen tablets, called “Newspads”, which Stanley Kubrick developed alongside Arthur C. Clark’s novel – looked strikingly similar to Apple’s iPad. Creepy, huh? 

I edited that piece and uploaded it to a blog. Hold your kilobytes, Vladimir Odoyevsky, whose 1835 Novel: Year 4338, described houses that would be: “connected by means of magnetic telegraphs..." Each house would publish a daily journal or newsletter…," and share it with the world. Yes, that would be blogging.

Bill Gates; Steve Jobs; tech valley – no, it is the lonely writer using his or her imagination – if we writers could just figure out how to get those ideas in front of venture capitalists who specialize in providing capital to tech innovations of the future.

What new technology or historical prediction will you, the next writer of fiction create? 

WHO IS ALLOWED TO TELL WHOSE STORY?

By Bonnie Stanard

If it weren’t for the seven-figure advance Jeanine Cummins received for her novel American Dirt, I’d feel sorry for her. Social media has been vicious. Myriam Gurba wrote, “the nicest thing I can say about Dirt is that its pages ought to be upcycled as toilet paper.” Ouch!

The plot revolves around a grief stricken Latino mother escaping Mexico and a drug lord who pursues her. Critics have accused her of cultural appropriation (she is white), a phenomenon flourishing in literary circles and fueled by a revival of segregationist politics. In other words, her detractors believe a white woman has no right to imagine a story about Latino migrants.

Laura Miller, in Slate, quoted a publisher: “I do think that in cases where there’s a mismatch between the identity of the character and author, the value of those books ... will be more closely scrutinized.”

This sounds like an injunction against writers portraying characters unlike themselves. Does this mean that we should write with restraint to avoid offending those who will identify with our characters?

Nesrine Malik wrote in The Guardian, “To demand that writers not encroach upon the experience of others is a death sentence that seeks to limit us not only by what we know, but also by our place in a hierarchy of inequality.” This puts minority writers to disadvantage as well, for they may well be restricted to telling stories that are “native.”

It is disheartening to see us move from a leftist political concern for the disadvantaged to a right-wing movement legitimizing censorship based on sex, religion, and/or ethnicity. When manuscripts are judged on the writer’s right identity as much as the quality of the work, will our novels be better for it? Will we be better people?

It’s taken a long time, but we whites are changing our attitude toward ethnic groups. It’s disappointing to see segregation reappear disguised as cultural appropriation. Identity politics causes discrimination. Most of us want equality for every color of skin. Many of us are dismayed by our history of cruelty and exploitation, especially of Native Americans and blacks. We have passed laws in an attempt to enhance equal opportunity. By no means is this meant to suggest the job is done, but we’re working on it.

EXPLOSIVE WRITING

By Sharon May

I have enjoyed reading quotations since I was a child, reading them just like I read the World Book Encyclopedia. Bored in elementary school, I figured I better educate myself through reading as much as I could. I was drawn by the succinct nature of quotations, fascinated by the authors’ ability to establish a philosophy or world view in just a few words. When I was looking for ideas for this week’s blog, I turned to quotations on writing for inspiration. Wasn’t long before I found one whose complexity and imagery intrigued me.

In Zen and the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury describes his writing process in this way: “Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together.”

The author “jumps out of bed” each day, seemingly approaching his work with excitement and anticipation. Most of us realize that feeling as we plan what we want to accomplish and know that day is going to be productive. We are all optimistic – as we approach the writing task.

Bradbury quickly throws us for a loop as he steps “on a landmine,” and experiences the violence of writing in that realities are created and exploited, words are brought to life, then revised and often abandoned. Ironically, writing isn’t the landmine, the writer is. It’s like we have to destroy ourselves during the writing task to be good writers.  

The question arises: Is the violence of stepping on landmines positive or negative? If the explosion and the act of “putting the pieces together” leads to productivity and a better written product, then it’s obviously positive. However, that explosion may trigger doubts, frustration, hesitation, and “blocks.” Bradbury might be implying that the writer can get in his way of writing. He could also be implying that that reshaping of the writer’s mind can lead to creativity.

Whatever Bradbury means, the quote reminds me of how I feel during the revision process. Whenever I write, I have a tendency to revise during drafting. I will think of words for a sentence, and halfway through typing it, I decide a word doesn’t work or the sentence needs to be restructured. No matter how much I try to just write, I can’t help but revise during the drafting process.

Once I have a draft, then “real” revision occurs, and it is often a violent revision, cutting words and scenes, changing dialogue and modifying characters, adding new chunks of material. Sometimes, I have a draft of 20 pages, and once I’m done revising, I only have 10 pages of good writing. This necessary step is like “putting the pieces together.”

In the end, I find Bradbury’s words, particularly the violent metaphor, disturbing and freeing. He and I find the work of writing, both in our heads and on paper, difficult and destructive, but ultimately satisfying. Like Bradbury, I keep stepping on the “landmine.”  

 

TRUTH TO FICTION

By Jerry D. Pate

I have written an historical-fiction account of a cotton mill based on the inspiration of my late mother-in-law. She had to work in a cotton mill near Joanna, SC, when she was 8-years old during the Great Depression. While the plot is complete, the story is not.

My experience as a broadcast news reporter was very helpful for researching the process of turning raw cotton into cloth. Clemson University provided great information.

But writing fiction was hampered by my default setting of writing everything as if it were a newscast, or narrative, in passive voice, i.e. no flora or fauna, sounds or smells and certainly no descriptions of people.

My story is based upon SC history of the Civil War, the myth of the Lost Cause, the 1876 elections that restored the old blue-bloods to power who enacted Jim Crow laws, and the murder of seven striking textile workers at Chiquola Mill in Honea Path, SC, in 1934.

I’ve used information about these but translated the events into fictional accounts featuring characters I’ve created.

Thanks to suggestions from our writing workshop I’ve been able to turn my original, documentary-like, draft into a story of living, breathing characters with colors and strife. Not done yet. More work is needed.

Again with a nod to the writing group, I’ve also realized that writing is a process…not an event.

A CELEBRATION OF STORIES: THE 2020 SCWA SPRING CONFERENCE

By Kasie Whitener 

For the first time in our 30-year history, SCWA is hosting its Annual Conference in Columbia. I have the privilege of planning it and showing off our city has been my goal. Each activity, venue, and participant has been specially chosen for contributions made to the arts scene in our state capital.

Columbia poetry-boss Al Black hosts over a 100 Open Mic events per year and in April he’s lending his talents to the SCWA for a fantastic line up of live readings on Friday night.

Saturday’s packed day of workshops includes SCWA member speakers Barbara Evers, Craig Faris, Robert Lackey, Alexa Bigwarfe, Amber Wheeler Bacon, and Estelle Ford Williamson. A truly professional organization recognizes the professionals in its membership and showcases them.

Some cool alternative sessions include poetry roundtables with South Carolinians Len Lawson and Derek Berry and pop-up breakouts with musicians, playwrights, and agents. Our North Carolina Keynote speaker Belle Boggs has won awards for fiction and non-fiction endeavors. Her take on the craft, the process, and the modern literary profession should be insightful and inspiring.

Saturday night we host a big, beautiful birthday bash in the gardens of Historic Columbia’s Siebels House under strung lights with live music and an awards ceremony with the South Carolina Academy of Authors. The party is open to the public and we’re partnering with One Columbia, the Richland Library, SC Poetry Society, Columbia Writers Alliance, and others to include the most diverse group of artists ever gathered.

The Sunday conversation with Ray McManus and Jonathan Haupt should be the jewel in the crown of this glittery weekend. Both believe mightily in their topic, “You Can Build a Writing Career in South Carolina.” Expect stories, insights, and advice on navigating our state’s literary scene.

We will reprise the best-of-Saturday workshop on Sunday morning and offer the traditional slushfest-style feedback sessions with agents and publishers. That afternoon we’re pleased to offer discounted tickets to the Columbia Food & Wine Festival, a city-wide event that showcases the artists and storytellers in our culinary professions.

Columbia has so much to offer. We’re frequently overlooked in favor of Coastal playgrounds, historic ports, and mountain-rich meccas. We have the discouraging nickname “Midlands” which seems to invoke passing through on one’s way to something better. Weighed down by the politics of state government and given to territorialism over trivial things like St Patrick’s Day, Columbia is a city with opposing sides.

Yet we’re also the most diverse city in the state. Our oppositions give rise to rich and varied voices. We have the mosaic of struggle and forgiveness, of hurt and healing, of wealth and want. In the richness of diversity is the opportunity for understanding. While our nation seems ever more divided in politics, in Columbia we are bridging gaps with art. With stories.

We are a vibrant community of creators. I can’t wait to show that to the rest of the state.

Register here.

A WRITING EMERGENCY

By Sharon May

Don’t mean to be morbid, but, inevitably, I will die, and I worry I won’t attain my writing goals. Health and age are bummers. What can be done about that? Write as quick as hell, I figure.

Whenever I write with intensity, I have an emergency, often medical. I have been writing with constant pain in my right wrist for four years. After three surgeries, it may be gone. Success? Not so fast, my gremlins remind me.

Almost recovered from December’s surgery, I hurt my right hand. Don’t have a clue how, but I severely bruised the hand, which has a metal plate from knuckle to arm, so as to prevent the wrist from bending. Did it in my sleep by turning over on the hand or sleeping on it, the ER doctor thinks. Bruising is temporary, but I lost a week’s worth of writing.

I also ruptured a tendon in my right ring finger. Not a clue what I was doing in my sleep. Air typing maybe? The tendon can be fixed with surgery. Not doing that since I have the ability to push down on the keyboard. Can’t lift the finger up completely, but how necessary is that? The finger hurts when typing. Fortunately, not yet enough to stop me.

The injury has me thinking of a time to come when I could be incapable of typing. I considered that a possibility with the second surgery. I bought a version of Dragon Speak, which I used during my recovery. After that, I drifted away from it. Time to wake up the dragon.

If you have ever used this program, you know there is a learning curve for both user and program. I had to set up the program for my hillbilly accent. Note: that wasn’t a choice in the program, and I selected southern English. Not quite the same. Also, had to learn commands to punctuate, set up a page, format numbers, and so on. Had to speak slowly to match the computer’s speed, which is a bit of a problem as I apparently think and speak faster than it interprets. There was always a rather long lapse between my speaking and the words appearing on the screen.

The program has to learn as well. Recognizing accents and enunciations is important, and sometimes the program doesn’t get it. One time, I said “initiation,” but “consideration” appeared. Not even close. Then there is the lexicon of Appalachia with lots of archaic words and unique idioms rarely in the program’s dictionary. For example, I had to add “quare.” I understand all of this will get quicker with experience but it does take time from writing. Remember, time is the big worry.

As you know, time flies by. Seems to move faster every year. In retrospect, I would have treated my writing with more urgency. Can’t change that. But I can devote my time to writing now, as well as find assistive technology to keep me on track.

THE STRUGGLE IS FICTION

Enjoy this recycled post from 2017.

By Shaun McCoy

I wanted to take a brief time out to come clean here. Think of this as an intervention. You’ve invited all my close friends, family, and Aunt Sally (God knows why you invited her, but you did) to sit my lily butt down and have a talk with me. We’ve gotten past the introductions, the denials, the brief shouting matches,l and then I break down in tears and admit the truth:

I’ve been Writing While Happy.

I know, I know, I shouldn’t do it. Writing is supposed to be tough. The worse the pain, the better the writing. All you have to do is go to a typewriter and open up a vein, yadda yadda.

Well [expletive deleted] that, I say. I haven’t been miserable in nearly two years, and I’m not going back to fulfill some crappy Bohemian-writer stereotype.

I know, I know. I’ve betrayed the fundamental tenant of our craft. Let’s move on from this together.

PLOT TWIST: This is actually an intervention for you! Well, probably not you, you seem like a good reader. It’s for some other person reading this blog. Imagine them for a second. Try to make them vaguely unlikable.

Now, I get why people have this idea that wounds equal words. Just a couple years ago, my life was so utterly depressing I listened to the blues for a pick-me-up. If I got bad luck, I was happy I’d gotten any luck at all! When you’re hurting, you desperately need to reach out. You need to make meaningful connections in this world—even if those connections are only one way. Sometimes, especially when they’re one way. So yes, it was easy to write then. But guess what people? It’s easy to write now!

Communicating is something you should want to do even when you’re happy. Actually, you should want to do that especially when you’re happy. It’s passion that makes a writer write, whether they’re happy or sad, empty or fulfilled, lonely or awash in companionship (Quick aside here to the English language, can we please get a good antonym for lonely? That would be great, thanks. Sincerely, All of Us Writers). It’s those great extremes that make a work compelling. If a sad person can imagine being happy, then a happy person can imagine being sad. It does NOT mean you have to go there.

So this is to you, all you silly movies and stories with your suffering writers. You can shove it. I might write one of you, but I’m not living through you!

And this is for you, you-imaginary-hipster-would-be-writer-sitting-in-your-coffee-shop-clutching-desperately-to-the-small-town-malaise-which-once-invaded-your-life-and-filled-you-with-the-need-to-write—you’re being dramatic. Let it go. Get your dank emotions on the page there, muffin fluff, not on your life.

It’s the need to communicate that helps a person write, not the pain.

And you’re probably wondering (I can tell cause I’m psychic) “Shaun, now that your life’s not a repository of abject suffering, does that mean we’ll finally get a happy ending in one of your stories?”

No.

CLOSE TO YOU

By Bonnie Stanard

“Close To You,” a song made popular by the Carpenters in the '70s, could well describe a change in narrative voice that emerged in the 20^th century. We writers maneuver to draw ourselves (and by extension our readers) as close to the story as possible. In a sense, we write ourselves into the plot. We engage in the action, ponder the mystery, feel the romance.

What we’re talking about is point of view (POV), a way to define the narrator’s relationship to the story, and in this case, first person POV. It’s more like being in a movie while we create the plot and dialogue. We perform as the starring player and experience, along with the audience, the action as it unfolds. (Third limited POV is a close approximation of first person and involves switching narrative pronouns from first to third person.)  

You might think it’s easy to tell a story as if you’re a character in the story. But the way is narrow and the distractions many. First off, it’s complicated to play two roles (actor and writer) at one time, something that can confuse you about who you are and whose motives are in play. While you’re a character in the story, you’re aware of the thoughts, opinions, and plans of only one person, yourself. While you’re the writer working on a plot, it’s easy to slip out of the actor’s role and into the thoughts of other characters.

Something else to think about. When you’re present in the story, there are restrictions on the way you divulge the plot. For instance, if you, as an actor, play a lover who doesn’t know about a betrayal, how do you, as author, let your readers know this? It becomes a challenge to remain in the persona of a single narrator throughout a novel. And a reason why writers may change POV from one chapter (or excerpt) to another.

OMNISCIENCE ON THE DECLINE

This intimacy between author and story allows us to avoid “just the facts,” as Joe Friday said. In today’s world, “facts” often contradict one another. Much of our information comes from the media, and if you’re like me, you see those “facts” as corrupted by perspectives, i.e., opinions. Some people are coming to believe there are as many “facts” as there are people in the Universe. It’s as if omniscience as a concept has been brought into question. And to sound omniscient is to sound didactic. (Who are you to tell me the facts?)

Today’s Joe Friday would know that “just the facts” actually means “just your opinion.” Truth has morphed into your truth vs. my truth; your fact vs. my fact. Given an uncertainty about reality, we hesitate to be decisive about the particulars of a story (omniscient POV) and choose to go with impressions we attribute to a narrator.

EYES WIDE OPEN

By Raegan Teller

At book signings, people often tell me they aspire to do what I do: publish a book and see their name on the cover. That’s understandable. For many of us; writing is in our DNA. We journal, we write a few stories or poems here and there—all worthy efforts and good for our creative psyche. So it’s only natural to consider taking our writing to the next level and becoming a published author.

I always encourage people to pursue their dreams and to keep writing no matter what. But for the writers who aspire to publish and sell their work, I offer some humble advice: know what you’re getting into. As a former management consultant and executive coach, I worked across many industries and non-profit organizations, and publishing is one of the craziest fields I’ve ever seen. Just ask any professional author and they’ll likely agree.

You see, when you jump over that chasm from writer to published author, you have to be both an introverted person who can hole up for months, or even years, to write a project and be an extroverted person who reaches out and markets tirelessly. Additionally, you take on a whole set of responsibilities you might not have bargained for. You’re required to have a polar-opposite set of skills that cover the spectrum from tedious left-brain tasks to big-picture, right-brain planning.

Here are a few tasks that are consistently on my to-do list: plan, outline, and write the next book, story or project; edit/rewrite work that’s already written to prepare for publication; explore and visit book signing locations; attend signings; maintain and track a personal inventory of books; create marketing plans; manage my online presence at Amazon, other sites, and on social media; update my blog and website; look for new story ideas; attend workshops for continuous learning; enter contests, network . . . I could go on and on. Oh, and did I mention things like spend time with friends and family, manage a household, plan meals, go to the gym, and carve out some quality “me” time? And just know that publishing more books doesn’t always make it easier (actually, it’s more challenging—more of everything). But you do learn a lot along the way, especially about how to protect your sanity. You must be organized, learn to say “no,” and set boundaries with people who ask for too much of your time. No college guidance counselor would ever recommend that someone pursue such a crazy career. Yet, as writers we do just that.

My purpose in saying all this is not to overwhelm aspiring writers or to wallow in self-pity—and certainly not to discourage anyone. On the contrary, I have fulfilled my dream of being an author and wouldn’t change that for anything. And for those you who want to do the same, I wish you well. But if you choose to take the next step of this fabulous journey, just do so with eyes wide open.

AM I A WRITER?

By Ruth P. Saunders

Am I a writer or a person who sometimes writes?

According to Wikipedia, “A writer is a person who uses written words in various styles and techniques to communicate ideas. Writers produce various forms of literary art and creative writing such as novels, short stories, poetry, plays, screenplays, and essays as well as various reports and news articles that may be of interest to the public.”

I have communicated ideas through written words for many years. Early on, it was a task, such as the reports or essays assigned at school, or the memos, letters, reports, and academic journal articles required for work. I did not consider myself as a writer because my compositions fulfilled job requirements.

After years of publishing academic articles, I authored a textbook. I enjoyed the challenge of expressing and organizing the content in my specialty area for students, practitioners, and researchers. It felt good to contribute to my professional field as an academic writer.

I retired from academia and now write creative nonfiction stories, essays, and poems. This has led me to wonder, “What is a real writer?”. Here are some reflections on this question.

Do writers need a certain type or amount of education? I can see some advantages of this, but beyond literacy and ability to express thoughts, educational credentials don’t seem necessary.

Does it require that one publish, earn a certain amount, or at least aspire to make money through writing? That describes being a professional writer rather than a writer per se. I write for motivations other than financial rewards, although some writers earn pay for their work.

Do the literary products have to be judged “good” for one to qualify as a writer? I hope not and don’t think so. We may agree the quality of written pieces varies, but they are all created by writers. Some are simply more skilled than others.

So, am I a writer? I don’t have a degree in writing, haven’t published my creative work, don’t aspire to earn money, and get mixed reviews on the quality of my products.

Yes, I believe I am.

There are two reasons for this. First, writing is what I do. I engage in the writing process, which involves a way of experiencing the world as well as the act of regularly putting words on a page.

Second, writing defines who I am. As part of my self-identity, it connects me to the larger world of past, present, and future human beings who strive to harness the power and ambiguities of words to express thoughts and ideas.

Embracing my writer identity removed a shadow from my worldview, allowing me to see and write with increased clarity.

WRITE ABOUT AN 80-YEAR-OLD CHARACTER LIKE SHE WAS MAUDE

By El Ochiis

There was this little place in downtown Manhattan that showed art-house films or “little cult gems” as they called them. On the marquee was Harold and Maude. I plunked down my ticket price and meekly entered the ornate wooden doors, really an old New York brownstone turned movie theatre.  

The film had been described as a dead-pan disillusioned nineteen-year old, obsessed with suicide and a loveable, fun-loving, eighty-year old eccentric. Harold, an only child who dropped out of school, was obsessed with death. He spent his time around his house, a huge mansion in California, staging his own suicides – hangings, slit throats, drownings, guns, gun shots, fires.  

Harold’s odd behavior was engaging to the viewer, but extremely troublesome for his mother, who decided it was time for him to grow up and find a nice, young wife. She purchased him a new Jaguar and signed him up for a match-making service. Harold promptly retrofitted the Jaguar into a hearse and staged more suicides to scare away female suitors. 

There seemed to have been no cure for Harold, until, ironically, he finds new life at one of those funerals. Sitting in the pews of a church, at some, complete stranger’s demise, he befriends Maude, who visits funerals for her own amusement. The two strike up an instant friendship and Harold is fascinated by Maude’s free-wheeling approach to life. Maude would steal a car if she needed a ride or uproot a tree from a city street to be replanted in the forest.

When asked to explain her unorthodox actions, Maude replied: “I’m merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow.”

Exposed to such a breath of fresh air, Harold would come to learn Maude’s perspective: that there is nothing but beauty in the birth, growth, death and rebirth of all living things. Maude was captivating and electrifying – the actress who played her, Ruth Gordon, was seventy-six. David Kamp and Lawrence Levi, the writers, became my heroes and I wanted to write about age, especially those years beyond fifty-five, better; we all should – coming of age wasn’t the problem; ageism was.

  

If we, as scribes, are going to take the authority to write about something that we all will, eventually, experience, we should have the responsibility to do so with greater creativity.  

I have a character in a story who I have described as having eaten blues for breakfast for thirty-five of his eighty-seven, melancholy years before he sat down at a restaurant where a young lady, who looked like a roadie for the Black Crows, stole his heart.

Yeah, I will always keep the script from Harold and Maude in the back of my brain when I pen stories with individuals who are heading towards the ninety-year milestone in life – you should too. If you don’t like the movie, then, think about yourself, how would you want to describe you when you are eighty-three?

THE BRIDGE

By Kasie Whitener

After workshop last week, I spent 45 minutes digging through boxes of old CDs looking for the Haydn trumpet solo described in the pages I took for critique.

It’s a 90-second piece that opens a concerto and it’s on a low-budget compilation album I bought at Sam Goody in 1993. It’s achingly beautiful, moving, deep, rich, and soul-healing. I can close my eyes and hear it to this day. But I couldn’t find the CD anywhere.

In the follow-up to my recently-published novel After December, the protagonist and first-person narrator, Brian hears that trumpet solo and is moved to tears. The scene takes place in a church about a year after Tony’s suicide. Brian is looking to reconnect with faith, to heal his soul after the loss of his best friend. Music is the bridge to healing.

Workshop is great for so many things, but the best thing is the confusion, disorientation, and sometimes blatant irritation the readers express over something you’ve submitted. I don’t want a workshop where the readers tell me how wonderful the pages are. I don’t get any better if what I brought in satisfies you.

So, tell me you hate it. And tell me why.

Brian sounds feminine. Is that because a woman read it aloud?

The music connection seems forced. Is that because we don’t think 23 year-old men have an appreciation for classical music?

And more useful than any other feedback was, “I don’t remember that from the first book.”

This is the first time I’ve written a sequel and this point is an important one. The readers who pick up Before Pittsburgh will not know After December as well as I do. The connections from one book to the other have to be made explicitly clear.

It’s not enough to mention Brian listening to the Haydn trumpet solo with Tony. It’s not enough to describe the connection he feels to the piece or how it moves him, a year later, to tears in a public place. If I want the reader to believe the moment, I have to deliver the memory and the present action in equal detail.

On WriteOnSC Saturday morning, we talked about Chekov’s Gun, the literary 'rule' that including a detail in your story obligates you to make that detail matter. If After December’s classical music discussions are going to be relevant in Before Pittsburgh, I need to remind the reader what those discussions were.

I wouldn’t make any progress in my work without my workshop readers. They hold me accountable. They force me to be responsible. They remind me the reader is as much part of the story as the writer is.

I’ve written before about how important critique groups are. I rely on them in a million different ways. Now, if they could only help me find that old CD. I swear it’s here somewhere.

ARE YOU a TORTOISE or a HARE?

By Kasie Whitener

I am probably not going to be one of those writers who makes a living on book sales.

In 2019, I was fortunate to publish my GenX novel After December with Chrysalis Press.

Just 20 years after the first version of the book was written. Just six years after the modern version of the book was dusted off and shared in a workshop. Five years after beta readers. Following a developmental edit and two line-level copy edits, we now have the ninth iteration of the text.

What I’ve learned is that the really good work takes three things: time, persistence, and professionalism.

The story needed to unfurl. I needed to mature as a writer, get some distance on the text, and become capable of recognizing what works and what just doesn’t. (Then cut the latter mercilessly.) Working out character arcs and tracking plot points, tightening scenes to get the most out of them, deepening characters past clichés and into realistic people.

I really wanted to tell this story. I stuck with it. My workshop readers didn’t like the main character. My friends suggested the entire thing was nostalgia. My sister said it was too autobiographical to be public. But Brian’s voice is in my head and so I stayed with this story and I pursued publication knowing when the time was right, I’d know it.

There are a lot of things I’m capable of. Even when it comes to books – writing, designing, marketing, sales – there are a lot of things I know and even more things I could figure out if pressed. But there are professionals who already know those things. Who can be trusted and paid to do the things I am only “capable of.” I hired them.

I’m a tortoise. I take my time, understand the end goal, and move steadily toward it with purpose and intention.

The hares dash by, put their books up on Kindle Unlimited, reduce expenses on marketing by working without a distributor, and work the strategy that volume will cure low margins.

I may not make a lot of money for my publisher (sorry, Alexa!) and I may not build a career for myself that enables me to walk away from teaching. The goal has always been to tell the stories inside me. So I’ll keep writing them. And polishing them. And publishing them (hopefully) so that others can experience them.

Not by the hundreds. But there may be a dozen. And maybe I’ll be invited to speak at literary festivals. And maybe my work will be required reading in an American Lit class. Or maybe it’ll be someone’s favorite book.

Maybe it’ll make someone else want to write, too. Even if it takes 20 years to see the fruit of that labor dangling over the path as the tortoise inches by.