Since the Paris Review put all their author interviews online, there’s no reason for a writer to ever be bored. I love reading interviews at night, before sliding off to Dreamville.

The other night before going to sleep, I read this interview with Haruki Murakami.

If you’ve never read a Murakami novel, the best way to describe them is like reading a dream.

Murakami’s Mind

While I really liked Murakami’s memoir about running and writing, it’s his novels that floor me. Not so much in their craft (that’s not to say they aren’t well crafted, because they are), but there’s something about the dreaminess and flow to a Murakami novel that I really enjoy. (Not that I can claim to be an expert on his books, having only read several things he’s written.)

There’s a section of the Paris Review interview that seemed particularly telling to me in explaining the dreamy aspect of Murakami’s writing.

Murakami’s Process

If you want an in-depth glimpse into how Murakami’s structured his life in order to write, pick up What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (Vintage International) (affiliate link).

One thing new to me that was discussed in the interview is how Murakami just jumps into a book, planning be damned! He uses the example of opening a novel with a murder:

“I myself, as I’m writing, don’t know who did it. The readers and I are on the same ground. When I start to write a story, I don’t know the conclusion at all and I don’t know what’s going to happen next. If there is a murder case as the first thing, I don’t know who the killer is. I write the book because I would like to find out. If I know who the killer is, there’s no purpose to writing the story.”

- Haruki Murakami

Don’t Wait

I know everybody is different in the way they approach writing. Some writers must have a detailed outline before they can begin writing. Others focus on their environment — they must write in the same place each day. Still, others wing it, writing wherever and whenever they can.

I would never insist there is one way to write…but I will say this: if you’ve been talking about writing more than actually writing, put your ass in a chair and write!

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know where you’re going; clearly, if you’re not producing, what’s it going to hurt to be like Murakami and just do it!

It Really Does Work

A confession: I usually don’t know where I’m going when I write — even when I think I have it all figured out.

I don’t know how the novel I’m currently working on ends. I’m okay with that, though, because the last thing I wrote…ended differently than planned. My first novel didn’t end entirely as planned, either — and the novel I shelved after writing my first novel? Same thing: the ending wasn’t what I thought it would be.

It’s not that I believe the characters take over and tell their own story or anything like that; I just believe you can’t truly know a story until you sit down and actually write it.

And that means much of your time is spent moving into things you didn’t plan, whether you’re working from a detailed outline or not.

Read it Again

If this is good enough for an international, best-selling novelist, isn’t it at least worth trying if you’re not doing much more than only thinking about writing?

“I myself, as I’m writing, don’t know who did it. The readers and I are on the same ground. When I start to write a story, I don’t know the conclusion at all and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

A dream can’t happen until you make it real, and the only way that happens is by finishing things.

On Monday, I wrote about how all stories have — in many ways — been told before.

While that should never stop a writer from writing the story they want to tell, it’s not the only obstacle we face as writers.

Sometimes the timing of things can send a writer into a wall.

Two Months in Atlanta

A big handful of years ago, I went to Atlanta for two months with the job I had at the time, working with a flight training center to turn their CRJ200 training program into a CRJ 700 training program. Stuck in a city I’d never visited, I tried seeing in the trip an opportunity.

I pitched some travel articles to a publication that accepted my work before, but nothing developed. (“We recently did a spot on Atlanta,” they said. “Bad timing on this one–sorry.”) On weekends, I worked on fiction in my hotel room. One day while running through a list of differences between the CRJ200 and CRJ700, it hit me: “Atlanta is where Williams Street Productions is based…”

Williams Street Productions is the studio responsible for Adult Swim — The Cartoon Network’s nighttime lineup. My first novel, Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors had gone nowhere as a novel (agents liked it, but said it was too quirky and they didn’t know how to market it). As a screenplay, it had a few close calls, both in competitions and in chatting with some studio contacts. But that was it — the story had run its course.

Unless…

The Pitch

I chatted with people I knew until I had a contact at Williams Street Productions. I sent a quick pitch, letting the contact know I was in Atlanta for two months and would love to discuss the project in greater detail if they had time. Somewhere into the trip I heard back, and this was the gist of the message:

“Hey, this sounds really cool, but we’re working on this thing called Lucy, Daughter of the Devil, and we can’t do two devil things at the same time.”

Now, you might say, “Well, most production companies have several similar things going at the same time,” and you’d be correct. But like it or not — despite how different Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors is from Lucy, Daughter of the Devil — that was the decision. Maybe in the same situation to make the decision, I’d have said the same thing — who knows.

It had nothing to do with what I was pitching (the contact loved the idea), but it was all a matter of timing.

When I mentioned what happened to some people, they said, “You should just figure out what’s popular and write that.” (As though it’s that easy.)

Why I Don’t Chase Trends

I never try guessing what publishers and production companies want because I know no matter what I write, the timing of it all may or may not be on my side.

I once got a screenplay I wrote into the hands of a contact I had at a large studio that was being acquired by a larger studio. I was told, had I sent the screenplay a year or so earlier — before the acquisition — that they would have fought to get the movie made.

My timing was off.

The first travel article I wrote was pushed back almost a year after acceptance because the area I covered ended up in the news for other reasons. The publication felt they’d given the region enough coverage, and decided to sit on the article until I followed up much later.

My timing was kind of off.

Other times, things I’ve written were accepted quickly because it was exactly what a publisher needed at the time. (The publisher that pushed back my first travel piece jumped on another article I pitched and asked me to expand it because they were looking for the very kind of article I offered to write.)

Sometimes, my timing’s been good.

The Point?

Whether we like it or not, timing and luck play into making it as a writer.

What may not be needed one month or even year may be the hot trend years down the line. (There was a time it seemed only Anne Rice could sell a vampire novel — now vampires are everywhere.)

Sometimes you write the most perfect thing and the timing of it all seems to almost conspire against you.

But write enough and keep submitting things, and sooner or later, time will be on your side!

It’s bound to happen: as you work on a story, you read or see something very similar to what you’re doing. Sometimes, so similar, you might even consider stopping.

It happened to me recently, while reading The Night Circus (affiliate link). Not that I even remotely considered stopping work on A Magic Life, but I did think, “If this plays out more as this book goes on, I could see somebody thinking, ‘Hey, he ripped that from The Night Circus!’” when this particular thing was something I was going to do in a comic book script that never saw production back in the mid 90s, long before The Night Circus was started.

The Failure of the Aluminum Hat

I’ve heard more than a few sorta-writers say, “They stole that idea from me!” (They being a publisher or movie production company.)

“Oh,” you say. “Did you submit your story to their company?”

“Well…no.”

“Did you pitch it in person?”

“Uhm…no, I didn’t.”

“Did you have somebody pitch it in your stead?”

“Huh? No.”

“Ah! So you’re saying your aluminum foil hat to keep production companies and publishers out of your head failed you?”

“Well…no, I just like the way I look in aluminum foil, okay? Like I have a Hershey’s Kiss for a head — sue me!”

“No problem — to each their own. But…I don’t understand how they stole from you if all you did was think of something you never acted on.”

“Okay, so they didn’t technically steal from me. But we had the same idea. I should be the rich one…not them!” (They usually say this as though it’s that easy to make it big.)

These “writers” don’t know the truth most writers who actually produce know: somebody’s already done what you’re writing!

Is Harry Potter Timothy Hunter?

Neil Gaiman and J.K. Rowling are well-known authors, right?

In the early 90s, Gaiman wrote a comic book mini-series called The Books of Magic. The story is about Timothy Hunter, a teenager who lost his mother and comes from a less-than-ideal family. He wears glasses and finds out he’s destined to become the magic user of magic users. He has a pet owl. He is trained in the ways of magic and struggles with just trying to be a kid.

Sound familiar?

When Harry Potter came out, some accused Rowling of using Timothy Hunter as the basis for Harry Potter. While the media tried blowing it up, making it seem like Gaiman believed this, too (he didn’t) — even if Rowling had lifted aspects of Tim Hunter for her famous boy wizard, Gaiman didn’t have the market cornered on young wizards with glasses. Hell, the old Dungeons and Dragons cartoon had a boy wizard with glasses, and I’m sure that wasn’t the first.

The Funny Thing about Stories

Here’s the thing about stories: no matter how much we like to think something is new, it really isn’t — at least on a thematic level.

One could say my first novel, Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors, is a cross between National Lampoon’s Vacation and Stephen King’s Christine.

Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors begins with a father and son buying a station wagon. Along the route of the road trip in the story, the O’Brien family stops in West Virginia where the more…”rural” side of the family is introduced. National Lampoon’s Vacation begins with a father and son buying a station wagon, and Randy Quaid will probably be forever known as Cousin Eddie.

But Cousin Eddie didn’t influence Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors — relatives in Ohio and West Virginia did. (Example: one branch of my family tree had property along a bend in the Ohio River. The river flooded, and a houseboat washed down from upstream. It settled on family property and they decided, “Hey — free house!” adding to the houseboat over the years.) And I could think of no better way to establish right from the start that the station wagon in Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors is more than it seems by showing a father and son buying The Inferno from Satan. (That’s not a spoiler — it’s all very obvious, right from the start.)

So What’s Original?

Plots and themes and even writing techniques are anything but original. With mankind telling stories since the beginning, the same stories have been told so many times.

So why even bother? As writers and readers, why do we keep going back to stories? Because stories are the glue that binds us no matter who we are and where we live.

While the stories we tell are the same all over, it’s how we tell them that’s ours and keep people coming back for more.

Hi, my name is Christopher Gronlund and I have a confession: I am not at my best when it comes to online self promotion.

In person, sure! I’ll get up and speak before a large group, approach any agent or editor, or give my time to people who have read what I’ve written. All with enthusiasm and confidence.

But there’s something about the act of typing promotional things online that makes me feel like I’m a salesman in a cheap suit on a used car lot, standing in the shadow of a giant, blue inflatable gorilla in an effort to cool down before targeting my next mark.

Listening to Others

While I feel awkward promoting what I’m doing, I’m fine when others tell me what they’re up to. I love hearing what kinds of things people paint, the kinds of music they play, and the types of stories they tell. If you do nothing really creative but want to talk about your job, a hobby, or something else — sure, I’ll listen. Hell, I once listened to a fan of my writing at a comic book convention talk [in great detail] about how his cat woke him up by licking his nipples and how he licked the cat back to see how it liked being licked!

Unless you’re one of those people who are always on (the online marketing version of the used car salesman), I will listen to you promote the things in your life that you love.

But for some reason, the moment I type, “Hey, check this out,” on Twitter, I feel like I’m a mouth breather who’s just eaten an onion sandwich and has decided to crowd your personal space.

These Things I Know

I’ve read about all the ways I’m supposed to promote myself online as a writer. I’ve looked at how others outside of writing have promoted themselves online. I’m a member of the Dallas/Ft. Worth WordPress Meetup group, where more than a few members make a comfortable living by promoting themselves online. So I know what I’m supposed to do.

But many of those “supposed to” rules and suggestions run counter to my personality.

What works for some may not work for others.

A Different Way

I’m fine with taking my time with things. Instead of being like the mighty Shawn Kupfer — who is a much better juggling writer than I’ll ever be — I tend to work on one thing at a time. More than that, I’m fine taking my time with that one thing.

I know I’d make more money if I actually did something with a genre series I started, cranking books out and getting them online as quickly as I can. But I grew up looking to writers like John Irving as the ideal; not Jonathan Kellerman. (Please do not take this as a slam against those who work with genre fiction. I am quite fond of genre fiction as a medium. Genre fiction has served more than a few good friends well, and I’m incredibly happy for them all. They are my inspiration for sticking to what I love in the hope I will one day achieve their levels of success.)

This is a blog about writing, work, and life. I look to each facet to improve the other. In the jobs I’ve had, I come in quiet and slow and end up appreciated far more than those who believe the louder they are, the quicker they will climb the ladder. In life, I am shy when meeting new people, but that slow pace in getting to really know people has left me a very happy person, with more than a few friendships going back to first grade.

I don’t mind taking a different way to get there — even if it takes a bit longer than many of those around me.

The One Rule I Know

In all the lists I’ve read about online promotion is a recurring rule I agree with: be yourself.

Shawn Kupfer is Shawn Kupfer, just like Mark Finn is Mark Finn. Read either of their blogs, and you’ll get a damn good feeling for who they are. They are different people than Paul Lamb, who is different than Lisa Eckstein.

You are you; I am who I am.

As long as we’re true to who we are and let that come out in the things we write, we stand a chance at something more — even if it takes a bit longer to get there for some of us.

Last night, I watched Louis CK: Live at the Beacon Theater.

I thought about writing a post about things known writers can do with direct distribution, but changed my mind as I sat down to write this. (If you’re not familiar with Live at the Beacon Theater, Louis CK funded the production himself, edited the show, and distributed it with no DRM for $5 at this site, totally sidestepping the normal way of doing things.)

There’s a bit in his set that I just loved, because it did two things (as his comedy often does): it made me laugh, and it made me feel for him.

(Doing those two things, side by side, are comic — and writing — gold!)

Getting Older

A fair amount of Louis CK’s comedy is about getting older. Sometimes he comes right out and talks about how cruddy getting older can be, like this bit from an older set:

But other times, the pain of aging is not so obvious.

Something More than Just a Laugh

In a bit from the Live at the Beacon Theater set, Louis talks about how he used to drink and do drugs. He talks about being older and getting high with some 20-year-olds after a show, once. The bit had my wife and I rolling with laughter, but there was something else beneath it all.

While he had the crowd roaring with laughter, it was really all about how things had changed while he wasn’t looking…how something he once did regularly wrecked him one evening. There was this realization that a large part of who he once was had slipped away, and how he now hovers somewhere between the past and where he’s going (as we all do). It was subtle, and it was there.

So what does this have to do with writing?

Subtle and There (Show, Don’t Tell)

There’s something to be said for just saying things in a story — coming right out and telling readers what happens, or what characters are thinking.

“Louie paused when it was all done and thought about how the past was behind him and the future was unknown.”

But there’s something more when you can make a scene seem that it’s about one thing (the effects of smoking something much more potent than when you were younger), when it’s really about something else (“Damn, I’m getting old…”).

Sometimes not coming right out and making every little thing so clear works best. (“Was that a physical bit about getting high, or something deeper about aging?”)

They are often the scenes in stories that lead to discussion. (“I saw it as something else…”)

Sometimes they are the scenes that readers think about when something is revealed down the line. (“Oh! That earlier scene that seemed to be about that one thing was really a precursor to the emotional bomb dropped in this scene!”)

So many times, it’s the things we don’t say that speak the loudest in a story.

“Because Some Things Are, and Some Things are Not”

This clip really doesn’t really have much to do with the theme of this post, but I’ve always loved it — so here it is.

This isn’t from Live at the Beacon Theater, but it’s what I like about Louis: he starts out with a level of honesty that some people find uncomfortable, but near the end takes it beyond just a joke and into a struggle with not knowing things (while trying to be a good parent) and tying it back to the beginning of the bit.

(Okay, so I guess it does have something to do with the theme of this post when looking at it like that.)

This time of the year, Italians make fig cookies.

Most fig cookies I’ve seen are cucidati, similar enough in shape to a Fig Newton, but with a totally different dough and frosted.

[A quick aside: there's really no comparison between Fig Newtons and Italian Fig cookies. While I've liked Fig Newtons since childhood, the filling of Italian fig cookies is an explosion of flavors that puts Fig Newtons to shame. Sorry Fig Newtons!]

The cookies we make — cosi di ficu — take a lot of time to make. While cucidati are made by rolling out the rough and wrapping it around a long cylinder of fig filling and then cutting into smaller pieces, cosi di ficu are made one by one, each cookie taking 10-15 minutes to make.

When we’re done and give the cookies to friends who aren’t familiar with them, they often feel guilty because they know the effort that went into making them.

A Matter of Time

I often draw parallels between things in my life and writing. When I write, I take my time. I respect those who can produce 2-6 books a year. I have it in me to crank out writing, but it doesn’t feel right for me. Even if I’m writing something leaning more toward genre fiction, which has the reputation of being a speedy first draft, I take my time. It’s the same thing with the fig cookies my family makes.

I love taking the time to get each cut just right, just as I love taking my time with writing. Why would I rush a first draft when it — and future drafts — can be stronger if I step back and think about things more, instead of racing to the end? I admire those who take part in NaNoWriMo, but it’s not right for me. I never bought into Hemingway’s sentiment that, “The first draft of anything is shit,” as an excuse to just crank something out and then really start working on it.

It may work for some, but it doesn’t work for me.

Taking Time to Write

I can spend the entire day working on just one juggling trick in order to perfect it; I can spend the extra time cutting cosi di ficu while thinking about where part of my family came from; I can spend time sitting back and thinking about every word that ends up on the page, even though it might be in my best interest to just bang out a first draft as fast as I can and fix things later.

But I’ve always enjoyed slower things.

This isn’t a knock at those who write fast. Just as there’s no reason to argue which is better, cucidati or cosi di ficu, there’s no reason to argue the merits of genre fiction and upmarket/literary fiction over the other. I’m fortunate to have a good friend down here in Texas who makes cucidati each year. One year, he gave me more cookies than usual during our swap and I was able to let some friends try cucidati and cosi fi ficu side by side. People loved and appreciated both kinds of cookies, just as people love and appreciate different kinds of fiction.

We all find our own rhythm and move to the beat that’s right for us.

In Praise of a Steady Pace

When I’ve thought about just plowing through a novel, I think about how it’s never worked for me. I think about relatives who took their time plying their trades: art, woodworking, and even running a butcher shop. I think about my great grandmother who came over from a village in Sicily and the time she put into making fig cookies. When I think about those who came before me — just as when I think about the writers I’ve admired since childhood — I know the pace at which I work, steady and focused but still fast enough to get things out on time, is the right pace for me.

I’m a big fan of Evernote.

If you’re not familiar with Evernote, check out this video and then wander to my Evernote for Writers page for a more detailed tutorial.

If you’re familiar with Evernote, but have never really used it for writing research, check out the video for some tips, and check out the Evernote for Writers page.

For another detailed tutorial, check out my Google+ for Writers entry.

Moonshine : Artists after dark from alexis wanneroy on Vimeo.

I’ve mentioned several times on The Juggling Writer that I learn a lot from artists. (My favorite book about creativity is still Chuck Jones’s Chuck Amuck.)

If you write and take nothing away from this six and a half minute mini documentary, I’m not sure what else to say…

Readers liked the last video I did for The Juggling Writer, so here’s another — this time, about how all writing, physically, looks relatively the same.

When you think about it, there’s not much difference in the look of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and Snooki’s A Shore Thing…but they are definitely different books!

So what’s a writer to do if it all looks the same? Watch the video above and find out.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;”
– Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

I ended up doing more day job writing this weekend than the writing I would have rather worked on. That gave me time to at least think about the writing I’d have rather been working on.

Sometimes that’s a dangerous thing…

Two Roads

Lately — aside from The Juggling Writer — when I have time to write, it’s been spent rewriting my second novel, Glimpses.

While I shelved Glimpses in the past to work on the novel I’m currently shopping around, I’ve been planning to release it as an ebook. Having two novels available instead of just one seems like a good idea.

But then the weather changed…

The North Wind

It was a hot summer in north Texas — the hottest on record, in fact. In the past week, though, there have been moments of relief, with lows in the upper 50s and low 60s, instead of the mid 80s. Highs in the upper 70s and lower 80s, instead of pushing 110. Last weekend, it even rained!

While a far cry from fall-like weather, it’s still been enough to flip that switch inside my head.

Something happens to me when the weather turns cooler. That chill in the air manifests itself as electric writing energy, making me want to open the windows and work on something new!

But I’m supposed to be working on a rewrite.

What’s a writer to do?

Which Road to Take?

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I wrote my second novel primarily on lunch breaks at an old job. It seems fitting that I work on the rewrites during lunch breaks at my current job.

The new novel is something that requires a bit of a disconnect from things; it’s something best written in absolute solitude — not a bustling cafeteria. So I’ll work on that at home, late at night, or early in the morning when the world is most quiet.

If juggling for 30 years has taught me nothing else, it’s that there’s usually more time than we initially think in all those throws and catches when starting something new. So my decision isn’t too difficult: while I prefer to take the road less traveled, sometimes it’s possible to walk two roads…