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I spent this past week and weekend plotting a new novel. The method I use was first introduced to me by David Morrell in his excellent book THE SUCCESSFUL NOVELIST. Before I read this book, I hated outlining. It sucked the life out of the story. But the results of “writing by the headlights” approach often meant tons of drafts until I found the core theme or idea or emotional heart of the story I wanted to tell.

Morrell’s method, though, isn’t bullet points or index cards or other things I’d tried to no avail. Instead, you have a dialog with yourself about the story in prose, and you ask questions and challenge assumptions about the tale you want to tell. It feels silly as hell at first. But I’m a pretty chatty patty, so it works well for me. The questions help minimize the wasted drafts as you burrow deeper or avoid cliches or find that the story you wanted to tell isn’t the one you’re thinking of right now, but another one buried deep in a adjacent idea.

It works well for me most times. It reduces drafts, keeps my enthusiasm high, and allows me to use a tool of storytelling, dialog, to outline. All aces.

I have friends who can’t stand this method, so I wondered why it worked for me. A couple of things jumped up.

1. It’s like improv, a form of comedy storytelling that forces you to mine the moment and then dig deeper. You keep going until you get to the best material (and even the lesser stuff can become stories or poems or whatever later). I’ve absorbed so much comedy and have rehashed and riffed on it for years with friends that thinking on the fly to get a reaction, to tell a story, is almost second nature (even when the joke bombs). The immediacy of it, too, appeals to me, and that also comes through in story dialogs of plot, where making a point form list in short hand, or, heaven help me, making a graph of the rising action like Damon Knight suggested would be about as appealing as a knee to the jaw.

2. Story Dialogs reminded me of something I did as a kid and young man a lot, which was walk with my friend James and just talk about anything and everything about pop culture, usually in the form of lists (top ten scariest horror films, top ten strongest wrestlers, top ten beauty queen TV actresses). All arguments had to be defended. All points were subject to challenge. And you got more points if you dug up cooler info about lost classics, obscure flicks and books, bizarre historical figures, etc. This perpetual time killing in the suburbs as we walked everywhere and nowhere, I think, conditioned my mind to braimstorm in dialog form.

And, thankfully, after a rusty start, I’m back in the game and getting the pages done. Onward!

JSR

Hurrah!

I’ve got revisions to do, but the beast is largely the way I like it and so the next Spar Battersea adventure will be coming to your town in a couple of months. It was fun to write, and you can rest assured that Spar become a tar baby for trouble in the next subculture I wanted to write about. Which one? Take a guess, True Believers. Take a guess. ‘Nuff said.

It also marks the third novel I wrote this year. And I’m planning to finish another one before Christmas. Now, the Spar books are shorter, but even still, it’s a lot of wordage and 2011 will end as my most productive novel writing year yet. I’m no Walter Gibson or Michael Moorcock, but I’ve upped my game by a factor of two. I’m working harder and I hope smarter and hope things start turning my way real soon.

I’ve got some other big plans and good news, too, but they still remain top secret. I’ve also been hit with some disappointments that are also confidential. But it’s funny that in the wake of the good and the bad, my solution to most of this stuff, after I’ve celebrated my victories or stewed like a rotten egg after defeat, is the same:

Write the next thing you want to write. Read the next thing you want to read. Try and keep your momentum fueled with more joy than anger and get on with it. Which reminded me of this quote

“Yell. Jump. Play. Out-run those Sons-of-Bitches. They’ll NEVER live the way you live. Go do it.” Ray Brabury

Oh. Hell. Yeah.

JSR

I’ve had a few folks say similar stuff, all very nice and humbling. They want to see what kind of go I can make of the neo pulp frontier. They’re rooting for me, and lots think I can do some damage in this field. Which is great!

So, from time to time, I’ll drop some thoughts here about career junk. Not arguments. Not grand statements. No revolutionary tract. I don’t have the data to back up much beyond the cause and effect of what I’m doing, day in and day out. I’ve said before, the last thing on earth I want to be is a guru handing out Kool Aid, but the teacher in me also wants to help folks with their own stuff if I can.

So instead, I want to start by saying thanks.

Thanks to everyone who has bought DEATH MATCH or blogged about it or read it and blurbed it or laughed at the premise and told their friends to “check it out!” Thanks to all those who are cheering me on. Thanks to all those who’ve watched me fight the good fight in short stories for ten years, and novels for three.

I promise you this: I will work like hell, and try to write some great stuff for you and me. Fun stuff planned for Halloween and Christmas, but until then, I hope you get in the ring and enjoy DEATH MATCH to the fullest! For  $2.99, no less! Cheaper than your daily latte, and ten times as tasty!

Huzzah,

JSR

I was thinking about this while watching an HBO special last night, featuring comedian Richard Jeni, called “A Big Steaming Pile of Me.” When we were searching for what to watch, and I saw his name, something triggered. But not something happy of funny.

Richard Jeni committed suicide in 2007. He was featured in a documentary on the tragic side of comedy. According to some sources, he had a history of mental problems, depression and schizophrenia being the biggies. So, I was a little concerned about watching the special. Until I also realized that I had seen it, years ago, when he was alive. I remembered thinking the guys was viciously good.

So, we watched it. And, damn it, what a talented man. Funny, smart, insightful, challenging, inventive. It was one of the most composed and well executed comedy routines I’ve seen, done at a time of high polarization in the US. It was a guy at the height of his powers, challenging norms of politics, social issues, and gross out humour. And two years later, he took his own life.

I’m always a little wounded when I hear these stories. I know there are links between depression and creativity, though the former can also be a prison for the latter, let alone a grave. To see a guy, a true artist of his form, just giving it all he had was powerful. I’d like to think his life, work, and contribution can mean more than his sad end. But I don’t have any answers on this front. Just a thought:

Richard Jeni was a master of his craft, and it was a real pleasure to watch him at his best. He will be sorely missed, because he will always be remembered.

JSR