A writer, reloaded

Pretty good field trip to an undisclosed location this past Saturday. More photos to follow later this week.

It’s a blessed time, indeed. Eleven more business days until the students graduate and the business of breaking the school down for the summer break begins. And more importantly, I get to take a day or two off, which means more time for writing.

Speaking of writing, have a field trip scheduled in the next few weeks for research the next book. Many people have warned that the terrain in question is treacherous not because it’s difficult to cross–though portions of the excursion involve blatant acts of trespass–but more because of the denizens that live among the abandoned structures. Since I trance out now and again in the fresh air, I’m bringing an extremely large friend along for the hike.

Spiking deeper into the research vein, I’ll also be visiting my favorite drop zone in a few weeks to get some technical advice about a skydiving scene. Last I’ve decided to begin a correspondence with an individual who has generally resisted all contact with the outside world. Just getting them a letter is going to be a task in itself, but I’m working on it. Their perspective could add a certain something to the book.

That last bit is a long shot, but so is everything else these days.

Sometimes email can prove that it’s every bit the relevant medium its inventors intended, rather than just an homage to a distant era. After Facebook, the merit of email seem to be eroding–almost daily. And yet three particular electronic notes in as many weeks suggest otherwise.

The first was from a graduate student doing a research project on literary marketing services that today’s author might consider useful. The discussion led to a more formal interview. A rather indirect way into the academic curriculum, to be sure, but humble beginnings are steps all the same.

Speaking of interviews,  all the Q&As for The Last Track have been a good experience. Mostly because the interviewers forced me to consider what I was trying to do with writing. In a few years, I’ll have a well practiced stable of answers that will cover the standard battery most interviewers ask, but for now it’s all new. Which leads to note number two.

In the interview vein, there’s a possibility of an interview about writing on a very popular site. I’m pretty excited about the prospect, especially since it would be conducted by an accomplished writer. That’s all I can say now. That and the details came via email.

Last, an email appeared from a vary exotic locale, where the publisher has no distribution. She had read about The Last Track and wanted to know how she could get swag. Because she was so polite about it, I put together a little package. Hopefully it reaches her in good condition.

So that’s three very different developments, all three of born from emails.

Maybe even in these days of spam, database hacks, and phishing scams, email still has a place in the writer’s toolkit.

Following some final tweaks to the outline and synopsis during the holidays, began writing The Cropsey Effect this morning. It’s the second book in the Mike Brody series. After spending a solid year of writing The Last Track before falling into the story–entirely by accident–this time around I opted to tackle such considerations earlier. My apologies to everyone who got drafted into off-line discussions these past few weeks.

Writers have long argued over how much preparation is necessary before starting a novel. For instance, Ray Bradbury skips pre-production completely, arguing that “plot is the footprints left in the snow.” Write it first and then worry about getting it right later.

At the other extreme, John Grisham works everything out point by point on legal pads, months before writing word one. Make your mistakes on the legal pad, rather than the page. Why torture the reader as the writer stumbles his way through a murky plot, his thinking goes.

Both strategies have their merits. Certainly I respect Ray Bradbury. His collection of work is vast and in many ways without equal. He has written several classics, one of which will be taught in schools hopefully in perpetuity.

John Grisham approaches a project like a lawyer preparing for trial. Those battles are won or lost eons before the bailiff calls everyone to order. Since there is nothing a lawyer hates more than a surprise in the courtroom, he puts a tremendous energy into the advance preparations.

Regardless of the model, each author rules at their respective genre.

That being said, there’s serious sense of relief in having the critical plot points out in the open now. Because the who and what’s going to happen is settled, my energy can focus on how to get where the characters want and need to go. And in their journey, they just might detour from the path I forecast. Which is an unintended bonus to the outline process.

Because giving the characters enough space to run with their own script is where the best stuff comes from.

Throughout this past month, one thought kept nagging me: was it a long year or did the Internets just make it seem so? That thought and where the ice cream man goes until spring. It’s not like he can hibernate in the aluminum sided truck with a stack of push-ups resting his head on the freezer. And yet, maybe he can survive like that, which is even scarier than the original question.

The rest of the year aside, December was pretty crazy. At work, a really important server began a long and painful slide into goodnight. For the first time ever, I got a carpal tunnel syndrome, which traced back to texting abuse. Luckily, that fix was simple: less time at the cellphone, and more typing at an actual keyboard. Soon enough, the pain subsided.

In the downtime I read some good books, the best among them, The Adderall Diaries. If too many days pass between reading sessions, I forget how much I really enjoy it. Reading steadily helps writing, so it’s important on several levels to feed the habit.

Better yet, I’m almost done with the outline for The Cropsey Effect, so the actual writing will begin in earnest . . .