One Chance

What is the biggest hurdle of the aspiring writer? Is it writing that first book? Or first page? Is it coming up with a 'great' idea? Perhaps letting someone read your work for the first time? Or maybe for some it is just learning to type. When thoughts flow out at a snail's pace they tend to lose their cohesiveness.

All these hurdles are big. Ideas are all-important but a great idea poorly-executed is far less powerful than a brilliantly-written bad idea. As a writer grows in fact, he learns that any idea can be gold. For me, writing a book is not particularly challenging. I've written four now and the trick is to not stop until you are finished. That said, writing a good book is a chore - to put it mildly - but a pleasurable chore to be sure. Staring at the blank page can be daunting though again, for me, isn't really a problem. If the page is blank and no thoughts are coming it simply means you're not ready and need to do more research. And I like research. The craft of writing is tough, but not even close to the biggest challenge for a wannabe like me.

What then is this challenge of which I speak? If you've ever written a book you know what it is. Everyone has their own story. Mine starts in an Alabama town. I won't say sleepy because Huntsville is not sleepy. It isn't even Alabama. Huntsville has the highest percentage of advanced degreed people in the United States. We design and test the Army's missiles here and rocket scientists from around the nation - and around the world - have flocked here for fifty years to play on Redstone Arsenal. They work alongside propulsion engineers and physists at NASA Marshall Spaceflight Center. Cool stuff happens in Huntsville.

So, Huntsville, Alabama isn't Alabama, but neither is it New York City. We don't exactly have what you'd call a thriving arts community here. It is vibrant, focused, and talented, but it is small. And about as ideologically distant from Manhattan as you're likely to find. Connections here tend towards knowing someone on the Senate Appropriations Committee who'll fund your next missile project with a Congressional Plus-Up. I know people who've become millionaires that way. Lots of people. It's a great place to do business if you have those connections. I don't have them, don't know how to make them, and don't really want them. The kind of connections I'm looking for are agents and editors who work in high-rises along 5th Avenue and Broadway. I know of only one and I'm carefully trying to develop it into a contact.

So, living here in Huntsville, or wherever it is a writer happens to live - which usually isn't Manhattan - you pour your life and soul into this book you're writing for upwards of a year or a year-and-a-half, or longer. Every waking minute that you're not doing your day job so your family can eat. Friends forget you. Family becomes distant. Your hobbies fall by the wayside. Your house falls apart. Dreams fade. You know what I'm talking about. And then comes the day when you type those fateful words - The End. You've Finished Your Novel! And it is good. Maybe not great, but good. Friends read it. Some like it. Some don't. You fix the problems and rewrite, then rewite again. Then one more time. Finally it is time to send it out.

It is here you discover the TRUE HURDLE for the aspiring writer. And it isn't finishing the book. If you are a writer you will finish books. If you're not a writer, you won't. And the true hurdle isn't getting someone to publish your book. That is the ultimate goal but follows a much more significant hurdle. The true hurdle is getting someone who matters to read your book.

So, you research agents who represented books like yours. You research editors who published books like yours. You canvas bookstores and maybe even attend conferences. You send out query letters, email, snail mail, and include whatever they ask for. Outlines, synopses, sample chapters, whatever. Dozens, scores, even hundreds of hours spent in marketing. And then you wait. And wait. And wait some more. And the queries all come back on a xeroxed form letter and read something like this:

Thanks for giving us the opportunity to review your work. Unfortunately the project isn't right for me. We wish you luck. - Your friendly neighborhood agent/editor

Of course, they never read the book. Only the query. Now, to be fair, agents and editors are overwhelmed by submissions, 99% of which are written by crackpots and are unpublishable in any form. There is a lot of noise. And they are only going to like what they are going to like. I don't fault them for this. But it does expose the true hurdle of the aspiring writer. Getting your work read. And that is where connections do help. Through a study of published writers I have noted that the majority had their work first read by someone important, through a connection. Of course that's how I got my first engineering job, too. And my second. And... come to think of it, all my jobs! So it is the way the world works and the task becomes, networking and forming connections. And I recently made one.

I attended an Algonkian workshop in Manhattan a few weeks ago. It was run by Michael Neff who did a great job of grounding us in the business, leveling our expectations, and providing professional guinea pigs for our aspirations. As a result of my well-honed pitch, Tina Wexler at ICM asked to see my opening Chapter. Wow. Tina Wexler. The bigtime. Just getting someone like that to agree to see your work is a huge step, even if it is just the first chapter. (Thanks Michael) And there was significant expense involved in forming that tenuous connection. Of course now I have to send it in. And I only get one chance. One chance and they will never look at it again. So I polished, and polished, and polished some more. Had friends read it and offer critiques - which were enormously helpful. Then polished some more until the text just sang. But at some point I have to attach the document to an email and press 'Send'.

Just one chance. Of course, isn't that what I've been saying all long? Just give me a chance. We'll see what happens.

John

A Sad Day In Huntsville

Well the recession finally hit the company where I work. Yesterday we learned that 33 fine engineers and support personnel are out of a job. And we all know how difficult that is going to be for the near future. As far as I know I survived the axe... this time. I'm thankful, but sad. We writers are a very empathetic bunch, and looking into the eyes of the casualties of this recession is tearing me apart inside.

For the time being, my day job is tantamount to my survival as a writer. If I believe the odds, it will always support my writing hobby. And it is much harder to write when anxious or distracted. Right now, I'm both. And I will also be devoting some of my time to looking for another job. While it is true that I kept my position, everyone knows that the time to look for a job is when you still have one.

When I began this web log I thought of it as a way to catalog and collate my thoughts as a writer. I really don't even know if anyone will be reading it. But I expected to be wrestling with issues of plot and character, publication, query later, getting the attention of agents, and ranting about the unfairness of the market. And I plan to do all these things in time. What I didn't expect was to be discussing events completely unrelated to writing. But that is what makes it the archetypal journey, isn't it? The things you don't expect to be including in your trek.

I have an agent interested in my pitch. Tina Wexler at ICM - one of the best in the business. I guess that's about like getting a decent fairway shot when you're one off the leader in a major tournament. I still have a 3 wood to get me onto the green, then one putt for birdie. Two for par. Right now I'm lining up on my fairway shot. The 3 wood feels awkward in my hands. Sand traps to either side, water behind, and a volcanic chasm just opened right in front of the green. If I muff this I'm screwed. The worst part about it, I don't play golf.

Indiana Jones and the Long Road To Notoriety

Sometimes it takes a while to get where you're going. And nowhere is this more true than in, what I will collectively call, the entertainment industry. Singing, dancing, writing, making movies, and the other performing arts are a hard sell. Being a writer I've struggled with this for years. So it was very inspiring today when I heard the story of by Eric Zayla, Chris Strompolos, and Jayson Lamb in their feature film, Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation, a tribute to Stephen Spielberg. If you don't know anything about it, you can start your journey here, but it is easy to find on the web. It is even on IMDB.

But better than hearing about it or reading about it on the web, I got to hear Eric and Chris talk about it for six hours this afternoon. They brought their movie to Huntsville, Alabama and showed it at the Merrimack Performing Arts Theater, and then gave a workshop on DIY film making. To say it was phenomenal is a huge understatement. Inspiring is the word I would use, and any other word that conjurs up David versus Goliath, in which David wins.

In brief, these three kids started making their own scene-by-scene copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark in 1981. They were 11 years-old living in Biloxi, Mississippi - about as far as you can get from the film industry and still be on planet Earth. For the next 8 - yes 8 - years, they labored every summer building sets, making costumes, finding loactions, building sets, and shooting every scene from the first, and best, Indiana Jones movie of them all. No, the special effects aren't Hollywood quality, but they are pretty darn good for three kids with a handheld Betamax video camera and none of the great editing tools we take for granted today.

What they produced is a true gem of a film in which we get to see them go through puberty and mature as one scene gives way to the next. For example, when Sallah first appears in Cairo, he's a spindly youth maybe 85 pounds soaking wet. In his final appearance he's a six foot-tall young man who's surpassed Indy in altitude. I could go on about the film but don't want to ruin it for those interested in seeking it for themselves. And it is worth watching the entire 100 minute piece.

The most remarkable thing, at least to use trekking writers who don't seem to be able to get agents to respond to our queries, is what happened after the film was complete. Each went on to different careers hoping to break into the film industry that they so loved. They all ended up doing something else. But 14 years later after they finished the film, they received letters of gratitude from Stephen Spielberg thanking them for their attention to detail in their tribute to him. Through a circuituous route, which was an utter joy to hear them relate in their own words, it had found it's way to perhaps the most gifted film maker of our time. And he loved it.

From there, their film exploded in popularity and eventually their story in making it was sold to Paramount who is currently producing a major motion picture of their exploits. Eric and Chris have since retired from their former professions and have started their own production company, Rolling Boulder Films, doing what they love doing the most, making films. And it couldn't happen to nicer people, and one of the ways they are sharing their serendipity is by screening the film at non-profits and inspiring hopeful film makers and writers.

They began in 1981. It didn't hit until 2003. Twenty-two years. Could anyone have forseen what would happen? They certainly seemed to be as surprised as anyone at how events have turned in their favor. But it never would have happened had they not finished the movie. It never would have happened had they not pursued careers in related fields. And even if the movie had been discovered, had they not prepared themselves through their education and experiences, their film company would have never happened. So while they weren't out there beating the bushes like so many of us writers, they produced an excellent product and got themselves ready - if only by being productive citizens - for the time when opportunity knocked.

To Chris, Eric, Jayson, and the rest of the cast and crew: thanks for the great example and the inspiration. And to those of you unfamiliar with the story, do some searching on Google. It can't help but be profoundly inspiring. I know it was to me.

My Latest Adventure: New York City

I've been at this for a decade now but there are a lot of indications that I'm only now leaving my village for the first time. Sort of like the way Perseus wakes up in the arena. And Luke dreamed for years about getting off of Tatooine and joining the Rebellion before it actually happened. I think much of what I've been doing, even though I've been doggedly pursuing my writing, is dreaming. Leaving Huntsville by myself and going to New York was the threshold guardian. Even if I'm now back in Huntsville at my day job, I'm on my journey.

New York City. What can you say? I didn't grow up in Alabama but I've been here since 1983, even though Huntsville isn't really Alabama, nor was Auburn where I went attended university. But wow! That's a long time. So my feelings about New York City were mixed. I have relatives that entered the United States from Scotland there over a hundred years ago. In a sense, all Americans are New Yorkers. I feel the city symbolizes our nation - large, gritty, tough, but surprisingly friendly, with gobs of opportunity, and in many ways, stunningly beautiful. But I'd never been anywhere so, what else can you call it, BIG.

I flew into LaGuardia so passed right by Manhattan Island. From the air it is imposing and exciting with it's impressive skyline and the Statue of Liberty standing guard over the harbor. I couldn't see any people from the air naturally, but the harbor was full of container ships and supertankers. Impressive. And very important - the life blood of all commerce.

The airport was like any other and, despite my apprenhension, very easy to navigate. Once outside I hailed my first cab. Also easy, though I remain convinced that the Pakistani driver took me in by the long way. The cabbies. They make F1 drivers look timid by comparison. The city streets were crowded but not significantly worse than Birmingham, Alabama or Atlanta. I arrived at my hotel on 38th St. without incident and then had my first 'adventure.' My room had experienced "some kind of leakage" and was not available. But they had another room for me on 88th St. "What?!?" I exclaimed. I'd just come from 1000th St. I was rattled, no doubt. An Alabama boy three blocks from Times Square at 9:30 in the evening with no place to stay and dragging luggage. I could almost hear the wearwolves howling.

I looked for a room elsewhere in the vicinity but there were NONE. So I packed back up and took a cab to the Upper West Side. It was really no big deal and my anxiety turned out to be misplaced. And in retrospect I am glad it happened because I got to see an area of the city I would have otherwise missed. The Upper West Side is enormously different than Midtown Manhattan.

But enough of the details. I could go on about Times Square, or just walking around looking at the people and th buildings, for hours. The short of it is, I loved the place. I could even live there - for a while. A few years perhaps. The vibrancy. The energy. It is quite literally the Grand Canyon of cities. You even feel as if you're in the bottom of a canyon. No wonder people travel from all over the world to go there. And I didn't even get to tour any of the real sights! In fact, I plan on taking my family there as soon as possible.

It was so enjoyable that I almost hesitate to call it much of a trial. Getting around was a snap, whether by Taxi or on foot. The subway beckoned but I just didn't need to use it. Next time. The city was clean, safe, and the people, surprisingly friendly. In many ways, much friendlier than the people in Alabama. And as I told one person, if that many rednecks got together in one place it would be one, continuous war. Or Lynard Skynard concert - which wouldn't be so bad.

For me it was a very liberating experience, and I find the divisions between the Northeast and the Southeast to be unfortunate. Animosity from the Civil War and Civil Rights lingers to this day. It is nothing overt but exists as preconceptions held by people from both regions. New Yorkers are considered liberals. Southerners conservatives. I found the difference to be more like owners of Chevy vs owners of Ford. Get some hardcore truck guys and they will nearly come to blows over brand loyalty. Why? The commercials! Ford and Chevy commercials have for years sought more to reinforce the owners purchase far more than provide information or even advertise new models.

New Yorkers and Alabamians are far closer than either would like to admit. We're all Americans and when you really look at it, our similarities far outweigh our differences. This became obvious when the 9-11 tragedies befell our nation. For a precious moment we didn't care what kind of truck the other was driving. Even the Dodge owners were welcome. We came together in a spirit of unity unseen since World War II. That's the person I tried to see as I walked the busy streets of that thriving city. And you know what, I found him. He was me, and he was all around me, male and female, and of every color, from every country. From the Pakistani cab driver, to the hotel manager from Guyana, to the Mexican laborers, to the black businesswoman, the white airline pilot, and the people in my own writing group. Like Homer's Odyssey. It is all about the people. And it was great.

Echoes of Aristotle

What do you say in the first post of a blog addressing your life's work? Do you introduce yourself? Tell about your struggles? Explain what you're trying to do? All of the above?

I'm a writer. I'm currently unpublished. I've been doing this since 1998. I'm the archetypal writer. The only problem is, I don't know what part of the journey I'm on!

The archetypal hero is an ancient literary device first identified by Aristotle before I was born. That means by the time Aristotle came on the scene around 335 B.C. the literary device was already well-established in Greek society. Today, nearly 2,500 years later, it still forms the basis of much of western drama and can be seen in everything from Star Wars to Tropic Thunder.

We all know this literary form instinctively. The snotty, reluctant hero gets pushed into the world. He screws up and generally makes a fool of himself until he meets someone who set him straight. Then he faces a number of trials which transform him into a budding hero. Finally he confronts the ultimate challenge, defeats that, and returns home a changed man. Though in the end the victory is bitter sweet because he's grown beyond other men and no longer fits in. He is above them and in a sense, immortal.

The writer's journey is much like the archetypal hero's journey. Most of us think, when we begin, that we'll be overnight successes. That we can do exactly what J.K. Rowling did. This is only reinforced by our friends who look at us askance and say, "So, you're going to be the next Tom Clancy." Except it isn't a statement. It is a question. And we look sheepish and say, "No," all the while thinking "Yes."

What are the qualities of the beginning hero? Naivete. Selfishness. Impatience. Petulance. Intolerant. And his skills as a hero are nonexistent. What does he have to learn? Sword fighting? Debate? Technology? Tenderness? But he can't learn anything until he's been broken. Until his attitude changes.

Writer's are like that and I have certainly shared the traits of the beginning hero, and probably still do. But not until we realize that writing isn't about us, can the journey begin. How long that transformation takes is different for everyone, and some never make it. And when the hero finally returns home, he will probably be the first to say that now that he has arrived at his dream, that not only was it not what he thought, but that the true victory was within him all the time. The actual reward pales in comparison to what was gained in the transformation.

I've been at this for nearly 11 years and I just made my first trip to New York. There, I realized I know nothing - but I met some truly wonderful people. Was the courage to take this trip and spend the money and expend vacation time the threshold guardian? Was it meeting a mentor? Was it emerging from the abyss? Was it the final test? Or was the threshold guardian the day I took pen in hand and began writing? I don't know. In fact, while you are on the journey it may be impossible to know exactly where you are on the circle. I think that only when you are finished can you know where you lie. I don't even know if the true goal should be measured by 'completing' the journey, or if the journey is the real reward and the end of the circle only the beginning of the next.

But one thing I do know now. The journey can't be taken alone. My feet must do the walking, but no ground will ever be gained without engaging those around me. Friendships must be sought and nurtured. And sometimes those seeming to offer the least can be the key that unlocks the next phase. At the same time, as long as others are used as merely a way to advance along the circle, no headway can be made. Only by helping others on their own journey can I begin to learn what my own journey is all about.

This blog, I hope, will be a record of my journeys. The triumphs and the disasters - of which there have already been plenty. The trials and the revelations. The bleary nights, working anonymous and alone. And of course the characters I meet along the way. A good story is all about the characters. For it isn't the return of Odysseus to his home on Ithaca that holds us to the page. It is his journey we want to know about. And when he finally attains what he has sought, we are sad that it is over.