Storytellersunplugged

So, while skimming over my usual haunts on the internet, I ran across a header that referred to “hating your readers.” I was between paragraphs and composing the next part of a YA proposal in my head at the time and I decided I’d go ahead and look it over. The board in question was Shocklines.com and the subject was, for a change of pace, exactly what it claimed to be. A writer who believes that if you don’t hate your readers, you are somehow doing it all wrong.

Actually, to be fair, I’ll quote the writer in question: “Hating the reader means not writing to/for a favourite group of people. Hating the reader means not writing to his/her expectations of your current saleable standing or reputation. Hating the reader means writing from your very centre.” Mike Philbin

Okay, fair enough. He redefines a few times, but I can see where there might be a seed of logic or two in the argument. It’s the hatred part that gets in the way of this making sense to me.

I can’t hate my readers. First, they help pay my bills. Second, while I fully believe in writing for yourself first, even if I didn’t I have to tell you, the reader doesn’t really come into the equation until the book is done. Oh, and third, some of them send me e-mails and tell me that my writing is fun. That alone would guarantee a certain level of affection, believe me.

I write for me. I always have, and I always will. Let me explain that to you. It’s my story I’m telling. It’s my imagination that I’m using. If I start second guessing what other people might think about how I’m telling it, I can guarantee it’s going to fall apart long before I’ve finished telling the tale.

As I’ve said before, writing is a business for me. that means that when it’s all said and done, I want to sell my works to a publisher who will kindly pay me money and take care of all of the uglier parts of the job, like making certain that everything is just so and spending money I certainly don’t have on advanced copies for reviewers, and maybe even a little actual advertising.

My job isn’t finished, not by any stretch of the imagination. There’s proofs to read, edits to go over, arguments to be had about the format, etc. That’s all part of the work part of being a writer and all of that, like worrying about the readers’ desires, comes after I’m done writing the story.

First, however, I take care of the fun part. The initial tale to be told. Again and with feeling and possibly even with apologies to a few who might be offended by the notion, when I’m writing, it’s all about what I want. Do I want the protagonist to get the girl? Maybe. Will my main characters all come out of the conclusion unscathed/ Not bloody likely. Those decisions have to be mine when I’m writing. Otherwise, I’m not writing for me anymore and something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

I understand what the man who started the thread was going for, but even with the decision to leave the initial draft of the book in my own hands, I can’t fathom the notion of hating the reader. That’s like loathing your parents for giving you a roof over your head and nurturing you for the first part of your life. And yes, I know there are a few exceptions out there, but for the most part, the average parent doesn’t abandon us at birth and leave us to manage on our own at the age of two, or beat us black and blue and lock us in closets. If yours did, I’m rather surprised you have the time to read this between therapy sessions.

I write for myself. I don’t try to predict the market, or choose my subjects based on the latest growing trend in paperbacks. Dear Lord, what a waste of time. You’ll never, ever get it right. By the time you’re aware of most trends, it’s too late to catch them, and even if you do, I don’t honestly believe you’re doing yourself of anyone else a favor by trying to catch up on what was written two years ago.

At the very least, calling the idea of writing for yourself “hating the reader,” is a poor choice of words. At the most, it smacks of preposterous arrogance. That’s just my two cents.

Onto a slightly different subject: Coauthoring a story. Yes, I did completely switch gears, thanks for noticing. Now let me explain. You can’t write exclusively for yourself when you’re writing a collaborative story. There’s going to be at least one other person who has serious input into how the story is shaped and how it evolves.

I’ve collaborated several times now, and it’s always an interesting experience. Sometimes it’s been pleasurable and on one occasion I wanted to drive across the country to backhand my coauthor. In the end, I didn’t actually go and assault the individual. That would be rude and really, really unprofessional. Remember that if you ever get into a similar situation.

Can you guess why the first experience was uncomfortable? (First comments about virginity and I put you on my list of people I don’t like/people who think they’re funny when they aren’t.) We didn’t set ground rules.

It’s a different beast, that co-writing thing. You can’t let yourself go crazy, unless you’re expecting to get a few complaints from your partner in crime. And you have to behave yourself in times of crisis. Whatever do I mean? Simple: you have to use your brains and your manners. I can be as sloppy as I please when I am writing for myself. Later, I can clean it up. If I sent a few of my first drafts to coauthors, I think they’d either have a stroke or die laughing at how truly, abysmally messy the drafts can be.

Just as you had to make certain rules for yourself regarding writing time, how you intend to submit and everything else about the career choice to be a writer (and if you haven’t, believe me, you will) you have to make rules for collaborating. The rules don’t have to be written in stone, nor do they have to be harsh to live with. They just have to be there to guide you through the choppy waters of the ego sea.

Ego? Jim, I don’t have an ego.

Sure you do. It might be a polite little fellow that just chirps in with an occasional “come on! You can do it! Just another hundred words!” but you have an ego. If you don’t, you’d never even consider submitting a piece of writing for profit. Everyone who is functional in society has an ego. That means your coauthor will have one, too.

And that means you have to be aware of both your ego and that of the person you’ve decided to collaborate with. I don’t mean you have to bow and scrape to your partner in crime. I mean you have to acknowledge that the other person in the mix also has certain ways of working, and if you’re not meeting his or her expectations, there could be stormy seas ahead.

Make up certain loose rules that both of you can tolerate.
Want to know what mine are? Here’s a basic list.

The first set is for me. The second set is for whomever I’m considering working with.

My rules for me:
1) The ego goes in check. We can work out any problems that might come about if I can just remember not to be an ass about them.

2) If there’s a problem, bring it up and clarify the issue before it becomes too serious.

3) Remember that this is supposed to be fun.

My rules for my co-author:

1) If I’m screwing up, tell me. Expect the exact same courtesy in response. (Yes, courtesy. If at any point you’ve grown frustrated and bitter, it’s best to get it out in the open instead of letting it fester.)

2) If something comes up that will delay your contribution, tell me.

3) Remember that this is supposed to be fun.

Rules for both:

1) Somebody has to steer the iceberg. By that, I mean when it comes time to edit the final version that will be submitted, one person or the other has to have final say. Frankly, I offer the captain’s hat to the other writer in most cases, but I reserve the right to have a proper conversation if I disagree. That means we talk and both make our points known. If we don’t agree and I’ve allowed somebody else to be in charge, I have to back down. See rule number one on my personal rules list.

2) Remember that this is supposed to be fun. Yes, I’m repeating myself. It’s a very, very important rule.

Everything else is secondary to those rules. I mean everything. Are we going to have a detailed plot in advance? Don’t know, don’t care. If that’s how my partner rolls, sure. But you can expect me to buck and fight and twist that plot every which way I can because I hate outlines. Are we going to each take a chapter and then switch off? Sure, why not. It works well enough. Are we going to edit each other? Umm. Yeah, okay. But track the changes, so I don’t have something that seems minor taken out of the story when in fact it’s extremely significant at a later time.

In the long run, try to cover the basics. Try to figure out what’s likely to set you off when it comes to writing with someone else, and then go over that, too.

And remember, it’s supposed to be fun. I don’t care if you’re writing by yourself or with fifteen other authors, it’s supposed to be fun.

Oh, and remember, that ego of yours? Yeah, gag it. Trust me, life will be much, much easier if you do.

On the progress report side: My protégé had a wonderful time in Las Vegas, had a good meeting with her potential agent and potential editor, and has since received a “thanks but no thanks” from the potential agent. Not really shocking when you consider the odds on a first time novel, now is it?

She hasn’t heard back from the publisher and she was ready to go through about ten edits on the novel. I told her to set it aside for now, and to start on another project instead. Why? Because there’s no way she’ll see any mistakes she made on a brand new manuscript. Fresh eyes see mistakes. Eyes that have already read the damned book ten times see only what they want to see.

Currently, she’s around 12,000 words into the new book.

I’ll keep you all posted on how her progress is going.

That’s all for now,

James A. Moore.