The Open Author

I’ve tried to write and re-write this post to make it short, and it just keeps getting longer. So I’m trying something new. I’m giving you the facts and nothing else. Then in the coming days and weeks, I’ll write more on a few of the topics below. Does that work? Okay, so here we go. Just the facts.

Fact – I’m an instructional designer. I spend a great deal of time thinking about how people learn and the best way to teach them.

Fact – I’m a writer. I spend a great deal of time thinking about the very complex craft of writing.

Fact – Scaffolding is a technique instructional designers use when teaching a complex skill. It allows designers to break down the skill into smaller skills, and allows a learner to focus on digestible chunks. More on this in a later post.

Fact – Fan fiction is when a writer composes stories in a world that somebody else created. They use characters, setting, and even the plot of well known stories, but the writer gives it their own personal spin. More on this in a later post.

Fact – Fan fiction provides scaffolding while learning the craft of writing, and is therefore an excellent instructional method for teachers and learners alike.

Fact – Fan fiction is illegal. You cannot share or sell your fan fiction stories. At best it is tolerated; at worst publishers and authors file lawsuits against offenders.

Fact – You can write fan fiction about a work that is in the public domain; however, because most of that work is over a hundred years old, it doesn’t happen very often. When was the last time you saw Huckleberry Finn fan fiction?

Fact – Huckleberry Finn fan fiction is fun to say.

Fact – As an author and instructional designer, I came up with the idea to create a world with setting, characters, and plot–a world where it is not only tolerated and legal to create fan fiction, but encouraged.

Fact – I enlisted the help of an Instructional Design professor at BYU, and eight fellow authors (some of them New York Times best selling authors) to help me create this world.

Fact – The stories about this world will be released under a Creative Commons attribution license. That means you can do anything you want with them, including printing the stories, selling them, writing your own, and more.

Fact – We could use your help. We’ve launched a Kickstarter campaign to help create this world. You can find all the latest information, and read more about this project, over on our Kickstarter page.

Thanks for stopping by. I’d love to hear any thoughts and feedback you have on the idea.

For all of those wishing for a third Matthew Buckley book, you can now start wishing for a fourth. Because the third will be here the first or second week of April.

Here is the cover.

This year has been a rough one for me. A lot of changes. A lot of growing.

I’ve learned something. Stuff doesn’t make you happy. In fact, at least in my experience, it does the opposite. I honestly believe that when you bring “stuff” into your life, it makes your life heavier. It pins and wears you down.

This morning I marched in a parade. Yes, that parade.

I was seventeen the last time I was in a parade. I carried a tenor sax and became dehydrated because I was in full band uniform.

I got dehydrated this time around as well, because I was wearing a suit.

I don’t like parades. I don’t like going to them, let alone marching in them. The heat, the crowds, the . . . social interaction. Give me a dusty bike trail or a small boardgame night with friends and family any day of the week.

But today I stepped way out of my comfort zone, and marched in a pride parade. I marched with a group of Mormons who went to share a simple message, “We love you.”

Although I marched in a group I drove to the parade alone. This almost made me turn back about a dozen times. I knew no one. There I was, walking down the street in a suit and tie, asking a woman in a leotard if she knew which way to the pride parade. I’m sure she wondered if I suffered from heat stroke.

But I found my people. I didn’t count, but wouldn’t be surprised if there was over 400 of us. Brothers and sisters and children, decked out in their “Sunday best”, carrying rainbow flags and signs. I think my favorite sign quoted a primary song.

I’ll walk with you, I’ll talk with you, that’s how I’ll show my love for you.

We were right behind the grand marshall, so second in line. As we marched, the crowed cheered, clapped, and at times even roared. I can only hope the love we were trying so desperately to show matched the love they showed us. A few images I will never forget:

A middle-aged woman in a tank top, stood on the sidelines, crying. She kept saying over and over, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” A woman marching next to me went over and embraced her.

A five-year-old girl, marched in front of me with a sign that said, “Free Hugs.” Many people took her up on the offer.

A man rode in a wheelchair with a walker on wheels attched to it. The walker was empty the entire time because the woman who supposedly needed it was bouncing back and forth to each side of the parade, waving and waving and waving.

I can’t explain why I felt compelled to go and march. I’m not gay. None of my immediate familiy members are gay, at least not that I know of. I’m told that the social, political, and religious issues surrounding homosexuality are complex. I won’t profess to be an expert on any of them. In fact, I’m pretty slow. I like things simple. One of my favorite parts of the bible is when Jesus boils everything down to two commandments. Only two.

Love God.

Love your neighbor.

On these two commandments hang all the laws and the prophets.

That I can understand.

With apologies to Thomas S. Monson: Miles were walked. Tears were shed. Bridges were built.

Today I ran a half marathon. My goal was two hours or less.

The first half marathon I ran in 2:26. My goal then was to run without stopping. My second half marathon was 2:09. I’d only trained a couple of months, and was very pleased with my time. But it was so close to 2 hours, I had to set that as my next goal.

I’ve trained pretty hard for this race. Not as hard as I could have, but a good faith effort. I felt hopeful about my chances.

I ran what I thought was a goood pace the first half of the race. I was starting to feel tired, but thought if I’d made good time in the first half, I could slow down and still meet my goal. Checking my watch, I realized that I was running much slower than anticipated. If I wanted to finish this in two hours, I’d have to run faster in the second half than I had in the first. Faster. When I was already tired.

So I picked up the pace. I started feeling dizzy. I’d reach out for the water and powerade and my hands were shaking. My legs felt weak and I wondered if I would stumble. Still, I ran on, hoping to make up for lost time.

I finished the race. I didn’t know what my time was because I’d started my watch late. I couldn’t find where they posted the results, so I came home. A few minutes ago, I saw my time.

2:01:15

I missed my goal by 75 seconds. :)

The first five miles I ran a very slow 10:22. That’s just not pretty. I was saving up my energy, but had no idea I was going that slow. The second half of the race I ran a 9:11. I shaved a full 70 second off of every mile. If I’d been able to run 10 minute miles the first five miles, I would have met my goal. If I had not held anything back, I am sure I would have done it.

Am I disappointed? Yes. Am I discouraged? No.

I’m a writer. Writers deal with frustration, discouragement, and rejection all the time. You either learn to look past it, or you quit. I missed my goal by 75 seconds. I was close, but not close enough.

The Top of Utah Half Marathon is in August. That gives me three months.

On Monday I get back to work.

Fiddler on the Roof is my favorite musical. It will always hold a special place in my heart.

Fiddler is about crossing the line. In the musical, it’s referred to as “Tradition”. Tradition is what helps the little community of Anatevka survive. They cook, clean, sew, barter, and live life in a certain way. Why? As Tevye will freely admit, “I don’t know.” It’s tradition.

But in the musical, Tevye must consider this traditional line. As the father of five daughters, one by one the three eldest want to marry, and one by one Tevye must consider the line of tradition. How far is he willing to go? Will he step over the line? One of the most powerful scenes of any movie is the scene where his third daughter, Chava is begging him to acknowledge her marriage outside of the faith. Tevye reasons back and forth with himself, using the phrase, “…on the other hand…”

He crossed the line with his two eldest daughters. He broke from tradition. But this is too much. This line he cannot cross. The music swells and he turns his back on his daughter while shouting, “NO! There is no other hand.”

And yet at the end of the movie, we receive a hint that Tevye is willing to cross even this line for the love of his daughter.

There are a lot of lines that shouldn’t be crossed. These lines allow us to work and live in peace. But every once in a while we realize society has created a line in the sand that exists only because of tradition. As society matures, we come to understand that some lines shouldn’t exist.

Sattelite, by Rise Against, is a favorite song of late. One line states, “You have to cross the line just to remember where it lays.”

I think I’d modify that sentiment just a little. But first I want to show you one of my favorite Normal Rockwell paintings.

So here is my final thought:

Sometimes we must cross the line; not to rebel, or to make a point, but to determine for ourselves if the line should even exist in the first place.

A few days ago I went for a hike–Flag Rock above Farmington, Utah. Near the summit, I met a man coming down. I judged him to be in his mid-fifties. He was in excellent shape, and had a contagious smile. He wore shorts, a T-shirt, and a Denver Broncos hat that looked like it had seen many a sunny day.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

His smile was completely disarming–even affectionate. I didn’t know this man, but I was half tempted to shake his hand and tell him how nice it was to meet him.

“I’m doing well, how about you?”

“Doing great,” he said. “Have you done this trail before?”

Have I done this trail before. How to answer that? Should I tell him that I’d been going through some rough changes in my life? That this hike had been my escape when things got really bad? That I’d climbed to Flag Rock in the rain, in the snow, and in the middle of the night? That sometimes the only thing that cleared my head, and reminded me that I was alive, was the freezing wind turning the sweat on my beard to ice?

“Yeah. I’ve done this trail before,” I said.

Another smile. “Well then, you’ll be happy to know the north side is finally clear.”

“No more ice?” I asked. I usually came up the south side, and returned the same way. The north side was covered in slick ice, and could be treacherous.

“No more ice.” He said. It’s 95% gone. I also cleared all of the fallen trees and limbs except for one. It’s really beautiful, you should definitely go down that way.”

With a wave of his hand he was gone. The whole exchange had taken a minute.

I never caught the man’s name. From the summit, I saw him talking to another group heading up. He probably shared the same information. The same encouragement.

I walked down the north side, and it was in fact a beautiful hike. I decided I need to be more like this man whose name I never learned. I want to share information that helps people on their journey. I want to improve the trail, even if it’s only a little bit. Because every bit counts.

And when a lot of people all pitch in, even just a little, sometimes amazing things can happen.

I like speculative fiction. It allows a context in which you can ask some interesting questions. You can look at a “truth”, and see how quickly it crumbles and falls. Consider the following.

Zombie apocalypse. You’re holed up in a cave. You have enough food for you and five other people to last through the winter. The only problem? There are twenty of you. What do you do? A “truth” would dictate that you respect all life. But these are desperate times.

Do you kill off all but five? Do you feed everybody and then all die? When you have a new context, truths that we would normally consider to be self-evident suddenly become anything but.

I ran the Snow Canyon half marathon and blogged about it here. In it I mentioned that Snow Canyon had beautiful scenery, but all I saw were the double yellow lines of the road. My mother asked me to write up an essay about the following truth:

TRUTH
Sometimes we get so caught up in the little things,
we miss the beautiful things around us.

This got me thinking about a second truth. One that applies to the same situation:

TRUTH
If you want to achieve your goal,
You can’t be distracted by shiny objects.

If I want to finish the race with a good time, I need to focus on the goal. I can come back to Snow Canyon at a later date. But also, it’s a shame to run through the beautiful Snow Canyon and only stare at the road.

One situation. Two truths. They seem to be at odds.

Let me give you one more example.

Consider the example of the oak and the reed. A harsh wind blows and blows. A mighty oak, which is rigid and strong, is blown over. The reed, on the other hand, bends with the wind and survives.

TRUTH
Sometimes it’s good to be flexible.

An example of this truth. My manuscript was complete at 80,000 words. My agent said I had to cut it down to less than 60,000. It was extremely painful to do. I cut a lot of great scenes. But in the end, by being flexible, we sold the book.

But what about this? Imagine you lived in a Small Town USA a few decades ago. A black family is moving into an all white neighborhood, and a petition is going around to keep that from happening. You don’t believe in the petition, but it’s much easier to be flexible. Otherwise, the neighbors may turn on you.

TRUTH
Sometimes being flexible is not an option.

TRUTH
Some truths are worth breaking over.

It’s important for people to stand up for what is truth. Unfortunately, we don’t have a manual of truths. We must each find our own truth, and then act accordingly.

Want to see somebody who has found a truth? Find a protester with a sign. Right or wrong (in your opinion), they’ve discovered a truth and are sharing it with others. They are standing strong for something they believe in.

One last thing. Standing firm doesn’t always appear noble to the world. Sometimes you might not know if the truth for which you stand is worth it. Sometimes when you’re broken, you feel like it’s exactly what you deserve. You just might question to your final breath whether or not you made the right choice.

I believe, that in the end, it’s all about truth. Search for truth. Find truth. And then act on it. Right or wrong, it’s the best we can do.

I went on a hike up Farmington Canyon. I’ve posted a few of the pictures here.

As soon I as I was out of the car, the voices started up in my head. You’ve probably heard them before. They whisper things like:

It’s too cold.

You’re not prepared. You don’t have the right clothing.

The snow is too deep.

It’s too far to the summit.

These voices have the most power the first thirty minutes of a hike. The voices will tell you it’s not really giving up if you’ve only just started. And since you’ve only invested a small portion of your time and energy, turning around is easy to do.

Sometimes the voices may speak truth. Perhaps you are not fully prepared. Perhaps the way is too difficult.

But mostly the voices lie. And in the first thirty minutes, you are the most vulnerable.

Once I’ve left my car far behind, and the valley is spread out in my view, I find I can talk back to the voices.

The summit is still too far.

Then I will go as far as I can.

The snow is getting deeper.

I’ve walked through worse.

You cannot do this.

Yes. I can.

If I make it past the first thirty minutes, I can usually make it to my goal. I see through the voices’ lies, I’ve invested significant time and energy, and I plow my way to the top.

I’ve discovered a similar truth in writing. When you begin a new story, the voices are quick to speak up.

These characters are bland.

The plot is thin.

You’ll never get to eighty thousand words.

Again, most of the time the voices lie. But it’s easy to stop when you’ve just begun. It’s easy to tell yourself that the story isn’t as compelling as you first thought. You haven’t invested the time, so it’s easy to close the document and move on to something else.

Don’t believe the voices.

Lower your shoulders, pick a good pace, and plunge ahead. Write the first thirty pages. Ignore the voices and just move forward. Perhaps on page thirty-one, you can start to respond to those nagging doubts.

The characters are weak.

I’m getting to know them.

You’ll never reach eighty thousand words.

Maybe not, but tonight I’ll reach three thousand.

The plot is thin.

I can do this.

Ignore the voices until you’ve written thirty pages. Invest the time and effort that your story both deserves and demands. You’ll find the next two hundred pages will very likely come.

One last thing. When hiking, I’ve found that at the base of the trail there are dozens of footsteps. The farther you go, the thinner the tracks. One by one, those who have gone before turn around and head back. Eventually, there is an exhilarating moment when you see the last set of tracks come to an end. You look to the trail ahead and see nothing but unbroken snow.

In writing, it’s not good to compare yourself to others. There are far too many variables. But sometimes I like to compare what I’m doing now with what I’ve done in the past. Maybe first the goal is to just finish a short story. Then it’s to writing something longer. Maybe you want to place in a contest, and then come in first. Then the goal may be as lofty as finishing a novel, submitting it, and getting good feedback. Then that happy day comes when you sign a contract, and see one of your books on the shelf.

If you ignore the voices, sometimes you can go farther than you ever thought possible. All you have to do is tackle the first thirty.

Sometime in my childhood, someone introduced me to the paradox of the unstoppable force and the immovable object. I spent months and months trying to resolve this problem.

In my young mind I pictured the immovable object as an anvil in space. The unstoppable force as a hammer flying toward it. I went over and over the conundrum in my mind. What would happen when the two met? How could one be unstoppable, and the other immovable? It just doesn’t work! My tiny little brain couldn’t comprehend it.

And then it could. At some point I developed a solution. I came to understand that you couldn’t have both an immovable object and an unstoppable force existing at the same time.

Here is the first beautiful truth: When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, only one of them emerges with their name intact.

In college, my very first English professor announced to the class that you couldn’t make a living at creative writing. It was practical advice, stated simply. He spoke from years of experience. Here was an immovable object. A universal truth.

Only it wasn’t.

I stopped writing for ten years. I graduated with two degrees in different subjects. But somewhere deep inside, the author would not be still. He would not be silent.

And so I wrote. And wrote. And wrote some more. I experienced pain that only other artists truly understand.

I have two books in print. I have an amazing agent working with me on a third book. I do not support myself with my writing. I do not know if the force I have built up is enough to break this personal immovable object. It may not be. The professor may have been right . . . for now.

Here is the second beautiful truth: You can always try again.

When the unstoppable force is stopped, it proves nothing. There is a spark in each of us—a spark that makes us human. Sometimes that spark is buried deep. Sometimes we’re not sure it’s there at all. But it is. And that spark demands that we try again. And again. And again.

The spark does not demand that we succeed. Only that we try.

Here is the third truth: Sometimes we succeed.

And that is the most beautiful truth of all. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Piles and piles of practice and work. In the end you just might reveal the immovable object for what it is—a fraud.

We try, we try, we try again. And in the end, when the dust has settled, we will see ourselves for what we really are.

Unstoppable.