When it comes to writing, practice doesn’t make perfect, mostly because there is no such thing as perfect writing. Which isn’t to say we should revel in the mistakes of popular novelists (like Defoe’s flub in Robinson Crusoe, where Crusoe strips naked and swims out to the sinking boat that has marooned him, and proceeds to fill his pockets with goodies), nor should we extol them or even excuse them.

Lately I’ve felt my writing to be very much like an old-fashioned steam locomotive coming to an equally old-fashioned track-switch, the kind that causes the entire train to hitch as if in an apoplectic fit. By which I mean to say that my writing style is changing (as I suppose it will always be, as long as I keep doing it), and while it is nowhere near perfect, I have been able to detect a noticeable turn for the better. And believe me, this is not the Mighty Ego talking. My self-deprecation knows no bounds (if only to steal the thunder of the dogs who take pleasure in ranking me out); I say this only because I have been toiling for so long without any appreciable payback for my efforts. This doesn’t mean I expect any anytime soon, or that writing stories is not its own reward, because it is. The Greek chorus can continue its catcalls (and I know of a couple who visit this website to rubberneck), but it matters not. After all, if it was easy, everyone would be doing it and the achievement of publication would mean little, if anything at all.

Besides, I think if you’re truly gung-ho about writing, your head is probably down on the desk so often you can’t even see the leers cast your way, and the vituperations of the naysayers fall into so much background noise.

Ian

I’ve been debating whether or not to see The Passion of the Christ. I’m tempted to wait for the special edition DVD. Curious to see if they’ll include the Jesus-escapes-to-Cuba-and-raises-a-family alternate ending.

Ba-zing.

Speaking of Jesus (boy, I never thought I’d ever say that in a Tangents), did anyone else catch the theatre marquee in last week’s episode of The Simpsons? I couldn’t make out all the titles, but the ones I did see include: The Fashion of the Christ, The Unwatchable Hulk, A Matrix Christmas, You’re in the Matrix, Charlie Brown, Eating Nemo, and Jason vs. Freddy vs. the Board of Education.

This isn’t the first time the writers have done this one the show, and you can tell they must have a gas thinking up those parodies. In An Evening with Kevin Smith, Smith said the one little cameo–guest spot he hasn’t done yet but would like to do is lend his voice to The Simpsons. Likewise, if I were to ever achieve any fame as a result of my writing, I think the one gig I would really pine for would be the chance to write an episode of what is still one of the funniest shows on television.

Ian

Saw Secret Window last week, and it is definitely worth the twelve bucks, if just to watch Johnny Depp and John Turturro spar off against each other. It made me want to go back and revisit the novella upon which it’s based, and I happened upon a small section on writers just starting out and dealing with rejection. Seeing as how I’ve been dealing with my own share lately, I thought I’d share this brief excerpt with y’all:

As a sophomore, More had submitted a story to a literary magazine called Aspen Quarterly. It came back with a note which said the readers had found it quite good "although the ending seemed rather jejune." The note, which Mort found both patronizing and tremendously exciting, invited him to submit other material.

Over the next two years, he had submitted four more stories. None were accepted, but a personal note accompanied each of the rejection slips. More went through an unpublished writer’s agony of optimism alternating with deep pessimism. He had days when he was sure it was only a matter of time before he cracked Aspen Quarterly. And he had days when he was positive the entire editorial staff — pencil-necked geeks to a man — was only playing with him, teasing him the way a man might tease a hungry dog by holding a piece of meat up over its head and then jerking the scarp out of reach when it leaps. He sometimes imagined one of them holding up one of his manuscripts, fresh out of its manila envelope, and shouting: "Here’s another one from the putz in Maine! Who wants to write the letter this time?" And all of them cracking up, perhaps even rolling around on the floor underneath their posters of Joan Baez and Moby Grape at the Fillmore.

So things are moving merrily along. I’m dropping off another submission tomorrow, and we’ll see what happens.

Of course, all things considered, I hope my career turns out a bit better than Mort Rainey’s.

Ian

As a writer it may not come as much of a surprise when I say I love words. But the truth is I really, really love words. Even a glance at my rejections slips will show you that editors have no qualms about my grammar or style; it’s just the stories themselves that suck! Zing!

Anyway (would it surprise any of you to know I loathe people who say "anywho"? would anyone care?), my love of words goes far beyond any inclination for "favorite" words, which I think is a little silly (though there’s a tangent about that coming up soon). I’m very interested in etymology, which is the origin of words and their many metamorphoses over time. This stemmed from a conversation I had with a friend about the idea that a novel written in the Dickensian style would never get published today. She’s right, of course. I think the one piece of advice I’ve heard from all of my contemporaries is that in order to reach the widest possible audience, you must write in the language of your generation. It’s about communication, naturally, and if you write some obscurist, existential (i.e. artsy) shit that only three people at the coffeehouse where you hangout will understand, then you can’t get your undies in a knot when a publishing house won’t touch it with a ten foot cattle prod.

All right, before I go on yet another tangent (ha-ha), let me just list a few etymology websites.

Behind the Name — The Etymology and History of First Names

Etymologically Speaking

Online Etymology Dictionary

The Mavens’ Word of the Day

Ian

Just finished reading Great Expectations the other day. It’s the first Dickens I’ve ever read, and although I wasn’t exactly blown away, I did enjoy the story and the final outcome.

Speaking of which, I was particularly amused upon reaching the last chapter of the book — a chapter which featured a footnote describing an alternate ending included in its original publication. (Those of you who haven’t read the book may want to stop reading now, lest ye be spoiled.)

The book’s new ending has Pip musing to Biddy about how he will probably never marry. He then decides to stop off at the place where Miss Havisham’s house once stood. While he’s wandering the gardens — the only thing remaining of the property — he finds Estella, who has also come back after a long absence. We learn that she is now a widower, her husband having come to a bad end as a result of mistreating his horse. She and Pip make amends for their past mistakes and differences, and decide to remain friends. The end.

The original ending also begins with Pip musing to Biddy about how he will probably never marry. Then we’re presented with a new scene, set two yeras later, in London. While walking with his nephew (aptly named Little Pip), Pip comes across Estella sitting in a carriage. In this version, Estella has been widowed but has remarried, this time to a doctor who, from the sounds, is an even worse partner than her first husband. Thinking that the boy is Pip’s son (a suggestion the elder Pip does nothing to dissuade), Estella asks to shake his hand, and Pip lifts him up so that she may do so. The final sentence is as follows:

I was very glad afterwards to have had the interview; for, in her face and in her voice, and in her touch, she gave me the assurance, that suffering had been stronger than Miss Havisham’s teaching, and had given her a heart to understand what my heart used to be.

This, in my opinion, is the better ending. It’s not only more befitting of the characters as we’ve come to know them, but it’s much more realistic.

Ian

There have been a few occasions in my life when I’ve been able to pinpoint a noticeable, almost palpable change in my writing ability. Sometimes it isn’t so much a change in style as it is a change in my perspective of writing and publishing. The change I experienced just recently (March 5th, if you care) was a combination of both.

Recently I’ve been trying to ascertain the reason why I’m not completing as much as I would like to be completing in terms of short stories and novels (and with the hours I invest, those numbers are considerable). I start a lot of short stories and I have notes for a number of novels, but I seem to be reluctant to put the final nails in any piece of work.

It wasn’t until I began writing a speed-novel (a rather stupid term more suited to the NaNoWriMo crowd) that I realized I had been spending too much time on details and allowing myself too much freedome on the nonlinear approach of storywriting. I also think I was more than a little scared to finish something, especially a novel. I was worried that I would put too much detail where it was unnecessary, and that I would skimp over the places where the reader would want more information. Until now I had been taking an almost hedonistic approach to writing; that is, writing the parts I wanted to write while letting the rest sit until I was ready to finish them (i.e. never). While this seemed like the most natural way to work (it is one of the tips featured in books-on-writing without number, which should have made it immediately suspect), but it wasn’t getting any stories finished.

So I finally decided to stop jerking around and write a novel. I didn’t know if it would be a good novel or a bad novel (and quite frankly, I didn’t much care), but at least I could say I had finally written one. I always tell other budding novelists that the key to success is practice, practice, practice, and here I am holding my wang in the wind. Well no more. Just like I told a couple of friends today, Even if turns out to be shit, at least it will be finished shit.

The novel isn’t finished yet, but it’s moving forward with a speed that is both frightening and exhilarating. It’s like one of those fabled weapons of mass destruction that they’re still looking for in Iraq. Something sleek and powerful that, if delivered properly, may turn a few heads.

I don’t think it will be a great book (few first novels are), but I don’t think it will be shit, either. Right now, just having something finished and ready for submission is good enough for me.

Ian