pride and asphyxiation (advice for murderers 3)

Yesterday, my horses ran away again.

There must be something more than a teensy-bit unsettling for someone, like, when you're driving on a narrow, uninhabited country road and you come around the bend and see two 800-pound horses running at a full gallop straight toward your car.

And I have to admit, I really like that sound.

Not of the horses' hooves clattering on the asphalt.

The terrified, anguished screams, the screech of brakes, the panicked cries of the person at the wheel, "Oh my God, they're going to kill me! They're going to kill me!"

Which reminds me. Tip number three for psycho-stalker-Twitter followers who want to kill me:

3. I would be too embarrassed to admit it if I started choking on a piece of meat while having dinner in a fancy restaurant.

Just in case it ever happens. Like, if you were a psycho-stalker-Twitter-homicidal-maniac, and you happened to be out to dinner with me, and said something to me, like, "Hey, Drew... I bet you a bottle of your favorite whiskey AND front-row tickets to Roger Waters doing The Wall that you can't eat this entire Polska Kielbasa in one bite."

Just sayin'.

It's a pretty decent murder strategy.

Now, what tip for writing goes with asphyxiation?

Naturally, the dreaded exclamation point. I'd like to point out that I used two of them in this blog post, but they were rendered harmless because they were enclosed in quotation marks. Quotation marks are like the Romulan Cloaking Device for exclamation points.

Go ahead, look for them.

Here's why a writer should never use exclamation points, by way of a crude experiment: I am going to rewrite the paragraph above, inserting exclamation points. Observe:

Naturally, the dreaded exclamation point! I'd like to point out that I used two of them in this blog post, but they were rendered harmless because they were enclosed in quotation marks! Quotation marks are like the Romulan Cloaking Device for exclamation points!

Kind of makes you want to slap me, doesn't it?

Kind of makes you want to kill me, eh?

[I think the use of the interrogative form, eh? also makes you want to kill me.]

Tip number 4 coming soon.

death and salad (advice to murderers 2)

Hmmm. I kind of wonder why, ever since I started tweeting ways to rob and kill me advice to psychopaths, that my Twitter following has increased.

If you chum the water enough, I suppose you're bound to see fins breaking the surface eventually.

So here it is, my gift to you, tip number two to offer help for anyone on Twitter who is wondering how to rob me and kill me:

2. I never wash bagged salad.

That's right. Never.

And speaking of bagged salad, you know those birthday cards that make sounds when you open them? They should make bagged salad that does that. They could play advertisements, like for professional food tasters and stuff.

And speaking of advertising, it seems like... back in the good old days of, like, the 90s... remember how we had this national "Do Not Call" registry? And, for years we completely stopped getting phone solicitor sales calls.

What happened? I'm sure getting a lot of them these days. And the other day, I felt bad because I cussed at one. If terrorists really want to destroy America, they'll do it over phone lines, and it will be at dinner time.

Then, in the last couple days, I've gotten two wrong numbers from kids in Mississippi on my cell phone. The second kid's accent was so thick I couldn't understand him, so I asked him to send me a text instead.

Okay. On to writing. I'm sure this all has something to do with my point. Maybe not.

Another true story: I was speaking to a group of people (all aspiring writers themselves), and one of them asked if I could recommend any books about writing. My answer was that every book that's ever been written has a lesson about writing in it, so he should get out and read.

Most of the people in the audience had, I noticed, what-a-smart-ass looks on their faces. So I said that a good book for young people is Anne Mazer's and Ellen Potter's Spilling Ink, which I will be talking about on this blog sometime soon; and for everyone in general, I like Stephen King's On Writing.

Then my questioner followed up with, "Hmmm... Stephen King... On Writing... Do you think that comes in audio? I don't have time to read books."

My lesson from the trenches: to a lot of people "being a writer" is something like Hungry Jack mashed potatoes -- add water and stir (and wear a smoking jacket).

More tips on how to kill me coming up.

advice to murderers

Continuing on with my series of advisory tips to any potential psychos on Twitter who want to rob and kill me, here is tip number one:

1. I never look under my car when I get into it.

Just so you know, too, my car is alarmed, so be careful. I hate car alarms, actually, but mine happens to be one of those super-automatic kinds that can actually produce conscious thought that exceeds the level of intelligence of most writers.

So, be careful.

And, anyway, hearing a car alarm go off up here where I live is every bit as unnerving as hearing a rattlesnake buzz on 5th Avenue in New York City. Not that you'd be able to hear a rattlesnake, because of all the car alarms going off.

I'm going to paraphrase, evade, and hide identities here for just a moment (as I celebrate my cowardice... well, I call it diplomacy), but the reason I made that backhanded jab about how dumb some writers are is that yesterday, a friend pointed out a post on a particular social networking site where an author publicly announced the following (paraphrased here):

Attention, all my writer friends out there: I need help making characters that make sense and are believable. Do you have any advice or know of any books that can show how to do this?

I am not kidding.

A writer actually posted that.

So, I'm, like, (to my friend), "Why is it so okay for writers today to just wave around gigantic banners about how stupid they are?"

I mean, could you imagine, back in the day, Fitzgerald and Hemingway having a chat about something like that? It might have gone something like this:

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD: What ho, Ernest (not that I believe for a moment Fitzgerald would have said "what ho," but I need to find a book on how to write dialogue with snappy opening interjections. But I digress. Do over...) What ho, Ernest. Do you have any tips, any nuggets of wisdom, being the clever man that you are, as to how one actually goes about writing a story with a beginning, middle bits, and... an ending?

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: You're a douchebag, Scott.

Remember: if you are a murderer and are not doing anything at the moment, I will tweet daily tips on how to find me and kill me, and how to write stories with "middle bits" as well.

twits for tuesday

I don't know why I'm struggling with this so much. Here it is, the second Tuesday since I decided to adopt a Twitter Strategy and tweet every Tuesday, and I'm, like, clueless.

I envy those people who can tweet with absolute abandon, freely and openly proclaiming their love for Cinnabon, or how they're stuck in level 4B at the Atlanta airport, as though, somehow, magically, someone else will appear waving a smartphone and shout out, "Me too! Me too! I am here, too!" and then rob and kill them.

let the wenches dawdle in such dress

Well, I know that not too many of my friends ever look at Goodreads, so I lifted this review that was posted by author Brian James. In fairness, Brian didn't rate my book. After all, we work for the same people. But if you've ever read Brian's music reviews, you'll see he has quite a knack for reviewing, and he doesn't pull any punches. Here's his take:

As teen literature continues to be a huge and growing field of publishing, the more mainstream its novels become. When I published my first novel Pure Sunshine, the genre was basically a dead genre. The books that started the new boom were adventurous, daring, and edgy wasn't just a marketing term. There was a sense to push the boundaries of what was considered acceptable in YA fiction. However, once the genre became an established outlet for bestsellers, there was a reverse pull back to more traditional fiction...more fantasy, flat problem novels, and updated Sweet Valley High books disguised as Chiklet Lit. Hats off to Andrew Smith for not standing for it and pushing back.

The Marbury Lens in an unflinching look at good and evil that not only exists in the world, but also within each of us. Its uncompromising vision of Hell is some of the best post-apocalyptic imagery I've ever encountered. However, it's brutality is not the kind of gore porn we see so often on screen, in this book it's there for a reason and compels and challenges the reader to think, propelling them out of their comfort zone.

Another aspect that I love about this novel is that it remains somewhat open-ended in the conclusions one draws. I know from first-hand experience to responses from my own writing, that some readers don't appreciate this aspect in a book. But I've always felt this to be one of the great things that makes YA Lit what it is. As a teenager, one encounters in order to develop their own ideas. A great YA author doesn't dictate to them, but presents them with a vision and allows them to experience it in their own way.

This is the type of book that YA needs to produce in order to avoid the same fate suffered in the '90s and remain inclusive of teen readers who don't want to read vampire romance.

let the lamp affix its beam

So there are always going to be lots of things that try to get in the way of the writing. Sometimes I am fascinated by all the things people who want to be writers do to themselves just so they can justify why they aren't actually writing.

But every day starts out with some writing at my house.

And this is one of the reasons why I do write. I keep the windows in my upstairs writing office uncovered. Usually, I'm up there before the sun comes up, but on the weekends, I'll sometimes sleep in until 6 a.m.

This is what my window looked out onto this morning.

call the roller

Here's the deal: I don't write for anyone except for me. I write the stories that I like to read, and I write them in the narrative style and voice that I like to read. That's all there is to it.

So, a few years ago, when my agent told me she really liked what I wrote, I was kind of flabbergasted. Go ahead, ask her. I never considered the reality of someone else reading my stuff. I never really sat down and thought about it, but, to be perfectly honest, I don't think I ever wanted anyone to read my stuff. It was all too personal. I never even let my family read what I write until after it's published, and even then it kind of creeps me out.

And friends? They are right out. They will never tell you the truth -- they're always "trying" to be positive and stuff... So, if you are an aspiring author... do yourself a favor and keep your "stuff" away from your "friends."

So you can imagine that when my editor and publisher said they liked what I wrote - and that they wanted to publish this incredibly personal stuff that I had no idea would ever actually be READ by anyone, well... that kind of blew me away, too.

I know. I'm an idiot.

Do I respond to criticism well? I think so. But, of the following: Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, VOYA, School Library Journal, Horn Book Review, Booklist... all of those sources of criticism, I've always felt incredibly flattered by the way they've carefully observed the things I wrote that I never really intended for any eyes but my own.

But you know what eats me up and gives me those why-did-I-ever-want-to-be-a-writer weeks worse than anything? The things some people post on wide-open, come-as-you-are-and-feel-free-to-abuse-apostrophes internet boards like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Goodreads. Really... not kidding... sometimes the things people post on those sites can make me feel suicidal.

So, I'll share with you a complete review that somebody who obtained an advance copy of The Marbury Lens wrote on Goodreads.

Ready?

Here it is, the entire review:

"Insightful, gripping, innovative, and dark, The Marbury Lens is nonetheless deeply sad and powerfully disturbing."

And, on the surface, I'm like... wow... those are some incredible adjectives that really describe my work. I can totally live with "insightful, gripping, innovative, and dark." After all, some of the greatest books I've ever read have those qualities. Powerful? Yay!!! [ahem. apologies.] And disturbing? Definitely.

But the reviewer gave the book a 3.

Ouch.

3 out of 5 is like a C.

Here's a picture, to prove it:



Things like that kill me.

Things like that make me have those why-did-I-ever-want-to-be-a-writer weeks.

Okay. I'll stop looking now.