The One That Got Away

(A version of this article originally appeared in Speculations, April 2001.)

"They decided to withdraw the offer on your novel."

I hesitated, not quite believing what my agent had told me. "What? Why?"

"The editor said she was no longer 'comfortable' with the book. Whatever that means."

The publisher in question had made an offer on my novel The Harmony Society over a month before. Not for a large advance, but they had seemed enthusiastic about the book. After years of trying to sell a novel, I thought I'd finally done it -- finally was a Writer with a capital W. And now this.

My agent commiserated with me a bit before promising to keep sending the book around. I thanked him and hung up. I knew publishing was a volatile business and that this particular house had a reputation for somewhat eccentric business decisions. But no longer comfortable with my book?

I felt awful. I'd come so close to achieving my dream of being a published novelist, only to have it yanked away from me -- two hours before I was due to attend a local science fiction convention as an author panelist.

Needless to say, I didn't feel like going. Even with dozens of short story sales to my credit, I felt like a failure and a fraud. I didn't want to have to sit on panels and pretend that I knew what the hell I was talking about. Didn't want to have to face friends and acquaintances and have them ask how things were going with my writing.

I was angry at my agent for pushing the editor too hard for more money and better contract terms, perhaps scaring her off; angry at myself for having been dumb enough to believe that the offer had been a firm one in the first place. Angry that I had no clue exactly what had happened to screw up the deal and that I probably never would. But most of all, I was angry that I had wasted so much time pursuing my dream. A dream which had turned around and bit me hard on the rear.

In the end, I went to the con, if only so I'd have some friends to complain to. They were all perfectly sympathetic, of course, but several of them said with a wistful tone, "At least you had an offer."

I felt like telling them the grass was definitely not greener on this side of the fence, but I didn't. I knew they wouldn't understand. I wouldn't have either, not before.

I moped around all weekend, felt miserable, talked about quitting writing, and stuck more than a few mental pins in an imaginary voodoo doll labeled EDITOR.

Then the con was over, my friends returned home, and I was left with only my wife to complain to. But I didn't feel much like talking anymore. I realized that I'd actually been fortunate to have a con to go to. While it hadn't exactly kept my mind off my stillborn book deal, it had, if nothing else, kept me busy and provided some measure of catharsis.

But now it was Sunday night and stretching before me was my first full week as a failure. The question was, what was I going to do with it?

The next day I sat down and started to write another book.

I wanted to get back on the horse, was afraid that I might never write a novel again unless I did. I used an outline which I had completed some months back so that I wouldn't have to worry about developing a plot and characters. I could just write.

And write I did, well over ten pages a day in between teaching college composition courses and caring for my then one-year-old daughter. I took all the emotional energy churning inside me and channeled it into my book, writing like a man possessed. I finished the novel, titled Necropolis, in twenty-nine days.

I tinkered with the manuscript, editing and revising over the next several weeks, then blasted it off to my agent. But now doubts began to set in. What if I'd written Necropolis too fast, hadn't revised enough; what if it was absolute crap?

Sure, my writers' group liked it, but how could I trust them? They were my friends; they knew how emotionally fragile I was just then. I could have probably scribbled out a grocery list and they'd have praised it as a surefire Nebula contender.

The con had taught me that I needed to keep busy, but I couldn't bring myself to write any more fiction, not then. Nearly a decade earlier, I had worked as a reporter for a small weekly newspaper, but I had written very little nonfiction since. Still, I occasionally thought about getting back to it, and now seemed the perfect time.

I threw myself into reading about nonfiction writing techniques and researching markets. I tossed around different article ideas, finally deciding to write a personal essay about my experience with testicular cancer. I developed a query letter, sent it out to fifty magazines, and sat back to wait. A few days later I received an e-mail from an editor at Penthouse. He was interested in seeing the article.

A couple weeks more, and the article was finished and in the editor's hands. The check was welcome, of course, but I had gained something far more important than money: I felt like my words were valued again -- not by my wife or my writers' group, not even by an editor of a national magazine. But by me. And I needed to feel that way, needed it like a man lost in the desert needs a drink of cool, clean water.

I toyed with the idea of saying to hell with fiction altogether and writing nonfiction exclusively, but I couldn't do it. Despite the instability (and occasional insanity) of a fiction writer's life, I loved it too much to quit. I returned to working on short stories and noodling around with novel ideas. My agent called to let me know he liked Necropolis and would start submitting it to editors.

I'm not the only one who's had a book deal go sour on him, of course. SF novelist J.R. Dunn (This Side of Judgment, Days of Cain, Full Tide of Night) once had an editor send him a two-page letter of revision for a novel. Dunn made the revisions, turned the novel in, and it was rejected.

"Naturally you're going to be furious when your book's rejected," Dunn says, "but you want it to be rejected for good grounds, not a minor technical point." It turned out the editor "basically didn't understand what a radio was. I told my agent to drop the publisher and go on to another, and that's what we did." The novel, This Side of Judgment, came out two years later in hardback to good reviews. Dunn says the moral is "not all editors are idiots" and advises writers to "keep banging your head against a wall" until your book finds a home.

Editor Gordon Van Gelder says that having a book deal fall through is "definitely not common at all." He advises authors to research a publisher to determine size, longevity and stability before submitting. Smaller houses are especially precarious financially.

Van Gelder assures that there is "no stigma" for authors who've had book deals collapse on them, and that actually the book's more attractive to other editors because it had a deal before. For instance, Van Gelder once bought a book by Tanith Lee that had been abandoned after the Abyss line of horror novels folded. Not only did Van Gelder think it a fine book, but it was a sequel and he felt Lee's fans should have a chance to read it.

"It was the right thing to do," Van Gelder says, "plus I made some money for St. Martin's in the process."

Given the mergers and downsizing in publishing over the last few years, and the fact that The Harmony Society was a slipstream novel not easily pigeonholed, my agent and I decided to investigate the possibility of placing the novel with small-press publishers. A recent start-up, DarkTales Publishing, seemed a likely prospect. They published offbeat horror/dark fantasy novels and brought out work by such authors as J. Michael Straczynski, Yvonne Navarro and
Mort Castle, among others. We decided to give them a try.

And they took my novel, with every intention of publishing it. But after a couple of years, the publisher realized their business had grown too big, too fast, and they needed to slow things down. DarkTales would still be bring out my novel, but they couldn't say when. So, after letting out a long sigh, I decided it was off to market once more.

In 2003, The Harmony Society finally found a home with Prime Books (then a new publisher). The book came out, folks read and reviewed it, and eventually it fell off people’s radar, as
books do. But that was okay. I’d managed to get it out into the world, and I had other books to write.

Since that time, I've had a few dozen more novels published – including a revised, expanded version of Nekropolis (now with a K) – and I’m thrilled that this month Dark Regions Press is bringing out a new edition of The Harmony Society for readers to enjoy. In many ways, it’s the novel of mine that means the most to me, and now that you’ve read this far, you know why.

And what, as the saying goes, is the moral of my tale? Simply this, my friends: despite my successes -- or perhaps because of them -- I've learned the most important lesson an author needs to learn: I don't need publication to feel like a writer. The only thing I truly need is to keep writing.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

As you no doubt surmised from the foregoing, The Harmony Society is now available from Dark Regions Press: http://www.darkregions.com/the-harmony-society-by-tim-waggoner/

You can read an interview with me about the book here: http://www.darkregions.com/pages/Blog.html

And you can find out what folks have said about the book here: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/568043.The_Harmony_Society

Dreamers and Crafters

As both a writer and a teacher, one of the most difficult things for me to do at this time in my career is advise new writers on how to get published. Do I extol the virtues of traditional publishing? Do I sing the praises of self-publishing in the era of the e-reader? Do I tell them to go for either or both? Or do I throw up my hands and say "How the hell should I know? I'm just a guy who writes weird stories!"

Before I go any further, let me give you a couple links. Kristine Kathyrn Rusch -- who's been at various times a multi-genre writer, editor, and publisher -- writes frequently (not to mention insightfully) about the business of writing. Recently, she wrote a couple blogs about the brave new era of publishing we find ourselves in. They're required reading for anyone wanting to understand the shift in the publishing paradigm that's upon us. Go ahead and read them. I'll be here when you're done:

http://kriswrites.com/2012/03/14/the-business-rusch-scarcity-and-abundance/

http://kriswrites.com/2012/03/21/the-business-rusch-quality/

So if you read Kris' articles, you'll understand my confusion when it comes to advising writers. And it's all because of a point Kris doesn't address in either of her articles -- which isn't surprising, because really, it doesn't matter from a business standpoint. The point of which I speak is the education and growth of a writer.

You ever watched the tryouts for American Idol? Ever wondered how in the hell the worst singers -- those who sound like a tomcat getting neutered sans anesthesia -- think they sound good enough to sing in public, let alone audition for a spot on a national TV show? They have no concept of quality, no self-awareness that allows them to judge their current ability level, and they have no one to tell them this particular emperor has no clothes or they refuse to listen to those who do. They don't care about the art of singing. The care only about being in the limelight, being the center of attention, being famous. In short, they don't care about craft; they care only about making their fantasy become reality.

Now imagine that there's no panel of judges to say yea or nay to them. Imagine that all of them can be "professional" singers simply by uploading their performances to Itunes or a similar service. Now ask yourself, what's the motivation for the Dreamers to improve? They're getting their performances out there, they can tell all their friends they're real singers, they can get their friends to go online and give five-star reviews to their songs, they can try to set up live performances or perhaps teach singing to other Dreamers. They get to do all the things that they ever dreamed about, and best of all, they get to do it without any tiresome work.

Now, there are Crafters, too. Folks that want to become better singers because craft matters to them. It's the song, the music, that matters most to them. Crafters may wait to upload their performances until they feel they're good enough, and once they start uploading, they'll continue to work on improving, learning and growing throughout their careers.

So, instead of singers, think writers. Instead of American Idol, think traditional publishing.

Business-wise, Dreamers and Crafters will compete for readers' attention in the new publishing ecosystem, and Darwin take the hindmost. Readers will find quality work (however they define it), and those writers who are found lacking won't be read. From a reader's standpoint, the system will take care of itself.

But from a teacher's standpoint, the Brave New World of self-publishing poses a serious dilemma. How do you help people grow as writers? Hell, how do you even get them to value the concept of growth? I finished my first novel at 19 and sent it out to Del Rey books, and within two months received a kind personal rejection (you used to be able to get personal rejections from major publishers that fast back during the Cretaceous). I kept writing novels, kept submitting them. I wrote around ten novels before my first was accepted for publication. A handful of those early novels have been published since, but the rest will remain forever unpublished because I wouldn't inflict them upon the world.

But what if I was 19 today? Besides my sudden youthening confusing the hell out of my two daughters, I'd have no reason to even consider sending my first novel to a publisher. I could just write it, check it quickly for typos (missing most of them, probably), format it as an e-book, upload it to the Net, and dive right into writing the next book. My first ten novels would be "published" (I think "uploaded for sale" is probably a more accurate term) and maybe I would find some readers, maybe I wouldn't, but either way, what incentive would I have for working to improve? At 19, I was more of a Dreamer than a Crafter. Most of us probably are. But I don't know if I ever would've become however much of a Crafter I am today if I hadn't had to work to get published in the traditional way.

I once had a creative writing student who told a fellow classmate this about receiving feedback: "Why should I do any work to make my stories better? If publishers don't want them as they are, I'll just self-publish them. Either way, they're going to get published."

So as a teacher, what do I do? Share what I know with new writers and let them sink or swim on their own? (I'm pretty sure I know which the student I mentioned above is going to do.) That's mostly all any creative writing teacher can do anyway, and I doubt any technological advances will ever change that. But for those who are standing in that yellow wood with two divergent roads before them, one labeled Crafter and the other Dreamer, what advice could I give them that might lead them to take the road less traveled, the one that will ultimately make them the best writer they can be?

1. Commit to being a life-long learner.

Read a ton -- fiction, nonfiction, and especially interviews with writers you admire -- write a ton, learn everything you can about the business of writing, and never stop. Do you need to take a class or earn a college degree in writing? Nope. But it can't hurt (assuming you've done your homework and chosen a class that's right for you. (Here's an article I wrote a few years back about choosing a creative writing class: http://timwaggoner.com/class.htm) In fact, I suspect creative writing programs and writers who offer classes on their own will see a lot of increased business in the years to come as new writers seek ways to get a leg up on the competition.

2. Make peace with process.

Studies of the current "Instant Download" generation show that people are losing their patience with process. The idea that a series of steps may be required to reach a desired outcome loses meaning whenever we can get whatever we want instantly. But there's no app for making yourself the best writer you can be, just as buying a new pair of running shoes won't immediately make you a track star. Accept that growth takes time and can't be rushed. (Though of course, your learning curve can be decreased. See item #1.)

3. Get good feedback and keep getting it.

Find yourself the equivalent of the American Idol judges. Well-read, honest people who are not only capable of paying attention to what's going on inside their heads as they read, they're also able to articulate it in a way that makes sense to you. You might find these people in a writing class, you might create your own writing group, but however you do it, make sure you cultivate people who can help you improve your game and stay on it.

4. Don't be in a rush to publish.

This may be the hardest piece of advice to follow. Self-restraint isn't exactly one of humanity's greatest strengths. It has to be learned. But no matter how badly you want your dream, do you want to publish work that's not the best you're capable of, work that may garner reviews (real ones, not the fake five-star Amazon reviews you beg your friends to post to help sell your work or, worse, that you pay someone to write for you) that might not be flattering and will stay on the Net forever? On the flip side, don't do the opposite: never publish because you're afraid your work will never be good enough. Remember item #3. Good feedback will help let you know when it's time to publish. More importantly, if you've read widely and well, you'll know if your work is up the standards of what you consider good writing.

5. Earn your readers.

I tell this to students when I talk about publishing: "There is no reason for anyone on this Earth to give a damn about what you write. You must give them a reason." You want to attract readers to your work? Want to repay their time, attention, and money so they'll come back and read -- and hopefully buy -- more of your stuff? Dreamers think only of themselves. They think of how great it'll be when people are reading their work, how wonderful it will feel to be a "real" writer at last. Crafters think about the reader. What will make this story the best it can be? How can I make this scene more exciting and suspenseful? How can I make this description more evocative? Put the reader first, and you'll be a long way toward putting yourself ahead of the horde of self-published Dreamers out there.

The Writing Life has never been an easy one, and in many ways the rise of self-publishing, while appearing to make it easier, has in truth, made it even harder. But if the future of publishing is going to be even more Darwinian than its past, make sure that you do what it takes not only to survive, but thrive. Dream and dream big, but tend to your craft and tend it well.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

The Nekropolis Archives is due out from Angry Robot Books late April. It's an omnibus edition collecting the first three Matt Richter novels, as well as three short stories featuring Matt. (And if you want more new Nekropolis, drop by www.angryrobotbooks.com and let the publisher know -- and if you buy lots of copies of the omnibus, that won't hurt either! Remember, big fat books make wonderful gifts!)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Nekropolis-Archives-Tim-Waggoner/dp/0857662082/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332873789&sr=8-1

My surreal horror novella The Men Upstairs is still out, and it's now available for all e-reader formats.

https://www.darkfuse.com/the-men-upstairs-by-tim-waggoner.htmlD

Persistence Isn't What It Used to Be

My senior year in college, I was the editor of the student literary magazine. My associate editor, Vance Wissinger, was ten years older than me, and far wiser in the ways of the world. He was a poet, and he'd been writing and submitting his work for a long time, and one day when I wondered aloud how my own writing career would develop, he said, "Why don't we consult the I-Ching?" Small-town southwestern Ohio boy that I was, I had no idea what he was talking about. He took a yellow-covered hardbook book out of his briefcase -- a lot of us used briefcases instead of backpacks in those days; blame the 80's -- along with several Chinese coins. I did as Vance instructed. I held the coins, concentrated on my questions, Will I be a published novelist?, shook the coins, and dropped them on top of a desk. Vance looked up the pattern the coins made in his book, and the corresponding prophetic message listed there:

Perseverance furthers.

I was kind of bummed. I would've preferred a Yes or better yet a Hell yes, and soon, with truckloads of money, too! But even at the tender age of twenty-two, I recognized those two words for the wisdom they were. And when it comes to writing careers, they're just about the only advice that really applies.

Fast forward two-and-a-half decades and change. There was a time when old pros would tell you the formula for writing success: TALENT + PERSISTENCE + LUCK = A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. They used to say you needed any two of the three elements in the equation to succeed, but as publishing began to change and become ever more competitive, they revised that to say writers needed all three elements.

But today writing and publishing are very different gigs from when I dedicated myself fully to them at the even more tender age of eighteen. Thanks to the ease of self-publishing, you no longer need any of those once so important qualities. Talent? Doesn't matter if you don't know how to shove a noun up against a verb. You can still self-publish your work. Persistence? What's that? All you have to do is write something, format it, and upload it for sale. No problem. Luck? No need for it, not when anyone who wants to can publish his or her work.

But to paraphrase a writer far better than I'll ever be, I come not to bury persistence, but to praise it. It may no longer be necessary in the Brave New World that's upon us and the Even Braver and Shinier New World to come. In fact, it's probably already viewed as a quaint anachronism by most self-published writers these days -- if they even think about it at all. But I believe there's important growth writers need that can only be gained through persistence.

If you're truly (and not self-deludedly) a brilliant writer right out of the starting gate, or if you don't mind taking risks and maybe falling flat on your face as you publicly learn your craft, feel free to stop reading right now and start self-publishing. Otherwise, consider the following:

When self-publishing eventually becomes the only publishing, it will no longer matter who is publishing you (because -- duh -- you are the publisher), how big of an advance you got (advances will also be quaint -- and in the case of my generation of writers, sorely missed -- anachronisms), or how many books you sell (especially when you price the damn things at .99 cents apiece or worse, give them away). Only two things will matter: Is your work read and do those readers respect it? Your reputation, your brand, will become your biggest selling point. if you, like most of us starting out, write books that are, shall we say, not ready for prime time, and you put them out there for the world the see, you'll be taking quite a risk. Back in Bedrock, Fred, Barney and I used to call those less-than=glittering works or art trunk novels -- works created while learning, full of clunky prose and tortured plots, best locked away, never to see the light of day. And if the Bedrock gang and I were tempted to submit these learner-novels to publishers in the almost assuredly vain hope that they were good, despite the sneaking suspicions we had that they were crap, an editor would soon set us straight. And after enough rejections, we either revised those learner-novels or trunked them and wrote something new and -- hopefully -- better.

We were able to make our mistakes in private, without anyone seeing them which, while potentially embarrassing personally, would've been disastrous professionally. Because if somehow those learner-novels had gotten published, we would've gotten reputations as sucky writers. Really, REALLY sucky writers.

But that might not have been fatal. Back then, all information wasn't accessible to everyone all the time. Reviews weren't permanently preserved in electronic amber for eternity. You could've kept on writing, could've eventually convinced agents and editors that you'd grown, that your work had improved. Reviewers soured on your earlier work would give the new stuff a try -- especially if a publisher vouched for it by bringing it out to the public with their stamp of approval -- and, with any luck (remember the formula?) you could leave your bad rep behind you and continue on to brighter days.

But that was then.

Now, the reader reviews of your self-published (and probably learner) novels -- if they are, um, less than enthusiastic -- will haunt you forever. Worse, new potential readers will see those reviews and decide to download someone else's book instead of yours. Imagine if you were a self-taught chef whose food was awful. Think you'll keep customers if you tell them to be patient because you're going to become a better cook in a few years? Customers will flee your restaurant in droves, never to return. And they'll tell all their friends to steer clear of your place. The same thing will happen with your self-published learner-novels.

The self-publishing ecosystem will be a Darwinian nightmare. Only the best writers will attract and continue to attract readers, and the rest will wonder why only their friends and relatives downloaded their first novel and why even they won't download the second. I suspect that gatekeepers of one sort of another will arise to assure some measure of quality for readers, but that's a blog topic for another day. Instead, I want to talk about how the self-publishing generation can acquire the benefits of persistence in a world where persistence is no longer necessary. Supposedly, the great thespian Sir Laurence Olivier, was once asked what the secret to great acting was.

"The key to great acting is sincerity," he said. "Once you can fake that, you've got it made."

So how do you "fake" persistence?

A huge service that agents and editors at publishing houses used to supply was feedback. When I started out, I submitted to small-press publications because I quickly learned they were more likely to provide feedback along with their rejections. I gathered personalized, detailed rejections for two years, then one day I sat down and collated and charted all the comments. I saw clear, specific areas where my writing needed improvement, and I got to work on making my writing better. It's no great surprise than I began selling much more regularly after that.

So if you're not working with agents and editors, and not getting feedback, what can you do?

Find a writers' group

Yeah, there's always the danger of "the blind leading the blind" with writers' groups, but if you gather a group of well-read, honest, self-aware writers, you can all help each other become better by simulating the submission and response process of Old Publishing.

Take a writing class

Try to find a well-published professional who teaches. All too often, creative writing classes are taught by college professors who have published little or nothing. Don't just look in your area. A lot of colleges and even individual writers offer classes online.

Get a writing degree

Whether you go for a certificate program at a community college or an MFA, going through the rigors of a program will definitely help teach the lessons of persistence, as well as giving you tons of feedback. Creative writing programs have grown exponentially since I was in college, mostly because they're moneymakers for schools. I suspect they will grow even more in the Self-Publishing Future as writers seek to gain an advantage. Again, make sure you select a program with well-published faculty and graduates who have gone on to publish their work successfully.

Get beta readers

Gather a cadre of trusted readers -- regardless of whether or not they're writers themselves -- who will read a draft of your novel and provide honest feedback.

Invite online feedback

Use your website or other sites where beginning writers can post their work to invite feedback on your learner stories and novels. You'll have to deal with some trolls, of course, but ignore their comments and take the decent feedback you get.

Give readings

Whether live or video-recorded and presented online, readings can be a great way to test your work before an audience. Invite feedback, not so much on your performance, but on the work itself.

Hire an editor

The bad thing about the Self-Publishing Future is how much money writers will have to lay out in order to by truly competitive. A whole industry of freelance content editors, copy editors, typesetters, and cover artists is already emerging, and if they're any good, they won't work for free. If you decide to go this route, make sure to hire someone with expertise and a track record, who will refer you to past and current clients who can vouch for them.

Enter contests

A little competition can be good for the soul -- especially if you get feedback from the judges, win or lose.

Attend conferences and workshops

Look for conferences and workshops where you can get feedback on your work. Check out the conference/workshop's reputation and quality of faculty first, though, before deciding to attend. You may have to pay a fee to have your work read, and it's doubtful you'll get feedback on an entire novel, but it's a good chance to get your work read by a pro writer. At some conferences, you can pitch your work to Old Publishing editors and agents. These pitches are usually verbal in nature, so you probably won't get detailed feedback on your actual writing, but the feedback you do get will still be valuable.

Read interviews

Read interviews and biographies of Old Publishing authors to see how they persisted in their careers and what they learned from it. It won't be the same as gaining experience for yourself, but it can still be instructive.

And by the way . . .

Don't ask pros for free feedback. We're too busy writing. If we choose to teach classes or give workshops, that's a different matter, of course. But don't come up to us at conferences or send us emails out of the blue asking us to read your stuff. We won't.

In summary . . .

A writing career has always been about producing the best work you're capable of at any given time, and then trying to make your next work even better. It's still true today, and -- if you want to be read -- it'll be even more true tomorrow.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

The new edition of my surreal horror novel Like Death is still available in both print and e-book formats. You can pick it up online at Amazon or B&N or direct from Apex Book Company: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/products/like-death-by-tim-waggoner

I have an essay titled "I Dream of Zombies" in the recently released book Zombie Writing!: http://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Writing-Armand-Rosamilia/dp/1469931478/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1327340843&sr=1-1

Recently, my college recorded a video interview with me for their Office Hours series. If you want to see and hear me in all my glory, you can check out the interview here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldQDUyF-BU4

Inaugural Guest Post

Happy Holidays, everyone!

From time to time, I'll be asking guest writers to answer a few questions so that you can get advice from perspectives other than mine (even though mine is AWESOME, right?). First up -- Ty Schwamberger!

What's the best piece of writing advice you ever received?

Ty Schwamberger: When I started writing, I didn’t have someone to show me the ropes. I had to learn things on my own. Although, a few years ago I did receive a good piece of writing advice from Brian Keene while at a convention in Nashville, TN. The conversation started with me telling Brain what I was currently working on, my future plans, etc. I don’t remember what spurred his question but Brian asked, “Do you want to be a writer or a businessman?” I thought about it for a moment and replied, “I want to be a writer.” Now that it’s a couple years later, I think someone that wants to write fulltime (if that’s their goal, anyway) needs to be both – a writer and a businessman. But, Brian wasn’t saying that the business side of writing isn’t important. No. Instead, he was stating that at the beginning of every writer’s career, you need to focus on the actual craft of writing a good story. Then, once you start getting some published stories under your belt, that’s the time to start worrying about the business stuff.

What's the worst piece of writing advice you ever received?

Ty: This is a tough one for me to answer. As I mentioned before, I didn’t have a mentor to show me the ins and outs of the publishing world. I had to learn things as I went along. I always knew that it would benefit me in the future, and I think it has, but it was definitely tough going my first year in the business. There was one particular publisher, whose name I won’t mention here, that kept telling me “this is the way it is in publishing.” Later, of course, I found out that the majority of things they had told me were bullshit. But, it was out of that experience I learned what to watch out for in the future.

To give a good piece of writing advice from the several bad ones I got from a certain publisher when I first started in the business…

Always do your research before signing on the dotted line. Or else, you might just get stuck in a long-term contract that’s benefiting the publisher more than you. Always remember, a contract should be equally beneficial to both the publisher and you as the writer.

What's something you've learned about writing or publishing that you wish you had known when you were first starting out?

Ty: It was mentioned earlier that an aspiring author should focus on the craft of writing when starting out. Now, I’m going to throw a monkey wrench into the conversation by saying, “The business side of writing is just as important as the creative side.”

Why, you ask? I’ll explain. But first a brief history…

Few people know this, but I didn’t start writing until early 2008. It was right after I read a couple novels by Jack Ketchum and Richard Laymon that I said to myself, “Hey, I can do this.” That’s when I sat down and pounded out 100k words. I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing, but three months later I had finished my first novel. It was subsequently published (looking back, it really shouldn’t have been) later that year, then away I went. During the first year I was writing, I wasn’t really focused on writing as a career. Instead, I was just having fun doing it.

After the one-year mark, and a few published short stories later, I realized that it would take a lot of work, but writing was definitely my calling and something I wanted to do fulltime one day. It was then at the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010 that I started pitching ideas to publishers. I’m still not sure if it was something special I was saying in my letters or if potential publishers just saw potential in me (perhaps it was a little of both). That’s when things really started to take off. From my first published book, through the end of 2012, I should have close to a dozen books out there. Not too shabby for someone that started writing for the fun of it just a few years ago.

So, why did I somewhat contradict an earlier statement? It’s to show all the aspiring authors out there, that if writing is something you truly want to do, and you work really hard at it, that anyone can do it. But, if you want writing to be your fulltime dig someday, you have to know the business side of things, as well. Like any successful businessman (or woman): you need to study your chosen industry, learn market trends, test the waters with your product, go to conventions and meet potential publishers and the writers you enjoy reading. The publishing world can be full of trials and tribulations, but if you play your cards right, and work really hard, you can achieve what you’ve always loved doing.

To borrow from my literary idol, Richard Laymon, “In spite of all the drawbacks, the writer’s life is a great life. If you can manage to pull it off. And I believe anyone can. All it takes is desire, persistence, guts and a little bit of luck.”

Besides, who am I to disagree?

Ty Schwamberger is growing force within the horror genre. He is the author of a novel, multiple novellas, collections and editor on several anthologies. In addition, he’s had many short stories published online and in print. Two stories, "Cake Batter" (released in 2010) and "House Call" (currently in pre-production in 2011), have been optioned for film adaptation. You can learn more at: http://tyschwamberger.com/.

Ty’s zombie novella, THE FIELDS, is now available from The Zombie Feed Press, an imprint of Apex Publications. You can purchase a copy here: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/collections/the-zombie-feed/products/the-fields-by-ty-schwamberger or here: http://www.amazon.com/Fields-Ty-Schwamberger/dp/1937009025/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325043175&sr=1-1

Think Before You Slice

Dear Sir or Madam,

I don't own a computer, and wouldn't know how to use one if I did, so I hope this letter reaches you. My name is ______, and after a great deal of worrying and praying over a moral dilemma, I'm writing to ask for your help. I'm facing some very serious surgeries, so in preparation for the hospital, I went to the store to buy new slippers, a robe, and a nightgown, and got a few paperback books to help pass the time and take my mind off my pain and fears. The store is small and hard for me to manuever in my wheelchair, so I didn't really examine the books -- a crossword puzzle book, a comedy, and a spooky one. The spooky one says on the cover, "The best novel of the year. I can't recommend this novel highly enough." It's called Pandora Drive by Tim Waggoner, and is supposed to be about a young woman with psychic abilities, but it's not really about her at all, and that's why I'm asking for your help. It was on a revolving rack right next to a Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys books. I had no idea that it was so vile. The author's photo is on the inside, on the back cover with some information. He is a teacher at Sinclair Community College in Dayton, and there is something I sense from what he has written in this book that is so evil and so perverse and dangerous, that I am greatly concerned over the safety of his students, and everyone he may be in contact with. If you can obtain a copy of this book and read it, you'll understand what I'm trying to explain. It's not fair to judge someone by the way they look, but a person who can conceive of such evil thoughts, and expose impressionable students to them, might be a predator, a pedophile, and even worse. I don't want to accuse an innocent person, but he may act on his thoughts and not be so innocent, and someone who is truly innocent may pay the price with their lives. Please, could you run a background check or whatever you can do, to find out if this man is dangerous to others? With all my heart, I hope and pray that what I feel about this man is wrong -- that he just has a "warped" imagination -- but if he's harmed someone, or will in the future, perhaps you can help, you can stop him before something truly terrible happens. He's too sure of himself, he can write such vile things and get away with it, no one will check, after all -- he's a teacher -- and that's a position of respect (or it used to be.)


Maybe it's intuition, or fear, I don't know how to explain what I feel when I look at the man's picture, but it's upset me so much that I'm asking you, begging you, to please check into this matter. I apologize to you, and to him, if I've misjudged him, and pray for you (and his) forgiveness if I have, but if I'm right, maybe someone will be saved. Thank you for reading my letter, and for your time and help. May God bless you and your good work, and protect you and all those you love.


The above letter was sent to the Dayton Police Department in December, 2009. They forwarded it to Sinclair Community College, where it ended up on the desk of my division dean at the time. The dean has a doctorate in theatre arts, and she well understands the difference between art and the artist and wasn't unduly concerned. She told my chair about the letter, who in turn informed me. My first reaction was to laugh. Me? A danger to anyone? Why, as Norman's mother said, I wouldn't harm a fly. But seriously, I've never even been in a fight, never thrown a punch, not even to defend myself. I don't know if I'm even capable of violence. Yeah, I could be mean to my siblings when I was a kid (though my sister was much meaner and tougher than I was, and I'm still scared of her to this day), and there were times when my ex-wife and I were fighting that I yelled, and once I threw a TV remote against the wall and broke it. Once. And I still feel shame about that. As for being a pedophile, I have two daughters and four nephews (and now a new grand-nephew). The thought of anyone harming a child makes me ill. And corrupting the minds of my students? Most of them don't read for fun, and most of those that do don't read horror. And for those who do read horror . . . well, they often dig my stuff. Warped minds think alike, I suppose.


And when I finally had the chance to read the letter itself, I got another laugh when I saw this line: "There is something I sense from what he has written in this book that is so evil and so perverse and dangerous, that I am greatly concerned over the safety of his students, and everyone he may be in contact with." I mean, can you imagine a better blurb for a horror writer?

And the part of me that's a cynical salesman regrets that the media didn't get hold of this story and blow it up into a huge money-generating scandal for me.


When I was a younger writer, I might have viewed this letter as a badge of honor. After all, one of the goals of horor writing is to make readers uncomfortable, to provoke, unsettle, and disturb. As John Trent says in John Carpenter's brilliant film In the Mouth of Madness: "People pay money to feel like that? It's cute. Put it in the press kit." But this was an instance where someone reading my fiction was unsettled to the point of believing there was an actual threat in the real world. Kind of like a small-scale version of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds broadcast. My words had such an impact on this woman that the line between fantasy and reality blurred for her -- which is precisely what happens in Pandora Drive. So without realizing it, she had participated in a wonderfully bizarre metafictional experience -- and had brought the Dayton police and my college's adminstration in as well. (The best metafictional reading experience I ever had was when I read Joseph Heller's Catch 22, and the paperback slowly fell apart in my hands as I read it. Let's see e-books try to recreate that experience!)


But I'm an older writer now, just as prone to overthink things as ever, but perhaps a bit more thoughtful and less self-centered when I do so. The worst thing artists can experience is indifference to their work. As Oscar Wilde said, "The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about." The woman who wrote about Pandora Drive was definitely not indifferent to the book, and it certainly had an impact on her, although not perhaps the one I'd hoped for when I wrote it. I wrote the novel for horror fans and fans of bizarro fiction. (Don't know what the latter is? Google Bizarro Central.) I wanted to include every type of horror I could think of -- quiet, loud, surreal, erotic, psychological, supernatural -- and I wanted to include echoes of Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. I also wanted to include a tribute to the wonderful Richard Laymon, by including a Laymon-esque character whose repressed sexual desires were suddenly brought to dangerous life by my protagonist's ability to manifest others' fantasies. And -- this is the last thing I'll mention, I promise -- I wanted to experiment with providing a false climax (no jokes, please), including what appeared to be a final conflict scene, only to have the story take off in a different direction afterward. (I firmly believe horror fiction shouldn't be safe, and that goes for narrative techniques authors use as well.)


Remember how I said I overthink things? Point proven, I trust.

I have artistic goals for everything I write, although I try not to call attention to them in my fiction. I want my stories to be fun and enjoyable but, if you're interested in delving a little more deeply, there are other levels beyond entertainment to explore and, I hope, appreciate. I don't expect everyone to like everything I create. Much of art appreciation comes down to personal taste. I hate raisins -- they're just the nasty little dried corpses of grapes -- and I refuse to eat the damned things. But while I wonder a bit at the sanity of those who eat raisins, let alone love them, I know raisins are what they are. They never change. Only the people eating them do. But the woman who responded so strongly to Pandora Drive didn't simply dislike horror fiction. She was profoundly, deeply disturbed by my words, ideas, and images. Perhaps even to the point of being traumatized -- and right before she was scheduled for multiple surgeries. I know she's responsible for her own choices as a reader. (Why she kept reading when she found the book was, to put it mildly, not to her taste, I'll never understand.) But I'm also not so naive as to think that my work has no consequences in the real world.


Some writers decry the use of genre labels, obvious genre covers, and genre-identifiable back cover copy, feeling that such things diminish the seriousness with which their work should be taken or begin to shape readers' response to the work before they've even begun to read it. I understand those points, and don't necessarily disagree with them. But we can't have a world like in the wonderfully strange movie Repo Man, where all products are generic, packaged in white with black lettering that says GOOD FOOD, GOOD BEER, etc. Would you want all your novels to be labled GOOD BOOK? (Personally, I'd prefer KICK-ASS BOOK or COMPLETE AND TOTAL MINDFUCK OF A BOOK, but that's just me.) But I don't mind labels and packaging.They let people know whether a work of art may or may not be for them. I tell my daughters they can't read any of my horror until they're at least teenagers, and for some of it, they should probably wait until they're thirty or so (or better yet, just wait until I've joined the choir invisible).


The Letter Woman was hurt by reading my work. Perhaps she hurt herself, but I made the knife she cut herself with, so to speak. And I've made a lot of other knives since then, large and small, some sharper than others. I suppose it's inevitable that when you make knives, someone's eventually going to get cut. But that doesn't mean I like it or that it's always easy to live with.

That woman did me a huge favor. She reminded me that if I'm going to make knives, I need to do so responsibly, always remaining aware that there's a person who will one day grasp the handle, pick it up, and attempt to use it. She reminded me that, as it says in theme to the old cartoon Super Chicken: "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."


Do I believe in censorship? Of course not. Do I believe in self-restraint when it comes to writing? Only if it helps me tell the best story I can. But that means I also believe in a total lack of restraint if that's what a story requires. Do I always toss in as much sex, violence, weird ideas, and bizarre imagery into my horror fiction as possible? Nope. Do I give my imagination free reign to go where it will while at the same time keeping my readers in mind? You bet. These days, however, I consider my artistic choices -- and their potential impact -- a bit more carefully.


Bottom line: Respect the knife and the eventual wielder of it, but always make the sharpest goddamned blade you can.


DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION


Apex Books have released a new edition of my horror novel Like Death. which I wrote before Pandora Drive. (If the Letter Woman had read that book instead of Pandora Drive, she'd probably have sent the FBI, CIA, and every branch of the military after me -- along with the Salvation Army for good measure!) The book is available in both trade paperback and e-book editions, and this weekend Apex is having a Black Friday sale: 25% percent off all their books. So drop by their website and pick up a copy or ten of Like Death. And if, after reading it, you feel inclined to contact the media and report me as a major menace to society, my bank account will thank you for it. Here's the link: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/blogs/blog/4651912-black-friday-sales

Shadow Walking

"I find it hard to believe you write that kind of stuff. You seem like such a pleasant person."

One of my students has caught me in the hallway between classes. Her question is half-joking, half-serious, and there's a probing intensity in her gaze, as if she's looking for an answer to a question she can't quite articulate. I smile as I respond.

"Writing that stuff is what keeps me pleasant."

Since it's Halloween (or as horror professionals call it, Amateur Night), I thought I'd talk about writing horror this time around. I can't tell you where my love affair with the Dark began. One of my earliest memories is being a very small child, not even a year old yet, and being carried around the neighborhood at night by my mother. My parents have dressed me in a pink bunny suit -- the kind for kids that leaves the face open -- complete with bunny ears on the hood. I have no idea why they've put me in this thing, nor do I have any idea why we're going from house to house, knocking on doors. The neighbors make a fuss when they open the door and see me. Isn't he darling? I have no clue why they react the way they do, and I don't really care. I'm too fascinated by the small figures walking around, all of them dressed as strange creatures the like of which I've never seen before. They visit one house after the other, candy bags swelling ever fuller with each stop, but the treats don't interest me. I'm intrigued by the distorted faces, the dark colors, and the way these nameless figures move silently through the night.

A few years later when I'm four, maybe five, my parents let me watch Frankenstein Meets the Wolf-Man on TV with them. Afterward, my father teaches me a simple way to draw the Wolf-Man's face. I can still replicate that drawing to this day.

Not long after, one of the kids in the neighborhood shows me a book he's just gotten. It's called How to Care for Your Monster, and it's by Norman Bridwell, better known for the Clifford the Big Red Dog books. This book tells kids how to find a monster and keep it as a pet. I have to have this book, and I trade the kid a stack of baseball cards for it. Best deal I've ever made.

I could go on and on, from devouring issues of Famous Monsters of Filmland to watching scary movies on Shock Theatre with Dr. Creep every weekend. (After every program, the Creeper signed off with, "I'll be seeing you -- in your dreams. Muhahaha!") Reading Creepy, Eerie, Vampirella, House of Mystery, House of Secrets, and more. And then, in seventh grade, a friend told me about this book he'd just finished reading called 'Salem's Lot. I could also tell you about the very puzzling day in high school when, just before Thanksgiving, the teachers herded us into the gym and played Psycho for us while they stood outside and smoked. I couldn't figure out why the faculty decided on that movie as an appropriate holiday film, but I wasn't complaining.

But that's just the fun side of the Dark, like the costumes kid wear for trick-or-treat. Beneath those costumes is where the true Dark lies. I could tell you about what it was like when my Uncle Red died when I was nine years old, an event which sent me into a several year existential depression. What's the point of living when the end product is a corpse? What's the point of experiencing something good when even as you're experiencing it Time (just another face of Death) is stealing it from you? I could tell you what it was like to grow up with an agoraphobic mother who suffered strange fainting spells at least once a month, a condition doctors were never able to diagnose. I could tell you what it was like to be the weird kid in school, the smart one who tried to pretend he wasn't smart, but who still wore T-shirts with Frankenstein's monster on the front. But if I did, I wouldn't be telling you anything you don't already know. All of us experience this kind of Darkness, and many of you have probably experienced it a far greater degree than I ever have.

For a while after Uncle Red died, I hated monsters and wanted nothing to do with them. I realized that the way I felt -- the pain, the sorrow, the inexpressible loss -- was exactly what monsters in the stories I had once so loved caused. I now understood that when Dracula killed a victim, friends and relatives of that person felt what I felt. And if that victim rose from the dead to become a monster in turn, how much more awful would it be for the victim's loved ones and, if the victim had even a scrap of humanity left, how awful would it be for him or her?

I learned that horror isn't just about fear. It's about pain. And not just physical pain. Emotional, spiritual, intellectual, primal, types of pain for which we don't have words yet . . . The best horror writers and filmmakers know this. It's why I admire Rob Zombie's films so much. Zombie never shies away from his characters' pain. All of them, heroes or villains (although those terms are gross oversimplifications when applied to Zombie's films) are given their due, and their pain is respected.

So if you want to write effective horror -- or even just employ horror effectively as one element of your story -- here are some points to consider.

1. It's not about the monster.

A good horror story is about people. The "monster" -- whether literal, figurative, symbolic, situational, internal or external -- is a catalyst for conflict and change. The core of the story is what happens within your character's hearts and minds as they struggle to deal with their monster. An exception to this: stories like Mary Shelly's Frankenstein, in which the monster's emotional needs are just as important to the novel -- if not more so -- than any other element.


2. Physical pain is easy -- too easy.

A lot of beginning writers -- or writers raised on a steady diet of by-the-numbers slasher and torture porn films -- make the mistake of thinking that if a character is hurt physically in a story, that's enough to evoke horror. Any idiot can write "And then the Hash-Slinging Slasher cut off SpongeBob's arm with his Satanic Spatula." Of course your characters may suffer physical pain depending on the events of the story, but that should be the least of their problems. Cut my arm off, I'll hurt. Cut off the arm of someone I love as I watch, I'll hurt more. Make me cut off the arm of someone I love, I'll be devastated. Make me need to cut off that arm, want to, love to, beg to, and I'll be plunged into a nightmare of insanity from which I will never escape.

3. Horror is internal more than external.

As I said earlier, horror is about what happens inside your characters, not what happens to them. The horror in Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart" doesn't come from the murder the narrator commits, but from Poe allowing us inside the narrator's head so we can experience his (or her) insanity firsthand. In the movie Poltergeist, the horror doesn't come from the ghosts haunting the house, but from the parents' desperation to retrieve their youngest daughter from whatever otherworldly dimension the ghosts have taken her to.

4. Respect all your characters.

If you're going to kill someone off in your story, allow them their humanity. Don't treat them like a generic video game character who exists only to be mowed down by the player. You don't need to provide a character's entire life story, but readers need to get to know that character a bit before he or she bites it, and their death -- however bizarre and horrible it may be -- needs to mean something.

5. Dig deep. Don't be afraid to get personal.

Beginning horror writers go for stories based on well-worn tropes. Vampires, zombies, serial killers, ghosts, etc. Yes, you can write effective stories with these tropes, provided you put a unique spin on them. But if you want to write really good horror, you need to dig into your own psyche and find what disturbs you and then make it disturb me. I don't mean writing about spiders if you hate the eight-legged beasties. For example, when I was four and my sister two, our mother left us at home while we were napping. She left to run a couple errands (this is back when she still would leave the house) and she thought she would be back before we woke. We woke up early, though, and we had no idea where she was. We had never been left alone before. I tried to reassure my sister that everything was okay, and because I'd seen people on TV pace when they were worried, I told my sister that we should pace in a circle until Mom got home. She did return shortly after that, and my sister and I rushed crying into her arms. Mom promised she would never leave us alone again, and as the years went by and she became a true agoraphobic, you can bet that I recalled her promised to us with more than a little guilt. This specific experience is mine and mine alone -- my pain -- and I can use it as the basis for a horror story that will seem fresh and unpredictable to readers because it doesn't really on hoary old spookhouse tropes. Plus, they'll be able to relate to it because at its core, the experiences of being abandoned and feeling guilt are common human ones.

Be careful when mining your past for story nuggets, though. Avoid writing thinly disguised autobiography. Use the events as seeds to grow stories from, not as essay topics. And if you've experienced major trauma in your life, revisiting those places inside you might not be a walk in the park. But then again, as it says in the Super Chicken theme song (Google it): "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."

6. Don't wallow.

Avoid the temptation to go on and on about a character's pain. Too much drawn-out detail -- whether physical or emotional -- and your audience will become numb to your character's fictional suffering. If that happens, readers can't fully engage with your story on an emotional level, and your story loses impact.

7. Be careful.

Is there such a thing as going too far in horror? Clive Barker's famous quote, "There are no limits" would seem to suggest there isn't. But keep this in mind. Readers read to be entertained, even readers of literary and classic fiction who read more for intellectual than emotional stimulation as a general rule. The more extreme your horror is in terms of dark content, bizarre imagery, violence, sex, and emotional pain, the more readers you'll turn off. As John Trent asks in John Carpenter's excellent film In the Mouth of Madness, "People pay to feel like that?" Some of us seek out the darkest fictional journeys we can find, but a lot of us prefer our horror on the less intense side. So if you want a larger audience, consider tempering your horrific elements. If you don't care how large your audience is, then feel free to go as dark as you want. But don't confuse dark with a bunch of blood and guts mindlessly strewn about the page.

So don't be reluctant to walk through the shadows, no matter how dark they get or how many strange shapes you see lurking there. But as you walk, remember: it's not the shadows outside that will thrill your readers, but the shadows within you, within them, and within us all.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

Speaking of horror, the new edition of my critically lauded novel Like Death is available for pre-order. If you order between now and Nov. 4, you'll receive 25% off the cover price. Want to see if I practice what I preach? Want to read a horror novel unlike anything you've ever read before? Want to know why everyone talks about the infamous Chapter Thirteen? Then head on over to Apex Books and order a copy! www.apexbookcompany.com/products/like-death-by-tim-waggoner

I Write, Therefore I Am

About twenty-five years ago, I worked as a reporter for a small-town weekly newspaper. It was the kind of job where I wrote my stories on an electric typewriter, and people would call in to complain if we forgot to run the bridge scores from the nursing home that week. One day a young guy came in (I say young now, but he was probably a few years older than I was then) and asked to speak to a reporter. Since my desk was in the front office, he got sent to me. He introduced himself as a local writer name David Sain. He had just self-published his first chapbook of poetry, and he wanted the paper to run a story on him. Since I was always scrambling to find copy to fill the paper (there were two papers produced in our office, and I was the only reporter working on mine), I thanked the Universe for dropping a story in my lap and proceeded to interview David. He was a well-spoken man, eager to promote himself, and he gave me plenty of information for a story, along with a publicity photo we could run.

"I call myself a poet now," he said at one point. "I didn't used to because I felt I hadn't earned the title. But I sent some of my poems to Nikki Giovanni, and she wrote me back with some great comments in which she called me a poet. So since she bestowed the title upon me, I feel that now I can say with pride that I am a poet."

Last week I was teaching a class, and one of my students asked me how I saw myself, as more of a teacher or a writer. I told him that I have so many roles in life -- father, brother, partner, friend, writer, teacher, citizen, etc. -- that I simply define myself by my name. "Tim Waggoner" encompasses all the roles I play, and all those I'll play in the future.

The student's question reminded me of David Sain and got me thinking about how important it seems to be for writers -- especially beginning ones - to define themselves as writers. And how in many cases, that identity they're trying to create for themselves is just as important to them as writing itself. Sometimes even more so.

I initially resisted self-identifying as a writer. Starting in sixth grade, I began drawing a comic book series of superhero adventures featuring myself and my friends. The Six Million Dollar Man was one of my favorite TV shows, so I turned us into The Bionic Team, four kids who were injured in a roller coaster accident and, thanks to the addition of cyborg parts, were made better, faster, and stronger. I kept the series up throughout junior high and most of high school, but as much as my friends enjoyed reading these adventures, they always said my writing was better than my art. This irritated me to no end because I wanted to become a comic book artist when I grew up -- not a writer. I was only writing the damned comics to give me a story to draw!

In high school, I explored all the creative options I could. I played trumpet in band, took art and writing classes, and was a member of the Drama Club. I was in several plays (only in the spring since I was in marching band in the fall), and by my senior year I'd switched from wanting to be an artist to wanting to be an actor. Laurie Eckert, the Drama Club director, gave me a blank journal as a graduation present. Her inscription urged me to fill it with all my "creative ideas." While I was touched that she recognized me as a highly creative person, I was a bit irritated. "I'm going to be an actor," I thought. "Not a writer!"

A year earlier, I had taken a creative writing class with Mrs. Vagedes. I wrote a story ripped-off . . . uh, I mean inspired by a comic tale I'd read in Eerie magazine about the last surviving Christmas elf who continued delivering presents on his own, only he was a murderous psychopath. I decided to take the basic premise -- which I thought hadn't realized its full potential in the Eerie version -- and I wrote a non-horror tale called "The Last Christmas Present." Mrs. Vagedes was so impressed that she read it aloud to the class. But she didn't tell who had written it. She said that it was up to the author to identify him or herself. I said nothing. I was proud of how the story turned out, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to publicly claim authorship of it. I was just a kid who'd written a story. I wasn't a "writer." I was eventually outed and awarded the honor of Writer of the Month at my school for the story, and the local paper published the story along with an interview with me. (I actually wore a suit to be interviewed by the reporter, and at one point used the word "chagrined" to sound smart.)

Sometime during my junior or senior year, I read an interview with Stephen King in an issue of Dracula Lives. He was a relatively new writer back then, just starting out, really. I remember that in the photo of him which accompanied the article he wore a pair of plastic vampire fangs. Probably not something he'd do today, I'd wager. Reading that interview was the first time I realized that a person could actually choose to be a writer as a career path. King chose it. I could choose it. I left my bedroom, walked down the hall and into the family room, and told my mother, "I think I might like to be a writer." She looked at me for a second, and then said, "I think you would be a good one."

The King interview was a revelation to me. Up to that point, I'd never considered becoming a writer. I'd been inventing stories all my life. Sometimes I'd draw them, sometimes act them out with toys, sometimes act them out on the playground with friends, but it was always Story. It was as natural and necessary to me as breathing. And who decides to make something as simple as breathing their career? I didn't immediately dedicate my life to writing at that point, but I was a step closer.

When I was a freshman in college (this was after I'd switched my major from acting to theatre education), I was sitting on the porch one day when my father got home from work. He walked up to me and handed me a brown paper bag. Inside was a copy of Writer's Digest. "I saw this at the bookstore, and I thought you might like it," he said, and then he went inside. I sat there on the porch and read the magazine from cover to cover, not only because I was interested in the articles, but because my dad bought it for me, because -- even if he hadn't said it aloud -- like my mom, he thought I could be a writer.

During college, I began writing and submitting work for publication in earnest. I took a job as a tutor in the Writing Center. My senior year I became editor of the school's literary magazine. After I graduated, I decided to go to graduate school and major in English with a creative writing concentration. In my mid to late twenties I began regularly publishing short stories, and my first novel came out when I was in my mid-thirties. But at no point in my life was there one moment when I decided that I was now a WRITER. I grew into that identity, just as I've grown into my others.

Some writers, like David Sain, need someone they respect and admire to anoint them as writers, whether that person's a teacher, a mentor, a publisher, or a reviewer. Others seek to invent themselves as writers, as if they can become whatever their ideal of a writer is through sheer force of will. And some seek to purchase it, although they'd probably never look at it this way. And to make it even harder to develop an identity as a writer, there's a lot of bad advice people get along the way. So let's talk a bit about some of the larger potholes and pitfalls to be encountered on the road to developing a writing identity.

If you write, you are a writer.

I've seen this bit of wisdom posted on many a message board. The idea is opposite of what David Sain needed. Instead of waiting for someone to pronounce you a Writer with a capital W, you are one from the moment you put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and begin writing. On one level, this is freeing. There's no need for someone to anoint you. But it doesn't leave room for you to grow. If you're automatically a capital W Writer from the moment you begin, why bother striving to get better? Why bother listening to feedback? Why bother to continue writing at all, really? You wrote once, right? That was good enough to earn your capital W.

There's more to writing than typing. Just ask Truman Capote.

You're only a REAL writer when you (fill in the blank).

There are lots of way to fill in the blank. You're only a real writer when you . . . publish your first story, publish your first story for pro rates, publish you first story in Well-Regarded Magazine, get an agent, publish a novel, get a five-figure advance, get a starred review in Publisher's Weekly, make the New York Times bestseller list and so on. All of this is, not to put too fine a point on it, bullshit. Don't allow others to define your writing identity for you. If you do, either you'll drive yourself crazy trying to achieve one particular goal or, if you do achieve it, it won't be enough. Eventually the glow of success will fade, and you still won't feel "real" yet. (Besides, being real is overrated. I'd rather be a surreal writer.)

Full-time vs day job.

This could also be filed under "You're only a real writer when . . ." Some people believe you're not a writer until you can quit your day job and make a living solely from your writing. (Teaching writing doesn't count, just publishing and being paid for it.) It's long been established by people who calculate this kind of thing that the average yearly income of a writer from writing is $5000 a year. This average includes bestsellers, as well as writers of fiction, poetry, nonfiction, etc. Many writers who try writing full time find that they don't produce any more work than they did when they had day jobs. Plus, not having health insurance or a steady income to pay bills leads to a ton of stress which, you guessed it, impacts productivity. A lot of people act like writing full time is the Holy Grail of the writing life when it's more like a double-edged sword. There are a lot of pros and cons to writing full time, and only you can decide if it will work for you and your family. But do you need to write full time to be a capital W? Of course not.

Literary vs genre.

Some people think "real" writing must be literary. Anything else is pandering to the lowest common denominator. Others believe "real" writing is writing that people read: stories that entertain, and only genre writing does this. Both views are horseshit. You and you alone determine what you write. Write what fulfills you for whatever reason it fulfills you. Anyone who tells you any different is either an idiot or so insecure in their own identity as a writer that they have to push their artistic values on other people in order to feel good about themselves.

You must approach it as a business.

I've heard this piece of advice I don't know how many times from genre writers. The only "must" in writing is that you must use words to communicate ideas in written form. After that, it's up to you. Now, if you want to have a career as a selling writer who makes money, approaching it as a business is a good idea. If you write to please yourself, for artistic fulfillment, and you don't give a damn about making money, that's okay too.

Writers must always get paid.

In a perfect world, we all would be paid for every word we write. In reality, not so much. If you want to use money to keep score of your success as a writer, that's your business. But if you want to write erotic haiku about lemurs in love, go for it. (Then again, you might find there's a thriving market for lemur love poetry.) But don't let anyone take advantage of you. If you choose to write for a nonpaying market for whatever reason, fine. But if a publisher is going to make money from your writing, you should too. And of course, never, ever pay anyone to publish your work unless you desire to self publish and you go into such a venture with your eyes wide open.

Writing programs

University creative writing programs have exploded in number over the last few decades, and for one simple reason: they generate money and employ literary writers. That doesn't mean these teachers are poor ones, but if they could make a living from writing full time, most of them probably would. A lot of beginning writers feel they need an MA or MFA in creative writing so that they are sanctioned as writers by society. It makes sense. You're not a doctor until you get your MD or a lawyer until you get your JD. But often enrolling in a creative writing program is an attempt to purchase an identity as a writer. Yeah, you have to do the course work as well as pay tuition, but getting a degree doesn't make you a writer. It just means you earned a degree from one institution. (And where you get your MFA makes all the difference, but that's a topic for another blog.) Statistics show that most graduates of MFA programs never go on to even modest writing careers. If they do remain in writing, it's as the next generation of creative writing teachers. A graduate program can be a wonderful growth experience for a writer, but you don't need a degree to write. The vast majority of the professional writers I know don't have degrees in writing, and most of the people I know who have degrees in writing don't write and publish. Make of this what you will.

Writers groups

Some think, "I'm a writer because I'm in a writing group." I hate to break it to you, but no, you're not. You're just a person in a writing group. Too many people treat critique groups (or writing classes -- see above) as validation of their identity as a writer -- but they never actually finish work and submit it for publication. Writing groups can be wonderful things, but only as a part of the process of one's growth as a writer, not an end in and of themselves.

I'm a (fill in the blank) writer.

It's tempting -- especially in these days of corporate branding -- to want to label yourself as a romance writer, mystery writer, or even more broadly as a fiction writer or poet. Most people consider me a horror writer, but I write fantasy and media tie-in work as well, mostly for adults but sometimes for younger readers, and my work is often cross-genre and perhaps ultimately unclassifiable. If you love one type of writing to the exclusion of all others, then by all means, call yourself a (fill in the blank) writer. But don't let it limit you. If you're a western writer who wants to try writing an absurdist play, then go for it. There's something to be said for branding when it comes to marketing your work, but there's no need for you to make a brand your identity.

Writers who rush to self-publish

I'm seeing this more and more these days -- writers who feel they must have a book published in order to legitimize themselves as writers . . . at least in their own eyes. E-pubbing has become incredibly easy over the last few years, and it's only going to become easier. If you really honest to God believe that your book is the very best that it can be, that it's of high enough quality to be competitive with other books that are out there, that it's going to be worth a reader's time, attention, and money, that it's so good that YOU would pay to read it if you hadn't written it, then self-publish away. But if you're just in a hurry to be a capital W, do the world -- and yourself -- a favor and hold off until you've written something truly worth taking public. Because when you publish, you begin building an identity in readers' minds, and who wants an identity as someone who produces sub-standard work? Sure, you may improve as the years go by, but why should readers suffer through your growing pains? And do you really think they're going to keep buying your books while you grow? And do you think all those one-star reviews on Amazon and bad reviews on blogs will magically vanish the day you finally write a really good book?

I guess what I'm trying to say with this blog entry is not only be yourself, but create yourself. And it's not a bad idea to have a little fun along the way, too.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

Ghost Trackers, the novel I co-wrote with Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson of the Ghost Hunters TV show, is out in trade, mass market, and e-book formats. My horror novel Like Death is due to be reissued as the inaugural release from Black Room Books, hopefully by the end of the month. Both make wonderful Halloween reading fare and deserve an honored place on your shelf. (Hey, it's called shameless self-promotion for a reason!)