What I am Reading – John Grisham

 Back before Harry Potter. Before Twilight. The release of a John Grisham novel was a book event. 

It’s true. In fact, the first book event I ever attended (and the last that involved me actually purchasing a book for myself) was a midnight release for John Grisham’s The Partner. I was struggling with insomnia, not an uncommon occurrence, and I recalled a mailer Books-a-Million had sent me about the event. So, I showed up, where I joined about twenty other men, roughly the age I am now, in searching the stacks of the store for a hidden free copy of Grisham’s new release. I don’t recall finding the book, so someone else must have won, and I must have parted with a double sawbuck and few extra Washingtons ($20+ ) and came home with Grisham’s latest legal thriller.

Years later, I attended several Potter and Twilight saga midnight events.  Sometimes with Jill, often by myself…but always to pick up the new book for her. I never got into Harry Potter or the sparkly vampires, but I’ve always loved how popular these books became.  They seemed to be the foil to the doom and gloom crowd, who always wanted to remind us that “nobody reads anymore.” The people, who say this, obviously never attended one of these events. When I think about waiting in line with all those kids and their parents, and the overall level excitement they had for getting a book it makes me smile. A whole generation of new readers were born with these books.

But enough about those books I’ve never read.  

I first read John Grisham when I was in college. The first three books were out, and everywhere. I read them back to back to back, and lost sleep and valuable study time to do so. I anxiously awaited the next release, The Client (and regularly complained that it wouldn’t be available in paper for at least a year after the hardcover release – $20+ for a college kid was too steep).  That annual anticipation of a new Grisham release continued through the release of The Partner (which I could actually afford in hardcover). Then, for whatever reason, I drifted away from Grisham.

Years ago, I heard or read, a fellow writer, mention something along the lines of “I’ve never read Grisham. I tried his first book, and gave up almost immediately because it was so poorly written.” I honestly cannot remember whether this was a face-to-face discussion or online communication, and I can’t recall who said it. I only recall roughly what was said, and my kick in the gut reaction.  Now, looking back on it, I chuckle and think, “Writers,” shaking my head.  A couple reasons for this:

1) This was Grisham’s first book. Of course, it’s going to have some offenses to the silly writer rules, and yes it probably has craft elements that hadn’t matured to the level of a later stage commercial fiction writer.

2) Grisham obviously did something right.  Millions upon millions of people (including myself) have read and loved that story.

It’s pretty common to use criticism as a way to bring someone down to the critics level in all facets of life. Writers are no exception. I’m sure I have been guilty of it, and sure I will continue to be. But I’m trying to see it for what it is, and stop this nonsense. 

One of the interesting results from watching all those JLB interviews was hearing some of the other authors talk about their work, and it has me interested in getting re-acquainted with some of them (no need with Connelly, I still check in on him). So, when I heard Grisham explain that he returned to the Jake Brigance character of his first novel, A Time to Kill, for  the novel Sycamore Row, I actually made it into a bookstore (with mask and socially distanced) for the first time since March and purchased a Grisham novel. It was like 1996 all over again.

I’ll just get it out of the way right now. I lost sleep reading this one, too! And to the person, who says Grisham cannot write, I’ll just offer that any author that can keep me turning the pages with anticipation for a story about probate court is a far better storyteller than me (and probably you). 

I read this book immediately after finishing JLB’s A Private Cathedral, and admittedly nobody is going to accuse Grisham of being a match for Burke as a prose stylist. But once I got over that, I was able to sit back and enjoy it for what it was, an incredibly satisfying read with plenty of suspense and twists and turns throughout the entire 600+ pages.  

People, 600 page books are not my thing. Grisham’s book was a breeze.

No deep philosophical themes. I won’t need to re-read this to see what I missed the first time. But it was a fine story.

A third book featuring Brigance is expected to come out later this fall.  I’m anxiously awaiting it. Like I did for Grisham releases in my twenties.

It’s good to be back.

–TD

The 50th Year

 You being an astute reader have probably ascertained that I have begun my 50th trek around the sun. It’s true. This latest journey began earlier this month. If you are good with the maths, you probably realize that I celebrated my 49th birthday earlier this month. I may continue doing so every year henceforth.

But enough with the mental gymnastics, Jill and I watched The Karate Kid a few nights ago, and I was confronted with the terrifying realization that I am approaching Mr. Miyagi’s age. Pat Morita was 53 years young, when he created his career defining role (unless, I guess, you are a huge Happy Days fan). How did this happen? Seriously, when one of our fine young Americans refer to me as sir, it still sounds foreign to me. Just yesterday, I was struggling to make the cut on the varsity baseball team at Northeast High School. Right?

Wrong. That happened a few years after the movie was released, and I’m closing in on the old wise man from the movie.

This, of course sent me down the rabbit hole of what I’ve learned in all those years. As much, as I really didn’t want to catch up to Mr. Miyagi in the tally of orbits, it sure would be nice to have some of that wisdom.

Still I feel like a child.

My son is a Senior in High School this year. He will be taking classes virtually.  This was difficult for me to come to grips with. School is in the classroom. It’s also one of our earliest and foundation building social interaction exercises. Sure it lasts over a decade, but it takes that long. At least, this is my rationalization. Today is a different world. In a lot of ways, of course, but I fear this whole pandemic social isolation thing is a new norm for those of my son’s generation. I never could have imagined the level of global shutdown something like this could cause just a few short years ago.  Now it seems like even after we get through COVID19, there will be another season, like the inevitable hurricane crashing into our shores every summer to fall.  As far as school goes?  My wife was adamant about Dylan enrolling in virtual school for safety reasons.  As the summer crawled on and I saw our cultural difficulties with social distancing measures on display…as I saw the numbers of cases climbing… as I learned of people I know inflicted with the virus (one twice, long before the recent report of the “first case of COVID re-infection”)… as I heard of people I know succumbing to the disease, who are no longer with us… I pivoted on my strongly held belief that school is in the class room. Maybe, releasing some of my stubbornly held beliefs is Miyagi-esque wisdom?  Something, I’ve learned in my 49+ years? Maybe, I’m just smart enough to listen to my wife?  Surely, Mr. Miyagi could appreciate the wisdom in that.

Writing is a constant reminder that what you think you know as truth is often a lie. Hell, as a fiction writer, I ATTEMPT to tell the truth by feeding you lies (fiction).  I’ve had the joy of listening to a number of James Lee Burke discussions over the last few weeks.  He’s had sessions with John Grisham, Lee Child, Michael Koryta.  There is a forthcoming session with Stephen King!  Burke is fascinating and humbling. His intellect is so sharp, and his classical education obviously so much deeper than my own. I’ve never experienced what the writing mob refers to as Impostor’s Syndrome. In fact, even after having this regurgitated nearly every time I visit one of the online writing communities, I’m still not sure what it is.  I guess some feeling of inadequacy (?).  I’ve always just said  I’m just going to do my best. Try to be the best Tony DeCastro, because ultimately I’m not only the only one that can decide if that is good enough, I’m also the only one who will ever know if I’ve truly given my best.  This feels more like the wisdom of Forrest Gump, than Mr. Miyagi.  (Not meant as a slight, as Gump’s wisdom was sharp as well…remember Jenny asking Forrest what/who he wanted to be, and he simply saying, “Well ain’t I just gonna be me.”)  

Whoa, where was I going with this?  Right? Impostor syndrome. Watching these interviews, reading three of Burke’s books back to back (two re-reads), has probably left me as close to this mythical impostor’s syndrome, as I will ever be.  

When I was a Senior in High School, I was fortunate enough to play in a couple of Senior All-Star games, where the best seniors in the county got to play in exhibition games against other county’s squads. It was an opportunity to get a look from college recruiters and pro scouts… and for a lot of us, just another chance to get on the diamond and compete against others whose talents we admired. Now, I was a pitcher, and didn’t pick up a bat all season.  For whatever reason, in these All-Star games the designated hitter was not used, which meant pitchers would hit.  I was thrilled, and secretly hoped I would be lucky enough to get a chance to bat…It was an All-Star game, which meant that the coaches tried to get everyone into the games.  So, there was no guarantee that even if my spot came up in the line-up in the couple of innings I pitched that I would get my opportunity.  Pinch hitting was an excellent way to get someone into the game.

But…

I got my opportunity against the Hillsborough County All-Stars.  Against  a pitcher named Kiki Jones, who would be taken in the first round of the Major League Baseball Draft that year. He was about 5′-9″ and maybe weighed 160 pounds after walking an hour through a driving rain, but God or the baseball gods or fate had reached down and blessed his right arm. I had never, and have never since, stepped into the box and had such a fast ball tossed in my direction. He threw 95 mph bee bees with the effort of someone tossing batting practice. I took three feeble swings, and walked back to the dugout thankful that Mr. Jones had command of his control.  I also then realized I would never throw like that.  Yet, the next fall, I tried to walk-on at a Division One NCAA baseball program. I failed, but I did my best.  The next year, with a year of college education under my belt, I gave it the ol’ college try again (pun intended). This time my best was good enough. Finding playing time as walk-on was an uphill battle as well…but I kept at it.  I never threw a 95 mph fastball. I never was drafted by a Major League team. But I very, very seldom ever left the field having not given my best.

So, it is with Mr. Burke’s 95 mph fastballs. I don’t have to do that. Hell, I don’t even have to step in the box against it. None of us do. We just need to do our best. 

I think we’re back to Mr. Miyagi….

Influence

person standing with windmill background

This is going to be one of those typical, rambling, Tony’s been drinking the Faulkner Kool-aid again posts.

Last post I mentioned James Lee Burke as my literary hero. Oddly, I don’t really see much influence in my work. That comes with the caveat, that I don’t consciously set about writing like Burke or MacDonald or Spillane or Parker or whoever.

But reflecting on some of my creation, I am able to see some of the fingerprints, and as much as I’d love to write as rich and deep as Burke does about his setting, it just doesn’t seem to be in my toolbox yet. (Writing deep about setting is something that I set about, and I’m pretty happy with… I’m just not a master).  But leaving Burke behind for a moment…

John D. MacDonald is my favorite author, and I love his Travis McGee series. Having grown up in Florida, finding the beach-bum salvage consultant whose adventures occurred in familiar locales was a joy to my teen-aged self.  He was a bit of a loner (save his chats with Meyer and his many escapades with the fairer sex), who lived a pretty spartan existence upon his houseboat.  It’s impossible not to admit that some of this seeped into Fuzzy Koella.

But there’s another P.I. with whom Fuzzy shares more genetic code — Jim Rockford of the TV’s Rockford Files.  Rockford, too, is an offspring of McGee (acknowledged by the creators)… Rockford isn’t in the houseboat, though. He’s in some, probably non-compliant, trailer out by the Pier. Fuzzy’s in a renovated maintenance shed at the marina.  Ok, so they’re all beach bums… but McGee handles himself just a little (lot) better than Rockford and Koella.  Where McGee often gest the best of his foes when it comes time for bare knuckles, both Rockford and Fuzzy are, well, sort of bumbling fools and often end up getting their ass kicked. Hell, Rockford rarely carried a gun…when Fuzzy does he’s more likely to end up losing it in the fracas.

I didn’t set out to write “my” Rockford, but I’ve watched all the episodes. I’ve read all of the McGees multiple times. It’s impossible that some of the influence would not seep into my stories, unless I actively guarded against it. And why would I want to do that?  I love those stories.

There’s another popular P.I. whose shadows can be seen filtering into my stories.  Again, I’ve read all of the Spenser’s. I didn’t really see the influence (other than, yes, we both write/wrote P.I. stories) until my father referred to Jimmy Alou as the Hawk character.  “The sidekick with the gun.”

I’m gonna go all Harold Bloom, and suggest that influence goes back much further and is inescapable. Bloom somewhat controversially suggests that all Western literature can filed into one of two camps. Cervantes. Shakespeare. I tend to agree with him, though I think there is more cross pollination of the silos than he seems to suggest.

So, while Fuzzy Koella is IMO of the Shakespearean school, a mostly “lone wolf” internal looking character, the Fuzzy/Jimmy relationship is very much a result of the Cervantes literary tradition… they are Quixote and Pancho.  Spenser and Hawk are as well (though I’m not sure Spenser is quite as easily identifiable as Quixotic).

Anyway, not that I’m claiming I’m on par with Cervantes (and yes I’ve read Don Quixote in its entirety — I recommend it) or Shakespeare, but it is an interesting reflection to me. Robert B. Parker started his famous Spenser series very much as a throwback to Chandler/Marlowe and by extension Shakespeare, but when Hawk strode into the series there was a  noticeable pivot. I think, nowadays, most writers draw on both schools throughout their stories (as I do, without really realizing it), but to my mind Spenser hopped in the Cervantes silo when Hawk came along and the series never again was Chandler-esque. Parker left Shakespeare behind until he was approved to write some Marlowe novels by the Chandler estate.

Wow. You can’t say I didn’t warn you!  Of course, none of that Cervantes/Shakespeare stuff touched on the sidekick with a gun…which is a trope of the P.I./detective sub-genre (Spenser/Hawk, Dave/Clete, Cole/Pike, Easy/Mouse).  I read a lot of P.I. fiction. The only reason I don’t read as much of it as the most hardcore Romance reader reads her/his favorite genre is because there simply isn’t as much of it. The point being I crap out those tropes and the structure without even thinking about it. I’ll leave that up to the reader whether that is a good thing or not. I’ll just continue to follow Fuzzy around, and watch him stumble into danger with or without Jimmy along.  Until, of course, Fuzzy’s told me all the tales he needs told…

–TD

Photo by Arunita DH on Pexels.com

 

James Lee Burke

James Lee Burke is my favorite living writer (and he is a writer…he continues to write into his 80s). He’s also my literary hero. Those two things aren’t necessarily inclusive, but  for me Burke is both things.

The hero part comes from his persistence in getting his novel The Lost Get Back Boogie published. Burke was published in his twenties and met with some critical acclaim for his literary novels. Then, he went nearly a decade without being published. Boogie was rejected over 100 times by editors before finding a home with LSU Press. It went one to be nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.  His next novel was The Neon Rain, a literary detective novel which paved the way for his best-selling career. He’s also my hero for being a “literary” genre writer. He is without any doubt in my mind the greatest living  American writer of prose. Seriously, I’d put his craft up against Pynchon, DeLillo, Morrison and McCarthy any day. Burke comes out on top in this reader’s mind.

In today’s environment of ghostwriting and collaborative, Patterson-esque writing, it would be easy to conclude that 80+ year old Burke may go down that path. But only if you have never read his work. His voice (see yesterday’s post) is so compelling, so unique that it simply cannot be replicated.

No, we will know when Burke has stopped writing. Unfortunately, it will be when he has passed.

There are plenty of reasons that he is my favorite writer that has nothing to do with him being my hero, though.

He writes vividly of setting. (One of those settings being lush, south Louisiana)

His characters are colorful, larger than life beings.

He writes unapologetically of the violent tendencies of man. And he does so in a way that makes you realize that the violence victimizes the inflictor as much as the victim.

His explorations of evil are downright Biblical.

He believably covers themes of the struggles of the poverty stricken in the face of greed.

He does all of the above in the mystery/crime genre framework.

 

April Writing Stats

April 1 – 1038

April 2 – 1072

Total – 2110 words

 

 

 

 

Voice

greyscale photo of man singing
Photo by Thibault Trillet on Pexels.com

Of all the elements of writing (fiction), the one which I hold highest is Voice. Maybe your characters are two dimension cut-outs or your plot is like a train rolling down the tracks or maybe your setting is paint by numbers… if the voice is compelling you’ve got me.

It shows up in the characters…it shows up in the author. And there isn’t much anything you can do to build it in my opinion.  Which comes across as “either you got it or you don’t.”

Talent.

I’m not sure that’s the case. I’m sure some authors’ voices appeal more to my taste. Some, dear reader, appeal more to your taste. But I think more than anything else in writing, your voice is like fingerprints… we all have a voice.  The trick is to use it. Believe in it. And protect the hell out of it. And if your voice doesn’t appeal to every reader. Amen.

When I write a thousand words in an hour without any thought of where it’s going just listening to the characters and tapping away at the keys, and then cycle back and see there’s only some typos to touch up, maybe a little extra depth, etc, but damn this is pretty good!  That isn’t a random act of fate (okay, maybe it is)… it isn’t a  mistake.  It isn’t the 9-iron you blade thin from 140 yards out that rolls up and tucks in next to flagstick. It’s the power of Voice, without the shackles of critical writing…free of re-writing and style manuals.  It is the artist. It is me.

If I leave well enough alone…

 

April Writing Stats

April 1 —  1,038 words

Tabletop RPGs and Writing

 

otus

Every Friday night I run a Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) game for my son and his buddies using the edition of the game I first played back in 1981.

Every other Sunday I run a game for my son and his buddies and some of my gaming buddies (read other 40-something geeks).  We use the current (5th) edition of the game.

The Friday night game started with an old-school, open sandbox style module, but quickly has devolved into me completely making stuff up as I go.  I do probably less than 15 minutes of prep for this game every week.

The Sunday game, I am running one of the published adventures for the 5th Ed. game. As written, it’s very railroady.  And focused on running the players through a story.

The roleplaying game phenomena has an interesting timeline, which I won’t go much into, other than to say it has produced some distinct styles of play.  I’ve spent plenty of time in the “collaborative story-telling” school of play (hell, one of the more popular RPG systems is called The Storyteller System), and as much time in the “it’s a game stupid” school.  And in all the space in between those two extremes!

Oddly, I find myself mostly in the game-ist side right now.

Why oddly?

Because I am currently writing a post about the similarities in my writing process and my gaming table.

Right… I probably should get to that.

What I have found… I’m at my best when I am mostly winging it at the table.  This shouldn’t be much of a revelation.  The best game I’ve ever run was nearly 10 years ago (yes I remember a single night of gaming a decade ago), and I’ve come to refer to as the Doppleganger Murder Mystery extravaganza.  For that game, I created a handful of 7-sentence non-player characters. Gave the players a situation, and let them have at it.

Today, in that Friday night game, I’ve been known to create the dungeon whole-cloth as I’m drawing it out on the map for the players.  No prep whatsoever. Just, what would be cool right now?

Sunday game with the pre-written adventure?  We’ve spent 3 sessions in the “episode” that allows the most free-styling in the whole adventure.  And next session will be in that episode at least partially as well.  I don’t think there’s any coincidence there.  (I obviously don’t want to leave this place).  But even when we are “on the rails”, my favorite parts (and I think the players’) are random encounter rolls and when the players completely go bat-shit crazy off the tracks.

What this all comes back to… why am I surprised? Even as a Dungeon (Game) Master, I want the experience to match the players’. I don’t want to know what happens, and I certainly don’t want to know how things end.  It’s a game after all.  Not a story. <grin>.

But since, we’ve mentioned story. When I’m the Dungeon Master of my novels, stories, etc. I don’t want to know how the games end, either.

In both cases, with players and readers… I strongly believe, if I don’t know where things are heading there’s a good chance they don’t either.  If they do?  More power to them. They’re smarter than me.  And I’m okay with that.

— TD

Both of my books are widely available, and I would love to have you as a reader.  Universal links:

Everything is Broken

and

North County Girl

 

More Critical Reading

Simple, lazy post today.

If you’re interested in reading some more thoughts on Critical Reading give Harvey’s post a read:

https://hestanbrough.com/the-daily-journal-sunday-march-17/

I commented on his post regarding the re-reading enjoyable pieces…if you re-visit the Reading for Pleasure post, you’ll see that conceptually we do the same thing (i.e. in our own way).

A lot of interesting insight into how Harvey copy-edits…and what he expects of first readers.

Thanks all readers for the interesting comments on yesterday’s post.

— TD

 

 

Critical Reading

This is a continuation, of sorts, of the infamous Critique post and the less controversial Reading for Pleasure post.  I guess the flip-side of seeking Critique is participating in Critique as a reader.

I take that back. It’s not really a flip-side.  My position is the same.

The problem is the same. And in the Reading for Pleasure post, I pretty much laid it out. I’ve spent years tackling a reading critically problem.  It surfaced when I started “learning” to write, and going to peer critiques. Here’s the thing… critiquing is mind numbingly easy.  When you start from a position of trying find what’s wrong…you will.  Give me a week with Shakespeare, Gatsby, Hemingway… I’ll find something to criticize. But, good Lord, why would I want to do that?

The Lonesome Dove post showed that I haven’t completely conquered this demon, though I wasn’t overly critical… and I am REALLY enjoying this book.

So the selfish answer is I don’t want to critique because it is no fun. I read to be entertained.  The other collateral damage I’m trying to avoid is that reading critically means less time in my creative mind… not to mention, giving criticality that kind of power over my reading gives it an “in” when I sit down to write.

What does this means for fellow writers?  Do I not want to read your stories, poems, essays?

I do.  I want to read and enjoy them. I would be honored.  If your stuff is on the market, I’ll most likely purchase it (or borrow from library) and read it. If I don’t purchase it, and you share your work with me, I will be grateful and thank you for the opportunity to enjoy your work.

Unfortunately, if you come to me and ask me to share “what’s wrong with it?”  I won’t be able to help.  That’s critical reading, and I won’t purposefully take on that task for the selfish reasons I mention above.  I will, however, share one of my core beliefs:

The greatest quality an artist can have is belief in oneself.

–TD

 

Schemes

Kristine Kathryn Rush posted this in regards to the latest publishing scandal:

https://kriswrites.com/2019/02/20/business-musings-ghostwriting-plagiarism-and-the-latest-scandal/

Sad stuff.

I wonder if this individual started out with the typical artist’s dream of doing her work and finding an audience, and got sucked into the “beating the system” mentality when things didn’t take off like she had hoped.

Or did she just start out seeing an opportunity to make a quick buck, and wanted to strike while the iron was hot?  I guess the way people get sucked into Ponzi schemes.

Obviously, the first one is more depressing to me.  I’ve noticed this trend of engaging others to write your series books among indies…to push the building of the back list and staying constantly in the churn of Amazon algorithms.  The ghostwriting thing isn’t indie-exclusive, of course… but, ah, what do I know…

I guess I know my perspective. Writing is fun. It’s why I do this… publishing is intermittently fun and not fun…but never as fun as telling stories.  For that reason, I could never see me hiring ghostwriters to churn out work with my name on it to chase a dollar. (I could actually see me ghostwriting much easier than hiring the ghostwriter…though, that doesn’t really appeal to me, either.)  This is one of those cases where I just find it hard to put myself in another’s shoes.

And I haven’t really even touched on the plagiarism.  It’s interesting that this person appears to feel she is not at fault, because it was hired out to ghostwriters and it wasn’t her who actually did the cutting and pasting.  I assume her name is on the copyright, which means she probably has a rude awakening coming.  Yet, she doesn’t seem to acknowledge that there is something a little skeezy in what she was doing to begin with.

Again, I know traditional publishing has implemented ghost writers for ages.  Somehow this seems different…or maybe not.  Because what do I know?

Other than what I will do and won’t do.

— TD

 

Ideas

bulb close up electricity energy

Readers ask, “Where do you get your ideas?”

Writers bemoan, “I have so many ideas.”  Or, “I’m writing my current story, but I’ve got this great idea for the next one and all I want to do is write it.”

I have learned to shut down the idea factory.

Writers are advised, “Carry a notebook. You never know when you will get an idea, and you don’t want to forget it.”

I don’t write them down for a couple of reasons:

  1. I’ve shut down the idea factory, and only open it when I sit down to write.
  2. If the idea is really worth anything, it would be worth remembering.

Ideas are everywhere. I have zero fear that I will lack for ideas. I do however fear that the sheer number of them will become debilitating. Or the shiny, fresh idea will distract me from the current work.

Keeping Heinlein’s Rule #2 in the front of my mind helps with this.  If I am adamant about finishing what I start, then my creative mind will shove those fresh ideas to the corner closet, and focus on keeping the current work shiny and fresh.

You Must Finish What You Start.

A simple tool to keep ideas from overwhelming the process.

Back to the reader’s question, “Where do you get your ideas?”

The answer is simple. I get them from the process. Writing regularly does that. I know if I sit down and write… If I sit down with a character in a setting… if I ground myself (and by extension the reader) in the setting with that character… I will never want for ideas. Story will happen.

As an example, have you ever had a dream that was so realistic that it felt you were living it, despite the fact that the people you encounter are people you have never met in real life, and despite the fact that the locales are places you have never been to?  Of course, you have. This is the reason a lot of writers keep a notebook and pen on the bedside table to write down their dreams when they awake. ( I don’t do that either. ) Do you ever wonder where those ideas come from?

Probably.

Have you ever found an answer?

Probably not.

I think the answer is simple. You put yourself in a position to create those dreams. Namely, you go to sleep… and all of those critical voices that would suppress the creativity in your waking hours are asleep, too.  And your creativity awakes like a toddler put down at the playground. And there you have it, a great dream. A great story.

And that is how it works, if I just sit down regularly to write. If I don’t worry about if it’s any good… If I don’t worry about having a working “idea”.  Just sit down, and follow my characters around. They’ll get in trouble…they’ll do unbelievable things… they’ll probably do things a lot more interesting than real life. It is not my job to pass judgement on those things or criticize or tell them about some really cool idea I have about what they should be doing.  My job is to record them, as if I were recording one of those dreams I mentioned above…like the writer who keeps the pad on the bedside table. Except, I’m doing it real time. I’m recording the dream at my keyboard as it is happening.

–TD


 

Both of my books are widely available, and I would love to have you as a reader.  Universal links:

Everything is Broken

and

North County Girl

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