Category Archives: D.B. Jackson

TIME’S DEMON Blog Tour, So Far

TIME'S DEMON, by D.B. Jackson (Art by Jan Weßbecher)Time’s Demon, the second volume in The Islevale Cycle, my time travel/epic fantasy series (written as D.B. Jackson), came out last week. The reviews have been very nice, with SFFWorld saying that the book is “about as perfect a second book in a series as a reader could hope to have.” I have been blogging about the book a lot, and thought I would take advantage of this small lull in the blog tour to give you a review of where I have been so far. Below you will find a list of my appearances to date for the release. As I make more stops on the tour, I will alert you to those as well. In the meantime, I hope you will take a few moments to check out these posts and interviews. Thanks, and enjoy!

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Black Gate Magazine, a post about my writing inspirations

[Earlier in May, I wrote for Black Gate a review of Guy Gavriel Kay’s newest novel, A Brightness Long Ago. And Black Gate also published a “Future Treasures” preview of Time’s Demon.]

PaulSemel.com, an interview with Paul

My Life, My Books, My Escape, an interview with D.J.

Civilian Reader, a post about the challenge of middle books

A Refuge From Life, an interview with Will

Joshua Palmatier’s blog, a post about imposter syndrome

Stephen Leigh’s blog, a post about plotting or not plotting

Marie Brennan’s blog, a post in her Spark of Life feature

Faith Hunter’s blog, an excerpt from Time’s Demon

Alma Alexander’s blog, an interview with Alma

On Writing: Revisions and the Editorial Process

Sure, these criticisms come in the context of someone saying, “Hey, I love this story, and I want to pay you for it. In real money.” So, thinking about this rationally, we should be able to process the editor’s feedback with this underlying praise in mind.

But we’re writers. We don’t necessarily do rational. And given the chance to fixate on praise or criticism, we will invariably choose the latter. Pathetic, I know. But it’s a living…

I recently completed revisions on TIME’S DEMON, the second novel in my Islevale Cycle. Almost immediately after finishing them, I began editing submissions to the upcoming anthology from Zombies Need Brains, TEMPORALLY DEACTIVATED, which I’m co-editing with Joshua Palmatier. So for obvious reasons, I have had revisions and the editing process on my brain.

TIME'S DEMON, by D.B. Jackson  Art by Jan Weßbecher.When we talk about craft, we usually focus on elements of initial creation – world building, character building and development, plotting, structuring and pacing a story or novel, and all the pitfalls we encounter when writing our stories. And certainly those are topics worthy of vigorous exploration.

The fact is, though, the purpose in working on all of those things is to sell our story or novel. And should we be fortunate enough to do so, pretty much the first thing we will be expected to do is revise our manuscript in response to an editor’s concerns and criticisms. So doesn’t it make sense to turn some attention to that part of the creative process?

Receiving editorial feedback on something we’ve written can be incredibly difficult. Chances are, if we submitted a story or novel for consideration at a magazine or anthology or publishing house, we thought the story was pretty good to start with. So hearing that it has flaws – in certain cases significant, pervasive flaws – often comes as both a shock and a blow. Sure, these criticisms come in the context of someone saying, “Hey, I love this story, and I want to pay you for it. In real money.” So, thinking about this rationally, we should be able to process the editor’s feedback with this underlying praise in mind.

Jacket image for TEMPORALLY DEACTIVATED, edited by Joshua Palmatier and David B. Coe

But we’re writers. We don’t necessarily do rational. And given the chance to fixate on praise or criticism, we will invariably choose the latter. Pathetic, I know. But it’s a living…

Kidding aside, accepting editorial feedback and turning it into a positive revision process is one of the greatest challenges we face as writers. Especially early in my career, I found that my own reactions to criticism from editors ranged between two extremes. At times, I reacted with a knee-jerk defensiveness: “They just don’t understand what I’m trying to do with my story. If they were better readers, they’d get it, and they’d see that there’s no problem here.” At other times, I internalized it all and allowed it to feed my lingering imposter syndrome: “Yeah, they’re right. This is shit. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I have no place even attempting a story this complex or ambitious.”

Of course, both extremes had little basis in fact. My editors understood perfectly what I was trying to do with my story. There were just elements of it that I hadn’t handled well. Which didn’t mean that I was a shit writer. It meant I was human. My story wasn’t perfect. But it was good, and with my editor’s help, I could make it even better.

The emotional health in that previous paragraph was pretty alien to me early in my career. Sometimes it still eludes me. But it’s what I strive for when I receive editorial letters. So, here are a few things I try to keep in mind when trying to turn editorial feedback into effective revisions.

1. Editors are not our adversaries. The reality is that at times we find ourselves thinking of editors this way, in part because the editor-writer relationship is something of a hybrid. It’s a business relationship. Editors buy our stories and books, and at times we want them to pay us more than they’re willing to shell out. But it’s also an artistic collaboration. Our editors want our stories to be as good as they can be, just as we do. Every margin comment and line in an editorial letter is intended to help us get the most out of our narratives and characters.

2. A second set of eyes helps. No matter how much experience we have, or how good we might be at editing our own work, our stories will ALWAYS benefit from another reader’s perspective, especially if that reader is a professional in the field. We can’t possibly anticipate every problem with the things we write; we’re just too close to the material, the emotions, the creative process. Distance is our friend, and almost by definition, another reader brings that distance.

3. Our initial reaction to criticism is not necessarily our most productive reaction. I read through editorial notes the day I receive them. But I never respond until I’ve let myself process them for a day or two or three. Often I find that my first response to certain criticisms is to disagree, but over time I start to see what the editor is getting at. I generally wind up agreeing with 90% or more of the feedback I receive, although on that first day I probably agree with less than half of it.

4. I find it helps when I ask myself why I’m disagreeing with one point or another. Am I being overly sensitive? Am I too attached to a certain turn of phrase or narrative moment? Or is there really something vital here that I don’t want to sacrifice? A good editor will make clear up front that suggested wording changes are just that: suggestions. Early on, my first editor would cross out what I had written and put in his own wording. And sometimes his wording sucked. But when I talked to him about these instances, he said, “I don’t care if you use my wording. That’s not the point. I just want you to look for another way to say this.” Once I understood that he was pointing out problems rather than trying to make my book into his book, I found his comments much easier to take.

5. Sometimes we do have to fight for our artistic choices. There are times when editors get it wrong, and our way really is the right way. And in those instances, we have to hold strong for what we believe in. I try not to do this too often, because, as I say, we are all prone to defensiveness, and I want to be certain that I’m not opposing changes for the wrong reasons. But there have been times when I have had to stand firm on points about which I felt strongly. And a good editor also knows when to back down.

6. The revision process can be tremendously satisfying. Insights from a skilled editor can make the difference between a book that is just fine and one that is truly excellent. I try to approach revisions with my ego as much in check as possible, my mind open to possibilities I might not have considered before, and my commitment to my original artistic vision foremost in my mind. That last point is key. Clinging to my original vision does not mean resisting change. My original vision and my original wording are NOT the same things. Indeed, sometimes my writing carries me away from that first inspiration, and it takes the input of a perceptive reader to get me back to it.

Be open to new ideas, to the possibility that the current draft might not be the best possible draft, to the notion that the person pointing out where you can improve your story really does have your best interests at heart. Do these things and you might find, as I do, that revising a manuscript is every bit as gratifying as creating one.

Tomorrow is Release Day!

Time's Children, by D.B. Jackson (Jacket art by Jan Wessbecher)We are now just one day away from the release of Time’s Children, the opening volume in The Islevale Cycle, my new time travel/Epic Fantasy series from Angry Robot Books. Today my blog tour for the release continues with stops at a couple of places.

I have an interview up at the site of fellow Angry Robot author Patrice Sarath. You can find the Q&A here.

I also have a question and answer up at the blog site of my dear friend Faith Hunter, New York Times Bestselling author of the Jane Yellowrock and Soulwood series. You can find that interview here.

If you would care to read the first few chapters of Time’s Children, you can find a free preview of the book at the Angry Robot site.

Tomorrow, release day, I will be giving at talk and signing books at the Jessie Ball duPont Library at the University of the South in Sewanee, Tennessee. The talk, sponsored by Sewanee Friends of the Library, is called “Imagination as Mirror: What Speculative Fiction Can Teach Us About Our World.” If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll attend the talk.

And as the week progresses, I’ll have other online events to share. I hope you’ll join me, and I hope you enjoy the book! Thanks!

TIME’S CHILDREN Blog Tour Info!

TIME’S CHILDREN, the first book in The Islevale Cycle, my new series from Angry Robot Books, will be released in just six days (10/2). Time’s Children, by D.B. Jackson © Angry Robot. Art by Jan Weßbecher.This is an epic fantasy/time travel story, and I have a post up at the blog of my friend Alma Alexander that is all about writing time travel books — the pitfalls, the challenges, the rewards. I hope you’ll check out the post.

There are two new reviews of the book online, both of them very positive. You can find them here and here.

And Black Gate Magazine has a preview up as well.

Tomorrow, Thursday, September 27, my blog tour promoting the release continues with a post at the site of my dear friend Stephen Leigh. Again, I will be discussing the writing of time travel.

On Friday, September 28, I will be visiting the blog of friend and wonderful writer Stina Leicht. My post for Stina’s blog is about world building for the Islevale series.

On Monday, October 1, I’ll be doing a Q&A with fellow Angry Robot author Patrice Sarath at her site.

Tuesday, October 2, is release day, and I’ll have an essay up at Black Gate  — a continuation of my “Books and Craft” series, on key craft elements of classic books. I’ll be discussing Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea Trilogy, which has long been one of my favorite works. In fact, I intended my world for this new series, Islevale, as an homage to Earthsea.

Wednesday, October 3, I will be doing another Q&A, this one with another friend, Bradley Beaulieu.

And on Thursday, October 4, I will be at the site of Joshua Palmatier, author and editor extraordinaire, as well as the founder of Zombies Need Brains. Joshua and I have worked on several short fiction projects together, and I wrote a story for him that is set in Islevale. The story is called “Guild of the Ancients.” It appears in GUILDS AND GLAIVES, and anthology Joshua co-edited with S.C. Butler.

The Arrogant Imposter

We writers, though, are complex creatures. We grapple with Imposter Syndrome, but we also harbor a unique brand of arrogance…

Coe/Jackson BookshelfLast night, for reasons surpassing understanding, I started reading through one of my old books. I know. What was I thinking, right?

I’m not going to tell you which book. Suffice it to say that I love all my babies, and they’re all perfect and beautiful.

Except obviously they’re not.

Weak phrasing, passive constructions, lack of concision and power when the passages in question called desperately for both.

This is a published book, one that garnered strong reviews when it was released, and I did all these things wrong without realizing it. Just last week, I took students at the Antioch Writers’ Workshop to task for the very sins I committed myself years before.

So what am I to make of this?

Because I’m a writer, and because, like so many of my writerly brothers and sisters, I suffer from recurring Imposter Syndrome, the first place my mind went was also the most obvious: “I suck. I’ve always sucked. My newest work sucks. And this book that I was foolish enough to pull off the shelf and crack open sucks.”

We writers, though, are complex creatures. We grapple with Imposter Syndrome, but we also harbor a unique brand of arrogance. “I’ve written this story,” we say. “And it is so important, so good, so compelling, that you ought to read it. In fact, you should pay for it and read it.” I’m not saying necessarily that the arrogance is misplaced. After all, it is, and has always been, the foundation of commercial literature. But that doesn’t make it any less arrogant.

And so that part of me, the arrogant-writer-me, read this old, flawed work of my own creation, and landed in a different place than did imposter-syndrome-me. Arrogant me said, “Sure, it has its warts. But at the time I wrote it, it was the best book I was capable of writing. And given that it was published, and well-reviewed, and well-received by my fans, I think it must be pretty good.”

Arrogance. Confidence. It isn’t always easy to discern the line between the two.

Ultimately, of course, I need to find some middle ground between these two extremes. If I am going to wake up each morning and write — which I intend to do for another, oh, thirty years or so — I can’t allow myself to believe that I suck. For one thing, I don’t. More important, internalizing that sort of self-denigration can’t help but undermine my craft and story telling.

At the same time, though, the self-satisfaction of arrogant-writer-me can be equally destructive. I might not suck, but I’m also not yet as good as I want to be, nor will I ever be. I hope never to grow complacent with my art. I want to strive for improvement with each new book or story.

Which brings us back to my ill-considered decision to open up that old novel. It is flawed. It’s also a good read. It was the best book I could write at the time. I worked hard to make it so. But it’s also not nearly as good as my more recent work. As I continue to create new worlds, new characters, new narratives, I further hone my skill as a writer. I cling to my arrogance: You really should buy and read my next book. And I grapple with my imposter syndrome: The only way I am going to survive in this business is if I make myself a better writer than I am today.

Put another way, imposter-syndrome-me and arrogant-writer-me don’t have to be extremes that I avoid and deny. They can be sources of motivation, tools (perhaps cudgels) I use to make myself a better artist.

And I offer this because, as I have already pointed out, nearly all of us who write harbor within us both of these archetypes. We are, in the end, arrogant imposters, deeply conscious of the flaws in our work, but justifiably proud of our literary accomplishments, striving always to improve and at the same time convinced that we have something important to say.

Pub Date and Cover Art Reveal!

This is a big day in my world. Today saw the official pub date announcement and cover art reveal for TIME’S CHILDREN, book I in The Islevale Cycle, my new epic fantasy/time travel series. The series is being published by Angry Robot Books. The first volume will be out on October 2 and will be available as a trade paperback and also in all electronic formats. You can preorder here.

 Time’s Children, by D.B. Jackson © Angry Robot. Art by Jan Weßbecher.Interested in learning more? Well here is the link to the official announcement at Unbound Worlds, complete with the artwork. But I’m also going to show you the art here, because I love, love, LOVE it.

As a bonus, you also get to see the jacket art for TIME’S DEMON, the second book in the series, which will be out in May 2019. Follow the link.

I love these books. I think they represent my finest work to date. I hope you enjoy them, too. As more news about the releases becomes available, I’ll pass it along. In the meantime, you can read excerpts from the books in my newsletter. There is a sign-up link in the menu along the side of this page. Not only am I providing book teasers, I’m also running monthly giveaways. You can win a free, signed copy of one of my books just by subscribing. Pretty cool, eh? So what are you waiting for? Follow the link! Check out the art! Subscribe to the newsletter! And please enjoy!

Struggle

Writing is fits and starts. It is slog and glide. It is by turns frustrating and exhilarating and frustrating yet again. This is hard. Anyone who tells you otherwise is doing you a disservice.

Earlier this week, I found myself struggling with my work-in-progress. The story had been moving along well until, without any warning, my momentum stalled. I had turned to a new section, switching point of view characters, and my new narrator was grappling with self-doubt, churning through emotions that required exploration. They were as difficult for me to describe as they were for her to process.

Yesterday, as she finally achieved a bit of clarity, so did my writing. I regained the momentum I had lost, and she moved forward again, emotionally and physically.

Now, I suppose it’s not super revelatory that as our characters struggle, we often do, too, and that clarity for them can carry with it clearer storytelling for us. But it does go to the heart of an essential truth about the creative process: Writing is not a linear act, any more than any other artistic venture. In this case, my character struggled, and I struggled along with her. She had to go through that period of self-doubt. The epiphany that came to her couldn’t have arrived earlier. She had to earn it. And so in this case, it was okay that I lost some momentum. That was what had to happen for both of us to move on.

Sometimes that’s not the case. My struggles don’t always coincide with those of my narrators. Sometimes I just scuffle. And that’s part of writing as well. Again, this is not a uniformly linear process.

Writing is fits and starts. It is slog and glide. It is by turns frustrating and exhilarating and frustrating yet again. This is hard. Anyone who tells you otherwise is doing you a disservice. But the rewards, in my experience, are always worth the pain. It’s a cliché, but one that is worth repeating: If writing were easy, if the challenges were less daunting, the successes would be less sweet.

Embrace the struggle. It is endemic to the creative act.

Beyond the Dark Place: A #HoldOnToTheLight Post

#HoldOnToTheLight

We traffic in emotion and internal monologue, in the interpretation of sensation and the vagaries of mood and feeling. Most of the time — at least ideally — we can separate our own emotions and thoughts from those of our characters. But when our own lives are roiled — by grief or loss, by jealousy or resentment, or by the slow, relentless grind of depression — separating ourselves from the turmoil we impose upon our characters grows ever more difficult.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that months have passed since my last blog post. Sharing online, be it to offer writing advice or share news of one sort or another, is an inherently public act. And for some time now, I have been in an intensely private space.

Many of you will know at least some of the reasons for this; others won’t, and really that’s all right. For the purposes of this post, the reasons don’t matter. We all deal with loss and upheaval, frustrations and disappointments, be they personal or professional. Writers are no different.

Except that’s not exactly true. We are different in that more than most people, we live in our own heads. We traffic in emotion and internal monologue, in the interpretation of sensation and the vagaries of mood and feeling. Most of the time — at least ideally — we can separate our own emotions and thoughts from those of our characters. But when our own lives are roiled — by grief or loss, by jealousy or resentment, or by the slow, relentless grind of depression — separating ourselves from the turmoil we impose upon our characters grows ever more difficult.

I found it hard to write this summer. That doesn’t happen to me often.  I was wracked with self-doubt, with a sense of professional and personal helplessness the frightened me. I grappled with an emotional lethargy, the like of which I’d never experienced before, one that felt both utterly alien and dangerously alluring. Don’t fight it, it seemed to say. It’ll be so much easier if you don’t fight it.

I was exhausted, which didn’t help matters. Family and professional obligations had me traveling almost constantly: Over a span of about 16 weeks, I spent a total of more than eight weeks on the road. By the end, I was ready to cancel my final trips, which would have meant giving up a free trip to Calgary for a convention and the workshop I was to teach there, and also skipping DragonCon, which is always one of my favorite events of the year. It’s a sign of how low I was that I would consider giving up even one of those trips, much less both.

I made myself go to Calgary, not because I overcame my dark torpor, but simply because I had made a commitment to the people there. A professional writer honors such obligations and I found that I could do no less. I’m so glad I did. Because that trip to western Canada started me on the path to recovery. For a week, I had no choice but to focus outward, to interact with people — strangers and friends both — and to think about things other than those that had battered and bruised me all summer. By the time I returned home, I had started to recognize myself again, to see in my emotions and my sense of creativity something of the normal me. Since then, I’ve had a bit of good news, and I’ve had a wonderful four days at DragonCon. I’m better, and I’m overwhelmed with relief. That dark place frightened me.

People who deal with mental health issues on a day-to-day basis face far greater challenges than those with which I dealt these past few months. The pit is deeper, the path out is longer, steeper, and it’s strewn with obstacles I can barely imagine. I’m fortunate, and I know it. More to the point, I’m not so glib or ignorant as to suggest that what shook me out of my dark place will work for others. Just the opposite, really. I write today with profound admiration for those who struggle each day with depression, with the insidious lethargy that trapped me briefly this summer. I experienced it for a few harrowing weeks, and nearly succumbed to it. Some live with it daily, for years on end, and yet they soldier on.

The #HoldOnToTheLight campaign is about raising awareness of mental health issues. This summer I lost a brother who was as dear to me as anyone in this world. He struggled much of his life with depression and substance abuse, and though the thread connecting those issues with his death is thin and difficult to trace, I know it’s there. I acknowledged before that I’ve been fortunate throughout my life. He wasn’t. What I glimpsed in myself this summer, particularly after his death, he braved every day. I understand him a little better now — cold comfort to be sure, and yet illuminating. I’ll carry that knowledge with me for the rest of my life, and always it will be braided with my love for him. And all I can hope is that it will make me a better person, a better friend, a better brother to the siblings I have left, a better father and spouse, and yes, even a better writer.

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#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.

Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Hope for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

To find out more about #HoldOnToTheLight, find a list of participating authors and blog posts, or reach a media contact, go to http://www.HoldOnToTheLight.com and join us on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/WeHoldOnToTheLight

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David B. Coe/D.B. Jackson is the award-winning author of nineteen fantasy novels. As David B. Coe, he writes The Case Files of Justis Fearsson, a contemporary urban fantasy from Baen Books consisting of Spell Blind, His Father’s Eyes, and Shadow’s Blade. Under the name D.B. Jackson, he writes the Thieftaker Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy from Tor Books that includes Thieftaker, Thieves’ Quarry, A Plunder of Souls, and Dead Man’s Reach.

David is also the author of the Crawford Award-winning LonTobyn Chronicle, which he has recently reissued, as well as the critically acclaimed Winds of the Forelands quintet and Blood of the Southlands trilogy. He wrote the novelization of Ridley Scott’s movie, Robin Hood. David’s books have been translated into a dozen languages.

He lives on the Cumberland Plateau with his wife and two daughters. They’re all smarter and prettier than he is, but they keep him around because he makes a mean vegetarian fajita. When he’s not writing he likes to hike, play guitar, and stalk the perfect image with his camera.

http://www.DavidBCoe.com
http://www.davidbcoe.com/blog/
http://www.dbjackson-author.com
http://www.facebook.com/david.b.coe

https://www.amazon.com/author/davidbcoe

(Not So) Quick-Tip Tuesday: Ups and Downs in the Writing Life

I’ve published nineteen novels, written lots of short stories, and (for those who like their cautionary tales with a dollop of irony) even co-authored a book on writing. And here I was, totally enamored of a manuscript that had deep structural issues. I should have known better.

Writers tend to want to share on social media when things are going well. We love to trumpet our happy news, and I’m certainly no different.

There are sound reasons for this. One is purely professional: It helps our careers to focus on the good stuff, to show the world new cover art, or to announce an upcoming release, the sale of a book to a publisher, an award nomination or great review from a major journal. Publicizing these things contributes to what the industry refers to as “buzz.” We want people to talk about us, and about our work, for the right reasons.

There is also a purely human reason: As I have said many, many times, writing is a difficult way to make a living. It can be frustrating, even demoralizing. We do much of our work in isolation, struggling with story lines and character arcs, and it can seem, at times, as though those tidbits of good news come all too infrequently. So, when things do go well, we want to shout it from the rooftops. And when those disappointments come, we tend to keep them to ourselves.

Which is why this is such an unusual post for me.

I’m dealing with a professional setback, and I believe it’s worth discussing publicly, because it represents, in many respects the very essence of what a writing career is like. Now let me be clear: In the larger scheme of things, this is a minor reversal, a tiny blip in the course of my career and something I will address and overcome quickly. But it certainly knocked me on my butt for a few days.

In December, I turned in a manuscript to my agent. This is a new project, the first volume in what I expect will be a time travel/epic fantasy trilogy (or more). In my excitement, I announced on Facebook and elsewhere that I had completed the book. I’m pretty sure I said at the time that it was the best work I had done to date. I’ve since been working on the sequel, and just last week I announced, again on Facebook and elsewhere, that I was 50,000 words in to book two.

The day following that most recent announcement, I received editorial notes on the first book from my agent–the terrific Lucienne Diver. And she tore the book to shreds. Poor pacing, lack of tension, slow development of my plot, flaws in the logic of my narrative that seemed to make things far, far too easy on my characters. There was more, but I’ll stop there because, you know, pride.

As you might imagine, I was devastated, and here’s why: A) She was right in just about everything she said; and B) I had thought the book was great and I couldn’t begin to imagine how I could have been so wrong. I’ve been writing professionally for over 20 years. I’ve published nineteen novels, written lots of short stories, and (for those who like their cautionary tales with a dollop of irony) even co-authored a book on writing. And here I was, totally enamored of a manuscript that had deep structural issues. I should have known better.

I wallowed in self-pity and woe-is-me histrionics for a couple of hours, and then called my wise and wonderful friend, Faith Hunter, who basically said, “Yup, happens to all of us. Get off your ass and fix it.” Which was perfect.

Because it does happen to all of us, and it points to several lessons that every writer, at every level, should keep in mind.

First of all, every manuscript has flaws. Actually, I would go further: Every published work has flaws. I have yet to read a perfect book, and I doubt very much that I ever will. This is why we revise and edit. This is why we send our books to beta readers and friends and agents for feedback.

This is also why every book needs a good editor. I don’t care who you are: J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Cormac McCarthy, Toni Morrison, the next World’s-Best-Novelist, or the next Self-Published-Sensation. Whoever you are, or think you might be, you need an editor. I fancy myself a pretty decent self-editor, and with some books and stories I am. But I can only see so much in any of my own work. I am too close to my own creative process, too close to my own narrative assumptions. I can’t possibly anticipate every potential issue.

Yes, it’s hard to hear from someone we respect that our book, as it stands right now, is not yet ready for publication. Lucienne’s notes hurt. Each criticism felt like a kick to the gut (or a few inches lower); taken together they left me bruised and bloody. (Figuratively speaking–my agent is tough, but not quite that tough…) But taking such criticism and using it to improve the work in question lies at the very heart of what it means to be a professional writer. If we can’t abide critiques of our work, if we can’t step out of ourselves enough to see and accept and correct the mistakes we’ve made, we don’t deserve the privilege of telling stories for a living.

Even in those first couple of hours after I received Lucienne’s notes, as I cursed and flailed and did more than a bit of whining, I also started to ask myself the questions that would move me beyond this setback.

Do I still believe in the novel? Yes, I do.

Do I still love the characters and the world building? Yes, I do.

Am I still satisfied with the prose? Yes, I am.

Can I do what’s necessary to improve my story and make it worthy of those elements that remain sound? You bet your ass I can.

I already have ideas that will allow me to correct much of what my agent found lacking, and I sense the stirrings of additional ideas that will overcome the other problems. I know I can do this. I’ve fixed flawed novels before. Nineteen times, to be exact.

I’m eager to repair this book because I do love elements of it so much. I want to see it in print. I want all of you to read it. And you’ll have that opportunity, because I have no intention of giving up on the project.

I’m a writer. This is what writers do. We write, we revise, we polish, we publish. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Keep writing. Enjoy the process, in all its frustrating, harrowing glory.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.

The Passing of a Writer

Writing is a business and an art. It is a hobby and a way of life. But more than anything else — whether in the hands of an established professional or a weekend dabbler — it is a gift and a balm, a way to confront and cope and transcend and heal.

Later today I’ll be heading to the funeral of a friend. We weren’t very close — I actually know his parents better than I knew him, and therein lies part of a many-layered tragedy.

Reid was only thirty-seven when he died. For the past nineteen years, he had been confined to a wheelchair, paralyzed from the neck down after an accident as an eighteen year-old. I don’t deny that he had a rough time of it in the first few years after the accident. Hell, he was eighteen. But . . .

But, but, but . . .

He attended and completed college, then went on to graduate school. He taught at a private high school, counseled at a treatment center for drug and alcohol addiction, volunteered at several local organizations. And he wrote. He wrote prose, he wrote poetry. He wrote.

Writing is a business and an art. It is a hobby and a way of life. But more than anything else — whether in the hands of an established professional or a weekend dabbler — it is a gift and a balm, a way to confront and cope and transcend and heal.

As I say, I didn’t know Reid well. He had a hundred friends who meant more to him than I did. People will want to respond to this post by saying they’re sorry for my loss. Please, please don’t. My loss is just a shadow of the loss suffered by Reid’s family and the people to whom he was closest. Save your prayers and condolences for them, as I will.

Still, for years Reid and I shared a common passion and that meant something to me. I would like to think it meant something to both of us. I admired his spirit and courage, but most of all I respected the internal alchemy that allowed him to spin personal challenge into something powerful and creative and true.

The world is a darker place for his passage.