Facebook told me the other day that It’d been three years since I’d sold my first short story. So, aside from the general unease that comes from knowing how much personal information I’ve willingly – and unwillingly – given to the vampire squid of global techno-capitalism, I suppose a writing stocktake is in order.
The three years have been good. Twelve short story sales, four of them pro, and a further four to the excellent Interzone. I’ve also managed a few reprints, plus three translations (German, Hebrew, French).
On the back of the pro sales I became a full member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. That was a goal, and I’m glad I achieved it; however, I’ve come to the conclusion that membership of SFWA is largely useless for non-US writers. Though that’s an article for another day.
I was nominated for a Ditmar Award for best new talent last year. As I said at the time, it’s pleasing to find a profession where a 40-year-old can be called a ‘new talent’.
I landed an agent, Piers Blofeld. This is probably the biggest win in three years. He’s a good one, too, from a respected agency with a bunch of big writers on their books. Piers is currently trying to sell my novel, which I am sweating on.
All of which is far, far better than I ever imagined at the start. I’d be happy if my next three years amounted to something similar, though if I don’t sell a novel in that time I’ll probably have to return to work in the salt mines.
Lessons learned
Shit, I don’t know. These things are always particular to the individual. Different rituals, different methods, different motivations for every writer makes a universal law hard to find.
On the other hand, fuck that postmodern bullshit. Here’s three pretty obvious rules that come to mind for any writer who wants to try to make a living (I’m not making a living, to be clear, but I want to try).
1) Discipline 2) Read everything, 3) Be a sucker for punishment.
Look. These are obvious. I’m not going to dwell. Suffice to say I write I write every day. Whether I want to or not. That doesn’t suit all people. Fine; good for you. But writing needs discipline, one way or another.
That terrible show Everyone Loves Raymond was terrible. But, I do remember one good line. Raymond was thinking of quitting journalism and his wife says to him: “why don’t you write the great American novel?” Raymond: “Write it? I don’t even want to read it!”
It’s been said many times, but seriously, if you don’t love reading, why the fuck would you want to become a writer?
Lastly, get used to rejection. Get so used to it you thrive on it. Fuck, I do. As a rule, when a rejection comes in, I make two new submissions straight away. Fuck ‘em.
No revelations in that lot, so I’ll give you four that are less obvious:
1) Get angry, 2) sleep, 3) write the thing you’re not good enough to write, 4) get a life
Get angry about the world, get angry about injustice, climate change, poverty, abandonment of scientific reason, religious extremism, the South China Sea (haven’t heard of this? Well, it’s more serious than a Trump presidency, that’s how serious); angry that you – likely a wealthy, highly educated snowflake from an advanced economy – are in actual fact a victim.
Well, maybe not the last. Too many entitled twats like that in this business already.
Have passion burn in the heart of your writing. If nothing else, at least it’ll have one redeeming quality.
Physical and mental health are important, so get a good night’s sleep. As a life-long insomniac, I do tire (no pun intended) of people telling me a simply need to sleep more. So I get that an opening line telling you to do so can be an automatic fuck off moment for some.
However: diet, exercise, and work ethic can go a long way to helping with sleep. I do that, plus about a dozen other exercises and actions. Now, I still don’t get a good night’s sleep, but I’m getting way more hours than I would without.
Excellent Australian writer, Ian McHugh, said to me: “if you ever get to a point in a story where a writing choice seems simply too hard, then that’s the thing you have to write.” He’s right. I’ve found that spot a few times now – story directions I thought too difficult, or characters to far beyond my own experience. I never thought I’d write a ghost story, for example (partly because I dislike ghost stories), but Flame Trees – which I sold to Asimov’s – was a ghost / PTSD story about a Vietnamese refugee who’d fled to Australia after a future war.
There’s the stink of desperation around a lot of writers. Desperation to succeed isn’t a problem in itself. Shit, I am. But the type of desperation where the person has nothing outside writing; where they stalk editors and other writers online and actual; where they spend all day complaining in online forums about bad reviews or rejections, or bemoaning how desperately hard the existence of an artist.
Get a life.
My other life is my former profession as an aid worker, a career that consumed me emotionally and professionally for more than a decade. My life is a continuing relationship with Southeast Asia (the Mekong region, more specifically), a part of the world I fell in love with and will have a life-long hold on me. I’m doing a PhD on it, because of that fascination, and because it will afford me the opportunity to return.
If you want to be mercenary about it: get a life, because it will help your writing.
So that’s all I got. Except to say, rules are easy, fiction is not.
