scary stuff

Today I'm going to talk a little bit about scary stuff.

But I mean that in a good way.

And I'm not dropping names, but I do know that sometimes a couple very good authors of scary stuff stop by here and actually read my blog.

The thing is, when I was a kid, I used to love to read any scary book or novels by Stephen King I could get my hands on. I loved that kind of scary stuff. And now, here I am getting all the final work done on my third book, The Marbury Lens, a departure of sorts from my realistic earlier works because it is pretty damned scary.

People often ask and wonder, I think, if you have to be a little bit twisted to write scary stuff.

Yes. You do.

I think that in order to write content that succeeds in scaring readers, you have to really own and embrace those things that scare you the most. At least, that's just my opinion. But I do often lie awake at night trying to imagine the things that strike the deepest terror in me.

Potato bugs, for example.

I am terrified of potato bugs. So you know what I did? I studied them. I know just about everything you could possibly know about potato bugs: their scientific name, what they eat, where they are found, their life cycle. Knowing that stuff doesn't make them less frightening to me, but I do feel a sense of ownership over something that is truly horrible.

Like potato bugs.

And like the kids of things that happen to some completely innocent (and maybe not so innocent) characters in a place I've had dozens of nightmares about, called Marbury.

But there aren't any potato bugs in Marbury. Way worse stuff than that.

cone of silence

Well, since I've been keeping a running account thus far about where I am in the work cycle, let me jump out of the topic just a bit and talk about running.

Because I am now putting myself into the "Cone of Silence."

Nobody is talking to me. I'm not talking to anyone.

I've run in (and completed) around 30 marathons in my life. Yes... the ones that are actually 26.2 miles long. I consider myself to be a former marathoner, though, because the last one I ran was about 4 years ago (and I got my fastest time in it, too).

Writing is kind of like running a marathon.

Except you're sitting down, and not running.

And you can drink beer or coffee while doing it, and you usually won't spill it down your chest.

But there's nobody standing on the side of the road cheering you on.

And you don't have to wear special shoes when you do it.

But you do hit walls somewhere along the course, every time, and they can hurt like hell.

And when you finish, you ask yourself, "Why the hell did I just do that?"

busy-ness

Okay. It's going good. I've cracked through the revision barrier and may be transitioning into Stage Five, where things get good. Now I can work on The Marbury Lens at my regular pace. But this one is also very different, and it's all Jack's fault.

Friday, I am heading for Nashville and the Southern Festival of Books. The event takes place at the State Capitol Building, War Memorial Plaza, in downtown Nashville. On Saturday, October 10, I will be presenting a panel with author Greg Neri. The panel's title, interestingly enough, is Blood Brothers and Drug Smugglers, and will be held in Room 30 at 11:00 AM to 12 noon.

Afterward, I will be signing books in the "Signing Colonnade," which is directly across from the bookseller's stands and adjacent to the War Memorial Auditorium.

Should be good.

Then, the following weekend I'll be down in San Diego to kick off Teen Read Week at the Poway Branch of the San Diego Public Library. I'll have a lot more information on this posted here in the next week, and you can also read about some of the Teen Read Week news on the News Page from the Ghost Medicine Website.

what you hear

What do you listen to when you write?

I can't listen to anything when I'm working. I need only silence and white noise: coffee brewing, a rooster outside, wind, stuff like that. If there are any human sounds like conversation, music, or (God forbid) a television going on anywhere detectable to me in my house I absolutely can not work.

This may be why I become so tyrannical in Stage Four.

I don't mean to suggest that I don't love to listen to music, because I do. In fact, I make up playlists of artists and albums that I enjoy listening to concurrently with my work on a particular project -- but never while I am actually sitting at the keyboard.

I thought about this because of a couple comments from friends to me on Facebook recently... and how I've been listening to a couple old albums by David Bowie quite a bit lately. Ziggy Stardust and Diamond Dogs make a hell of a good playlist for me as I work on the final tweaks on The Marbury Lens because, like this book, the albums evoke such a grim sense of being lost in a future world that offers only passing moments of comfort.

So... how does music play a role in your writing process?

and so it begins

I thought about it for a few days, planned on this, and now I've started working as of this morning.

The revision work has begun. Look out for Stage Four.

When I start working on a revision, I usually go very slowly on the first day or so. But, then when I get into the rhythm of things, I can sometimes get through 70 or more pages in one day. Seriously.

This one will be a test, though, because the character who tells the story of The Marbury Lens is rather volatile and tilts toward self-destructiveness. So I have to be careful about what this does to ME on the other side of the page, but, at the same time, I realize what's expected of me and know that this manuscript really does deliver.

Just... oh well... Stage Four. Let me apologize in advance. I can already feel it setting in. My editor says this will likely be the final revision, claims to have been "judicious" with the line edits.

That's a funny word. Judicious could be a good thing as it pertains to line edits, or it could mean you totally suck (see Stage Two). In the case of The Marbury Lens, though, I think it may be a good thing. As I flip through the script, I don't see the usual battle map of squiggly pencil marks.

Which maybe means I am learning how to write.

Maybe.

If you get a chance, pop over to my friend Bill Konigsberg's Blog about writing (from October 1). It's really short, but good stuff. I don't know if it's his quote or someone else's, but it is so true what he says about staying in the room.

waiting for me

So there were a few things waiting for me when I got back home from Europe. Most importantly, and surprisingly, all of my animals were still alive and present. Better yet, the cats had not dragged any corpses in through their kitty door.

And, on my doorstep, were piled four boxes -- two cases of audiobooks and two cases of hardback copies of in the path of falling objects. And... yes, you can get it in bookstores now -- so, if your local bookseller isn't shelving it, do everyone in your community a favor -- be a hero to them -- and ask your bookseller to order it in. You will not regret doing so.

And speaking of waiting for me, I'd like to add another comment about yesterday's post about dealing with revisions. I am presently on Stage Two, but I am confident that I will organize my thoughts and get down to actual work on this by Saturday, Swine Flu or no. So, that's waiting for me, too.

I'll be completely honest -- I actually am very eager to work on this enormous thing again, because there's something about it that keeps hooking me in and taking control of me. It's just that when I do these kinds of things, I have to let the ideas (see Stage Two) percolate in my head for a couple of days before I actually sit down to the mental and very physical task of getting it out straight.

If that makes any sense.

So now, the great big giant THEY will have to wait for ME.

And, after one day of work, I will know, exactly to the day, when I will be finished. Yeah... I'm weird like that.

This weekend, look for updates on the Ghost Medicine Website regarding Teen Read Week (October 19 - 23). I've picked up a number of new gigs that week and want to be sure to give props to the schools, libraries, and Mrs. Nelson's Book Store for asking me to participate in this great week for our teen readers.

five steps

Okay. So, the other day I mentioned how I'd received a revision package from my editor, but that I was only in Stage One, so I couldn't really talk about it. Well, I'm over that now and have come to realize that it just may be that I have something important (or not) to say about the writing process for those who aspire to go into this self-flagellating vocation.

First of all, this is my third -- yes, third -- book, The Marbury Lens, which will be coming out in 2010. And, having received the editorial letter, I realized that with every book I've written so far, I have gone through a similar process in dealing with the edits.

A kind of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross 5-step process in coming to terms with working with my editor and revising my work. If you are unfamiliar with Kubler-Ross, she is responsible for identifying "The Five Steps of Grief" -- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. I think these steps have a lot in common with the revision process, so here I submit MY Five Stages of Coming to Terms with Revisions:

Stage One: "Skimming"

Skimming is the first thing that happens with an editorial letter. During this event, the subject refuses to sit down and actually read the entirety of the letter, choosing instead to skim through it for words like "perfection" and "brilliant." Very much like Kubler-Ross' Denial, during this stage, the subject may also internally vocalize such statements as... Gee, why is this letter so long when it only takes a few words to express how brilliant and flawless my work is? Sheesh... windbag editors!

Stage Two: "I am a Douchebag. I Can't Do This. I am Incompetent. I Totally Suck"

During Stage Two, the subject has actually taken the time to read the fucking letter. This is when he will usually begin to realize that the editorial diagnosis was correct, a second opinion from the buddy who still owes him a six-pack of Coors Light for kicking his ass at Polish Horseshoes is unwarranted, and the editor has made some keen observations -- leaving a trail of Zen-like, unanswerable questions that frequently result in thoughts of suicide, cutting off one's typing fingers and running away to become "Flipper Boy" in the circus, or any number of self-destructive and career-ending missteps.

Stage Three: "Postponing the Deadline"

"If only I can buy more time," the subject bargains with himself during Stage Three, "then maybe I can do something truly significant with my life -- like organizing my iTunes library." It is while in Stage Three that the subject will attempt to devise a deadline date that is either unreasonably impossible to meet, or falls during a time when the editor is on vacation where there are no cell phones or internet access.

Stage Four: "Commencing the Operation"

During this stage, the subject has resigned himself to the inevitable: it's not going to write itself, douchebag. As Kubler-Ross suggests for step 4 of grief, there's no sense trying to cheer the author up at this point, he is going to be a miserable, foul-mouthed, impossible-to-live-with sonofabitch once he actually begins the work and admits to himself, "Gee! I'm on page one of 412. I hate myself. Death is too pleasant an option for someone as wretched as I. Yippee! Now I'm halfway through the first sentence on page one of 412."

Stage Five: "The Revelation"

It all boils down to this: At Stage Five, the subject finally realizes that only now can words like "perfection" and "brilliant" be applied to the work. He has gone through the first four steps, struggled with understanding his directions, and allowed himself to be guided into producing something far better in quality than he might have done on his own.

Unfortunately, he may revert to Stage Two as a result of this revelation.