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By Ellie, December 7, 2009 2:32 pm

Dear Author,

Seeing your smug face is never the highlight of my day. But you know, if just seeing your face was the only interaction we ever engaged in, then I’d be happy with your coming around.

Instead, I have to hear, “Sold any books?” “How many books have you sold?” “What did you think of the book?” I hate how everything that comes out of your mouth sounds like a demand.

Then I have to deal with your self-indulgent attitude and silent, angry stares. Yes, I’ve seen you give me that look. I know you hate me for not promoting the hell out of your book. If you’re that damn desperate to sell books, promote them yourself. You chose to self-publish. Now self-market.

If your books were anything I’d want to read, then I’d promote them. But I’m not a fan of retro-Stephen King-esque writing. And I’m especially not a fan of writers who make their stories too similar to other, more successful authors’ works.

Yes, there are plenty of stories similar to King’s earlier works, but these other writers haven’t made it so obvious.

As if being a sucky writer wasn’t enough, you’re also a miserable human being. Has this endless cycle of failure turned you into someone incapable of showing gratitude and love? Is finding fame and fortune the only key to your happiness? It must be, because with all the other authors I’ve seen and met, they’re just happy to be out there promoting their books–and they have the love and support of their families.

Moreover, they don’t leave their child unattended in the children’s play area for hours. They don’t fling open their phone and spit, “What do you want?” to their spouses. And they don’t growl at their little girl when she wants her daddy to play with her at the train set you godawful shitbag of a human being. If having your daughter around is such an inconvenience, then leave her with someone who actually appreciates her existence.

You want to know the real reason why people buy your books? It’s not because they think you’re the greatest writer to ever live. It’s not because they think you’re a visionary who’s unlocked the secrets to the human psyche. It’s because they feel sorry for you. They see you sitting at that table, messing around on your Blackberry, with all your unsold books beside you. I can see the glazed looks in their eyes when you tell them about your Gary Stu and his otherworldly powers. They’re not interested. They just want to make you feel better. I would, too, if I didn’t know what kind of person you really are.

Stephen King would vomit if he ever read your books. Just looking at the shitty Photoshopped covers make me cringe.

You’ve been at this for maybe 30 years. And you still haven’t actually published a piece with a reputable publisher? You’re either deathly afraid of rejection or you just want instant gratification with a printer.

Yes, that’s right. That so-called publisher you signed up with? They’re a printer. If you paid to have your shit printed, bound, and delivered to your doorstep, you’re dealing with a fucking printer. And one of the most deceitful printers ever.

Real publishers never ask you to fork over money to publish your book. I’ve never had a book in print and I know this. Because I’ve been researching the industry for years, dumbass.

Of course, you claimed that you did extensive research, but you sifted through all the negative reviews about that printer just to get to the meager positive information. Information most likely written by the printer’s employees.

You’re so desperate to become successful that you’ll allow yourself to be taken for a ride. And when you fall flat on your face, you’ll become angry at a world who refuses to see your “genius.” You’ll take it out on your family who, for all I know, love you unconditionally and will support you until you’re too weak and addled with dementia to write another misspelled word in your paranormal Gary Stu chronicles.

But you want to know something? You’ll never find success. You don’t know the basic rules of writing, formatting, or grammar. You can’t even tell a decent story with interesting characters. You’re not going anywhere, buddy. And in a literary world already constipated from shit-awful books and self-entitled authors, that fills my little heart with absolute joy.

No love,

Me

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By Ellie, December 4, 2009 10:14 pm

The other morning, about half and hour before my alarm clock was to go off, I woke up to a rapidly beating heart.

It was mine.

I’d just had a waking dream about my current project. I can’t remember what it was, but it got my heart racing.

And as I snuggled against my pillow, I could only think of one thing: How much in love I am with this story. How it means the world to me. How much hope I have for it. How much I believe in it.

That’s the exact same way I’d felt about my other projects. Some time before I abandoned them.

No, that word implies that I never gave them another thought. (Well, there were some projects that turned out to be craptastically horrible. So, yes, I abandoned those.) In truth, many of my projects head to the back burner or even back into the freezer of creative writing when I have another one that demands my attention. And when I’ve got a current project, it really demands my attention.

My notebook will be filled with notes on characters, plot points, and dialogue ideas. I act out scenes as different characters. I have their conversations in my car. Any books I pick up have to be related to the project in some way, even if it’s only one line of research information I need for just one scene.

A few weeks, even a few months, of this… and the burnout comes.

The characters become old. I’ve worked the plot so much that I can’t think of anything new and interesting to keep me going. So then I look for another project.

One that will make me dream and get my heart racing in the morning.

And so the cycle continues… until I learn how to break it.

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By Ellie, December 1, 2009 12:44 pm

After doing the research and failing at this year’s NaNo, I’ve had a startling revelation: I want to write children’s chapter books.

I’ve been reading Captain Underpants and Magic Tree House books like crazy. For lower grade fiction, they’re amazingly addicting. And too much fun. The ideas of a mean principal turning into an underwear-clad superhero, and two kids traveling to different times and places through books give the imagination plenty to play with. And in the case of the Magic Tree House, it’s good educational fun. There are even research guides!

But studying the style wasn’t enough to learn how these books are written. I had to actually write in the style.

It’s not as easy as you think. A lot of people think that writing in itself is easy. Just type a few words, make a few sentences, have a plot to connect them all, and–BAM! Instant story!

Thing is, these people have probably never tried to write anything longer than a blog or Twitter post in their lives. They don’t understand the struggle of creating interesting characters, planning a cohesive plot (either through an outline or on the fly), or keeping track of every thread and action so that the entire story makes sense. Most novels run about 50,000 words. That’s a lot of stuff to keep track of.

You’d think that lower grade fiction, which usually runs no more than 9K words would be easier, right?

Hey, it’s still a story, and it still has to make sense.

And you’ve got a shorter frame in which to tell everything.

Not to mention the simple vocabulary, short sentences, and appropriate content you have to consider.

And can you imagine writing like this for 9K words?

George woke up. He looked over at his alarm clock.
It was 6 o’clock.
The sun wasn’t up yet.
He got out of bed and went to the window. There was a blanket of snow all over the yard.
He smiled. Snow day!

Yes, it does look simple, but try staying in this mode for about an hour, or however long you can write. It’s almost mind-numbing. And it’s very tempting to write longer sentences or throw in a big word or two.

But you’re writing for a very young audience, and it’s important to think at their level. How do they see the world? What do they think of it? What interests them the most? How long can you keep their attention?

These are the things I’ve asked myself when reading lower grade fiction and imagining myself writing it. When I finally get to write my own lower grade fiction, I’ll be facing a challenge bigger than any middle grade or YA novel I’ve dreamed up.

But I imagine it’ll be fun. I’ll get to revisit that younger, more innocent time when the world was all about stuffed toys, My Little Ponies, running around in the backyard, breakfast cereals and Saturday morning cartoons. Back when I didn’t have to worry about jobs, money, or being taken away by strangers. Back when the world was simpler and more colorful.

Yep, a big challenge, but a fun one.