How I Write a Blog Post

After the serious tone of my last post, I felt it was perhaps best I take a lighter turn this week.  So, today I present to you how I write a blog post.

Step 1:  What day is it?

Monday:  Don’t think about it.

Tuesday:  Don’t think about it.

Wednesday:  Don’t think about it.

Thursday:  “Oh, I need to write a blog post to upload on Monday.”

Friday:  “What should I write about?”

Saturday:   Mad dash to throw down 1000 or so words and send it off to my editor.

Sunday:  Imagine my editor grumbling about my timing and pulling her hair out because of me.

Monday:  Fix and polish edited blog post before uploading it the same day.

Spend the next seven days not thinking about the new blog post due in two weeks.

Step 2:  Pick a topic.

I have to admit it.  Rarely do I have any clue about what my blog posts are going to be about until I start working on them.  Perhaps that’s because I’m lazy.  That’s what K would say.  My personal point of view on it relates back to the type of writer I am.

We all know and recognize the two main writing schools: outliners and discovery.  Outliners plot out the book, the characters, the action, whatever, in greater or lesser detail so they know in advance what will happen.  Discovery writers do just the opposite. They take the stories and run with whatever feels right.  Some writers combine the two schools.  Brandon Sanderson is one such person.  He outlines the novel, but writes the characters using the discovery method.  There is no right or wrong way to do this, no matter what Mrs. Harris, your 3^rd grade teacher, said.

I am firmly in the camp of discovery writing.  If I plot out a single thing, my mind shuts down.  For example, in my current project, you get to meet Stephanie Hawthorne’s mother.  I only know a few things about her at this point:

1) You shall never hear me refer to her as Mom.  Too familiar.

2) She did a number on Stephanie and James when they were growing up.

and

3) You thought Stephanie could be a bitch?  Just wait. 

This will be fun.  I only just met the woman, and then only through a four-line letter, and I already dislike her as a person.  But she’ll be a blast to write. 

With that in mind, why should my blog posts be any different?  Most of the posts I’ve tried to plan out in advance have never been published, mainly because I never finished them.  And those that have been published aren’t my best work. 

Have I ever told you about Monty Python and how they did their scripts?  No?  Let me illuminate.  They, like so many shows, performed before test audiences.  The bad stuff?  It was pitched.  The good stuff?  That was where they differed from others.  If the skit performed too well, they threw it away as well.  So think about it like this: all the classic Monty Python we know and love—“Dead Parrot,” “The Spanish Inquisition,” “How Not to be Seen”—was actually mediocre Monty Python.  We’ve been laughing at their mediocre stuff.

Mind Blown.

Step 3: Writing

Self-explanatory.  Get computer.  Sit down.  Put fingers on keys and write.  Let the words flow, and don’t worry about where they’re leading.  The hardest thing you’ll ever do, but you wanna be a writer?  Just do it.

Step 4: Editing

Again, self-explanatory.  When writing, we don’t see the errors, but if we go back?  Like a baseball bat to the face. We’ve all been there.  Someday, I should post for you the first draft of some of the stuff I’ve written.  The final work looks much different from what is originally placed on the paper.  That is, by necessity, a good thing. 

I’ve heard stories about people—Rex Stout, to be precise—who never edited a single thing they wrote.  Somehow, I don’t believe that, but even if it’s not true, I’m not of his caliber.  There are those you look up to for inspiration, for education, as role models.  He’s one of mine. 

So I edit.  Go through.  Reword and rework phrases, sentences, and paragraphs.  You know what I mean.  Make sure it comes through clearly.  As the writer, that’s your responsibility. 

Do your job.

But here’s one of my little tidbits for you when it comes to my editing and writing.  Unless I am trying to prove a particular point, the same word never begins any sentence within the same paragraph more than once.  Look at this one.  No word begins the same sentence twice.  It makes things “work” better.  Also, if you can arrange it in the same pattern for your paragraphs, you’ll be in great shape.  I haven’t perfected that one yet.  

Step 5: Post it

Ok, I skipped a few substeps there.  Send it off to the editor.  Follow her suggestions.  Add pictures.  Tried that a few times.  Not sold on the practice.  Whatever those substeps are, do them as needed.  Me?  I just listen to my editor. 98% to 100% of the time, I agree with what she suggests. Then post.

The big thing is to be aware of what you’re saying.  You are ultimately responsible for your content.  Stand by it or don’t post it.  If I have concerns about something I’ve written, it is removed during the editing process.  I stand by what I’ve written, even if it isn’t pretty.

So that’s about it.  Maybe you’d call this fluff, but, hey, it’s what I got.  Welcome to my little world. Till next time.

Something Else From My Past

Okay, I will admit I'm a bit embarrassed to post this. My original idea "The Right to Arm Bears" was too uncomfortable—too racy—so I dug through my personal archives.

And found this.

I originally wrote this in 2006 in a very different time in my life.  It was a very different time in all of our lives to tell the truth.  But there's still something about it that resonates to me.

I hope that all of you enjoy.

But if you don't, remember this was written by an idealistic college student who didn't know the real world.  It took me two more years to graduate with my bachelor's and move on to graduate school.  Two more years from there before I actually entered the workforce and saw what the real world was like.

Damn, I was a different person—a kid—back then. :)


LIFE

For years, I’ve wanted to say something profound.  I’ve been wanting to say something that would make everyone go “shit” or “wow” or something exclamatory, and thing that that kid, that guy, hit the nail right on the head.  That day has been a long time in coming, and to tell the truth, it probably will never arrive.  It would be too much if I were to peak now.  That just isn’t life.  But then again maybe it is. 

Last time I checked, life was a pretty fucked up gig.  I mean I have heard of some messed up stuff before, but life is just one of those things.  The joke between men and women is that just when a man comes close to figuring out how the game is played, the women go and change the game.  But life not only changes the game but the rules also.  What was once a foul, now will send you directly to go where you will get $200.  It doesn’t make any sense.

But that is the beauty of it.  It never will, as long as we let it.  And yes, it is up to us to make it change. 

We are a culture who is obsessed with the latest gossip about Bradalina, or what happened last week on Impetuous Homemakers, or the latest CD coming out.  We look for solutions amidst ads of women’s perfume and dromedary cigarettes.  Our kids debate which is better, the big, purple dog or the red dinosaur.  The media tells us what to wear, what to do, what to think?

Where does that leave us?  In years before, generations had things to rally around.  Our parents had Vietnam, our grandparents the Nazis, our forefathers the Stamp Act; but we are a generation in a void.  What rally cry do we have?  Iraq?  Sure.  Which side do you want?  Global warming?  What global warming? It is colder now than it has been before.  Animal rights?  I like my meat.

We are a generation that is lost in nothingness.  We want hope in our breakfast cereal, love in our job, and absolution in our sex.  We are obsessed with being happy and not upsetting anyone.  We are offended by people profiling, but yet we buy music that openly uses such phrases as “niggers” and “bitches and hos”.  Our lives are contradictions upon contradictions.  We look to sports stars to teach us wrong from right, and are shocked when they use “performance enhancers”.  The family has been degraded to such a place that if a mother has the AUDACITY to reprimand her child for throwing a fit in a store, that she will have child services called on her.  It is suddenly Un-American to question President Shrub when the freedom to question is one of the key points of our country. 

This is the world that our children are growing up in.  A world where common sense is outlawed and intelligence banned.  Where we are scorned for following the rules and rewarded for cheating. 

Where has the happiness gone?  When did it become fashionable to brag about being lonely or to drink yourself into a stupor each night?  Day in and day out we drug ourselves through the pain of another day, just to have the life sucked slowly out of us. 

We must cut ourselves free.

I listen to people complain that they cannot fly.  I hear people bitch that they are constrained by rules and politics. That they are unhappy with what they have and nothing seems to make it better.  We all know them.  They stand there, day after day, slowly dying and doing nothing.

Life is an interesting thing.  We hear the turn of phrase “Get a life” and think of it meaning for us to get more into the grove of the culture.  The ironic thing is that instead of freeing us, it binds us tighter. 

When things get tough, we talk about just putting one foot in front of the other and just trying to make our way to the next day.  We put our heads down and force our way forward, despite everything else.  But the thing is, that it will slowly kill us, just as the daily grind will. 

Life begs to be lived.  We need to look up.  We wish to dull the pain, but the pain is what tells us we live.  What would evil be if there was no good?  What would black be without white?  How can we truly know happiness without knowing the depths that the spirit can fall?  What is height without depth?

By crushing one, we crush all.

Without a rallying cry, each person in our generation must find their own.  Sometimes they will scream it loud and long and never be joined.  But sometimes others will join in.  And then we won’t be alone.  We fear to be alone, but we fear rejection more.  No one understands me. 

Bull.

We are never alone.  Our supports are always there, we just need to know where to look.  To explore.  We feel that the popular people must be happy—look at their groupies.  But a man with too many friends has none. 

We must cut the ties that bind.  We must free our minds until they are alone and then we can bind them to friends, to family, to lovers, and even to haters.  Instead of looking for happiness in the bottom of a box of Cracker Jill’s, we need to find it within ourselves and what we already have.

"But it isn’t that easy," the masses say.

The thing is….. it is.  We really don’t know what we have until we lose it, or think we have.  We really don’t know what we can do until we do it.  We really don’t know anything about ourselves until we push ourselves to the limit and beyond.  What I am talking about is not a physical thing, but rather a mental or spiritual thing.  Only we can judge our self worth, and if you have to drink yourself to sleep each night, or over the letter “M”, what does that say? 

As we go through life and hear the commercial jingles and see the sex on TV, we must stop—completely—and think.  How much of this is real? Will it really help us through the crucible and save us?  Can we trust those pushing their ideas?  Or can we trust ourselves and those around us? 

Who am I to judge for you?  All I know is that there is hope for everyone.  Redemption is not just an idea from whatever god you believe in, but nor is it something given away by them.  Redemption can only come from within.  When we have a clear conscience, we are truly free.

 

And then we can live. 

Between Work and Sacrifice

Hi.

I’m back.

If you hadn’t noticed—and I bet most of you have—I’ve been sadly lacking in my blog posts for the past several weeks.  Six, to be precise.  That’s not something I’m particularly proud of.  Over these last weeks, I’ve had to make some sacrifices to stay sane.  Unfortunately, I decided to sacrifice the wrong thing.

You see, work—the thing that gave me a paycheck every other Friday—was dragging me down.  Stressing me out.  Something had to give, and I chose the writing.  Why?  Not because I wasn’t dedicated to my craft, but because I have responsibilities and the pay was good.  So I chose the thing that paid the bills, not what made me happy. 

Now, I sit here before you, unemployed.  I’ve been in many different states in my life, denial being the other one I’m particularly fond of.  Fond, of course, being used in a most sarcastic way.  Because, you see, I had myself fooled that this job was worth the time, effort, and sacrifice.  Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

That burns a little.  More than a little, if I’m to be honest.  I worked, sweated, cried, and sacrificed for nothing.  To make matters worse, I gave up all those things that make me who I am—my passions.  I became a robot and a fool.  No one likes to be made a fool of, even if it’s only in his own head.  There were days that I couldn’t make myself write more than a few lines or edit a page or two before stopping for the night.  Let’s forget about writing blog posts.

The thing was, I was all right with it.  My parents did a lot for me growing up.  The older I get, the more I learn they did for me.  That being said, one of those things they got through my thick skull was the importance of working hard, and, if you care enough for something, you sacrifice for it.  Before now, I’d been sacrificing everything for my writing.  I lost time with family and friends.  Money that could have been used for other things—some frivolous, some not—instead went to an editor or supplies.  Let’s not talk about my health.  But I was fine with it. 

You see, throughout my life, I’ve been smart enough to skate by.  As an adult, this isn’t something I’m proud of, but as a kid?  “Good enough” was, simply put, good enough.  But when things got hard, I stopped and gave up, moving on to other, easier things.  This bad habit has stuck with me into adulthood.  And even though I know I’m doing it, it’s hard to fight. 

Writing was one of the first things I didn’t stop doing when the going got tough.  I don’t know how many times I was knocked down, but each time I picked myself up and started at it again, pounding against that wall with fists, ink, or whatever else was available.  It’s made a difference.  Now, it’s a solace, a place of refuge.  I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

But I did.

That’s why it grinds so much.  I gave up a passion for a paycheck.  As a kid, way back when, I promised myself I’d never do that.  Yet, here as an adult . . . Yeah.

I betrayed myself.  I betrayed my family and friends.  I betrayed my dream.  The last is nearly impossible to live with.  So, despite my dreams, it feels blatantly wrong sitting here writing something for a blog when I have cover letters to type up.  What right do I have to spend my life enslaved to the written word if I’ll give it up, give up my dreams, at the promise of a paycheck?  Is any amount of money worth giving up your dreams?

I am a fan of trivia game shows.  For years, K has been trying to get me to sign up and get on one.  Various excuses have kept me away, the main one being pride.  Well, yesterday I had a realization forced upon me by a friend.  Pride only goes so far, and eventually you’ll be willing to sell it for the right price.  He pointed out to me that pride prevents me from going on a game show, but I’d do it if it meant my novel, my dream, would become a reality. 

And he’s right. 

Knowing the man, he’s probably the only person who could make me see it.  He’s sacrificed for a dream and now does what I want to do for a living.  Not running a comic store like he does, but rather making a living off my passion.  You will sacrifice so much if you’re able to do what you love for the rest of your life.  I don’t think anyone else could have made that connection and made me accept it as readily as he did.

If I’m to be honest, it makes a fatalistic sort of sense, too.  Everything since I took the first steps on The Red Dress has pointed my feet toward writing.  All roads lead to Rome.  Rome being writing.  I’ve met some great people doing this.  My friends and family are fully behind me.  Can I count the personal satisfaction and happiness, too?  Encouragement comes from too many directions to count.  It’s too late to give up.  I’m too caught up in it.  This is my life, and I only get one of those.

So I can’t feel guilty about it anymore.  I need to be focusing on this blog, editing The Red Dress, and writing the follow-up.  No, I can’t do it all the time.  I do need to find a job.  Cover letters need to be written, and bills need to be paid.  But all this feeling-bad-for-wasting-time nonsense has to go out the window.  This experience, if nothing else, has forced me to realize what’s important to me.  And while money’s nice, it sure as hell isn’t everything.  Peace of mind and happiness stack up for quite a bit.

It isn’t so much that I have to make amends for my time in the land of the misbegotten.  Rather, it’s another instance of picking yourself up after hardship, dusting yourself off, and going right back at it.  I never completely stopped writing, you see.  Just mostly.  And that was bad enough.  This was a learning experience.  Now I know what’s important.  Now I know what to sacrifice for.  And that’s just as important as the will and ability to give it all up for a greater cause.

I’ll never stop writing.  Not for the rest of my life.  But now, I’ll never let it get so far away, either.