The Word of God

By David M. Youngquist

Before anyone goes screaming away from this blog, I’m not going to read from The Bible, nor am I channeling Charlton Heston in his Moses mode. I am, however, going to talk about who has final say in the publishing industry.

Thou shalt not cause an adverbial pile-up...

Say what you will about publishers running the show, agents, writers, printers, booksellers, and wholesalers all have their say. When you get down to brass tacks though, the editor is the one who has final say in a manuscript.

Shock and horror you say! Editors don’t understand the process. Editors are a bunch of schleps who can’t write. That’s why they edit. Editors don’t get what I’m trying to say with my art.

Bullshit.

I’m an oddball in the publishing world today. I’m a fiction writer who came up through the ranks as a journalist. I’ve actually written as long a time in the nonfiction realm as I have in all the fiction genres I strive in. Started in 1992 writing for my college newspaper. I learned to fit the nuts and bolts of a story in three inches of type-space. I learned not to use lots of big words to show off my writing skills, and I learned to meet deadlines.

That continued after I graduated and went to work for the local newspaper. I did interviews. I did investigations. I covered county board meetings and school board meetings. The newspaper was put to bed every night at midnight. In that time, a reporter needed to write their stories, self-edit them, get them to the editor, fix the mistakes the editor found, resubmit it, fix it again if needed, and turn it in to the layout crew to have it fit into the columns of space available.

Did it always go that smooth? Hell no. There were times both at WIU and at the Republican I had my rows with the editors. There were things I believed were important that I wanted to keep in the story. Things I fought for, and things that stayed in the story. There are other times the editor actually killed the story. Several hours’ worth of work and it never saw print. Who had final say? The editors.

Most fixes actually were simple punctuation errors or misspellings. Other times, it was big chunks that either needed a total rework, or were irrelevant to the story.

When I started focusing on my fiction work, I carried these things I learned over to this line. Deadlines are there for a reason. Leave out words you don’t need. Make sure of your facts, because someone will call you on it. And the word of your editor is as final as the word of God.

I’ve got two editors here at DCP that I work with on a regular basis. Julia is our editor-in-chief, and she keeps me in line not only with my writing, but on some of the business matters we deal with daily. She’s got more than a decade of editing experience, and she’s edited my work even before we formed DCP. I trust her abilities implicitly. Tracie McBride is another great editor, in addition to being a great writer. She’s got an eye for mistakes and story, and she’s proven herself a great editor as well. If I didn’t trust these ladies to do the work under the pressure we have, I wouldn’t have asked them to take the job.

Since we formed DCP, I’ve discovered a lot of people in the fiction world don’t abide by these same thoughts. Not really the people we work with on a daily basis, but on writers out there in the industry. Believe it or not, people on “the inside” talk. And we talk about more than just selling books. We actually talk about writers. Who we believe will make it, those who are over-rated, and those on the downhill slide who are just costing on their name.

There seem to be two types of writers who believe their work is above editing. The first is a group of people who are the self-important newbies. These are people who either have graduated with a Bachelor’s in English Lit or MFA who have maybe sold a piece or two. They believe every word they write is golden. Nothing that falls from their computer should ever be changed or questioned. It’s perfect just the way it is, and how dare you question their brilliance! They act like prima donnas who have sat on the NYT Best Sellers list since they were spawned from their mother’s loins. Everyone should run out and buy their self-published tome because it’s the next best thing to sex.

Sorry newb, doesn’t work that way. Editors have saved my ass more than once. From Julia, to Serenity Banks to Stephanie Cartwright to Tracie. Each has found mistakes that can be changed, fixed or made better. Even now, with 19 years worth of paid writing experience, I make mistakes. If this is your first piece out of the gate in the real world, my dear young writer, you have mistakes in your work. Guaranteed.

The second type of writer who seem to not think they need editing are those who actually have been on the NYT Best Seller’s list for the last 20 years. Tom Clancy and Stephen King are two that pop to mind. And it may not be them so much as the agents and publishers who believe their cash cow has gotten to the point where he or she shouldn’t have to be edited.

Sorry, when Tom Clancy takes almost three pages to describe the launch and operation of a Soviet Era satellite, and then never come back to it, it’s a lot of wasted words. Three pages in the book and 30 seconds in the movie? I feel dirty.

So, next time a writer doesn’t think they need editing, remember, next to the Word of God, the Word of your Editor is law.

The Worlds In Which We Live

By David Youngquist

I was at an event last Thursday with Matt Nord, another writer of dark speculative fiction. I was hoping for a better turn out than we got. The event was well advertised. The gentleman conducting it had been on the radio talking about it. Fliers were up all over town. It was all about zombies and vampires and werewolves (oh my!) and I figured we’d have a good turn out this close to Halloween.

We got six people. Two cousins of Matt. One of his old teachers, and the rest were people in the library who wandered in for hot cider and a soft chair. One gentleman proceeded to take off his shoes and rub his feet the rest of the evening. Ah well. Literary events in small towns. Gotta love ‘em.

We did, however, have a good discussion between two writers. You know, those kind of talks you don’t get to have with people you work with daily. You can’t really talk about how a character in your book gives you trouble because he wants to do something you don’t want him to. Or you have to kill this other character even though you really like her. Tell that to someone in your day job, and most likely, the least you’ll get is a weird look and “Well, you’re the writer, do what you want.”

One thing we talked about was the worlds we live in. Our real, everyday worlds where the kids get sick, the wife needs help with the dishes, and you forget to pick up milk on the way home from work. And the world we create where we decide who gets sick, the houses never seem to get cleaned, but are never dirty, and what’s milk  anyway?

It was interesting to talk about this weird little way we live our lives with another writer and a scattering of fans. The discussion evolved out of talk of how some people lose themselves in the world you create. Sometimes literally. People who become your characters. Granted, I’m not big enough to have that happen yet, but we discussed some of the Star Wars and Star Trek fanboys for a bit.

Some people seem to have an internal glitch somewhere, some need, that gets filled by living that fantasy life. People who become that Jedi, that space explorer. People like that tend to worry me. I loved Archon, and loved being arrested by the 501 Storm Trooper Brigade. My bail went to a good cause, and the folks running it were a blast to talk with and be around. Folks who can keep their realities separate generally are fun people with great imaginations. I worry about the ones who wear their Jedi robes around the house.

I’ve met two writers who became lost in the worlds they created. Both fantasy writers. Both had been working on these books since high school, which is to say ten and fifteen years respectively. Same book, same world. Just immersed in the world they preferred to live in. Where they call the shots. Where they rule. Where they can kill off the people who antagonize them if they want with no repercussions.

I had offered to help both of them work on their stories. To clean it up, you know. After fifteen years of work, it might need some editing. Nope. No thanks. Appreciate it, but don’t need your help. One guy actually got nervous to the point of stuttering and sweating at the thought of me offering changes to his book.

That’s when I realized that for all their talk about being the next Tolkien, the books would never see an editor.

I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m ready to move away from Snareville. As much as I love Dan, Pepper, Cindy, Jinks and the whole crew, I’m ready to go. Adrian Chamberlin and I are working on the third book in the series together, and having a ball doing it, but after living in that dark world for the better part of three years, I’m ready to move on.

I’ve said before that we’re not all horror writers all the time. As much a triumph the folks of Danny’s world have pulled off, it’s too dark a place to live all the time. I’m looking forward to getting back to Gwennolin. I haven’t talked with Black Jack or Tabby or Mau-Pang for awhile. I enjoy the people of Felis, even the weaselly ones.

I’ll grant Jack’s not always a pleasant guy. Matter of fact, he starts out as a rather suicidal drunk, but he was fun to mature on the page. Gwennolin itself is a place of magic. It’s really not a typical fantasy book, but I’ve concluded that none of my work is typical anything. It’s a fun place, and as many troubles Jack gets into, I’m looking forward to spending some time there. Maybe someday at Archon I’ll see a couple people dressed as Jack and Tabby.

You want it. You want it bad, don’t you…

By Daniel I. Russell

www.daniel-i-russell.blogspot.com

www.danielirussell.com

Back in 2004, when I had more hair and could stay up past eleven without getting grouchy, when the only thing to keep me out of bed was a good night on the town rather than a screaming baby, and I was damn sure I’d be rich and famous one day, I finished my debut novel in a crappy flat above a photography shop in the UK.  Samhane was sure to be picked up by an agent and sold for megabucks and I could quit my crappy job and live the high life, or so I thought at the time. Sound familiar? I was 24 and didn’t know any better.

Sure enough, agents said no. Publishers said no. But why? Surely this was a great book, right? All my friends and critique group thought so.

Ah, the naivety of youth…

So I did what any aspiring writer would do. I considered self-publishing. Did you know that every self-published author sells thousands of copies, and makes more money than a traditionally published author? Hmm. Okay, if you did know that you might want to talk to a few more honest self-published authors. I’ll admit, I came close at the time. But I was a HWA member back then, and that combined with a friend’s bad self-publishing experience made me decide to put the novel away in the drawer of doom.

So I chose to do the only other thing available to me. I decided to GET BETTER.

I leaned on a few editor friends and got dragged through an editorial boot camp. I tried for a longer and more ambitious book the second time around, going for more characterisation, going for more general appeal by mixing genres. I went back to Samhane. I rewrote. I learned.

It was bloody hard work. I think back to the year I wrote that second book, The Collector, and remember sitting in my room at the back of the house (I’d since moved to a small terraced house overlooking the railway) and just working and never seeming to get anywhere. The short story sales kept up morale, but I felt that this was the book that would end my novel writer aspirations. It just seemed to go on and on!

On a side note, looking back I find it interesting how The Collector developed. Like all stories, it started with an idea, and that was of a high rise block of flats where no one got along. I had an old woman who the locals thought was a witch, and a bunch of drug crazed hoodlums that ran riot. In the building was a ghost, a grey man, who only the kids could see. They called him ‘he who walks between the walls’. That’s all I had going into this, and while some of those elements made it into The Collector, it turned out to be a very different ride. I also remember seeing the movie adaption of Stephen King’s Dreamcatcher, and liked how Damian Lewis’ character suddenly develops this really posh but sinister voice. I wanted that for my Collector.

The first draft came in at around 130,000 words. It felt like a monster.

Surely, SURELY, after all my hard work, this book would be picked up? The manuscript did the rounds and even had a few nibbles from agents…but it all came to nothing. Nobody wanted The Collector. It’s frustrating to have these agents and publishers say positive things about it, but then pass because ‘we wouldn’t know how to market this – horror, SF, fantasy?’

And it’s devastating to put so much effort into something for it all to be for nothing.

Sound familiar, fellow writer?

I always think about things I could have (and some would say should have) done with all that time. Got fit. Learned a new instrument. Worked more overtime for that promotion. Hell, just relaxed and lived a little. Being hunched over a keyboard, drinking copious amounts of coffee and sweating over possible plot holes…it’s not a very glamorous existence. It’s soul draining and, writing groups and social networking aside, quite a lonely calling.

Isn’t this guest blog becoming a miserable, depressing affair, dear reader? That’s okay. We’re at the end of the second act now. Luke’s discovered Vader is his father and the Rebel Alliance hasn’t a hope in Hell. Han’s in carbonite for Pete’s sake! Things are always darkest before dawn.

So act three, present day. Or the writer’s life equivalent of Return of the Jedi.

Why do we writers write? This is the question I’m asked most of all, and normally from fellow scribes. I’ll give you the same answer I always give: that we have to. I think we have some addictive side to our personalities, and also a little masochism in the mix too, that forces us to get our arses in the writing seat hour after hour and do nothing but manipulate the movie in our heads and try not to dangle our modifiers. I’ve tried to quit more times than I can count, especially after a drought of sales or a particular stinging rejection.

But going back to the title of this post, you have to want it. Want it bad. You have to keep going, put one foot in front of the other and repeat until you cross the desert. You might even be lucky enough to find an oasis or two along the way.

So am I on the other side of this desert? No. I still go to work every day. I still have more rejections than acceptances. I haven’t won any awards.

But I am enjoying a particularly nice oasis.

Let’s get back to The Collector.

My opinions of self-publishing have changed in that, while I still don’t think that starting authors should really consider it without working with experienced editors first, I feel it can be a valuable marketing tool.

My rewritten Samhane was released by Stygian Publications after a few years with another publisher, and to help get the name out there, I re-released some previously published short stories for free on Smashwords and Kindle. These were well received, and it made me happy to know my work was being read. I wanted something bigger, and with two more books having been picked up (Come Into Darkness with Skullvines Press and Critique with Graveside Tales) I hoped that more freebies would help with garnering a wider readership.

So what did I have handy to release? Something bigger that I could deliver in parts…oh yes! That novel that no one wanted. The Collector.

So I gave it a brush off, split it into nine parts and released a part each fortnight.

And what were the results of this unpublishable and hard to market novel? Over 3000 reads on Smashwords alone in 6 weeks with numerous reviews, 4/5 being the lowest rating.

I’m not here to blow my own trumpet, and these figures might have more successful writers rolling their eyes and chuckling, but for a book that was doomed to never see the light of day, the reception spun me out.

Towards the end of the run, the peeps at Dark Continents read the full manuscript and the rest, as they say, is history. The Collector will be available in print in a complete volume before the end of the year.

So while I don’t see myself as the overnight self-published success story that so many people want to be, I hope my story goes to show that with a little luck and a lot of hard work, it can open doors that might lead to bigger things. In my case, the chance to work with a publisher I’ve wanted to be a part of for a while now.

Thanks for taking the time to read the story behind The Collector. My final thought goes out to you guys who are partway through a novel and struggling to get the words down: If you want it enough, you’ll finish it. Dig deep. At the very least, if your characters are doing their job, they’ll deserve to have their story told.