A Turning Point
Nov. 18th, 2007 10:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sinanjuI spent this weekend at Orycon, the annual local science fiction convention. For an excellent summary of the con, read ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snippy 's post about it. I attended a couple of panel discussions she didn't--panels on writing, mostly because Steven Barnes and Steve Perry were on the panels. The "Steve & Steve Show" is always worth watching in my opinion.
I've been writing since I was old enough to write. I didn't always want to be a writer. I flirted with the possibilities of being a scientist or an architect. But for a very long time I wanted to be a writer. When I went to college I studied English Lit mostly because everyone assumed that's what I'd study because, well, what else would a would-be writer study? In retrospect, I wish I'd studied something else. English Lit taught me almost nothing about writing. I could just as easily have studied history or computer science or who knows what else and gotten a somewhat more marketable degree with no real loss of instruction in writing.
I've been writing since I was old enough to write. Long before I signed onto the internet, I was participating in collective storytelling on electronic bulletin boards, on stand-alone BBSes or to FidoNet. I was also participating in role-playing games and making up characters and worlds, most of which never saw the light of day. But creating them was an enjoyable pastime in itself. How much actual fiction writing did I do? Not all that much.
Part of it, I think, was that growing up I didn't know anyone who wrote fiction. Writers were creatures beyond my experience. I knew, of course, that they were simply people like everyone else. I'd read lots of books about writing. Books of theory. Books of personal experience. Books with lots of useful information and books which were far too vague and theoretical to be of any use--at least to me. But the idea that I could make the jump to actually being published seemed incredible. There were a couple of writers in residence at my college, but they were distant and mysterious figures, no different from all the other authority figures I knew.
It wasn't until I moved to Oregon that that changed. I continued posting to bulletin boards. I exchanged messages with other locals and met some of them. A couple of the people I interacted with were also interested in SF and in writing. I was introduced to a writer's group. That was amazing. Other people who were interested in writing! People who shared that interest. People who wrote, who got together and critiqued one another's work!
I joined one such group. And not only that, but the group included actual, published SF writers. Mary Rosenblum was one. Mike Moscoe (aka Mike Shepherd) was another; he wasn't published when I joined the group but he got published while I was there. I got a lot of good, useful feedback. I like to think I learned a lot from this experience. I didn't attempt get anything published until near the end; I was still learning. I was with this group for several years. Eventually it broke up, as groups are wont to do.
I also met my wife through this group. Mary Rosenblum held a Fourth of July party and invited a lot of people, including those of us in the writing group--and Tara Harper, another published novelist. Tara brought a friend with her, she of the bright smile and lovely cleavage. Eventually I married the woman behind that lovely smile. I admire her more than I can tell her and if nothing else ever came of joining that writing group, having her in my life made it the best decision I ever made.
I also discovered Orycon. A local (i.e., affordable) science fiction convention full of actual, published writers and editors and artists. I could see them! I could hear them talk. I could talk to them! I spent several years faithfully attending every panel I could that had anything to do with writing, soaking up everything the writers and editors had to say about it. I drove to Seattle for a one-day seminar on writing professionally, presented by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Rusch. I learned about Lifewriting from Steven Barnes and practiced it for a time.
All of this was useful. But frankly I think it was simply being around actual writers that made the most difference. Hearing them talk about how they got started, how they succeeded, what they'd done right or wrong, that made the most difference. It began to seem real to me, this idea that I could be a writer. I don't think I can communicate just how...remote the idea seemed to me for so many years. It was like wishing I were millionaire or looked like a movie star or could walk on the moon. Yes, yes, people have done all these things. LOTS of people have done all these things, and people manage it every day (well, except the walking on the moon part). But not me. That sort of thing only happens to other people.
I began sending out a few manuscripts. I got rejections, not surprisingly. But some of them were of the "this wasn't quite right but we'd like to see other submissions from you" sort. Which is really quite good for a newbie writer. If I had continued, I think I'd eventually have sold something.
But I didn't. I turned my attention to other things. Why? Good question. Was it fear? Maybe, though I don't think so. It was more that as I came to know a lot of real, honest-to-god writers I learned that a great many of them held day jobs. Even those who wrote full time didn't necessarily make a lot of money. More than once I heard it said that if you wanted to get rich or famous, there were easier ways to do it.
It wasn't that I wanted to get rich (though that would, of course, be nice). It wasn't even that I wanted to be famous, though--again--I could live with that. It was that I didn't need those things; writing for publication was only necessary if I wanted to get paid or gain some name recognition. If I was simply writing because I enjoyed writing, I could that on my own--as I had been doing all along. All the time I was participating in my writing group and attending Orycon and working at writing I was also writing for my own entertainment. I participated in collaborative storytelling online. I wrote fanfic.
And that seemed to be enough. It was enough. For years it was enough. Oh, every November I'd attend Orycon and get caught up in fandom and wonder if maybe I wanted to WRITE again. But after the con was over that feeling would fade. I would return to my regular outlets for writing--online games and fanfic.
I don't think that's enough anymore. I've been feeling stagnant lately (I might not have identified that, but my lovely and talented and perceptive wife put it into words recently). I feel frustrated by my gaming outlets of late, restrained, hemmed in, held back by the need to wait on other players. I kept track of one early round robin story; despite the fact that each of the players was theoretically participating sequentially, by the time it ended I had contributed more than 66% of the text and the next most prolific participant was nowhere near that. (Hey, other players kept routinely "passing" because they had no muse. That was never a problem for me.)
Anyhow. I spent a lot of time at this con thinking about this. Did I want to get back to writing for publication? Writing original material instead of fanfic and game posts? Friends--Rory and Kami, who were in that original writers group with me--have urged me to. It's ego-boosting to hear that they think I should, that they think I have something to say and can say it well. But I've hesitated to do it.
For one thing, I don't know what I want to say. I don't have any stories...I was going to say that I don't have any stories demanding to be told, but that's not true. I'm not sure I have any stories to tell that would be worth telling. And that, dammit, is fear talking. Fanfic is easy. It gets quick feedback.
Another issue is that the time I spend on writing in my games and on fanfic has been a recurring bone of contention withsnippy . On the other hand, she's told me that if I spend time writing my own stuff, she's good with that. She thinks I'll be happier (and more available emotionally) if I do this. So that's another roadblock out of the way.
The third point is one I only arrived at today. Writing my own stuff and writing for publication are not synonymous. If I write original stories, there's no rule that says I have to try to publish them. There's also no rule that says I can't. It's entirely up to me. So I have nothing to lose by exploring this option. The worst that can happen is that I spend more time on my own stuff and less time on fanfic and games; the best is that I enjoy it and, if I decide to try, maybe even get it published.
There's more to think about, but it's time for a change.
snippy 's post about it. I attended a couple of panel discussions she didn't--panels on writing, mostly because Steven Barnes and Steve Perry were on the panels. The "Steve & Steve Show" is always worth watching in my opinion.I've been writing since I was old enough to write. I didn't always want to be a writer. I flirted with the possibilities of being a scientist or an architect. But for a very long time I wanted to be a writer. When I went to college I studied English Lit mostly because everyone assumed that's what I'd study because, well, what else would a would-be writer study? In retrospect, I wish I'd studied something else. English Lit taught me almost nothing about writing. I could just as easily have studied history or computer science or who knows what else and gotten a somewhat more marketable degree with no real loss of instruction in writing.
I've been writing since I was old enough to write. Long before I signed onto the internet, I was participating in collective storytelling on electronic bulletin boards, on stand-alone BBSes or to FidoNet. I was also participating in role-playing games and making up characters and worlds, most of which never saw the light of day. But creating them was an enjoyable pastime in itself. How much actual fiction writing did I do? Not all that much.
Part of it, I think, was that growing up I didn't know anyone who wrote fiction. Writers were creatures beyond my experience. I knew, of course, that they were simply people like everyone else. I'd read lots of books about writing. Books of theory. Books of personal experience. Books with lots of useful information and books which were far too vague and theoretical to be of any use--at least to me. But the idea that I could make the jump to actually being published seemed incredible. There were a couple of writers in residence at my college, but they were distant and mysterious figures, no different from all the other authority figures I knew.
It wasn't until I moved to Oregon that that changed. I continued posting to bulletin boards. I exchanged messages with other locals and met some of them. A couple of the people I interacted with were also interested in SF and in writing. I was introduced to a writer's group. That was amazing. Other people who were interested in writing! People who shared that interest. People who wrote, who got together and critiqued one another's work!
I joined one such group. And not only that, but the group included actual, published SF writers. Mary Rosenblum was one. Mike Moscoe (aka Mike Shepherd) was another; he wasn't published when I joined the group but he got published while I was there. I got a lot of good, useful feedback. I like to think I learned a lot from this experience. I didn't attempt get anything published until near the end; I was still learning. I was with this group for several years. Eventually it broke up, as groups are wont to do.
I also met my wife through this group. Mary Rosenblum held a Fourth of July party and invited a lot of people, including those of us in the writing group--and Tara Harper, another published novelist. Tara brought a friend with her, she of the bright smile and lovely cleavage. Eventually I married the woman behind that lovely smile. I admire her more than I can tell her and if nothing else ever came of joining that writing group, having her in my life made it the best decision I ever made.
I also discovered Orycon. A local (i.e., affordable) science fiction convention full of actual, published writers and editors and artists. I could see them! I could hear them talk. I could talk to them! I spent several years faithfully attending every panel I could that had anything to do with writing, soaking up everything the writers and editors had to say about it. I drove to Seattle for a one-day seminar on writing professionally, presented by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Rusch. I learned about Lifewriting from Steven Barnes and practiced it for a time.
All of this was useful. But frankly I think it was simply being around actual writers that made the most difference. Hearing them talk about how they got started, how they succeeded, what they'd done right or wrong, that made the most difference. It began to seem real to me, this idea that I could be a writer. I don't think I can communicate just how...remote the idea seemed to me for so many years. It was like wishing I were millionaire or looked like a movie star or could walk on the moon. Yes, yes, people have done all these things. LOTS of people have done all these things, and people manage it every day (well, except the walking on the moon part). But not me. That sort of thing only happens to other people.
I began sending out a few manuscripts. I got rejections, not surprisingly. But some of them were of the "this wasn't quite right but we'd like to see other submissions from you" sort. Which is really quite good for a newbie writer. If I had continued, I think I'd eventually have sold something.
But I didn't. I turned my attention to other things. Why? Good question. Was it fear? Maybe, though I don't think so. It was more that as I came to know a lot of real, honest-to-god writers I learned that a great many of them held day jobs. Even those who wrote full time didn't necessarily make a lot of money. More than once I heard it said that if you wanted to get rich or famous, there were easier ways to do it.
It wasn't that I wanted to get rich (though that would, of course, be nice). It wasn't even that I wanted to be famous, though--again--I could live with that. It was that I didn't need those things; writing for publication was only necessary if I wanted to get paid or gain some name recognition. If I was simply writing because I enjoyed writing, I could that on my own--as I had been doing all along. All the time I was participating in my writing group and attending Orycon and working at writing I was also writing for my own entertainment. I participated in collaborative storytelling online. I wrote fanfic.
And that seemed to be enough. It was enough. For years it was enough. Oh, every November I'd attend Orycon and get caught up in fandom and wonder if maybe I wanted to WRITE again. But after the con was over that feeling would fade. I would return to my regular outlets for writing--online games and fanfic.
I don't think that's enough anymore. I've been feeling stagnant lately (I might not have identified that, but my lovely and talented and perceptive wife put it into words recently). I feel frustrated by my gaming outlets of late, restrained, hemmed in, held back by the need to wait on other players. I kept track of one early round robin story; despite the fact that each of the players was theoretically participating sequentially, by the time it ended I had contributed more than 66% of the text and the next most prolific participant was nowhere near that. (Hey, other players kept routinely "passing" because they had no muse. That was never a problem for me.)
Anyhow. I spent a lot of time at this con thinking about this. Did I want to get back to writing for publication? Writing original material instead of fanfic and game posts? Friends--Rory and Kami, who were in that original writers group with me--have urged me to. It's ego-boosting to hear that they think I should, that they think I have something to say and can say it well. But I've hesitated to do it.
For one thing, I don't know what I want to say. I don't have any stories...I was going to say that I don't have any stories demanding to be told, but that's not true. I'm not sure I have any stories to tell that would be worth telling. And that, dammit, is fear talking. Fanfic is easy. It gets quick feedback.
Another issue is that the time I spend on writing in my games and on fanfic has been a recurring bone of contention with
snippy . On the other hand, she's told me that if I spend time writing my own stuff, she's good with that. She thinks I'll be happier (and more available emotionally) if I do this. So that's another roadblock out of the way.The third point is one I only arrived at today. Writing my own stuff and writing for publication are not synonymous. If I write original stories, there's no rule that says I have to try to publish them. There's also no rule that says I can't. It's entirely up to me. So I have nothing to lose by exploring this option. The worst that can happen is that I spend more time on my own stuff and less time on fanfic and games; the best is that I enjoy it and, if I decide to try, maybe even get it published.
There's more to think about, but it's time for a change.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-28 01:01 am (UTC)Alan
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-28 01:16 am (UTC)...as soon as I recover from the awful cold I picked up at Orycon. I haven't had the energy or attention span to do much of anything for a few days now. But I think the worst of it is over now.