Writer or Author? Rant Time.

I’ve had enough.
This week I’ve paid too much attention to the thoughts and comments of others.
Some people wrote some blog posts about some crook contract terms being introduced by Random House, and I read hundreds of comments by people who call themselves “authors.” Author this, author that, look at MEEEEEEEE!
Most of the comments added nothing to the debate. They were “Look at me. I think that too. I’m an author. People should buy my book.”
I’m not linking to the shit, because I don’t want to encourage them. The useful part of it was that people were bringing awareness to a contract model where Random House would pay no advance, and then still not pay the fucking “author” anything until the publisher had made back all the money they’d outlaid to publish the book.
Yes, it’s a crook contract. And hundreds of people have lots to say about it. Maybe 3% of comments were useful. They added something worthwhile.
Many of the comments added stuff, but not useful stuff, to the conversation. It was a mob mentality. People tearing apart the terms of the contract, without having seen the terms of the contract. Applying their own interpretation to it. Attack! Look at me! I’m an author.

It used to mean something, the term author. Something I respected. But I’m so sick of the sound of it, the look of it, the whingy whiny pathetic thing I think of now in relation to it.
I haven’t published anything yet. But I’m close. And when I do, please don’t refer to me as an author. I write. I’m a writer. I tell stories. I’m a storyteller. But all this “I’m an author” shit. If you’re one of these, “I’m an author” types, go put your head in a bag of farts and get someone to light it. Then you’ll have my interest.

Image by Michael Leunig, artist, poet, philosopher extraordinaire. Buy his books. They’ll make you happier.

How To Create a Great Writing Group

Image

This is Robbie.

He looks like he knows what he’s on about, but even though he turns up every week, not much of what he says has been much use to our group.

Then again, nothing he’s said has done any harm, unlike some people in some groups I’ve gone to.

I’m part of a kick-arse writing critique group. I understand this is like discovering gold in your back yard. So I thought I’d share the steps I had to take to get this to happen.

I looked on the internet, found many writing groups close by, and not so close by. I made some phone calls, trying to ascertain whether they’d be a good fit for me. I went along to some, and took some writing along with me, hoping to have it critiqued in a way that would help me improve it. Mostly it didn’t. I tried each group twice, then if it hadn’t helped, I didn’t go back.

Eventually I found a group with some people I thought might just be strange enough to help me achieve my goals, so I joined. I went along for a while, submitted writing for critique, both in person and by email. Most of the critique I received was of no use, and a waste of my time. Who cares what the critiquer’s personal views on the subjects we write about are? It’s not important. Who cares whether the critiquer once wrote a story on that subject, and nobody liked it? It’s not important. Who cares what the critiquer says when they’re only saying it to let you know how knowledgeable they think they are on a certain subject? If it doesn’t help make your story or your writing better, it doesn’t matter, and wastes your time.

However, not everyone in that group was of no use. There were a couple of people who gave intelligent, useful critique which could be used to improve my writing. So I stole them.

I started my own group. How?

I found a Great Writing Group article online.

Apart from being a great insight into those involved, it works like a How To for anyone who wants to start a group that works. I wrote down my own thoughts about what it would take to get a worthwhile critique group happening, focusing on the fact that only SERIOUS writers would benefit from it, as we would be giving strong, robust critique that might make a writer cry, rather than handing out encouragement for writing that was clearly not up to scratch.

I emailed this, along with the link to the wonderful article above, to the very few people I knew who I was pretty sure would be able to handle strong critique, bother to actually use it to improve their writing, and also be able to dish it out as well as they could take it.

It worked.

We meet weekly. Those who are less serious don’t keep coming, because those of us who are serious are annoyingly so. Except the cat. He’s not serious at all. Never writes. Never critiques. Just looks down his glasses at us like we should be doing better. Meeting weekly is great. It keeps us at it. Nobody wants to bring cruddy pages that will be savaged to death. The motivation is there to bring our best to the table, to outdo each other, and to help each other to outdo ourselves so we have somewhere higher to aim.

And that old thing they say, “If you want to learn something, teach it.” That works. By working together to find what’s wrong and what’s right with each piece, we are teaching as well as learning. Everyone who keeps bringing pages is getting better.

The only thing we do differently now is to email our pages to each other a couple of days before we bring them along. That way the first read is a quiet read by ourselves, and we have a better feel for the piece when it’s read out at the meeting.

We continue to occasionally invite someone new to the group. Someone we think will be great. Sometimes we’re right. The ones we’re wrong about don’t maintain their interest.

If you can’t find local people to start a group, you’re either living many miles from town or you’re not trying hard enough. Internet dating sites even work. Put up a profile with photos of yourself so they know you’re a real person. And write it well enough that they know you can write. Explain you’re looking for writers, not romance. Search male or female, any age, with writing as a keyword. Sort by location. You can tell which ones can write by reading their profiles. Invite them to try your group. Send them the Serious Email and the link to the Great Article. Those that actually get serious enough to come along, then come back every week they can, will be good.

Except for the cat. Then again, I think he’s improving…

Image

Fifty Shades Success Explained by Nabokov

In 1956, the great Vladimir Nabokov wrote a short piece he called ON A BOOK ENTITLED LOLITA.
Apart from being a beautiful piece of writing in itself, he explains the seemingly unexplainable success of Fifty Shades of Grey.
You see, when he tried to find a U.S publisher for Lolita, all four he submitted the manuscript to completely misunderstood the work, some not even finishing reading it, and labelled it “pornography”, not mummy porn, but nevertheless, it’s certainly strange to hear Nabokov’s work labelled as anything like the pedestrian work of E.L James.

So here’s the relevant parts of Nabokov’s words.

‘… the term “pornography” connotes mediocrity, commercialism, and certain strict rules of narration. Obscenity must be mated with banality because every kind of aesthetic enjoyment has to be entirely replaced by simple sexual stimulation which demands the traditional word for direct action upon the patient.’

and

‘Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés. Style, structure, imagery should never distract the reader from his tepid lust. The novel must consist of an alternation of sexual scenes. The passages in between must be reduced to sutures of sense, logical bridges of the simplest design, brief expositions and explanations, which the reader will probably skip but must know they exist in order not to feel cheated ( a mentality stemming from the routine of “true” fairytales in childhood). Moreover, the sexual scenes in the book must follow a crescendo line, with new variations, new combinations, new sexes, and a steady increase in the number of participants (in a Sade play they call the gardener in), and therefore the end of the book must be more replete with lewd lore than the first chapters.’

So, casting my eyes through the above, I see the words mediocrity, commercialism, banality, and copulation of clichés. Fifty Shades certainly hasn’t much bothered us with style, structure or imagery, and to apply the words sutures of sense to James’s plot would be more than flattering.
The only difference between these Shades tragedies of literature and Nabokov’s suggestion of what constitutes a basic commercial pornographic novel is that in the Shades books the protagonists are faithful to each other. Which the TrendyPornMummies love. The simple twist that made it right for our times, and ok for every mindless mummy to love.

Comment as nicely or nastily as you like below, then please never speak of the above-mentioned books here ever again. Except for Lolita, which you should feel free to mention here and anywhere else you please, every day, forever and ever and ever. And we’ll live happily ever after.

Wanna argue about it?
Or better still, tell me which other great writer has advice for us on how to write the next MegaBestSellingPieceOfCrap???

What Home Looks Like

I don’t have proper photos yet, but thought I’d show you a few of these, just so you get the idea.

This is the dining table. What you can’t see is that it’s a 100 year old cast iron hospital table/writing desk. Adjustable enough so I can write at it sitting or standing. And it tilts to become a writing slope.
I had to put a new top on it, which is actually a single piece of Australian Red Cedar, my favourite timber, just edging out oregon. This piece of timber is really old too, salvaged from an ancient piece of broken furniture. The armrest under the window is the same timber.
Yes, that granny blanket draped over the seat is mine. Yes, I’m comfortable with that. It reminds me of my grandmothers. And that mess you see top left is usually hidden under the lounge cushions.

This next pic is looking to the rear of the bus The lounge cushions, for some reason, are up against the back windows.
The cupboard over the bed is where I keep my clothes, it’s Australian Red Cedar, and was a bugger to build there.
The doors are off a 1940s Tasmanian oak kitchen dresser. It was my favourite piece of furniture. Many photos of my kids have that dresser in the background, then it was damaged while in storage.
So I took off the doors, used the bottom doors on the cupboard under the lounge, and these doors here.. they’re leadlight with concave glass, and beautiful handmade workmanship from the 1940s. And they still have the beautiful original hinges.
The lamp at the left is a bit of Aussie history, a highly collectable Planet Lamp from Bellingen NSW. Ms iSkirt found it for a dollar at a garage sale, and gave it to me for the bus instead of selling it for hundreds of dollars. So maybe I’ll let her come with me when I travel around Australia. I might even let her sleep in my bed sometimes. If she behaves.

Below is what I see above me when I wake up in the morning. I’m no cabinet maker, but there’s something so satisfying about having made something beautiful that works. It’s a tiny home, but it’s comfortable, and it’s beautiful, at least in my eyes.
Any home is ok, a roof over your head is better than none. But an ordinary house compared to building something you love is like a churned out ebook compared to a beautiful hardcover book someone loved so much it had to be a work of art in itself.

An oregon book case, a big wide opening side door at the foot of the bed, lots of sunshine, bare feet and a borrowed dog. Does it get any better than this?

This is the first meal I cooked after connecting the gas. Mmmm… sausage, egg and mushrooms.
It shows the very modern 3 burner gas cooker and sink, with its glass top raised into the splashback position.
It also shows the oregon bench top, made from two really old painters planks. Pity you can’t see it properly, it’s really something.
And if you look bottom right, you can see a little bit of one of the 1911 hand carved Kauri Pine cupboard doors. Lousy photo of something beautiful. I gotta get some decent photos.
And at the top you can see a tiny bit of the hand carved Australian red cedar I salvaged from a broken chaise lounge.

Here’s a close up of the oregon bench top. Too close to see how beautiful the grain is, but hey, it has the remains of one of the bullets my old man threw into the fire when I last visited him.

And here’s what happens when some madman throws bullets into the fire, if you’re lucky. Yeah, I still have my eyes and all my genitalia. I was lucky.

So, that’ll do for now.
As you can see, it was originally a school bus. I moved some letters a bit, and added UN in front. From a distance it looks like COOL BUS, then as I get close people see the UN.
I did that for a joke with my kids, but plenty of people seem to get enjoyment from it, so I left it. So there it is.
My UnCool bus, seen here parked beside a pretty little creek. The best home I’ve ever lived in, and a work in progress.