If I Knew Then, What I Know Now

It's been a long time since I espoused on the craft of writing and this post is going to be conglomeration of tidbits I've picked up over the years more than it is a comprehensive look at any particular facet. But for whatever reason I feel compelled to chat about the craft today. These are things I wish I had understood a decade ago.


Be Bold, Be Daring, Be a Pirate 

 

                           

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Like the first 20 seconds of that video, I heard a lot of stuff about the rules, the code if you will, when I first began writing. A decade in and I can tell you there are no rules, sure there are some guidelines but nothing, and I repeat nothing is completely off the table.

But not all pirates are created equal. The lazy, the sloppy, the careless wind up swinging from a rope or hanging with Davy Jones. It pays to know the so-called rules so that you know when you are breaking them and you do so with swagger, with style, with a purpose.



It's Who You Know 


Yeah, it would be nice if Jeff Bezos happened to be your next door neighbor, or if Sessalee Hensley happened to be your husband's first cousin, but few of us are that fortunate. Besides I happen to view "IT'S WHO YOU KNOW THAT REALLY MATTERS" as more more Cerberian creature with three distinct heads. And not one of those craniums is tied to being kin with a giant in the business so this is no monster to fear.

photo by ukdavew	via PhotoRee

Head One -  Network. Get to know other writers and people in the publishing business. Make friends with them. And by make friends I do not mean hound, harass, and harangue by pleading those folks to read your books. I mean interact, be sociable, be friendly. You can do this by attending conferences, workshops, facebooking, tweeting, and a variety of other means.

Head Two - Know your characters. Before you start writing their story. Sure surprises and new twists will develop but if you know your character beforehand the writing will go much smoother. I write vignettes for every character. I try to choose emotional significant events from the character's life. First kisses, traumatic heartbreaks, fights (verbal or physical) they may have had. I don;t try to make these complete stories but voyeuristic capsules into my characters emotional reactions at a variety of times in their life prior to the beginning of my story. For POV characters I write 5 or 6 of these and for secondary characters one or two.

Head Three - Know your audience. And write with them in mind. You have to please yourself first but by having a target audience will keep you on track.

Trust Your Gut

Unless of course it's telling you to eat a salad. In that case it is most likely possessed by the devil but that is a blog for another day. What I'm saying is writing is a personal endeavor and while you must be objective enough to realize constructive criticism when you see it, you smut also have to ability to politely smile and then do whatever the hell you think is necessary to tell the story you want told. If it feels wrong, even if your mentor, or JK Rowling, or a college professor with a PhD in English says so, have the conviction to leave it the hell alone. Write the story you want to write.

Remember

You started writing because you love with reading and great literature. You wanted to spin tales that other will talk about for years to come. You were eager to release the colorful and imaginary words swirling within your skull. It was fun to write ... right up until it became a publish at all costs quest. Right up until it became a business. Right up until it became deadlines, expectations, and disappointing rejections.

I'm not naive to think you can totally escape those shackles once they've clamped on, but as a guy who has struggled with this at times let me say it is important to sit back, breathe, and reflect every once in a while how and why you came to be chasing the writing dream. it is important to reread those authors and books that inspired you in the beginning. it is important to remember the joy of writing.



And for those that do not follow me on Facebook or Twitter THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES is now available for both the Kindle and Nook formats as well as paperback.

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!0 Worst Christmas Songs

December 1st.

Seems like a good time to make a confession.

I despise Christmas music. Now before the shouts of Ebenezer get too loud let me point out it's not the holiday or season I dislike simply the soundtrack. Well, that and the glitter.

In honor of my confession I'm going to rank the 10 Worst (Fairly Well-Known) Christmas Songs. Sure there are even bigger monstrosities out there. Every Christmas song by the Beach Boys, the festive slop mainstream country hurls from Nashville, and those damn screechy Chipmunks but I tried to focus on the ones that radio stations play every hours this month.

10) You Are a Mean One, Mr Grinch - We tell our kids not to be bullies and yet here is this song that does nothing but belittle and ridicule. I dislike green things as much as anyone but where the the holiday cheer in this one?

9) The Twelve Days Of Christmas - True love my ass. better than half the crap on that list is worthless or flat out irritating. and speaking of being irritated the repetitive nature of this song makes it the B-I-N-G-O of yuletide entertainment.

8) All I Want For Christmas Is You - Who wrote
 this? John Hinckley Jr?

7) A Wonderful Christmas Time - Come on Paul McCartney. Quit trying to pretend you are as talented as John Lennon was. Lennon's Happy Christmas had meaning. Your song is a cancerous ear worm that lingers in it's victims longer than fruitcake in the pantry.

6) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town - The musical equivalent to George Orwell's novel 1984. And yet another reason to fear Big Brother.

5) Christmas Shoes - Hey let's all gather 'round and sing a song about momma dying. Yeah, That's festive.

4) Santa Baby - Nothing creates that giving spirit like a song glorifying gold diggers.

3) All I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas - This little ditty teaches our kids bad rhymes and promotes unreasonable expectations.

2) I Saw Mamma Kissing Santa - Gotta love a song calling mom out as a two-timing whore.

1) Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer - This song has it all ... alcoholism (grandma staggering around drunk on eggnog), death (grandma), compassion (grandpa already trifling around with cousin Belle), necrophilia (incriminating Clause marks on her back), sacrilege (disparaging SAINT Nick as a blond fool) ... all wrapped up in a horrendously gaudy package.

So tell me what bad holiday song did I miss?

Cock-A-Doodle-Do & Glitter My Sack

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Meaning we are now officially in Christmas season. A season rife with traditions. And what is a tradition. Nothing more than a glorified rerun. So in honor of my own tradition here at ONE WORD I am rerunning this post which I modify and tweak each year before reposting as a service announcement.

Last night I did something I rarely do. No, I did not eat any green leafy vegetables. I said something I RARELY do, not NEVER do.

I plopped down on the couch and watched TV. All night long. I didn't read, I didn't write, I didn't even ponder the comings and goings of the characters in my stories. I simply shut down my brain and watched the boob tube. And Network TV to boot. This morning, I am dumber for the experience. (Actually last night I watched my beloved New Orleans Saints kick the tinsel out of her, New York Giants, but like I said this is a old post so play along)

Here is a rundown of what I saw.

A Muppet Christmas special called Letters to Santa. As a former Fraggle Rocker I can appreciate Jim Henson's creation, but this one lost me right from the get-go, when they opened with a big musical sing-a-long at the New York City Post Office. Trust me when I say, "Ain't nobody singing and dancing at the ol' PO this time of year." Or any other as far as that goes.

And another inaccuracy. There wasn't any glitter in the air. This time of year all of us that work on the mail sorting equipment look as if we've just returned from a stripper convention in Vegas.

That's right. All that shiny glitter you attach to your Christmas cards ends up in the bottom of the PO's automated machinery and when I have to change a belt or whatever, I come away looking like the love child of Tinker Bell and Sasquatch. So do all us Postal employees a favor and save the glitter for your kids school party, or help out an exotic dancer and donate it to your local gentleman's club.

After the Muppets, we joined an in progress Christmas story about a little orphan girl, an elf, a polar bear, and a fox all looking for Santa's sack. Okay, maybe my mind us filthier that a reindeer turd, but couldn't the writer's have called it Santa's bag instead of sack. And did the fabric have to be flesh colored? And did the animals have to crawl out of said container and say, "Santa needs to do some housecleaning because that is one nasty sack?"

Jay Leno narrated and Brad Garret and Norm McDonald both voiced characters in this poorly written kids story.

But wait, it wasn't just the shows that were bad. Let's talk about the commercials. Particularly the pharmaceutical ads. Is it really appropriate to advertise Cialis, an erectile dysfunction med, during a childrens show? Especially one about Santa's sack? And why do those people have not one, but two, bathtubs in their back yard? And I thought the whole point of taking Cialis was to share ye olde yuletime log. How can you do that from the comfort of you own backyard tub? Wouldn't they need to be in one tub together in order to jingle their bells. Am I alone in these thoughts?


And then there was the one about the insomnia aid Ambien. No wonder that woman can't sleep she has a rooster roaming around freely inside her house. Instead of wasting her money on pills she should invest in screens for her windows. Or maybe she's tossing and turning because she went to bed hungry. A big chicken dinner would probably solve all of her problems. Don't you think?

UPDATE on Cialis ADS

Last night I spied a Cialis ad where a dude was pitching an actual tent. Now that is a subtle message about the drug's capabilities. I wonder if next month they'll have a fireman polishing the big brass pole down at the station. Or a zookeeper doling out corporal punishment to an unruly monkey? Maybe a farmer giving the Heimlich to a chicken with grain caught in its throat? Maybe they can get the same fowl from the Ambian ads?

 

What does a weasel look like?

Good Times

I've put off this post far too long but I wanted to give more of y'all a chance to read THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES before I posted these pics.

I am extremely blessed to have a great wife as well as very good friends. Together they tossed me a party in honor of TFC's release.

Without further adieu I bring you the photographic evidence of a very fun night for me.

I APPRECIATED THE THOUGHT BUT THAT GIANT ASS PICTURE DID STRIKE ME AS FUNERAL-ESQUE

 DON'T KNOW WHY BLOGGER DECIDED TO LOAD THIS SIDEWAYS BUT SEEING AS TO HOW MOST OF THE ATTENDEES FINISHED THE NIGHT SEEING SIDEWAYS PERHAPS IT IS APPROPRIATE. THE EVENT WAS HELD AT BAR Z WINERY JSUT SOUTH OF AMARILLO.

I'M STILL GETTING USED TO THE WHOLE "SIGNING" THING BUT NOT THE PEARL BEER BOTTLE. ALSO NOTE I AM ACTUALLY DRINKING SHINER

IT'S ABOUT HERE THAT SOME OF THE PHOTOS GET FUZZY. AGAIN LIKE MOST OF THE ATTENDEES. THE LIGHTS IN THE HORIZON ARE AMARILLO.

NOTICE THERE IS NOTHING GREEN ON THOSE PLATES.

I FOUND IT QUITE FUNNY THAT PARTICULAR QUOTE WAS BEING WORN BY A DOZEN OR SO WOMEN 

SO HERE THEY ARE. MUCH OF THE GANG THAT HELPED TO INSPIRE THE BOOK. (FROM RIGHT TO LEFT  WITH THE NAME YOU WOULD KNOW THEM AS) - DOYLE, LAURA, JENNIFER, ME, HOUSTON, DALLAS, AND AUSTIN'S STUNT DOUBLE)

 LIZ AND DEE THE POWERS THAT BE AT TAG PUBLISHING AND THERE HUSBANDS WHO I'M CERTAIN WIELD THEIR OWN BRAND OF POWER (when Liz and Dee allow for it)

MONTY, THE OWNER AND PROPRIETOR AT BAR Z. AS YOU CAN SEE, HE TOO LIKES TO SPIN A TALE OR TWO

MY WIFE JENNIFER, LISSA, AND MY SISTER-IN-LAW STEPHANIE.  NO, I DIDN'T BREAK HER ARM BECAUSE SHE REFUSED TO SPORT A PEARL'S SHIRT AND PEARL NECKLANCE IN MY HONOR

ME AND "DOYLE" SURROUNDED BY FAR BETTER LOOKING WOMEN THAN FREQUENTED THE FEEDSTORE. THOUGH THAT EXPRESSION ON LISSA'S FACE IS PURE FEEDSTORE ECSTASY.
 

HERE IS A GANG OF PEOPLE READING IN AN ATTEMPT TO FIGURE OUT WHAT EXACTLY "YOU WANNA HELP ME FEED THE CHICKENS?" MEANS.

ME AND THE FAMED DEBORAH ELLIOTT-UPTON

ME AND MONTY DIXON THE MAN BEHIND BAR Z WINE.

Pearls

I'm always taking pictures on my phone of things that at the time I think ... that will make a funny or at least interesting tidbit for the blog. Then I forget what I was going to say or I simply never figure out a way to build a post around the image.

So today I'm going to toss out a few of these ...

I have no idea why taking a shot of my oldest son dangling beneath a bronze gorilla's bung seemed like a good idea, but here it is.

From an Ape's ass to a pig's. The segue makes sense here but again not sure why I've save this photo in my phone. 

What is it like to live here in the Texas Panhandle? ...

Some days it's hot ...

Others it is cold ...

 I believe I was bothered that they actually had to print instruction on how to pull a paper towel from this apparatus.

Rub and Buff? You think there is a warning on the back of this product about going blind after prolonged use?

This product sounds more like a venereal disease than anything I want spread on my sandwich.

This is the logo from a  local  Christian school. I know many fine people who send their kids there and I'm sure the staff is excellent as well as the education received there but every time I see this logo I ask why they chose sperm as their mascot.

Should I be offended that despite being under 40 they did not card me?

If you are a weight loss franchise do you really want your name associated with big rotund items like hot air balloons?

Deck the halls. Beer halls that is.

And last, but certainly not least, I offer photographic proof that I have the greatest wife in the world.

Those who have not read THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES might not get the reference but those that have have to appreciate the fact my wife had these shorts made for herself and a few other friends at the release party last week where they were so popular that she ended up taking orders from others who wanted one. The front reads Pearls Feed and Seed and they are quite fetching along with vulgar in a very subtle way.

And yes, that is a Pearl Necklace she was wearing in honor of the book and my twisted sense of humor.

SAVE TRAVIS OR HE ONLY GETS LEAFY GREENS UNTIL I RELEASE HIM

I know, I know you all opened this page to read the words of the monster sized man from Amarillo and you wound up with me instead and as you sit there scratching your head wondering who the hell is this? I said to myself…well if you’re going to be that way then I should explain.

My name is Mark Durfee AKA The Walking Man and I live in Detroit. I am a poet without much of a sense of what poetry is, except poetic justice.

Four years ago there was a mayor in Detroit named Kwame Kilpatrick, he was busted for lying under oath during a lawsuit and in the course of events it was discovered that not only had he been schtuping his chief of staff, but about a half dozen other women, none of them named Carlita which happens to be his wife’s name. Now once he was tried and convicted and put on probation a kind Detroit multimillionaire named Peter Karmanos of Compuware fame and a few other kind multimillionaires paid to move Kwame, his wife, (whom Kwame may have started schtuping again because she probably put a leash on that hog,) and their kids to Dallas.

Seeing as Travis is always remarking on his size 6’5 280 and Kwame is exactly the same size, I could feel, with all that weight in Texas, the world shifting too far on its axis, so I traveled down to the Lone Star State and to decide which of these huge hunks of meat I needed to force back to the north to stop the earth from tipping too far. Well the short of it was after a great dirty, dusty and hours long fight, I (who am much smaller comparatively to Travis) but from Detroit, which comes with its own cache of dirty fighting, hog tied the big man from Amarillo and threw him in the back of his own pick up truck (my Honda was too small) and hauled him to what we affectionately call the “D.”

I could have hauled Kwame back but we have had enough of that grazer of feed store swine product. Besides by the time Travis escapes from the evil clutches of the D the feds will be hauling Kwame back here to face 25 or so indictments for running a criminal enterprise while mayor. And then the world as you have come to know it will be right again and the axis will be back in proper alignment. You could acknowledge your gratitude for me saving the planet from tipping over but I am humble enough to know you are grateful without forcing you to say it.

So here is the deal, you put up with one piece of my poetry, make a shit ton (that is a feed store measurement) of comments and I will release Travis and his pick up truck to go back to Texas but only because the Feds really are bring the Detroit Dog back here for a federal trial. In the interim you will have to click through to HERE to not only take yourself to the D but to check up on Mr. Erwin’s welfare seeing as I left him with only his hands unbound sitting at my rusty old computer in zip code (that is Postal Service talk that Travis told me about during our ride North) 48205; which is the most murderous zip code in the most murderous city in America.  So now you are aware of the deal and you and you alone have the power to save Mr. Travis Erwin not only from Detroit but if you fail and I have to keep him here I am changing his squirrel and quail stew diet to one of only leafy green vegetables.

There was a kid named Travis Erwin

who grew up in a place called Pearls Feed and Seed

run by a reprobate named Doyle Suggs.

Now Doyle or Mr. Suggs a wise man of three ex wives

(two he married twice)

was prone to espousing to Travis

a young fella’s need for “getting in the girl” advice.

Erwin, at the time not the brightest bulb in the chandelier,

tried ever trick Suggs suggested at age sixteen years

went every which way Doyle sent him to get his manhood vested.

AND THAT IS THE PREMISE FOR THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES

But by far the sweetest part of the book is that it comes to a right ending.

OK now that doesn’t count as the poem of mine, even though there is a countable iambic meter in there if someone knows how to count that shit. That is what we call a hook so you will spend your time purchasing and reading Travis’ book. Though it’s not Bukowski, in a prose sort of way The Feedstore Chronicles comes close to some of Hanks poetry.

Now to torture you my work is below, it’s an old piece but one of my favorites. It appears in my second book of poetry which you can buy from me if you want it.

Cobblestone Kisses II

I saw a shoeless girl,

about 4.

Dancing on cobblestones

in pure bliss.

Each and every cobble

she touched gave her bare feet

a smiling loving kiss.

I wondered as I watched

Where she got the joy

to dance like that;

fluttering dress,

twirling, blessed

mindless bliss,

in a place so lacking in romance.

Dance though she did,

on and on laughing, loving, living

while she had the chance,

to be dancing carelessly to a music

only she could hear.

I wished I could be that way again

mindlessly joyful with cobbles dear

kissing my bare feet

soothing my mind taking my fear.

Wishing for a childhood

not knowing what lay ahead.

Better yet I’d like the freedom to be

dancing now this moment, this day

letting the smooth stones

take my care away.

Laughter and smiles come

so easy to children loved,

with nothing amiss

all the little ones should

be dancing and twirling in joy

as the cobblestones deliver

their loving bare feet kindest kiss.

© M Durfee

9-2-05

12-22-09(rev)

Pink Dragon Poop

I'm not a shy guy. Public speaking has never bothered me but today I'll admit to a few butterflies. As I type this I am about 4 hours away from speaking at a local civic organizations monthly luncheon. I've spoken to writers groups, a few book clubs and even taught writing classes to both kids and adults, but this is my first general assembly type of talk.

My idea to forgo a written speech and speak off the cuff seemed like a good idea as recently as last night, but this morning I'm feeling a tad more dubious over that decision, after Lettuce Is the Devil my secopnd favorite personal creed is Baffle 'em with Bullshit. I sure hope it works this time.

Speaking of bullshit, tomorrow morning me and the talented poet known as THE WALKING MAN, Mark Durfee are engaging in a blog swap of fantastical fecal fun. Hope you check out our B.S. laden posts.

In other guest post and blogging news, I danced with dragons yesterday while giving out a few tips on writing memoirs.

And today, I have the honor of making the talented Deborah Elliott-Upton blush over at the Sleuth Sayers blog.

Stop by and say high to these fine ladies if you get the chance.