Since embarking on this circuitous and bumpy writing path, I’ve tried to read quality writing. Doubled down on Hemingway, read the Russian Masters (Dostoevsky, Gogol, Nabokov), Morrison, etc.

Books aren’t the only writing I consume. I’ve watched shows I’ve heard Koppelman call out as examples of good writing, like The Crown. I found it hard to care about English Royalty and stopped after two seasons. But I gave it another chance on Koppelman’s recommendation. The writing, acting and dialogue are top-notch. Makes it hard to watch lesser shows on Netflix that feel like they put them together over a weekend. I still don’t care about the Royals, but I care about the characters in The Crown.

Similar story with The Bear. It was a critical darling when released. I watched the first two episodes… and couldn’t watch anymore. They did such a great job of creating a tense kitchen that I felt like I was on edge… and I had to stop watching. I don’t want to feel tense when watching at night before bed. Similar to the Crown, I recently gave it another chance and watched two episodes on a weekend afternoon. And got hooked. They do family conversation (talking over each other) better than anyone else. I just watched the infamous episode 6 of season 2, which was referred to as one of the best single episodes of TV ever.

If watching good writing (defined by realistic, relatable characters, interesting story arcs, thinking about the show when it’s over) immerses one in helpful content, does bad writing do the opposite? Do my skills get worse each time I watch a Jason Statham movie (I hope not, JS movies are a guilty pleasure).

Same with bad writing. And I don’t mean this website, but the cavalcade of sites geared toward SEO, and the rambling, say-nothing sentences and taking five paragraphs to say what only requires one. Does reading such low-quality stuff rot the brain? Probably not, although unconsciously it may give an excuse to write worser sentences (:))

Is it possible to only read and watch quality stuff? Not practically, but reducing the consumption of low-quality free writing online could be helpful. I’ve made this change already with my reading of books; the Russian masters, best short stories of the century, etc. And when I pick up a non-capital-“L”-literature book, the difference jumps off the page.

Where does setting come from? Sometimes it writes itself; a space opera has to be set in an imaginary galactic cruiser, or a period piece in glorious Victorian mansions. But what about stories without a prescriptive setting, like a love story between two twenty-something’s in modern times? A Brooklyn apartment, or the suburbs of Atlanta?

When I’m creating stories, the setting “just sorta” appears. In Unfair Advantage, I wanted a location with restaurants and wealth. West Palm Beach immediately sprung to mind. I visit WPB twice a year with friends. We walked downtown WPB often and enjoyed many local restaurants. So The Blind Monk, Buccan and the running path next to the Inter-coastal were natural settings. And they were easy to write as I’ve spent a lot of time in each of these spots.

Another (unfinished) story, Crystal Grove, takes place in my current neighborhood, but with my “old” house. I started Crystal Grove during quarantine; using my immediate surroundings to tell a story of a possessed grove of trees literally “popped” into my head. My decision to use an old house is less obvious; it may have been because my children were very young in that house. Crystal Grove featured two young children.

Another example is the library from my childhood hometown. I needed a place for a post-apocalyptic, charismatic leader to use as a base of operations. It jumped to mind. Same with a shoreline town; I pictured Bay Head NJ, close to where my parents once lived.

I wonder how other authors arrive at their settings. So much of the writing process, from characters to conflict to plot resolution, is a struggle. But setting presents itself quickly.

Broken Preferences

What happens when you “should” like something and don’t? I found this gargantuan (788 pages) book recently: The Best American Stories of the Century, referenced in “Twenty Things to Do before Submitting Your Story to a Lit Mag: Part 1” by Erik Klass for a piece in LitMag News (behind a paywall). He used it to illustrate what makes a good story. I bought it as inspiration and a guide to better short story writing. And good reading.

John Updike, the editor, picked one story per year. No author appeared more than once. This, of course, can’t be a valid collection of the greatest short stories, but I assume they needed guardrails to make tough choices. The collection starts with stories from the turn-of-the-century. “Wild Plums” by Grace Stone Coaates and “That Evening Sun Go Down” by William Faulkner.

Many of the stories from early America are incredibly difficult to read. They focus on extreme poverty, lack of education, etc. I’m sympathetic… but getting through the dialogue is excruciating. Presumably, it’s authentic (there’s no one alive to confirm). The challenge is compounded by the use of terms that are now deemed offensive. These stories are challenging reads due to the bleakness of the situations andthe use of non-standard language.

This reluctance to engage in like stories popped up elsewhere. As part of the amazing George Saunders Substack, he has us read different short stories. One of them was “The Gilded Six-Bits”. I couldn’t tell you what the story is about because I can’t get past the first few pages. The dialogue, the characters… it was like a mountain I didn’t want to climb. So I didn’t.

My problem is writers I respect revere these stories. So the limitation is with me, not with the work. I remember struggling through Mark Twain novels in high school. For now, with an unlimited amount of unread stories, I’ll avoid these turn-of-the-century snooze-fests. And look forward to more modern short stories in the collection.

<RANT>

One of my pet peeves are barriers to spending. Specifically, when I have a need and finding help is hard. The most common case is home contractor work. I’ve defined projects, realistic budgets and no one to do the work. And searching for contractors usually includes missed appointments, lack of follow-up, vague answers, etc.

I’m in a similar place with writing. I need for an editor/partner to help progress my writing. Most of my submissions (hundreds) have been rejected. Obviously, something is missing the mark. Sure, I can send individual pieces to freelance editors, but I’m looking for someone to help/guide/edit the writing en total.

I’d like an editor/coach to lift the quality of my writing, hone my style (what works, what doesn’t) and, most importantly, offer real feedback on all elements of the writing. An expert can elevate the quality of my writing.

Much like with housing contractors, I can’t find such partners. Although not for a lack of options. A quick Google search for “writing coach” or something similar returns hundreds of hits. Collectives of coaches and editors, individuals, extensions of writing schools and seminars. Specialists in memoirs, corporate writing, novels, coaches to encourage you and keep you accountable. But few specialize in genres or short stories… or present as a collaborator.

I reached out to a few independents. Crickets.

Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic, but this is my creative output at stake, and I need someone I can trust.

</RANT>

(Apologies to Rage Against the Machine)

Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. One of the many truths I’ve internalized about writing is how much imitation plays an important role in the creative process. This feels wrong, at first. Isn’t copying someone else plagiarism?

Life is gray, as is the line between copying and inspiration. We are hard-wired as students never to quote sources, to read and absorb and write in our own language. Upon entering the business world, my boss told me to copy because no one cared about “that stuff” in the real world. But the creative process is funny. There’s a book called “Steal Like an Artist.” A great podcast, Song Exploder, describes the inspiration behind creating songs. Many of these stories start with taking a beat or a rhythm from another song and playing with it. By the time they release these songs, the pilfered part is un-recognizable… it turned into something new.

Authors do the same. Developing authors copy the prose of another, more famous author. Sofi Bahcall studied small passages of Nabokov every night. I’ve tried this as well… early on, I’d start my writing sessions with ten minutes of copying passage from The Great Gatsby, The Sun Also Rises or Dubliners. I’m not sure these books were useful (Gatsby and Dubliners are written in an old-fashioned way) but it felt good. It forces the examination of sentences and word choice and how these masters jump between dialogue, story-telling, and exposition.

I used Wool by Hugh Howey to discern the rules to follow for backstory and explanation. My copy of that book is dog-eared to the start of Chapter 3… a scene between Holden and his wife, Allison. A transitory scene, not very important to the story. Howey interspersed conversation regarding the surrounding room. These references set the scene and provided the rules for the world (describing their ancient, claustrophobic rooms, computer systems, etc.).

Authors copy themes and stories. How many stories are re-telling of Biblical tales, or legend of King Arthur, but in modern times? This resonates with me; sans an editor, I wandered deeply into un-helpful writing patterns. No exposition or basic descriptions of setting or people were allowed. Everything started en res. The result is stories that read more like screenplays than short stories. I wanted to re-boot this rule set and check back with my favorite authors and see how they handle the mechanics of their writing.

And wow, my favorite authors don’t follow any of these self-imposed rules. Exposition, descriptions of people when they are introduced, backstory, time-shifting… the things I had convinced myself were verboten.

So my new, new plan is to re-read David Mitchell and pay close attention to how he handles voice, exposition, description, and, of course, his intertwined plots. I can’t copy him, per se, as he writes in the first person. I’ve tried, but whenever I do, my characters become super whiny and introspective. And part of his magic as a writer is capturing the voice of the distinct characters (Dutch from the 1800s, old sea captains, musicians from Europe, Horologists, etc.). I won’t ever write as well as Mitchell, but I need to break free from this rut.

A classic conversation starter is, “What four people from history, alive or dead, would you invite to a dinner party?” I hear this query a lot on podcasts, especially with authors. What four authors would I invite to a dinner party?

I’ve struggled with this question for two reasons. One, am I putting together a party of just my favorite authors? Like an all-star team? Or assemble a group who could converse? How much conversation can an old Russian master have with Murakami and Mark Twain? Different languages, different time periods, etc. The second element of the question I’ve struggled with is hosting a dinner party… I’m not George Plimpton. Seems like something out of a seventies playbook.

I’m practical and will error on the side of realism. My invited authors need to share a language and a time. As to not limit myself too much, I’ll have a modern guest list and another from authors active in the 20th century.

The modern party is easy. David Mitchell, Neil Gaiman, Emily St. Mandel and Haruki Murakami. This list won’t surprise readers of this site, as these are my favorite authors. This group speaks English (I don’t know how good Murakami’s English is, but he lived in the US for years) and is living. Much of their writing is based in the modern world with otherworldly/supernatural elements. All have had books adapted for either movies or series. I can’t know for sure if they are fans of each other, but Mitchell wrote Number9Dream like Murakami, so he is a fan. And someone who writes about Japan.

Oddly, none of these authors are American (by birth)… maybe this adds to the mix? I picture the four of them sitting in a private room in a nice restaurant in NYC in the early afternoon. Mixed fare, some wine, but nothing crazy. Conversation is slow to start, but picks up eventually, swapping publishing stories and Hollywood gossip and life on book tours. The glue is their commonality.

My dinner party for authors of a different era is more complicated. It has to start with Hemingway. He’s the star of the team (warts and all), so I’ll build around him. F. Scott Fitzgerald is easy to slot in, as they (for a short time) were friends and confidants. John Cheever in the third seat. I’ve only read a handful of his short stories (The Swimmer is one of my favorites), but his reputation as bon vivant, the celebrity hard-drinking author from the fifties and sixties, makes him a lively choice. And perhaps he was a fan of both Hemingway and Fitzgerald, who were of a similar era.

The final slot is hard. Can I get away with an author from a different time? Hemingway listed Mark Twain as an influence, stating all modern American literature comes from Huck Finn. Twain was from an earlier era… barely. Twain passed around 1910 and Hemingway was born in 1899. Or adding Gertrude Stein instead. I’d recreate Paris in the twenties, but is that so terrible?

This group would enjoy their dinner either in a Parisian cafe or a hot, open-air bar in Cuba, complete with waiters in white jackets, bottomless rum and slow-turning fans, tucked away from a chaotic street.

The list for a modern party was so easy. I’m disappointed I couldn’t make it happen. Maybe an indie documentarian or short series producer on Apple TV plus could pull them together. The older party feels more like a re-creation.