"I Ching Symphony": Spiritual Music

 I recently listened to the I Ching Symphony composed by Frank Steiner Jr. I had not listened to it in probably twelve to fifteen years. It is one of the most beautiful symphonies I have ever heard. I'm transported to another realm of existence when I listen to it. I had not listened to it for all that time, because it had been an integral part of my writing my novel The Sendoff. When I was writing the novel, I used to listen to the symphony every night when I went to bed. I put my headphones on and listened to the symphony as I drifted off to sleep. The next to the last movement of the symphony was/is, in my mind, an integral part of the last chapter of the novel. I would imagine the last chapter playing out, and the music of the next to the last movement of the symphony helped transport the character Mitchell to his destination. The music was perfect for that chapter. So, listening to it while I was painting today, I was once again transported to a miraculous state of mind. If you get a chance to listen to the I Ching Symphony, I hope you have the same kind of experience.

I Ching Symphony

The Sendoff

Why I continue writing.

I was reading Mark Koopman's (Mark Koopmans: Vignettes from VA (and DC, Too!) blog post and started to answer his question when I decided to write a blog post stating why I continue writing.

There is no single reason why I do so. I do harbor some vague notion that I might write something that someone someday will enjoy, maybe even a lot of someones. But that's putting the cart before the horse.

I like writing because I enjoy seeing a story develop and come to life.

I enjoy the surprises I get during the writing process, especially when things I never thought of suddenly appear and make the story better.

I enjoy the process of visualizing scenes and characters.

I enjoy seeing the way my characters change as a result of what happens to them within the story.

I enjoy the challenge of making my words say what I mean, and of searching for the right word to convey what I'm trying to say.

I like a good plot and do my best to develop one. I don't mind if the plot undergoes changes as I write the story.

The more my writing relates to my internal feelings and beliefs about life, the better I like it, that is, the more connected I am to my stories.

Being a writer has been a dream of mine since I was a teenager. I'm still dreaming.

How about you? Do any of these reasons jive with yours?

I'm in a funk, a writing and painting funk

I'm in a funk right now. I can't seem to write or paint. The last painting I worked on made me want to gag. Do I dare post it here for you to gag on as well? They say misery loves company. I'll think about it as I write this post.

My last short story presented to Critique Circle garnered some comments for improvement that means I'm actually going to have to work on the story again, actually do some serious re-writing, if I want to make it better. Of course that depends on whether I agree with some of the criticism I've received. I've yet to really concentrate on it, because I'm in this funk and can't get out.

I have one more story to present to Critique Circle, but, because I'm in this funk, I just can't go through the simple steps involved. One of the problems is that I filled up my jump drive and had to change it out for a new one. In order to post the story to C.C. I'll have to plug in the previous jump drive, but I'm in too much of a funk to bother with it.

Add to that that my printer quit working and has been down for about a week, and I was seriously thinking about buying a new printer, for which I have no money, it has added to my funkiness, and my reluctance to write, because I must have a printer to write. Yes, in this electronic, paperless world we nominally live in, I must have a printer in order to work. I have to hold something in my hand to read that I can actually write on, scribble on, cross out, add in, and crumple up and throw in the trash can if I don't like it (I don't want to throw my computer in the trash can if I don't like what I've written.) I know there's an electronic trash can I can throw the document into on the computer, but I need the tactile sensation of crumpling it up first.

I was fooling around with my printer, trying to figure out what was wrong, when I came across a page that gave me the option of chatting live with someone to troubleshoot and fix my printer (maybe), so I chatted with someone in India, no doubt, and I believe he fixed the problem. The only problem is that I'm out of black ink (I wasn't out of black ink when I began the chat session) and must buy another canister of it before I can test the printer to see if it really works. I've got to get enough out of this funk to go buy another canister. That means I have to leave my house. That's something I like to do--leave the house--because it gives me an excuse to avoid working, which I need because I'm in a funk anyway.

Any suggestions on how to get out of this funk?

What I like most about painting: immediacy.

Writing and painting involve different parts of the brain. They certainly require different sets of skills. Both involve visualization, but they are different processes.

With writing, I see scenes within my brain and use words to describe them, to put them on paper in the form of word-pictures.

With painting, I interact with the medium itself--the picture; it speaks to me, tells me what it wants to be.

With writing, I discover from the inside out. With painting, I discover from the outside in.

Each, in its own way, gives satisfaction. The big difference is the immediacy of painting and, how shall I say it, the longevity of it. By longevity I mean the repeated enjoyment of the finished product. Yes, I can re-read a story as many times as I wish, but it requires x amount of time. Writing a story is a process that takes time, and even when I think it's finished, it often isn't necessarily so. I know when a painting is finished. I can see the results at a glance. And I can repeatedly enjoy the finished product at a glance.

Of course, the final products are two completely different things.

A story is a group of words that must be translated into a vision through reading. It takes time.

A painting is a vision. It takes very little time, in some cases, practically none at all, to see. The recognition, the communion, is immediate, or it can last as long as the viewer likes. That's one of the things I like about painting: the experience is immediate.

Painting and Writing: Writing and Painting

I've not written any blog posts during the past thirty or so days, because I haven't had anything to say until now, and also I've been busy with writing and painting and reading and, especially, life responsibilities.

We all seek balance in our lives between work and play. Ideally, our play and work are one in the same, at least, a significant amount of the time. For me, writing and painting are a form of work and play. During the past thirty days, I've managed to revise two short stories. I've submitted them to a website where people read and critique each other's work. Critique Circle. Being that I'm not currently participating in local critique writing groups, this site is proving to be helpful, even inspiring. I've gotten some valuable feedback, and have tried to give others valuable feedback. Also, I've been doing a lot of painting. I've completed a few works in acrylic and I'm working in oils in my painting class. Both are engrossing endeavors.

Just like most writers, I have days when I don't feel like writing. I procrastinate, even though I have much to do and know what I've got to do. The wonderful thing, though, is that when I'm in that mode, I spend more time painting. So I'm still doing something I enjoy and progressing. Another factor, all though it's not a strong one, is that when I'm painting, I'm also thinking about my writing. So, I'm still, in a sense, writing.

It's a win-win situation, one that's making my idea  of work and play a reality.


 Critique Circle

How many "sexy" books can we read?

One thing I've noticed through my blogging/FB/Twitter, blah, blah, blah, is the abundance of books that have "sexy" as part of their description. By "sexy" I believe the blurb is saying that there is a good deal of overt sexual activity that takes place in the book. The question of whether the sex is an integral and necessary part of the plot probably isn't important; it's the fact that it's there, and probably in abundance, that is important. The assumption is that sex sells, that readers want a good dose of sex with their books.

I wonder if this "sexy" aspect is important as a marketing ploy.

Do you write sex into your novels just because it adds to the book, maybe even making an ordinary or so-so book more attractive? Do you include it just because you feel it's a requisite of books today?

I think many of us writers do believe it's needed, and we add it for the extra oomph we feel it gives our books.

What do you think?

Painting: what it's teaching me about writing

Untitled (Oil pastel on paper) approx. 7.5 x 10.5 inches

I'll make no bones about it. I love drawing and painting. I'm loving it more and more everyday. I feel alive when I'm painting, more so than in most other activities. Even writing. But the desire to write is still within me, and what I'm re-discovering is that like painting--painting what excites and interests me--writing also needs to be based on what excites and interests me. Trying to write for the market just hasn't worked for me. I just cannot write to a formula, at least, not well. I need to return to the way I wrote maybe fifteen years ago, or earlier. Write what moves me and seems important to me, not necessarily what moves and is important to other people, which is most likely a prescription for not getting published. But, I want to be in love with writing again. I want to be passionate about it once again. Hopefully, I'm moving in that direction.

Untitled (Oil pastel on paper) approx. 7.5 x 10.5 inches

Is It Time to Call it Quits?

Back in 2011 I wrote this blog post (read it if you wish) about losing my muse. Until I lost my muse, writing was so automatic, so real, the words and scenes and dialogue so vivid, that writing was really very easy for me. Then I lost my muse, and it's never returned. This loss happened just a month or two before I retired from the world of work. The loss of my muse was a terrible loss. Before very long it became apparent that it wasn't coming back, and it hasn't.

Despite that, writing was all I knew. It was still my dream, and I had (still have) much unfinished/unpolished material to work on. For the past three years I've been living off that surplus; yes, I've been living off the past. My short story collection The Gunman in Black was the first original fiction I'd written in three years. I've also written three more stories yet to be published. This appears to have been a temporary burst of creativity, because I've been unable to write anything new since February. In fact, I've been unable to write anything except a few blog posts and entries in my journal . As far as fiction goes, my mind seems to have become completely blank. I fear that my ability to write fiction has died.

The question has been floating around in my mind for a while now. Is it time to call it quits? The thought of trying to write a novel, to spend months and months, possible years, on it, struggling with every sentence, every scene, with all the complexities of creating a novel, seems an impossible task now. Lately, I haven't been able to even grasp the possibility of doing so. It just seems too difficult now. So, is it time to call it quits as a writer?

The desire to write still comes and goes. But it doesn't lead to action. So, I've been trying to accept the reality of my situation. Maybe it is time to call it quits.

Baby Boomers, What Are We To Do?

There's a new genre of writing developing called Boomer Lit, What is boomer lit?, apparently being brought to you by the same people who developed, or for whom, YA Lit was developed, us Baby Boomers. Now that we're aging (retiring), what are we to do? How are we to fill our days? What is expected of us? What do we expect of ourselves? Of course, our writings will reflect the answers to those questions. But actions speak louder than words. So, what are we to do?

Are we to sit back and luxuriate in the large and small fortunes many of us have amassed over the past forty years? Are we to pat ourselves on the backs and watch T.V. off into the sunset? Do we go out with a whimper or a bang, to borrow from T.S. Eliot? We came into the world rather quietly, I believe. I don't think our parents realized what they were doing, what they were unleashing on the world, when they produced us out of the goodness of their hearts and love for each other. Our parents were the products of The Great Depression and WWII. We children shared in the spoils of their victory.

My father was a U.S. Marine who fought in the Pacific. He was never one to boast about the war. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard a single WWII veteran boast about what he did. They were too busy getting back to living. The war was their launching pad to a new era and a new way of life. Like so many of the men who fought in WWII, my father came off the farm to live a different life than his parents had lived. He experienced too much in the war to ever go back to just struggling on the farm. And there was no blueprint for my father to follow, or for many of the men back then to follow. They had to figure it out for themselves. And they did. We are a part of their experiment.

I plan on writing more and more about Boomer Lit and living this end-stage of my life. Hopefully, I'll be better in old age than I was in my youth.

Writing Anew

I've read many times in many places the saying, maybe by Albert Einstein, I'm not sure, that failure is doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results. I've been thinking about that during the past month or so, trying to determine if I'm caught in that vicious loop. I've decided that maybe I am. I've been writing the same kinds of stories (novels) for ten or fifteen years, and getting the same results, which haven't been satisfying. I know, many writers are successful writing the same things (thematically, or genrewise, or parts of a series). But it hasn't happened for me. Perhaps it's time for a change.

So, I've decided on a new approach to writing. What is this amazing new approach? It's following in the footsteps of Jack London. Write 2000 words a day, everyday, without worrying about perfection. Just get the story down. Keep writing. It's kind of like automatic writing, I suppose. Some of it will be sucky, some of it will be good, and maybe some of it will be great. But don't worry about that. Just write your 2000 words per day, come rain or shine.

I'm not sure I'll aim for 2000 words a day. My days are pretty cramped with life responsibilities, like house cleaning (yeah, I do some of that), chauffeuring my grandson back and forth to school, taking drawing classes (I started my second class yesterday), collecting art (I'd love to be an art dealer), blogging/reading blogs, doctor's appointments, shopping for groceries (yeah, I do that, too), and a thousand other things I can't think of right off hand (mowing the lawn, maintaining the pool, etc.). So maybe I'll be happy with 500 or 1000 words a day.

With that in mind, I did something during the past few weeks I haven't done in ten or fifteen years. I wrote a short story. I just wrote it. No worrying about whether it's any good. No worrying about which genre it belongs to. No worrying about anything other than finishing the story, which I have done. It's about 2300 words long. I'll have to get a Beta reader for it. But that will come in time, hopefully. I'm thinking I'll write some more short stories: just write them. Polish them as they are, more or less, and move on to the next story. Publish them as a collection, eventually, once I have a decent number written.

I'll apply the same approach to any novels I might work on or write in the future.

Yeah, I like the change. Hopefully, the results will be better.

Writing Like Nicholas Sparks

I wish I could write love stories the way Nicholas Sparks writes them. I've only read one of his books, the one about the teenage girl at the beach and her stained-glass artist father. I enjoyed it. But I see all his books lined up at the bookstore, and thumb through them, and read their synopses, and I truly wish I could write like that. I've been doing this same thing for years now. But, for some reason, it doesn't happen. Those kinds of ideas just don't arise for me.

I don't think I envy Mr Sparks. Envy is a sick thing, a deadly sin per the Catholic Church. But I do admire him and his achievements. He seems like the nicest man in the world. He profusely thinks everyone he's associated with. He seems to be a devoted family man. He achieved success at an early age. I presume he's doing what he loves. Isn't this what most of us want in life? Why is it so elusive for most of us. What's missing? Is it just a matter of I.Q. and hard work? Is it a matter of love? Is it a matter of talent?

So many questions, so few answers. Still, I wish I could write love stories the way Nicholas Sparks writes them.

Is there a writer you feel similarly about? I'd like to think I'm not the only one.

Writing and Drawing "In The Zone"

I'm nearing the end of my first course in drawing. Yesterday, I did something I hadn't done before except in a sketch book. I did a drawing en plein aire. I took my easel, flimsy as it is, and my large drawing pad and other supplies to a cemetery and drew a picture of the trees and tombstones and vases of flowers. Being the first time, it was enchanting indeed. In fact, after a while, I realized I was in a zone, a drawing zone. I was so wrapped up in drawing, time was not a factor. The goings on around me were not a factor. I was one with my craft.

That got me to thinking about writing. Do you ever get in a zone? Do you ever become so at-one with your writing that you zone out on everything else? The writing flows, writes itself, and you're just a medium for putting words on paper.

This is a quality of all creative work, I think--zoning out. The idea of being in a zone is not original with me. I've read a book on writing that talks about getting in a zone, the way basketball players get in a zone and they hit every shot. I did a Google search for writing in a zone and found a couple of websites incorporating the word: readwritezone and buffys write zone. I'm sure musicians and potters and painters and computer program designers and, well, almost anyone in any type of work can get into a zone.

And what occurs to me is that it is almost a spiritual experience. What do you think about all of this?

Life is always full of changes

I retired two years ago, but I've struggled to get any writing done, because I've been caring for my grandchildren. I love my grandchildren dearly, but it was frustrating not being able to get much work done, very frustrating. I always knew that they would eventually be in school, and I would have more time to write, but that wasn't enough to make me happy. Afterall, I'm getting older each year. Who knows how much time I have left? I certainly don't.

All of that has changed now. My daughter and her family moved to Georgia. And my grandson Kathan started preschool yesterday. I was so out of my element yesterday, I almost didn't know what to do. I had trouble letting go of the stress I've been under for the past two years. Believe me, if you don't know it, raising todlers is stressful, especially when you're in your early sixties. I rarely sat down for more than one or two minutes at a time without having to jump up and do something for one or all of them. My days of caring for them started early and ended late. I've listened to and watched more Sesame Street, Dorothy The Dinosaur, The Wiggles, Caillou, etc., etc., than I ever want to see again.

I was worried about Kathan going to school. I was afraid especially that he would cry when I left him, and his going to school would be stressful for me too and I'd feel guilty about it. No way. Not only did he not cry when I dropped him off at the school, he was happy and joined in with the other kids in their activities without even a look back. Last night, when I put him to bed, he said he wanted to go to school again. This morning, as I was unbuckling him from his carseat at school, he said, "Thank you for bringing me to school, grand pe." It almost brings tears to my eyes as I write this.

I'm still having trouble dealing with the freedom. I mean, I can really do things without trying to get them done in a hurry, without little kids hanging on me, without worrying that I've only got an hour to work, so I must get something done. I mean, this is unreal. I worked two solid hours on my writing yesterday, and I've worked for an hour or more this morning. It's just incredible. And I still have several hours ahead of me to do what I want. I mean, I feel like I'm free. And freedom feels good.

Killing Time Productively

"Killing time" is an awful waste, especially for those of us who are passionate about our art, in my case, writing. The last thing I want to do is waste time. Time is a precious commodity (Is it a commodity? It certainly can't be bought and sold. It can't be saved up or stored for the future; oh, my, if we could do that.... I suppose Einstein might have something to say about that, but he's not here. At least, I can't stretch or contract time. It is a constant; it's always in the background, and sometimes in the foreground, of my life).

How to best use time? Yet, I can't work every second of every day. I must give myself to other activities at least some of the time--actually, most of the time. Overall, I give very little time to actually writing. And the past couple of years, it's been a struggle to get any writing done. Sometimes, it's a battle within myself as well as a battle with the "elements of life."

Yesterday I was at my opthamologist's office and had to kill some time. I didn't know how long I'd be waiting for my appointment, but it seemed to be taking awhile. I wished I had brought my notebook, or a novel, or some of my manuscript with me to work on while I waited, but I hadn't. I did have a pen with me, but no paper. I wanted to do something. Then I saw a painting on the wall, one of a European town I think. I got the bright idea of describing the picture I saw in words. I picked up a medical leaflet like you find in doctors' offices and wrote on it.

So here is what I came up with:

I walked down the brown cobbled street that glistened after the 3 p.m. rain shower. The awnings along the storefronts cast downward shadows that cut the glare. The tall narrow buildings overlooked the river with shining windows decorated with brown and yellow curtains. The alleyways between the buildings were blocked by whitewashed brick walls with locked wooden doors. I wondered what kinds of people lived behind those closed doors, occupied the narrow buildings. What did they see when they looked out the windows at the street and river below? Did they see what I saw? Did they see the crisp quaintness of their little town, or had that faded from view and now all they saw was a familiar sameness that didn't register--that passed through their minds like wind through a window?

The one thing I learned from this excercise was that I couldn't just describe what I saw. I had to interpret it. I had to give it meaning, or see the meaning within it, but the meaning I saw was what it meant to me.

Was this a useful way to kill time? I think so. I surprised myself by seeing the beauty right before my eyes.

Genre Fiction: Is this the way to success?

I have to be honest. I've been toying off and on for years with trying to find a genre that I like enough to want to write for it. I started a P.I. type novel that I grew bored with after a few chapters. I've wondered if Westerns would be something I'd like. No. I like Western movies, but not books. The Thriller is big today. The novel of suspense, I think. Some of these are so closely related and overlap that they could fall into more than one genre. But, whatever the genre--vampires, paranormal, sci-fi/dystopian--that's what sells today (that makes the NY Times bestseller list). Sure you have the occasional The Help. But they are really far and few between.

So, I ask myself over and over again: am I missing the boat? The only thing I write that even hints of genre is Historical Fiction. And I don't consider myself a Historical Fiction writer. I just happened to write a contemporary novel back in the 1970s that, by its evolving offshoot stories, moved back in time to WWI, The Great Depression, and WWII. And because it was never published until I self-pubbed one of the offshoots (Only The Lonely) until 2011, my 'contemporary' novel by default became an Historical novel, I guess. I don't think I've seen a true Historical novel on the best-seller list in a very long time. It's almost all genre fiction.

So, again, I ask myself: am I missing the boat? I majored in English in college. I grew to love Shakespeare, Hawthorne, Melville, Hemingway, Joyce, Yeats, Keats, Shelley, Thomas, and so on. I love great writing. I just came to realize one day quite a few years ago that I'm not a great writer. If I were, I'm sure I would have been published a long time ago. So, I'm just an average Joe of a writer. So why can't I find a genre to write in? Why is it so difficult? It's enough to make me want to scream sometimes. I guess I'll just continue on with what I've been doing. My books will never show up on the best seller list, assuming I can get published by one of the big six anyway (and being that I don't write for one of the well-known genres, that's not likely to happen either).

Do I care? Obviously, I do care. I wouldn't be writing this and pouring out my heart and soul like this if I didn't. The problem is how to find happiness in an unhappy world. The happiness comes in doing what you love irregardless of the outcome. If you love a certain genre and write in it, then you have a better chance of reaching the heights. Otherwise, you just have to be happy being yourself. And that isn't so bad, is it?

The Power of Sleep

Sleep is a vital component of living; without adequate sleep, we remain tired and grumpy, perhaps even lethargic and/or depressed.

 It appears that adequate sleep can be different for different people, but I'll assume the tried-and-true 8 hours per night is adequate. The key word is "adequate". Being a person who suffers from sleep apnea and uses a cpap machine to get adequate sleep, I have experience with the problem of lack of adequate sleep. Before I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, perhaps 15 years ago, a 12-hour night of sleep left me exhausted and practically unable to function. I fell asleep at work more often than I want to admit. Fortunately, I had understanding co-workers and didn't get fired. I still need about 10 hours of sleep per night to feel alert. So, just to function in a busy and chaotic world, we need adequate sleep.

But adequate sleep has other benefits than just keeping our energy level high. For the creative writer, it may be an important component of our creativity. An article in the April 23, 2012 Time magazine "Shhh! Genius at Work" discusses the importance of sleep to creativity. Several scientific studies support the connection between sleep and creativity (and problem solving). The article mentions that Mary Shelley came up with the idea for her novel Frankenstein from a dream.

I think most writers can attest to the power of sleep for our writing. I see on blogs a lot of talk about sleep. Mostly complaints about not getting enough sleep, even complaints of coming up with ideas in sleep and waking up. But, really, this is a positive effect of sleeping well. Our minds are free from the restraints of our awake consciousness. This freedom of the mind to try out different solutions to problems while we're sleeping allows for more options: greater creativity. Many, many times I've awoken in the middle of the night with the solution to a problem in a story I was working on, mainly problems of plot. I've always valued ideas generated when I was asleep. I've written dialogue, even entire scenes in my mind while asleep, woke up, and wrote it all down at 2 a.m.

This tremendous benefit of sleeping may actually become a liability for many writers. And I think this is the primary problem for many of us. This waking up in the middle of the night causes us to be tired during the day when we have to work at our full time jobs. It helps make our workday unhappy, and this causes dilemmas for us. It probably kills more writing careers than anything. We just can't do both, write well and consistently when we're tired. Time management also becomes a big issue. But that's another topic. (This also goes for stay-at-home moms, who are also writers, with young children to care for.) The obstacles to writing are so great for both that many just give up.

But the full time writer, especially without children to care for, who can sleep as late as she wants, can reap tremendous rewards from waking up in the middle of the night to write down her inspirations. It's just too bad the vast majority of us can't live without a full time job. Most of us don't want to live in poverty, especially if we have families. Plus, in the USA, our jobs are our source for health insurance: no job, no insurance (not good). Unfortunately, we opt for our jobs, security, and suffer the unhappy consequences of hating our jobs.

The Wrestler, re: John Irving, 12 May 2012 Time

I read with a great interest the article in the May 12, 2012 issue of Time magazine entitled "The Wrestler" concerning the writer John Irving. No doubt a successful and highly acclaimed author, Irving is now 70 years old, five years older than me. He is dealing with his declining powers as a writer as he gets older. Apparently, he feels that being in top physical condition will help him to retain his powers as a writer and perhaps increase his longevity. He has a pretty rigorous workout schedule. I for one hope it does help him to live and write for many more years.

I'm facing the same issue of declining mental stamina. I'm in the opposite situation in that I have not achieved success as a writer. I'm still attempting to get my work out there. I have no illusions of being a famous or highly successful author at this point. I'm not even sure it matters any longer. I just want to finish what I've started and maybe a little extra.

In an earlier post on this blog I believe I mentioned that I want to write shorter works now. I don't want to spend years and years working on one book any longer. I'd like my novels to be no longer than around 85,000 words, and less would be okay. In the article, Irving said, "I am writing shorter and shorter novels...My grasp of fictional detail and chronological story is worsening, so I must work with what I have to make sure I'm fully cognizant of what I'm creating." That goes for me as well.

It shows, though, to what degree we value and love our creativity. Perhaps we fear losing it and will do whatever is necessary to keep it. When art is what you're about, you want to do it until the day you die.

The History of My Writing (1).

As an older adult, my reasons for writing have changed from what they were when I was a teenager and young adult. They've changed even from one or two years ago, before I retired. Right now I write because it's what I do. I love writing. I cannot not write. But it's harder to write now than it was a few years ago. The drive isn't there.

I wrote my first stories when I was a fourteen-year-old. I was fascinated with telling a story, the art and the craft as well as the story. I was awed by sci/fi. I read several doomsday books and wrote a doomsday story. I was also fascinated with the stories of Edgar Allen Poe, and I wrote a horror story that my English teacher read in front of all his English classes. I had found my direction, my passion in life--writing. But I was still a teenager and was interested in many things: girls, playing football, and being on the chess team, in high school. I wasn't much of a student, though. I did admire poetry, although I didn't understand it hardly at all. I got through high school with mediocre grades. I didn't know how to study, and was more interested in going out and doing things. But, deep inside, I had the desire to be a writer--a desire that has never died.

Writing As a Lonely Occupation

Yes, writing is a lonely occupation. But, as a fiction writer, I'm involved in my characters' lives, which can be sort of like having company. Of course, they are not real people, but sometimes it seems like they are. I care about their lives, their dreams, their relationships. I can have a hard time when one of them dies. Usually, when I start a story, I don't know much about my characters, but after a while I know them really well. I like character-driven stories. Plot is important. But the characters are more important. One of the ways writing is less lonely is by participating in writing groups or workshops.