You see, we had a corporate contract assignment that kind of went awry. And please note that "kind of" is evil-twin-French-guy talk for "clusterfuck." I was asked to be part of a project that it turns out I didn't really understand. It was over my head and out of my element, and it cost me dearly. Though I had done another assignment for this particular company ‒ and nailed it ‒ this latest assignment probably cost me the client.

Needless to say, I was a little miffed at François. Though, for the record, I wasn't (and still ain't) mad at the company. But looking at François at his worst, at the moment he realized that the job was over his head and beyond his ken, was painful. We all like to think our inner François can handle anything, but the truth is, you have accept that he can't.

The good news, at least, is that the François Incident has given me a chance to reorganize my own thoughts and learn a couple lessons.

1. Know your limits. François' problem with the corporate gig was that it was technical and specific, and François is a looser thinker. It's always good to go beyond your comfort zone, but there are just some tasks that are not in us. Recognize that if you can't run your own literary magazine or make a living as a medical writer, it's fine. Remember, they draw foul lines for a reason ‒ we all need our boundaries.

2. Know your strengths. I can speak well and I can write. And I can help the overwhelmed make sense of their writing projects. So yeah, maybe a corporate technical project isn't my thing, but writing compelling ad copy is. And maybe writing a novel isn't my thing (and it really isn't). But I can short-story your brains out. And I'll still call you the next day.

3. Learn your lessons. There are a lot of pithy sayings, like "It's not whether you fall, it's whether you get back up." And they're pithy because they're true. Failure is inevitable. But the thing to do is to recognize a failure and see the opportunity in it. From François' blunder, I have a renewed vigor to concentrate on my teaching and workshops. Because that's who I am.

Have you ever had to rebuild in the face of a ridiculous crash-and-burn? Share it with us! Leave a comment below. Nothing helps the world like knowing that someone just like us has gotten through a bunch of crappola.

And as for François? The least I can say to him is merçi.

Écrivez pour le Gorge, Chacun!

I recently wrapped up a five-week course in character development that I taught at a community college nearby. Congratulate me, I'm no longer a teaching virgin.

On the first night of class, I told everyone the thing I love most to tell ‒ that I am a former journalist. Former. I love that word so much because journalism will salt you up and eat your soul with a side of home fries and then wipe its greasy fingers all over what's left of your face.

If you let it. And, apparently, there are other jobs that do this to people too. One of my students has one of these jobs. And she is as desperate to put "former" in front of her title as I was, a year or so ago.

What surprised me most about teaching is not that I liked it, but that it would lead me to feel so strongly toward the plight of one writer's journey. Breaking down all other things I could say, the truth is: I'm afraid of losing this girl.

I'm aware of the psychology of redemption and self-projection. I see myself in her. But I see her at the moment of meeting the diverging paths. She is in the no-man's land between what she has and what she wants; the middle ground that lies, to paraphrase the dazzling Rod Serling, "between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge."

I want to save her. And in her way, she wants so badly to be saved. She is intelligent and pensive and passionate and hopeful. She is also afraid. And she feels as if she is stuck.

Writing takes so much of us. But unlike journalism (or my former student's job), it does not by nature take anything from us. Still, writing demands so much of who we are. It demands fidelity and trust and asks us to bear our souls. All for little hope that it will bring us any material gain. Writing asks that we give ourselves to it completely, but offers no guarantees in return.

And yet, we do it. Why? Because we're stupid? Because we're misguided or arrogant or crazy?

Or because we're in love?

I want to rescue the young lady from my class because she is in love. I don't want her to have to put that love aside to handle "real life," in the hopes of coming back to writing "some day." I want her to embrace it now, with everything she's got, and I want her to avoid the agony of realizing, some day, that she should have done it all along.

Still, this is not my life, and I have no plans to inflict myself upon her in any way. I suppose what I want most is to know that someone else has managed to escape those dirty steps and dirty people and dirty things. My soul was splashed across those steps and outlined in chalk for a lot of years. I suppose I just want to know that someone could get off those steps before she leaves too much of herself on them.

Write for the Jugular, folks.

It's like trying to find the right clothes for THIS guy

The problem is, I love this guy. I've just never been able to find the right story to go with him. Normally, that's not a problem for me, but this character is so rich, so good, so complex, that no story I put him in does him justice.

I've said it before ‒ characters are jerks. They're willful, spiteful, stubborn little children who refuse to go quietly. To get them to do what you want takes a sound thrashing, and lots of tormenting them with obstacles, traps, and enemies you'd never in a million years want to encounter for yourself.

And herein lies the rub ‒ I love this character so much, I don't want to hurt him. I've committed the biggest sin a writer can commit ‒ I've become emotionally attached to one of my own creations.

Being a guy, I now want to kick his ass, because he's brought me no end of grief. If he were a female character, I'd want to cheat on her with a hot waitress who looks just like her!

Especially if she looks like this!

 I've written tons of stories since I first came up with the guy (and his too-perfect name), but after every story I write, I read it back and think "Still gotta figure out John's story…"

Writers are weirdoes, of course. We all know that. And it's an occupational hazard to become bonded to our characters and stories. These creatures are our offspring. We nurture them, develop them, hurl challenges at them, and, in the end, save their souls. And it's hard for us to put them out in the world, because letting go takes courage.

And once in a while, we go off the deep end and develop a story or a character that we just can't git r' done with. We can't just pound it out. Can't just throw a character into any old thing.

For all you overprotective writer parents out there, I just want to say, you're not alone. I don't have an answer for you, but you're not alone. All of us have that one story in our heads, or that one character in our brains, that just defies all attempts to put it down. A lot of us overcome it, which I hope to do too.

But I don't know. This character of mine owns my ass. And I'd really like to get it back.

How 'bout you? Got a character or a plot or an idea that's been haunting you forever? Leave the world a comment below, we'd all like to know about it.

Hairless by frustration...W

My hissy in tact, I stormed into my apartment, where my girlfriend (now wife) asked me for the 4,000th time what was wrong. And I told her "I can't see."

Here I had made it to film school, where my dreams of being the guy everyone else in Generation X wanted to be were supposed to flower like a rose bush. And all I felt was inadequate. Other people in my classes were citing classic movies, spotting obscure director cameos, and throwing around words like "metonymy" and "Nouvelle Vague."

They saw the art between the frames. The Masonic symbolism in Kubrick's compositions. And all I saw was that brick wall in the editing room.

I recently was reminded of this episode by a student in the character development class I'm teaching here in NJ. As I prattled on about redemption as character motivation and the need to demand answers from your characters, I could see her foot just aching to find a reel of film to kick. She was frustrated. She was in a classroom full of people who got it, and she wasn't getting it. At least, so she thought.

She is getting it. She's just not used to it. She didn't realize writing was so much work.

Writing can be frustrating as hell. Especially when it comes to your characters. Characters are assholes. They're willful and defiant. They're stubborn and lazy. If you give them any excuse to sit down and rest, they'll take it. And if you don't exercise your authority over them at all times (all times!) they will unzip their flies and wizz all over you.

Writing is not supposed to be easy. Reading is supposed to be easy. Writing is an MMA bout with a triathlon thrown in. Writing is work. And it requires patience.

The good news? You will see, so long as you just hang on. Keep writing, even if it's crap. Never be afraid of writing crap. Crap is great. When you write crap, you get crap out of your system. Your vision is in there. If you're stuck and frustrated, you've got to get rid of the crap.

So exorcise it. Just keep writing. Keep working. And keep being patient. You're not alone in your frustrations.

Two months after my film reel incident, I suddenly saw in cinematic language. To this day, I don't know why or how. But it happened. And it will happen for you, if you stay with it. You can't absorb what you need to improve by abandoning your goals when the going gets tough.

Write for the jugular, folks. 

People say women aren't funny, but Tammy is. Moreover, she's generous, courageous, insightful, and ... did I mention funny? A speaker, writer, and deft observer of life, Tammy would be my new BFF if I lived anywhere near her at all. But I don't, so the least I can do is let her play in my yard this time around.

So you want to be a writer when you grow up?

Me too. Of course after 58 years (dear God I’m old) I’m still working on the growing up part, I’m happy to report that I have reached the writer status.

So, you’ve read the manuals and you’ve taken the writing course. You are beyond convinced that the world needs what you write.

What the world needs is individuality. What we need is courage. People who are willing to take a risk; go out on a limb, discard the manual and write what they feel; those are the writers worth reading.

Say it differently, say it bolder.  And if being you is a bit crazy, all the better. Why should you be the only sane person in the room? The dirty little secret is that all writers are a little bit crazy. Why else would we dedicate so many hours sequestered writing stuff we think people will never read? Unlike the real world; in the writers world crazy is good.

Everyone has a different set of rules for writing. My humble opinion is; rules are for society, not for writers.

Sure, there are the basics; check your spelling, your grammar, tense and have purpose in your subject. Don’t make up facts, double check the ones you have, never plagiarize, don’t use the internet as your only source, and always respect a deadline. 

Writers are a quirky bunch. No two of us are alike. Some write at three in the morning, some need coffee shops to fuel their minds, some need to be cloistered in a locked room in complete silence, and some need motivational music. I’ve known writers that were too shy to even look up when at a book signing and others that performed like circus ringmasters. Rules can’t possibly fit all personalities. And they don’t.

The number one writer’s creed is simple: just write. Easier said than done. Time is a thief; jobs, kids, appointments, life, it all takes precedence. But if you’re really a writer, there is always a little time for writing. Five hundred words here, fifty words there. A thought process that curls onto a written page takes but a breath of a moment.

When I first began writing I would correct and rewrite as I went along. Huge mistake. Now I free write; I delete and correct nothing and I go back and clean things up for my final product. Different strokes for different folks (yes, I really said that). There are rules teaching you to free write and there are rules instructing you to never do it. Forgetaboutit. However you want to express yourself is how you should be writing.

I’ve heard it time and time again, “Write what you know”. I would change that to “Know what you write”. If we only write about the things we know about, it would be a pretty boring life. Venturing, exploring and expanding the written world is what good writers do.

Writers write for one reason; to share their thoughts; tell their story. In the end, it’s all about the written word. And speaking of the written word, less is always more.  Edit your stuff, then edit it again and before you send it out; edit it one last time.

Of course, if you want to be a writer so you can make boatloads of money, sleep late, work from home and do TV interviews, good luck with that. The more likely truth is that you will be living off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Mac and Cheese for a while. Be patient, cream always rises to the top.

Plain and simple; if you want to be an author, act like one. Submerge yourself in the workshops, readings, and book clubs and writing associations. Walk the talk and stop hiding behind the title.

When someone says to me “I’m a writer”, I smile and say to them “prove it”. Show me what you’ve got. Be brave enough to put it out there. No sense in writing if you don’t have the courage to share. A writer’s life is a lot less ego and lot more bravery. There are few things harder to do than to pour yourself out on paper and submit it for approval or ridicule. Discouragement is a writer’s middle name. Accomplishment is a writer’s claim to fame. Take heart, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it.

And so there you have it, if you can prove your craft, if you can put your name on something you have written that someone else wants to read, you, my friend, are a writer.

And that opens up a whole new door to becoming published. Another topic for another day.

Tammy Bleck is the author of the book Single Past 50 Now What?, a speaker, columnist and life commentator. She is also a blogger extraordinaire at WittyWomanWriting.com.

Though Kelly lives in Maine, I always imagine her with a cultured English accent. Whatever the quality nof her writing that makes me think that, I'm not sure. But I dig it.

Kelly and I are blogswapping this week. Her website, All Nine Muses, centers on a love of poetry, and she is graciiously hosting my thoughts on what I consider to be the single greatest piece of writing ever published. You'll have to check her website to find out what it is, though.

Now . . . onto Kelly's thoughts on the great and powerful Muse. And why you don't need her.

The Muse is a Sloth:
And other reasons why it’s easier to write regularly (than not)

This year I launched, for the first time ever, a “theme” for my weekly blog posts: engaging influential poets in dialog about their poetry. Prior to this point, I had been blogging random thoughts on no particular schedule for years. After a few weeks of the poetry theme, this idea emerged: it is easier to write more frequently on a consistent topic than less frequently on a whim. 

I’m embarrassed to admit that this pearl had not been obvious to me before. Rather, it was a sudden blast of counterintuitive wisdom. Shouldn’t less writing translate into less effort? Apparently not.

Here’s what I think is going on:

The Muse is a lazy sloth. You cannot wait around for her to get you stirred up on a subject or to light those bulbs in your brain. She’d rather lie on the couch eating bonbons, watching reruns of All My Children. That is not to say that the Muse isn’t talented and worth her rent. But you have to get her to work for you. Once she sees you writing consistently, she’ll know you are serious, and drag her lazy butt over to the desk. Make sure you leave room for her (and pour an extra cup of coffee).

Writing frequently makes you get over yourself. When your posts are dependent on “inspiration” and not tied to a committed schedule, you may be inclined (as I was) to wait for what seemed that perfect intersection of time to write without interruption (ROFL!) and choirs of angels singing down from heaven amidst beams of poetical light. A relatively frequent deadline forces you to get over yourself and get real.

Writing a lot creates options. Writing is a process of iterative, rapid-cycle decision-making. Frequent writing on deadline increases your capacity for and efficiency in that decision-making. It also creates more possibilities for your written product. More words, more concepts, more drafts, more options. When writing is infrequent and whim-driven, however, the deliberation required to get to the end of a sentence can be debilitating. Write more now, worry (some) later.

The more you write, the more you value your Editor. Writing a lot increases appreciation for the editorial process. You ease up on yourself and become more willing to take some writing risks. Relying on a good editor – and a steady editorial process – frees up your decision-making (see point 3), allowing you to make good and bad decisions, and sort through them later. Send your editor a nice thank you card… then go write something really lousy.

The more you write about something, the more you know to write about it. To write knowledgably about a specific thing requires some research, so you get a wee bit smarter about it every time you touch the keyboard. It generates more ideas on the subject, which translates into a passion that pushes you to write some more about it. It’s like making bread. You have to add some yeast and elbow grease, but then suddenly out of nowhere appears this puffed up warm bready goodness ready to slather butter on and consume. Which makes you want to make more and different kinds of bread. It’s a virtuous upward cycle of toasted smarts.

The more you write about something, the more you are known for writing about it. Before you know it, people are asking your opinion on the matter. Unexpected opportunities arise to write or talk about that thing (like, say, blog swapping with one of your writing heroes, or stumbling upon writing contests that fit exactly the unique niche you have created for yourself). Having a solid platform on which to stand is easier than propping up a rickety soapbox every time the Muse rouses herself from her stupor.

Consistency creates community. When your readers expect something is coming from you at a particular time, they begin to look forward to it. Without that sense of expectancy, your potential community is confused and, eventually, diffused. Knowing that there are readers out there waiting for your next installment, on the other hand, can be a powerful motivator for writing. Even more, those readers then start commenting, sharing resources, collaborating with your Muse. That is when you know the steady discipline is worth it. Your readers start talking back.

If you are interested in other nuggets of counterintuitive practicality I’ve gathered from the Poets, check out these Lessons Learned.

For the rest of you, how much stardust got into your eyes when you read how easy it is to have a Twitter account and sell a million books? And how many of you then decided to write short, punchy genre books so that you could crank them out, get a back catalog, and start collecting passive income ninety-nine cents at a time?

And how many of those people among you are genuinely surprised that it didn't work out that way for you?

I have no problem with John Locke. He found a system that worked for him (though the reason it worked was because no one was aware that he had a system), so more power to him.

The problem isn't with Locke, it's with our expectations as writers. We're bombarded by the idea that being a writer is a playboy's life and that being an author (even a bestseller) is as easy as having a couple books in print. Clive Cussler jackets every book with a different, fantastic car. Movies and TV shows portray writers as well-off people with fabulous lofts (as in Sex & the City) or big houses in suburbia (as in Everybody Loves Raymond). In books, writer characters are often debutants among society's upper-uppers (as in pretty much anything by Judy Collins) or curious investigators able to take months off of work and travel the planet (too many to count).

And even when we read books about the writing business, we read books about how to sell a million E-books.

I hate to tell you this, folks, but I hope you're not just in this for the glamour, because there's an assload of work that goes along with being a well-paid writer. "Getting there" takes a lot more than a Twitter following and a blog. It takes hard work, perseverance, and patience -- exactly the three things nobody wants to hear someone say. But it's true.

The harsh truth: You want to be a hardbody? Workout a lot. You want to have a healthier set of insides? Eat more vegetables and less cake. You want to be a writer as a day job, you have to keep trying until it kills you. Then, once it does, get your ass strapped to Frankenstein's table and let him start you up again so you can get back to work marketing and promoting your work -- not your book, your work. Your name. Your canon. Your everything.

Stop trying to outthink trends. Stick to your roots instead. Write what you want to read, not just what you think other people will buy. And be patient. Remember, getting to the World Series takes steady pitching over a lotta games, not the fluke perfect game or occasional ten-game winning streak. You might not get the easy path, but if you keep carving through the jungle, you'll eventually get to the beach.

And if you're a hardbody, you'll get a few phone numbers when you get there!

Write for the jugular, folks. Write for the jugular.

The Oscar telecast is a three-hour SNL skit from the 80s. And most of the 90s -- a good idea gone horribly, horribly overlong, punctuated by polite applause for limp jokes by people trying not to look like they know they're hot shit.

mm-hmm!

Still, where would we be without the Oscars? (Hint: 1926.) They're the perfect office pool subject between football season and March Madness; and, to the observant scribe, a fantastic lesson in writing.

1. A great start isn't enough. The Academy Awards broadcast is itself a perfect model of the three-act structure -- lavish beginning, creamy middle, and high-note ending. The trouble is, while the beginning and end are usually all right, that 37-hour ordeal between Best Actress and Best Picture would be more fun if you duct taped yourself to another roll of duct tape and hugged a greeter at Wal~Mart.

You need more than bad jokes, drunk presenters, and the occasional crazy-ass redhead to keep things moving in your story.

"Kanye, WOOOOO!"

You also need to know the difference between racing through the dead people just so you can get to the end and being interesting the whole way through.

With apologies to your memories2. Memorable doesn't mean good. Remember when Angelina Jolie tongued her brother? Or when Roberto Begnini thought the best way to celebrate an Oscar for a concentration camp movie was to huff meth and dance on the seats?

Yeah, good times. Writers fall easy victim to trying something outrageous just to make their stories stand out -- shocking violence, tacked on sexual subplots, whatever. But go too far and readers will close you up and put you out in the recycle bin.  I stopped reading Dean Koontz for this very reason. After a while, I remembered how much worse a person I felt like for having endured the horrors in his stories than for the true suspense and solid characters he'd constructed. Which is a shame, because he's a kick-ass writer, with or without the mustache.

They can't all be the Man like Robert Forster3. You need an editor. The Oscars are live, and look what happens to people you thought were cool. Nervous Clint Eastwoods?  Weeping Gwyneth Paltrows? Please!

You know why you thought these people were cool in the first place? Editors. People who trim the incest and the uncomfortably anti-Semitic revelry out of the thing you actually see. Editors keep you from making an ass of yourself. At least until your acceptance speech, when you're on your own.

4. You can rock and suck at the same time. Not everybody's going to get what you do. You could either look at Jack Palance's one-armed pushups and sex jokes as feisty and entertaining or as crass attention-whoring; Sacheen Littlefeather's acceptance of Marlon Brando's Oscar as bold and timely or as idiotic posturing; Jennifer Hudson's obviously unprepared speech as genuine and human or as an embarrassing fiasco.

Hilarious? Or Freakin' Hilarious?

The point is, when you throw yourself out there, in writing or on stage, some people will love what you do and some will hate what you do. Fuck the ones who don't like it. Which leads me to…

5. Critics don't count. Fans count. Embrace the fans. You'll never see Twilight win a Best Picture. But you'll sure as hell see lines outside the theater. Like I've said, some are going to love what you do, some are going to hate it. Know your audience/readership and you will give the people who count what they want most -- you.

"And your bank account is HOW big?"6. Shameless self promotion works. Hollywood loves to stroke itself, and the Oscars -- the entertainment industry putting on an internationally televised pageant to promote the entertainment industry -- is as lubed-up a circle jerk as you can get.

But consider the ratings. Consider how serious journali… ahahahahaha!!!... I'm sorry, I tried to keep a straight face there…. OK, for real this time… how people who play journalists on TV (like Barbara Walters) have spent Oscar Sunday doing interview shows disguised as news features. Consider how many people play office pools and surf the internet for Oscar trivia.

In other words, the rampant narcissism of the entire Oscar pageant achieves an enormous amount of notoriety. It is a shameless, self-congratulatory spectacle that proves that if you want an audience, you need to goddamn go for it, without apology. When it comes to promoting your work, be shameless, be relentless, and be bold. No one cares for your book, your stories, or your articles like you do, so don't be shy when trying to promote your work.

And hey, if you can actually put together a tuxedo-and-unflattering-gown pageant to get the word out, all the better.

Write for the jugular, folks.

My weekly blog, regarding the realities of marketing books through social media, appears on Greg's site, GGAllen.net. You can also check out his writing (and seriously, you should) at Amazon: click here.

By the way, if you haven't already, visit MeeGenius.com and vote for Greg's book, Chicken Boy, The Amazing Adventures of a Superhero with Autism, which Greg is looking to get published. Click Here To Visit the Site.

When people ask me 'what do you do', isn't it strange I still don't say "I'm a writer"? Instead, I talk about my day job. You know - the one that pays the mortgage, the bills, and allows me to be a working writer. 

But just what the heck is a working writer anyways?

Writing is so much more than throwing down a collection of words on a piece of paper. (If only it were that easy.) I've been writing for more than half of my life in one form or another (for stage, the page, and online articles). But even once something is published, the work never stopped. As a working writer, you are constantly ... well - working. 

The list is endless: either attempting your next endeavor, writing a blog, 'working' the social media angle by engaging others in conversations while slyly attempting to promote your book, reading other author's books, writing reviews of those books, writing testimonials for another author (because it really is about 'paying it forward' and doing what you can for another indie author), attending book signings and/or speaking engagements, attending conferences to meet other people who are doing exactly what you're doing (got to actually see Scott face-to-face at one of those), marketing, marketing, marketing ... and oh yes that day job that pays the mortgage, bills, etc.

Here is what I do:

Set aside time to work on the promotion of your book and social media. This can be before you head off to your job, or an hour when you get home. But make it part of your ‘job’ so that those living in the house with you understand you’re still working – not just surfing the net. And then – walk away from the computer!

Lists. Lists. Lists. I keep “To-Do Lists” everywhere. I email them to myself so that I have them at my day job (for those moments I can steal a few minutes at lunch or otherwise). I know bloggers I need to respond to, bookstores I’m reaching out to, and whose book I’m currently reading to write a testimonial. Without that organization, I’d never be able to keep up with it all.

Never stop reading. I read every chance I get. Not only other people’s novels, but the great articles of inspiration and creative tips that are tweeted to me throughout the day.

Keep writing. Even if you have a book out there, write a blog or an article/essay for something on line…but continue that craft. Carve out some time to accomplish this task so that you maintain those skills.

Learn to juggle as well as relax. It is never going to be easy when you are attempting to maintain two careers as well as relationships and LIFE. So don’t get frustrated when something must take precedence over your writing world. It’ll still be there when you get back. Twitter isn’t going away. People can still find your books online. Throw a ball in the air and move on to that pressing matter and then turn to your significant other and take them out to dinner. We must let go and breathe every once in a while.

I'll admit - I'm lucky. My day job is in the creative arts managing an arts center and that environment definitely feeds my creative juices and allows me flexibility that others do not always have. But whatever ‘working writer’ means for you; cut yourself some slack so you don’t get too burnt out on the entire thing.

And as far as saying what it is I do - perhaps someday I'll be able to say "I'm a writer". I'm not sure how many books I have to see published or how many dollars (pennies) I need to receive from book sales to believe I'm deserving of the title...but for now, I'll keep doing what I love to do...

Juggling.

All right, enough of the bromance, read this and listen:

***

I know, I know—what’s up with the tricky negative? Well, this is a companion piece to writer Scott Morgan’s brilliant “5 Things Writers Should Do (When They Want To Suck)”—not only was I shooting for witty symmetry between our opposite angled views of the same issue, I also loved the pith of Morgan’s title and decided to suckle right up to it. I figure it’s only plagiarism if my counterpart says so, and he admires me too much to do that. Right, Scott?

Scott??

Best to get on with my own list and hope for my peer’s deep propensity to forgive.

In all seriousness, if you want to suck, please disregard the five suggested truths outlined below. Better yet, go out and do the exact opposite. I’m not saying your work will suck—I’m guaranteeing it. And you may be tempted to think I am pulling a Joe Namath here—allowing my arrogance to coerce me into making a bold prediction (particularly not knowing you, your writing, or anything about the market for which you intend to write). Don’t simply be tempted: know it. The five suggestions below are not complicated, nor are they really anyone’s secret. But I warn you: violate them at your own peril. Or at least the peril of your writing.

(In a ill-disguised knockoff of master David Letterman’s Top Ten lists, I have attempted to order mine from least to most egregious. This prioritization could easily be debated. What cannot be debated is that in doing so I flagrantly  violated my cohort’s fourth rule. Want to see for yourself? Afterward you can click here.)

#5. Read. A lot. If you are going to be a writer, you need to immerse yourself in the trade. The trade, dear readers, equates to the books. Not just those you write, but the entire canon of literature out there. (And yes, using the word literature just now in reference to “all” the books out there absolutely did make my skin crawl—but hopefully you get the point.)

The truth is, a writer can never read enough. The bad along with the good. The ugly along with the pristine. Most people know Shakespeare’s classic adage “learneth from thou mistakeths”. Or was that Monty Python? In any case, we writers can learn as much from other writer’s mistakes as we can from our own. Spend some time in a critique group, reading piles of other aspiring writers’ pieces. You’ll learn some invaluable lessons about what you definitely don’t want to be doing in your own writing (along with some great examples of what you do want to be doing, too).

Imagine a shipbuilder who, despite her amazing talents and potential, locked herself away in a building all of her life and never viewed so much as a single other ship. Unless she was a savant, chances are when she presents her brilliant masterpiece to the world, the last thing it will resemble is a seaworthy ship. They call them industry standards for a reason—you can’t “think outside the box” until you know where the box is.

#4. Write. A lot. Imagine a different shipbuilder who does nothing but watch and admire other builders’ work. One who signs up for every “How to Be the Next Best Ship Seller” seminar on the ‘Net. Such behavior equates to saying “show me the easy way to the money and success, please.” It doesn’t work that way in any other profession and I dare say in the creation of art it is even more crucial to polish your talents by doing what you do.

from ElHogar.org#3.  Show, don’t tell. Fiction writers should be disallowed the usage of adjectives, adverbs, and all dramatic prose for the first ten years of their writing careers. No, wait—twenty. In fact, these elements should be banned altogether—particularly the adverbs. The irony is, the  more elaborate the adverb or adjective, the weaker the writing becomes. Try it. Take the best piece you’ve ever written and throw in a whole gaggle of flashy descriptors. Have a tongue? Make it flailing, tomato-red, and obese. Your hero? How can he be a hero if he’s not devastatingly handsome, magnificently endowed, incredibly hilarious, wickedly smart, and excruciatingly debonair?

Never use a ten dollar word when a ten cent one will do. Seriously. People don’t seethe. They rarely rage. Weeping was a largely eighteenth century activity. Well-written characters hardly ever romp, gnash, prance, bludgeon, abhor, relinquish, fiddle, waddle, or wince. Objects never rocket (unless they are actually rockets). Only explosives explode. And eyes, no matter how angry or venomous, cannot act anything like lasers shooting laser beams.

Oh, and yes—snakes are venomous, but rarely human beings. (Never eyes.)

Don’t worry. A few of these words never killed a damn thing. But if your prose is littered with them? Not good. Not good at all. Venomous, actually.      

#2. Care. Write from the heart (or as my counterpart will tell you, for the jugular). Same difference. And no, doing this does NOT require any of the words from #3. It doesn’t say “write like you care”—you actually need to give a crap about what you are saying. You cannot simply write to sell. You can’t write only because it makes you happy to write, either. Trust me, it doesn’t make anyone else on earth (not related to you) happy to have you write. Not unless what you write makes them care. The reader won’t give two, uh, hoots about your words if they are just ink on white page. And that’s all they’ll ever be if you are writing a story that means nothing to you. A writer will never write anything stronger than the words that come from the depths of the writer.

#1. Create compelling characters. At this point you may be wondering why this necessary truth appears at number one. Don’t. In fact, if you take nothing away from this posting, take away this: no story ever mattered to anyone that contained flat, uninspiring, cookie-cutter characters. You must—read MUST—create characters the reader can root for and about whom they can care. In fact, when you have great characters, faux pas in #5-#3 can sometimes be forgiven by the reader (#2 was intentionally left off—it’s almost impossible to write great characters without the words coming from the heart).

This doesn’t mean you have to give every character who walks onstage a limp or an accent or a funny affectation. Far from it. Some of the most memorable characters are memorable simply because of how human they are. As readers, we love to relate to a character. That also doesn’t mean we want to relate to her prowess as a CPA. (Maybe, if that prowess is juxtaposed against a deep ethical dilemma because she is forced to cook the books in order to pay for her son’s bone marrow transplant.)

You get it. Live inside your characters’ skins. Infuse them with your own loves, fears, dreams, desires, and dilemmas. They need to have depth. Nothing leaves uncreative swampland in its wake like a story littered with shallow characters.

I’ll summarize this way: you can ignore the advice above. I’ll share something with you, however: I learned all of this from other writers who cared enough about my potential to share their experience with me. I didn’t discover these truths on my own. Heck, I don’t always follow them myself—none of us is perfect. But these gemstones come from the most sacred place of all: from mining the successes, failures, and infinite experiences of all the other writers who have come before us. The worst thing we can possibly do is ignore them.

Only contrarians and teenagers ignore the advice of those who have been there before them.

--Leave Rob a comment by clicking the tag below.