July 24th, 2010
Work’s work and it all sucks. The sad fact is that many professional writers have a day or “rent” job. I knew a very successful illustrator whose work appeared on the cover of The New Yorker. He was paid $5,000 for the work and had contracts for more. So, I asked him why he still waited tables at a touristy Florida seafood restaurant.
“For the rent,” he said. “I’ve had years where I could’ve lived on my art, but they’re followed by two years of nothing.”
I asked him about his work habits. “Like I drink. I binge. Sometimes I work 20 hours straight. I work double shifts so I have about three days of just painting.”
Every creative has a work ethic, for better or worse. Vonnegut wrote one, well-crafted page a day. Issac Asimov could write for 12 hours straight. Some only write when inspired or have a daily routine they stick to even on holidays and funerals.
It took me a decade to commit to a writing routine. Since my day jobs have often changed in this schizoid economy, I’ve had to be flexible. I used to have a daily routine of writing at least 1000 words in the morning, six days a week. With the “job” done, I then moved onto my web design work.
I got a full-time, 8-5 job and I had to change to a 8pm-10pm schedule with a one hour session on Saturday morning. When the recession caught up with my company, my salary and hours were gutted. I survived on short term, contractual gigs.
During the slow periods, one would think I could’ve written Ulysses. However, these were my least productive periods. I spent most of my time watching Lost reruns to figure out what the hysterics were about. The truth is, the busier I am, the more productive I am.
I got more writing done when I had a full-time job and a bi-monthly podcast to produce. Without a surplus of time, I took advantage of mites and specs of time where I can get things done. I could bang out 250 words in 15 minutes. Give me an hour, I could do 1000 words.
When you’re busy, you have an enhanced sense of urgency. Stress and caffeine adds a bit of nitro to your engine. Sure, you might eventually burn out, but then you can take a weekend off and feel justified having a Star Trek DS9 marathon.
Nowadays, with the slow summer work cycle making cash precious, I have gotten better at using the time to get the book done. A majority of the writing gets done from Thurdsay – Saturday. However, most days getting 500 words done is like moving gravestones. So I experimented.
The results: music! I created iTunes and YouTube music playlists. Music makes the passage of time seem effortless. I cue up an 80′s playlist and soon I’m lost in my writing. When I resurface (usually when the coffee is near empty), I am amazed at what I’ve done.
Binge or routine. Sister’s of Mercy megadoses. Whatever works.
June 20th, 2010
I have made it to the 70% mark of the book. I have heard many analogies and metaphors for the rigors of long projects. I prefer to recall my own personal challenges from the past and compare them.
About eight years ago, I got some strange notion that I should go canoeing in the Myakka River in Florida. At the canoe rental office, the cashier asked me if I would prefer a kayak. The kayak cost $35 more and I didn’t want to pay for something I was going to use for two hours. I could get a hotel room for that price. Come to think of it, some people do use hotels for an hour, but that usually involved tabloids and vice cops.
I should have rented the freakin’ kayak.
I launch my canoe and I sit astern and start rowing into middle of the river. So far, the rustling of cattails and the lapping of water put my nervous soul at peace. I reached the middle of the river and the canoe became harder to control and steer. The river’s currents had caught me in its grasp and it was like rowing in sand. I would paddle to the right but the canoe’s bow wouldn’t move with me.
I exhausted myself trying to control the canoe, and I lost balance and capsized. As I broke the water’s surface I saw the rigged back of an alligator floating several yards from me. Usually, alligators aren’t fond of human flesh, and I hoped this gator had already fed.
I managed to walk the canoe to the shallows and pulled myself back inside. A pair of canoers noticed my situation and paddled toward me. “You need to sit in the middle,” a woman said. I scooted toward the middle of the canoe and knelt. As I started paddling, I had more control of the canoe since I had put the center of gravity in the middle. I paddled back to the launch point.
I’ve capsized three or four times in the progress of this novel. I’ve been forced to scrap two chapters of which I think contained the best prose I have ever written. I launched into this project with two oars but no idea how to steer. I had no plan on how to navigate unforseen swells, currents and peckish gators. A little planning would have saved me a lot of time.
The next novel project I will begin with an outline, a synopsis and research before “Chapter 1″ gets inked. However, I have am scheduled to have the next draft complete by July 15.
May 25th, 2010
I estimate I spent nearly 60 hours untangling the 4-D web that was Lost. By the inglorious end, I surmised it amonted to the following:
Everyone gets off the Island vertically or horizontally. They all meet up in an unconscious Purgatio and have a group hug.
I feel used like a recycled condom. I’ve been disappointed by series finales before, but at lease BSG made some sense. I won’t overstate what has bugged other Lost refugees, but could we at least get an idea what the Island was? Let’s dispatch with the ‘its what you make of it’ crystal rubbing New Age-y drivel. Who built the temple and the 4-toed statue? What is the light?
By mid season, I had thought that the Island was a kind of Phantom Zone to imprison Smokey. Jacob was the warden and he was looking for someone to take over the next shift. Instead, we get a retelling of the Cain and Abel story and some Chronicles of Narnia riffs.
Sixty hours invested. Sixty hours Lost.
May 15th, 2010
Today, I had a pitch session with an agent at The Atlanta Writers Conference. I had expected a hard sell, but after my delivery the agent said he loved it. I feel like Charlie Brown after kissing the Red Headed Girl. Did that really just happen?
Now the hard work begins. I have a half-completed young adult novel called The Rapture Express to complete. I will send sample chapters within the week. For now on, my first job is writing. Everything else is just rent.
I’m starting to come back to normal gravity now. Getting an agent interested in your work is just one obstacle among many surreal twists and turns toward a published novel. To borrow a video game analogy, I’m at Level 2 in Super Mario Bros. I may get a chance to warp to the upper levels, but I still have a long ways before rescuing Princess Peach.
I will give more details once I have secure a copyright, but I will say it involves clowns, KISS, Paul Lynde and flatulence.
May 13th, 2010
About a month ago, I decided that it was time to call the Recession over. In response, the mainstream media and economists agreed and the Dow Jones surged 100 points.
Oh, recession. It’s been a bittersweet affair,but it’s time to take your chronic risk aversion, fear and dread somewhere else, along with your eight cats.
I have learned a few things, among them:
- Being broke sucks. If I hear about how an ex-CEO or other high paid professional exclaim how much happier they are now, I may torch a Whole Foods store. Suddenly unburdened from their salary and benefits, they’ve learned to enjoy free-range organic hamburger instead of Kobe Steak and to get to know that family they didn’t know they had. There is nothing romantic about poverty, especially when your mortgage is overdue and you’re repairing everything, clothing, furniture, flesh wounds, with duct tape.
- I was happier when I had money. It feels good to pay rent a week early, and still have enough money to go on a road trip or go on a DVD shopping spree. Although shelling out $500 to treat your diabetic cat is inconvenient, you’re not choosing between rent or a live cat.
- I have a legit reason to hate rich people. The WSJ says the mortgage meltdown is poor people’s fault, but who gave them the mortgage? The Wall Street douches who bundled mortgages, then stacked more bundled mortgages on top of that, then battered and deep fried them, then served them as appetizers at their parties are at fault. Remember, these guys are smarter than me and the Free Market works for my benefit, even when the “invisible hand” is begging for bailout money from taxpayers. Anyone who thinks differently should start humming the Internationale and reading Chomsky.
- Community grills rule. My condo community has one by the pool and I got my money’s worth from my association fees. Even if I just grilled two hot dogs, I was using the ‘community’ gas, not mine.
- Heavy Metal Rules. I wasted my teen years listening to synth rock and The Smiths. Youtube.com has just about every great aneurysm inducing metal video, including Judas Priest, Metallica and Warrant. Metal rules because no one plays air synthesizers.
- Depression can be fun. Sitting around, unshaven for days, watching Family Ties reruns doesn’t cost a thing. Also I found old DOS days video games like Duke Nukem and Doom II and played them till the hard drive smoked. If self-pity was an Olympic sport, I’d get the Bronze Medal because life is cruel and unfair.
- Be nice to people in retail/service industry. I had to do a stint at GameStop during the Christmas season. I thought it would be fun, but having to deal with customers having power hissies over why we don’t have Gears of War a day before the BUSIEST SHOPPING SEASON OF THE YEAR takes patience and understanding. I have neither, but I came out respecting anyone who deals with the needs of the human species.
- Sometimes a good cry makes you feel better. However, don’t have a crying jag in Publix or during a job interview. Trust me.
- Don’t let go of your dream. Stalk it. Have a “chance meeting” with it at the Starbucks or at its workplace. Rent an apartment across from its home and tape its every movement. Ignore the restraining order. Run it down till it collapses out of breath and submits to you willingly.
- God cares about your problems, everyone else doesn’t give a rats ass. God is a great listener, but for His sake stop bludgeoning your friends with your problems. People would rather listen to a skipping CD of Yodel to the Hits.
Anthony Elmore is based out the Atlanta burbs, but has lived in Tampa Bay and Prague. When not writing, he’s Internet version of the all-purpose handyman. Please don’t call him an “Internet Guru.” 
