Write or Die

Cook Street Moka House - Home of the Mythical Asian Mist

No Asian Mist today, alas. A sweet milky drink a day for the past week has weakened my lactose resistance, so I’ve decided to lay off the lattes for a bit, at least until my bout of “milk gout” dissipates. I did, however, push my afflicted knee to indulge in my flex-Friday flânerie and got some cool pictures to support future writing exercises. It also gave me a subject for today’s “live” post.

Almost everyone who learns that I am a writer will ask me: “Are you sending anything out?” as in, “Are you trying to get published?” Well, since disqualifying for an online writing competition because the piece I planned to enter was originally posted here at CR, my pat reply is now, “I write a blog, so technically, I am published.” The other day a co-worker asked “the question” and this time, the truth popped out.

I said, “I don’t care about getting published. I write because I’ll die if I don’t.”

There’s a great scene in the film Anonymous where the Earl of Oxford’s wife discovers he’s been writing again and goes slightly ballistic because everyone knows that writers are possessed of the Devil. The Earl’s response is a scary truth for any artistic spirit: the voices inside will drive him mad if he continues to ignore them.

I was also reminded of J. C. Hutchins’ recent post over at terribleminds.com, where he gives all sorts of reasons why unfinished projects can stack up (I’ve got a bunch of the darned things), but counsels against abandoning any of them. Even if a piece languishes for years, eventually it will find its way back to the spotlight. I was vexed with myself because “Black in Back” has stalled, so remembering that advice helped me to move on.

Moving on today means going back to the unfinished novel. Reijo’s romance has been in limbo for so long that there’s dust on the half-finished hard copy. That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned it; in fact, the voices have begun whispering again and this weekend, I’ve decided to ramp it up once more. I might drop it again next week, but as long as I’m writing something, I’ll still be alive.

The Finally Ending Story

Tomorrow’s post sees the long-awaited conclusion of “Four Legs and a Tale”. Hats and horns! I think 13 weeks is a bit long even for a serial, so my next story is much shorter. It’s an urban piece in two parts, followed by a winter fantasy that I’m breaking into four segments to finish right before Christmas. That’s not to say there won’t be more marathon Saturday stories; I just hope to bring them home sooner than I did with Sian's. 

This online publishing thing could be a concern, but it actually isn’t. This is my work, to post where I please, and when the day comes that someone wants to pay me to write, I’ll happily provide them with original, unpublished product. Right now, it’s all about fun. I have a wealth of work to share: characters to introduce, blood to spill, hearts to break, debts to be paid. I’ve experimented with styles and settings over the years, so some of the stuff is rough, but it’s all helped to define me as a writer. I’d rather be a good writer who tells so-so stories than a good storyteller who’s a so-so writer. Am I a storyteller? I think so. Am I a good storyteller? I hope so, but if not I reckon I can bluff my way through any loopholes with snappy dialogue, glittering phrases, and the occasional steamy sex scene.

Hey, it works for the pros.

Published

 

 

My dear mother is determined to make me famous – or at least to get me published. After I posted the expanded version of Café Nuit last month, she sent me a link to the Canada Writes literary competition for short fiction, personal non-fiction and/or poetry. She thought perhaps Odette and François would be suitable for entry.

 

I thought so, too. The story was written in 2013. Only a few people had read it and no one had paid me for the privilege. The word count was 350 over the maximum, so I had to rework it a bit. I managed to bring it in at 1471 (the requisite was between 1200 and 1500) without damaging the integrity of the piece, and once that was done, I clicked the link to review the rules and regs.

 

All entries were to be original, unpublished works. Since my copyright had not been forfeited for a fee or the piece posted online at someone else’s website, I figured mine would count. Wrong-o.

 

Apparently, a piece that is posted on one’s own personal website is considered “published”.

Gee, maybe I should have been warned when I started the blog. Once a piece is drafted and ready to upload, the go button says “publish”. Should that have been my first hint? I asked the question of the competition experts, who kindly responded with a suggestion that the answer to my question could be found at the included link (no simple “yes” or “no”, but a list of “Nine Mistakes Made by Competition Hopefuls” or words to that effect – my answer was named in mistake #2). So, bugger the competition. I can post my original work at Comfortable Rebellion with confidence that my copyright is intact. Better yet, my mother can tell anyone she likes that her daughter is A PUBLISHED WRITER and it will be true. I may be self-published on a personal web page, but I am published nonetheless.

 

Now … how to make money doing this …