The Open Author

At some point in our lives we all set goals. And then after we set out after those goals, we wonder if we can achieve them.

I’m a fan of the band Cake. They’ve got a distinct style, and one that grows on me over time. They have a song call The Distance, and I find the lyrics beautifully capture the spirit of striving for a goal.

The song starts by describing a race.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
engines pumping and thumping in time.
the green light flashes, the flags go up.
churning and burning, they yearn for the cup.
they deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
reckless and wild, they pour through the turns.
their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
as they speed through the finish, the flags go down.
the fans get up and they get out of town.

So the race is over. There is a winner, but we don’t know who it is. In this song, that’s not important. Turn back to the arena to see the real message.

the arena is empty except for one man,
still driving and striving as fast as he can.
the sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
and long ago somebody left with the cup.
but he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns.
and thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

The race is over. The man has lost, and yet still he drives on. We come to the chorus.

he’s going the distance.
he’s going for speed.
she’s all alone
all alone in her time of need.
because he’s racing and pacing and plotting the course,
he’s fighting and biting and riding on his horse,
he’s going the distance.

Winning isn’t the important thing. By the end of the song we don’t even know if this man finishes the race. Again, that’s not important. What is important is the first line and the last line. He’s going the distance. Going the distance doesn’t mean that he’s reached the goal–only that he’s still working at it.

I love the second verse. It speaks to the doubt we all experience.

no trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine,
he’s haunted by something he cannot define.
bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse,
assail him, impale him with monster-truck force.
in his mind, he’s still driving, still making the grade.
she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.
cause he’s racing and pacing and plotting the course,
he’s fighting and biting and riding on his horse.
the sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
and long ago somebody left with the cup.
but he’s striving and driving and hugging the turns.
and thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

We all set goals. Then we strive for those goals. Some goals are realized. Others seem to always be just beyond our reach. So, do we stop reaching, or do we go the distance?

You can listen to the song here.

Runners are mad. I spent most of my adult life believing this. People step out of their houses. They run. And then they stop.

Madness.

My wife started running when I was 36. She pulled me into the sport and I discovered that my assessment was correct—runners are mad. But it’s a wonderful kind of madness.

Runners run in the dark. In the rain. In the snow. They run until common sense and every muscle screams at them to stop. And then they run some more. They run barefoot. They run up mountains. They race ten miles when the only things waiting for them at the end are sweaty clothes and some chocolate milk.

Writers are also mad. They write deep into the night. On short lunch breaks. They jot down notes on the bus. They talk to themselves. They endure endless amounts of criticism and rejection. They write for years when the only thing waiting for them at the end are a million words—most of them unread by the world.

Madness.

I ran the Top of Utah Half Marathon last year. I trained all summer. I paid $100 for shoes, and another $50 for the privilege of entering the race. At the end of the 13 miles I got a key chain. I didn’t care. I wasn’t running for the prize at the end.

I’ve spent four years on a manuscript. I don’t know where it’s going to end up. I might get a contract. I might get nothing. But I didn’t write it for the prize at the end.

Runners are mad. Writers are mad. But it’s a delicious madness.

I love a good midnight run. Or a thorough sloshing through the rain. I will never forget a midnight run through the streets of Logan during a thunderstorm. These events remind me that I am alive. They remind me of what I can do.

I love when my characters surprise me. When the words flow, and I feel like I’m creating another world. When somebody reads a line that I wrote, and bursts into laughter. I will never forget the time a stranger approached me and told me of the time he had to pull his car to the side of the road because he couldn’t see through the tears of laughter as he listened to my book.

Runners are mad. Writers are mad.

And that is why I run. And that is why I write.

I’ve started a new story. It’s one I’ve been kicking around for about two years, and so far I’m still pretty excited about the project.

I’ve been trying to get to know my protagonist. For some this may be an easy thing, but I find it difficult. I have to really think about it. For months. I imagine what he would do in different situations. What he would say. I try to get deep inside his head.

This has proven to be a problem. You see, I’m trying to do the same thing for Juror # 11 (I know, yet ANOTHER post about the play). And quite frankly the two characters are very different. So I find myself in the play wanting to react like the character in my story. That doesn’t work, because the character in the story would probably start beating on a few of the other jurors.

However, it’s a good exercise for me. If I can’t keep more than a single character in my head at once, I’m going to have a hard time writing novels. Unless the novel is about the sole survivor of the human race. Or a hermit. Maybe I should write a book about the Unabomber.

Opening night it tonight. We’ll see which character shows up for the play.

I’ve been invited to present at the UVU Book Academy. I attended this conference last year, and was very impressed. It’s always fun to hang out with other writers, and UVU puts on a good conference. It’s a full day, and at $49 you can’t beat the price. Register today, since it’s the last day to get the early bird discount.

Hope to see you there!

I like to think I’m in reasonable shape. I’m within 15 pounds of my high school weight. Last year I ran a half marathon, and although I’ve taken most of this year off (not by choice), yesterday I ran seven miles–the longest since last August. Today I went for a bike ride and went 25 miles–mostly because I’m not that bright–I should have stopped at 15. But you can’t stop at 15 when you’re still 10 miles from home.

So, tonight, when a neighbor called me up and asked if I’d sub on their indoor soccer team, I figured what the heck. I haven’t played soccer since I was 12, but I can handle an hour of soccer. Right?

Yeah, not so much. This was me at the start of the game:

Anyway, I had a heck of a time, and I’m now an official substitute for The Mosquitoes. So on top of my day job, my writing, TwHistory, the play, my family, and eating and sleeping, I can now add soccer to the list of things that I’d love to spend more time doing. I’ll just have to adjust a few things, and I’ll be good to go.

Who needs sleep anyway?

Three years ago I had the chance to perform in a production of 12 Angry men. I’d never been in a play, and I fell in love with acting–or if not acting, whatever it was that I did out there on the stage.

When the director invited me back to reprise my role, I couldn’t say no–even though the commute to and from the theater is two and a half hours.

I got a call from the Ogden Standard, wanting to do a quick interview about the play. The reporter asked me some easy questions, and then threw me a curve ball. “Why do you like the movie so much?”

I’d told her just a moment before that 12 Angry Men, with Henry Fonda is one of my top three favorite movies of all time.

But I didn’t know how to answer her question. I hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, so I threw out the first thought that popped into my head. And now that I’ve had a few days to consider it, I think my first thought was right.

12 Angry Men is really about one man. One man who stands up against eleven other men. Juror number eight has a lot of redeeming qualities. He is not afraid to stand up to a crowd. He’s smart. He can’t send a man to die without at least “taking about it first.”

But the reason I like the character so much is the way he goes about making his case. Almost all of the jurors at one point or another get angry. But not juror number eight. He keeps calm. He lays forth his case with refreshing sincerity and honesty. He asks hard questions. There are times when he doesn’t have the answers, and he freely admits it. He says that he doesn’t know, but that “it’s possible.”

When the reporter asked me why I liked 12 Angry Men, the Republican debates were fresh in my mind. We’re closing in on an election year, and the fighting between the parties seems particularly harsh. Voices from both sides seem more concerned about making the other party look bad, than to find common ground.

I wonder what would happen if all of us–left and right–freely admitted that sometimes we just don’t know? Or what if we asked the hard questions? Or really listened to–and kept an open mind about–the answers? What if we put aside the snide remarks? What if we didn’t worry about our “team” being right, and instead were open to new ideas.

In 12 Angry Men, we get a happy ending. The jury ends up unified.

Unity. I told the reporter from the Ogden Standard, that when it comes to America, I’d like to see a little bit more of that.

I’ve decided that my favorite edit is edit number two. When you write for the first time, you’re filling a blank page. It’s enjoyable, but hard.

But the second pass is the most fun. The structure is there, but it’s usually weak. You add depth, emotion, and “meat” to the bones. The second draft is such an improvement from the first, and you feel like a master craftsman (or craftswoman, depending). It’s an enjoyable experience.

My least favorite edit? That’s easy. The last one. because by that point, you’ve been over the manuscript about a hundred times. #PainAndTorture

Tonight I stood in line with my wife and five boys for three and a half hours. The line snaked through a hot stuffy building. I was wearing a suit. I don’t like suits.

At the end of the three and a half hours I shook a father’s hand, and gave him a hug. I mumbled words that were far too inadequate to a mother who looked bone tired. And then my family and I stopped for a moment in front of a casket. We looked briefly at a boy who left his family and friends far too early. Three hours in line, and it was all over in two minutes. Was it worth it?

Of course.

Because that is what a community does. When my wife broke the news to us at dinner Saturday night, my seven-year-old burst into tears. He hung his head and sobbed. He didn’t know the boy who had passed away, but he knew he was “from our church”. That meant the boy was a member of our community. And so my son cried.

A community gathers when tragedy strikes. They mourn with those who mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. And when it seems no words can ease the pain and grief, still they come together in hopes that the small actions–all combined–will somehow lift the broken heart. The short note. The pink wristband. The flowers. All symbols of unity. Symbols of community.

We’ll miss you Gabe. And we’ll stand by your family to help them however we can.

Almost Super, my middle grade superhero book, is nearly complete. My wonderful writing group has been giving excellent feedback, finding holes, and helping me really polish it up. I’m roughly 6 weeks from having it complete. It’s now decision time. My book is done . . . what now?

Five years ago there wouldn’t have been a decision to make. Brush off the ol’ query letter, and start sending it out. But today, with Kindles, iPads, e-books, and the neo self-publishing movement, I’m torn.

Here are a few of the things I’m thinking about. I’d love your thoughts and opinions.

Print: E-books are in the news but print still rules the day. Amazon may sell more e-books than print books, but most of the money is still in paper. E-books only make up a little over 10 percent of total book sales. That percentage is growing, but no one seriously thinks that the printed book is going away.

The internet has helped with the two costs facing every author—up-front costs, and distributions. Print on demand means you don’t need thousands of dollars to print your book. And e-books give you global distribution . . . sort of. In the end, you’re still facing an uphill battle. You want your books to get into the hands of people who love to read, and where do those people hang out? The bookstore. You can sell your paper book online, but you’ll never get the big sales until you’re being pushed by Barnes and Noble, and you’ll never get that until you have a publishing company behind you.

E-books and the internet are bringing about a lot of changes, but I think it’s premature (and silly) to simply declare the old model dead. Changed? Yes. Dead? No.

Street Cred: Okay, I say this half in jest, but it’s something that authors should consider. Finding an agent, and landing a good contract buys you credibility that is very difficult, if not impossible, to get if you self-publish. How important is this credibility? Six years ago I wrote a book. Writing a book did nothing for me. It wasn’t until I landed a contract that things changed. I joined a writer’s guild, I spoke at a local writers conference, and then was invited to emcee the event the following year. Now I’m doing  a podcast with two other awesome authors. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t landed that publishing contract. The book would have been just as good, but I would have had none of those experiences.

What if I self-publish my book and sell 1,000 books a month. What does that mean? Do I have a good book, or did I just get lucky? Maybe I’m just good at marketing. Self-publishing has always had a stigma, and that is something you have to consider. If I land a contract with one of the big six, then that brings credibility.

It’s kind of like a diploma. I know really smart people who never got a degree. And I know a lot of folks with degrees that could really benefit from a strong dose of common sense. But businesses still use the degree as a litmus test for who they hire. It’s an easy way to measure, as for the employees they let go, they use exit interviews for this with software from sites like https://www.qualtrics.com/employee-experience/exit-interviews/ which help with this a lot.

Focus: If I land a contract, guess what I get to do? Write. I get to write more. I don’t have to worry about covers, marketing, moving my book through the editing process. I can write the sequel I’ve already got outlined. My agent can negotiate rights, my publisher can work their magic, and I can continue to do what I love best–write fun and funny books.

If I self publish, I’ll have less time to write. Or I’ll have the same amount, but the other areas will suffer. I’ve written Almost Super and I want people to read it. I’d also like to make a little bit of money. I’ll do neither if I neglect these other aspects of the process.

Rights: When you sign away your copyright, it’s for a potentially long time. Technically, it’s 70 years after my death. I don’t think I’ll be in much of a state to do anything with my rights when they enter the public domain. You have to remember that a publisher is not in the business of publishing good books. They are in the business of making money. Once they’ve thrown my book over the fence, there often is not a lot of incentive for them to do much more with it. They may print a few copies here and there to keep it “in print”, and then pull in a few hundred dollars a year on e-books. If I want to try anything interested (drop the price, give away half the book for free, etc.), I have to get their permission. And if I get a small advance, the publisher may not really put that much effort into marketing my book. They’ll do just enough to earn the money back, make a profit, and then they’ll move on to the next big thing (Like Rob Well’s book Variant, available for pre-order RIGHT NOW).

Royalties: Royalties for new authors are pretty low. 10-15%. Royalties for authors on Amazon are 70%. Big difference, but again, you must do your own marketing, cover, editing, etc. However, 70% royalties on a $2.99 book are better than 15% royalties on a $10 book. But 15% royalties on 10,000 sales are better than 70% royalties on 100 sales.

So there you have it. These are just a few of the thoughts I’ve had. I assume other authors out there are having similar issues. I’d love your thoughts and opinions.

I’ve commissioned a friend to make me a cover, so in some sense I’ve already taken the first step on the route of self-publishing. On the other hand, I keep itching to send this to agents. I want to find out if the book really is good enough to land a solid contract.

I guess I can keep polishing it, and then I don’t have to make a decision.