'My Writing Process' - BLOG TOUR 2014! - brought to you by Apple(s)

My excellent friend Yvonne Hertzberger (also a brilliant writer) invited me to do this 'blog tour' thing. Naturally, I assumed it was a cheap come on and informed her that I am a happily married man. Then, I thought she was talking about climbing inside the internet. Then, I thought about the movie 'Innerspace'. Then, I thought, “that was a rad movie, I should watch it!” Then, I remembered I had to answer these questions (Thanks Yvonne!!!) So, I’m answering these questions, and then I’m passing the mic to some awesome writer type folks. Then, I’m going to eat lunch. And I might watch 'Innerspace'. Oh no he didn’t! Oh, yes, yes, I did. Martin Short, baby! (I haven’t forgotten, amigo.)

Yvonne is awesome, check her out. Here’s her post: KAPOW! - and now we rock the roll. Take a shot of whiskey and slap your dog, 'cause these questions are so pointed you might end up blind. 

What am I working on?

I work on multiple projects at the same time. I didn’t do this until I started writing longer fiction. I need a break from novels … they’re long, you know? When I used to write stories exclusively, I generally worked on one until it was done. I wrote some songs during the process, but that’s much different - I'm always writing some shitty song.

Now, when I’m working on a novel, I need to write short pieces. I write a lot of flash on my blog. I still write music. So, the answer is a bit ambiguous. I’m WORKING on the third installment of the Matt Stark series (which will focus on Jo). I’m also writing stories. Some articles. I might even write a song or two. A play? I won’t write a play. I can almost guarantee it. (Unless there's money involved, in which case I will write a play about anything you want. Anything...)

How does my work differ from other of its genre?

This assumes a few things that I am uncomfortable with. I don’t think in terms of genre unless the book is REALLY formulaic. Generally, I consider good books to be good books that may be romantic, adventurous, murder-y, sad, memoir-esque … you get the idea.

But lots of other people think genre is important, and I guess my longer work is mostly “crime fiction” or some nonsense. My feeling is, if the characters are good, the genre is life. Still sounds pretentious. Ironically, I feel it is just the opposite. Let the readers apply 'genre' stickers!

Why do I write what I do?

I write about the things that interest/confuse/befuddle me. I write about the parts of life that don’t make much sense. I get pegged as a writer of “dark fiction” quite a bit, but I don’t quite see it like that. I write about things that really happen in real life. I tend to lean towards dark because the happy, shiny things aren’t nearly as interesting.

How does your writing process work?

I either come up with an idea, start writing it in my head, and then eventually get it down on paper or I just sit down and see what comes out. Usually, the latter. Novels involve more puzzling out, but most of my short stories come from just sitting down and deciding to write a short story. I am a pantser for sure. I don’t think I’d enjoy writing nearly as much if I knew where the journey was headed.

Here’s those awesome writer types I mentioned. They will be answering the above Q’s via their blogs, graffiti, scrawled notes or in any other way they choose on the 7^th. Or they won’t. And we will forgive them because we love them.

Jo-Anne Teal

Jo-Anne began writing fiction about three years ago.  She is particularly interested in telling stories of the hidden, the hurt, the silent and the unheard.  Concentrating on flash fiction as she began to develop her writing voice, she now writes short stories and is planning her first novel.

Jo-Anne lives in Vancouver, British Columbia where she happily pursues the writerly stereotype of spending too much time in coffeeshops.

Ed Drury

Ed Drury is a multi-instrumentalist, composer, teacher, instrument maker and author. He combines his experience with classical music and his love for traditional music forms by composing music inspired by his world travels.

Ed lives in Portland Oregon where he teaches, performs, writes and records. He has written and published five books. Two non-fiction books on music and a trilogy of science/eco/fantasy books called the Whale Whisperers Saga.

Teresa Kennedy

Teresa Kennedy is the Editor in Chief of Village Green Press, LLC and the author of more than 30 published books. She has won a Southwest authors award, and the French Pen Faulkner award for her novel, Baby Todd and The Rattlesnake Stradivarius.

Village Green Press LLC offers a full range of services for authors looking to self-publish and those pursuing more traditional outlets.

Big thanks to Apples for being affordable and nutritious. And for making this blog tour possible. 

I am a value meal.

I don't eat fast food unless I have to, but a lot of people do. No judgment, I believe in free will. I'm more of a burrito truck kind of guy, myself. Actually, I eat a lot of bananas. Cheap, those delightful yellow tubes. But this is not about burritos or bananas. This is about a question that I face on a daily basis. A question many of my fellow writers face on a daily basis. Am I or what I create worth less than a value meal?! Seriously? 

OK, so here's the deal. I write several short stories and usually an article or two a week. I don't get paid for any of it. What I DO get paid for is the novels I write. And occasionally, my collection of short stories gets snapped up. I'm always a little afraid when it does. It's like seeing a snake in your living room. Cool, but disconcerting.

Sorry. Value meal. So, I haven't been in a while, but I'm guessing that a meal (of processed, disgusting "food") from the value menu runs you around $5, depending on whether you want to 'supersize', or 'go large', or 'contract diabetes', or basically take advantage of any of the value meal options. I watch people with their bags from McDonalds, Taco Bell, Burger King, whatever walk by my window all day long. While I eat a banana and a piece of turkey plain. Because I like my organs. But also because that is what I can afford. Which brings us to the point. Despite the optimism of the title, I am worth less than a value meal.

All my novels are $3.99. I don't pressure anyone to "supersize it" (although I could add those ten thousand words I axed back in if you want). This is not a guilt trip. It is, hopefully, a realization for those who enjoy reading and the idea of literature as an art form.

My books are good. I'm no Michael Chabon, but I can hold my own. That's bragging if you want to see it that way. I don't. It takes me about eight months to write a novel. It costs money to have it edited. It costs money to have it formatted. I read the thing at least 50 times, myself. When I am done with the eight months of bliss, misery, happiness, and insane frustration that writing a novel entails, I have a product. A product that costs less than the processed "foods" many people eat every day. Hell, my novels would be the cheapest things on most value menus.

Now, you might be thinking that I'll bitch about how more people should buy my books and blah, blah, blah. I'm not going to do that. I simply want you to think that there are TONS of great authors whose work can be had for the price of a latte, a value meal, a six pack, a bottle of wine, a pack of smokes, and on and on.

It is an interesting time to be a writer and a hard time not to be a bitter writer. People go to movies they know they are not going to like for the price it would take to pick up a few independently published books. People go to the movies every weekend. I know a lot of "our generation's" finest writers who can barely pay their rent. This says something about all of us. Something that should make learned people sad.

Here is a good example of what I mean. I wrote a piece in a collaboration called "Seasons" with my friends (all excellent writers) David Antrobus, Edward Lorn, and Jo-Anne Teal. It is a tale told in four short stories. It's a pretty dope piece of work. We priced it at 99 cents and decided to donate the proceeds to suicide prevention. We've sold enough copies to buy the suicide prevention folks lunch - maybe, as long as they don't get all uppity and order off the value menu. But here's the messed up part. On my fiction blog, www.jdmader.com, my contribution to "Seasons" is my "most read post". Same with Antrobus last time I checked. In the last three months, it has been read 895 times. That's a chunk of change that could be doing some good.

See, before we published it, we wrote the pieces on our individual blogs. So, a thousand-ish people have gone to each or our blogs to read the rough draft/original pieces instead of contributing 99 cents to a good cause. THAT blows my mind. Not on an ego level. On a human decency level.

But let's get back to the value meal. My books are all priced at $3.99. I think that's pretty darn fair. But other people don't. People who will spend $5 on sandwich that is consumed and forgotten  in 15 minutes blanche at spending $4 on a book. Not just my book. Lots of people's books. This ain't just about me.

There are not as many people who like to read as there are people who like to eat cheeseburgers. I get that. But this is a disturbing trend when it comes to e-books. People want them. But they want them for free. Or for a dollar. Someone has to write em, though. And they'll probably write better (and MORE) if they aren't delirious from hunger or worried about paying the health insurance bill.

Again, this is not intended to be a guilt trip. I took a walk with my girls the other day and there were a bunch of kids selling lemonade for $1 a cup. They probably made more in that day then I make in a week. So, no guilt trip - I swear, I just want to put it out there. What we need to think about is "value for money". A book is something you can escape into. The entertainment can last for days, even weeks - a lifetime - depending on the book and the type of reader. Why should readers expect to spend less than five bucks for something that took almost a year of blood, sweat and tears to create?

Now, maybe this is just the death of "literature" as we know it. And that's fine. Things change. Traditionally published writers are bummed because indie writers undersell them, but we set our own prices. And we set them cheap. Because, fair or not, we are on the value menu.

Now, BIG STRETCH, think back, if you're old enough, to what eating a burger, fries, and a shake meant before value menus existed. Did we pay a little more? Maybe. Did it take longer? Hell yeah. Was the food better? You bet your ass.

If you have read this far, you probably care about the state of reading and writing. I do. And it's not looking good for a lot of people (and I'm not sure people connect the dots). I think eventually we'll punch through to the other side, but it will take a while. All revolutions take a long time and leave many casualties. This one won't be any different. I don't know what to do about it except to keep on writing. And try to sell a few books now and again. That's all any writer, "value meal" or not, can do. In the mean time, readers are getting a heck of a deal. No side of fries, though. But zero calories unless you know something about the Kindle I don't know.

If you feel like checking out any of the authors above, all you have to to is click. If you want to see my books: CLICK HERE.

It's My Fault

A guest story today from the one and only Jo-Anne Teal.  One of my personal heroes and favorite people.  Thanks for sharing, Jo! 

He’d tried, I knew he had tried his best, but an entire evening was too much to expect. Dinner planned for eight o’clock, dessert with coffee afterwards, the Taylors should have been saying goodbye on our front porch by ten. But when the doorbell rang an hour early, I braced myself.

The evening started nicely, we drank wine while Al drank his apple juice. Barry and Susan didn’t notice. I always make sure to match the colors as closely as possible. As a precaution, I store white grape, cranberry and ginger ale in our pantry too, in case someone brings us a bottle of wine or champagne.

The pre-dinner conversation was congenial: weather highlights, sailing last summer. I should have kept us on neutral topics, but during the main course, Barry began talking about the recent city council election, and Al began to clench and release his fists under the table.

“Geez, when Mark O’Brian said he was going to run for office, I thought he’d stop sleeping on the job like he did when he worked in the warehouse! Man, those city workers never change!”

“Barry, you know that Al works in the city warehouse. Apologize to him.”

“Al knows I’m kidding. Geez, Suzy, calm down! Al, you know I’m not talking about you, don’t you, buddy. I know you gave up sleeping on the job for Lent. Ha ha ha!”

Al smiled his tight-lipped smile, stood up from the dining table and went into the kitchen. I wanted to follow but he’s told me to leave him alone. I’m not to nag or baby him. So I left him alone, to go into the pantry, reach behind the packages of couscous and take a sip of vodka – just enough to take the edge off.

Three and a half hours in, Al had made four trips to the pantry and I was trying to wrap up the evening by clearing away dishes. Al was starting to slur his words. When he disappeared for the fifth time, Barry asked me if Al was feeling okay. I told him Al takes medicine in regular intervals for his migraines, and sometimes needs to go into the cool night air.  Barry nodded his concern, but Suzy looked at me the same way she did in the supermarket when she’d seen Al take a quick sip from his flask. I told her about his medicine then. She must understand medication because she began helping me clean up in the dining room. She didn’t go through to the kitchen though, which I appreciated.

When I closed the front door after they left, Al stumbled through the living room and started up the stairs to bed.

“Be careful on the landing, dear. I put a vase of flowers there, just for tonight.”

“You’re a goddamn bitch. I’ll walk where I want to walk in my own house.”

So you see, it really was my fault. I always seem to get things wrong.

Jo-Anne began writing fiction just over one year ago.  She is particularly interested in telling stories of the hidden, the hurt, the silent, the unheard. Jo-Anne has concentrated on flash fiction as she developed her writing voice.  She is now working on longer short stories and planning her first novel (literary fiction).  Jo-Anne lives in Vancouver, British Columbia where she happily shuffles from one Starbucks to another, drinking espresso, and taking notes while she listens to the conversations around her.  

"Each person I’ve ever met has, in varying degrees, shaped the person I’ve become.  It seems only right that I would want to tell their stories.  Ultimately, their stories are mine too." 


To read more of her fiction, visit: www.goingforcoffee.net.