Of all the writing advice I’ve gotten and even given, it’s easy to get bogged down in fine details about grammar mechanics, language, plotting, or anything. So many think there’s some sort of master ruleset that if you can just follow it, you’ll be a hugely successful author and the world will adore you and the words will come easy and…

Simply put, that’s not fair to believe. And it’s not fair to perpetuate. 

I’m not going to go into advice like that. 

There are two pieces of advice I’d consider the most valuable ones I’ve ever heard, and they’re pretty closely linked in theme, so I want to discourse on the two of them. What’s great is that they’re very simple sentences, super easy to remember, but they don’t pull their punches. They might seem brusque or blunt, but… the more I’ve thought about them over the years, the more they’ve made sense.

The first is “You can’t edit a blank page.” The second is “You have permission to suck.”
12 words total. The best writing advice I’ve ever heard. So let’s discuss a little.

You can’t edit a blank page.
This really is one of the most important things to keep in mind. You can think about writing all day long, every moment, but… unless there are words on a page, all you’re doing is thinking. Prepping, planning, postulating. 

But at the end of the day, you need to have words on a page in order to have a written story. 
So it’s literally advice to just write. Put words down.

There’s all kinda of studies on the effectiveness of practice, quality vs quantity, how to maximize what you can do in a given amount of time. There are exercises (I’ve done plenty of them on Patreon), practices, techniques you can do to focus. You can do word sprints, focused tasks, whatever, but they all boil to the same thing: writing words.

Write words. That’s really all it is.

You have permission to suck.
This one is the one that really seems almost rude. I didn’t react well to it when I first heard it, probably around 12 or 13 years ago.

Thing is, it’s largely the same advice as “You can’t edit a blank page.” 

Part of the problem with a lot of art—and life in general—is the tendency to only see the finished product, not the steps to get there. We see the final performance of the dance number, not the hours of rehearsals. We hear the concert, not the years learning to play an instrument, the repetition of the parts over and over again. We view the sculpture or painting without seeing the lump of clay or marble block or blank canvas. We read the final draft and don’t see how much it’s changed from the first. 

We are constantly comparing the best of things to our own worst efforts. People see NYT Bestsellers and think they could never write something like that. I’ve been so guilty of this myself: thinking I needed to have each word perfect from the outset.

But that attitude doesn’t do anyone any service. It’s paralyzing attempting to start, disheartening if things don’t seem perfect from the start, and it facilitates over-criticizing yourself. If you’re expecting a finished product from the start and you don’t get it… how much easier is it to give up altogether? 

No, what this advice teaches is that ANY words are better than no words. They can be as bad as you want, but you’re allowed to write badly. Write smut if you want. Write self-indulgent self-insert fanfiction. Write as badly as you want to, just write it. Make it real, and if you want to after that, you can work on making it better.

You know, tying it back to editing. You can always make something better with revision and work.

It just has to exist first. In whatever form it does, just make it exist.

That’s really it. As much as it sucks, it’s simple. This is how we practice. We make words. We make sucky words. And then we make more. We make them better. And eventually… the sucky words are less sucky in general. Our bottom line improves and… we keep writing. We still suck.
But we accept it. 

And then we edit it.

I eked out more writing time in September than I expected, but still less than I’d hoped. Seeing improvement thought!

LitRPG book (working title Subscription Life) - Finished Chapter 3 at 1866 words, and I’ve gotten Chapter 4 done, at 1364 words. That’s 1932 for the month on this, which I am pretty pleased about.

You’ll notice I didn’t put in anything about a rewrite of Chapter 3. That’s because I had gotten to a point that a lot of what I’ve already written for chapters 1-3 felt like backstory/buildup to the real action of the book, and I do NOT want a prologue and 3 chapters of buildup. I DID write Chapter 4 as a whole new Chapter 1, and I’m progressing that way, so… we’ll see how things move forward.

What I have in chapters 1-4 is good info, and I’m sure bits and pieces will inform what I write going forward and some pieces might end up in flashbacks or things like that. Absolutely not wasted effort!

Collaboration Project - No movement yet.

Criminal From Birth sequel - Still with editor. Still mulling over the title.

Ooh, this is a fun question. I don’t have quite the insane character population as some other authors and… to be totally honest, I’m not really a huge fan of a lot of my characters. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, but… not so much that I really want to spend a lot of time with many of them.

But… the moment I read this question, I knew exactly who my answer was.

From Starsigns, it’s Tivory.

SPOILERS UPCOMING FOR STARSIGNS

Tivory is a tiny fairy, the first one we see that lets us know they’re real in the first place. But because his egg was shaped, molded, and carved before he was hatched, he’s got physical issues, like a partial leg and missing fingers.

The problem is, through Starsigns, we pretty much see his entire life, so… not easy to do a spinoff. I suppose I could choose one of the other fairies who does survive, easily. I mean, what I’d really want to explore would be fairy culture, how they live on their own when their eggs and trees are safe.

I know this is a short post but… that’s the answer. 

I honestly doubt I’ll ever actually revisit the world I built in Starsigns. If I did, though, that’s where I’d most likely explore.

I was a ridiculously avid reader as a child. I’m sure there are plenty of reasons we could delve into, but simply put, video games and books were my refuges. It shows in who I am now: a storyteller. All about the stories.

So, what was I reading as a kid?

I was all over the place, honestly. Regular trips to the library happened a lot, so I tended to be exposed to a lot all the time. I was in the right age groups and generation to be swept up by R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps books and K. A. Applegate’s Animorphs. I’m not much of a horror fiend— at least, I’m a little more now than as a kid, at least with books— so I avoided the slightly-more-horror Fear Street books in favor of the goofier Goosebumps. And I only made it so far in the whole Animorphs series. Never finished, but I did get a good ways in.

But to be totally honest, the books I most remember reading as a kid were the Children’s Great Illustrated Classics. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned them before here, but they were a LOT of my childhood. Back in the olden days, before Wal-Mart even carried groceries, we could get these small paperback versions of the classics for fifty cents apiece. The books were squat and fat, but they were my lifeblood. Every other page was an illustration, and the text was obviously abridged, but I took in a ton of classics at a young age because of these editions. Dickens, Stevenson, Wells, and more were the author names I knew before I even hit double digits in age. 
Because of these books, The Count of Monte Cristo remains probably one of my favorite stories of all time. I adore Dickens, though I do find him a little overconveniently trite sometimes. H. G. Wells and Jules Verne are still some of my favorites and… I honestly need to revisit them more as an adult. Thanks for the reminder.

To sort of rapidfire at this point:

I discovered Middle Earth at age 10-11. First with The Hobbit and immediately taking me to The Lord of the Rings.

I did get into Harry Potter when I was in high school. I’m wanting to say my sophomore year, but it might’ve been my junior year. By then, 5 books were already out.

I suppose we can cap the “growing up” part of my life with say, my gap year between high school and college. So I’ll finish up by capping my childhood off with discovering Ender’s Game and Orson Scott Card in general.

Yeah, I have some serious personal problems with those last two authors now, but the fact remains that their books did affect me as I grew up. They got me through some hard times.

Fuck you, Joanne Rowling.

But I digress.

The fact I was reading so many of those classics means I actually missed out on actually reading a lot of children’s actual classics. I’ve never read Harriet the Spy, Charlotte’s Web, or anything by Roald Dahl. I only in the last 10 years actually read Little Women. 

There’s a balance to be had. Like, I’m familiar with the stories of the ones I’ve missed thanks to movie adaptations and such, but… I missed out on being a kid. A lot of us do that.

It’s not to say that I didn’t read things normal for kids. I had school assignments and all, so I read what my classmates were reading. Even in my leisure reading, I read age-appropriate stuff, targeted books. I was just never as tied to reading levels as some might be. If it was a book and I was interested, I was going to read it no matter what.

In fact, I have! For over a year now I’ve been using Libby. I switched mostly to that after leaving Audible as part of my “As little Amazon as possible” boycott.

While I do mostly borrow audiobooks, I’ve borrowed a few ebooks, as well. It’s generally a lot easier for me to consume via audiobook because I just cannot dedicate time to physically reading as much as I would like. It takes actual pausing in everything else to sit and read, as opposed to being able to be listen to audio while cleaning, cooking, etc.

Most notably, I’ve recently finished listening to the main 8 Bridgerton books and the Happily Ever After anthology. As of the time I’m writing this post, I’m just about to finish my first Kurt Vonnegut book, Cat’s Cradle. I listened to one of his short story anthologies, and I’m really trying to decide what I think of him as an author. I totally respect him; he’s fantastic. It’s just a matter of if his writing style really vibes with the kind of reader I am. A few of the short stories I was totally enamored with, but more often, I was kind of unimpressed. Same with the book I’m finishing up this week. We’ll see. I still want to give him one more really good shot, so yeah. (fun fact: the review for this book dropped here a few days ago. Go see what I ended up thinking!)

Honestly, using Libby/the library has opened me back up to a lot more books than I let myself get into while I was using Audible. My money isn’t tied up in these books, so I can take more chances, and if I don’t like something, I just return it early with no guilt.

I doubt I would’ve bothered with the Bridgerton books if I’d been on the hook to pay for them, honestly.

So yes. I highly recommend using your library or a library app to get books into you. I’ve also heard of Hoopla, so I need to look into that one, as well.

Just read, guys!

August was both better and worse than I expected. I got a lot done for free posts and such, but my big projects were largely stagnant-ish.

LitRPG book (working title Subscription Life) - Carving out writing time for this was not easy this month. Chapter 3 is at 1298 now. 876 words is all I’ve managed this month. I’ve been struggling with this one, and it’s probably going to end up being some stuff that gets cut in future edits because of that, but it’s at least good stuff that helps inform my future writing. I’m learning about the characters and world right now, how to really make things work, and that’s the struggle.

Collaboration Project - No movement yet.

Criminal From Birth sequel - Still with editor. It’s been rough. Still mulling over the title.

Vonnegut is an author I’d heard the name of for years but never really got exposed to. It wasn’t until I got back into using the library (via Libby) for audiobooks that I started branching far out into the book-o-sphere, and I saw my opportunity to check him out.
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My first exposure was Welcome to the Monkey House which was a nice broad intro of short stories, but I wanted to at least read one full novel. Naturally, I put what was available on hold and… I started waiting for my turn. Only three books were available to borrow: Welcome to the Monkey House, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Cat’s Cradle.

The first novel that came available was not the one I’d heard of, and I could’ve kept putting it off, but I decided I didn’t want Slaughterhouse-Five to bear so much pressure of representing Vonnegut’s novels well, so when Cat’s Cradle became available, I went ahead and listened.
I went into this novel not even having read the synopsis or any book blurbs. I legitimately went in blind to anything except the title, the author’s name, and an impression of his writing style from having listened to Welcome to the Monkey House. So when I say I listened to this book without a clue what I was in for, I mean that.

I’ve found, via the short stories and Cat’s Cradle, that Vonnegut weaves plot together in a loose knot. It wanders in an out of itself, dancing around the crux or epicenter of poignancy, not quite revealing what its goal is or where it’s headed, until Vonnegut is ready to pull it tight so it suddenly becomes an intricate knot. Like dominoes falling into a pattern or something, it just suddenly clicks. The sudden moment of “O. M. G.” I have when I suddenly understand what’s going on, what all these moving parts were heading for… that’s pretty heady.

It’s exactly what happened with Cat’s Cradle. What blows my mind is how rapidly Vonnegut really puts big pieces on the board, so to speak. We learn right away the world is basically over, that this book is about what happened, and we even learn the name of the scientist responsible. We start getting interviews about him, spawning from how the scientist— Felix Hoenikker— was one of the creators of the atomic bomb. The author is wanting information regarding the bombing of Hiroshima… and in the long run, learns about a theoretical side project Hoenikker had entertained: a substance called ice-nine, intended to restructure the way water solidifies. Intended for military use— to keep Marines out of the mud— such a substance would hold the potential to convert all water on Earth into ice-nine.

Through a winding process of personal discovery and insanely odd religion, the author ends up converting and becomes mired in a small, fanatical nation heavily influenced by one of Hoenikker’s children, Frank. We learn that all three of Hoenikker’s children actually have a fragment of ice-nine, and Frank’s chip of it has put him in a position of influence. It’s only once the ice-nine is used as a form of euthanasia for the nation’s leader that the world… well, actually ends for real. Bigger than Hiroshima, bigger than any other disaster. The ice-nine-frozen body is accidentally dumped into the Caribbean, and… ice-nine freezes the world.

The thing is, Vonnegut telegraphed the ice-nine takeover multiple times. It was pretty much slapped on the wall once it was first mentioned that such a thing was going to be the end of the planet. It’s pointed at loudly fairly frequently, as an ominous note that ice-nine is around, in Frank’s pocket, or in his brother Newt’s luggage, and so on. It’s there. It’s THERE.

Personally, most of the time I was listening to the book, I was sort of absorbing it on surface level only. I wasn’t sure I wanted to “let Vonnegut in” so to speak. I’m not sure what I was afraid of, but I was honestly holding the book at arm’s length. Maybe it’s his reputation, my natural hesitation at things recommended to me. Not that Vonnegut was ever personally recommended to me. I think that’s the difference. If something’s recommended by someone who knows me, I’m more likely to trust that. But the general populace… it can be hit or miss with me. When you hear big names get dropped a lot, or fad or popular media, it can be hard to pick which ones might actually resonate with yourself. Like… people love the Austin Powers movies. They were all the rage when I was in high school. I’ve never seen a one and refuse to. I only watched Squid Game because I happened on a clip and enjoyed it, so I decided to see what else the fuss was about. But I adamantly declined to watch even a moment of Tiger King. I read Dungeon Crawler Carl and watched Arcane because a friend recommended it to me.

But Vonnegut… he was one I never had a direct recommendation for. I just knew his name and that he was considered a classic, notable author worth reading. But… that never told me why.

I doubt he’s going to be a favorite author of mine anytime soon, but after two books, I definitely think I can look forward to when Slaughterhouse-Five finally becomes available for me. The more I’ve thought about Cat’s Cradle, the more I realize I enjoyed it overall. So much of me enjoys the concept of spoilers when done right. I’m more interested in HOW something happens than what actually happens. Like… I grew up knowing Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father, long before I ever watched a Star Wars film. And I saw the prequels first, so my first exposure was watching Anakin become Vader.

Once I recognized that that’s been what I’ve gotten from Vonnegut, I was able to really see Cat’s Cradle for what it was. Sad thing is, that didn’t happen until I began writing this very review. I’ve already put a hold on it again. I’m looking forward to listening again. And it’s the mindset I’ll be going into on Slaughterhouse-Five. Because I’m not reading any synopses or book blurbs or anything about it, either.

Yes.
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Yes I have.

In fact, not only have I considered it, I’ve done it multiple times.

When I was in high school, I was part of the creative writing club. It was run by my favorite English teacher, who I had as my actual teacher in 10th grade: Mr. Walker. Along with writing exercises and games and all, there was one big project the club took on: the making of the school’s annual literary magazine, “The Stylus.” Any students could submit to the magazine, and toward the end of the school year, it was published and distributed. It wasn’t all writing either. Some visual art also did get places, though it was mostly intended as a wordsmith’s entertainment.

Anyway, I wasn’t really involved in it much, mostly because my life then was really taken up more by marching and concert bands. I wrote like mad, but… the magazine was never a priority for me.

Except for my junior year. I don’t remember exactly why, but for some reason that year, the vast majority of content printed was mine. Keep in mind this would have been something like spring of 2001, so my memories are 25 years old at best for any of this. I THINK I had a conversation about it with Mr. Walker at some point, about how much of this was my work. I don’t know whose idea pseudonyms were, but it was probably mine, just knowing me. 

I used at least three names for the works in that issue of the magazine, with one definitely being mine.

Another time I used one was for another organization. Those of you who know me are aware I’m a citizen of Westarctica, a micronation project. Over the ten years I’ve been a citizen, I’ve been involved in a number of initiatives and held a few specific roles.

But the initiative to talk about here is the Westarctican Art Expo. In its prime, it was a yearly exhibition of art made by Westarctican citizens. It allowed for visual art and written word. It was not a competition by definition, but some entries did get singled out as favorites. The Crown, the Council, and the Citizens all got votes, so there were three distinctions handed out every year.

Long story short, I won the Council Selection in 2018 with a chainmail piece and the Citizen Selection in 2019 with a miniature acrylic painting set. But I was a writer, and the populace knew it. In early 2020, I took on the role of Minister of Culture, which directly oversaw the Expo. Needless to say, I didn’t want my position to affect anything. That was also the year the Expo got split into an alternating form: 2020 would be writing only, 2021 would be visual art, and it would alternate from there.

It didn’t seem fair to be eligible to enter with the advantage of my name’s influence, so I submitted under a pseudonym. I also recused myself from the Council Selection and Citizen Selection votes, as I didn’t want to risk any conflicts of interest.

So when the Grand Duke messaged me about his pick and confusion that the author’s name was new to him and unfindable in any citizen rosters… he both was and wasn’t shocked when I explained how I chose the name I did.

I also won the Crown Selection because of that. At that point, I retreated wholly from entering the Expos. I’d gotten the trifecta of selections and felt good about it.

To answer the question, yes, I’ve written under pen names before. Will I for my novels? Maybe sometime, if I put out something I don’t want directly attached to my established name. But just because? No. I’m good claiming my words.

This question is one that, just in its nature, seems somewhat layered. Just sort of meta-analyzing the question and what I know about people makes me want to criticize the asking itself. Because in a way, it’s almost like a form of gatekeeping. What gives me any sort of authority to judge when other people get to call themselves what they want?
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Because that’s kind of the thing. People can call themselves whatever they want, and it doesn’t have to affect others. It’s really a matter of the individual’s relationship with themself and… how they handle the truth or falseness of their claim within their own heart. 

Because there’s really no way to quantify it. It’s not like a Doctorate, where if you don’t have one, you’re legitimately not a doctor. 

But if you’ve written one word, ever… you are a writer. You engage in writing in some form. 
I guess, if I’m going to be so avoiding of just taking the question as it is, I do need to address the opposite thought to the simple “you can call yourself whatever you want” claim.

Stolen valor. 

Those situations where people will claim military experience or awards when they have never served, or claim medical expertise when their education is very literally having watched two Youtube videos that support their own opinions. That’s what I’m talking about. Where does one draw the line with creative endeavors? If you published a book twenty years ago but haven’t written a word since, are you still a writer?

I think so.

So… I think a lot of this really boils down to “what is a writer?”

Is it someone who has published a book? Sorry journalists, bloggers, and fanfic creators, you’re not really writers. Someone who writes regularly? Well, that novelist who was once prolific but now is not can no longer claim being a writer, even though they used to be able to. Is it someone who has tons of readers? Oh, the fanfic writer, blogger, and journalist now are writers… so it depends on audience then? 

But then… what about the person who writes long journal entries but only for themself? What about the woman who has self-published twenty romance novels and hasn’t sold a single copy?
Why are we so determined to police creativity?

I’ve been a writer for a very long time. I have had long stretches of productivity and long ones of zero production. I have things no one but me has read, and I’ve had fans seek me out at conventions asking what my next project is. I’ve written things just for me that will never see the light of day.

Some things are quantifiable, like having a doctorate or military service record. 

The arts… are so different. And humans are so varied and exciting that it really isn’t fair to try and ask when someone is “allowed to” call themselves an artist. 

Because even people who write horrible stories are still writers. People who draw stick figures are artists.

If you want to call yourself a writer, do it the moment you want to. I’m not the boss of you. It’s not my call to make.

I just hope that however you do it, you enjoy it. If you only tell stories to yourself in your head, you’re still a writer. If you’ve got a dozen bestsellers, you’re a writer.

Make it your own, however that looks. It’s not one-size-fits-all. 

When should you call yourself a writer? Whenever you’re ready to.

Well, you guys should know me by now. I like to sort of answer things a bit tangentially if I don’t necessarily feel like the original questions is that good.

“Inspired you most” is so darn selective, and… frankly, I almost find it trivializing. There are so many books out there, and maybe if I was younger with a lot fewer books under my belt (reading and writing) I could narrow things down to a “most” inspiring book. As it is… that would be making something small of what’s really a large question.

There’s no comparison between books that have inspired me, mostly because… well… I take inspiration from tons of small places. Tons of them. A conversation, an observation, an experience, a musing, a passing comment… all of those are sources for inspiration.

So I suppose… I’m going to tackle this in a sort of “name your biggest, longest-lasting inspirations” or something like that. Because… yeah, my inspiration sources are constantly changing.

I decided to write a post about the specific inspirations for my published projects, so that was last week's post. But for this post… let me talk about one of the books that has truly inspired me to be better… by showing me what I do NOT want to be.

Immortaland: The Greatest Fantasy Kingdom to Exist and That Will Ever Exist

So, this is hands down the worst book I’ve ever read, and it’s basically a guidebook on how not to draw people into your fantasy world. I really don’t want to encourage anyone to read it, nor do I want to spend too much more of my life thinking about it, but let’s just say I read it in 2017 and I still remember nothing more than it being totally awful. Let me just paste the review I did of it as a precautionary tale.

“I seriously only read the entirety of this book so that I could write a review with a clear conscience. I can honestly say I have never been so happy to leave a fantasy world than I was to leave Immortaland behind.

Let's start with the claim that it's "The Greatest Fantasy Kingdom To Exist And That Will Ever Exist." Is that not ridiculously presumptuous? Right from the start, the writer is setting the bar ridiculously high. It's claiming that this place is better than Randland, Temerant, Middle Earth, Earthsea, and countless other worlds that are rich and full of adventure, culture, and intrigue. With these high expectations in mind, let's begin to read.

Start out with second-person POV. Oh, so I'm the hero here? Okay. Let's see what kind of adventures I get into.

100% done with the book... none. No adventure. No conflict. Hardly any culture. Zip. I'm not exaggerating. There was nothing here. The entire book is just... description. Not even infodump. It's like someone saw the opening scene of a movie, touring a castle, and tried to transcribe it into text. It doesn't work in the slightest.

So let's try to take it in terms of something like a Dungeons and Dragons rulebook. Maybe we can use it as source material to play with. Nope. Doesn't work there, either. This "world" is nothing but a storeroom of overpowered artifacts and ejaculations from a clicheed imagination. I can't tell you how tired I got of everything "bestowing ultimate [INSERT TRAIT HERE]." The whole time, the character named You was basking in more and more ultimate power. Soaking it in, basking in it, and so on. It was like watching a sequence from Dragon Ball Z where all they do is glow yellow... ad nauseum. Imagine a game where all you do is go around and collect buffs. What do you even use them for? Nothing. There's nothing to purpose there. What's worse, there wasn't even any real connection between the buffs. One throne that You sat in pushed away all negative emotions and cares. But a few scenic places later, You asked a question that's been bothering You, and it was answered. Were the negative questions and annoyances cast aside or not? Even as a resource, there's nothing of serious value here.

So let's take it as what it really is: drivel. I hate sounding cruel, but this was nothing but personal stimulation. It's an exercise in creation. That's fine. I don't understand how this can be considered anything more than a poorly painted word-landscape. It was wanting an editor, something to actually give it some sense of value for itself.

I will say that there is the potential for many stories here. Sadly, this book told exactly ZERO of them.”

In short, do NOT read this book. Save yourselves. You’re already better than this guy as long as you’re not trying to pass unsatisfying softcore self-insert mental masturbation off as a fantasy setting of value.