Storytellersunplugged

I recently started a new novel. It’s a mystery as opposed to horror, and while there may be supernatural aspects, it’s meant to be a very different sort of thing for me. Why? Because I’ve been circling around the idea of writing a crime novel for a while and the time is right. I figure, what the heck. I also recently joined the International Thriller Writers on the recommendation of several writers I respect and admire, I’m just wrapping up the latest horror piece and even in that I can see the start of a mystery novel that wants to be written.

So there it is. Something new to write and enough of a twist for me that it takes precedence over the other dozen or so that want to be written. That’s hardly unusual for me, by the way, I always have about half a dozen things I’d like to be writing and they all have to wait their turns.

So I got to cooking and I was writing as religiously as always-remember kiddies, write every day-and in short order I had the first 20,000 words done. There was just one problem: they didn’t feel right.

Now, I’ve said before and I’ll say again that writers are lousy editors…for their own work. I can read someone else who I know and normally pinpoint where they might be missing the mark. I can’t edit my own work for at least six months. I need to have a little distance before I can see clearly, because I KNOW what I’m trying to say and that hides the flaws I can see with someone else’s stuff. I can’t guarantee that everyone has that problem, but I suspect the majority do.

So, what does one do when one can’t find the problem but remains sure that there is a problem? One asks for help. No, I don’t mean call up one of the numerous editing services that advertise in the back of Writer’s Digest. They remain, by and large, rip-off companies that will charge far too much for any help they might offer and in many cases they employ people who have no legitimate reason to even consider editing.

Instead, I called on my friend Tom Piccirilli, author of the recently released THE COLD SPOT and the forthcoming sequel, THE COLDEST MILE (the latter coming out next February.). For those of you who do not know him, he’s a multiple award-winning author. He’s won four Bram Stoker awards-it might be more now-he’s won the Thriller Award, he’s won roughly a trillion awards and earned every last one of them. He’s also as different a writer from me as you’re ever likely to meet. I asked him if he would mind looking over my latest and he agreed. Then he politely crucified me. He was gentle as he tapped the nails in place, and even apologized a few times.

Let me explain that last part. Tom is my friend. He’s also a professional writer. He’s also been known to read my stuff and even buy copies of my books. We’ve been peers for a long time, though I’m the first one to say he’s twice the writer I am. He’s one of several writers I respect enough to listen to and is simultaneously enough of a friend to know that I expect him to be brutally honest with me, because I would most assuredly return the favor without hesitation.

To summarize: I was overly wordy, I was stating the obvious, I was repeating myself AND being redundant and I was doing a poor imitation of every cliché that has ever existed in mysteries. I was doing a lot of telling and remarkably little showing-which has always been one of my weaknesses, for the record.

Keep in mind that Tom was being kind.

When I was done staggering around like a punch drunk boxer, I sat down and looked at his notes and considered the words he had written very carefully. Now, the easiest thing in the world would be to shake my fist, call Tom several colorful names and go back to my writing. I mean, really, what the hell does HE know about writing? Our styles are damned near night and day. I’m a storyteller, he’s a wordsmith. He’s concentrating on different things with his writing than I am with mine. I could give a hundred different excuses for why he was wrong and I was right.

Except that I’d be lying to myself. The simple fact of the matter is that I dropped the proverbial ball and Tom was the one who caught it and told me how to hold the damned thing.

It’s exactly that simple. I screwed up. All Tom did was remind me that I’m a writer. I don’t need to emulate others when I’m telling a story, I have my own voice and it’s been working just fine for me so far. Or at least well enough to let me make a living at this writing gig.

Trust me when I say this: it’s hardly a first.

Contrary to any comments I might make from time to time, I do not consider myself the end all be all of writing knowledge. In fact I still find myself wondering exactly what the hell was going through Joe Nassise’s head when he invited me to join this particular group-and I think the only honest answer is desperation.

I do consider myself a professional writer. That does not mean I’m anywhere near the most knowledgeable person to be giving advice. It just means now and then I might have a clue and that I will almost always have an opinion.

I decided to write a mystery and in the process, I promptly threw out my common sense and all of my writing experience. Tom was good enough to remind me of that fact as gently as he could while not avoiding the issues.

First and foremost, I was no longer writing what I wanted to write, which is tantamount to a cardinal sin in my book. I don’t mean that the story wasn’t mine. It was and it is. What I mean is that I was unconsciously imitating the style of writers who were incredibly important to the mystery genre. I wasn’t aware of it (thus the use of the word “unconsciously”) but it was happening. I wasn’t writing in my voice and when you get down to it, that isn’t just a disservice to me and any potential fans of mine, but also to the writers I was echoing.

Tom didn’t point out anything to me that I wouldn’t have seen in anyone else I was familiar with, but I could not see it in my own work, and especially not in a work in progress. I was aware that something was wrong, something big enough to make me pause and reread my words again and again and to finally send the file to Tom with a plea for assistance, but all of those damned trees were in the way of me seeing the forest.

I had 20,000 words written. Most of them got tossed out the window. A few scenes are being rewritten, a few of them simply discarded and several more altered so drastically that they bear no resemblance to the original drafts. I’m currently around 11,000 words into the rewrite.

I’ve lost a few manuscripts in the past, mostly due to not being smart enough to back up the writing (mostly I’m better about that these days) and on one previous occasion I simply realized that what I had written sucked raw eggs, but it’s rare for me to throw away words I’ve written. It’s painful. I’ll do you one better, I positively hate it. Sometimes, however, it’s a necessary evil. The story I was trying to write was not what was coming out on paper, because I let myself get too bogged down in the genre I was looking at. Mysteries, science fiction tales, horror stories or romances, the genre should not matter. What should be significant is the story, and I forgot that for a moment. I got lost in the worries of the mystery market. Not as it exists, but as I was thinking it might exist. Bad move on my part and that’s all there is to it. I’ve always written for me first and worried about the market after the fact. This time I tried to write for a market that I don’t know. I actively TRIED TO WRITE FOR A MARKET.

You have to work at your skills, folks. I believe that. I think that if you stop working at writing, you risk losing all that you have struggled to achieve. Having said that, you also have to have just a little faith in yourself. Yes, I’m best known as a horror writer, but I’ve dabbled in science fiction and fantasy and I’ve even done a few pieces that were simply stories, not supernatural or even overly suspenseful. In every case I wrote the story that wanted to be written and in every case I managed to sell those tales. Not because I wrote to a market, but because I did a good enough job to catch an editor’s attention in a favorable way. That means I at least have a modicum of talent and the ability to tell a story. The genre shouldn’t matter. When you get down to it, the story is what matters most. I’ve said before that I’ll let the editors decide where to categorize a tale and that is exactly what I should have remembered before I started writing my mystery. Tom was kind to me and pointed out that I’ve never written a mystery before, and he also stated that the words were solely his opinion and that he could be wrong. Well, yes and no. It IS a market I’ve never written for before, that part is true, and it IS only his opinion, but first, his opinion is very well educated on the subject and second it’s supposed to be MY mystery, not a mystery custom designed to fit comfortably into any particular format. Since I started writing I’ve held to that rule and I managed to forget it. Happily, I had Tom Piccirilli to remind me of what I should have already known.

James A. Moore

So, here we have it, a look into my glass house. Yes, I’ve thrown my fair share of stones in the past and I likely will again. I try not to condemn anyone for the mistakes they make for that very reason: “people in glass houses should not throw stones.” I’m human. I make mistakes.

So kick back for a while and consider that if you’d like. Me? It’s time for dinner. Tonight’s main course? Crow. A nice, heaping plate of it. My mystery is back on track and I’ll likely shoot it to Tom again if he can stomach the notion. He’ll probably find a dozen other things that I’m doing differently than he would, but hopefully nothing quite as glaring the second time around.

Either way, I can’t thank him enough for his honest criticism of the piece. Criticism can be a good thing, folks. Best not to ignore the critics you know you can trust.