Writing

The Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) have an election coming up, and a ton of rhetoric and flame wars are going on. I’m not in the association, so I won’t be voting — but if I could, I’d be voting for John Scalzi for president. It’s no secret that I’m a Scalzi fan, but there’s much more to it than that.

Let’s face it, there are are a lot of books out there. A lot. Many, if not most, of them are good. Yes, there may be an occasional book that you hate — but really, that’s just you. Someone likes it. So for someone picking books to read, it’s difficult. I hate to admit, but more often than not, the title and cover art are what sell a book to me. Maybe a cool author name too. That makes me sad.

Here’s the real deal — Scalzi is a very accessible author. He’ll return your email. He’ll send you a free autographed book. (Well, maybe not, but he’ll let you download some books for free, so that’s something.) He’s someone that I want to support, not only as an author, but as a family man supporting a wife and child. It’s his willingness to be accessible that brings out that desire in me.

What does that have to do with hardcovers? Simple. I only buy hardcover books when I want to support the author, and not just read the book. If it weren’t for John Scalzi’s website, and Wil Wheaton’s blog — I’d never own hardcover books they wrote.

No, it’s not fair, but it’s true. Writers need to know that, and if Scalzi becomes SFWA president, at least the SF&F ones will hear it. Unfortunately, there is more to being a writer than writing.

I didn’t really like the idea of Ficlets when I first read about them on John Scalzi’s blog. Basically, you write a VERY short story, and others can add on the end (or beginning) of it, and make a big lego-like story. I thought it was odd, and didn’t write a ficlet for a long time.

I recently wrote a few myself, and I have to admit, it’s really fun. The one thing I’ve noticed about the site though, is there there are a lot of people in the world that are really bad writers! I’m not saying I’m Ernest Hemingway, but some are really bad.

Anyway, stop by and check it out. It’s very different from blog writing, and that alone is a good reason to try it.

John Scalzi has a weekend assignment over at his By the Way AOL journal. The assignment is to post about something silly you or one of your children did when they were younger. So, with Lydia’s permission, I’ve posted one of her early “all by myself” trips to the potty…

I have nothing interesting to say. Don’t get me wrong, I have lots of things I want to write about — but I can’t seem to “Use My Words” like Mom used to tell me. I want to write about my silly habit of curling up by the heater vent on a cold morning. I have some pretty deep thoughts regarding writing in general. Even the moon and it’s future colonization is rattling around my melon recently. I just can’t seem to write the thoughts in my head.

I think that a good writer is someone that can get their thoughts into words. Thoughts don’t suffer from repetitive word usage, grammar problems, etc. Thoughts are so non-linear, drifting, creative things, that writing them down is the art form, not dreaming them up in the first place. How I long for the Vulcan mind meld technology to surpass the current day voice recognition.

Anyway, I have to be careful, or this will become writing, and I’m convinced that I’m unable to write right now. Good night everyone. Maybe I’ll dream up the words to describe the beautiful snowfall we had today.

–20 minutes of pacing the house, etc–

See, here I am again. Couldn’t sleep. Still can’t write. It’s terribly depressing when the tool you use to express yourself is broken. I have an almost palpable weight in my chest. It’s like my heart is a little too heavy. Usually I’d resort to some snarky comment, or shallow but humorous diatribe about some equally shallow topic. (Restaurant spikes anyone?) I think the trouble I’m really having is that I realize my writing reflects what I want people to see rather than what is really down deep in my soul. Nothing rings true like truth. I should put that on a T-Shirt or something.

Why can’t I write what’s really inside me? Maybe because I’m afraid I’m really not that interesting. I can make things interesting, but I think deep down I’m afraid that if I were to write for real, REALLY REAL, it wouldn’t be very good. In other words, expose my soul only to find my soul is rather ordinary. If I write superficially, it can be fun to read, and fun to write — but it’s safe. If I write about my inadequacies, fears, inner conflicts, secret self-esteem issues, contradicting core beliefs, etc — it’s scary. There are things I don’t even think about, much less write about.

So is that what a good writer does? Expose their soul? Does it take a special kinda soul to be a great writer? If I’m afraid to be real in my writing, how can I expect anyone to connect with it? Writing is like standing naked in a huge room of fully dressed beauty pageant judges. The possibility of applause is so easy to squelch with the horrifying reality that even one of those judges won’t like the way you look.

Maybe this post, which will be read by half a dozen people at most, is the first step toward being a good writer. Writing is so much more than grammar and spelling. I want to experience it to the fullest. Maybe this paranoid, depressed, writers-blockism is all a part of it. Time will tell. For now, I’ll waffle a bit about whether to click “Publish” or “Delete.”