The How's and Why's of the Craft

The topic comes up time and again: where did you get the ideas for your books?  Each time I'm asked this, honesty forces the answer from my mouth like raw beef through a meat grinder--"Man, I have no idea."

Ironically, no one ever asks some of the more pressing questions like, "How did you develop your writing style?" or "What drives you to write?"  The second question is a little easier to answer, the first not so much.

Writing for me is simply a creative outlet in a life surrounded by normalcy and ordinary.  That's not to say I don't live an exciting life; on a certain level I do, and am fortunate to have a beautifully funny family that keeps me on my toes.  What does it mean, however, to wont for a creative outlet?  Let me take you back to my high school years for a possible answer, or in the least, some insight...

I grew up in the eighties, a decade of decadence filled with big hair, heavy metal, space shuttles, a Cold War, Miami Vice, sports, and girls.  Yeah, man, it was the eighties and we were strangely happy, undivided, and morally curious.  As teenagers we questioned authority, but rarely defied it.  On a subconscious level my generation needed and appreciated the structure those in authority provided; after all, we were the product of the Baby Boomer generation and didn't want to repeat their mistakes.

As for me, I was a jock--an athlete.  Sports afforded me the opportunity to take out my aggressions (I was an inwardly and outwardly aggressive youth) in a controlled, legal manner.  Did I get in trouble from time-to-time?  Oh yeah.  But for the most part I think I was a relatively good kid.*

On the flip side, I had a creative urge-a need to build something from nothing, to make something pleasing to the eye or ear.  I couldn't sing, so my desire to be the lead singer in a band was out.  Art class it was, then.  You read that correctly...art class.  My ability to draw was never something that was going to pay the bills, but it gave me focus, and with a lot of direction, positive reinforcement, and constructive feedback from Mr. Freeman (my art teacher), I managed to put together a few pieces that I was proud of (one piece, as far as I know, still hangs in my old high school library). 

Now, for those who don't know me, this may not sound as though it's a big deal--yeah, yeah, a kid can draw a stick man.  Keep in mind any seventeen year old male with enough mental fortitude to remain focused long enough to sketch out a desert montage without allowing his thoughts to drift to what color panties his girlfriend might be wearing that day is a win by most people's standards!  Yes, I'm Back in Black!

I haven't picked up a pencil in years, but that tickling in the back of my mind to create never subsided.  It wouldn't go away--it gnawed at me like that strange parasite nibbling away on a person's retina, never full, always hungry, and forever unsatisfied.

In the 90's, I wrote a few martial arts related articles and submitted them to magazines.  You can't imagine how excited I was to not only see them in print, but to be paid for them.  The first article garnered me fifty bucks and the second a whopping one hundred twenty-five.  Don't get me wrong, money was not the driving factor when it came to my writing.  On the contrary, it (writing) became for me a winding avenue paved years earlier by a pencil and paper.

As far as question two is concerned--practice, my brothers and sisters.  Find your rhythm like Brett Michaels did in Unskinny Bop.....Bop, Bop.  If you want to write, write, man.  Go with the feel, with the flow.  Write baby, write.

Writing style is developed over time.  Use of the language comes with practice, patience, and an eye for things that strike a nerve or culminate some emotion from the reader, but more importantly, writing should fulfill an emptiness the writer can't shake.

I tell people to practice the craft, not only when the mood strikes or the time is at hand, but when they don't feel like writing at all.  Sometimes the words come naturally, like a swift moving river spilling into a welcoming reservoir.  Other times there is a struggle, as though you were a quadriplegic attempting to play basketball on the edge of a steep cliff.** 

You must decide what message you want to convey then work diligently at crafting those words so as to entertain, inform, and engage.  If it feels good, write it.

*Hey, everything is relative, right?
**Sometimes, you'll write something others deem offensive, but you can't please everyone all the time.

Meeting You-February 27th!

Ah, writing.  The process of developing, creating, writing, re-writing, editing, and finally watching a work come to fruition is a beautiful thing.  Attempting to bring to life images that roll through your head and effectively infecting your computer with the virus of your mind is the only way a cure for this thing we call creativity can be administered.

To breath deeply of a lonely forest rife with decomposing boughs and rotting leaves from the previous year's Fall, aptly described by someone hoping to share with you the sights and scents a writer, tucked away in the confines of his office, experience, or thought he experienced, or one he wants to experience, is a glorious thing when written with words (but seen in the mind's imaginary pictures). 

As an example I give you this little gem from the recesses of my mind:

"Rex, an eleven pound minature greyhound, was a happy-go-lucky rescue that found enjoyment at throwing pieces of dried dog food from his bowl then chasing the piece around the kitchen floor.  Not long after filling his little belly with a protein enhanced diet, Rex would spend time grooming himself, primarily by licking his butt, and an empty area that once contained his doggy masculinity.  A short time later he would hop in his owners lap then lick his owner's face--one laughing and happy to have such a wonderful animal in his house, the other seeking retribution for allowing someone else to emasculate him."

Describing a scene, as morbidly funny as it may be, in hopes that a reader can somehow relate is the ultimate goal of the writer.  When you, the reader sends emails or messages telling the author how much you enjoyed what was written in a particular passage, a large smile will pass across his face (his, generally speaking my female author friends).

February 27th from 9:00AM-2:00PM, I will be sipping some glorious coffee at JaMoka's Coffee Shop in Boaz, Alabama.  Access is easy, the ambiance perfect.  The environment is cozy, a little tiki-ish, warm, and inviting.  While I sip coffee, I'll be signing my books for you, the constant reader. 

This is a time we can sit and discuss our dreams, our creativity, and our desire to relate to someone we've never met but share some strange cosmic commonality.  Come see me, grab a book...and let's chat.