Learning Process:
The amount of writing books is overwhelming. I stuck to the classics, the one’ recommended again and again. The first one I read was “Creating Short Fiction”. It discuses all the elements of a short story. The most useful part is a breakdown of one of Knight’s stories; line-by-line notes of what he was doing in the story, and why. Every single element moved the plot along, ratcheted tension, built character, with a regular cadence. This is my bible.
The other classics are King’s On Writing, Bird by Bird, Draft No. 4, Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.. I’ve picked up a lot from them. Other, non-standard sources are Hugh Howey’s online (his blog and videos) guidance, The Poet’s Handbook, and reading about famous author’s writing process in The Paris Review. These sources are helpful; the hard part is to stop reading and do the hard work.
I don’t have trouble sitting down to write; I have trouble trying to improve. For example, I know I need to develop more of an ear (and fingers) for rhythmic writing; hearing the beats in a sentence and using them. Iambic pentameter. I don’t have this ear yet, and may explain why I couldn’t stand Shakespeare in high school. But, I’m willing to go back and try to understand it more.
My writing isn’t tight. In fact, when a critiquer said I had a good story but the writing wasn’t tight, I didn’t even know what the term meant. He was right, though… I am too wordy, use too many filler words, don’t express myself as succinctly as possible. Recently, another critiquer said never use the word “that”, which kind of blew my mind. But, I took her suggestion and removed it from my non-dialogue parts in the piece. And it made the writing better.
One of the first things I learned on this journey is the importance of feedback. I need thoughts on plot, interest, realism/calling bullshit, weak areas, strong parts… and a lot of help on word-smithing. I didn’t show my first story to anyone until I sent a manuscript to an editor at Reedsy. He, gently, pointed out all stories need some conflict. Important, life or death, love, power type conflict. My original story followed a guy through his day, doing fairly boring things. I internalized his advice, and the next two stories (The Inspector’s Legacy and Unfair Advantage) had clear plots and conflict. And came out okay. The following two stories, though, including my first attempt at a novella length story, are lacking. There was/is plot and conflict, but just barely. Not yet. Made the same mistake with a short story contest I just finished; only 2k words, but I focused so much on the contest ask (show how an incident in the character’s past influences them today) I literally forgot to have something interesting happen in the story. Right now it’s a flashback by a banker in a meeting. A real page turner!
Scribophile.com has been helpful. The quality of the crit varies; sometimes you get the grammar person, sometimes a gentle reader who just likes the story. I appreciate the grumpy ones who point out big issues. One critiquer highlighted every paragraph started with a character’s name and thought the piece read like stage directions. I’ve never read stage directions, but I’m sure he was 100% correct. Every paragraph started with Eileen said, Punit looked, Chen whispered. Yikes.
Author: Daniel
Current Writing Process, Pt 1
*I wanted to document where I am in the “writing journey”, what I’ve done and how I’m feeling. *
Goals:
My goals have grown over the past six months. Originally, I wanted to publish one story. Or, more exactly, create a story that was publishable. Writing a short story about a futuristic world seemed very reasonable. With Creating Short Fiction as my guide, I tried write like a pantser. The piece was a disaster; it had a mildly interesting character in a near-future world. But no coherent plot, or tension, or believable secondary characters. And the writing was loose, the opposite of tight, very loose. When I wrote that first story, I hadn’t even heard of “tight writing”.
Now, I want to be a better writer, a better storyteller, a creator of worlds and characters. To write honestly and without fear. And share these stories and worlds others. I don’t have illusions of grandeur; my conservative goal is for a hundred people to read my stuff, not counting friends and family.
Routine:
We are coming out of the Great Quarantine of 2020 (or at least trying). When I started, I still had my old routine; commuting to the city four days a week, working from home one day a week. My daily goal was to write five hundred words every morning. I did this four to five times a week but there were days when I couldn’t find the time. Starting in March, however, I’ve been writing every morning. Haven’t missed one day. Now, the routine is an entry in the 5-minute journal, then my 3 pages of longhand Morning Pages. After the journaling, I meditate for 20-30 minutes, make a carafe of French Press coffee (from Monmouth County’s own Fair Mountain Roasters) and sit in the sunroom with my iPad to write.
This is the 500 words-don’t-worry-if-it’s-any-good part. Some days it flows; some days 500 words takes a full hour. I considered increasing this count, maybe to 750 or 1000, but I read an interview with Hemingway (a fantastic interview, done by George Plimpton for the Paris Review-Hemingway is cranky but still discusses interesting stuff) where he writes for four to five hours every morning, first thing… but only puts out 5-600 words. I’m not obsessed with word counts, but that was eye opening. He puts a lot more thought into what he writes than I do. I’m not Hemingway, though, and I never will be. I can strive to be like Hugh Howey; his work is excellent, an expert at a world building, good plots, good enough characters, rhythmic wording… but it’s not literary or high end.
Then I edit. I dump the first edit into the ProWriter tool, which finds my obvious issues. After cleaning and tightening it a bit, I read it again like a reader. This is where the real editing happens. My attitude toward these sessions makes all the difference; if I think the piece is good before I start, I see the flaws, the horrible writing, the tremendous gaps in character development. If I think it’s terrible going in, I am usually drawn to the better parts. I enjoy the tinkering part of editing; tightening, cutting ruthlessly, etc. Making big changes, like committing to rewriting entire scenes or chapters, or even trying to work something into an existing passage, is very hard.
The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet
David Mitchell
TLDR; Great read. An immersive books, requiring fifty pages to settle into this world and the Dutch names.
I picked up “The Thousand Autumns..” after Hugh Howey referred to it here. Howey’s recommendation focused on Mitchell’s use of sound and smell to set a scene. Based in Dejima, a Dutch trading settlement outside of Nagasaki at the turn of the nineteenth century, “The Thousand Autumns” features an immersive plot, remarkable characters and brilliant descriptions. One can imagine the streets and buildings of Dejima and the formalized Japanese settings. The first chapters of the book require patience, between the Dutch and Japanese names and customs. This is only the second Mitchell book I’ve read. The other was Ghostwritten, also excellent.
Highly recommended, immersive, memorable.
Tri-orientate
Which way to the transition area? I guide my bike with one hand, the other clutches a race packet. Which race is this again? What distance? Follow the other athletes in sweatshirts and unflattering lycra across the asphalt parking lot. A man with a prodigious beer belly and bullhorn barks at the stream of people, “…body markings…allowed to enter transition…” Look at left shoulder. 88 written sloppily on upper arm in black magic marker. The adolescent girls at the entrance to the corral nod as I pass.
Are spot assigned? Do they do that at this race? Choose a spot on the edge of a pathway, midway across the corral. Which way is bike in, bike out? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Don’t feel very aggressive today. Legs heavy, mind foggy. Maybe a caffeinated GU would help. Did I do the pre-race routine with the little optimizations, the easy bike spin, the quick run? This wetsuit feels heavy, swim cap tight, sand cool. Shoulder to shoulder with thirty men, restlessly shuffling feet. Stare out at a bright orange sun above curling waves. What distance is this race? Is this warmup or start? An air horn sounds. High step, high step, high step, dive under the wave. Still shallow, high step, high step, high step, dive. Deeper now, swim, a man bouncing off my hip. Thud. This fucker won’t give me space. Under a wave, lost my friend. Sight to the buoy, it came up quick.
Turning at the buoy. Water is calm, flat. Stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe. Breath to one side, need to keep the shore in sight. Distracting to breathe on both sides and see the endless ocean under an orange sun. Must be July for a sun like that. Stroke, stroke. It feels good, strong. Meditative. Must not be pushing hard enough. Sight. Where is the next buoy? Where is my wife? She said we needed to change, to break out of our rut. We agreed to change.
That must be the last buoy. I can see swimmers turning left and heading to shore. The water is flat. Will I do a fancy ninety-degree turn around the buoy, like I saw in that YouTube video? Or just pop my head up and hurl my body toward shore. Hands hit the gravelly surface. Keep swimming even though you can stand, gain those seconds. Swim past the suckers that stand too early. Can’t extend arm anymore, stand. Lightheaded. Run out of the murky pond, pull off my goggles and cap with one motion. Run, run past the fast swimmers who can’t move on land. Zip wetsuit to waist, run, run. The more running, the better. A long path, packed dirt with roots, through scrubby pines. Wives and kids, cowbells and signs for dad’s line the pathway. Sweatshirts and steaming coffee, to fend off the cool of the fall morning. Where are my kids? Farther down? Maybe they are waiting for me at transition.
Hop on one foot. The stubborn wetsuit sticks like glue to my ankle. I thought it was an Orca? This says Roka. Grab a pointed helmet. On the bike, pedal hard. Did my kids see me? Did I slap Brendan’s hand in transition? Is he still in preschool? Pass, pass, pass. Scary guy with a seven-grand bike setup grunts past. What is my wattage? Do I hold 250, 260? What was my last FTP test? Pedal, pedal, pass. Pedal, pedal, sip. Pedal, pedal, pass. Another guy cranks past, maybe eight k worth of kit. I’ll see you on the run. How long until then? I hope Maura holds a sign for me; she wants to race one day. But she is little now.
Man waving in street. Half this way, Olympic and sprint that way. Oh. What race is this again?
Run now. Did I nail the transition? Aggressive into dismount, feet on top of shoes, coming in hot? Running hard and tossing bike, slipping on sneaks with stretchy laces and Vaseline? Stride and pace feel good, shoulders back. Did I see Kim at transition? Did she look angry, were the kids cranky? Did they have to walk far from the car? Run, run, push, push. Hard for the first half mile then hold. No one else pushes hard this early, pass, pass, pass. Look down, Garneau top, DeSoto shorts, New Balance shoes. Did I finally get a sponsor? No, paid full retail, I sponsor them.
Run on the sandy Pine Barren trail. Pass the woman in the pro kit, squatting in the middle of trail. Swerve and avoid the deep puddle, when did it rain? Turn the corner onto a boardwalk, full of people. They scream and cheer as I turn. Wait. No, they scream and cheer for the woman behind me. Everyone cheers for first woman, no one for the eighth man. I see a parking lot; men with race numbers, walking with medals around their neck. The final stretch. Sprint, sprint, pass that guy stopping to grab his kid. Do they announce names? Yes, and places.
In the car. Bike in rear view, number flapping in the wind. I’m in a sweatshirt and I smell like swamp, ocean, sunscreen and wet sneaker. Did I stay for awards? Did I make the podium? Age group? The car is empty, just an empty cup from the morning coffee, a baggie that held a peanut butter sandwich. Where am I going? Is there anyone at home?
The Satellites of Dublin
We hatched the plan at St. Patrick’s Day clan gathering. With stomachs heavy from Mom’s Irish Soda bread and Guinness, my brother, twin cousins and I planned a barnstorming tour of Ireland.
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A crowded municipal bus took us into Dublin around 8am, Ireland time. We jumped off with our heavy bags and heavier jet-lagged legs. This was before roller bags were common, and a solid decade before smart phones.
We walked down a crowded, cobblestone street. I wanted to soak in the atmosphere. Thick Irish accents, shops, bars and the energy of a young, vibrant city. Dublin looked ancient and foreign, yet everyone spoke English and it seemed inviting.
My directions said to follow this cobblestone road, then turn right onto Murphy St. The four cousins walked down the street, half sight seeing, half fighting our tired bodies. I squinted at the cross streets. My cousin Matt noticed a shop that sold the Doc Martens he wanted to buy. Assumedly my brother was sleeping as we walked. He spent most of the trip napping in the car.
We passed a few streets. I thought our not-yet-merry band should have found the cross-street already. Two Garda, Irish police, stood on the street. I waved to them.
“Excuse me, can you please tell me how to get to Murphy street?”
The two men smiled, most likely at my thick New York-American accent. One of them said, “Ah, of course, you head down to the next satellite, turn right. Grand.” I thanked them and went back to report to the cousins.
“He said go to the next satellite and turn right.”
“The next satellite?” Becky asked.
“Yea, I assume he means a satellite phone store. That’s what they call it in Europe. Or, maybe it’s a statue of a satellite. No worries, we’ll find it.”
We headed down the street, eagerly searching for satellites. We passed two more cross streets and didn’t see any statues of space machinery or satellite phone shops.
Two more Garda appeared. I told the cousins I’d ask again for directions, left my with them and approached the pair.
“Ah, excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Murphy street?”
“Where are ya tryin’ to get to?”
I pulled out the name and address of the hotel and showed the two Garda.
“Ah, t’is easy. Go down to the next satellite and turn right. The hotel will be a few meters on the right.”
I thanked them, took a step, then stopped.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry. I’m an American and I just got off of a flight and haven’t slept all night. What is a satellite?”
The two Garda looked at me. One asked, “Satellite? Whatchamean?”
“You said go to the next satellite and turn right?”
“Set-of-lights. SET-OF-LIGHTS.”
We dropped our bags off at the hotel a few minutes later. I’m sure the Garda had stopped laughing by then.
A Little Life
Hanya Yanagihara
TLDR: beautiful story, engrossing, haunting. Long read. Frustrating characters. Recommended for patient readers.
A Little Life is not for the faint of heart, or the causal reader looking for a quick page or two before going to bed. Over 800 pages with long non-linear chapters make A Little Life a bit of a slog. The hardy reader enjoys an engrossing, haunting story of friendship between 4 college friends and, especially, the remarkable Jude. Yanagihara creates a narrative that explores the relationship between young friends through success, failure and dealing with the past. I had a love-hate relationship with most of this book; the writing is beautiful; the characters are engrossing and I reflected on the book long after putting it down for the day. The topics covered are not light, the narrative gets dark, and I got very frustrated with the limitations of Jude. This is a book that demands time and reflection while reading and is recommended. 4.5/5.
Welcome
Welcome to Chawner Writes! This is an experimental platform to write and (hopefully) publish some original fiction. And share some thoughts on recent books.
Pretty Much Everything
by Aaron James Draplin
TLDR: Fantastic coffee-table style book with excellent narration. Recommended.
Pretty Much Everything is a coffee table book that covers the career of Aaron James Draplin, a famous artist responsible for several notable designs and for creating Field Notes (the notebook line). Draplin provides ample narration and examples in his journey as an artist and professional. He includes sketches from his youth, influences and a healthy dose of his punk ethos. Besides copious examples of his finished work, Draplin explains the process behind many of his commissions. This is the most interesting content. The explanations and drafts show how a professional artist develops an idea. Draplin has a distinct style that is both repetitive and unique for each campaign. The book itself is fun and written in an easy to read, conversational manner. 4.5/5.
Ulysses S. Grant Triumph Over Adversity 1822-1865
Brooks Simpson
TLDR; An in-depth account of Grant’s life from childhood through the end of the Civil War. Filled with quotes from letters and newspapers which makes it a slow read. Great content. Recommended.
Grant has been a favorite historical figure of mine since writing a report on him in sixth grade. I wrote he was a brilliant general, a drunk and a respected president. At least 2 of those assertions may be false. In Ulysses S. Grant Triumph Over Adversity 1822-1865, Brooks Simpson follows the life and career of Grant though the end of the Civil War. We get an in-depth treatment of his life, including his tough relationship with his father, wife, press, the military, etc. I selected this book about Grant by recommendations from the Stoic community. I consider Grant a Stoic figure for the way he overcame obstacles (multiple failures early in his military career and business ventures) and remained calm (facing enemy fire, dealing with the pressures of the press or military officials). Simpson does a great job in presenting Grant’s challenges and his will to overcome them. To show the obstacles, Simpson provides ample quotes from letters, and newspaper accounts. These quotes lengthen the text considerably and, most times, belabor the point. Simpson also examines whether Grant was actually a drunk or if the press and jealous colleagues used it active propaganda against him. We don’t find a definitive answer but we get a great look at Grant and his remarkable career. 3.5/5.
goodbye, things on minimalist living
Fumio Sasaki
TLDR; A quick and fun read about one man’s journey and experiences with minimalism. Inspirational, tied to other ideas and philosophies. Recommended.
goodbye, things starts as a journey from Sasaki’s cluttered, standard Japanese life to one of an impressive minimalist. This isn’t a book about how to throw things out. Sasaki deftly ties other larger ideas into the basic concepts of minimalism. He first examines the laundry list of negatives associated with today’s consumerist (or as he calls it, maximalist) society; stress, cost, lack of focus, lack of time, unhappiness, etc. Many of these symptoms have a direct correlation to the constant cycle of buying and owning 300,000+ items. By eliminating these things, Sasaki contends that we don’t give up anything. In fact, we gain time, space, happiness, cleanliness and focus. His themes are very reminiscent of the common threads that run through two recent subjects of study, Stoicism and Essentialism. Both Stoicism and minimalism refer to similar goals, such as being present in the moment, don’t possessions own you (nod to Tyler D), only focus on the important and that material goods can never truly be owned (they can be taken/lost/destroyed at any moment). Essentialism and minimalism share some values, namely reducing the noise that overwhelms most people, focusing on what is important and going big on very little. A quick read, broken into short chapters. One of the few negatives is repetition from the direct usage of earlier material (parts of the book came from his website). Inspirational, light with smart connections to larger themes. 4.5/5.