Matthew Wayne Selznick

Tried to do some writing today… I like to blast a scene per weekday if at all possible, which usually means a thousand to fifteen hundred words, sometimes more, sometimes less. Today, it barely happened.

Which isn’t actually all that bad, because some editing gigs grabbed the priority spot, and the possibility of future podcasting production / web design work popped up.

I started to write in LOTO, but these very tantalizing distractions kept pulling me away.

Also… not sure what this means, or if I’m really gonna do it, but I feel the need to start another podcast. Probably be an audio sidebar to this blog. Sometimes, I just want to spiel rather than type, y’know?

If a few planets align the way I hope they will, I’ll take that as a “go” and do it. You’ll be the first to know.

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day. Today… well, I managed one hundred words, exactly. Hey, I wrote something! That’s more than some days. I ought to be happy.

That’s my state of mind right now, and it’s reallly, seriously, pardon the f-bomb, fucking frustrating to the point of rage.

Why is it so difficult to write?

Why do I find myself doing just about anything else?

Why does everything I put down on the page seem stilted and stupid and stale?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Maybe I need to forget that it’s a fantasy. Maybe I need to forget that it’s not our world. I don’t mean throw those elements of the story out… but maybe I need to stop worrying so much about tone and style and other points of contention.

There’re three people in a room. One of them has something the other two want. Press start.

It’s not rocket science, but I think I’m making it into same.

Yeargh. Seriously.

Update: So, after this little whine-fest, I wrote a thousand odd words; the first chapter. Got it off the ground. I feel better. If not completely back on track, at least my Butt Is In The Chair and I’m Writing.

Is it me, or did that gratuitous use of Upper Case feel kinda Stuart Smalley to you, too?

I haven’t written a word of “Light of the Outsider” for about a week and a half.

Now, don’t get upset with me. I have my reasons. Let me share.

When I write — I mean, when I’m in the actual act of hitting keys on the keyboard and watching them turn into symbols on a screen — I have to enjoy what I’m seeing. In other words, I have to enjoy the experience of reading as much as the act of writing.

If I’m not writing a book I’d like to read, well, y’know… what’s the point?

It struck me that I would be bored stiff reading the first few thousand words of “Light of the Outsider” as it currently exists.

Yeah, sure, some folks would say (Mur) “Your first draft is allowed to suck.” It may yet. But I have to be engaged as a reader, suckage or no, while I’m writing. And I just haven’t been!

So. I gave myself a little head-space. Spent the time doing anti-writing: I’ve been learning to program in Liberty Basic, which is just about 180 creative degrees from writing fiction. Absolutely gave me the mental break necessary.

One of the things I realized: I need a kick-ass, make-you-keep-reading first line. To give you an idea of what I mean, here are some examples from works of mine that I think work:

Sick of the fetid jungle, sick of the cloying rain, and sick at heart, Scor Morlyn came at last to the village.

Glenn calls me at home, says Jennie?s in a state, that she?s really done this time, really gonna do it.

I agreed to help because of Crystal.

What made me look?

Lifter has a trick he likes to pull whenever we go into a new bar.

It began, as always, with Gaby’s picture.

And of course…

I was used to eating alone.

A first sentence should introduce questions, set tone, paint a picture…

A first sentence should rock… it should grab you, drag your eyes on to the next sentence, and the next paragraph, and the next page, and pretty soon you’ve read half the book and now you’d better take it to the cashier and buy that puppy, ’cause you went and creased the spine.

Here’s my absolute favorite first sentence from other people’s work:

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

Tell me you can’t close your eyes, tilt your head back, and see that! It’s a benchmark for me, one that I know I haven’t yet hit.

“Light of the Outsider” didn’t have a kick-ass first sentence, until I let things percolate this last week or so. And now, I think I’m pretty happy with this one:

The invitation was a trap.

I’ve got a first sentence, and as the writer and the reader of this book, it makes me want to keep going.

So I will. Minus the 4,000 words I’ve laid down so far, since they just don’t sing for me. The rule is, get in late and leave early. Those first 4K get in so damn early, the folding chairs are still in a corner and the tables are bare. So I’m starting with my Sentence, and I’ll hit the ground running.

Just wanted to let you know what’s been up with the writing.

This morning, I had a swollen left lymph node in my throat, a headache, and stiff shoulders. Ick. Went to do my five hours of not-hard-at-all time at the not-a-day-job, got home, futzed with the television which would not play the DVD (a recurring problem that I thought was solved), got that figured out, took two Advil, started to watch Steamboy… fell asleep.

Ended up taking a nap on the couch, which is something I almost never do. I’m not a napper. Still, it’s what the headache wanted. I woke up in three hours!, finished watching Steamboy (which was farking awesome!), and decided to allow myself a day.

My headache was gone! I checked e-mail, fixed an error on the MWS Media web site, and had it in my head that I wanted to play some guitar.

I haven’t pulled my acoustic out of its case in I don’t know how long. My callouses are pretty much gone, as is the strength in my left hand. All the same, I stuck all my MP3s on shuffle and started to play along.

I had a blast. I don’t suck as much as I thought I did… and something interesting happened. I realized that one of the reasons I stopped writing songs was that I’d forgotten how to allow myself to be simple. There’s a lot to be said for E, A, D… and I know this, I knew it… but over the years, you forget it. It took playing along with John Mellencamp (”Authority Song”) to remember how much fun it can be.

I also stumbled across “Stars of Track and Field” by Belle and Sebastian, one of those songs I can recall the first time I heard it (in the car with an old girlfriend, a lifetime ago.) I fought situational guilt and memories and learned how to play it — nice and simple, great tune with an undercurrent of bitterness and bile that’s nicely countered by Belle & Sebastian’s trademark Cute.

In between tunes, sometimes during, I had a brief chat that was somewhat frustrating due to our different views on the potential of the future and human development (that’s another story). And toward the end, as this person often does at the end of our chats, he referred to me as “handsome.”

I finally laid out that I thought that was a little inappropriate. He said, “Oh. Okay.” and signed off soon after.

I reckon I probably offended him… no, scratch that: I vibed that he was offended, which is something different. He didn’t ask for an explanation, but here it is anyway:

I don’t care about people’s preferences. I’ve had gay and bisexual friends since I was a junior in high school - and of course, probably before then, but I didn’t know it. Do whatever you want… but ethical behavior needs to apply to everyone. I’m married. I wouldn’t be comfortable with a woman constantly closing a chat by calling me “handsome,” so why would I accept it from a guy?

It’s that simple. Of course, I could be reading waaay too much into it. But I’m glad I spoke up about it.

After that, I played some more… Jets To Brazil (”Conrad,” “Sweet Avenue,” “Starry Configurations”) , Eugene Edwards (”All About You”), X (lots of songs — I cheated a little on the shuffle), fIREHOSE (”Sometimes”), Aimee Mann (”The Moth,” “That’s Just How You Are”), Children’s Day (again, lots of tunes) … it was great fun. Ended the session… I kid you not… singing “Time (Clock of the Heart)” and I still knew all the words. Remember, I was in high school when that song came out — it’s my oldies, okay?

Did I write today? Nope. And that’s okay.

You know, I’ve figured out that I shouldn’t have put the kind of deadline on “Light of the Outsider” that I did. I don’t want this book to suck — I have to be happy with it, and I want to be able to match the challenge it represents.

I’ve been saying it’ll be out in late summer / early fall. Why? Because the two conventions I’m attending this year are in August and September. I would like to be able to hype “Brave Men Run - A Novel of the Sovereign Era” and “Light of the Outsider - A Novel of the Shaper’s World” at those cons.

That’s a stupid reason to push like a madman and have an end result I’m not satisfied with. It would be different if I was published traditionally, and there was pressure to sell a ton of books in the first six months of release, or there was a danger of going out of print in a year. Going DIY, POD, means I can promote my books forever… there is no life cycle.

So the book will be out when it’s ready. If that’s August, or September, or October, or November (which would just be a year after BMR, after all). And I promise, those of you who are interested, it will be worth the wait.

Okay. ‘Nuff of that, for now. This entry has covered a lot. It’s nearly midnight, and I’m not so tired. Damn nap. I’ve got a tax appointment at eleven in the morning. So I can still be up an hour or so.

One more thing… I’m listening to an old (number 42?) edition of The MWS Media Radio Show… I have to admit, with all modesty… I put together a good music podcast in my day. Pity no one listened… but that’s mostly my fault for not promoting it like I could have.

Okay, that’s all. G’night!

I’ve been having some trouble lately with my writing. It’s starter anxiety, really… it’s made it really difficult to achieve butt-in-the-chair work done with my second novel, “Light Of The Outsider.”

Tonight, I got in close to two thousand words, and the characters started yammering away at each other… and the story started to go. So much so, I had to take a look at where that chapter was supposed to go, and I’ll have to go in and nudge them back in that direction.

I’m feeling less anxious now. No matter how often this happens, I never learn; it never actually sticks:

Writing makes writing easier.

Um, woot!, and stuff.